Letting the door swing to, he moved hastily forward, and then stopped, seeing that he was too late to prevent the meeting. Jernyngham had recognized the newcomer.
“Mr. Prescott,” the old man cried, “a word with you!”
Prescott stopped with a troubled face a few yards away.
“If you insist, I’m at your service.”
Colston drew nearer. Jernyngham’s tone had alarmed him, and it’s ominous harshness was more marked when he resumed:
“For the last time, I ask you, where is my son?”
“I wish I knew,” said Prescott quietly. “I believe he’s in British Columbia, but it’s a big province and I lost trace of him there.”
“It’s a lie!” Jernyngham cried, hoarse with fury. “Your tricks won’t serve you; I’ll have the truth!”
“Be calm, Mr. Jernyngham,” Colston begged, touching his arm. “We’ll have a crowd here in a few moments. Come back into the hotel.”
He was violently pushed away. Jernyngham’s eyes glittered, his face was grimly set; it was obvious that his self-control had deserted him. Seeing that he could not be reasoned with, Colston left him alone and waited, ready to interfere if necessary. The man, he thought, was in a dangerous mood; the situation was liable to have alarming developments.