"_April 4th, half-past 11 a.m._--Called at office, Mr Henry Harding,
son of General Harding, of Beechwood Park, county Bucks. Business--to
ask if any communication had been received from his father intended for
self. Answer--None received."
"_April 6th, half-past 11 a.m._--Called again, Mr Henry Harding. Same
question put, same answer given, as on April 4th. Young gentleman said
nothing, but went away dissatisfied."
"Of course, General," said the lawyer apologetically, "we are obliged to
make these remarks in the way of our profession. Are these the only
entries, Mr Jennings--I mean that have reference to Mr Henry Harding?"
"There are no others in the book, sir--except one made six months ago,
relating to a letter received from Mr Harding's father. Shall I find
it, sir?"
"No, that is not necessary; you can take the book away."
"And so you never paid my son Henry that thousand pounds?" interrogated
the General, after the clerk had gone out.
"_Never_--not a thousand pence; no money of any kind, as you see by the
memoranda. He never asked for any. Of course, if he had done so, I
should have been obliged to refuse him until I received your order. A
thousand pounds, General, is too large a sum to be handed over to a
young man--a minor, as your son then was--simply at his own request."
"But, Mr Lawson, you astonish me still more. Do you mean to tell me
you never received any letter authorising you to give him a cheque for
that amount?"
"Never heard of such a letter. Never, until this moment."
"Damme, this _is_ strange! He may be among the brigands, after all."
"I should be sorry if it were so."
"And I should be glad of it."
"Oh! General?"
"No, Lawson; you don't understand me. I'd be glad of it for a good
reason. It would prove that the boy might not be so bad, after all. I
thought he had spent the thousand pounds. Is it possible there can be
any truth in this letter from Rome? Damme, I hope it _is_ true--every
word of it!"
"But, General; you would not wish it true that your son is a captive in
the hands of banditti?"
"Of course I would. Better that than the other. I hope he is. I'd
willingly pay the five thousand pounds to think so. How shall we find
it out? What's to be done?"
"What became of the messenger--my professional brother from the
dominions of the Pope?"
"Oh, him! He's gone back, I suppose, to those who sent him--brigands,
or whatever they were. I came nigh kicking him out of the house. I
should have done so, or else given him in charge to the police, but
refrained--solely to avoid creating a scandal. Think, Mr Lawson,
what's to be done. I suppose there's no immediate danger?"
"I'm not so sure of that," answered the lawyer reflectingly; "these
Italian bandits are cruel ruffians. There is no knowing how far they
may go in execution of their threat. Did the man leave no clue by which
he could be communicated with--no address?"
"None whatever. He only said I should hear from my son again, as the
letter says. My God! they surely don't mean to carry out the threat it
contains?"
"Let us hope not."
"But what had I better do? Apply to the Foreign Secretary; get him to
write to Rome, and make a demand on the Pope's Government--that is, if
the story of my boy's captivity be true?"
"Certainly, General; of course. But would all that not be too late?
When did you get the letter?"
"Eight days ago. You will see by the date, that it has been written
more than two weeks."
"Then I fear that any interference of the Government--either ours or
that of Rome--would be too late to anticipate the steps that may have
been taken, in the event of their having received your answer--I mean
that sent by your son Nigel. There appears to be no alternative but
wait till you get another communication from them. That will, at least,
give you the means of writing to your son, and forwarding the ransom
required. You could proceed with the other matter, all the same. Lay
your case before the Government, and see what can be done."
"I shall set about it this very day," said the General. "This very day
shall I go down to Downing Street. Can you go with me, Mr Lawson?"
"Of course," replied the solicitor, rising from his desk and putting his
spectacles into their case. "I'm at your service, General," he added,
as they walked towards the door; "I hope, after all, we shall not be
called upon to have any dealings with brigands."
"And I hope we _shall_," returned the General, striking his Malacca cane
upon the pavement; "better my boy be a captive of brigands than the
plotter of a deception, such as I have been reproaching him with. May
God forgive me, but I'd rather see his ears in the next letter sent me,
than believe him capable of that."
To this fervent speech from a father's heart the solicitor made no
answer; and the two walked side by side in silence.