Armadale

perhaps I do both together. All you need care to know is that I can trust him with my trifling errands, and possibly, as time goes on, with something more. L. G.'

Meanwhile the train had started from the Thorpe Ambrose station, and the squire and his traveling companion were on their way to London.

Some men, finding themselves in Allan's company under present circumstances, might have felt curious to know the nature of his business in the metropolis. Young Pedgift's unerring instinct as a man of the world penetrated the secret without the slightest difficulty. 'The old story,' thought this wary old head, wagging privately on its lusty young shoulders, 'There's a woman in the case, as usual. Any other business would have been turned over to me.' Perfectly satisfied with this conclusion, Mr. Pedgift the younger proceeded, with an eye to his professional interest, to make himself agreeable to his client in the capacity of volunteer courier. He seized on the whole administrative business of the journey to London, as he had seized on the whole administrative business of the picnic at the Broads. On reaching the terminus, Allan was ready to go to any hotel that might be recommended. His invaluable solicitor straight-way drove him to a hotel at which the Pedgift family had been accustomed to put up for three generations.

'You don't object to vegetables, sir?' said the cheerful Pedgift, as the cab stopped at a hotel in Covent Garden Market. 'Very good; you may leave the rest to my grandfather, my father, and me. I don't know which of the three is most beloved and respected in this house. How d'ye do, William? (Our head-waiter, Mr. Armadale.) Is your wife's rheumatism better, and does the little boy get on nicely at school? Your master's out, is he? Never mind, you'll do. This, William, is Mr. Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose. I have prevailed on Mr. Armadale to try our house. Have you got the bedroom I wrote for? Very good. Let Mr. Armadale have it instead of me (my grandfather's favorite bedroom, sir; No. 57, on the second floor); pray take it; I can sleep anywhere. Will you have the mattress on the top of the feather-bed? You hear, William? Tell Matilda, the mattress on the top of the feather-bed. How is Matilda? Has she got the toothache, as usual? The head-chambermaid, Mr. Armadale, and a most extraordinary woman; she will not part with a hollow tooth in her lower jaw. My grandfather says, 'Have it out;' my father says, 'Have it out;' I say, 'Have it out;' and Matilda turns a deaf ear to all three of us. Yes, William, yes; if Mr. Armadale approves, this sitting-room will do. About dinner, sir? Shall we say, in that case, half-past seven? William, half-past seven. Not the least need to order anything, Mr. Armadale. The head-waiter has only to give my compliments to the cook, and the best dinner in London will be sent up, punctual to the minute, as a necessary consequence. Say, Mr. Pedgift Junior, if you please, William; otherwise, sir, we might get my grandfather's dinner or my father's dinner, and they might turn out a little too heavy and old-fashioned in their way of feeding for you and me. As to the wine, William. At dinner, my Champagne, and the sherry that my father thinks nasty. After dinner, the claret with the blue seal—the wine my innocent grandfather said wasn't worth sixpence a bottle. Ha! ha! poor old boy! You will send up the evening papers and the play-bills, just as usual, and—that will do? I think, William, for the present. An invaluable servant, Mr. Armadale; they're all invaluable servants in this house. We may not be fashionable here, sir, but by the Lord Harry we are snug! A cab? you would like a cab? Don't stir! I've rung the bell twice—that means, Cab wanted in a hurry. Might I ask, Mr. Armadale, which way your business takes you? Toward Bayswater? Would you mind dropping me in the park? It's a habit of mine when I'm in London to air myself among the aristocracy. Yours truly, sir, has an eye for a fine woman and a fine horse; and when he's in Hyde Park he's quite in his native element.' Thus the all-accomplished Pedgift ran on; and by these little arts did he recommend himself to the good opinion of his client.

When the dinner hour united the traveling companions again in their sitting-room at the hotel, a far less acute observer than young Pedgift must have noticed the marked change that appeared in Allan's manner. He looked vexed and puzzled, and sat drumming with his fingers on the dining-table without uttering a word.

'I'm afraid something has happened to annoy you, sir, since we parted company in the Park?' said Pedgift Junior. 'Excuse the question; I only ask it in case I can be of any use.'

'Something that I never expected has happened,' returned Allan; 'I don't know what to make of it. I should like to have your opinion,' he added, after a little hesitation; 'that is to say, if you will excuse my not entering into any particulars?'

'Certainly!' assented young Pedgift. 'Sketch it in outline, sir. The merest hint will do; I wasn't born yesterday.' ('Oh, these women!' thought the youthful philosopher, in parenthesis.)

'Well,' began Allan, 'you know what I said when we got to this hotel; I said I had a place to go to in Bayswater' (Pedgift mentally checked off the first point: Case in the suburbs, Bayswater); 'and a person—that is to say—no—as I said before, a person to inquire after.' (Pedgift checked off the next point: Person in the case. She- person, or he-person? She-person, unquestionably!) 'Well, I went to the house, and when I asked for her—I mean the person—she—that is to say, the person—oh, confound it!' cried Allan, 'I shall drive myself mad, and you, too, if I try to tell my story in this roundabout way. Here it is in two words. I went to No. 18 Kingsdown Crescent, to see a lady named Mandeville; and, when I asked for her, the servant said Mrs. Mandeville had gone away, without telling anybody where, and without even leaving an address at which letters could be sent to her. There! it's out at last. And what do you think of it now?'

'Tell me first, sir,' said the wary Pedgift, 'what inquiries you made when you found this lady had vanished?'

'Inquiries!' repeated Allan. 'I was utterly staggered; I didn't say anything. What inquiries ought I to have made?'

Pedgift Junior cleared his throat, and crossed his legs in a strictly professional manner.

'I have no wish, Mr. Armadale,' he began, 'to inquire into your business with Mrs. Mandeville—'

'No,' interposed Allan, bluntly; 'I hope you won't inquire into that. My business with Mrs. Mandeville must remain a secret.'

'But,' pursued Pedgift, laying down the law with the forefinger of one hand on the outstretched palm of the other, 'I may, perhaps, be allowed to ask generally whether your business with Mrs. Mandeville is of a nature to interest you in tracing her from Kingsdown Crescent to her present residence?'

'Certainly!' said Allan. 'I have a very particular reason for wishing to see her.'

'In that case, sir,' returned Pedgift Junior, 'there were two obvious questions which you ought to have asked, to begin with—namely, on what date Mrs. Mandeville left, and how she left. Having discovered this, you should have ascertained next under what domestic circumstances she went away—whether there was a misunderstanding with anybody; say a difficulty about money matters. Also, whether she went away alone, or with somebody else. Also, whether the house was her own, or whether she only lodged in it. Also, in the latter event—'

'Stop! stop! you're making my head swim,' cried Allan. 'I don't understand all these ins and outs. I'm not used to this sort of thing.'

'I've been used to it myself from my childhood upward, sir,' remarked Pedgift. 'And if I can be of any assistance, say the word.'