“I think not.”
“There’s your clue then. I’ve loaded you. Go off.”
“And find Mr Brettison?”
“Of course. Then try and get from him the information we want.”
“Do we want that information, Miss Jerrold?”
“Of course we do, sir. Malcolm Stratton’s actions may be purged from their grossness, and happiness come after all.”
“Heaven grant it may!” cried Guest.
“There, then, you have something sensible to do; better than always calling here in your speculative way. Go to work at once, and come and communicate with me.”
Guest went off at once, and had himself driven to Benchers’ Inn, where he ascended to Stratton’s door, but turned off to Brettison’s, where all was dark and silent.
He knocked, but there was no answer; and, after repeating the knock several times, he went to Stratton’s door, where he had no better success. Going down, he crossed to the tunnel-like archway, where he found Mrs Brade, and learned that Mr Brettison had not yet returned from the country.