“If I am not mistaken,” said I, “you have a child here, that has been sent you from California?”
“Yes,” answered he, “one was brought to me from there, about four months ago. I was told that it was my grandchild; and I received it as such.”
“And have you also received a sum of money, that was to have been intrusted to your care, for its benefit?” I asked.
“I have; and that was some proof to me that the child was really my grandchild.”
To this sage observation of the grocer, I replied, by making to him a full disclosure of my object in visiting Sydney; and that I had called on himself to learn, if possible, something concerning my own mother.
“You could not have come to a better place to obtain that information,” said he; “a woman calling herself Mrs Leary, and claiming to be the wife of the man who had been known here by the name of Mathews, calls here almost every day. If she be your mother, you will have no difficulty in finding her: she is a dress-maker, and my wife can tell you where she resides.”
My task had proved much easier than I had any reason to expect; and I was now only impatient to obtain the address; and hasten to embrace my long-lost mother.
“Do not be too fast,” said the cautious Mr Davis. “Wait until you have learnt something more. Let me ask you two or three questions. Do you know how the man Mathews died?”
“Yes: I saw him die.”
“Then you know for what reason he was put to death?”