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Updated: June 11, 2025
It quite disposed of that disagreeable suspicion touching his cousin. Had his cousin so far forgotten himself as to take the note, he would not have been likely to return it: he knew nothing of the proceedings which had taken place in Helstonleigh, for Mr. Galloway had never mentioned them to him. The writer of this letter was cognizant of them, and had sent it that they might be removed.
In all Helstonleigh there was not a family more respected than were the Channings; and the man felt a passing sorrow for his task. "I wouldn't ask no questions, sir, if I was you. Sometimes it's best not; they tell against the accused." "Time's up," called out the one who was in the hall, to his fellow. "We can't stop here all day." The hint was taken at once, both by Arthur and the man.
It was in the gift of the present baronet, Sir Frederick Hazeldon, a descendant of the founder, and he now suddenly conferred it upon the Rev. William Yorke. It took Helstonleigh by surprise. It took Mr. Yorke himself entirely by surprise. He possessed no interest whatever with Sir Frederick, and had never cast a thought to the probability of its becoming his.
Snatching up his hat, Roland darted at full speed out of the office, in search of one who was running at full speed also down the street. Hamish looked out, amused, at the chase; Arthur, who had called after Roland in vain, seemed vexed. "Knivett is one of the fleetest runners in Helstonleigh," said Hamish. "Yorke will scarcely catch him up."
J. shall be happy if you will, at seven o'clock. It's tripe and onions. Yours, Now, if there was one delicacy, known to this world, more delicious to old Ketch's palate than another, it was tripe, seasoned with onions. His mouth watered as he read. He was aware that it was to use the phraseology of Helstonleigh "tripe night." On two nights in the week, tripe was sold in the town ready dressed.
He wrote a line rapidly in pencil, folded, called in his man-servant, and despatched him with it to the police-station. The station was very near Mr. Galloway's; on the other side of the cathedral, halfway between that edifice and the town-hall. In ten minutes after the servant had left the house, Mr. Butterby was on his road to it. Mr. Butterby puzzled Helstonleigh.
When the Helstonleigh College boys resolved upon what they were pleased to term a "lark" and, to do them justice, they regarded this, their prospective night's work, in no graver light they carried it out artistically, with a completeness, a skill, worthy of a better cause.
He turned into his own house, which was situated near the cloister gates, and Arthur went on home. Had you been attending worship in Helstonleigh Cathedral that same afternoon, you might have observed, as one of the congregation, a tall stout man, with a dark, sallow face, and grey hair. He sat in a stall near to the Reverend William Yorke, who was the chanter for the afternoon. It was Dr. Lamb.
Yorke stood for a moment as if petrified, and then strode on his way with a step as haughty as Roland's. Roland burst into a glow of delight. "That's the way to serve him, Mr. Huntley! I hope he'll get cut by every good man in Helstonleigh." The Rev. Mr. Yorke, in his surplice and hood, stood in his stall in the cathedral.
"I will not hear another word, Roland," interrupted Lady Augusta. "How can you be so wicked and ungrateful?" "What is there wicked in it?" asked Roland. "Besides, you don't know all. I can't tell you what I don't owe in Helstonleigh, and I've not a sixpence to pay it with. You wouldn't like to see me marched off to prison, mother." Lady Augusta gave another shriek.
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