It was late in the evening before Mr. Toogood reached the house of the Silverbridge solicitor, having the telegram carefully folded in his pocket; and he was shown into the dining-room while the servant took his name up to Mr. Walker. The clerks were gone, and the office was closed; and persons coming on business at such times,—as they often did come to that house,—were always shown into the parlour. "I don't know whether master can see you to-night," said the girl; "but if he can, he'll come down."
When the card was brought up to Mr. Walker he was sitting alone with his wife. "It's Toogood," said he; "poor Crawley's cousin."
"I wonder whether he has found anything out," said Mrs. Walker. "May he not come up here?" Then Mr. Toogood was summoned into the drawing-room, to the maid's astonishment; for Mr. Toogood had made no toilet sacrifices to the goddess or grace who presides over evening society in provincial towns,—and presented himself with the telegram in his hand. "We have found out all about poor Crawley's cheque," he said, before the maid-servant had closed the door. "Look at that," and he handed the telegram to Mr. Walker. The poor girl was obliged to go, though she would have given one of her ears to know the exact contents of that bit of paper.
"Walker, what is it?" said his wife, before Walker had had time to make the contents of the document his own.
"He got it from Mrs. Arabin," said Toogood.
"No!" said Mrs. Walker. "I thought that was it all along."
"It's a pity you didn't say so before," said Mr. Walker.
"So I did; but a lawyer thinks that nobody can ever see anything but himself;—begging your pardon, Mr. Toogood, but I forgot you were one of us. But, Walker, do read it." Then the telegram was read. "I gave cheque to Mr. Crawley. It was part of a sum of money,"—with the rest of it. "I knew it would come out," said Mrs. Walker. "I was quite sure of it."
"But why the mischief didn't he say so?" said Walker.
"He did say that he got it from the dean," said Toogood.