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That the apprentice was full of what he evidently considered to be highly important news Wedgwood saw at the first glance. Nor did Stainsby waste time in prefatory remarks: the instant he caught sight of the detective he crystallized his tidings into one sharp exclamation.

"He's off!"

Wedgwood started. Stainsby, of course, meant Thomas Wraypoole. And if Thomas Wraypoole had made himself scarce, why, then, there was strong presumption that he had good reason for flight, and he would have to be pursued. He wished now that he had kept a closer watch on him, for he knew Thomas to be a cute, sly fellow who, if he ran away, would do it cleverly. With a growl that showed a certain feeling of discomfiture, he motioned Stainsby to a seat.

"Well?" he said curtly. "Let's hear about it! Where's he off to? But, of course, you don't know that, my lad!"

"No—but it might be found out," said Stainsby. "Anyway, he is off—that's certain,