Varney reflected. And suddenly it was borne in upon him that he felt an unspeakable repugnance to the idea of going on board the yacht and especially to making the voyage from Sennen to Penzance. The feeling came to him as an utter surprise, but there was no doubt of its reality. “I think I’ll go over by train,” he said. “It will save a day, you know.”
“Then we will meet you there,” said Rodney; “and, Mrs. Purcell, will you send us a letter to the Green Banks Hotel, Falmouth, and let us know what Mr. Penfield says and if you would like us to come up to town to help you?”
“Thank you, yes, I will,” Margaret replied heartily. “And I promise that, if I want your help, I will ask for it.”
“That is a solemn promise, mind,” said Rodney.
“Yes, I mean it—a solemn promise.”
So the matter was arranged. By twelve o’clock—the weather being calm—the yacht was got under way for Penzance. And even as on that other occasion, she headed seaward with her crew of two, watched from the shore by a woman and a man.
Chapter III.
In Which Margaret Purcell Consults Mr. Penfield
Mr. Joseph Penfield was undeniably in a rather awkward dilemma. For he had hooked the wrong fish. His letter to Maggie Purcell had been designed to put him immediately in touch with Purcell himself; whereas it had evoked an urgent telegram from Maggie announcing her intention of calling on him “on important business” and entreating him to arrange an interview.
It was really most unfortunate. There was no one in the world that he had less desire to see, at the present moment, than Margaret Purcell. And yet there was no possible escape; for not only was he her solicitor and her trustee, but he was an old family friend and not a little attached to her in his dry way. But he didn’t want her just now. He wanted Purcell; and he wanted him very badly.
For a solicitor of irreproachable character and spotless reputation, his position was highly unpleasant. As soon as he had opened the letter from Penzance he had recognized the nature of the enclosures and had instantly connected them with the forgeries of Bank of England notes of which he had heard. The intricate watermarks on the “blanks” were unmistakable. But so was the handwriting of the accompanying letter. It was Daniel Purcell’s beyond a doubt; and the peculiar, intensely black ink was equally characteristic. And, short as the note was, it made perfectly clear its connection with the incriminating enclosures. It wrote down Daniel Purcell a bank-note forger.