“No doubt he did, but such men are allowed to
be impertinent.”
“He sees an enemy, of course, in every one who
pretends to know more than he knows himself,—or,
indeed, in every one who does not. You said something
about having a reason of your own, and he at once connected
you with Mountjoy’s disappearance. Such
creatures are necessary, but from the little I’ve
seen of them I do not think that they make the best
companions in the world. I shall leave Mr. Prodgers
to carry on his business to the man who employs him,—namely,
Mr. Tyrrwhit,—and I advise you to do the
same.”
Soon after that Harry Annesley took his leave, but
he could not divest himself of an opinion that both
the policeman and his host had thought that he had
some knowledge respecting the missing man. Augustus
Scarborough had said no word to that effect, but there
had been a something in his manner which had excited
suspicion in Harry’s mind. And then Augustus
had declared his purpose of offering his hand and fortune
to Florence Mountjoy. He to be suitor to Florence,—he,
so soon after Mountjoy had been banished from the
scene! And why should he have been told of it?—he,
of whose love for the girl he could not but think that
Augustus Scarborough had been aware. Then, much
perturbed in his mind, he resolved, as he returned
to his lodgings, that he would go down to Cheltenham
on the following day.
Harry Annesley tells his secret.
Harry hurried down to Cheltenham, hardly knowing what
he was going to do or say when he got there.
He went to the hotel and dined alone. “What’s
all this that’s up about Captain Mountjoy?”
said a stranger, coming and whispering to him at his
table.
The inquirer was almost a stranger, but Harry did
know his name. It was Mr. Baskerville, the hunting
man. Mr. Baskerville was not rich, and not especially
popular, and had no special amusement but that of riding
two nags in the winter along the roads of Cheltenham
in the direction which the hounds took. It was
still summer, and the nags, who had been made to do
their work in London, were picking up a little strength
in idleness, or, as Mr. Baskerville called it, getting
into condition. In the mean time Mr. Baskerville
amused himself as well as he could by lying in bed
and playing lawn-tennis. He sometimes dined at
the hotel, in order that the club might think that
he was entertained at friends’ houses; but the
two places were nearly the same to him, as he could
achieve a dinner and half a pint of wine for five
or six shillings at each of them. A more empty
existence, or, one would be inclined to say, less pleasurable,
no one could pass; but he had always a decent coat
on his back and a smile on his face, and five shillings
in his pocket with which to pay for his dinner.
His asking what was up about Scarborough showed, at
any rate, that he was very backward in the world’s
news.
