“Several circumstances: the registry of the pardon in the State Paper Office—the document itself, bearing the unmistakable evidences of its origin—the signature and seal—in fact, it could not admit of much doubt when submitted to examination.”
“I told Cashel so,” said Linton. “I said to him, 'My opinion unquestionably is that the pardon is genuine; but,' said I, 'when we have Hammond here, he shall see it, and decide the question.'”
“Ah! that is impossible—”
“So I perceive,” broke in Linton; “we then hoped otherwise.”
“Why did n't you bring it over with you?”
“So I did,” said Linton; “here it is.” And opening a carefully folded envelope, he placed the important document in the lawyer's bands.
Hammond spread it out upon the table, and sat down to read it over carefully, while Linton, to afford the more time to the scrutiny, took the opportunity of descending to his breakfast.
He stopped as he passed the bar to say a few words to the landlord,—one of those easy speeches he knew so well how to make about the “state of trade,” “what travellers were passing,” and “how the prospect looked for the coming season,”—and then, when turning away, as if suddenly recollecting himself, said:—
“By the way, Swindon, you are a cautious fellow, that a man may trust with a secret—you know who the gentleman is that came with me?”
“No, sir; never saw him before. Indeed, I did not remark him closely.”