“Right, sir; that’s first job,” said the constable. “You’ll be here?”
“Yes, till you come back. Spare no expense to get that number.”
The constable was off almost before the words had left his lips, and as the door closed Tom turned to Sir Grantley, who still stood with his head leaning upon his hand.
“Now then,” he said, “what are you going to do?”
“Don’t know,” was the reply.
“It looks bad,” said Tom, “but I won’t believe it yet.”
“No—poor girl,” said the baronet, sadly—“I’m beginning to think she didn’t care for me, don’t you know.”
Tom stared at him wonderingly.
“Are you going to help me run them down?”
“Yas—no—I don’t know,” said the baronet. “I suppose I ought to shoot that fellow—Belgium or somewhere—if there is a fellow. But I don’t think there is.”