"Has disappeared," said Downie, almost exultingly, "too probably taking a leaf out of her charming mamma's book; and the army in Afghanistan has been destroyed—my son Audley's letters and the public papers assure me of that."
"Yet your lordship would like to see the documents?"
"Or what may seem to be the documents—certainly; in whose hands are they—yours?"
"No—in those of one who may be less your lordship's friend—Derrick Braddon."
"Braddon!" said Downie, growing if possible paler than usual; "Braddon, my brother's favourite servant, who was in all his secrets, and was with him in the Cornish regiment?"
"The same, my lord."
"D—n—but this looks ill!" stammered Downie, thrown off his guard.
"For your lordship—very," said Sharkley with a covert smile.
Downie felt that he had forgot himself, so he said,
"Of course, this Braddon will show—perhaps deliver them to me."