“Oh, Mr. Viner, we are Langton’s sisters! And we are so grateful to you—and oh, do you think you can save him?”
Viner was quick to seize the situation. He said a soothing word or two, begged his visitors to sit down again, and whispered to Miss Penkridge to ring for tea.
“You have come to town today?” he asked.
“We left home very, very early this morning,” replied the elder sister. “We learned this dreadful news last night in the evening paper. We came away at four o’clock this morning—we live in Durham, Mr. Viner—and we have been to Mr. Felpham’s office this afternoon. He told us how kind you had been in engaging his services for our unfortunate brother, and we came to thank you. But oh, do you think there is any chance for him?”
“Every chance!” declared Viner, pretending more conviction than he felt. “Don’t let yourselves be cast down. We’ll move heaven and earth to prove that he’s wrongly accused. I gather—if you don’t mind my asking—that your brother has been out of touch with you for some time?”
The two sisters exchanged mournful glances.
“We had not heard anything of Langton for some years,” replied the elder. “He is much—much younger than ourselves, and perhaps we are too staid and old-fashioned for him. But if we had known that he was in want! Oh, dear me, we are not at all well-to-do, Mr. Viner, but we would have sacrificed anything. Mr. Felpham says that we shall be allowed to visit him—he is going to arrange for us to do so. And of course we must remain in London until this terrible business is over—we came prepared for that.”
“Prepared for that!” repeated the other sister, who seemed to be a fainter replica of the elder. “Yes, prepared, of course, Mr. Viner.”
“Now that we have found Langton, though in such painful circumstances,” said the first speaker, “we must stand by him. We must find some quiet lodging, and settle down to help. We cannot let all the burden fall on you, Mr. Viner.”
Viner glanced at Miss Penkridge. They were quick to understand each other, these two, and he knew at once that Miss Penkridge saw what was in his mind.
“You must stay with us,” he said, turning to the two mournful figures. “We have any amount of room in this house, and we shall be only too glad—”
“Oh, but that is too—” began both ladies.
“I insist,” said Viner, with a smile.
“We both insist!” echoed Miss Penkridge. “We are both given to having our own way, too; so say no more about it. We are all in the same boat just now, and its name is Mystery, and we must pull together until we’re in harbour.”
“Listen!” said Viner. “I have to go away tonight, on a matter closely connected with this affair. Let me leave you in my aunt’s charge, and tomorrow I may be able to give you some cheering news. You’ll be much more comfortable here than in any lodgings or hotel and—and I should like to do something for Hyde; we’re old schoolfellows, you know.”
Then he escaped from the room and made ready for his journey; and at half-past five came Mr. Pawle in his private car and carried him off into the dark. And hour and a half later the car rolled smoothly into the main street of a quiet, wholly Arcadian little town, and pulled up before an old-fashioned many-gabled house over the door of which was set up one of those ancient signs which, in such places, display the coat of arms of the lord of the manor. Viner had just time to glance around him, and in a clear, starlit evening, to see the high tower of a church, the timbered fronts of old houses, and many a tall, venerable tree, before following Mr. Pawle into a stone hall filled with dark oak cabinets and bright with old brass and pewter, on the open hearth of which burnt a fine and cheery fire of logs.
“Excellent!” muttered the old lawyer as he began to take off his multitudinous wraps. “A real bit of the real old England! Viner, if the dinner is as good as this promises, I shall be glad we’ve come, whatever the occasion.”
“Here’s the landlady, I suppose,” said Viner as a door opened.
A tall, silver-haired old woman, surprisingly active and vivacious in spite of her evident age, came forward with a polite, old-fashioned bow. She wore a silk gown and a silk apron and a smart cap, and her still bright eyes took in the two visitors at a glance.
“Your servant, gentlemen,” she said. “Your rooms are ready, and dinner will be ready, too, when you are. This way, if you please.”
“A very fine old house this, ma’am,” observed Mr. Pawle as they followed her up a curious staircase, all nooks and corners. “And you have, no doubt, been long in it?”
“Born in it, sir,” said the landlady, with a laugh. “Our family—on one side—has been here two hundred years. This is your room, sir—this is your friend’s.” She paused, and with a significant look, pointed to another door. “That,” she said, “is the room which Mr. Ashton had when he was here.”
“Ah! We are very anxious to know what you can tell us about him, ma’am,” said Mr. Pawle.
Mrs. Summers paused, and again glanced significantly at her visitors.
“I wish I knew the meaning of what I shall tell you,” she answered.
IX
Looking Backward
On the principle that business should never be discussed when one is dining, Mr. Pawle made no reference during dinner to the matter which had brought Viner and himself to the Ellingham Arms. He devoted all his attention and energies to the pleasures of the table; he praised the grilled soles and roast mutton and grew enthusiastic over some old Burgundy which Mrs. Summers strongly
