“I hope you will excuse my troubling you,” said Mr. Toogood.
“It is no trouble at all—if I could be of any use. I don’t know whether it is proper, but may I ask whether you call as—as—as a friend of Mr. Crawley’s?”
“Altogether as a friend, Mr. Harding.”
“I’m glad of that; though of course I am well aware that the gentlemen engaged on the prosecution must do their duty. Still—I don’t know—somehow I would rather not hear them speak of this poor gentleman before the trial.”
“You know Mr. Crawley, then?”
“Very slightly—very slightly indeed. He is a gentleman not much given to social habits, and has been but seldom here. But he is an old friend whom my son-in-law loves dearly.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Mr. Harding. Perhaps before I go any further I ought to tell you that Mrs. Crawley and I are first-cousins.”
“Oh, indeed. Then you are a friend.”
“I never saw him in my life till a few days ago. He is very queer you know—very queer indeed. I’m a lawyer, Mr. Harding, practising in London;—an attorney, that is.” At each separate announcement Mr. Harding bowed, and when Toogood named his special branch of his profession Mr. Harding bowed lower than before, as though desirous of showing that he had great respect for attorneys. “And of course I’m anxious, if only out of respect for the family, that my wife’s cousin should pull through this little difficulty, if possible.”
“And for the sake of the poor man himself too, and for his wife, and his children;—and for the sake of the cloth.”
“Exactly; taking it all together it’s such a pity, you know. I think, Mr. Harding, he can hardly have intended to steal the money.”
“I’m sure he did not.”
“It’s very hard to be sure of anybody, Mr. Harding;—very hard.”
“I feel quite sure that he did not. He has been a most pious, hardworking clergyman. I cannot bring myself to think that he is guilty. What does the Latin proverb say? ‘No one of a sudden becomes most base.’ ”
“But the temptation, Mr. Harding, was very strong. He was awfully badgered about his debts. That butcher in Silverbridge was playing the mischief with him.”
“All the butchers in Barsetshire could not make an honest man steal money, and I think that Mr. Crawley is an honest man. You’ll excuse me for being a little hot about one of my own order.”
“Why; he’s my cousin—or rather, my wife’s. But the fact is, Mr. Harding, we must get hold of the dean as soon as possible; and I’m going to send a gentleman after him.”
“To send a gentleman after him?” said Mr. Harding, almost in dismay.
“Yes; I think that will be best.”
“I’m afraid he’ll have to go a long way, Mr. Toogood.”
“The dean, I’m told, is in Jerusalem.”
“I’m afraid he is—or on his journey there. He’s to be there for the Easter week, and Sunday week will be Easter Sunday. But why should the gentleman want to go to Jerusalem after the dean?”
Then Mr. Toogood explained as well as he was able that the dean might have something to say on the subject which would serve Mr. Crawley’s defence. “We shouldn’t leave any stone unturned,” said Mr. Toogood. “As far as I can judge, Crawley still thinks—or half thinks—that he got the cheque from your son-in-law.” Mr. Harding shook his head sorrowfully. “I’m not saying he did, you know,” continued Mr. Toogood. “I can’t see myself how it is possible;—but still, we ought not to leave any stone unturned. And Mrs. Arabin—can you tell me at all where we shall find her?”
“Has she anything to do with it, Mr. Toogood?”
“I can’t quite say that she has, but it’s just possible. As I said before, Mr. Harding, we mustn’t leave a stone unturned. They’re not expected here till the end of April?”
“About the 25th or 26th, I think.”
“And the assizes are the 28th. The judges come into the city on that day. It will be too late to wait till then. We must have our defence ready you know. Can you say where my friend will find Mrs. Arabin?”
Mr. Harding began nursing his knee, patting it and being very tender to it, as he sat meditating with his head on one side—meditating not so much as to the nature of his answer as to that of the question. Could it be necessary that any emissary from a lawyer’s office should be sent after his daughter? He did not like the idea of his Eleanor being disturbed by questions as to a theft. Though she had been twice married and had a son who was now nearly a man, still she was his Eleanor. But if it was necessary on Mr. Crawley’s behalf, of course it must be done. “Her last address was at Paris, sir; but I think she has gone on to Florence. She has friends there, and she purposes to meet the dean at Venice on his return.” Then Mr. Harding turned the table and wrote on a card his daughter’s address.
“I suppose Mrs. Arabin must have heard of the affair?” said Mr. Toogood.
“She had not done so when she last wrote. I mentioned it to her the other day, before I knew that she had left
