"Let me tell you, Mr. Conroy, that the chances are he _didn't_. These criminals are always making some fatal mistake; and that's a very common one--the not doing away effectually, as you are pleased to term it, sir, and it's an apt word, with the proofs that might destroy them."
Sundry matters had been taking place concerning Philip Cleeve which might well have been told previously.
It was on a Wednesday morning, as may be remembered, that Philip started for London, on business, as Lady Cleeve was led to suppose, connected with Mr. Tiplady's office. On Thursday evening Lady Cleeve waited up to welcome her son's return. But Philip did not come.
"He must be staying in town to spend the evening with Mr. Bootle," she said to herself. "I shall have a letter in the morning."
The morning brought neither letter nor messages from the truant, and Lady Cleeve sent her breakfast away nearly untasted. "After all," she thought, "seeing that he will return to-day, he probably hardly thought it worth while to write."
But when Friday evening passed away and still Philip came not, and when Saturday morning's post brought her no letter, then Lady Cleeve became seriously alarmed. Business might, of course, be detaining him, she knew that; but why did he not write? And Philip, as she believed, was so ultra-dutiful.
"I will send to Mr. Tiplady, and risk it, she thought. She would have sent to inquire before, only Philip had so intense a dislike to being, what he called, looked after. Once, when he had stayed away at Norwich a day or two beyond the time of coming home, she had gone herself to the office to ask about him, and Philip was annoyed about it.
"Bridget," she said, calling to the maid who had waited upon her for many years, and who was as well known in Nullington as Lady Cleeve herself, "you had better go and inquire at the office when they expect Mr. Philip home. You can say, if you like, that I am a little uneasy at not hearing from him."
Away went Bridget, in her warm Scotch plaid shawl and black coal-scuttle bonnet. Mr. Tiplady was standing at the office-door, looking up and down the street. Bridget delivered to him her lady's message.
"Lady Cleeve sent you to me to inquire about the movements of Mr. Philip," cried the architect, after listening. "I was just going to send to ask Lady Cleeve the same question."