‘Oh, of course he kept them quiet, sir. But it’s a cruel case—that’s all I have to say. And though I have known Mr Pudster these thirty years, and liked him too, I don’t hesitate to say that he’s not behaving straightforwardly in this piece of business.’
‘Hush! Wait until you know of his motives,’ said Mr Maggleby.
‘He can’t excuse himself, sir, I tell you,’ rejoined Mr Doddard warmly. ‘If he comes back, I go. So there! And I say it with all respect to you, sir. When a man’s once dead, he’s got no right to come back again. It isn’t natural; and what’s more, it isn’t business-like.’
The bitterness of Mr Doddard’s remarks in this connection may be partly accounted for by consideration of the fact that Mr Maggleby had a few days previously announced his intention of taking the head-clerk into partnership at an early date. Mr Pudster’s return would of course knock this project on the head.
‘Well, Doddard,’ said Mr Maggleby, ‘we can’t mend matters by talking. We can only wait; and perhaps, when we see Mr Pudster, we shall find that’——
But Mr Maggleby’s philosophical remarks were suddenly cut short by the unexpected arrival of Mrs Maggleby upon the scene. She rushed into the private room, stretched forth a letter, and fell sobbing upon her husband’s neck.
Mr Maggleby placed his wife in a chair, opened a cupboard, gave her a glass of wine, took the letter, and read it. Like the others, it was dated from on board the Camel, off Plymouth. ‘My own dearest Wife,’ it ran—‘In a few hours from this I shall, I hope, be with you once more, never again to leave you. I ought to have already apprised you of the probable date of my return; but at the last moment before starting, I had no opportunity of writing. How glad I shall be to see you! My long absence has been a great trial to me, and I feel sure that it has also tried you; but it is now almost at an end. I will, if possible, write again from Southampton, and tell you exactly when to expect me. The sea in the Channel is so rough that at present it is difficult to say when we shall get into the river.—Your ever loving husband,
Solomon.’
‘It is most painful!’ gasped Mrs Maggleby. ‘What can we do, Gideon? You must manage to meet Solomon at Gravesend. Look in the newspaper, and see whether the Camel has been signalled yet. He must hear first of what has happened either from my lips or from yours; and I am really not well enough to go myself. I thought that he was lying cold in his coffin. Oh, that I should have committed bigamy! I ought to have remained faithful to his memory. This is my punishment. But he must—he shall forgive me.’
Mr Doddard had gone into the outer office, and had sent a clerk for a copy of the Times. With this he now returned; and the paper was opened on Mr Maggleby’s table, and eagerly scanned for news of the Camel.