"Brown velveteens! No, it ain't. Here they are. It's his dark tweeds,
and--no--yes: dark stockings."
He continued his examination in the bedroom, but could make out nothing
else.
"Only gone for a walk before anyone's up, poor chap! Hadn't the heart
to go to bed. More hadn't I at the time. He ain't taken nothing. He
can't have--he wouldn't have--I don't know though--I--oh, he couldn't
have--Let's see--"
He hurried downstairs and went to the front door, then to the
dining-room, drawing-room, and study, as well as the room set apart for
the pupils; but the windows were closed, and he went slowly upstairs
again to pause by the staircase window.
"A man might step out here on to the balcony and shut it down again, and
easily drop. But no: he can't have done that."
With his mind bent upon getting some clue as to the young man's actions,
Jerry turned back to his room and once more looked round.
"No," he said thoughtfully, "he couldn't do that; it would be cowardly,
and he's got too much pluck. He'd have taken some things, too and he
hasn't done that."
As Jerry spoke his eyes were turning everywhere in search of a clue; but
he saw nothing till they fell upon the tray, toward which he sprang with
a cry, for he had now caught sight of a piece of paper folded like a
note and bearing his name.