There were not many papers here; but there was a second cheque-book, and upon the inside of the cover was written ‘Tor’s cheque-book.’ There was also a bank-book labelled ‘Torrington Torwood, Esq.;’ and rapid reference to the former showed Mrs. Belassis that the missing counterfoils of cheques she knew to have been written by Phil, were to be found, not in his, but in Mr. Torwood’s cheque-book.
This was something of a facer, and she felt a triumphant joy in finding anything so like a mystery. She did not pause now to try and unravel it, but passed on to the other contents of the drawer.
There were two letters from a certain ‘Marjory Descartes,’ asking Phil to go over to ‘Whitbury’ to settle some business for Mr. Torwood, and there were one or two business communications from agents or bankers, referring to Phil some question about Mr. Torwood’s affairs. These were read with a certain sense of disappointment, as they seemed to show that Phil was openly acting as his friend’s agent; but hope rose again when a deeper dive into the drawer brought out a little packet of papers, some quite old and yellow, which proved to be I O U’s for various sums, all signed ‘Philip Debenham.’
‘Moneys Mr. Torwood lent him, evidently,’ mused Mrs. Belassis. ‘Oh, then Phil’s friend was not quite so disinterested, after all, as we were led to think. I thought there was something odd about it. But how comes Phil to have these papers now? There is no evidence that he has redeemed them. It is a large sum—nearly £3,000, I should say. His cheque-book shows no mention of Mr. Torwood, and I should have heard from Alfred, I think, if he had handed over any very large sum whilst the securities were being settled. I don’t understand why he keeps them if they are redeemed, and why he has not a receipt for the amount if it is paid. If not, how comes he by the papers at all?’
Certainly, what with one thing and what with another, Mrs. Belassis had ample food for meditation; but she had stayed so long that she feared to linger. She locked up the drawer, and was preparing to leave, when Maud came suddenly in, in her riding-habit.
‘Aunt Celia, you here!’ she exclaimed. ‘Have you been here all this while? Aunt Olive says she has never even seen you. What can you have been doing all this time? Two whole hours!’
Maud looked both excited and suspicious. This was her house, and she was mistress; and she considered that her Aunt Celia had taken a great liberty in making her way in unobserved, and shutting herself up in Phil’s den. Her face showed as much very plainly.
Mrs. Belassis looked at her with her cold smile.
‘Do not act and speak like a spoilt child, my dear. It is not becoming to a young mistress. I fear you are forgetting the lessons I instilled into your mind at Thornton House.’
‘Oh, there is no fear of my forgetting your lessons or Thornton House either,’ cried Maud, with what sounded very like defiance in her tone. ‘But I hope I have shaken off the effects of that yoke. What I want to know is, why you have been shut up in Phil’s room for two hours—in his private room.’