“That is certain, Sir. His name is on the back of it, and she kept it, poor young woman! with a lock of his 'air and some hother relics in her work-box.”
By this time Uncle David was examining it with deep interest. The outline demolished all his fancies about Mr. Longcluse. The nose, though delicately formed, was decidedly the ruling feature of the face. It was rather a parrot face, but with a good forehead. David Arden was disappointed. He handed it to his nephew.
“That is a kind of face one would easily remember,” he observed to Richard as he looked. “It is not like any one that I know, or ever knew.”
“No,” said Richard; “I don't recollect any one the least like it.” And he replaced it in his uncle's hand.
“We are very much obliged to you, Mr. Plumes; it was your mention of it this morning, and my great anxiety to discover all I can respecting that man, Yelland Mace, that induced me to make the request. Thank you very much,” said old Mr. Arden, placing the profile in the fat fingers of Mr. Plumes. “You must take a glass of sherry before you leave. And have you got a cab to return in?”
“The men are waiting for me, I thank you, and I have just 'ad my tea, Sir, much obleeged, and I think I had best return to town, gentlemen, as I have some few words to say to-night to our Mr. Trimmer; so, with your leave, gentlemen, I'll wish you good-night.”
And with a solemn bow, first to Mr. Arden, then to the young scion of the house, and lastly a general bow to both, that grave gentleman withdrew.
“I could see no likeness in that thing to any one,” repeated old Mr. Arden. “Mr. Longcluse is a friend of yours?” he added a little abruptly.
“I can't say he was a friend; he was an acquaintance, but even that is quite ended.”
“What! you don't know him any longer?”