He nodded and winked. Arthur, completely at sea as to his meaning, made some trifling remark in answer.
“He did well to come to terms with them,” continued Hopper, dropping his voice. “Though it was only a five pound, as I hear, and a promise for the rest, you see they took it. Ten times over, they said to me, ‘We don’t want to proceed to extremities with Hamish Channing.’ I was as glad as could be when they withdrew the writ. I do hope he will go on smooth and straight now that he has begun paying up a bit. Tell him old Hopper says it, Mr. Arthur.”
Hopper glided on, leaving Arthur glued to the spot. Begun to pay up! Paid five pounds off one debt! Paid (there could be no doubt of it) partially, or wholly, the “enemy” in the proscribed street! What did it mean? Every drop of blood in Arthur Channing’s body stood still, and then coursed on fiercely. Had he seen the cathedral tower toppling down upon his head, he had feared it less than the awful dread which was dawning upon him.
He went home to dinner. Hamish went home. Hamish was more gay and talkative than usual—Arthur was silent as the grave. What was the matter, some one asked him. His head ached, was the answer; and, indeed, it was no false plea. Hamish did not say a syllable about the loss at table; neither did Arthur. Arthur was silenced now.
It is useless to attempt to disguise the fear that had fallen upon him. You, my reader, will probably have glanced at it as suspiciously as did Arthur Channing. Until this loophole had appeared, the facts had been to Arthur’s mind utterly mysterious; they now shone out all too clearly, in glaring colours. He knew that he himself had not touched the money, and no one else had been left with it, except Hamish. Debt! what had the paltry fear of debt and its consequences been compared with this?
Mr. Galloway talked much of the mystery that afternoon; Yorke talked of it; Jenkins talked of it. Arthur barely answered; never, except when obliged to do so; and his manner, confused at times, for he could not help its being so, excited the attention of Mr. Galloway. “One would think you had helped yourself to the money, Channing!” he crossly exclaimed to him once, when they were alone in the private room.
“No, sir, I did not,” Arthur answered, in a low tone; but his face flushed scarlet, and then grew deadly pale. If a Channing, his brother, had done it—why, he felt himself almost equally guilty; and it dyed his brow with shame. Mr. Galloway noticed the signs, and attributed them to the pain caused by his question.
“Don’t be foolish, Arthur. I feel sure of you and Yorke. Though, with Yorke’s carelessness and his spendthrift habits, I do not know that I should have been so sure of him, had he been left alone with the temptation.”
“Sir!” exclaimed Arthur, in a tone of pain, “Yorke did not touch it. I would answer for his innocence with my life.”
“Don’t I say I do not suspect him, or you either?” testily returned Mr. Galloway. “It is the mystery of the affair that worries me. If no elucidation turns up between now and to-morrow morning, I shall place it in the hands of the police.”