“What, he lives still?”
“I hope so.”
“Can you bring me across him?”
“If necessary.”
“And that young man, who goes by his name, brought up by Mr. Fielden?”
“Well, sir?”
“Is he not the son of Mr. Braddell?”
The stranger was silent, and, shading his face with his hand, seemed buried in thought. He then rose, took up his candle, and said quietly,—
“Sir, I wish you good-evening. I have letters to write in my own room. I will consider by to-morrow, if you stay till then, whether we can really aid each other further, or whether we should pursue our researches separately.” With these words he closed the door; and Mr. Grabman remained baffled and bewildered.
However, he too had a letter to write; so, calling for pen, ink, and paper, and a pint of brandy, he indited his complaints and his news to Varney.