“Don’t give him up, Joseph. I think he does know something, and it may be worth hearing. I find we can’t know too much. Does he confide in anyone else?”
“No, sir, I think not.”
“Well, don’t give him up. Now you can show Lady Drelincourt in: and while she is here run on to Moggridge’s. He has sent me a hint that a chaise or two are ordered for to-night. Find out who are going.”
Joseph nodded and went out, while Barclay was muttering to himself that he liked to make sure none of his sheep were going astray, when Lady Drelincourt was shown in.
“Humph! I must send for my wife,” said Barclay to himself. “It is dangerous when Venus invades one’s home;” and he looked gravely at the overdressed, painted-up old woman, with his thoughts dwelling upon her likeness to Lady Teigne—the murder, the missing jewels—and Isaac’s mysterious communications to his servant when they met at the Blue Posts to smoke a pipe.
“Ah, doctor,” cried her ladyship playfully, “I’ve come to let you feel my pulse.”
“Your pulse, Lady Drelincourt?” said Barclay. “Surely your ladyship’s circulation is not low?”
“Horribly, Barclay. I am fainting for want of the circulating medium.”
“But your ladyship’s lawyers?”
“Oh, I can’t go to them again, and be bothered about deeds.”