“I have begun, sir; and I am going on now.”
“Down to The Mynns?”
“Perhaps. But I shall not try to see Miss Bellwood. I devote myself from this hour to the discovery of the mystery which means so much to me.”
“Then you want money. How much do you require?” said the lawyer, the corners of whose mouth dropped as he spoke—“a hundred?”
“A hundred! No. I only want ten or fifteen pounds for the present. If that is not enough, I can ask for more. Give me ten.”
The old man’s mouth assumed its natural curve as he unlocked his table-drawer, exchanging glances with the doctor before taking out a little canvas bag, part of whose contents he counted into his hand.
“This is not the lawyer acting,” he said drily; “but the—no I won’t say friend—the seeker for justice. I would not do such a thing as this from the legal point of view, for the world. There, sir, twenty-five pounds in sovereigns. If you want more when that is gone come, or write.”
“Thanks,” said the young man, rising and taking the money, which he carefully counted as far as ten, returned the fifteen pounds, and took up his hat. “I’ll send if I want more. Good-day, gentlemen; I shall wire or write.”
The door closed; they saw him pass the window, and then the eyes of the two old men met.
“That’s the man, Lawrence,” said the lawyer, replacing the fifteen pounds.