Mr. Sheldon's victim went into the house, where he found some men preparing for the forthcoming sale.
"What is the meaning of all this?" he asked, aghast.
"A bill of sale, sir. Messrs. Napthali and Zabulon."
This was enough. The holder of the bill went back to the City. Another bill came due on the following day, and before the members of the Stock Exchange took their luncheon, it was known that Philip Sheldon's credit was among the things of the past.
"I always thought he was out of his depth," said one set of talkers.
"He was the last man I should have expected to see come to grief," said another set of talkers.
On settling-day came the awful proclamation—Philip Sheldon had absconded, and would not meet his differences.
On the same day came a terrible revelation to Mr. George Sheldon, of Gray's Inn, solicitor, genealogist, and pedigree hunter. The first official step in the advancement of Gustave Lenoble's claim against the Crown was taken by Messrs. Dashwood and Vernon, the solicitors, of Whitehall; and George Sheldon discovered that between Charlotte Hawkehurst and the Haygarth estate there stood a prior claimant, whereby all his toil, trouble, costs out of pocket, and wear and tear of body and mind, had been wasted.
"It is enough to make a man go and cut his throat," cried George, in his first savage sense of utter disappointment.
He went into his slovenly bedroom, and took out one of his razors, and felt the corrugated surface of the left side of his neck meditatively. But the razor was blunt, and the corrugated surface seemed very tough and unmanageable; so George Sheldon decided that this kind of operation was an affair which might be deferred.