Chapter XLVII

[Paddy O’Connell informs his sister Clara that he is detained in London upon business of some importance.]

The Grand Hotel, Charing Cross,
December 13th, 1905.

Dear Clara,--I arrived here on Saturday night from Paris, but I didn’t come on to you for reasons which the great Deep can speak of, and especially that part of it which lies between Dover and Calais. Faith, every soul on board but me was sick; and nothing but the natural delicacy of my feelings prevented that same calamity overtaking me.

I propose now to rest a few days in London. There are my stockbrokers to see, and some of Harry’s business to be attended to. You have heard by my letters and the newspapers all that has been going on in France, so I do no more than to tell you that Harry is hard at work already as a newspaper correspondent, and a mighty pretty one at that. If he doesn’t succeed as a newspaper man, it will be because he tells the truth, which is not what some of ’em in Fleet-street want at all, as I found out when I called John Ferguson, of the “Daily Herald,” a black-hearted liar. But Harry will do well, I hope; and he’s saved his fortune for certain.

_Apropos_ of this, ’tis the oddest thing in the world, but I met Mrs. Warrington in this very hotel, and had some talk with her. She is a sensible little body, and doesn’t grudge Harry his fortune at all.

“After all,” says she, “’twas his father’s money and not ours.” But I fear the parson man, her husband, is in a bad way about it and swearing like the devil. It appears that he’s been counting his chickens before they were hatched, and a pretty brood of blue envelopes have come out of the nest. I shall have to be writing to Harry to do something for him. ’Tis not cricket at all to be expecting a fool to pay the whole price of his folly, for God knows, we are no wiser than we were born, and that’s not very wise at all where some of us are concerned.

I shall stay a few days in London, though I expect to be very busy all the time. To-night I may go to the theatre by way of relaxation; you wouldn’t have me kill myself with hard work, though anxious I am to get home to Ireland and the riding.

I will just say that Harry writes to me almost every day, and is full of his happiness. My friend, the Princess Hélène, has gone to Corfu on the Marquis’s yacht, and the Duchesse de Bourg with her. Harry and Mimi could have the great château to themselves if they chose; but, will you believe it, they have gone up to the little house on the Butte, just to pass a day or two, they say, and to see what the old life was like. ’Twould be odd to hear that the little Greuze girl cared anything about that now, but I suppose Harry knows what he is doing, and he’ll have plenty of murders to send to the newspapers.

Do not be at the pains to write to me, Clara. I shall be coming home as soon as all these lawyer men have finished with me.

Meanwhile, I am, as ever, your affectionate brother,

Paddy.

There was a man stopped me by Charing Cross Station yesterday, and asked me if I could direct him to the house of the Archdeacon of Middlesex. I had a little talk with him, and took him afterwards to my hotel. ’Twas a most wonderful story he had to tell me. His cousin, it appears, is a prisoner, in Spain, and knows of a buried treasure near Cadiz. About fifty pounds will buy the man’s liberty, and he’s willing to share the treasure, which dates back from Columbus’ day, and is mostly in moidores, though all sound gold, with any man that will find him the money. I’m of the mind to join them. ’Twould be something to come home to you, Clara, with a ship full of guineas. And all for a paltry fifty pounds.