His return was greeted by Skinner with a sigh of relief. Hardie heard it, interpreted it aright, and sent for him into the parlour, and there told him with a great affectation of frankness what he had done, then asked significantly if there was any news at Albion Villa. Skinnier in reply told Mr. Hardie of the distress he had witnessed up at Albion Villa: “And, sir,” said he, lowering his voice, “Mr. Alfred helped carry the body upstairs. It is a nice mess altogether, sir, when you come to think.” “Ah! all the better,” was the cool reply: “he will be useful to let us know what we want; he will tell Jane, and Jane me. You don't think he will live, do you?” “Live! no: and then who will know the money is here?” “Who should know? Did not he say he had just landed, and been shipwrecked? Shipwrecked men do not bring fourteen thousand pounds ashore.” The speaker's eyes sparkled: Skinner watched him demurely. “Skinner,” said he solemnly, “I believe my daughter Jane is right, and that Providence really interferes sometimes in the affairs of this world. You know how I have struggled to save my family from disgrace and poverty: those struggles have failed in a great degree: but Heaven has seen them, and saved this money from the sea, and dropped it into my very hands to retrieve my fortunes with. I must be grateful: spend a portion of it in charity, and rear a noble fortune on the rest. Confound it all!” And his crestfallen countenance showed some ugly misgiving had flashed on him quite suddenly. “What sir? what?” asked Skinner eagerly. “The receipt!” CHAPTER XXIII “THE receipt? Oh, is that all? _You_ have got that,” said Skinner very coolly. “What makes you think so?” inquired the other keenly. He instantly suspected Skinner of having it. “Why, sir, I saw it in his hand.” “Then it has got to Albion Villa, and we are ruined.” “No, no, sir; you won't hear me: I am sure I saw it fall out of his hand when he was taken ill; and I think, but I won't be sure, he fell on it. Anyway, there was nothing in his hands when I delivered him at Albion Villa; so it must be here. I daresay you have thrown it into a drawer or somewhere, promiscuously.” “No, no, Skinner,” said Mr. Hardie, with increasing alarm: “it is useless for us to deceive ourselves. I was not three minutes in the room, and thought of nothing but getting to town and cashing the bills.” He rang the bell sharply, and on Betty coming in, asked her what she had done with that paper that was on the floor. “Took it up and put it on the table, sir. This was it, I think.” And she had her finger upon a paper. “No! no!” said Mr. Hardie. “The one I mean was much smaller than that.” “What” said she, with that astonishing memory for trifles people have who never read, “was it a little crumpled up paper lying by the basket?” “Yes! yes! that sounds like it.” “Oh, I put that _into_ the basket.”