"And the consequences have been serious enough, as regards your prospects, ¹ Tincroft. However, your grandfather, it appears, was not so unwise as to have altogether neglected possible contingencies, as that document you hold in your hand goes to prove. The question is, how to make use of it. Now, what you have to do, is to run up to London, and then down to Saddlebrook, and make all the inquiries you can for these two witnesses. You understand?"
¹ The reader will please to bear in mind that this story dates back to the time when there was no legal registration of births, as in the present day.
"I am not quite sure," responded the collegian, almost more bewildered than at first. "And, at ell events," he added, "I am afraid I shall make a poor bungling hand of it."
"No doubt; exactly so," said the lawyer, condescendingly; "and therefore you will not have to go alone. Foster will attend you. A sharp man, Foster. He has been to Saddlebrook on your affairs before, examining registers, and so forth; so he knows how the land lies. All you have to do is to follow his lead."
Greatly relieved by this piece of intelligence, John Tincroft made no further objection to the task imposed on him, and declared himself ready to depart at once. Striking while the iron was thus hot, the lawyer fixed on the next day for the journey; so Tincroft left the office to make arrangements with Barry, the college scout, to occupy the rooms at Jericho on his return until the end of the vacation. He did not take possession, however; but retained his chamber for another night at the Mitre, where also he dined.
On the following morning, in company with the lawyer's clerk, and furnished with sufficient funds for all necessary expenses by the lawyer himself, to be accounted for thereafter, he took coach for London, on the way to Saddlebrook.
A dull little provincial town was Saddlebrook. It had two or three thousand inhabitants, a corresponding number of houses, one long principal straggling street, a mile in length, a market green, a parish church, two Dissenting chapels, and any number of inns and public-houses that the reader may choose to imagine. It was not a manufacturing town, nor strictly a commercial town, though it contained a sufficient quota of shops to supply its inhabitants, and the whole country-side for some miles around, with all the ordinary comforts and luxuries of life to be obtained for money. And it was all the more encouraged in thus being the centre of civilisation (on a small scale) by the surrounding district being richly agricultural and prosperous, and having a large aggregate population scattered about in outlying villages and hamlets.
It was on a coldish autumnal-like (though not yet autumn) evening that Tincroft and his attendant-help from the lawyer's office alighted from the coach-top at the open portals of the George Inn.
"Can't do better than stop here, sir," said the guide, philosopher, and friend. "They keep a good pantry and cellar; and that's a recommendation in these out-of-the-world places," he added.
"Ah, yes, to be sure; you have been here before."