"Do you happen, then, ever to have heard him mention where any of his companions lived? I mean those persons he used to stay out with at night or in the day?"
"Nor so much as the name of any of his associates?"
"Not once, sir. I fear--that is to say--"
"Speak out, Mrs Jones, pray. You know this may be a matter of life and death to him, and perhaps to us also. Don't be afraid of wounding us; we want to know everything that can in the least help us in our search."
"Well, sir, I was going to say, only I hesitated to say so much to my lodger's own father and mother, that I feared he had got mixed up with companions as wouldn't be likely to meet him in any private house."
"I understand you; you think he met his friends, (his companions or associates, I mean), at some common rendezvous or club."
"Yes, sir; I fear so from all I heard and saw, and from what Mr Poole has said."
"I fear, then, that you can afford us no information that will help us at present. But here is my card; we shall be staying for some days probably, possibly for some weeks, at the Albion Hotel. Will you kindly, without fail, let us know, and that without loss of time, if you hear or see anything either of our poor son or of Jacob Poole, or of any one who may be able to give us any light or any help in our search?"
"You may depend upon me, Sir Thomas," said Mrs Jones; "and I'm sure, sir, I hope you and her ladyship will excuse this homely room. It's only very plainly furnished, but it's the one your son occupied."
"Pray, don't make any apologies," said her ladyship; "they are not needed. It is not fine rooms and grand furniture that can give peace. I have just one thing to ask you to grant me before we go, and we must not delay, for time is precious."
"I'm sure, my lady, I'll grant you anything in my power."
"Let me, then, see the room where my poor boy slept."
"Certainly, ma'am, though it's in a sadly untidy state. I've not had time--"
"Never mind, Mrs Jones; I shall not notice any defects. My heart aches too sorely for me to heed these trifles. There, thank you; now leave me alone in the room for five minutes. And will you kindly tell my husband that I will join him almost directly!"
When the door was closed upon the unhappy mother, she threw herself on her knees beside the bed on which her son had slept, too commonly, alas! the drunkard's sleep, and poured out her heart with tears to God that she might find her poor, lost, and guilty child before it should be too late. Rendered calmer by this prayer, she joined Sir Thomas.