"Mr. Benedict is away, sir, but his son, Mr. Charles, will see you," was the reply to the announcement of my name, and I was ushered into the presence of Mr. Charles Benedict. He did not correspond at all to my idea of a family solicitor. He was faultlessly dressed, and did not look much older than myself, but it did not take me long to discover that his knowledge of town was as extensive and peculiar as Mr. Weller's.
"Ah! Captain Wyngate," he repeated, when I mentioned the name of my evil genius. "Tall, fine-looking man, with a grey moustache, isn't he?"
"Yes," I replied, in surprise. "Do you know him?"
"I should say that he was pretty well known," rejoined Mr. Charles Benedict, with a smile. "But perhaps you had better go on with your story."
Encouraged by his interest in my troubles, I went ahead and gave him the main lines of the narrative, though I could not yet bring myself to disclose all the details of my weakness. When I had answered his last question he drew a long breath and said:—
"Well, Mr. Addington, I congratulate you!"
"What about?" I asked. "It seems to me I am in a pretty bad mess."
"So you are," he replied, cheerfully. "But I was congratulating you on coming to us before it was too late. You have had a narrow escape. Did you never suspect what kind of man Captain Wyngate is?"
"Not until those bills came in," I replied.
"The bills," remarked Mr. Benedict, "are a mere trifle. Captain Wyngate is one of the most dangerous men in London. The police have had their eye upon him for years, but he is so clever that they have never been able to catch him in the act. He lives on inexperienced young men with money."