“No,” he said thoughtfully, “he couldn’t do that; it would be cowardly, and he’s got too much pluck. He’d have taken some things, too and he hasn’t done that.”
As Jerry spoke his eyes were turning everywhere in search of a clue; but he saw nothing till they fell upon the tray, toward which he sprang with a cry, for he had now caught sight of a piece of paper folded like a note and bearing his name.
He tore it open, and read only these words:—
“Good-bye, Jerry. You were the only one to stand by me to the last. Take my gold fox-head pin for yourself. I cannot face it all. I feel half-mad.”
Chapter Seven.
Jerry sees the worst.
“Off his nut!” gasped Jerry, excitedly. “Who wants his fox-pin? I wants him. Couldn’t stand it!—half-dotty!”
He looked wildly round, and then his eyes lit upon the glittering waters of the swollen river spreading far and near, and he once more uttered a cry.