“Susan,” he cried, “the cupboard is empty. Gundra has gone!”
Mrs. Gollop was considerably upset.
“Well, of all the ungrateful little wretches!” she exclaimed. “Coming here whining and dropping on his knees, and me making up a bed for him and all—and then to slink out without a word! I’ll never do anything for a foreigner again.”
“But we don’t know that he slunk out, Susan,” Martin protested.
“We don’t know!” she retorted sarcastically. “Did he say good-bye to you, then? Did you hear him go? And I warrant he didn’t go empty-handed, either. Wait till I count my spoons!”
“I don’t believe he’s a thief!” said Martin. “I don’t believe he ran away. I believe someone got into the house and took him!”
“Well, them that took him had a right to him, didn’t they? A good riddance to bad rubbish! Now eat your fill, and be off; ’tis your first Sunday with Mr. Faryner, and he won’t thank you if you’re late.”
It was only six o’clock. Gollop had not returned from his nightly duty, and Lucy was still asleep. Martin hurriedly swallowed a thick slice of bread-and-dripping, thinking hard all the time, while Susan inspected her drawers and cupboards to find evidence of the Indian boy’s knavery.
“I’m sure he did not go willingly,” thought Martin. “Mr. Seymour’s man saw him with me, and no doubt told Mr. Seymour, and he knows Blackbeard, and—oh, what a puzzle everything is!”
His mind was full of the matter as he started for the shop. He wondered whether Mr. Seymour had let Blackbeard into the house during the night—whether the boy was now back on board the Santa Maria, perhaps at that very moment being thrashed by that fat bully the cook. And he foresaw a very unpleasant time for himself when he took his bread to the ship on Monday morning.