“I’ve always tried to do my duty, Mr Van Heldre.”
“And you always have done your duty—more than your duty. Now just go quietly down, and ask Henry Vine to step up-stairs with you. I must have this put straight at once. Crampton, you and my old friend’s son must make a fresh start.”
Crampton’s fresh countenance grew dingy-looking, and Van Heldre felt his hand twitch.
“Come, I tell you that your suspicious are absurd, and I must have you two work well together. The young man only wants a little humouring to make him all that we could wish. Go and fetch him up.”
“He—he is not here this morning, sir,” gasped Crampton, at last.
“Not here?”
“No, sir,” said the old man hastily; and he passed the hand at liberty across his face.
“I am sorry. I should have liked to settle this now it is on my mind.”
Crampton looked wildly towards the door, in the hope that the coming of wife or daughter would bring about a diversion.
“Of course,” said Van Heldre suddenly, “you have not shown the young man that you have had this idea in your head?”