“I think you must be mistaken in suspecting Layton, Hurde. I thought so last night.”
“Well, sir, I may be,” acknowledged Hurde. “I don’t feel so sure of it as I did. But then comes the old puzzle again as to who could have taken the deeds. Layton would not have been so fierce but that he found the doubt had been mentioned to you,” added Mr. Hurde, returning to the subject of the clerk’s anger.
“Did you tell him you had mentioned it?”
“Yes, sir, I did. It’s not my way to conceal faults in a corner; and that the clerks know.”
Mr. Godolphin dropped the subject, and entered upon some general business. The old clerk remained with him about ten minutes, and then was at liberty to withdraw.
“Send Layton to me,” was the order as he went out. And the clerk appeared in obedience to it.
Thomas Godolphin received him kindly, his manner and words had all the repose of quiet confidence. He believed Mr. Hurde to be completely mistaken, to have erred through zeal, and he intimated as much to Mr. Layton. He might not have personally entered on the topic with him, but that Layton had heard that he had been accused to him.
Layton’s heart opened to his master. He was a well-disposed man when not exasperated. He frankly volunteered to Mr. Godolphin the amount of his wife’s income and its source; he stated that he was not living up to one penny more than he could afford; and he distinctly denied being a betting man, either by practice or inclination—except for the one bet of a pound, which he had made incidentally. Altogether, his explanation was perfectly satisfactory to Mr. Godolphin.
“Understand me, Mr. Layton, I did not, myself, cast the slightest doubt upon you. To do so, never occurred to me.”
“I hope not, sir,” was Layton’s reply. “Mr. Hurde has his crotchets, and we, who are under him, must put up with them. His bark is worse than his bite: that much may be said for him.”