"
"Impossible, I think. Oh yes, quite impossible! I went round the
dormitories as usual at eleven o'clock last night, and all the boys
were asleep--all of them."
Mr. Downing was not listening. He was in a state of suppressed
excitement and exultation which made it hard for him to attend to his
colleague's slow utterances. He had a clue! Now that the search had
narrowed itself down to Outwood's house, the rest was comparatively
easy. Perhaps Sergeant Collard had actually recognised the boy. Or
reflection he dismissed this as unlikely, for the sergeant would
scarcely have kept a thing like that to himself; but he might very
well have seen more of him than he, Downing, had seen. It was only
with an effort that he could keep himself from rushing to the sergeant
then and there, and leaving the house lunch to look after itself. He
resolved to go the moment that meal was at an end.
Sunday lunch at a public-school house is probably one of the longest
functions in existence. It drags its slow length along like a languid
snake, but it finishes in time. In due course Mr. Downing, after
sitting still and eyeing with acute dislike everybody who asked for a
second helping, found himself at liberty.
Regardless of the claims of digestion, he rushed forth on the trail.
* * * * *
Sergeant Collard lived with his wife and a family of unknown
dimensions in the lodge at the school front gate.
Pages:
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357