“It is evident,” said Mr Rastle, “this letter has something to do with Loman’s disappearance.”
“Yes,” said Oliver, “he was awfully frightened of you or his father getting to know about it all, sir.”
“Foolish boy!” said the Doctor, with a half groan.
What little could be done at that late hour was done. Strict inquiries were made on all hands as to when and where the missing boy was last seen, and it was ascertained that he must have left Saint Dominic’s that morning during early class time, when every one supposed him ill in bed with a headache.
But where had he gone, and with what object? A telegram was sent to his father, and the reply came back that the boy had not gone home, and that Mr Loman was on his way to Saint Dominic’s. At the Maltby railway station no one had seen or heard anything of him.
Meanwhile, Mr Rastle had gone down to the Cockchafer to see Cripps. The landlord was not at home, but, said the potboy, was most likely “up along with the old ’un at the lock-’us.” From which Mr Rastle gathered there was a chance of seeing Mr Cripps junior at the residence of Mr Cripps senior, at Gusset Lock-house, and thither he accordingly went. Mr Cripps junior was there, sweetly smoking, and particularly amiable.
In answer to Mr Rastle’s inquiries, he made no secret of his belief that the boy had run away for fear of exposure.
“You see, Mister,” said he, “I don’t like a-getting young folk into trouble, but when it comes to robbing a man downright, why, I considers it my dooty to give your governor the tip and let him know.”
Mr Rastle had no opinion to offer on this question of morals. What he wanted to know was whether Cripps had seen the boy that day, or had the slightest idea what had become of him.
Mr Cripps laughed at the idea.