‘If I had not been an infatuated old idiot,’ said Mr Carver, hurling the unfortunate volume of romance with unnecessary violence across the room, ‘I should have foreseen this;’ and murmuring something about strait-waistcoats and the thick-headedness of society in general, he lapsed into gloomy silence. Mr Bates regarded his chief in mild disapproval. Such an ebullition of feeling by no means accorded with his views of professional etiquette; besides, he had a feeling that his discovery had not been treated in a proper and business-like manner. ‘Hem!’ said that gentleman, clearing his throat gently—‘hem! If I may be allowed to make a remark—apologising to you, sir’—Mr Carver nodded with dark meaning—‘and taking upon myself to make a suggestion: might it not be possible that where the money is, a will may be concealed also?’ The party ceased to contemplate space, and a ray of hope quivered on the gloomy horizon for a moment. Mr Carver, however, eyed his clerk with an air of indignation blended with resigned sorrow. ‘I suppose, Bates, every man has moments of incipient insanity,’ he said in accents of the most scathing sarcasm. ‘You, I perceive, are only mortal. I should be sorry to imagine you to have arrived at the worst stage; but I may be allowed, I think, to point out to you one little fact. Do you for one moment suppose that a man who is idiot enough to bury his treasure in this manner, has enough sense remaining to make a will?’ and Mr Carver looked at his subordinate with the air of a man who has made his great point and confounded his adversary. ‘I do not agree with you, sir,’ retorted Bates mildly. ‘A gentleman who has brains enough to carry out such a scheme as this, was not likely to forget a vital part. You are generally sharp enough to see a point like this. What with romances and games of marbles, hem! and such other frivolities, business seems quite forgotten!’ It was curious to note with what eagerness the parties most interested hung upon the clerk’s words. ‘Bates, Bates! I never thought it would come to this,’ returned the pseudo-justice, shaking his head in more sorrow than anger. ‘A man still in the prime of life and to talk like this! Poor fellow, poor fellow!’ ‘Well, sir, you may doubt, and of course you have a right to your own opinion; but we shall see.’ ‘See, Bates! how can we see?’ exclaimed the lawyer. ‘Is not this treasure buried upon Miss Wakefield’s property, and are we likely to get an order to search that property?—O yes, of course’—returning to the sarcastic mode—‘Miss Wakefield is so gentle, so amiable, so sweet, and unsuspecting!—Bates, I am ashamed of you!’