"What we must do now, is to look out for a larger room."
"One with a chimbley in it, as'll draw?" suggested Mrs. Buffle.
"Oh yes. What would they do without fire on a winter's night? The great point is, to have things thoroughly comfortable."
"If it hadn't been for the chimbley, I might have offered our big garret, sir. But it's the crankiest thing ever built, is that chimbley; the minute a handful of fire's lighted, the smoke puffs it out again. And then again—there'd be the passing through the shop, obstructing the custom."
"Of course there would," assented William. "We must try for that failure in the rear, after all."
CHAPTER VII.
COMING HOME TO THE DARES.
The Pyramids of Egypt grew, in the course of time, into pyramids, as was oracularly remarked by Sergeant Delves; but that official's exertions, labour as hard as he would, grew to nothing—when applied to the cause with which he had compared the pyramids. All inquiry, all searching brought to bear upon it by him and his co-adherents, did not bring anything to light of Herbert Dare's movements on that fatal night. Where he had passed the hours remained an impenetrable mystery; and the sergeant had to confess himself foiled. He came, not unnaturally, to the conclusion that Herbert Dare was not anywhere, so far as the outer world was concerned: that he had been at home, committing the mischief. A conclusion the sergeant had drawn from the very first, and it had never been shaken. Nevertheless, it was his duty to put all the skill and craft of the local police force into action; and very close inquiries were made. Every house of entertainment in the city, of whatever nature—whether a billiard-room or an oyster-shop; whether a chief hotel or an obscure public-house—was visited and keenly questioned; but no one would acknowledge to having seen Herbert Dare on the particular evening. In short, no trace of him could be unearthed.
"Just as much out as I was," said the sergeant to himself. And Helstonleigh held the same conviction.