“Perhaps before I leave the office, sir, I might as well call your attention to a communication received this morning.”
Van Heldre looked enquiringly at his old clerk.
“It’s rather curious, sir,” he said, handing a letter, which he had been keeping back as a sort of bonne bouche for the last piece of business transacted that morning.
“Never presented yet?” said Van Heldre, nodding his head slowly.
“They must have known I stopped the notes directly,” said Crampton with a self-satisfied smile.
“I had hoped that the whole of that terrible business had been buried for good.”
“So it had, sir,” grunted Crampton; “but some one or another keeps digging it up again.”
Van Heldre made no reply, so Crampton left the office, sent off a messenger, and returned to find his employer seated with his face buried in his hands, thinking deeply, and heedless of his presence.
“Poor George!” he said aloud. “Poor misguided boy! I wish Crampton had been—”
“I’m back here,” said Crampton.