No Name Wilkie Collins (e book reader android TXT) 📖

say next? It says the writer has valuable information to give you if you will pay for it. What did you call this person yourself just now, sir?”

“I called him a scoundrel,” said Noel Vanstone, recovering his self-importance, and raising himself gradually in his chair.

“I agree with you in that, sir, as I agree in everything else,” proceeded Mrs. Lecount. “He is a scoundrel who really has this information and who means what he says, or he is a mouthpiece of Miss Vanstone’s, and she has caused this letter to be written for the purpose of puzzling us by another form of disguise. Whether the letter is true, or whether the letter is false⁠—am I not reading your own wiser thoughts now, Mr. Noel?⁠—you know better than to put your enemies on their guard by employing the police in this matter too soon. I quite agree with you⁠—no police just yet. You will allow this anonymous man, or anonymous woman, to suppose you are easily frightened; you will lay a trap for the information in return for the trap laid for your money; you will answer the letter, and see what comes of the answer; and you will only pay the expense of employing the police when you know the expense is necessary. I agree with you again⁠—no expense, if we can help it. In every particular, Mr. Noel, my mind and your mind in this matter are one.”

“It strikes you in that light, Lecount⁠—does it?” said Noel Vanstone. “I think so myself; I certainly think so. I won’t pay the police a farthing if I can possibly help it.” He took up the letter again, and became fretfully perplexed over a second reading of it. “But the man wants money!” he broke out, impatiently. “You seem to forget, Lecount, that the man wants money.”

“Money which you offer him, sir,” rejoined Mrs. Lecount; “but⁠—as your thoughts have already anticipated⁠—money which you don’t give him. No! no! you say to this man: ‘Hold out your hand, sir;’ and when he has held it, you give him a smack for his pains, and put your own hand back in your pocket.⁠—I am so glad to see you laughing, Mr. Noel! so glad to see you getting back your good spirits. We will answer the letter by advertisement, as the writer directs⁠—advertisement is so cheap! Your poor hand is trembling a little⁠—shall I hold the pen for you? I am not fit to do more; but I can always promise to hold the pen.”

Without waiting for his reply she went into the back parlor, and returned with pen, ink, and paper. Arranging a blotting-book on her knees, and looking a model of cheerful submission, she placed herself once more in front of her master’s chair.

“Shall I write from your dictation, sir?” she inquired. “Or shall I make a little sketch, and will you correct it afterward? I will make a little sketch. Let me see the letter. We are to advertise in the Times, and we are to address ‘An Unknown Friend.’ What shall I say, Mr. Noel? Stay; I will write it, and then you can see for yourself: ‘An Unknown Friend is requested to mention (by advertisement) an address at which a letter can reach him. The receipt of the information which he offers will be acknowledged by a reward of⁠—’ What sum of money do you wish me to set down, sir?”

“Set down nothing,” said Noel Vanstone, with a sudden outbreak of impatience. “Money matters are my business⁠—I say money matters are my business, Lecount. Leave it to me.”

“Certainly, sir,” replied Mrs. Lecount, handing her master the blotting-book. “You will not forget to be liberal in offering money when you know beforehand you don’t mean to part with it?”

“Don’t dictate, Lecount! I won’t submit to dictation!” said Noel Vanstone, asserting his own independence more and more impatiently. “I mean to conduct this business for myself. I am master, Lecount!”

“You are master, sir.”

“My father was master before me. And I am my father’s son. I tell you, Lecount, I am my father’s son!”

Mrs. Lecount bowed submissively.

“I mean to set down any sum of money I think right,” pursued Noel Vanstone, nodding his little flaxen head vehemently. “I mean to send this advertisement myself. The servant shall take it to the stationer’s to be put into the Times. When I ring the bell twice, send the servant. You understand, Lecount? Send the servant.”

Mrs. Lecount bowed again and walked slowly to the door. She knew to a nicety when to lead her master and when to let him go alone. Experience had taught her to govern him in all essential points by giving way to him afterward on all points of minor detail. It was a characteristic of his weak nature⁠—as it is of all weak natures⁠—to assert itself obstinately on trifles. The filling in of the blank in the advertisement was the trifle in this case; and Mrs. Lecount quieted her master’s suspicions that she was leading him by instantly conceding it. “My mule has kicked,” she thought to herself, in her own language, as she opened the door. “I can do no more with him today.”

“Lecount!” cried her master, as she stepped into the passage. “Come back.”

Mrs. Lecount came back.

“You’re not offended with me, are you?” asked Noel Vanstone, uneasily.

“Certainly not, sir,” replied Mrs. Lecount. “As you said just now⁠—you are master.”

“Good creature! Give me your hand.” He kissed her hand, and smiled in high approval of his own affectionate proceeding. “Lecount, you are a worthy creature!”

“Thank you, sir,” said Mrs. Lecount. She courtesied and went out. “If he had any brains in that monkey head of his,” she said to herself in the passage, “what a rascal he would be!”

Left by himself, Noel Vanstone became absorbed in anxious reflection over the blank space in the advertisement. Mrs. Lecount’s apparently superfluous hint to him to be liberal in offering money when he knew he had no intention of parting with it, had been founded on an intimate knowledge of his character. He had