“No one here, mem,” said Charles, after a cursory glance round—not being able to comprehend his mistress’s emotion.
“O, look behind the door, Charles!” gasped Mrs Lower; “and at the bedposts.”
“Silk dress behind the fust, and wallance and hangings on the seconds,” said Charles methodically. “What next, mem?”
“Can’t you see him, Charles?” said Mrs Lower, slowly raising her head.
“No, mem,” said Charles; “he’s gone, safe. Did he pay, mem?”
“Nonsense!” cried Mrs Lower angrily; “he was a friend of mine;” and then the doubting dame carefully examined the room, looking in the most impossible of corners for the missing visitor, and only stopping as she was about to peer up the chimney by seeing a half-concealed grin upon the face of Charles.
“I’ll ask Boots if he’s seen him, mem,” said Charles, to get out of his difficulty.
But that gentleman had neither seen Septimus Hardon nor the articles of clothing after which he was named; so that it seemed evident that the visitor had taken his unbrushed boots and departed.
“So very strange!” muttered Mrs Lower to herself.
“The seediest pair of boots we’ve ever had in the place,” said Charles in confidence to the chambermaid; and then, after due cogitation, he came to the conclusion that if many of the visitors to the County Arms were like the unknown of the past night, his situation would not be worth the energy he displayed for the comfort of all who sought there rest and refreshment.