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In this general term I of course include Master Moses Alphonso Butterby and my most highly respected mother-in-law. Such a family, according to all rule precedent, should be superlatively happy; but there seems to be a disturbing element in all families, and mine, alas! proved no exception. It came about thus.
Life had not come back, and the young man's face looked very handsome in death, the curls pushed back from his brow, and his long features still and colourless like a carved marble. Then with a "lack-a-day" and "alas," in bustles Mrs. Butterby with a bottle of cordial in one hand and a bunch of burning feathers in the other. "Fling that rubbish in the chimney," says the Don.
"Pshaw! is that all?" cried Tom Channing, lifting his head with a haughty gesture, and not condescending to notice the blood which trickled from his cheek. "You must have misunderstood him, boy." "No, I did not," replied Mark Galloway. "I heard him as plainly as I hear you now." "It is hardly likely that Butterby would say that before you, Galloway," observed Gaunt.
If I had not parted with the money, I should have gone straight to Galloway and said, 'Here it is; I took it. Not a soul stood up for you as they ought! Even Mr. Channing fell into the suspicion, and Hamish seemed indifferent and cool as a cucumber. I have never liked Galloway since; and I long, to this day, to give Butterby a ducking.
Butterby believed; so I bade the good woman tell her mistress when she awoke that Captain Evans had come to spend the night with me, and he would call to pay her his devoirs the next morning. Here, that nothing may be unaccounted for in the sequence of events, I must depart from my train of present observation to speak from after-knowledge.
"Not a caller near the place, that I can find out, and yet the bank-note vanishes out of the letter! If any one can come to the bottom of it, it's Butterby. Had the seal been broken, I should have given it to the post-office to ferret out; the crime would have lain with them, and so would the discovery. As it is, the business is mine."
Not Jackson's voice especially, but several other voices arose then; a word from one, a word from another, half sentences, disjointed hints, forming together an unmistakable whole. "The theft of old Galloway's bank-note has been traced to Arthur Channing." "Who says it? Who dares to say it?" flashed Tom, his face flaming, and his hand clenched. "The police say it. Butterby says it."
Butterby, sir. He is acting for Mr. Galloway. He was called in there early this morning." "Have you come for my son to go with you to Mr. Galloway's?" "Not there, sir. We have to take him straight to the Guildhall. The magistrates are waiting to hear the case." A dismayed pause. Even Mr.
Butterby, carrying a wax candle, followed by a couple of maids charged with all the provisions Moll had commanded. Having permission to enter, the good woman sets down her candle, puts on her glasses, and, coming to the bedside, says she can see very well by her poor looks, that her dear mistress has got a disorder of the biliaries on her, and prays Heaven it may not turn to something worse.
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