“I don't know whether they do or not,” said Hickman, “but I know they help to make a good credit with the bank, and that's better—ay!”
Heffernan affected to relish the joke, and descended the stairs, laughing as he went; but scarcely had he reached his carriage, however, than he muttered a heavy malediction on the sordid old miser whose iniquities were not less glaring because Con had utterly failed to unravel anything of his mystery.
“To Lord Castlereagh's,” said he to the footman, and then lay back to ponder over his late interview.
The noble Secretary was not up when Con arrived, but had left orders that Mr. Heffernan should be shown up to his room whenever he came. It was now about five o'clock in the afternoon, and Lord Castlereagh, wrapped up in a loose morning-gown, lay on the bed where he had thrown himself, without undressing, on reaching home. A debate of more than fifteen hours, with all its strong and exciting passages, had completely exhausted his strength, while the short and disturbed sleep had wearied rather than refreshed him. The bed and the table beside it were covered with the morning papers and open letters and despatches, for, tired as he was, he could not refrain from learning the news of the day.
“Well, my Lord,” said Heffernan, with his habitual smile, as he stepped noiselessly across the floor, “I believe I may wish you joy at last,—the battle is gained now.”
“Heigho!” was the reply of the Secretary, while he extended two fingers of his hand in salutation. “What hour is it, Heffernan?”
“It is near five; but really there 's not a creature to be seen in the streets, and, except old Killgobbin airing his pocket-handkerchief at the fire, not a soul at the Club. Last night's struggle has nearly killed every one.”
“Who is this Mr. Gleeson that has run off with so much money,—did you know him?”
“Oh, yes, we all knew 'honest Tom Gleeson.'”
“Ah! that was his sobriquet, was it?” said the Secretary, smiling.