'
'May I ask you, if, without leaving this town, you can lay your finger
on him, Sir?'
'Why, not conveniently,' answered Dangerfield, with the same air of
cynical amusement. ''Twould reach in that case all the way to Florence,
and even then we should gain little by the discovery.'
'But you do know him?' pursued Mervyn.
'_I did_, Sir, though very slightly,' answered Dangerfield.
'And I'm given to understand, Sir, he's to be found occasionally in this
town?' continued his visitor.
'There's just one man who sees him, and that's the parish clerk--what's
his name?--Zekiel Irons--he sees him. Suppose we send down to his house,
and fetch him here, and learn all about it?' said Dangerfield, who
seemed mightily tickled by the whole thing.
'He left the town, Sir, last night; and I've reason to suspect, with a
resolution of returning no more. And I must speak plainly, Mr.
Dangerfield, 'tis no subject for trifling--the fame and fortune of a
noble family depend on searching out the truth; and I'll lose my life,
Sir, or I'll discover it.'
Still the old cynical, quizzical smile on Dangerfield's white face, who
said encouragingly--
'Nobly resolved, Sir, upon my honour!'
'And Mr.
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