“The infernal scoundrel!” Captain Bradshaw broke out; “the infernal scoundrel!”
“One more question, and I have done, James,” Prescott said. “Did you see what Mr. Bingham did with the letter?”
“No, sir; he said he wanted to write a letter, and he went into the dining-room and stayed there a few minutes. He did write, I remember; at least the inkstand was on the table, and the taper had been alight; I remember, because there was a blot of sealing-wax upon the cloth, and I had a deal of trouble in getting it out.”
“That is all, James; Captain Bradshaw will quite believe that you did it for the best, and acted under Mr. Bingham’s instructions in the matter. But let it be a lesson to you never again to tamper with letters, when I tell you that Captain Bradshaw’s annoyance was caused entirely because that letter had not arrived as he expected it; that it was entirely because he did not receive it that he went on to the Continent, and that the very greatest unhappiness has been caused in his mind, and in that of other people, by his not getting it. That will do, James.”
The man retired without a word; for he saw by Captain Bradshaw’s face that anything he could say would only make matters worse. He went down-stairs in a state of great despondency, for he was much attached to his master. Late in the evening he was taken up to bed in a state of maudlin intoxication—for the first time since he had been in Captain Bradshaw’s service—and with many entreaties that they would only bring that little beggar here, and see what he’d give him. There was a silence after he had left the room.
“The whole mystery is cleared up, you see,” Prescott said.
“Don’t talk about it,” Alice Heathcote remarked; “it is too shocking and unnatural.”
“I must go out,” Captain Bradshaw said. “If I stop here and can’t thrash some one, I shall have a fit. I must walk it off. Mr. Prescott, please amuse my niece, I shall be back by dinner time.”
And so he went out; and anyone who saw him as he paced up and down the esplanade with the most rapid steps, striking with his cane viciously at every post he passed, must have come to the conclusion that he was a terribly excitable old gentleman indeed.
There was a little silence after Captain Bradshaw had left, and then Alice Heathcote said, “Now, Mr. Prescott, I want you to tell me all about Frank and his wife; you are aware I know nothing whatever of their life for the last three years. I only know the Bank failed, and poor Frank lost all his money, and that they went down into Yorkshire on a railroad. Please tell me all about them.”