He went, indeed, that very afternoon to Somerset House in order to ascertain if the Will had as yet been proved, but was unsuccessful in his search. “Never mind,” he thought. “Such a rapacious scoundrel will not be long in realizing his ill-gotten gains, and in a very short time, I fancy, we shall be possessed of a clue.”
He was as little inclined to effusive confidences as to senseless reticence; but for some reason he told Miss Halifax about his forthcoming venture. To his surprise she received his story with some signs of emotion.
“I don’t think it sounds nice,” she said. “I wish you would let one of the others go instead.”
He looked at her kindly.
“What do you doubt?” he answered; “my proficiency, or my discretion, or my savoir-faire?”
“None of these,” she said—“or your courage or generosity. Forgive me and my presumption in offering advice so soon.”
“I should have thought,” said he, smiling, “that the success of my first essay would have inclined you to a greater confidence in my judgment.”
She seemed to hang her head a little, biting her full lower lip.
“I have no right whatever to speak,” she murmured. “Only please, please be on your guard.”
“Trust me,” he said. “But timidity, you must remember, Miss Halifax, never won to a vision of the Grail.”