“When Mr. Phillip Redgill was inquired for, he was found at the Royal Racquet Court, elegantly stretching himself in a new suit of clothes, imbibing brandy and water with much apparent satisfaction. “There was no compunction of conscience in him, and therefore he deported himself very majestically to the crowd of creditors who surrounded him and lustily demanded the payment of their debts. “These he laughed at, but in a day or two, when he was ‘wanted,’ I easily tracked him out, and laid my hands on him for the murder of old farmer Bertram.” “Good heavens! you don’t mean that.” “I do, though.” “I always thought it.” “I always knew it,” said Captain Jack, laughing; “but come with me, I want you, Ned Warbeck, on particular business. Come this way, and you shall know all.” Wildfire Ned and Captain Jack left the library together, and went towards Phillip Redgill’s prison. CHAPTER XXXV. IN WHICH SOMETHING IS SAID OF PHILLIP REDGILL, OLD SIR ANDREW, AND IN WHICH ONE OF PHILLIP’S VICTIMS IS MADE A HAPPY MAN AND A FATHER. Upon the elegant house, and its fashionably dressed inmates, in Minerva Street, of which Phillip had heard many strange rumours, Mr. Redgill never bestowed a single thought, although he had more than crude suspicions of who the much-talked-of “Madame Fannie St. Claire” might be. Old Sir Andrew had never thought of asking Phillip anything regarding his daughter. She had separated from her husband he full well knew, but as Phillip never broached the subject, Sir Andrew, for purposes of avarice and greed, refrained from doing so. “She has made her own nest,” he would sometimes say to his old and asthmatic wife, propped up in her arm-chair beside the fire, “therefore let her lie in it. “I don’t know nor care where she is. Don’t bother me with your questions and nonsense, woman. I have something else to think about. “I don’t care what has become of her—there. Don’t sit there snivelling, you old fool, or I’ll leave the place altogether. “In a few weeks, I hope, I shall be doing business in the City, and not in this miserable hole, with a crabbed old woman coughing all day and night. “What’ll folks think then of old Sir Andy, as they call me, when I appear on ’Change again, and with a large banker’s account at my back? “What’ll they say then to the old president of the Phœnix Insurance Company, whom they refuse to speak to, or even recognise now, eh? “I’ll show ’em all what money can do. I’m just as honest as any of ’em; it’s all speculation in this world; so long as you’ve got the cash you needn’t care a snap of your finger for any of ’em. “Don’t sit there prating, you old hag! If you open your lips again, I’ll squeeze the life out of you, I will, you miserable old thing. I hate the sight of you!” And, from the number of times that old Sir Andrew raised his chair in anger, it seemed probable that at some time, in moments of fury, he really would send the aged and afflicted woman unexpectedly into eternity.