“Sure of it, sir. It was not the money he cared for; it was the principle of the thing. Dixons’ name had stood so high in the town and neighbourhood. There was a mystery, too, about the matter that was never cleared up.”
“Hadn’t we better change the subject, Sir Gordon?”
“No, sir,” said Bayle’s visitor curtly. “Garrulity is one of the privileges of old age. We old men don’t get many privileges; let me enjoy that. I like to gossip about old times to some one who understands them as you do. If you don’t like to hear me, say so, and I will go.”
“No, no, pray stay, and I’ll go down with you to the club.”
“Hah! That’s right. Well, as I was saying, there was a bit of mystery about that which worried poor old Dixon terribly. We never could make out what the scoundrel had done with the money. He and that other fellow, Crellock, could easily get rid of a good deal; but there was a large sum unaccounted for, I’m sure.”
There was a pause here, and Sir Gordon seemed to be hesitating about saying something that was on his mind.
“You wanted to tell me something,” said Bayle at last.
“Well, yes, I was going to say you see a deal of the widow, don’t you?”
“Widow? What widow? Oh, Mrs Richardson. Poor thing, yes; but how did you know I took an interest in her? Hah! there: you may give me ten pounds for her.”
“Mrs Richardson! Pooh! I mean Mrs Hallam.”