I was satisfied, and said nothing, but waited for my friend and the head of the establishment, the latter of whom I intended to see alone. In a minute or two a telegraphic message, stating that I must return to my chambers in town, to a consultation, by the first train, was put into my hands. I consoled myself with the idea that I would come down again on Monday. I inquired the name of the mad girl, made my bow, and in three quarters of an hour was deep in law in chambers.
Monday morning found me at Mrs. , near Hanwell.
“Is Mrs. at home?”
“Yes sir.”
I sent up my card, and when admitted, I forthwith proceeded to make inquiries about my friend.
“Oh, she was taken away yesterday by her friends. She has been improving lately, and was removed about two o’clock yesterday.”
“Do you know where she came from, or where she has gone?” said I.
“Not at all, sir.”
I saw the woman was telling an untruth, but how could I expose her?
“Do your patients generally come and go in that extraordinary manner?”
“Oh, constantly, when introduced and taken away by a doctor.”
“Then her friend is a medical man?”
“No, sir, I did not say that; her friends brought a medical man with them.”
Untruth No. 2, thought I.
“And what is his name, pray?”
“That I must not tell.”
Truth the first and last, I thought.
“I can give you this clue, sir,—they went down the line, for I know they took tickets to Exeter.”
“Thank you,” said I, inwardly concluding that that was untruth No. 3, and that therefore (as turned out to be the case) the parties had gone up the line—probably to London. I then became more open, threatened, coaxed, tried to bribe, and at last was told that if I did not leave the house at once, I should be turned out by the men-servants. Out I accordingly chose to go of my own free (?) will. In vain I twisted and turned everything over in my mind. The mistress of the establishment was not to blame—I could not bring her into court, for I dared not prove any interest in the young lady. Besides, I might have been mistaken, and in that case how foolish I should have looked. I was obliged, again, to fall back on Time, the great solver of mysteries. At length Time came to my relief.
About eighteen months after the last-mentioned circumstance I was junior counsel in some trial in London. It was my turn to examine the next witness—a somewhat unimportant one, by-the-bye.
“Miss Evelina Shirlock.”
“Miss Evelina Shirlock” was repeated by the man in office. Forthwith the usual oath was administered in the accustomed rapid, careless manner—“The evidence you shall give,” &c., &c. I had not as yet looked up, for I was running my eye over my brief; but when I did, I was so startled as nearly to jump out—not of my skin, but—of my wig.
Good gracious! More beautiful than ever, and self-possessed, there stood before me in the witness-box my long-lost middy friend.
Now, if a barrister ever loses his presence of mind, he is not fit for his profession. I very nearly, but not quite—never, however, so nearly as then—lost my presence of mind. However, my wits did not quite abandon me. At a glance I saw that the witness did not recognise in a grey curly wig, and with a sedate face, her former ally with dark locks and a merry countenance. At once I thrust deep into my pocket my pearl-ringed hand, tried slightly to change my voice, and began:
“Your name is Evelina Shirlock?”
“Yes.”
“You live at Sun Villa, Regent’s Park?”
“Yes.”
“You are described, I see, as the niece of Sir John and Lady Clanmer, living at the same place?”
“I am.”
“Have you lived there long?” She got confused. No answer.
“Have you lived there long?” I repeated.
“What on earth are you at?” whispered my senior counsel on the same side. “You will so bother the girl with your questions, which have nothing to do with the case, that she won’t be able to give the evidence we really want.
“No, I will not,” I replied; but I saw the lady change colour rapidly more than once, sigh, give tokens of fainting. I put my handkerchief to my face. “My nose is bleeding,” I whispered to my senior. “You examine this witness, I will take the next.”
At once I left the court. The witness did not, I believe, acquit herself in first-rate style, for which I got the blame. My irrelevant questions I attributed to a throbbing head, in corroboration of which my supposed bloody nose did me good service. The evidence, I knew, could not materially affect the case, and I had elicited what I wanted. No sooner was the court up than, having changed my clothes and flung my papers at the astonished clerk’s head, off I drove to Sun Villa, Regent’s Park.
“Is Miss Shirlock at home?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take my card up, and say that I am the gentleman who examined her to-day in court, and that I wish to see her.”
Quickly, radiant with beauty, she entered, leaning on her aunt’s arm. She shook hands with me.
“Oh, aunt!” she said, “this is the gentleman to whom we are so much indebted, and to whom my warmest thanks especially are owing. But, Mr. Stonhouse, you were too hard upon me in court. When I fancied I began to recognise you, I thought I should have fainted.”
“Indeed, Miss Shirlock, you must make every allowance for my excitement on so unexpectedly meeting you, after having in vain sought you for many a long month.”
Lady Clanmer kindly asked me to dine. Sir John had already started for some Lord Mayor’s