"Cooper Silwood dead—dead—dead—dead!" he babbled to himself, looking at the spots in the wall opposite him, and noting mechanically the shapes and sizes of them. "Dead—dead—dead!" he mumbled, till the words lost all meaning.
Something sub-conscious whispered to him this was madness, and with a mighty effort he sought to recover himself. The effort saved him.
The first force of the shock at length passed; its recoil passed off too, and he came to something like his senses. Desiring instinctively to lean on some one stronger than himself, his impulse was to send for his son Gilbert immediately, and accordingly, when he had pulled himself still further round, he summoned Williamson, and dispatched him to find and bring the young man to Lincoln's Inn. He had hardly done so, when his vacillating mind swung round again, and he regretted it. But by the time Gilbert arrived his mood had changed once more.
When Gilbert appeared in his father's room he found Francis Eversleigh in tears. They were the tears of weakness, of indecision, of self-pity; but when Gilbert heard what his father had to tell him he thought, of course, they were the tears of one who mourns. They could not but seem natural in the circumstances. He had always disliked Silwood; but his father and Silwood had been associated in business for many years, and though he was rather surprised that his father should be in tears over Silwood's death, he was not at a loss altogether to account for it: his father, he thought, had a good heart, and was overcome with sorrow. He supposed that a long acquaintance with Silwood had shown his father some excellent qualities in the man now dead—qualities which he himself could not see.
"His death will be a great loss to you, father," said Gilbert; "you must—and will—feel it very much, I fear."
"Yes," said Francis Eversleigh, in a harsh, strained voice, staring straight before him.
"Have you told Ernest about it, or Mr. Williamson?" asked Gilbert.
"Not yet; but, of course, they must be told. First of all, however, I should prefer to learn something of the circumstances attending Mr. Silwood's death. I must have this letter translated," said Francis Eversleigh, pointing to the communication in the small, cramped handwriting; "I think it will tell us exactly what has happened."
"I can get you a man," said Gilbert, "from a College of Languages near here, if you like. Shall I go and bring him? Or shall I take the letter with me and get it translated?"
"Bring him here," said Eversleigh, who wished to keep everything connected in any way with Silwood as much in the office as possible.