Though Cutbill paid but little attention to him, Jack talked on for some time of his old comrade, recounting the strange traits of his nature, and remembering with gratitude such little kindness as it was in his power to show.
“I 'd have gone clean out of my mind but for him,” said he, at last.
“And we have all believed that this fellow was lost at sea,” muttered Cutbill. “Bolton gave up all his papers and the remnant of his property to his son in that belief.”
“Nor does he wish to be thought living now. He charged me to give no clew to him. He even said I was to speak of him as one I had met at Monte Video years ago.”
“These are things for a 'cuter head than yours or mine, Jack,” said Cutbill, with a cunning look. “We 're not the men to see our way through this tangle. Go and show that scrap of paper to Sedley, and take this box with you. Tell him how you came by each. That old fox will soon see whether they confirm the case against your brother or disclose a flaw in it.”
“And is that the way I'm to keep my word to Old Nick?” said Jack, doggedly.
“I don't suppose you ever bound yourself to injure your own flesh and blood by a blank promise. I don't believe there 's a family in Europe with as many scruples, and as little sense how to deal with them.”
“Civil that, certainly.”
“Not a bit civil, only true; but let us not squabble. Go and tell Sedley what we have chanced upon. These men have a way of looking at the commonest events—and this is no common event—that you nor I have never dreamed of. If Pracontal's father be alive, Pracontal cannot be the claimant to your estates; that much, I take it, is certain. At all events, Sedley's the man to answer this.”
Half pushing Jack out of the room while he deposited the box in his hands, Cutbill at last sent him off, not very willingly indeed, or concurringly, but like one who, in spite of himself, saw he was obliged to take a particular course, and travel a road without the slightest suspicion of where it led to.