“So he may possibly have been able to earn a living of some sort. The strange thing is that he does not appear to have written to any one. He might have communicated with his former head-master, or some of his grandmother’s friends at Grangerham, but he has not. According to Colonel—to my client’s account, he does not even appear to have written to his father, though it is possible a letter may have miscarried there. You have heard, no doubt, that his father died in action in Afghanistan in January?”
“Yes, I heard that—very gallantly.”
“Yes; in fact, the boy would, I believe, if he could be found, be entitled to a pension, besides what little property his father left. The account of the action, as well as our advertisements, have been in the papers. If Gerard is alive, he is probably somewhere beyond the reach of the press, and for my own part I cannot see how he can be in any but destitute circumstances.”
This was all there was to say. But Mr Wilkins’ task was not yet done. He had been instructed to ascertain, if possible, something of Jeffreys’ present condition, and to sound him as to his willingness to see again some of the friends of his old life.
“I am afraid,” said he, “you too have had reverses, Mr Jeffreys.”
“Never mind me, please,” replied he.
“You are living near here?”
“No.”
“You must excuse me if I take an interest in you—as a former schoolfellow of young Forrester’s. You have come through much since then?”
“Not more than I deserve,” said Jeffreys, fidgeting.