“For a very simple reason,” returned the Captain drily. “Have you forgotten that your grandfather looks to receive a letter from you every few days while you are away? Now, supposing you were to send him a note professedly written from Lausanne, or Geneva, with merely the London postmark on it, what would happen then?”
“I had forgotten all about having to write to the old boy,” said Luigi with a smothered imprecation.
“On the other hand,” resumed the Captain, “it would be madness to go to him and frankly confess our sins. He would never forgive either of us, and he would regard me, perhaps rightly, as being by far the bigger sinner of the two.”
“In that case, what’s the best thing to do?”
“Upon my word, I haven’t the ghost of an idea. It’s a bad lookout all round. Nowhere can I discern a way out of our quandary. But let’s to breakfast with what appetite we may. A hungry stomach is never a good counsellor.”
It seemed as if the Captain was destined to encounter people whom he knew. As he was crossing the entrance-hall after breakfast he met a man face to face whom he had not seen for some time. He was Mr. Henriques, the money-lender, who, in days gone by, when Verinder was going gaily down hill but had not yet reached the bottom, had more than once helped him to tide over a temporary difficulty. Both the men now came to a halt and each asked the other what had brought him there. The money-lender was not one of those who have no eyes for a man because he happens to have come down in the world; such men have their uses, as no one knew better than he. More than once since his own collapse Verinder had been enabled to introduce “business” to him, and had not been above accepting a commission for doing so.
“Can you spare me ten minutes?” queried the Captain. “Willingly, if you’ll wait till I’ve breakfasted,” replied the other. “I’ll join you on the smoking-room balcony in half an hour.”
The Captain and Luigi were just in time to catch the midday train. They both looked jubilant, and well they might, for Mr. Henriques had come to their rescue. The Captain had introduced Luigi to him and had frankly explained how they came to be “cornered.” (He had always found it advisable to deal frankly with Mr. Henriques.) When the money-lender had satisfied himself, which a few leading questions enabled him to do, that Luigi was really the grandson of Sir Gilbert Clare of Withington Chase, he made no difficulty about advancing him a hundred pounds on the joint note of hand of himself and his uncle. For the time being they were saved, and just then they did not permit any thought of the future to mar their content.
It does not come within the scope of our design to accompany them in their wanderings from place to place. It will be enough to say that they made good use of their time and spent their money with a free hand. Indeed, it was owing to the latter circumstances that they found themselves back in London some days before they were due there, paucity of funds having compelled them to cut short their tour, a fact which they deemed it advisable to keep from the knowledge of Sir Gilbert. Accordingly it was arranged that Luigi should quarter himself for a few days on his uncle, and that the two should then travel down to the Chase as if they had just come straight through from the Continent.
But on reaching the Captain’s rooms a very disagreeable surprise awaited them. Mr. Henriques was dead, and the executors on whom devolved the winding up of his affairs wrote, not merely to acquaint Captain Verinder with that melancholy fact, but also to give him notice that the bill at thirty days (the late Mr. H. had declined to have it drawn for a longer period, but had hinted that a renewal might perhaps be arranged) for one hundred and twenty pounds, principal and interest, bearing the joint signatures of himself and Mr. Lewis Clare, would have to be met in due course, and that, under the circumstances, any renewal of it was out of the question.