“Oh!” he muttered, “if I could only have my way!”
Mr Shrubsole, the second doctor, undertook to stay at the house that night, in case of any relapse on the part of Mark, and to the tutor’s great satisfaction, for he had fallen into a nervous state, wandering about the place and giving the pupils a fresh theme of conversation to occupy the dreary, slow-dragging time.
Jerry caught the inspector as he came out of Mr Draycott’s study, and signalled him into the pantry.
“Then you did nothing?” he said.
“Yes, we did,” said the inspector, grimly; “we saved our lives, which was about all we could do. I only went for the name of the thing, Mr Brigley—thankye, I’ll say port. Of course, I went—ah! very nice full glass or wine. People’s so ready to say, ‘Where are the police?’ that, if we hadn’t gone, they’d ha’ been ready to think the poor young gent was hanging on by the branch of a tree and we wouldn’t go and save him. But I put it to you—well, thankye, Mr Brigley, I won’t say no; didn’t know you kept such a port as that.”
“It won’t be long before the water goes down?”
“No. Not it. Goes down, you know, as quickly as it goes up; but don’t you expect too much, sir.”
“You think you won’t find him?”
“Yes; that’s it,” said the inspector. “Why, look at the way the water was rushing along! Of course, he may be picked up right away down where the tide rises—Limesmouth or Dunkney—or about there; but I say it’s very doubtful.”
“Ah!” sighed Jerry.