Marrapit, gulping barley water. "Ruin."
Mr. Brunger urged gravely: "Oh, don't say that, sir. Think what our
dumb pets are to us. I've got a blood-'ound at home myself that I'd
give my life for if I lost--gladly. Surely they're more to us, our
faithful friends, than mere--mere--"
"Pelf," supplied George, on a thin squeak that was shot out by the
excitement of seeing events so lustily playing his hand.
"Mere pelf," adopted Mr. Brunger.
Mr. Marrapit gulped heavily at the barley water; set his gaze upon a
life-size portrait in oils of his darling Rose; with fine calm
announced: "If it must be, it must be."
With masterly celerity Mr. Brunger drew forward pen and paper;
scribbled; in three minutes had Mr. Marrapit's signed authority to
offer one hundred pounds reward.
He put the document in his pocket; took up his hat. "To-morrow," he
said after farewells, "I or one of my staff will return to scour the
immediate neighbourhood. It has been done, you tell me, but only by
amateurs. The skilled detective, sir, will see a needle where the
amateur cannot discern a haystack."
VI.
He was gone. His last words had considerably alarmed George. No time
was to be lost. All was working with a magic expediency, but the Rose
must not be risked in the vicinity of one of these needle-observing
detectives.
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