"Of Mrs. Carlyon's jewels. They disappeared in the same mysterious way."
Philip had the outer door open, when at this moment the Vicar turned in at the entrance-gate. He shook hands cordially with them both.
"I have been up to Heron Dyke," spoke he; "and have met with the usual luck--non-admittance to the Squire. I must say I think they might let him see me."
"It seems to me, sir, that they let him see nobody; for my part, I have grown tired of calling," said the Captain. "Still, in your favour, his spiritual adviser, an exception might well be made."
"I ventured to say as much to surly old Aaron this afternoon," returned Mr. Kettle "He refused at first point-blank, saying it was one of his master's bad days, and he was sure he would not see me. I persevered; bidding him take a message for me to the Squire; so he showed me into one of the dull old rooms--all the blinds down--while he took it in."
"And were you admitted, sir?" interposed impatient Philip, interested in the story, yet anxious to be gone.
"No, I was not, Philip. Aaron came back in a few minutes, bringing me the Squire's message of refusal. He would have liked to see me very much; very much; but he was in truth too poorly for it to-day; it was one of his weak days, and Jago had absolutely forbidden him to speak even to the attendants--and he sent his affectionate regards to me. So I came away: having made a fruitless errand, as usual."
"If Jago's grand curative treatment consists in shutting up the Squire from the sight of all his friends, the less he boasts of it the better," cried Philip, as he marched away. "Tiplady remarked to me the other day that he thought there must be something very queer going on up there," concluded he, turning round at the gate to say it.
Maria Kettle departed for Leamington, and the time passed on. Philip Cleeve attended well to his duties, seeming anxious to make up for past escapades. So far as The Lilacs went, no temptations assailed him, for the place was empty, Captain Lennox having joined his sister in London. No tidings could be heard of the gold snuff-box. Dr. Downes had had it cried and advertised: but without result. It might be that he had his own opinion about the loss; or it might be that he had not. During a little private conversation with Lady Cleeve, touching her state of health, she chanced to mention that she hoped Philip's future was pretty well assured. Mr. Tiplady meant to take him into partnership, and she had herself placed twelve hundred pounds to Philip's account at the bank.
"That's where the young scapegrace has drawn his money from, then, for his cards and his dice, and what not," quoth the Doctor to himself. "I hope with all my heart I was mistaken--but where the dickens can the box have gone to?"