“You are right,” he said. “I have had a drop too much for the first time for months. I offer my apologies to the offended law. Come, Mr. Carew, I will take another cup to your good health.”
As he spoke he approached the door, and as I followed him the law clerk stopped me by a touch on the shoulder.
“My thanks to you, young gentleman,” he said. “I like your face, and I put no blame on you for what has occurred. A word with you, if I may. I see that you are in the service of the Hudson Bay Company.”
“Yes,” I assented.
“And do you know the Canadas?”
“As well as you know London,” I replied.
His face brightened at that.
“I came over a month ago on important business,” he went on, “and I have been lately in Montreal and Ottawa. Did you ever, in the course of your wanderings, hear of a certain Osmund Maiden? He landed in Quebec from England in the year 1787.”
“I never heard the name, sir,” I answered, after a moment’s thought.
As I spoke I looked toward the door, and encountered the gaze of Captain Rudstone, who was standing in a listening attitude with his hand on the latch. I scarcely knew him. His cheeks were colorless, his lips were half-parted, and a sort of frozen horror was stamped on his features. Had he been seized by another spasm of pain, I wondered, or was there a deeper cause for his agitation?