Mr. Grahame detected it instantly; he replied to Chewkle’s bow by an inclination of the head, and pointed to a chair upon the edge of which Mr. Chewkle gently sank, poising himself when there with the skill of a performer on the tight rope.
“You have obtained the deed, Chewkle,” said Mr. Grahame—“that of course.”
“Well, no sir,” returned Chewkle, “not quite. I entertained ’igh, very ’igh hopes, but they has been chucked down into the deeps of the greatest disappointment. Them lawyers, sir”——
“What do you mean?—they did not refuse to give it to you?” asked Mr. Grahame, hastily and sternly.
“Why, no, not quite that, sir.”
“Then where is it?”
“That’s jest it—where is it, sir? That’s jest what I should like to know.”
“What do you mean?” cried Mr. Grahame, springing to his feet with a countenance of alarm. “You do not mean to say it has been stolen?”
“Stolen!” cried Chewkle, leaping up with a face suddenly of the hue of scarlet. “That would be too good a joke, too. Who’d prig such a thing as that, I’d like to know?”
“Explain yourself, man! You are speaking in enigmas!” cried Mr. Grahame, excitedly.