"So slippery an eel," argued Mr. Blake to himself, "must not be handled with gloves. He may as well walk into Darcy's office himself, as be brought there by a couple of police-officers."
Captain Cavendish returned to his hotel early, and avoided all places where he was likely to meet Lieutenant Blank. Of all people, he wanted to shun him from henceforth; of all subjects, he never wanted to speak of the terrible fright he had received the previous night. So he returned to his rooms, and smoked and read, and wrote letters, and dined at two, and as the town clock was striking five, he was opening the door of Mr. Darcy's office. And still no presentiment of what was so near dawned darkly upon him; no weird foreboding thrilled in nameless dread through his breast; no dim and gloomy shadowing of the awful retribution overtaking him so fast, made his step falter or his heart beat faster as he opened that door. Perhaps it is only to good men that their angel-guardians whisper in that "still small voice" those mystic warnings, that tell us poor pilotless mariners on the sea of life of the shoals and quicksands ahead. Perhaps it is only men like this man, whose souls are stone-blind, that cannot see dimly the hidden shipwreck at hand. He saw nothing, felt nothing; he walked in carelessly, and saw Mr. Darcy, old Squire Tod, and Mr. Blake, sitting close together and talking earnestly. He wondered why they all looked so grave, and why two constables, who had been looking out of a window, should place themselves one on each side of the door, as if on guard, as he came in. He wondered, but nothing more. Mr. Darcy arose very gravely, very gravely bowed, and presented him with a chair.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said, indifferently, "I have dropped in on my way to the mess-room, at the request of Mr. Blake, who told me there was a surprise in store for me here."
"There is, sir," replied Mr. Darcy, in a strange tone. "There is a surprise in there for you, and not a very pleasant one, either. Mr. Blake was quite right."
Something in his voice chilled Captain Cavendish, for the first time; but he stared at him haughtily, and pulled out his gold hunting-watch.
"I dine at six," he said coldly. "It is past five now. I beg you will let me know what all this means, as fast as possible. I have no time to spare."
"You will make time for our business, Captain Cavendish; and as for the mess-dinner, I think you must postpone that altogether to-day."
"Sir," cried Captain Cavendish, rising; but Mr. Darcy returned his gaze stonily.
"Sit down, sir, sit down! The business that rendered your presence here necessary is of so serious a nature—so very serious a nature, that all other considerations must yield before it. You will not go to the mess-dinner, I repeat. I do not think you will ever dine at the mess-table again."
The face of Captain Cavendish turned ghastly, in spite of every effort, and he turned with a look of suppressed fury at Val Blake.