Captain Hampton had spoken harshly of Lord Halliburn, but then he was
scarcely able to appreciate the difficulties of the young nobleman. Lord
Halliburn was in many respects a model peer. His talents were more than
respectable, his life was irreproachable, he was wealthy and yet not a
spendthrift. The title was of recent creation, his father being the
first holder of the earldom, having been raised to that rank for his
political services to the Whig party, just as his grandfather, a wealthy
manufacturer, had been rewarded for the bestowal of a park, a public
library, and other benefactions to his native town, by a baronetcy. And
yet Lord Halliburn supported his position as worthily as if the earldom
had come down in an unbroken line from the days of the Henrys, and was
held up as an example to less tranquil and studious spirits.
He had scarcely been popular at Eton, for he avoided both the river and
the playing fields, and was one of a set who kept aloof from the rest,
talked together upon politics, philosophy, and poetry, held mildly
democratic opinions as to the improvement of the existing state of
things, were particular about their dress, and subdued in their talk.
That they were looked upon with something like contempt by those who
regarded a place in the eight or the eleven as conferring the proudest
distinction that could be aimed at, they regarded not only with
complacency, but almost with pride, and privately considered themselves
to belong to a far higher order than these rough athletes. At college,
his mode of life was but little altered. He belonged to a small coterie
who lived apart from the rest, held academic discussions in each others'
rooms upon many abstruse subjects, were familiar with Kant, regarded the
German thinkers with respectful admiration, quoted John Stuart Mill and
Spencer as the masters of English thought, were mildly enthusiastic over
Carlyle and Ruskin, and had leanings towards Comte and Swedenborg.
It was only at the Union that Lord Everington, as he then was, came in
contact with those outside his own set, and here he quite held his own,
for he was a neat and polished speaker, never diverging into flights of
fancy, but precise as to his facts and close in his reasoning. His
speeches were always listened to with attention, and though far from
being one of the most popular, he was regarded as being one of the
cleverest and most promising debaters at the Union. Just as he was
leaving college a terrible blow fell upon him, for at the sudden death
of his father, he succeeded to the title. To some men the loss would not
have been without its consolations. To him it meant the destruction of
the scheme on which he had laid out his life. He had intended to enter
Parliament as soon as possible, and had sufficient confidence in himself
to feel sure that he should succeed in political life, and would ere
many years become an Under-Secretary, and in due course of time a member
of the Cabinet.
Now all this prospect seemed shattered. In the Peers he would have but
slight opportunity of distinguishing himself, and would simply be the
Earl of Halliburn, and nothing more. It was, however, to his credit that
even in the dull atmosphere of the Gilded Chamber he had, to some
extent, made his mark. He studied diligently every question that came
up, and, while clever enough not to bore the House by long speeches, he
came, ere long, to be considered a very well-informed and useful young
member of it, and had now the honour of being Under-Secretary for the
Colonies. It was a recognition of his work that he enjoyed keenly,
although he felt bitterly how few were his opportunities in comparison
to what they would have been had his chief been in the Peers and he in
the Commons.
As it was, his fellow peers evinced no curiosity whatever in regard to
colonial matters, and it was of rare occurrence that any question was
asked upon the affairs of which he had charge. Nevertheless, it was a
great step. It brought him within the official circle, and more than
once the mastery of the subject shown in his answers had won for him a
few words of warm commendation from the Leader of the House.
Then came, as he now thought it, the unfortunate idea of marriage. It
would add to his weight, he had considered. As a bachelor his house in
Park Lane, his place in the country, and his wealth, were but of slight
advantage to him, but, as his chief one day hinted to him, he would be
able to be of far more use to his party were he in a position to
entertain largely.
'We are rather behindhand in that respect, Halliburn. Four-fifths of the
good houses are Tory. These things count for a good deal. You may say
that it is absurd that it should be so, but that does not alter the fact
that it gratifies the wives and daughters of the country members to have
such houses open to them. You have plenty of money, and you don't throw
it away, so that you can afford to do things well. If I were you, I
should certainly look out for a wife.
'She need not be a politician. She need not even belong to one of our
families. Whatever her people's politics she will naturally, as your
wife, come in time to take your views; and besides, there is no harm,
rather the reverse, in keeping up a connection with that side. You must
see as well as I do that the time is fast coming when there will be a
considerable change in politics. Even now we are far nearer, upon all
important points, to the Tories than we are to these Radical fellows who
at present vote with us, but who in time will want to control us. The
Tories have come much nearer to us, and we to them. Already we are
scarcely in a majority on our own side of the house, and it will not be
many years before we shall have to concede the demand to give a large
share of ministerial appointments to Radicals. We shall then perceive
that we must choose between becoming the followers of men whose ways and
politics we hate, or the allies of men of our own stamp, whose way of
looking at things differs but very little from our own. Therefore, I
should say it would be just as well for you to choose a wife from their
ranks as from your own.'
Lord Halliburn had, as was his custom, thought the matter over coolly
and carefully, and had come to the conclusion that it would be well for
him to marry. He was by no means blind to the fact that there would be
no great difficulty in his doing so. He was not unobservant of the
frequency of invitations to houses where there were daughters of
marriageable age, and had often smiled quietly at the innocent
manoeuvres upon the part both of mothers and daughters. He had,
however, never seriously given the matter a thought, being rather of
opinion that a wife would interfere with his work, would compel him to
take a more prominent part in society, and would expect him to devote a
considerable proportion of his time to her. Now that the matter was
placed before him in another light, he saw that there was a good deal to
be said on the other side. The fact that the suggestion came from his
chief was not without weight, and he decided accordingly to marry.
He proceeded about the matter in the same methodical manner in which he
carried out the other work of his life, and was not very long in
deciding in favour of Miss Hawtrey. She was one of the belles of the
season, and, as was no secret, had refused two or three excellent
offers. There would, therefore, be a certain _eclat_ in carrying her
off. She belonged to an old county family. Her father, although a
Conservative, had taken no prominent part in politics, and his daughter
would no doubt soon prove amenable to his own opinions and wishes. Above
all, she would make a charming hostess. Having once made up his mind, he
set to work seriously, and soon became interested in it to a degree that
surprised him.
To his rank and his position in the Ministry he speedily found that she
was absolutely indifferent, and was as ready to dance and laugh with an
impecunious younger son as with himself. This indifference stimulated
his efforts, and as a man, as well as a peer and politician, he was
gratified when he received an affirmative reply to his proposal. His
chief himself congratulated him upon his engagement, and he knew that he
was an object of envy to many, for in addition to being a belle, Miss
Hawtrey was also an heiress, and for a short time he was highly
gratified at the course of events. It was thus he felt cruelly hard
when, within a fortnight of his engagement, this unpleasant affair took
place.
It seemed intolerable to him that the lady whom he had chosen should be
the subject of these libellous attacks. He did not for an instant doubt
that she was, as she said, wholly ignorant of the author of these
letters, and that there was nothing whatever on which these demands for
money could be based. Still, the business was none the less annoying,
and in his irritation he had taken the step that had unfortunately
resulted in the matter becoming public. He was angry with himself;
angry, although he could have given no reason for the feeling, with
Dorothy; very angry with society in general, for entertaining the
slightest suspicion of the lady whom he had selected to be his wife.
That such suspicion should, even in the vaguest manner, exist, was in
itself wholly at variance with his object in entering upon matrimony.
The wife of the Earl of Halliburn should not be spoken of except in
terms of admiration; that the finger of suspicion should be pointed at
her was intolerable.
His house might even be shunned, instead of the entry there being so
exclusive as to be eagerly sought for. Of course, it was not her fault,
and it should make no difference as to his course. Still, the affair
was, he freely owned, annoying in the extreme. He had had but few
troubles, and bore this badly. The belief that the clerks in his office
were talking of his affairs kept him in a state of constant irritation,
and he fancied that even the impassive door-keeper smiled furtively as
he passed him on his way in and out. Being in the habit of attaching a
good deal of importance to his personality he believed that anything
that affected him was a matter of much interest to the world at large,
and that it occupied the thoughts of other people almost as much as it
did his own. For the first time he felt that there were some advantages
in a seat in the Upper House. In that grave, and for the most part
scanty, gathering of men, generally much older than himself, he could
feel that his troubles elicited but little more than a passing remark,
and, indeed, the only sign of their knowledge of them that even his
irritated self-love could detect was a slightly added warmth and
kindness on the part of two or three of his leaders.
With the younger men it was different. 'I never thought much of that
fellow Halliburn,' said Frank Delancey, who had been in his form at
Eton, and was now, like himself, an under secretary, but in the Commons.
'I never believe in fellows who moon their time away instead of going in
for the water or fields, and Halliburn is showing now that he is not of
good stuff. He has not got the cotton out of his veins yet. Of course,
it is not pleasant for a girl you are engaged to, to be talked about;
but a man with any pluck and honour would not show it as he does.
Instead of going about looking bright and pleasant, as if such a paltry
accusation was too contemptible to give him a moment's thought, he gives
himself the airs of Hamlet when he begins to suspect his uncle, and
walks about looking as irritable as a bear with a sore head. He hasn't
even the decency to behave like a gentleman when he is with her, I hear.
Young Vaux, of the Foreign Office, told me yesterday that he met them
both at dinner the day before, and the fellow looked downright cross,
instead of being, as he ought to have been, more courteous and devoted
than usual. I fancy that you will hear that it is broken off before
long. I don't think Dorothy Hawtrey is the sort of girl to stand any
nonsense.'
'No, I quite agree with you, Delancey,' his companion--Fitzhurst, member
for an Irish constituency--said. 'Still, I should say it would last
until this blows over. As long as the engagement goes on it is in itself
a sort of proof that everything is all right, and that these reports are
but a parcel of lies. The girl would feel that if she broke it off fresh
stories would get about, and that half the people would say that it was
his doing and that the stories were true, after all.'
'I will bet you a fiver that it does not come off, Tom.'
'No, I would not take that, but I would not mind betting evens that it
lasts three months.'
'Well, I will go five pounds even with you, and I will take five to one,
if you like, that it does not last another month.'
'No, I will take the even bet, but not the other. There is no saying
what developments may turn up.'
But Dorothy had even before this offered to release Lord Halliburn from
the engagement; he had refused the offer with vehemence, declaring
himself absolutely unaffected by the story, and, indeed, taking an
injured tone and accusing her of doubting his love for her.
'I am not doubting your love, Algernon,' she replied, 'but it is
impossible for me to avoid seeing that the matter is a great annoyance
to you, and that it is troubling you very much. You have several times
spoken quite crossly to me, and I am not in the habit of being spoken
crossly to. My father is naturally quite as annoyed as you are, but as
he believes, as you do, that the accusations are entirely false, he is
not in any way vexed with me.'
'Nor am I, Dorothy; not in the slightest degree, though I own that the
knowledge that people are talking about us does irritate me; but
certainly I did not mean to speak crossly to you, and am very sorry if I
did so.'
And so the matter had dropped, but Dorothy had none the less felt that
at a time when Halliburn ought to have been kinder than usual, and to
have helped her to show a brave front in the face of these rumours, he
had added to instead of lightening her troubles.
One morning at breakfast Dorothy gave an exclamation of surprise upon
opening one of her letters.
'What is it, my dear?'
'I don't understand it, father. Here is a letter from Gilliat, saying he
would be obliged if I will hand over to an assistant who will call for
it to-day, whichever of the two diamond tiaras I may have decided not to
retain, as he expects a customer this afternoon whom it might suit. I
don't know what he means. Of course I have not been choosing any jewels.
I should not think of such a thing without consulting you, even if I had
had money enough in my pocket to indulge in such adornments.'
She handed the letter to her father.
'It must be some mistake,' he said, after glancing it through; 'the
letter must have been meant for some one else. It must be some stupid
blunder on the part of a clerk. We will go round there together after
breakfast. I have not bought you anything of the sort yet, dear, and was
not intending to do so until the time came nearer; indeed, I had
intended to get your mother's diamonds re-set for you. Of course, I
should have gone to Gilliat's, as we have always dealt with his firm.'
After breakfast they drove to Bond Street.
'I want to see Mr. Gilliat himself, if he is in,' Mr. Hawtrey said.
Mr. Gilliat was in.
'My daughter has received a letter which is evidently meant for some one
else, Mr. Gilliat. It is about two diamond tiaras, which, it seems,
somebody has taken in order to choose one of them. Of course it was not
intended for her.'
Gilliat took the letter, glanced at it, and then at Dorothy. 'I do not
quite understand,' he said doubtfully.
'Not understand?' Mr. Hawtrey repeated with some irritation. 'Do you
mean to say that Miss Hawtrey has been supplied with two diamond
tiaras?'
'Would you mind stepping into my room behind, Mr. Hawtrey?' the jeweller
replied, leading the way into an inner room. As he closed the door his
eye met Dorothy's with a look of inquiry, as if asking for instructions.
Hers expressed nothing but surprise. 'Am I to understand, Mr. Hawtrey,'
he asked gravely, after a pause, 'that Miss Hawtrey denies having
received the tiaras?'
'Certainly you are,' Mr. Hawtrey said hotly, 'she knows nothing whatever
about them.'
The jeweller pressed his lips tightly together, thought for a moment,
and then touched a bell on the table. An assistant entered. 'Ask Mr.
Williams to step here for a moment.'
The principal assistant entered: 'Mr. Williams, do you remember on what
day it was that Miss Hawtrey selected the two tiaras?'
'It was about three weeks ago, sir; I cannot tell you the exact day
without consulting the sales book.'
'Do so at once, if you please.'
Mr. Williams went out and returned in a moment with the book.
'It was the 15th of last month, sir--July.'
'You served her yourself, I think, Mr. Williams, or, rather, perhaps you
assisted me in doing so?'
'Certainly, sir.'
'What was the value of the tiaras, Mr. Williams?'
'One was twelve hundred, the other was twelve hundred and fifty, sir.'
'She took them away herself?'
'Certainly, sir; I offered to place them in the carriage for her, but
she said it was a few doors up the street, and she would take them
herself.'
'You have not a shadow of doubt about the facts, Mr. Williams?'
'None whatever, sir,' the assistant said, in some surprise.
'You know Miss Hawtrey well by sight?'
'Certainly, sir; she has been here many times, both by herself, for
repairs or alterations to her watch or jewellery, and with other
ladies.'
'Thank you, Mr. Williams, that will do at present.'
The door closed and the jeweller turned to his customers.
Mr. Hawtrey looked confounded, his daughter bewildered.
'I do not understand it,' she said. 'I have not been here, Mr. Gilliat,
since the beginning of May, when I came to you about replacing a pearl
that had become discoloured in my necklace.'
'I remember that visit perfectly, Miss Hawtrey,' the jeweller said
gravely, 'but I must confirm what my assistant has said. Allow me to
recall to you that, in the first place, you told me that in view of an
approaching event you required a tiara of diamonds, and of course,
having heard of your engagement to Lord Halliburn, I understood your
allusion, and came in here with you, and had the honour of showing you
five or six tiaras. Of these you selected two, and said that you should
like to show them to Mr. Hawtrey before choosing. I offered to send an
assistant with them, but you said that your carriage was standing a few
doors off and that you would rather take them yourself. Our firm having
had the honour of serving Mr. Hawtrey and his family for several
generations, and knowing you perfectly, I had, of course, no hesitation
in complying with your request. I may say, as an evidence of the
exactness of my memory, that Miss Hawtrey was dressed exactly as she is
at present. I had, of course, an opportunity of noticing her dress as
she was examining the goods. She had on that blue walking dress with
small red spots, and the bonnet with blue feathers with red tips.'
'Will you give me the hour as well as the day at which you say my
daughter called here?' Mr. Hawtrey said sternly.
'My own impression is that it was about three o'clock,' the jeweller
said, after a moment's thought.
'Will you call your assistant and ask him?'
Mr. Williams being summoned said that he had no distinct recollection as
to the precise time, but that it was certainly somewhat early in the
afternoon. He had returned from lunch about two, and it was not for some
little time after that that Miss Hawtrey called; he should say it was
between three and half past three.
'That will be near enough,' Mr. Hawtrey said. 'You shall hear from me
again shortly, Mr. Gilliat; I know that I can rely upon you to say
nothing in the meantime to anyone on the subject.'
'Certainly, Mr. Hawtrey.'
'Now, Dorothy, let us be going.'
Dorothy at the moment was unable to follow her father; she had sunk down
in a chair, pale and trembling; her look of intense surprise had given
way to one of alarm and horror, and it was not until she had drunk some
water that the jeweller brought her, that she recovered sufficiently to
take her father's arm and walk through the shop to the carriage.
'Well, Dorothy,' Mr. Hawtrey said, as they drove off, 'what does all
this mean?'
'I have not the least idea, father; I am utterly bewildered.'
'You still say that you did not go to the shop--that you did not examine
those tiaras and choose two of them?'
'Of course I say so, father. I have never been in the shop since I went
about that pearl. Surely, father, you cannot suspect me of having stolen
those things.'
'I am the last man in the world to suspect you of anything
dishonourable, Dorothy, but this evidence is staggering. Here are two
men ready to swear to the whole particulars of the incident. They are
both sufficiently acquainted with your appearance to be able to
recognise you readily. They can even swear to your dress. That you
should do such a thing seems to be incredible and impossible, but what
am I to think? You could not have done such a thing in your senses; it
would be the act of a madwoman, especially to go to a shop where you are
so well known.'
'But why should I have done it, father? I could not have worn them
without being detected at once.'
'You could not have worn them,' her father agreed, 'but they might have
been turned into money had you great occasion for it.'
Dorothy started.
'Do you mean, father--oh, surely, you never can mean that I could have
stolen those things to turn them into money in order to satisfy the man
who has been writing those letters?'
'No, my dear. I don't mean that myself, but that is certainly what
anyone who did not know you would say. There, don't cry so, child,' for
Dorothy was sobbing hysterically now; 'do not let us talk any more until
we get home. We have got the day and hour at which you were supposed to
have been at Gilliat's. Perhaps we may be able to prove that you were
engaged somewhere else, and that it was impossible you could have been
at Gilliat's about that time.'
Nothing more was said until they reached home.
'You had better come into my study, Dorothy; we shall not be disturbed
there. Now, dear,' he said, 'let us have the matter out. I can only say
this, that if you again give me your assurance that you are absolutely
ignorant of all this, and that you never went to Gilliat's on the day
they say you did, I shall accept your assurance as implicitly as I did
before; but before you speak, remember, dear, what that entails. These
people are prepared to swear to you, and will, of course, take steps to
obtain payment for these things. If such steps are taken the whole
matter will be gone into to the bottom. Remember everything depends on
your frankness. It will be terribly painful for you to acknowledge that,
after all, you had got into some entanglement, and that you did in a
moment of madness take these things in order to free yourself from it.
It would be terribly painful for me to hear this, but upon hearing it I
should of course take steps to raise this twenty-five hundred pounds,
for at present I do not happen to have so much at my bankers, and to
settle Gilliat's claim. But even painful as this would be it would be a
thousand times better than to have all this gone into in public. On the
other hand, if you still assure me that you know nothing of it I must
refuse to pay the money, both because to do so would be to admit that
you took the things, and because, in the second place, whoever has taken
these tiaras--for that some one has done so we cannot doubt--may again
personate you and involve us in fresh trouble and difficulties.'
'I did not do it, father; indeed I did not do it. I have had no
entanglement; I was in no need of money; I have never been near
Gilliat's shop, unless, indeed, I was altogether out of my mind and did
it in a state of unconsciousness, which I cannot think for a moment. I
have worried over this until I hardly knew what I was doing, but I never
could have gone to that shop and done as they say without having a
remembrance of it. Why, the last place I should choose if I had ever
thought of stealing would be a place where I was perfectly known.
Indeed, father, I am altogether innocent. I cannot account for it, not
in the least, but I am sure that I had nothing to do with it.'
'Then, my dear, I will not doubt you for another moment,' Mr. Hawtrey
said, kissing her tenderly. 'Now we just stand in the same position as
we did in regard to the other affair; we have got to find out all about
it. In the first place, get your book of engagements, and let us see
what you were doing on the afternoon of the 15th.'
Dorothy went out of the room and soon returned with a pocket book.
'Not satisfactory, I can see,' Mr. Hawtrey said, as he glanced at her
face.
'No, father; here it is, you see--"Lunch with Mrs. Milford;" nothing
else. I remember about that afternoon now. I drove in the carriage to
Mrs. Milford's, and had lunch at half-past one; there was one other lady
there. Mrs. Milford had tickets for a concert, at St. James's Hall I
think it was, but I am not sure about that. I had a headache, and would
not go with them; and, besides, I had some shopping to do. I got out of
her brougham in Hanover Square. I went into Bond Street certainly, and I
got some gloves and scent; then I went into Cocks' and looked through
the new music and chose one or two pieces, then I went into the French
Gallery. Mrs. Milford had been talking about it at lunch, so I thought I
would drop in. There were very few people there, so I sauntered round
and sat down and looked at those I liked best. It was quiet and
pleasant. I must have been in there a long time. When I came out I took
a cab and drove straight home. It was six o'clock when I got back, and I
remember I went straight up to my room and had a cup of tea there, then
I took off my gown and my maid combed my hair, as it was time for me to
dress for dinner. My head was aching a good deal and it did me good. We
dined at the Livingstones' that evening.'
'It is unfortunate, certainly, Dorothy. I had hoped we might have been
able to have fixed you somewhere that would have proved conclusively
that you could not possibly have been at Gilliat's that afternoon. As it
is, your recollections do not help us at all, for your time from
somewhere about three till six is practically unaccounted for. The
people you bought the gloves and scent from could prove that you were
there, but you probably would not have been many minutes in their shop.
Cocks' may remember that you were there a quarter of an hour or so.'
'I think I was there half-an-hour, father.'
'Well, say half-an-hour; the rest of the time you were really in the
picture gallery, but it is scarcely likely that, even if the man who
took your money at the door or the attendant inside noticed you
sufficiently to swear to your face, they would be able to fix the day,
still less have noticed how long you stayed. At any rate it is clear
that it would be possible for you to have done all you say you did that
afternoon and still to have spared time for that visit to Gilliat's.'
'I see that it is all terrible, father, but what can it all mean?'
'That is more than I can understand, Dorothy. At present we are face to
face with what seems to me two impossibilities. I mean looking at them
from an outsider's point of view. The one is that these shopmen should
have taken any one else for you when they are so well acquainted with
your face, and are able to swear even to the dress. No less difficult is
it to believe that did you require money so urgently that you were ready
to commit a crime to obtain it, you would go to the people to whom you
were perfectly well known, and so destroy every hope and even every
possibility of the crime passing undetected. One theory is as difficult
to believe as the other. Those letters were a mystery, but this affair
is infinitely more puzzling. I really do not know what to do. I must
take advice in the matter, of course. I would rather pay the money five
times over than permit it to become public, but who is to know what form
this strange persecution is to take next?'
'Do you think there is any connection between this and the other,
father?'
Mr. Hawtrey shook his head. 'I do not see the most remote connection
between the two things. But there may be; who can say?'
'I would rather face it out,' Dorothy said, passionately. 'I would
rather be imprisoned as a thief than go on as I have been doing for the
last six weeks; anything would be better. Even if you were to pay the
money the story might get about somehow, just as the other did. Then the
fact that you paid it would be looked upon as a proof that I had taken
the diamonds. Who will you consult, father?'
'My lawyers would be the proper people to consult, undoubtedly; but they
were quite useless before, and this is wholly out of their line, I
think. I will take a hansom and go across to Jermyn Street, and see if I
can find Ned Hampton in. I have great faith in his judgment, and no one
could be kinder than he has been in the matter. You don't mind my
speaking to him?'
'Oh, no, father. I would rather that you should speak to him than to any
one.'
Captain Hampton was in and listened in silent consternation to Mr.
Hawtrey's story, and for a long time made no answer to the question.
'I can make neither head nor tail of it, Ned. What do you think?'
At first sight it seemed to him that this story explained the meeting he
had seen opposite the Agricultural Hall. She had either turned the
diamonds into money or had handed them over to this man to buy his
silence. Then his faith in Dorothy rose again. It was absolutely absurd
to suppose for a moment that she should have thus committed a crime
which must be certainly brought home to her, and which would ruin her
far more than any revelations this man might make could do.
'It is an extraordinary story, Mr. Hawtrey,' he said, at last; 'even
putting our knowledge of your daughter's character out of the question,
is it possible to believe that any young lady possessed of ordinary
shrewdness would go to a place where she was well known, and, have acted
in the way that she is reported to have done?'
'It would certainly seem incredible, Ned, but here are two or three
people prepared to swear that she did do so, and that they identified
her by her dress as well as by herself.'
'We must look at the matter in every light, Mr. Hawtrey; however
confident you may feel of her innocence, we must look at it from the
light in which other people will regard it. They will say, of course,
that Miss Hawtrey had urgent need of money for some purpose or other,
and will naturally suppose that reason to be her desire to silence the
author of those letters. They will say, that although she would of
course know that the bill would be sent in to her father, she would be
sure that he would rather pay the money than betray her sin to the
world.'
'I quite see that,' Mr. Hawtrey agreed, 'but if she had been driven to
desperation by this fellow, why did she not come direct to me in the
first place, instead of committing a theft to drive me to pay, when she
might be pretty sure in some way or other the facts would leak out, and
do her infinitely more harm with the world than any indiscretion
committed years ago could do? Besides, had she done it for this purpose,
would she not have carried through that course of action, and when the
bill came in have implored me to pay it without question, and so save
her from disgrace and ruin?'
'That certainly is so,' Captain Hampton said, as his face brightened
visibly; 'the more one thinks of it the more mysterious the affair
seems. I should like to think it all over quietly. I suppose you will
not go out this evening?'
'Certainly not. There will be no more going out until this mystery has
been cleared up. It has been hard enough for Dorothy to bear up over her
last trouble, but it would be out of the question for her to go into
society with this terrible thing hanging over her.'
'Then I will come round about nine o'clock. I shall have had time to
think it over before that.'
Captain Hampton's cogitations came to nothing. He walked up and down his
little room until the lodger in the parlour below went out in despair to
his club. He tried the effect of an hour's stroll in the least
frequented part of Kensington Gardens. He drove to Mr. Slippen's to
inquire if any clue had been obtained as to Truscott's movements. He ate
a solitary dinner at his lodgings and smoked an enormous quantity of
tobacco, but could see no clue whatever to the mystery. The meeting he
had witnessed was to him a piece of evidence far more damning than that
of the jeweller and his assistants. If she could explain that, the other
matter might be got over, though he could not see how. If she could not
explain it, it was evident that he had nothing to do but to advise her
father to settle the business at any cost.