The commissioner was going to make vows of secrecy and protestations of zeal, but Lord Oldborough cut all that short with “Of course—of course,” pronounced in the driest accent, and went on with, “Now, sir, you know my object; will you do me the honour to state yours?—you will excuse my abruptness—time in some circumstances is every thing—Do me and yourself the justice to say at once what return I can make for the service you have done or may do me and government.”
“My only hesitation in speaking, my lord, was—”
“Have no hesitation in speaking, I beseech you, sir.”
I beseech, in tone, was in effect, I command you, sir;—and Mr. Falconer, under the influence of an imperious and superior mind, came at once to that point, which he had not intended to come to for a month, or to approach till after infinite precaution and circumlocution.
“My object is to push my son Cunningham in the diplomatic line, my lord—and I wish to make him one of your secretaries.”
The commissioner stopped short, astonished to find that the truth, and the whole truth, had absolutely passed his lips, and in such plain words; but they could not be recalled: he gasped for breath—and began an apologetical sentence about poor Mr. Drakelow, whom he should be sorry to injure or displace.
“Never mind that now—time enough to think of Drakelow,” said Lord Oldborough, walking up and down the room—then stopping short, “I must see your son, sir.”
“I will bring him here to-morrow, if your lordship pleases.”
“As soon as possible! But he can come surely without your going for him—write, and beg that we may see him at breakfast—at nine, if you please.”
The letter was written, and despatched immediately. Lord Oldborough, whilst the commissioner was writing, noted down the heads of what he had learned from M. de Tourville’s packet: then locked up those of the papers which had been deciphered, put the others into Mr. Falconer’s charge, and recommended it to him to use all possible despatch in deciphering the remainder.—The commissioner declared he would sit up all night at the task; this did not appear to be more than was expected.—His lordship rung, and ordered candles in Mr. Falconer’s room, then returned to the company in the saloon, without saying another word. None could guess by his countenance or deportment that any unusual circumstance had happened, or that his mind was in the least perturbed. Mrs. Drakelow thought he was wholly absorbed in a rubber of whist, and Miss Drakelow at the same time was persuaded that he was listening to her music.