The old soldier and his son stood in silent expectation; for the oddity
of an interview thus authoritatively demanded had summoned both to their
feet. Outside they could hear the resumed exchange of speech between
Williams and the stranger, and their two sets of footsteps sounding
along the flagged pavement of the hall. Some seconds after, the
stranger was shown inside the room, and the three were left alone--
Williams retiring at a sign from the General.
A more singular specimen of the _genus homo_, or one less in keeping
with the place, had never made appearance inside the dining-hall of an
English country gentleman.
As Williams had asserted, he was not much bigger than a page-boy; but
for all that, he could not be less than forty years of age. In
complexion he was dark as a gipsy, with long straight hair of
crow's-wing blackness, and eyes scintillating like chips of fresh-broken
coal.
His face was of the Israelitish type, while his dress, with the
exception of a sort of capote, which he still kept upon his shoulders,
had something of a professional cut about it, such as might be seen
about men of the law in the Latinic countries of Europe. He might be an
avocato, or notary. In his hand he held a hat, a sort of wide-awake, or
Calabrian, which on entering the dining-room he had the courtesy to take
off. Beyond this there was not much politeness shown by him, either in
aspect or action; for notwithstanding his diminutive person, he appeared
the very picture of pluck--of that epitomised kind seen in the terrier
or weasel. It showed itself not so much in swagger as in an air of
self-reliance, that seemed to say, "I have come here on an errand that
will be its own excuse, and I know you won't send me back without giving
me a satisfactory answer."
"What is it?" asked the General, as if this very thought had just passed
through his own mind.
The stranger looked towards Nigel, as much as to say, "Do you wish this
young gentleman to be present?"
"That is my son," continued the old soldier. "Anything you have to say
need not be kept secret from him."
"You have _another_ son?" asked the stranger, speaking in a foreign
accent, but in English sufficiently intelligible. "I think you have
another son, Signor General."
The question caused the General to start, while Nigel turned suddenly
pale. The significant glance that accompanied the interrogatory told
that the stranger knew something about Henry Harding.
"I have--or should have," replied the General. "What do you want to say
of him, and why do you speak of him?"
"Do you know where your other son is, Signor General?"
"Well, not exactly, at present. Do _you_ know where he is? Who are
you? and whence do you come?"
"Signor General, I shall be most happy to answer all three of your
questions, if you only allow me to do it in the order, inverse to that
in which you have put them."
"Answer them in what order you please; but do it quickly. The hour is
late, and I've no time to stand here talking to an entire stranger."
"Signor General, I shall not detain you many minutes. My business is of
a simple nature, and my time, like yours, is precious. First, then, I
come from the city of Rome, which I need not tell you is in Italy.
Second, I am _un procuratore_--an attorney you call it in English.
Thirdly, and lastly, I _do_ know where your other son is."
The General again started, Nigel growing paler.
"Where is he?"
"This, Signor General, will inform you."
As he spoke, the _procuratore_ drew a letter from under his _capote_,
and presented it to the General. It was that which had been written by
Henry Harding in the mountains, under the dictation of Corvino, the
bandit chief.
Putting on his spectacles, and drawing the light nearer to him, General
Harding read the letter with a feeling of astonishment, tinctured with
incredulity.
"This is nonsense!" said he, handing the document to Nigel. "Sheer
nonsense! Read it, my son."
Nigel did as he was desired.
"What do _you_ make of it?" asked the General, addressing himself in an
undertone to his son.
"That it's just what you say, father--nonsense; or perhaps something
worse. It looks to me like a trick to extort money."
"Ah! But do you think, Nigel, that Henry has any hand in it?"
"I hardly know what to think, father," answered Nigel, continuing the
whispered conversation. "It grieves me to say what I think; but I must
confess it looks against him. If he has fallen into the hands of
brigands--which I cannot believe, and I hope is not true--how should
they know where to send such a letter? How could they tell he has a
father capable of paying such a ransom for him, unless he has put them
up to it? It is probable enough that he's in Rome, where this fellow
says he has come from. That may all be. But a captive in the keeping
of brigands! The thing is too preposterous!"
"Most decidedly it is. But what am I to make of this application?"
"To my mind," pursued the insinuating councillor, "the explanation is
easy enough. He's run through his thousand pounds, as might have been
expected, and he now wants more. I am sorry to believe such a thing,
father, but it looks as if this is a tale got up to work upon your
feelings, and get a fresh remittance of cash. At all events, he has not
stinted himself in the sum asked for."
"Five thousand pounds!" exclaimed the General, again glancing over the
letter. "He must think me crazy. He shall not have as many pence--no,
not if it were even true what he says about being with brigands."
"Of course that part of the story is all stuff--although it's clear he
has written the letter. It's in his own hand, and that's his
signature."
"Certainly it is. My God! to think that this is the first I should hear
from him since that other letter. A pretty way of seeking a
reconciliation with me! Bah! the trick won't take. I'm too old a
soldier to be deceived by it."
"I'm sorry he should have tried it. I fear, papa, he has not yet
repented of his rash disobedience. But what do you mean to do with this
fellow?"
"Ay, what?" echoed the General, now remembering the man who had been the
bearer of the strange missive. "What would you advise to be done? Send
over for the police, and give him in charge."
"I don't know about that," answered Nigel reflectively. "It seems
hardly worth while, and might lead to some unpleasantness to ourselves.
Better the public should not know about the unfortunate affair of poor
Henry. A police case would necessarily expose some things that you,
father, I'm sure, don't wish to be made public."
"True--true. But something should be done to punish this impudent
impostor. It's too bad to be so bearded--almost bullied in one's own
home; and by a wretch like that."
"Threaten him, then, before dismissing him. That may bring out some
more information about the scheme. At all events, it can do no harm to
give him a bit of your mind. It may do good to Henry, to know how you
have received his petition so cunningly contrived."