“Two bottles!”
“How long a time, I say, have you been here?”
“Well, I say—two—two bottles.”
“The villain Gray has been more than a match for me, father;” said Albert. “My poor Ada is not here!”
He sunk upon a chair, and gave way to a violent burst of grief as he spoke, and Tibbs gazed upon him in speechless astonishment.
“Albert,” said his father, “this is childish of you. Let us thoroughly search this house. We may still find some clue to the object of our search.”
“True,” said Albert, rising, “I will not despair. We may, perchance, light upon the mysterious packet of papers which Jacob Gray thinks so much of, and which were addressed to Sir Francis Hartleton.”
“Take another bottle,” suggested Tibbs, making various ridiculous efforts to get on his feet, in all of which he signally failed.
“Sot,” said Albert, “I will force more intelligent answers from you yet before I leave this house.”
“Take another bottle,” said Tibbs. “My dear, here’s your health. You have a rare voice. Bless you, you want to stay because I’m here. Don’t let him persuade you; d—d—d—n his important papers.”