“Immediately after he was found. You know all that, Breton. Why do you ask now?”
Breton, who was still staring at the place on which he had fixed his eyes on walking into the entry, shook his head.
“Don’t know,” he answered. “I—but come on—let’s see if old Cardlestone can tell us anything.”
There was another charwoman, armed with pails and buckets, outside Cardlestone’s door, into which she was just fitting a key. It was evident to Spargo that she knew Breton, for she smiled at him as she opened the door.
“I don’t think Mr. Cardlestone’ll be in, sir,” she said. “He’s generally gone out to breakfast at this time—him and Mr. Elphick goes together.”
“Just see,” said Breton. “I want to see him if he is in.” The charwoman entered the chambers and immediately screamed.
“Quite so,” remarked Spargo. “That’s what I expected to hear. Cardlestone, you see, Breton, is also—off!”
Breton made no reply. He rushed after the charwoman, with Spargo in close attendance.
“Good God—another!” groaned Breton.
If the confusion in Elphick’s rooms had been bad, that in Cardlestone’s chambers was worse. Here again all the features of the previous scene were repeated—drawers had been torn open, papers thrown about; the hearth was choked with light ashes; everything was at sixes and sevens. An open door leading into an inner room showed that Cardlestone, like Elphick, had hastily packed a bag; like Elphick had changed his clothes, and had thrown his discarded garments anywhere, into any corner. Spargo began to realize what had taken place—Elphick, having made his own preparations for flight, had come to Cardlestone, and had expedited him, and they had fled together. But—why?