It'll drive me off my head, Mr. Lott, I'm sure it will.'
The timber-merchant stretched out a great hand, and laid it gently on the
excited man's shoulder.
'Don't worry; that never did any good yet. We've got to find out, first of
all, how much of Roper's story is true. What did he tell you?'
'He said that Mr. Bowles had been going down the hill for a year or
more--that his business was neglected, that he spent his time at
racecourses and in public-houses--and that the cause of it all was my son.
_My son?_ What had my son to do with it? Why, didn't I know that Charles
was a racing and betting man, and a notorious bookmaker? You can imagine
what sort of a feeling that gave me. Roper couldn't believe it was the
first I had heard of it; he said lots of people in the town knew how
Charles was living. Did _you_ know, Mr. Lott?'
'Not I; I'm not much in the way of gossip.'
'Well, there's what Roper said. It was last night, and what with that and
my cough, I didn't get a wink of sleep after it. About three o'clock this
morning I made up my mind to go to London at once and see Mr. Bowles. If
it's true that he's been robbed and ruined by Charles, I've only one thing
to do--my duty's plain enough.
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