The younger man saw that the other was full of fear. Never had he seen his employer so nervous and utterly unstrung. The mystery of it all fascinated him. Statham had unwittingly acknowledged having been present at the presumed death of John Adams, and that in itself was a very suspicious circumstance.
“Whatever assistance I can give I am quite ready to render it,” he said, little dreaming what dire result would attend that offer.
“Ah, yes!” cried the old man, thankfully, grasping his secretary’s hand. “I knew you would not refuse, Rolfe. If you succeed I shall owe my life to you; you understand—my life!” And he looked straight into the young man’s face, adding, “And Samuel Statham never forgets to repay a service rendered.”
“I look for no repayment,” he said. “You have been so very good to my sister and myself that I owe you a deep debt of gratitude.”
“Ah! your sister. Where is she now?”
“At Cunnington’s, in Oxford Street.”
“Oh, yes! I forgot. I wrote to Cunnington myself regarding her, didn’t I? I hope she’s comfortable. If not, tell me. I’m the largest shareholder in that business.”
“You are very kind,” replied the young man. “But she always says she is most comfortable, and all the principals are very kind to her. Of course, it was hard for her at first when she commenced to earn her own living. The hours, the confinement, and the rigorous rules were irksome to a girl of her character, always been used as she had to freedom and a country life.”
“Yes,” replied the old man rather thoughtfully. “I suppose so. But if she’s getting on well, I am quite satisfied. Should she have any complaint to make, don’t fail to let me know.”
Rolfe thanked him. The old fellow, notwithstanding his eccentricities, was always a generous master.