"Gerard Forrester.
"If Gerard Forrester (son of the late Captain Forrester, of the--
Hussars) who was last heard of at Bolsover School, in October, 18--,
where he met with a serious accident, should see this, he is requested
to communicate with Messrs. Wilkins & Wilkins, Solicitors, Blank Street,
W.C., from whom he will hear something to his advantage. Any person
able to give satisfactory information leading to the discovery of the
said Gerard Forrester, or, in the event of his death, producing evidence
of his decease, will be liberally rewarded."
The third advertisement, in another column, appeared now for the first
time:--
"A young man, well educated, and a careful student of Bibliography, is
anxious for literary work. Searches made and extracts copied.--Apply,
J., 28a, Storr Alley, W.C."
It would have puzzled any ordinary observer to detect in these three
appeals anything to connect them together. Jeffreys, however, glancing
down the columns of the borrowed paper for a sight of his own
advertisement, started and turned pale as his eye fell first on his own
name, then on Forrester's.
It was like a conspiracy to bewilder and baffle him at the moment when
hope seemed to be returning. He had convinced himself that his one
chance was to break with every tie which bound him to his old life, and
to start afresh from the lowest step of all. And here, at the outset,
there met him two calls from that old life, both of which it was hard to
resist. Mr Rimbolt, he decided to resist at all hazards. He still
shuddered as he recalled the stiff rustle of a certain silk dress in
Clarges Street, and preferred his present privations a hundredfold.
Even the thought of Percy, and the library, and Mr Rimbolt's goodness,
could not efface that one overpowering impression.
The other advertisement perplexed and agitated him more. Who was this
unknown person on whose behalf Messrs. Wilkins & Wilkins were seeking
information respecting young Forrester? It might be Scarfe, or Mr
Frampton, or possibly some unheard-of relative, interested in the
disposal of the late gallant officer's effects. He could not assist the
search. The little he knew was probably already known to the lawyers,
yet it excited him wildly to think that some one besides himself was in
search of the lad whose memory had haunted him for so many months, and
whom, even in his most despairing moments, he had never quite given up
for lost.
True, he had long since ceased to believe that he was really to be found
by searching. Everything combined to baffle search, almost to forbid
it, and yet he had constantly lived in a vague expectation of finding or
hearing of him some day accidentally and unawares. But this
advertisement filled him with self-reproach. What right had he to do
anything, to rest a day, till he had found this lost boy--lost by his
fault, by his sin? No wonder he had not prospered. No wonder the bad
name had haunted him and dragged him down! One thing was certain--
whether what he knew was known to others or not, it was his duty to aid
now in this new search. So he wrote as follows to Messrs. Wilkins &
Wilkins:--
"_Private and Confidential_.
"The writer of this knew Gerard Forrester at Bolsover School two years
ago, and was responsible almost wholly for the accident referred to.
The writer left Bolsover in consequence, and has not seen Forrester
since. In May of the following year he made inquiries at Grangerham,
Forrester's native place, where he ascertained that the boy had been
removed there from Bolsover and had remained for some time with his
grandmother, Mrs Wilcox. Mrs Wilcox, however, was ordered to the
South for her health, and died at Torquay. Forrester, who appears to
have been a cripple, and unable to help himself, was then left in charge
of his old nurse, who left Grangerham shortly afterwards, it is said, in
order to take the boy to a hospital--where, no one could say. That is
the last the writer heard. Messrs. W. & W. might do well to apply to
the clergyman and Wesleyan minister at Grangerham, who may have some
later news. The writer would be thankful to be of any service in
helping to find one whom he has so terribly wronged; and any letter
addressed `J., at Jones's Coffee-House, Drury Lane,' will find him.
"It should be said that when Forrester was last seen, only faint hopes
were held out as to his recovery, even as a cripple."
An anxious time followed. It was hard to work as usual--harder still to
wait. The idea of Forrester being after all found took strange
possession of his mind, to the exclusion of all else. The prospect
which had seemed to open before him appeared suddenly blocked; he could
think of nothing ahead except that one possible meeting.
So preoccupied was he, that his own advertisement for work was forgotten
the day after it appeared; and when two days later he found a letter
pushed under the door, his heart leaped to his mouth with the conviction
that it could refer to nothing but the one object before him. It did
not; it was a reply to his advertisement.
"J-- is requested to call to-morrow, at 10 a.m., on Mr Trotter, 6,
Porson Square, in reference to his advertisement for literary work."
With some trepidation, and no particular expectations, Jeffreys
presented himself at the appointed time, and found himself face to face
with a testy little gentleman, with by no means large pretensions to
literary authority.
He took in the shabby-looking advertiser at a glance, and suited his
tone accordingly.
"So you're the chap, are you? You're the nice educated literary chap
that wants a job, eh?"
"I am."
"What can you do? Write poetry?"
"I never tried."
"Write 'istory, or 'igh hart, and that sort of thing?"
"I have not tried. I know mostly about bibliography."
"Bibli--who? You'll turn your 'and to anything for a crust, I suppose.
Do you ever do anything in the puff line?"
Jeffreys admitted he had not.
"'Cos I want a chap to crack up my `Polyglot Pickle' in proper literary
style. None of your commonplace maunderings, but something smart and
startling. What do you say? Can you do it or not?"