e pretty severely
punished, poor lad. I rather liked Smithson."

"Liked him!" said Jerry, acidly; "why, of course, you did. Why, I like
him--even me, who don't make many friends--I can tell you. You think,
then, they might ketch him?"

"I do," said the sergeant, "sooner or later. They're sure to. Well, I
must be off. I've got my own troubles to think about without his."

"Good-bye, sergeant," said Jerry, with a friendly nod, and Brumpton went
on, while Jerry's whole expression changed. His eyes glittered, the
colour came in his face, and he thrust his hands in his pockets as far
down as he could get them.

"He wouldn't have gone off without telling me, pore chap! I'm sure of
it. It was master and man between us, and full confidence, as you may
say. He wouldn't desert--he's too much the gentleman--and he wouldn't
go to see lawyers without speaking first. As to his going away, that
settles it. He wouldn't leave them flutes if he were making a bolt.
Why, he didn't when he ran away before. That settles it, and no
mistake. Jerry Brigley, my lad, there's something wrong."

What was to be done?

That was a question Jerry could not answer, and he went about the
barracks talking with the men, asking who had seen Dick last, and
gleaning all about his leave, and that one of the band had seen him
going down the High Street that same afternoon.

Waiting till Wilkins was away, Jerry made his way to the band-room,
where he obtained confirmation of the sergeant's remarks about the
flute-case, and here he began to drop dark hints of the vaguest nature.
These, however, fell upon fertile soil, and struck root, and shot up
into plants at a very rapid rate. In other words, Jerry's hints became
solid, and from the band-room went forth the rumour that Dick Smithson
had gone down the town, been persuaded to enter one of the low-class
public-houses, and had there been robbed and ill-used.

Then a private in Lacey's company announced that he had had a similar
experience down by the docks, and said that if he had not fought like a
savage he would have lost his life.

News flies fast in a regiment where the men have so little out of the
routine to attract their attention, and, consequently, it was soon the
common talk of the barracks that Dick Smithson, of the band, had been
"done to death" somewhere in the lower part of the city.

That night the rumour reached the mess-room. One of the officers had
heard it, and in a f