‘Well, I never did!’ cried Mr Doddard. ‘Yet I could swear to Mr
Pudster’s handwriting anywhere. It is a terrible thing for a man who
ought to be lying quietly in his coffin to come back like this, and
upset every one’s calculations.’
‘You are certain about the handwriting?’ asked Mr Maggleby anxiously.
‘Quite certain!’ replied Mr Doddard. ‘What a frightful thing for poor
Mrs Pudster!’
‘Mrs Maggleby, you mean!’ said Mr Maggleby. ‘Yes. I don’t know how to
break it to her. It’s a case of bigamy; isn’t it?’
‘Let us hope for the best, sir. Mr Pudster won’t prosecute, I fancy,
considering the peculiar character of the circumstances. It’s his
fault. That’s my opinion. I could swear, even now, that we buried
him. He must have revived in his coffin, and been dug up again by the
gravediggers; and must then have gone over to Demerara, in order to
avoid shocking his poor wife.’
‘I wonder our Demerara agents didn’t say something about it when they
wrote by the last mail,’ said Mr Maggleby.
‘Oh, of course he kept them quiet, sir. But it’s a cruel case—that’s
all I have to say. And though I have known Mr Pudster these thirty
years, and liked him too, I don’t hesitate to say that he’s not
behaving straightforwardly in this piece of business.’
‘Hush! Wait until you know of his motives,’ said Mr Maggleby.
‘He can’t excuse himself, sir, I tell you,’ rejoined Mr Doddard warmly.
‘If he comes back, I go. So there! And I say it with all respect to
you, sir. When a man’s once dead, he’s got no right to come back again.
It isn’t natural; and what’s more, it isn’t business-like.’
The bitterness of Mr Doddard’s remarks in this connection may be partly
accounted for by consideration of the fact that Mr Maggleby had a few
days previously announced his intention of taking the head-clerk into
partnership at an early date. Mr Pudster’s return would of course knock
this project on the head.
‘Well, Doddard,’ said Mr Maggleby, ‘we can’t mend matters by talking.
We can only wait; and perhaps, when we see Mr Pudster, we shall find
that’——
But Mr Maggleby’s philosophical remarks were suddenly cut short by the
unexpected arrival of Mrs Maggleby upon the scene. She rushed into
the private room, stretched forth a letter, and fell sobbing upon her
husband’s neck.
Mr Maggleby placed his wife in a chair, opened a cupboard, gave her a
glass of wine, took the letter, and read it. Like the others, it was
dated from on board the _Camel_, off Plymouth. ‘MY OWN DEAREST WIFE,’
it ran—‘In a few hours from this I shall, I hope, be with you once
more, never again to leave you. I ought to have already apprised you of
the probable date of my return; but at the last moment before starting,
I had no opportunity of writing. How glad I shall be to see you! My
long absence has been a great trial to me, and I feel sure that it has
also tried you; but it is now almost at an end. I will, if possible,
write again from Southampton, and tell you exactly when to expect me.
The sea in the Channel is so rough that at present it is difficult to
say when we shall get into the river.—Your ever loving husband,