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 to 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?”
“You are labouring under a mistake, sir,” said the man. “We have not found him—yet. My people are searching still, and half the fishermen are out in their boats, but they say it is not likely that they will find him till after a tide or two when he will be cast ashore.”
The words sounded hard and brutal, and Luke gave the speaker a furious look as he saw his brother wince.