Mrs. Dundyke was surprised. "He told us, sir, that he had come from London recently; in fact, he said--he certainly implied--that he took a principal and active part in your house in Leadenhall-street." "All boast, madam, all boast. He has not anything to do with it, and we would not let him have. I wonder he should say that, too! He is tolerably truthful, making a confession of his shortcomings, rather than hiding them." "Is he at Genoa still, sir?" "At where?" asked Mr. Hardcastle, looking at Mrs. Dundyke through his spectacles, which he had been all the time adjusting. "He went on to Genoa, sir, from Geneva. I asked whether he was there still." "He has not been at Geneva or at Genoa," said Mr. Hardcastle; "latterly, at any rate." "Yes he has, sir; he was at Geneva when we got to it in July, and he stayed some time. He then went on to Genoa." "Then he has deceived me," said Mr. Hardcastle, in a vexed tone. "I don't know why he should; it does not matter to me what place he is in. What is this, madam--the order? This is not his handwriting," hastily continued Mr. Hardcastle, at the first glance, as he unfolded the paper. "I saw him write it, sir," said Mrs. Dundyke. "Madam, it is no more like his writing than it is like yours or mine," was the testy answer. "And--what is this signature, _B._ Hardcastle? My nephew's name is Thomas." There was a momentary silence. Mr. Hardcastle sat looking at the written order, knitting his brow in reflection. "Madam, I do not think he could have been at Geneva when this was dated," he resumed; "I had a letter from him just about this time, written from Brussels. Stay, I will get it." He opened a desk in the room and produced the letter. Singular to say, it bore date the 10th of August, the very day that the order was dated. The post-marks, both in Brussels and London, agreed with the date. "It is impossible that it could have been he who wrote this order, madam, as you must perceive. Being in Brussels, he could not have been in Geneva. That this letter is in my nephew's handwriting, I assure you on my honour. You may read it; it is about family affairs, but that does not matter." Mrs. Dundyke read the letter: it was not a long one. And then she looked in a dreamy sort of way at Mr. Hardcastle. "Madam, I fear you must have been imposed upon." "Have you two nephews, sir?" "I never had but this one in my life, ma'am; and I have found him one too many." "His wife is a showy woman, very pale, with handsome features," persisted Mrs. Dundyke, in a tone as dreamy as her gaze. Not that she disbelieved that venerable old man, but it all seemed so great a mystery. "His wife! my nephew has no wife: I don't know who'd marry him. I tell you, ma'am, you have been taken in by some swindler who must have assumed his name. Though egad! my nephew's little better than a swindler himself, for he gets into debt with everybody who will let him."