“Chewkle?” he breathed faintly.
“Yes,” replied Charley, observing the ghastly paleness which had spread itself over Mr. Grahame’s visage; “a mercenary wretch, who would pause at no employment, however villanous. In proof of which I may tell you—although I may be stepping out of my path of strict duty in doing so—that a telegraphic message had just reached our office, with the terrible news that the ruffian Chewkle, of whom I have just spoken, encountering, early this morning, Mr. Wilton in the woods at Harley dale, discharged a pistol at him, and severely wounded him. He was seized in the attempt to consummate the murderous act, and is at the present moment in safe custody. It is expected he will make some important revelations.”
A rush of ringing sounds surged through Mr. Grahame’s brain; his eyes dilated, and glared at Charley with a frightful expression. The veins upon his temples swelled as though they would burst, and his throat expanded and contracted with a horrible spasmodic action.
Charley took a step towards him, alarmed by his agitation, but Mr. Grahame waved him imperiously off. He wiped the large drops of clammy perspiration, thickly clustered, from his brow, and in a hoarse voice said, hastily—
“But Wilton—Wilton—is he dead?”
“No,” returned Charley, trembling under a terrible suspicion; he yet lives. “The communication stated his wound to be severe, but not fatal. However, his son has just quitted London to proceed to his bedside, accompanied by an eminent surgeon——”
“His son—what son?” gasped Grahame, in a hollow tone,
“His eldest child, and only son. He has not long since returned to England from South America,” returned Charley. “I fortunately met with him on my way hither, and informed him of what had taken place. He at once proceeded to obtain a surgeon of great skill, and, upon securing his services, he intended that together they should immediately hasten to Harleydale.”
Mr. Grahame sank into a chair. It was plain he was in the throes of a violent spasm. Charley was pained to see his agonized prostration. He had already gone farther than, in his capacity, he ought strictly to have done. He knew that, for the advantage of his firm, he ought not to have revealed what he had disclosed; but it had been for Evangeline’s sake he had been thus communicative; and he was at the same time convinced that the actual interests of Wilton and Gomer had not been compromised by his act. In truth, he could not refrain from preparing Mr. Grahame, in some degree, for the bursting of the dense and threatening cloud hanging over his head.
He gazed with saddened commiseration upon the stupified man who sat before him, with clasped hands, gazing wildly into vacancy; and then in a soft, kindly tone, he said—