How should my intention be effected? I had hitherto concealed from
Welbeck my adventures at Thetford's house. These it was now necessary to
disclose, and to mention the recent occurrence. My deductions, in
consequence of my ignorance, might be erroneous; but of their truth his
knowledge of his own affairs would enable him to judge. It was possible
that Thetford and he whose chamber conversation I had overheard were
different persons. I endeavoured in vain to ascertain their identity by
a comparison of their voices. The words lately heard, my remembrance
did not enable me certainly to pronounce to be uttered by the same
organs. This uncertainty was of little moment. It sufficed that Welbeck was
designated by this appellation, and that therefore he was proved to be
the subject of some fraudulent proceeding. The information that I
possessed it was my duty to communicate as expeditiously as possible. I
was resolved to employ the first opportunity that offered for this end. My meditations had been ardently pursued, and, when I recalled my
attention, I found myself bewildered among fields and fences. It was
late before I extricated myself from unknown paths, and reached home. I entered the parlour; but Welbeck was not there. A table, with
tea-equipage for one person, was set; from which I inferred that Welbeck
was engaged abroad. This belief was confirmed by the report of the
servant. He could not inform me where his master was, but merely that he
should not take tea at home. This incident was a source of vexation and
impatience. I knew not but that delay would be of the utmost moment to
the safety of my friend. Wholly unacquainted as I was with the nature of
his contracts with Thetford, I could not decide whether a single hour
would not avail to obviate the evils that threatened him. Had I known
whither to trace his footsteps, I should certainly have sought an
immediate interview; but, as it was, I was obliged to wait, with what
patience I could collect, for his return to his own house. I waited hour after hour in vain. The sun declined, and the shades of
evening descended; but Welbeck was still at a distance. CHAPTER IX. Welbeck did not return, though hour succeeded hour till the clock struck
ten. I inquired of the servants, who informed me that their master was
not accustomed to stay out so late. I seated myself at a table, in a
parlour, on which there stood a light, and listened for the signal of
his coming, either by the sound of steps on the pavement without or by a
peal from the bell. The silence was uninterrupted and profound, and each
minute added to my sum of impatience and anxiety. To relieve myself from the heat of the weather, which was aggravated by
the condition of my thoughts, as well as to beguile this tormenting
interval, it occurred to me to betake myself to the bath. I left the
candle where it stood, and imagined that even in the bath I should hear
the sound of the bell which would be rung upon his arrival at the door. No such signal occurred, and, after taking this refreshment, I prepared
to return to my post. The parlour was still unoccupied, but this was not
all; the candle I had left upon the table was gone. This was an
inexplicable circumstance. On my promise to wait for their master, the
servants had retired to bed. No signal of any one's entrance had been
given. The street door was locked, and the key hung at its customary
place upon the wall. What was I to think? It was obvious to suppose that
the candle had been removed by a domestic; but their footsteps could not
be traced, and I was not sufficiently acquainted with the house to find
the way, especially immersed in darkness, to their chamber. One measure,
however, it was evidently proper to take, which was to supply myself,
anew, with a light. This was instantly performed; but what was next to
be done? I was weary of the perplexities in which I was embroiled. I saw no
avenue to escape from them but that which led me to the bosom of nature
and to my ancient occupations. For a moment I was tempted to resume my
rustic garb, and, on that very hour, to desert this habitation. One
thing only detained me; the desire to apprize my patron of the treachery
of Thetford. For this end I was anxious to obtain an interview; but now
I reflected that this information could by other means be imparted. Was
it not sufficient to write him briefly these particulars, and leave him
to profit by the knowledge? Thus I might, likewise, acquaint him with my
motives for thus abruptly and unseasonably deserting his service. To the execution of this scheme pen and paper were necessary. The
business of writing was performed in the chamber on the third story. I
had been hitherto denied access to this room. In it was a show of papers
and books. Here it was that the task, for which I had been retained, was
to be performed; but I was to enter it and leave it only in company with
Welbeck. For what reasons, I asked, was this procedure to be adopted? The influence of prohibitions and an appearance of disguise in awakening
curiosity is well known. My mind fastened upon the idea of this room
with an unusual degree of intenseness. I had seen it but for a moment. Many of Welbeck's hours were spent in it. It was not to be inferred that
they were consumed in idleness: what then was the nature of his
employment over which a veil of such impenetrable secrecy was cast? Will you wonder that the design of entering this recess was insensibly
formed? Possibly it was locked, but its accessibleness was likewise
possible. I meant not the commission of any crime. My principal purpose
was to procure the implements of writing, which were elsewhere not to be
found. I should neither unseal papers nor open drawers. I would merely
take a survey of the volumes and attend to the objects that
spontaneously presented themselves to my view. In this there surely was
nothing criminal or blameworthy. Meanwhile I was not unmindful of the
sudden disappearance of the candle. This incident filled my bosom with
the inquietudes of fear and the perturbations of wonder. Once more I paused to catch any sound that might arise from without. All
was still. I seized the candle and prepared to mount the stairs. I had
not reached the first landing when I called to mind my midnight meeting
with Welbeck at the door of his daughter's chamber. The chamber was now
desolate; perhaps it was accessible; if so, no injury was done by
entering it. My curiosity was strong, but it pictured to itself no
precise object. Three steps would bear me to the door. The trial,
whether it was fastened, might be made in a moment; and I readily
imagined that something might be found within to reward the trouble of
examination. The door yielded to my hand, and I entered. No remarkable object was discoverable. The apartment was supplied with
the usual furniture. I bent my steps towards a table over which a mirror
was suspended.