“Damn!” said that young gentleman laconically.
“I’m convinced she’s young and beautiful and romantic,” murmured the amanuensis unhappily. “Did you notice how shyly he referred to their confidences? A designing creature! Visitors, indeed! I’ve a presentiment we’re going to have our poor little noses put out of joint, Herbert.”
“Hush!” he whispered.
Voices were audible in the passage, and the next moment Gilead laughingly re-entered the room, ushering in his visitor. Miss Halifax rose with a frigid demeanour and a cold feeling at her heart—and encountered the figure of a buxom red-faced woman of sixty, waddling in like a jovial duck.
“Well, I’m blessed!” said Mrs Barclay Rivers, “if this ain’t like a scene out of Dickens, and the conspirators all met together in old Joe’s rag shop! What a pretty frock, my dear!”
Miss Halifax, with a delicious laugh, ran to take the hand offered.
CHAPTER VII.
THE QUEST OF THE WAX HAND
It was not to be supposed that the Agency, so catholic, so philanthropic, so disinterested in its labours, and withal so boundlessly endowed, would long escape the notice of those social powers, which, through all changes of creed and government, work steadily on in the cause of the human decencies. With these Gilead’s name was soon to become an almost apostolic one, and gradually, as he proceeded on his way, the executive, the police, the Home Office itself became his informal allies. A latitude was permitted him in the matter of technical infringements of the law, and he was made secure against official and officious interference. In his clean and fearless spirit of Knight-errantry, he probably realized little of the indulgence granted him, and, in cases where his way was made inexplicably smooth, accounted the fact to nothing more than the inherent rightness of things. On more than one occasion, indeed, Scotland Yard flagrantly abetted him in acts which, strictly speaking, were illegal. But then, if it had withheld its support, a scoundrelism or so would have prospered. It is true that Gilead was accustomed to give practical expression to his admiration of the force in princely gifts to its charities and awards to individual merit; but I for one will not believe that such generosity would, if construed into bribery, have induced it to condone for a moment a real offence in him. The police favoured him because he contributed, and contributed largely, to their power for good.
One morning the following advertisement, thumb-marked by the Secretary for his consideration, engaged Gilead’s attention:—
“In despair. A young man, in urgent need of £50, asks the help of the rich and benevolent to save him from complete ruin. No repayment; but will give services in any capacity required.”