“Yes, nearly,” said Leslie bitterly.
“We must have time, sir. A hunter does not secure his game by rushing at it. He stalks it.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Luke in assent, “and of course you must be certain. This is not a criminal matter.”
“No, sir, of course not,” said the sergeant dryly, and with a meaning in his tone which the others did not detect.
“If you are successful in finding their whereabouts, mind that your task ends there. You will give us due notice, and we will see to the rest.”
“Certainly, sir; and I have men on the look out. The bottle of hay is being pretty well tossed over, and some day I hope to see the shine of the needle among the puzzling dry strands. Good morning.”
“Is that man a humbug, sir, or in earnest?”
“Earnest,” replied Uncle Luke. “He proved that before.”
If the occupants of the hotel room, which seemed to Leslie like a prison, could have read Sergeant Parkins’ mind as he went away, they would have thought him in deadly earnest.
“Not a criminal case, gentlemen, eh?” he said to himself. “If it is as I think, it is very criminal indeed, and Mr Pradelle will find it so before he is much older. I haven’t forgotten the night on Hakemouth Pier, and that poor boy’s death, and I shan’t feel very happy till I’ve squared accounts with him, for if he was not the starter of all that trouble I am no judge of men.”