Mr. Benjamin was looking thoughtfully down at the signature.
"Thurwell, Thurwell! Where the mischief have I heard that name lately. Holy Moses! I know," he suddenly exclaimed, starting up with glistening eyes. "Dad, our fortune's made. Our chance has come at last!"
In the exuberance of his spirits he forgot the infirmities of age, and brought his hand down upon his father's back with such vehemence that the tears started into the little old gentleman's eyes, and his spectacles rattled upon his nose.
"Don't do that again, Benjamin," he exclaimed nervously. "I don't like it; I don't like it at all. You nearly dislocated my shoulder, and if you had, I'd have stopped the doctor's bill out of your allowance. I would, indeed! And now, what have you got to say?"
Mr. Benjamin had been walking up and down the office with his hands in his trousers' pockets whistling softly to himself. At the conclusion of his father's complaint he came to a standstill.
"All right, guv'nor. Sorry I hurt you. I was a bit excited. Don't you remember having heard that name Thurwell lately?"
Mr. Levy, senior, shook his head doubtfully.
"I'm afraid my memory isn't what it used to be, Benjamin. The name sounds a bit familiar, and yet—no, I can't remember," he wound up suddenly. "Tell me about it, my boy."
"Why, the Kynaston murder, of course. That was at Thurwell Court. Sir Geoffrey Kynaston was engaged to Miss Thurwell, you know, and she was one of the first to find him."
"Dear me! Dear me! I remember all about it now, to be sure," Mr. Levy exclaimed. "The murderer was never found, was he? Got clean off?"