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Had he taken the note, one might suppose he would be anxious to make it appear that strangers did enter, and so throw suspicion off himself." "I have made very close inquiry, and cannot find that the office was entered at all that afternoon," observed Mr. Butterby. Mr.
As for me, I think a great deal, and say nothing; but if the young Pontalba, who now studies type-setting with the Prince Imperial, was not the baby whose clothes I once saw examined at a café there is no truth in these "Leaves of an Idler." J. Moses Butterby, aged 40 years; a licensed broker; nativity, American; temperament, sanguine; habit, slightly obese; constitution, robust.
Butterby could tell us no more than we already know; we will pay a short visit to Mr. Stephen Bywater. That gentleman stood in the cloisters, into which he had seduced old Jenkins, the bedesman, having waited for the twilight hour, that he might make sure no one else would be there.
But his manner veered again suddenly, strangely veered round to all its old unsatisfactory suspiciousness; and when I hinted that I should recall Butterby to my counsels, he became agitated, as he had done formerly. My firm belief," Mr. Galloway added, laying his hand impressively upon Mr. Channing "my firm belief is, that Arthur did get the money sent back to me through a friend."
Impetuous Tom, forgetting caution, forgetting all except the moment actually present, gave utterance to more than was prudent. "Arthur, you are never fearing what those wretched schoolboys said? The police are not come to arrest you. Butterby wouldn't be such a fool!" But the police were in the hall, and Judith had come to the dining-room door. "Master Arthur, you are wanted, please."
Warm-hearted and generous, by fits and starts, was Roland Yorke; he had inherited it with his Irish blood from Lady Augusta. But meanwhile, where was Mr. Galloway? He did not make his appearance, and it was said he could not be found. Messenger after messenger was despatched to his office, to his house; and at length Mr. Butterby went himself. All in vain; his servants knew nothing about him.
Had the entire city concluded to multiply and replenish, the preparations could not have been on a grander scale. Of the exact particulars of the event, I fear I am not altogether clear. The cause of that commotion was also a mystery; but, when I entered the house, Master Moses Alphonso Butterby feebly echoed their shout of triumph.
"When was this?" asked Arthur. "Last week. Three or four days ago." Trifling as the incident was, it seemed to bear out their suspicions, and Arthur could only come to the same conclusion as his sister: the thought had already crossed him, you remember. "Do not let it pain you thus, Constance," he said, for her tears were falling fast. "He may not call in Butterby. Your grieving will do no good."
I followed her into the house, but there I learnt from Mrs. Butterby that her mistress was gone to her own chamber. As I was sitting in my office in the afternoon, Jack Dawson came to me in his seaman's dress, his hand still wrapped up, but his face more healthful for his long ride and cheerful thoughts.
Mr. Galloway was the first witness put forth by Mr. Butterby. The latter gentleman was in high feather also, believing he saw his way clear to a triumphant conviction. Mr. Galloway was questioned; and for some minutes it all went on swimmingly. "On the afternoon of the loss, before you closed your letter, who were in your office?" "My clerks Roland Yorke and Arthur Channing."
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