“Do you mean he hasn’t paid you anything?” demanded Mr Rastle, becoming impatient with his jocular manner.
“Of course, as you says so, it ain’t for me to say the contrairy; but if you hadn’t told me, I should have said he ain’t paid me one brass farthing, so now.”
“Dear me, dear me!” exclaimed Mr Rastle. Of course, if that was so, Loman must have borrowed the eight pounds from Oliver on false pretences, and kept it for his own use.
“I tell you what,” broke in Mr Cripps, in the midst of this meditation, “I don’t want to do nothing unpleasant to you, or the governor, or anybody. What I say is, you’d better see this little bill put square among you, and then the thing can be kept quiet, do you see? It would be awkward for you to have a regular shindy about it, my man, but that’s what it’ll come to if I don’t get my money.”
This declaration Mr Cripps delivered in a solemn voice which was his nearest approach to earnestness. But he was mistaken in expecting Mr Rastle to be much affected or overawed by it. On the contrary, it gave that gentleman a new insight into his acquaintance’s character, which decided him that a prolongation of this interview would neither be pleasant nor profitable.
So Mr Rastle abruptly turned and went, much to the regret of Cripps, who had not half spoken his mind yet.
Returning to the school, the master reported all he had to say, which was not much. There an anxious night was spent by the masters and the one or two boys who were in their confidence in the matter.
The half hope that Loman might return of his own accord before night was quickly dispelled. Bed-time came, and no signs of him. Later his father arrived, anxious and excited, and was closeted for some time with the Doctor.
Meanwhile everything that could be done at that time of night was done. The Maltby newspapers were communicated with, and the police. Unpleasant as it was, the masters decided the right thing to do was to make the matter known at once, and not damage the chance of the boy’s discovery by any attempt to keep his disappearance quiet.
At dawn next day an organised search was begun, and inquiries were started in every direction. Mr Cripps, among others, once more received the honour of a visit, this time from Mr Loman himself, who, greatly to the astonishment of the worthy landlord, called for his son’s promissory note, which, being produced, he paid without a word. Cripps was fairly taken aback by this unexpected piece of business, and even a trifle disconcerted. It never suited him to be quite square with anybody, and now that Mr Loman had paid every farthing that could be claimed against his son, he did not like the look of Mr Loman at all, and he liked it less before the interview ended. For Mr Loman (who, by the way, was a barrister by profession) put his man that morning through a cross-examination which it wanted all his wits to get over creditably. As it was, he was once or twice driven completely into a corner, and had to acknowledge, for the sake of telling one lie, that the last twenty statements he had made had been lies too. Still Mr Loman kept at him. Now he wanted to know exactly how often his son had visited the Cockchafer? When he was there last? When the time before that? What he had done during his visits? Had he played cards? With whom? With Cripps? Had he lost? Had Cripps won? Had Cripps gone on letting him run up a score and lose money, even though he got no payment? Why had Cripps done so? Where had he expected to get payment from in the end?