“Forgive me, George,” he whispered. “I knew not what I said.”
“Let me be alone—for a while,” faltered his brother. “I am weak. I cannot bear it now.”
But the strain was not yet at an end, for at that moment there was a tap at the door, and Liza entered, looking red-eyed and strange; and a sob escaped her as she saw her master’s face.
“A gentleman to see you, sir. He must see you at once,” she stammered.
“If you please, Mr Vine,” said a short, stern voice, and, without further ceremony, the detective officer entered the room.
George Vine rose painfully, and tried to cross where the man stood inside the door, looking sharply from one to the other.
“No,” he said inaudibly, as his eyes seemed to grasp everything; “they’re honest. Don’t know where he is.”
George Vine did not cross to the officer; his strength seemed to fail him.
“You have come,” he said slowly, as he tried to master a piteous sigh. “Luke, you will come with me?”
“Yes, lad, I’ll come,” said Uncle Luke. Then turning towards the officer, he whispered, “Where did you find the poor lad?”