“Gammon!” said the dowager. “It is all rubbish!”
“My dear madam,” said the lawyer, “just be sensible for a moment.”
“I’ve got more sense in my little finger, sir, than you have in your whole body,” snapped out the old lady.
“Granted, my dear madam; but, pardon me, if that is not exactly relevant to the case. The proof is clear enough that Markworth took her away; and I sent my clerk down to the church mentioned in the certificate, and there is no doubt that he married Susan there, and that she’s now at Havre. Besides, his motive is plain enough; he wanted to get her fortune.”
“The artful, designing scoundrel!” broke out the dowager.
“The question is, my dear madam, what is to be done now? That fellow said he was coming down here to-morrow morning. Would it be better to wait until you see him, and fathom his plans, or else send over to Havre at once, and take steps to recover the girl?”
“The cunning, crawling villain!” ejaculated Mrs Hartshorne; “but I’ll be even with him yet, I’ll be even with him!”
“I am quite at your disposal,” promptly replied the lawyer, who was eager to be bounding after Markworth; and just at this moment, before anything had been decided upon, Doctor Jolly was announced.
He apologised for interrupting the conversation; but said, that as he had heard that Mr Trump had just come down, he thought there would be some tidings of Susan, which must be his excuse for walking in so unceremoniously.
Whereupon, both the dowager and the lawyer together fired out upon him with the astonishing news. “Bless my soul!” exclaimed he, horrified at what he heard. “Who would have thought it? But I always said he was a bad fellow! I told you so Mrs Hartshorne, I told you so!”