He turned thoughtful now, but was ready to look up sharply as Jerry entered.
“Want me any more ’smornin’, sir?”
“No, Brigley, no. You have heard no more news of poor Smithson?”
“No, sir, not a word.”
“Strange how I have been thinking of him all the night.”
“So have I, sir. I went to sleep, too, out in the lobby, and I’ve just recollected, sir, I was dreaming all about him and wondering where he’d gone.”
“Ah, it’s a bad business, Brigley. He ought to have known better. But we all do things we are sorry for sometimes and repent of them afterwards. There, be off to bed.”
“Shan’t I clear up a bit, sir, first?”
“No: that will do.”
Jerry went out of the room and shut the door after him—to stand looking back, as if he expected to be able to see through the panels everything that was going on. His brow was wrinkled up, his nostrils twitched, and his ears moved slightly, for he was listening intently; and a looker-on would have seen that he was intensely excited.