CHAPTER XV.
BAFFLED.
Mr. Dunbar was sitting in a luxurious easy-chair, with a newspaper lying across his knee. Mr. Balderby had returned to London upon the previous evening, but Arthur Lovell still remained with the Anglo-Indian.
Henry Dunbar was a good deal the worse for the close confinement which he had suffered since his arrival in the cathedral city. Everybody who looked at him saw the change which the last ten days had made in his appearance. He was very pale; there were dark purple rings about his eyes; the eyes themselves were unnaturally bright: and the mouth—that tell-tale feature, over whose expression no man has perfect control—betrayed that the banker had suffered.
Arthur Lovell had been indefatigable in the service of his client: not from any love towards the man, but always influenced more or less by the reflection that Henry Dunbar was Laura's father; and that to serve Henry Dunbar was in some manner to serve the woman he loved.
Mr. Dunbar had only been discharged from custody upon the previous evening, after a long and wearisome examination and cross-examination of the witnesses who had given evidence at the coroner's inquest, and that additional testimony upon which the magistrate had issued his warrant. He had slept till late, and had only just finished breakfast, when the waiter entered with Margaret's message.
"A young person wishes to see you, sir," he said, respectfully.
"A young person!" exclaimed Mr. Dunbar, impatiently; "I can't see any one. What should any young person want with me?"
"She wants to see you particularly, sir; she says her name is Wilmot—Margaret Wilmot; and that she is the daughter of——"
The sickly pallor of Mr. Dunbar's face changed to an awful livid hue: and Arthur Lovell, looking at his client at this moment, saw the change.
It was the first time he had seen any evidence of fear either in the face or manner of Henry Dunbar.