“And look here,” continued the anxious father; “he had taken this off—roughly too,” and the speaker drew from his pocket the large old-fashioned signet-ring which the young man always wore, and which Harry well knew, from its tightness, to have been never off the young man’s finger.
Harry took the ring, and turned it over in his hand to find that it had been cut through in the thinnest part, evidently by the nippers of a bullet-mould, such as he knew to be in a pistol-case in the bedroom—a fact that he proved by opening the case, expecting that a pistol had been taken out; but though the nippers corresponded exactly with the cut, the pistol was in its place.
“He does not seem to have had any jewellery with him,” continued Sir Richard, “unless they are fresh purchases which I have not seen him wear. Watch, chains, solitaires, studs, rings, are all there, but no money.”
“Ring for the landlord,” said Harry abruptly; and, soon after, Mr Stiff entered the room, to stand mildly rubbing his hands, and smoothing a few greasy strands over the bald place on his head.
“Mr Stiff!”
“Sir to you,” said the landlord, arranging his head in his all-round collar, where it looked like a ball in a cup.
“Have you any reason to believe that Mr Redgrave had lately been in the habit of visiting either of the low districts—Decadia, for instance?”
Harry winced as he uttered these last words, but his brow was knit, and there was an air of determination in his face that told of a set purpose.
“Well, sir, I don’t see as I can say. You know what a gent he was for birds and things of that sort.”
“Yes, yes, exactly,” said Harry, eagerly; “and who brought them?”