“It’s an idea that Dr. Baumgartner continues to hold in spite of all I was able to tell him, and we mustn’t forget, as Mr. Upton says, that he was the last to see your brother. Briefly, he believes the boy did meet with some misadventure that night in town; that he had been ill-treated or intimidated by some unscrupulous person or persons; perhaps threatened with blackmail; at any rate imbued with the conviction that he is not more sinned against than sinning. That, I think, is only what one expects of these very conscientious characters, particularly in youth; he was taking something or somebody a thousandfold more seriously than a grown man would have done. Afraid to go back to school for fear of expulsion, ashamed to show his face at home! What’s to be done? He thinks of the ship about to sail, the ship he hoped to sail in, and in his desperation he determines to sail in her still—even if he has to stow away!” “My God!” cried Mr. Upton, “he’s just the one to think of it. His head was full of those trashy adventure stories!” But Lettice shook hers quietly. “To think of it, but not to do it,” said she, with a quiet conviction that rather nettled Mr. Thrush. “But really, Miss Upton, he must have done something, you know! And he actually talked to Dr. Baumgartner about this; not of doing it himself, but of stowaways in general, à propos of his voyage; and how many pounds of biscuit and how many ounces of water would carry one alive into blue water. There’s another thing, by the way! He told Baumgartner the ship touched nowhere between the East India Docks and Melbourne; he would be out of the world for three whole months.” “And she only sailed yesterday?” cried Mr. Upton, coming furiously to his feet. “And you let her get through the Straits of Dover and out to sea while you came down here to tell me this by inches?” Thrush blinked blandly through his port-hole glasses. “I’m letting her go as far as Plymouth,” said he, “where one or both of us will board her tomorrow if she’s up to time!” “You said she didn’t touch anywhere between the docks and Melbourne?” “No; your son said that, Mr. Upton, and it was his one mistake. They don’t usually touch, but a son of one of the owners happens to have gone round in the ship to Plymouth for the trip. I got it first from an old boatswain of the line who’s caretaker at the office, and the only man there, of course, yesterday afternoon; but I’ve since bearded one of the partners at his place down the river, and had the statement confirmed and amplified. One or two pasengers are only going aboard at Plymouth, so she certainly won’t sail again before to-morrow noon, even if she’s there by then. You will be in ample time to board her—and I’ve got a sort of search-warrant from the partner I saw—if you go down by the 12.15 from Paddington to-night.”