"Where on earth can he be?"
"I'm givin' him till half-past eleven," said Mudd, "and then I'm off to Vine Street."
"What on earth for?"
"To have the hospitals circulated to ask about him."
"Oh, nonsense!"
"It's on my mind he's had an accident," said Mudd. "Robbed and stunned, or drugged with opium and left in the street. I know London—and him as he is! He'll be found with his pockets inside out—I know London. You should have got him down to the country to-day, Mr. Robert, somewhere quiet; now, maybe, it's too late."
"It's very easy to say that. I tried to, and he wouldn't go, not even to Richmond. London seems to hold him like a charm; he's like a bee in a bottle—can't escape."
At this moment a horrid little girl in a big hat and feathers, boots too large for her, and a shawl, made her appearance at the entrance door, saw the hall porter and came towards him. She had a letter in her hand.
The hall porter took the letter, looked at it, and brought it to Mudd.