sense of pity or a sense of shame.
'Gently does it, old gentleman,' he repeated, lifting the covers from the dishes, and looking under them one after the other all round the table. 'Gently does it!'
'Don't be angry with me, Jemmy,' pleaded his father. 'Try, if you can, to think how anxious I must be. I got your letter so long ago as yesterday morning. I have had to travel all the way from Thorpe Ambrose—I have had to get through the dreadful long evening and the dreadful long night—with your letter telling me that you had found out who she is, and telling me nothing more. Suspense is very hard to bear, Jemmy, when you come to my age. What was it prevented you, my dear, from coming to me when I got here yesterday evening?'
'A little dinner at Richmond,' said Bashwood the younger. 'Give me some tea.'
Mr. Bashwood tried to comply with the request; but the hand with which he lifted the teapot trembled so unmanageably that the tea missed the cup and streamed out on the cloth. 'I'm very sorry; I can't help trembling when I'm anxious,' said the old man, as his son took the tea-pot out of his hand. 'I'm afraid you bear me malice, Jemmy, for what happened when I was last in town. I own I was obstinate and unreasonable about going back to Thorpe Ambrose. I'm more sensible now. You were quite right in taking it all on yourself, as soon as I showed you the veiled lady when we saw her come out of the hotel; and you were quite right to send me back the same day to my business in the steward's office at the Great House.' He watched the effect of these concessions on his son, and ventured doubtfully on another entreaty. 'If you won't tell me anything else just yet,' he said, faintly, 'will you tell me how you found her out. Do, Jemmy, do!'
Bashwood the younger looked up from his plate. 'I'll tell you that,' he said. 'The reckoning up of Miss Gwilt has cost more money and taken more time than I expected; and the sooner we come to a settlement about it, the sooner we shall get to what you want to know.'
Without a word of expostulation, the father laid his dingy old pocket-book and his purse on the table before the son. Bashwood the younger looked into the purse; observed, with a contemptuous elevation of the eyebrows, that it held no more than a sovereign and some silver; and returned it intact. The pocket-book, on being opened next, proved to contain four five-pound notes. Bashwood the younger transferred three of the notes to his own keeping; and handed the pocket-book back to his father, with a bow expressive of mock gratitude and sarcastic respect.
'A thousand thanks,' he said. 'Some of it is for the people at our office, and the balance is for myself. One of the few stupid things, my dear sir, that I have done in the course of my life was to write you word, when you first consulted me, that you might have my services gratis. As you see, I hasten to repair the error. An hour or two at odd times I was ready enough to give you. But this business has taken days, and has got in the way of other jobs. I told you I couldn't be out of pocket by you—I put it in my letter, as plain as words could say it.'
'Yes, yes, Jemmy. I don't complain, my dear, I don't complain. Never mind the money—tell me how you found her out.'
'Besides,' pursued Bashwood, the younger, proceeding impenetrably with his justification of himself, 'I have given you the benefit of my experience; I've done it cheap. It would have cost double the money if another man had taken this in hand. Another man would have kept a watch on Mr. Armadale as well as Miss Gwilt. I have saved you that expense. You are certain that Mr. Armadale is bent on marrying her. Very good. In that case, while we have our eye on
'Quite true, Jemmy. But how was it Miss Gwilt came to give you so much trouble?'
'She's a devilish clever woman,' said Bashwood the younger; 'that's how it was. She gave us the slip at a milliner's shop. We made it all right with the milliner, and speculated on the chance of her coming back to try on a gown she had ordered. The cleverest women lose the use of their wits in nine cases out of ten where there's a new dress in the case, and even Miss Gwilt was rash enough to go back. That was all we wanted. One of the women from our office helped to try on her new gown, and put her in the right position to be seen by one of our men behind the door. He instantly suspected who she was, on the strength of what he had been told of her; for she's a famous woman in her way. Of course, we didn't trust to that. We traced her to her new address; and we got a man from Scotland Yard, who was certain to know her, if our own man's idea was the right one. The man from Scotland Yard turned milliner's lad for the occasion, and took her gown home. He saw her in the passage, and identified her in an instant. You're in luck, I can tell you. Miss Gwilt's a public character. If we had had a less notorious woman to deal with, she might have cost us weeks of inquiry, and you might have had to pay hundreds of pounds. A day did it in Miss Gwilt's case; and another day put the whole story of her life, in black and white, into my hand. There it is at the present moment, old gentleman, in my black bag.'
Bashwood the father made straight for the bag with eager eyes and outstretched hand. Bashwood the son took a little key out of his waistcoat pocket, winked, shook his head, and put the key back again.
'I haven't done breakfast yet,' he said. 'Gently does it, my dear sir—gently does it.'
'I can't wait!' cried the old man, struggling vainly to preserve his self-control. 'It's past nine! It's a fortnight to-day since she went to London with Mr. Armadale! She may be married to him in a fortnight! She may be married to him this morning! I can't wait! I can't wait!'
'There's no knowing what you can do till you try,' rejoined Bashwood the younger. 'Try, and you'll find you can wait. What has become of your curiosity?' he went on, feeding the fire ingeniously with a stick at a time. 'Why don't you ask me what I mean by calling Miss Gwilt a public character? Why don't you wonder how I came to lay my hand on the story of her life, in black and white? If you'll sit down again, I'll tell you. If you won't, I shall confine myself to my breakfast.'
Mr. Bashwood sighed heavily, and went back to his chair.
'I wish you were not so fond of your joke, Jemmy,' he said. 'I wish, my dear, you were not quite so fond of your joke.'
'Joke?' repeated his son. 'It would be serious enough in some people's eyes, I can tell you. Miss Gwilt has been tried for her life; and the papers in that black bag are the lawyer's instructions for the Defense. Do you call that a joke?'
The father started to his feet, and looked straight across the table at the son with a smile of exultation that was terrible to see.
'She's been tried for her life!' he burst out, with a deep gasp of satisfaction. 'She's been tried for her life!' He broke into a low, prolonged laugh, and snapped his fingers exultingly. 'Aha-ha-ha! Something to frighten Mr. Armadale in
Scoundrel as he was, the son was daunted by the explosion of pent-up passion which burst on him in those words.
