Larcom, the Butler, Visits the Attorney.

Now I may as well mention here an occurrence which, seeming very insignificant, has yet a bearing upon the current of this tale, and it is this. About four days after the receipt of the despatches to which the conference of Captain Lake and the attorney referred, there came a letter from the same prolific correspondent, dated 20th March, from Genoa, which altogether puzzled Mr. Larkin. It commenced thus:—

‘Genoa: 20th march.

‘DEAR LARKIN — I hope you did the three commissions all right. Wealdon won’t refuse, I reckon — but don’t let Lake guess what the 150_l. is for. Pay Martin for the job when finished; it is under 60_l.. mind; and get it looked at first.’

There was a great deal more, but these were the passages which perplexed Larkin. He unlocked the iron safe, and took out the sheaf of Wylder’s letters, and conned the last one over very carefully.

‘Why,’ said he, holding the text before his eyes in one hand and with the fingers of the other touching the top of his bald forehead, ‘Tom Wealdon is not once mentioned in this, nor in any of them; and this palpably refers to some direction. And 150_l.? — no such sum has been mentioned. And what is this job of Martin’s? Is it Martin of the China Kilns, or Martin of the bank? That, too, plainly refers to a former letter — not a word of the sort. This is very odd indeed.’

Larkin’s finger-tips descended over his eyebrow, and scratched in a miniature way there for a few seconds, and then his large long hand descended further to his chin, and his under-lip was, as usual in deep thought, fondled and pinched between his finger and thumb.

‘There has plainly been a letter lost, manifestly. I never knew anything wrong in this Gylingden office. Driver has been always correct; but it is hard to know any man for certain in this world. I don’t think the captain would venture anything so awfully hazardous. I really can’t suspect so monstrous a thing; but, unquestionably, a letter has been lost — and who’s to take it?’

Larkin made a fuller endorsement than usual on this particular letter, and ruminated over the correspondence a good while, with his lip between his finger and thumb, and a shadow on his face, before he replaced it in its iron drawer.

‘It is not a thing to be passed over,’ murmured the attorney, who had come to a decision as to the first step to be taken, and he thought with a qualm of the effect of one of Wylder’s confidential notes getting into Captain Lake’s hands.

While he was buttoning his walking boots, with his foot on the chair before the fire, a tap at his study door surprised him. A hurried glance on the table satisfying him that no secret paper or despatch lay there, he called —

‘Come in.’

And Mr. Larcom, the grave butler of Brandon, wearing outside his portly person a black garment then known as a ‘zephyr,’ a white choker, and black trousers, and well polished, but rather splay shoes, and, on the whole, his fat and serious aspect considered, being capable of being mistaken for a church dignitary, or at least for an eminent undertaker, entered the room with a solemn and gentlemanlike reverence.

‘Oh, Mr. Larcom! a message, or business?’ said Mr. Larkin, urbanely.

‘Not a message, Sir; only an enquiry about them few shares,’ answered Mr. Larcom, with another serene reverence, and remaining standing, hat in hand, at the door.

‘Oh, yes; and how do you do, Mr. Larcom? Quite well, I trust. Yes — about the Naunton Junction. Well, I’m happy to tell you — but pray take a chair — that I have succeeded, and the directors have allotted you five shares; and it’s your own fault if you don’t make two ten-and-six a share. The Chowsleys are up to six and a-half, I see here,’ and he pointed to the ‘Times.’ Mr. Larcom’s fat face smiled, in spite of his endeavour to keep it under. It was part of his business to look always grave, and he coughed, and recovered his gravity.

‘I’m very thankful, Sir,’ said Mr. Larcom, ‘very.’

‘But do sit down, Mr. Larcom — pray do,’ said the attorney, who was very gracious to Larcom. ‘You’ll get the scrip, you know, on executing, but the shares are allotted. They sent the notice for you here. And — and how are the family at Brandon — all well, I trust?’

Mr. Larcom blew his nose.

‘All, Sir, well.’

‘And — and let me give you a glass of sherry, Mr. Larcom, after your walk. I can’t compete with the Brandon sherry, Mr. Larcom. Wonderful fine wine that! — but still I’m told this is not a bad wine notwithstanding.’

Larcom received it with grave gratitude, and sipped it, and spoke respectfully of it.

‘And — and any news in that quarter of Mr. Mark Wylder — any — any surmise? I— you know — I’m interested for all parties.’

‘Well, Sir, of Mr. Wylder, I can’t say as I know no more than he’s been a subjek of much unpleasant feelin’, which I should say there has been a great deal of angry talk since I last saw you, Sir, between Miss Lake and the capting.’

‘Ah, yes, you mentioned something of the kind; and your own impression, that Captain Lake, which I trust may turn out to be so, knows where Mr. Mark Wylder is at present staying.’

‘I much misdoubt, Sir, it won’t turn out to be no good story for no one,’ said Mr. Larcom, in a low and sad tone, and with a long sh............