“Understand that I insist on Prescott’s arrest! I will, spare no effort to secure it through your superiors!”
Seeing that he was in no mood to listen to reason, the officer let him go, and Jernyngham walked slowly to the lobby downstairs. There were a number of men in it, but two or three strolled into the bar and the others drew away from him when he sat down. They were not without compassion, but they shrank from the grim look in the man’s worn face. For a while he sat still, resting one elbow on a table, and trying to arrange his confused thoughts. He knew nothing of Prescott’s interview with Curtis or the reason for his visit to Wandle on the night of the latter’s flight; the discovery of the brown clothes occupied the most prominent place in his mind, and convinced him of Prescott’s guilt.
Then he began to consider how he could best bring pressure to bear on the administration in Ottawa. From inquiries he had made, it appeared less easy than he had supposed. It was, he had been told, unusual for anybody to interfere with the Northwest Police, who had been entrusted with extensive powers; and there was a strong probability of his failing to obtain satisfaction. It was, however, unthinkable that Prescott should escape. Jernyngham’s poignant sense of loss and regret for past harshness to his son had merged into an overwhelming desire for vengeance on the man whom he regarded as Cyril’s murderer. He was left without an ally; the organized means of justice had signally broken down; but the man should not go unpunished.
Tormented by his thoughts, he went out in search of Gertrude.
CHAPTER XXIX
JERNYNGHAM BREAKS DOWN
Colston and his party were leaving the hotel, with Jernyngham and Gertrude a few paces in front of them. A big lamp hung beneath the veranda, and the light from the windows streamed out on the snow. While Colston held the door open for his wife and Muriel to pass through a man came hurriedly along the sidewalk and Colston started.
“Be quick!” he cried to Muriel. “It’s Prescott!”