“Mr Van Heldre?”
“Yes. Why don’t you go and see him?”
“I have sent to ask again and again, but I felt that any call on my part in the midst of such trouble would be out of place.”
“Walk faster,” said the old man excitedly, “if you can. No. Let me go alone. Look at them—running. Look!”
Leslie had already noted the fact, and out of respect for the old man he stopped short at once, with the result that Uncle Luke stopped too.
“Why don’t you come on?” he cried. “Good heavens, man, what can I do alone? There, there, Leslie, it’s of no use, I can play the cynic no longer. Man is not independent of his fellows. I never felt more in need of help than I do now.”
Leslie took the old man’s arm, and could feel that he was trembling, as they hurried on down towards the harbour, which they would have to cross by the ferry before they could reach the little crowd gathering round the first two men on the patch of sand.
“Keep a good heart, sir,” said Leslie, gently. “It may not be after all.”
“Yes, it is—it is,” groaned Uncle Luke. “I’ve hung on so to the belief that being a clever swimmer he had managed to get away; but I might have known better, Leslie, I might have known better.”
“Let’s wait first and be sure, sir.”