Stratton turned upon him uneasily.
“This is a rum world, Mal, old fellow.”
“What do you mean?” said Stratton.
“Only this: Brettison’s rich—a man worth a good deal, and men of that stamp generally have people who take a good deal of notice of them.”
“Naturally,” said Stratton, with a curious laugh.
“Suppose, then, he has come to grief. I mean, suppose some gang have got hold of him on his way back here and made an end of him.”
“Absurd!” said Stratton, with a curious laugh. “Nonsense!”
“Such things have been done. When did he go out?”
“I do not know.”
“Don’t be huffy with your devoted servant, Mal. Tell me this—has he been back since—er—that day?”