He reported progress to Lord Oldborough—and his lordship slept as soundly this night as he did the night after he had been attacked by the mob.
The next morning the first person he desired to see was Mr. Falconer—his lordship sent for him into his cabinet.
“Mr. Commissioner Falconer, I promised to give you notice, whenever I should see any probability of my going out of power.”
“Good Heaven! my lord,” exclaimed the commissioner, starting back. The surprise, the consternation were real—Lord Oldborough had his eye upon him to determine that point.
“Impossible, surely!—I hope—”
His hope flitted at the moment to the Duke of Greenwich—but returned instantly: he had made no terms—had missed his time. If Lord Oldborough should go out of office—his place, his pension, gone—utter ruin.
Lord Oldborough marked the vacillation and confusion of his countenance, and saw that he was quite unprepared.
“I hope—Merciful Powers! I trust—I thought your lordship had triumphed over all your enemies, and was firmer in favour and power than ever. What can have occurred?”
Without making any answer, Lord Oldborough beckoned to the commissioner to approach nearer the window where his lordship was standing, and then suddenly put into his hand the cover with the forged handwriting and seal.
“What am I to understand by this, my lord?” said the bewildered commissioner, turning it backwards and forwards. “Captain Nuttall!—I never saw the man in my life. May I ask, my lord, what I am to comprehend from this?”