"H'm," growled Drabble. "As a matter of fact Semberry told me so. The maid Clara has joined him, I hear."
"It is highly probable. Carson is a blackguard."
"He is worse than that, Mallow; he is a thief. I understand he has gone off with his wife's money."
Now it was quite clear to Mallow, that for "wife's money" he might with safety substitute "our share of the plunder;" but for the present he must keep that to himself. It did not do to be foolhardy, especially at No. 49, Poplar Street. So he gave the doctor no hint.
"Perhaps the word 'thief' is a trifle strong, doctor," was all he said. "After all, it is more a question of conscience--or, rather, lack of it--than anything else. No man with a spark of decency would have taken advantage of a position which gave him full possession of his wife's money, by virtue of the mere fact of her being his wife. Blackguard--my word--is I think the more applicable."
"He is a fool," said Drabble, fiercely; "but let him take care. I am not to be trifled with. I wonder what Trall will say to his niece bolting with Carson?"
"Oh," said Mallow, recalling Clara's letter; "then there is such a person as Jeremiah Trall."
"Of course there is; he is one of us. But how did you know him?"
"Mrs. Carson told me," remarked Mallow, carelessly. "Clara used to talk about her uncle."
"The fool!" muttered Drabble. "I always said that girl was not to trusted."