Mr. Ringdon, a sharp, shrewd-looking little man, sat alone in his office, when they entered. He pushed up his spectacles, and surveyed them keenly as they came in.
"You, I presume, are the Mr. Ringdon mentioned in this advertisement?" said Captain Campbell, handing him the paper, and pointing to the advertisement.
"I am sir. Can you give me any information concerning the parties in question?"
"Faith, he ought to, being the principal party in question himself," interposed Stafford.
"How, sir,—are you a relative of these Campbells of the Isle?" asked the attorney.
"Yes; the son of the Mark Campbell mentioned there."
"Ah! Are there any more of you? Is your father living?"
"No; he has been dead these four years; and there are no more of us, as you are pleased to term it, but one sister. May I ask what all this affair is about?"
"Certainly, Mr. Campbell. You are aware, perhaps, you had an uncle in New York—-Mr. Richard Eyre, the banker?"
"I knew it! Wasn't I just saying the old gentleman was at the bottom of it?" said Stafford, giving Captain Campbell a dig in the ribs.