“Has Mr. George brought this?” Thomas inquired, as he took it.
“No, sir. It came by the regular messenger.”
“George must have missed him then,” was Thomas Godolphin’s mental comment.
He opened the paper. He cast his eyes over the contents. It was a short message; only a few words in it, simple and easy to comprehend: but Thomas Godolphin apparently could not understand it. Such at least was the impression conveyed to Lord Averil and Mr. Hurde. Both were watching him, though without motive. The clerk waited, for any orders there might be to give him: Lord Averil sat on, as he had been sitting. Thomas Godolphin read it three times, and then glanced up at Mr. Hurde.
“This cannot be for us,” he remarked. “Some mistake must have been made. Some confusion, possibly, in the telegraph office in town; and the message, intended for us, has gone elsewhere.”
“That could hardly be, sir,” was Mr. Hurde’s reply.
In good truth, Thomas Godolphin himself thought it could “hardly be.” But—if the message had come right—what did it mean? Mr. Hurde, racking his brains to conjecture the nature of the message that was so evidently disturbing his master, contrived to catch sight of two or three words at the end: and they seemed to convey an ominous intimation that there were no funds to be forthcoming.
Thomas Godolphin was disturbed; and in no measured degree. His hands grew cold and his brow moist, as he gazed at the despatch in its every corner. According to its address, it was meant for their house, and in answer to one of the despatches he had sent up that morning. But—its contents! Surely they could not be addressed to the good old house of Godolphin, Crosse, and Godolphin!
A moment or two of wavering hesitation and then he drew to him a sheet of paper, wrote a few words, and folded it. “Take this yourself with all speed to the telegraph station,” he said to Mr. Hurde. “Send the message up at once, and wait there for the answer. It will not be long in coming. And if you meet Mr. George, tell him I wish to see him.”
“And now I dare say you will be glad to get rid of me,” remarked Lord Averil, as Mr. Hurde hastened out. “This is not a day to intrude upon you for long: and I dare say the fellow to whom I intrusted my horse is thinking something of the sort.”