"What can it be?" cried the wondering doctor, gazing at him earnestly. "Have you done anything wrong?"
"Yes, very wrong. But—it is neither theft nor murder," he added, his eyes lighting up with their luminous smile. A smile that so strangely, one could not tell how, imparted a feeling of confidence in him to whomsoever it was cast upon.
They took the first conveyance, and were soon in Oxford Street. The master of the shop was in, as before, and listened to a few offered words of explanation. He called the same young man in—Simms.
"Look at this gentleman," he said, indicating Mr. Henry. "Do you recognize him as one of our customers?"
Mr. Simms ran his eyes over Mr. Henry, and shook his head conclusively. "No, sir; I don't remember ever to have seen him."
"Is he the gentleman who pledged that gold pencil with the diamond top?"
"Oh dear no, sir. That person was older than this gentleman. They are not in the least alike."
"Just so," said Dr. Brabazon. "Will you give me a description of that person?"
Mr. Simms complied. "A party getting on for thirty-five, I should say, sir: rather shabby than not, but talked offhand like a gentleman. Hair had a reddish cast; and party walked, I believe, a little lame."
"Lame!" exclaimed the doctor, in a startled tone.