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He rose and turned toward her politely a pale, fair man, with a keen gray eye and a pleasant voice and manner; "I am Edward Undercliff. You come by appointment?" "Yes, sir." "A question of handwriting?" "Not entirely, sir. Do you remember giving witness in favor of a young clergyman, Mr. Robert Penfold, who was accused of forgery?" "I remember the circumstance, but not the details."
"Fetch me that note," said Undercliff, and his eyes sparkled. He was on a hot scent now. "And let me study the genuine reports, and compare what they say with the forged ones," said Mrs. Undercliff. "Oh, what friends I have found at last!" cried Helen. She thanked them both warmly, and hurried home, for it was getting late. Next day she brought Hand's letter to Mr.
For now a shrewd person, with a plain prejudice in her favor and Robert's, was staggered by the simple facts of the trial. She turned to Mr. Undercliff, and, probably because the perusal of the reports had disappointed her, said, almost angrily: "Edward, what did you say to make them laugh at that trial?
The coast at Branscombe is wildly beautiful, and an interesting ramble may be taken at low tide among the masses of rock that form a sort of undercliff; the miniature valleys between are carpeted with rare and beautiful flowers. It is not practicable to continue by the shore except at the expenditure of much exertion.
"I'll employ nobody but myself," said Helen. "I'll go to the British Museum directly." "The Museum!" cried Mr. Undercliff, looking with surprise. "Why, they will be half an hour groping for a copy of the Times. No, no; go to Peele's CoffeeHouse."
Independent liars contradict each other; but these chaps follow one another in falsehood, like geese toddling after one another across a common. "Come, come," said Mrs. Undercliff, "if you can't help us, don't hurt us. We don't want a man to talk yellow jaundice to us. Miss Rolleston must employ somebody to read all the other papers, and compare the reports with these."
And therewith she pointed to a place where the stream ran in a chain of pools and stickles, and a sheer cliff rose up some fifty paces beyond it, but betwixt the stream and the cliff was a smooth table of greensward, with three fair thorn bushes thereon, and it went down at each end to the level of the river's lip by a green slope, but amidmost, the little green plain was some ten feet above the stream, and was broken by a little undercliff, which went down sheer into the water.
Undercliff; "of course I had no idea you were going to marry Mr. Wardlaw. I made sure Mr. Penfold was the man." Helen blushed higher still, but made no reply. Mrs. Undercliff turned the conversation directly. "My son has given many hours to Mr. Hand's two letters, and he told me to tell you he is beginning to doubt whether Mr. Hand is a real person, with a real handwriting, at all. "Oh, Mrs.
"There's something noble about this face," said Mrs. Undercliff, ignoring the interruption, "and yet something simple. I think him more likely to be a cat's-paw than a felon." Having delivered this with a certain modest dignity, she laid the profile on the counter before Helen.
"Oh," said Helen, "only some writing of Mr. Penfold. Mr. Undercliff does not want to see that; he is already sure Robert Penfold never wrote that wicked thing." "Yes, but I should like to see some more of his handwriting, for all that," said the expert, looking suddenly up. "But it is only in pencil." "Never mind; you need not fear I shall alter my opinion." Helen colored high.
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