"Well," said Bobby, who was just off to bed, "he'll be back again soon; can't come to much harm here. You'd better sit up for him, Mudd."
Off he went to bed. He lay reading for awhile and thinking of Cerise; then he put out the light and dropped off to sleep.
He was awakened by Mudd. Mudd with a candle in his hand.
"He's not back yet, Mr. Robert."
Bobby sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Not back? Oh, Uncle Simon! What's the time?"
"Gone one, sir."
"Bother! What can have happened to him, Mudd?"
"That's what I'm asking myself," said Mudd.
A heavy step sounded on the gravel drive in front of the hotel, then came a ring at the bell. Mudd, candle in hand, darted off.
Bobby heard voices down below. Five minutes passed and then reappeared Mudd—ghastly to look at.