I don't know which, nor do I care. You can draw your own conclusions. Now, you can go.”
It burst upon Johnny all at once; a sort of suspicion appeared to attach itself to him that he knew more about the missing document than he cared to say. This was the solution of the difficulty he had in getting employment from solicitors whom he had known, and with whom he had been friendly in brighter days.
“Mrs. Pintle,” he exclaimed, “listen to me for one moment. Is it possible that I am suspected of having suppressed Mr. Pintle's will. It is a horrible thing to have to say in connection with one's self, but you seem to think that I know more than I have said. Good God! ma'am! why I am the greatest sufferer by its not being found. I am a legatee for £1,000. If it had turned up, my wife and I should have been independent by this time. As it is, my wife is dreadfully ill from want, and I have not a penny in my pocket—not a penny, not a penny!”
And old Johnny fairly gave way, and sobbed like a child on the crown of the self-assertive old hat.
“Will you oblige me by ringing that bell?” said Mrs. Pintle.
Johnny obeyed, and the weak-eyed one responded to the summons.
“Give this person some bread and cheese in the kitchen, and then show him out,” said Mrs. Pintle.
Johnny got up, brushed the obtrusive hat the wrong way with a trembling hand, and silently turned about and followed the retainer down stairs. When he reached the foot, he made for the street door.
