"You will not find these women to be swindlers; at least I think not."
"Ah! but we want to be sure, Prendergast;" and then Mr. Die finished the letter, very leisurely, as Herbert thought.
When he had finished it, he folded it up and gave it back to Mr. Prendergast. "I don't think but what you've a strong primâ facie case; so strong that perhaps you are right to explain the whole matter to our young friend here, who is so deeply concerned in it. But at the same time I should caution him that the matter is still enveloped in doubt."
Herbert eagerly put out his hand for the letter. "You may trust me with it," said he: "I am not of a sanguine temperament, nor easily excited; and you may be sure that I will not take it for more than it is worth." So saying, he at last got hold of the letter, and managed to read it through much more quickly than Mr. Die had done. As he did so he became very red in the face, and too plainly showed that he had made a false boast in speaking of the coolness of his temperament. Indeed, the stakes were so high that it was difficult for a young man to be cool while he was playing the game: he had made up his mind to lose, and to that he had been reconciled; but now again every pulse of his heart and every nerve of his body was disturbed. "Was never his wife," he said out loud when he got to that part of the letter. "His real wife living now in Spinny Lane! Do you believe that Mr. Prendergast?"
"Yes, I do," said the attorney.
"Lentè, lentè, lentè," said the barrister, quite oppressed by his friend's unprofessional abruptness.
"But I do believe it," said Mr. Prendergast: "you must always understand, Herbert, that this new story may possibly not be true—"
"Quite possible," said Mr. Die, with something almost approaching to a slight laugh.
"But the evidence is so strong," continued the other, "that I do believe it heartily. I have been to that house, and seen the man, old Mollett, and the woman whom I believe to be his wife, and a daughter who lives with them. As far as my poor judgment goes," and he made a bow of deference towards the barrister, whose face, however, seemed to say, that in his opinion the judgment of his friend Mr. Prendergast did not always go very far—"As far as my poor judgment goes, the women are honest and respectable. The man is as great a villain as there is unhung—unless his son be a greater one; but he is now so driven into a corner, that the truth may be more serviceable to him than a lie."
"People of that sort are never driven into a corner," said Mr. Die; "they may sometimes be crushed to death."