“You have been reading ‘Angélique’s’ Last Testament?”
“Pray the Fates it may not be so indeed,” he said gravely; and,
pulling a paper out of his pocket, began to refer to it.
“Why, do you not know,” said he, “that others besides our _Volpone_
are reported interested in that strange disappearance of a one-time
heir-presumptive to _Volpone’s_ own title?”
“Perfectly.”
“And yet you go and put your head into the lion’s mouth?”
“I would do more to expose a villain. I would go all lengths to right
an injured man. He is no more mad than I am.”
“That seems probable.”
He unfolded a second paper from the other, and pointing silently to a
paragraph, handed it to me.
“The king” (I read from the _Gazette_) “has bestowed the vacant garter
upon the newly created Marquis of Synge;” and a little lower down: “It
is stated that the Earl of Herring has been relieved, at his own
request, of all offices which he held under the Crown. His lordship is
understood to have long contemplated a complete retirement from public
life.”
I shrieked with laughter. I danced about the room, waving the paper
over my head. The noise I made brought up one of two gentlemen who
lived below. He put his head in at the door, with a leer and a grin:
“O, a thousand pardons!” said he; “I thought you was alone, and that
something had happened”--and he vanished.
“He thought something had happened!” groaned Bob dismally; and, taking
the paper from me, he read out elsewhere: “His Majesty’s final
decision is supposed not unconnected with the _esclandres_ of a
certain notorious lady, which have exercised the public curiosity for
some time past, and which culminated on Saturday sennight in an attack
too obvious in its direction to be overlooked.”