Roger Kyffin's Ward

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Mr Kyffin did his best to attend to business, but his mind was greatly disturbed. He could gain no tidings of his ward. All he could learn was that he had left the ship in which he had returned to England, and had gone on board another man-of-war. Too probably she was one of the mutinous fleet. Mr Kyffin heard of many men losing their lives in the scuffles which ensued on board the ships when the loyal part of the crew were struggling to restore the power into the hands of their officers. Too probably Harry, on one side or the other—he hoped on the loyal side—might have lost his life in one of these scuffles. He was sure otherwise that the lad would have written to him. One letter might possibly have miscarried, but he would not have gone so long without writing a second or a third time. He was instituting, in the meantime, all the inquiries in his power, but he could not hear the name of Harry Tryon on board any of the ships. He was not aware, of course, that Harry had changed his name, nor that it was a common custom with seamen in those days to do so, for various reasons. Had he known of the existence of Jacob Tuttle he might have applied to him, and he therefore had not the same means of learning about him which Mabel possessed.

On the arrival of the post one morning at Idol Lane Mr Sleech received a letter from his “respected father.” The ordinary observer would have discovered nothing in the countenance of Silas to indicate its contents. He, however, folding it up, put it in his pocket, and forthwith betook himself to the door of Mr Coppinger’s private room, at which he humbly knocked. On being admitted, he explained to his principal that he had received notice of the illness of his father and one of his sisters, and that his presence, as the eldest son of the family, would be greatly required. He therefore entreated that Mr Coppinger would allow him to set forth without delay for Stanmore.

Mr Coppinger was a kind-hearted man, and would on no account detain him if Mr Kyffin could manage to have his duties performed during his absence.

Silas, thanking his principal, withdrew, and in a humble tone of voice entreated Mr Kyffin to make the necessary arrangements. The head clerk looked hard at Silas, who, though not easily abashed, let his eyes drop before him.

“Yes; if Mr Coppinger gives you leave, I will certainly not detain you,” answered Mr Kyffin.

Silas was in a great hurry to be off. Quickly putting the books at which he had been working in their places, he closed his desk and hurried out of the office. Mr Kyffin looked after him.

“So great a villain never darkened that door before,” he said to himself. “May it be the last time he ever passes through it!”

Under where Silas Sleech’s hat and cloak had hung Mr Kyffin saw a bunch of keys. He had evidently dropped them in his hurry to leave the house.

“I am the fittest person to take charge of these,” said Mr Kyffin to himself, and he forthwith retired with them into Mr Coppinger’s room. He there held a consultation of some length; then once more entering the office, he waited till the hour of closing. The clerks were dismissed. He and Mr Coppinger alone remained in the office. Mr Sleech’s desk was opened with one of the keys. Within was a strange assortment of articles, and among others a small iron box, with Mr Silas Sleech’s name painted outside. There were lottery tickets, and pawnbrokers’ duplicates, and packs of cards—some curiously marked—and dice which had a suspicious tendency to fall with the higher numbers uppermost, and letters from dames of scarcely doubtful character.

“I have suspected as much for long,” said Mr Kyffin, “but I could not well bring the proof home. This, however, will convince you that Silas Sleech is not a trustworthy person.”