"Been out all night, I suppose," grumbled Aldean, in no very good temper. "In the thick of it with the brutes in Soho, I expect. I only hope he won't get into trouble with them. Must have spotted and followed Hain; he's probably hanging on to him till the police run him in."
It was a cold, raw morning, and Jim, in a fur-lined coat, rolled about the platform like a giant bear. He took two through tickets to Florence, bought a couple of morning papers and some illustrated weeklies, and, with the assistance of the guard, engaged a carriage supplied with foot-warmers. Hardly had he completed his preparations when Olive made her appearance, accompanied, to his great delight, by Miss Ostergaard. Both ladies were in the best of spirits.
"But I don't see Mr. Mallow," said Olive, her face falling somewhat. "Does he not know that I am going?"
"Told him so last night--that is, I left an explanatory card for him; but he can't have got it."
"Oh, Lord Aldean, I trust nothing is wrong with him."
"No fear of that," replied Jim, confidently. "You can trust Mallow to look after himself; besides, he told me he might very likely be away for some time over this Hain business."
"Is that the man connected with the murder?"
"Yes; Vraik reported that he had seen him talking to Semberry in Poplar Street, so Mallow determined to catch him himself."
"Talking to Major Semberry?" said Tui, thoughtfully. "That looks as though the Major had something to do with poor Mr. Carson's death."
"I have not the slightest doubt about it. Semberry knows a good deal more than he is inclined to tell. But you needn't worry about Mallow, Mrs. Carson--or, shall I say, Miss Bellairs?"
"No, no," said Olive, hurriedly. "Don't please do that for the present. Have you the tickets?"
"Yes; tickets, and carriages, and papers. Everything is square."
"Are you well wrapped up?" asked Tui, with an air of proprietorship.
"Warm as toast," said Jim, laughing, and they walked down the platform.
"And that is in good keeping," said Olive, smiling. "Lord Aldean, wait in the carriage with Tui while I buy a paper."
"Plenty of papers here," said the stupid Aldean, not seeing her kindly intention.
Tui, more quick-witted, turned over the journals.
"_Telegraph, Morning Post, Daily Mail, Sketch_, and _Graphic_," she counted, "and not a single fashion-paper amongst them; so like a man."