Orville College: A Story

by Mrs. Henry Wood

"A fishing expedition!" repeated Mr. Henry with a smile and air as tranquil as though—as though he had not been on a visit to the great physician, and brought that knowledge home with him. Sir Simon glanced around, wishing to make sure that nobody was within hearing.

The facts were these. Raymond Trace returned to his father the previous night with the account of what he had been able to do with Mr. Henry: or, rather, what he had not been able to do. Mr. Trace, by some logic of reasoning, adopted the information as a proof that the stranger was undoubtedly Hopper, and went home to Pond Place in a state of mind not to be envied. The chief torment was the uncertainty. If the man in hiding was not Hopper, the inconvenience of going away from him was not to be thought of pleasantly; for, truth to say, Mr. Trace did not possess so much as a handful of silver to go with: if the man was Hopper, go he must, whatever the cost. He imparted his doubts to Sir Simon, just relating the story told by Raymond—that there was somebody in hiding at Mrs. Butter's, who might, perhaps, be Hopper—and no more. Sir Simon, detecting the anxiety, and a little wondering at it—for, as he reiterated over and over again to his brother-in-law, rogues could not threaten gentlemen in England with impunity—undertook to appeal to Mr. Henry himself the first thing in the morning, and get the matter set at rest.

"This is the third time I have come here this morning, Mr. Henry. You've been gadding about London," good-humouredly added Sir Simon, in supreme unconsciousness of what the "gadding" had been. "And now, as I say, I am come fishing, and I hope you'll not let me throw out my line in vain."

Mr. Henry led the way indoors. Nobody was about; Mrs. Butter's kitchen door was shut, and Sir Simon talked on, believing they were alone, as soon as he was in the passage.

"My nephew, Raymond Trace, was questioning you, last night, Mr. Henry, as to some man he had seen you with in the plantation. You thought it was impertinent curiosity, no doubt, and very properly refused to satisfy him; but I want you to tell me. Is there anybody staying here in private, or is there not? And if there is, What's his name?"

Mr. Henry laid his hat and gloves on the table, rubbed his handkerchief across his damp brow: it was strange how a very little exertion would put him into a heat now: and led the way to his parlour. "I wish I could tell you, Sir Simon," he answered, with a smile. "I would have told your nephew had I been able."

"Can you assure me that there is nobody staying in the house?"

What was Mr. Henry to answer? To say There is not, would have been untrue: to say There is, might bring somebody trouble.

"Let me tell you why I ask," cried Sir Simon, who was by far too open-minded a man to succeed in any matter that required craft. "A friend of mine, at present in this neighbourhood, has an idea that he is being looked after for a debt he owes: he got to hear, by hook or by crook, that some rather suspicious-looking stranger had been seen talking to you, might even be in this house; he thinks it may be his creditor, and seems to be pretty near out of his senses with fright. That's just the truth."

"I wish with all my heart I had got a debtor in this part of the world," cried the voice of a strange head, putting itself in at the door: and the interruption was so unexpected that Sir Simon backed a few paces in surprise.