The brightness of the morning seemed to be shut out as the clerk closed the door, and followed his visitor into the sitting-room.
“Well, Mr Bayle,” he said, for the curate was silent. “You’ve come to say something particular.”
“Yes,” said Bayle firmly. “Thickens, this exposure would be too horrible. It must not take place.”
“Ah,” said Thickens in his quiet, grave way, “you’re the Hallams’ friend.”
“I hope I am the friend of every one in this town.”
“And you advise me to keep this quiet and let your friends be robbed?”
“Silence, man! How dare you speak to me like that?” cried Bayle furiously, and he took a step in advance. “No, no,” he said, checking himself, and holding out his hand; “we must be calm and sensible over this, Thickens. There must be no temper. Now listen. You remember what I said you must do last night.”
“Yes; and I’m going directly after breakfast to Sir Gordon.”
“No; I retract my words. You must not go.”
“And the people who have been robbed?”