“What!” he exclaimed; “you have heard already?”
“Mr. Manners told me, in London,” I said, completely mystified.
“London!” he cried, starting forward. “London and Mr. Manners! Have you been to London?”
“You had my letters to Mr. Carvel?” I demanded, turning suddenly sick.
His eye flashed.
“Never a letter. We mourned you for dead, Richard. This is Grafton's work!” he cried, springing to his feet and striking the table with his great fist, so that the dishes jumped. “Grafton Carvel, the prettiest villain in these thirteen colonies! Oh, we shall hang him some day.”
“Then Mr. Carvel died without knowing that I was safe?” I interrupted.
“On that I'll lay all my worldly goods,” replied Captain Daniel, emphatically. “If any letters came to Marlboro' Street from you, Mr. Carvel never dropped eyes on 'em.”
“What a fool was I not to have written you!” I groaned.
He drew his chair around the table, and close to mine.