“And didn’t the large sums excite suspicion?” said Audrey.
“Oh, no. Sir Richmond is well known for his charities, and we cash large cheques of his to people we’ve never heard of often enough. The whole thing is a ghastly mystery, a puzzle from beginning to end.”
“Look here, Gerard, I suppose we’re alarming ourselves too much. The truth must be found out presently; they’ll have clever detectives at work, and I daresay they’ll have found out all about it by the time you go to the bank to-morrow morning.”
“I hope to Heaven they will!” said the poor fellow, putting his head down in his hands, in an attitude of the deepest dejection.
Audrey passed a loving hand through her young husband’s soft curly hair. Light hair it was, though many shades darker than her own pale golden tresses. And his slight figure, which scarcely reached the middle height, his beardless face and grey eyes, made him look younger than his age, which was twenty-five. So that he looked absolutely boyish in his utter despair.
“Listen,” whispered Audrey, as she tucked her hand under his arm, and nestled against him, “listen, Gerard, I have an idea. You and I are a pair of great babies, who don’t know what to do, or what to say, or how to get out of a difficulty. Let us go and see Mr. Candover, and ask his advice as to what we ought to do.”
Gerard sat up.
“By Jove, you’re right,” said he. “It’s—it’s a nasty thing to have to go about though,” objected he the next minute, as he began to fumble with the door-handle irresolutely.
“Well, you don’t suppose he will suspect you!” cried she brightly.
“No, I suppose not. Still—I wish we had some one else to go to, some one nearer and——”