“And what do you think about him now?” asked Sir Thomas.
“That he’ll turn up again in a day or two, if he’s not ill.”
“Oh, can he—can he have destroyed himself in a fit of despair?” gasped Lady Oldfield.
“I think not, madam. Pray don’t distress yourself. I believe we shall be able to hunt him out in a day or two. I shall send a man in plain clothes to the gin-shop again to-night to watch for him.”
Early the next day the superintendent called again.
“We’ve found him,” he said.
“Oh, where, where is he?” exclaimed the poor mother; “take us to him at once! Oh, is he living?” she asked vehemently, for there was a look of peculiar seriousness on the superintendent’s face which made her fear the worst.
“He is living, madam, but I’m sorry to say that he’s seriously ill.”
“Send for a cab at once,” cried Sir Thomas.
“I have one at the door,” said the officer; “one of you had better secure a respectable lodging and nurse for him at once, while the other goes with me.”