“I used to see him now and then when I helped you, in the office, but I’ve forgotten his name, if I ever heard it,” the woman replied, in a quiet tone. “But,” she added, a moment later, as if some thought had suddenly occurred to her, “didn’t you find something once that he lost?”
“Lor’! yes; so I did. But I’d never thought of it again if you hadn’t mentioned it, and there’s something marked on it, too. Perhaps that’ll tell the young man what he wants to know.”
Mr. Brown laid down his work, and rising, turned toward an old-fashioned secretary that stood in one corner of the room.
But he suddenly stopped, and looked searchingly at Geoffrey.
“I hope, if you find out what you want to know here, it ain’t going to get the gentleman into any trouble,” he said; “he was a good friend to me, and I should hate to do him an ill turn.”
“You need not fear,” Geoffrey answered, thinking it best to deal frankly with these honest people; “the man was my father—at least, I have strong reasons for believing so; he disappeared several years ago, and my object in coming to you is simply to try to get some clew that will help me to trace him.”
“I’m afraid, sir, you’ve come to a poor place to find out very much,” Mr. Brown remarked, and apparently satisfied with his visitor’s explanation.
He proceeded to the secretary, opened one of its drawers, and took an old leather wallet from it.
Unstrapping this, he laid it open before him, and after searching some time in its various pockets, he drew forth something wrapped in brown paper.
This he carried to Geoffrey, and laid it in his hand.