Now, it could not be said that there was urgent occasion, for Lightwood retained no other affairs in his hands than such as still lingered and languished about the undiscovered criminal, and such as arose out of the purchase of the house. Many other matters that might have travelled to him, now stopped short at the Secretary, under whose administration they were far more expeditiously and satisfactorily disposed of than they would have been if they had got into Young Blight’s domain. This the Golden Dustman quite understood. Even the matter immediately in hand was of very little moment as requiring personal appearance on the Secretary’s part, for it amounted to no more than this:—The death of Hexam rendering the sweat of the honest man’s brow unprofitable, the honest man had shufflingly declined to moisten his brow for nothing, with that severe exertion which is known in legal circles as swearing your way through a stone wall. Consequently, that new light had gone sputtering out. But, the airing of the old facts had led someone concerned to suggest that it would be well before they were reconsigned to their gloomy shelf—now probably forever—to induce or compel that Mr. Julius Handford to reappear and be questioned. And all traces of Mr. Julius Handford being lost, Lightwood now referred to his client for authority to seek him through public advertisement.
“Does your objection go to writing to Lightwood, Rokesmith?”
“Not in the least, sir.”
“Then perhaps you’ll write him a line, and say he is free to do what he likes. I don’t think it promises.”
“ I don’t think it promises,” said the Secretary.
“Still, he may do what he likes.”
“I will write immediately. Let me thank you for so considerately yielding to my disinclination. It may seem less unreasonable, if I avow to