"What's up?" cried Welsh, snatching at the letter.
Welsh looked at him for a moment in some astonishment, and then burst out laughing.
"What a joke!" he cried; "I don't see anything to make a fuss about. We're jolly well rid of him."
"The fee! I won't get a penny till I bring him back. And the whole thing will be found out!"
As the full meaning of this predicament burst upon Welsh, his face underwent a change by no means pleasant to watch. For a full minute he swore, and then an ominous silence fell upon the room.
Twiddel was the first to recover himself.
"Let me see the letter," he said; "I haven't finished it."
"DEAR TWIDDEL,--I regret to inform you that the patient, Francis Beveridge, whom you placed under my care, has escaped from Clankwood. We have made every inquiry consistent with strict privacy, but unfortunately have not yet been able to lay our hands upon him. We only know that he left Ashditch Junction in the London express, and was seen walking out of St Euston's Cross. How he has been able to maintain himself in concealment without money or clothes, I am unable to imagine.
"As no inquiries have been made for him by his cousin Mr Welsh, or any other of his friends or relatives, I am writing to you that you may inform them, and I hope that this letter may follow you abroad without delay. I may add that the circumstances of his escape showed most unusual cunning, and could not possibly have been guarded against.
"Trusting that you are having a pleasant holiday, I am, yours very truly,
The two looked at one another in silence for a minute, and then Welsh said, fiercely, "You must catch him again, Twiddel. Do you think I am going to have all my risk and trouble for nothing?"
"_I_ must catch him! Do you suppose _I_ let him loose?"
"I shan't bother my head about him," answered Twiddel, with the recklessness of despair.
"You won't? You want to have the story known, I suppose?"
Welsh looked at him for a minute: then he jumped up and exclaimed, "You need a drink, old man. Let's hurry up that slavey."
With the first course their countenances cleared a little, with the second they were almost composed, by the end of dinner they had started plot-hatching hopefully again.
"It's any odds on the man's still being in town," said Welsh. "He had no money or clothes, and evidently he hasn't gone to any of his friends, or the whole story would have been out. Now, there is nowhere where a man can lie low so well, especially if he is hard up, as London. I can answer from experience. He is hardly likely to be in the West End, or the best class of suburbs, so we've something to go upon at once. We must go to a private inquiry office and put men on his track, and then we must take the town in beats ourselves. So much is clear; do you see?"