LARCOM, THE BUTLER, VISITS THE ATTORNEY.
Now I may as well mention here an occurrence which, seeming very
insignificant, has yet a bearing upon the current of this tale, and it is
this. About four days after the receipt of the despatches to which the
conference of Captain Lake and the attorney referred, there came a letter
from the same prolific correspondent, dated 20th March, from Genoa, which
altogether puzzled Mr. Larkin. It commenced thus:—
'Genoa: 20th march.
'DEAR LARKIN,—I hope you did the three commissions all right. Wealdon
won't refuse, I reckon—but don't let Lake guess what the 150l. is for. Pay Martin for the job when finished; it is under 60l.. mind; and get it looked at first.'
There was a great deal more, but these were the passages which perplexed
Larkin. He unlocked the iron safe, and took out the sheaf of Wylder's
letters, and conned the last one over very carefully.
'Why,' said he, holding the text before his eyes in one hand and with the
fingers of the other touching the top of his bald forehead, 'Tom Wealdon
is not once mentioned in this, nor in any of them; and this palpably
refers to some direction. And 150l.?—no such sum has been mentioned. And what is this job of Martin's? Is it Martin of the China Kilns, or Martin of the bank? That, too, plainly refers to a former letter—not a word of the sort. This is very odd indeed.'
Larkin's finger-tips descended over his eyebrow, and scratched in a
miniature way there for a few seconds, and then his large long hand
descended further to his chin, and his under-lip was, as usual in deep
thought, fondled and pinched between his finger and thumb.
'There has plainly been a letter lost, manifestly. I never knew anything
wrong in this Gylingden office. Driver has been always correct; but it is
hard to know any man for certain in this world. I don't think the captain
would venture anything so awfully hazardous. I really can't suspect so
monstrous a thing; but, unquestionably, a letter has been lost—and
who's to take it?'
Larkin made a fuller endorsement than usual on this particular letter, and ruminated over the correspondence a good while, with his lip between his finger and thumb, and a shadow on his face, before he replaced it in its iron drawer.
'It is not a thing to be passed over,' murmured the attorney, who had
come to a decision as to the first step to be taken, and he thought with
a qualm of the effect of one of Wylder's confidential notes getting into
Captain Lake's hands.
While he was buttoning his walking boots, with his foot on the chair
before the fire, a tap at his study door surprised him. A hurried glance
on the table satisfying him that no secret paper or despatch lay there, he called—
'Come in.'
And Mr. Larcom, the grave butler of Brandon, wearing outside his portly
person a black garment then known as a 'zephyr,' a white choker, and
black trousers, and well polished, but rather splay shoes, and, on the
whole, his fat and serious aspect considered, being capable of being
mistaken for a church dignitary, or at least for an eminent undertaker, entered the room with a solemn and gentlemanlike reverence.
'Oh, Mr. Larcom! a message, or business?' said Mr. Larkin, urbanely.
'Not a message, Sir; only an enquiry about them few shares,' answered Mr. Larcom, with another serene reverence, and remaining standing, hat in hand, at the door.
'Oh, yes; and how do you do, Mr. Larcom? Quite well, I trust. Yes—about
the Naunton Junction. Well, I'm happy to tell you—but pray take a
chair—that I have succeeded, and the directors have allotted you five
shares; and it's your own fault if you don't make two ten-and-six a
share. The Chowsleys are up to six and a-half, I see here,' and he
pointed to the 'Times.' Mr. Larcom's fat face smiled, in spite of his
endeavour to keep it under. It was part of his business to look always
grave, and he coughed, and recovered his gravity.
'I'm very thankful, Sir,' said Mr. Larcom, 'very.'
'But do sit down, Mr. Larcom—pray do,' said the attorney, who was very
gracious to Larcom. 'You'll get the scrip, you know, on executing, but
the shares are allotted. They sent the notice for you here. And—and how
are the family at Brandon—all well, I trust?'
Mr. Larcom blew his nose.