“Oh, I remember everything that ever happened in connection with my secretaryship to Mr. Jacob Herapath!” replied Burchill, still bustling. “I shall be ready for anything whenever I’m wanted, Mr. Halfpenny—pleased to be of service to the family, I’m sure. Now, you must really pardon me, gentlemen, if I hurry you and myself out—I’ve a most important engagement and I’m late already. As I said—drop me a line for an appointment, Mr. Halfpenny, and I’ll come to you. Now, good-bye, good-bye!”
He had got them out of his flat, shaken hands with them, and hurried off before either elderly gentleman could get a word in, and as he flew towards the stairs Mr. Halfpenny looked at Mr. Tertius and shook his head.
“That beggar didn’t want to talk,” he said. “I don’t like it.”
“But he said that he remembered!” exclaimed Mr. Tertius. “Wasn’t that satisfactory?”
“Anything but satisfactory, the whole thing,” replied the old lawyer. “Didn’t you notice that the man avoided any direct reply? He said ‘of course’ about a hundred times, and was as ambiguous, and non-committal, and vague, as he could be. My dear Tertius, the fellow was fencing!”
Mr. Tertius looked deeply distressed.
“You don’t think——” he began.
“I might think a lot when I begin to think,” said Mr. Halfpenny as they slowly descended the stairs from the desert solitude of the top floor of Calengrove Mansions. “But there’s one thought that strikes me just now—do you remember what Burchill’s old landlady at Upper Seymour Street told us?”
“That Barthorpe Herapath had been to inquire for Burchill?—yes,” replied Mr. Tertius. “You’re wondering——”
“I’m wondering if, since then, Barthorpe has found him,” said Mr. Halfpenny. “If he has—if there have been passages between them—if——”