“But if the papers are not there?” Basset replied gravely. “No, sir, if you will take my advice you will tell your story, apply to the court, and let the court examine the documents. That’s the straightforward course.”
John Audley flung out his arms. “Man!” he cried. “Don’t you know that as long as he is in possession he can sit on his deeds, and no power on earth can force him to show them?”
Basset drew in his breath. “If that is so,” he said, “it is hard. Very hard! But to go by night and break into his house—sticks in my gizzard, sir. I’m sorry, but that is the way I look at it. The man’s here too. I saw him this evening. The fancy might have taken him to visit the house, and he might have found you there?”
Audley’s color faded, he seemed to shrink into himself. “Where did you see him?” he faltered.
Basset told the story. “I don’t suppose that the girls were really in danger,” he continued, “but they thought so, and Audley came to the rescue and brought them as far as the park gap.”
The other took out his silk handkerchief and wiped his brow. “As near as that,” he muttered.
“Ay, and if he had found you at the house, he might have guessed your purpose.”
John Audley held out a hand trembling with passion. “I would have killed him!” he cried. “I would have killed him—before he should have had what is there!”
“Exactly,” Basset replied. “And that is why I will have nothing to do with the matter! It’s too risky, sir. If you take my advice you will give it up.”
Audley did not answer. He sat awhile, his shoulders bowed, his eyes fixed on the hearth, while the other wondered for the hundredth time if he were sane. At length, “What is he doing here?” the old man asked in a lifeless tone. The passion had died out of him.