“But how do you know it?—how do you know it, man? How are you sure of it?”
“You shall see in a minute, sir. The baronet had excellent luck with the money he took, and was able to make as good a figure as ever. But the adage, sir, in regard to ill-gotten gains, though it failed in his case, was fulfilled in Mr. Foxwell’s. There _does_ seem to be a partiality shown in the workings of Providence sometimes. Mr. Foxwell had the worst of luck, and soon the bailiffs were after him. He was taken to a sponging-house, and, after trying friend after friend in vain, he saw imprisonment for debt staring him in the face. I suppose his interest in the family estate hereabouts was tied up in some way.”
“Ay, he could touch nothing but his share of the income,” said the Squire.
“And on that, no doubt, he had already raised what he could. A mere drop in the bucket, I dare say. However it be, he was certainly in a desperate condition. I don’t know whether you’ve ever seen the inside of a debtors’ prison, sir,—”
“Only as a matter of curiosity, sir, I meant. But you’ll take my word for it, I hope, that ’tis really no place for a gentleman. The fear of it would drive a man of Mr. Foxwell’s habits, I can well believe, to desperate measures. Well, sir, what did he do, when he saw everything failing him, but write a letter to the baronet—he had written three before, and got no answer—a letter to the baronet, from the sponging-house, in which he said that if the baronet didn’t come to his assistance immediately, he’d be damned if he wouldn’t confess all and let the world know who really got Lord Hilby’s money that night. Yes, sir, in black and white he wrote those words, which distinctly appear in the letter,—‘_Confess_ all and let the world know who got Lord Hilby’s money that night.’ So the baronet obligingly went to his assistance.”
“And how did all this come to _your_ ears?” queried the Squire.
“The baronet threw the letter, as he thought, into the fire. But he had a faithful servant, who hooked it out, as a matter of habit, read it in private, and filed it away for future reference. He didn’t see any occasion to refer to it, the faithful servant didn’t, for a long time. Meanwhile, Mr. Foxwell, after various ups and downs, finally left London; and the baronet died. The faithful servant became waiting-gentleman to a king’s officer, and went through the campaign in Scotland. Being wounded, and losing his place, he set out to return to London. He had heard what county Mr. Foxwell had sought retirement in, and, having to pass through that county on his way South, he thought it might be worth while to look the gentleman up and see whether he attached any value to an interesting specimen of his earlier handwriting.”