Mr. Carmyle's dark face seemed to become a trifle darker.
“We have had no news of him,” he said shortly.
“No news? How do you mean? You speak as though he had disappeared.”
“He has disappeared!”
“Good heavens! When?”
“Shortly after I saw you last.”
“Disappeared!”
Mr. Carmyle frowned. Sally, watching him, found her antipathy stirring again. There was something about this man which she had disliked instinctively from the first, a sort of hardness.
“But where has he gone to?”
“I don't know.” Mr. Carmyle frowned again. The subject of Ginger was plainly a sore one. “And I don't want to know,” he went on heatedly, a dull flush rising in the cheeks which Sally was sure he had to shave twice a day. “I don't care to know. The Family have washed their hands of him. For the future he may look after himself as best he can. I believe he is off his head.”