"I doubt it very much, sir," replied the detective officer. "These sort of fellows are wide awake, and are always prepared for accidents. I expect that, by this time, he is on his way to France. But hush!—what was that?"
A dull sound as of the clapper of a large bell boomed overhead. There was silence for about a minute, and again it was repeated.
"Here is a clue, at all events!" cried the officer. "My life on it, there is some one in the belfry."
We hastened up the narrow stairs which led to the tower. Half way up, the passage was barred by a stout door, double locked, which the officers had some difficulty in forcing with the aid of a crow-bar. This obstacle removed, we reached the lofty room where the bell was suspended; and there, right under the clapper, on a miserable truckle bed, lay the emaciated form of Mr Pettigrew.
"My poor uncle!" said Jack, stooping tenderly to embrace his relative, "what can have brought you here?"
"Speak louder, Jack!" said Mr Pettigrew; "I can't hear you. For twelve long days that infernal bell has been tolling just above my head for hockey and other villanous purposes. I am as deaf as a doornail!"
"And so thin, dear uncle! You must have been most shamefully abused."
"Simply starved; that's all."
"What! starved? The monsters! Did they give you nothing to eat?"
"Yes—broccoli. I wish you would try it for a week: it is a rare thing to bring out the bones."