“Layton.”
“Layton!” shouted George, stopping in his astonishment. “What Layton?”
“What Layton, sir? Why, our clerk Layton. I ought to have had my doubts of him before; but I suppose I had dust in my eyes. There are he and his wife entertaining the world; their room crowded: a dozen people, very nearly, and she, Layton’s wife, sitting down to the piano with pink bows in her hair.”
“What if she is?” asked George.
“You should see the supper-table, Mr. George,” continued Hurde, too much annoyed with his own view of things to answer superfluous questions. “I can’t tell what they have not upon it: silver, and glass, and decanters of wine. That’s not all out of his salary. And Layton is taking to betting.”
“But what about the bonds?” impatiently questioned George.
“Why—are not these so many proofs that Layton must have stolen the bonds and made money of them, sir? Where else could he get the means from? I have imparted my suspicions to Mr. Godolphin, and I expect he will follow them up, and have it fully investigated.”
“Then you are a fool for your pains, Hurde!” retorted George in anger. “Layton no more took—I dare say Layton no more took those bonds than you did. You’ll get into trouble, if you don’t mind.”
“What, sir?” uttered Hurde, aghast.
“That,” curtly answered George, “if you ‘follow up’ any chimera that your brain chooses to raise, you must expect to get paid out for it. Let Layton alone. It will be time enough to look him up when suspicious circumstances arise to compromise him. The bonds are gone: but we shall not get them back again by making a stir in wrong quarters. The better plan will be to be quiet over it for a while.”