“Nay, Timothy, that remark is hardly fair; you
know that the subject is ever in my thoughts.”
“In your thoughts, I grant, very frequently;
but you have still been led away from the search.”
“I grant it, but I presume that arises from
not knowing how to proceed. I have a skein to
unravel, and cannot find out an end to commence with.”
“I always thought people commenced with the
beginning,” replied Tim, laughing.
“At all events, I will now try back, and face
the old lawyer. Do you call at Coleman Street,
Tim, and at St Bridget’s also, if you please.”
“As for St Bridget’s, I’m in no
particular hurry about my mother; if I stumble upon
her I may pick her up, but I never make diligent search
after what, in every probability, will not be worth
the finding.”
Leaving Timothy to go his way, I walked to the house
at Lincoln’s Inn, which I had before entered
upon the memorable occasion of the papers of Estcourt.
As before, I rang the bell, the door swang open, and
I was once more in the presence of Mr Masterton.
“I have a letter, sir,” said I, bowing,
and presenting the letter from Lord Windermear.
The old gentleman peered at me through his spectacles.
“Why! we have met before—bless me—why
you’re the rogue that—”
“You are perfectly right, sir,” interrupted
I. “I am the rogue who presented the letter
from Lord Windermear, and who presents you with another
from the same person; do me the favour to read it,
while I take a chair.”
“Upon my soul—you impudent—handsome
dog, I must say—great pity—come
for money, I suppose. Well, it’s a sad world,”
muttered the lawyer as he broke open the letter of
Lord Windermear.
I made no reply, but watched his countenance, which
changed to that of an expression of surprise.
“Had his lordship sent me a request to have
you hanged if possible,” said Mr Masterton, “I
should have felt no surprise, but in this letter he
praises you, and desires me to render you all the
service in my power. I can’t understand
it.”
“No, sir; but if you have leisure to listen
to me, you will then find that, in this world, we
may be deceived by appearances.”
“Well, and so I was, when I first saw you; I
never could have believed you to be—but
never mind.”
“Perhaps, sir, in an hour or two you will again
alter your opinion. Are you at leisure, or will
you make an appointment for some future day?”
“Mr Newland, I am not at leisure—I
never was more busy; and if you had come on any legal
business, I should have put you off for three or four
days, at least; but my curiosity is so raised, that
I am determined that I will indulge it at the expense
of my interest. I will turn the key, and then
you will oblige me by unravelling, what, at present,
is to me as curious as it is wholly incomprehensible.”
