"The best thing to do is for you to go to Blackheath and see Mr. Grubb," promptly cried the countess. "If Adela were a child, I should beat her. Bringing all this worry and disgrace upon us!"
"I couldn't go there and be back for the dinner," cried he.
For they were engaged that evening to a state dinner at a duke's.
"Bother dinner!" irascibly retorted Lady Acorn. "If this affair can't be stopped, Adela will have to be smuggled over to the Continent, and stay in hiding there. If it is not stopped, and her name has to appear, we shall never be able to show our faces at a dinner-table again."
Lord Acorn wore a perplexed brow. Look at the affair in what light they would, it seemed to present nothing but difficulty. Once Charles Cleveland was committed for trial, what would be the end of it? He could not be allowed to stand his trial—and what might not that involve for Adela?
Lord Acorn, hating personal trouble of all kinds, especially trouble so disagreeable as this, betook himself—not to Blackheath, as enjoined by his wife, but to the City. He would see Mr. Howard first, and hear what his opinion was. Jumping out of the cab which had conveyed him to Leadenhall Street, he jumped against Serjeant Mowham.
"No good your going up," cried the serjeant. "Howard has left, and Grubb seems to be nowhere today."
"Have you heard about poor Charley?" asked Lord Acorn.
"Of course I have; that has brought me here. Primerly came to my chambers on other business, and told me what had happened. I came down here at once to catch one of the partners—or both of them—and see if there's anything to be done."
"What can be done?" returned Lord Acorn.