Dr Brandram stayed till the end.
“I should have to come and see Mrs Parker in the morning in any case,” said he, “so I have told Raffles to make me a shake down in Armstrong’s room to-night. I may as well stay here.”
The precaution, however, was unnecessary. Mr Ratman had vanished. He did not call on Mr Pottinger next morning, nor was he to be found at the hotel. He had returned by the early morning train to London.
Chapter Nineteen.
A Feeble Clue.
Mr Fastnet’s lodgings were a good deal less imposing than Roger, who had hitherto only met the owner at the club, had pictured to himself. In fact, the small sitting-room, with bedroom to match, commonly furnished, reeking of tobacco, and hung all round with sporting and dramatic prints, was quite as likely a refuge for an unfledged medical student as for a person of the swagger and presence of Mr Felix Fastnet.
“No use to me,” he explained, interpreting his young guest’s thought, “except as a dog-kennel. I live at the club—breakfast, lunch, dinner—everything; but I was so disgusted with the performance of that young cad to-night that I even prefer the dog-kennel. Have a soda?”
Roger accepted, and sat down by the fire.