“No, no,” said Brettison. “I am going in here. Mr Stratton and I are leaving town.”
“Mr Stratton has gone, sir. Leastwise not at home.”
“What!”
“Mr Guest was here a quarter of an hour ago, and said he’d been here once before. He couldn’t make no one hear.”
“Something has happened then,” said Brettison to himself, and a thrill of horror ran through his frame.
Chapter Forty Nine.
A Place of Rest.
“Well, if ever two strange gentlemen did live in inns it’s Mr Stratton and Mr Brettison,” said Mrs Brade as she reluctantly went back to her lodge. “Nice state their rooms must be in; and him, once so civil and polite, as awkward and gruff as you please.”