"I'll employ nobody but myself," said Helen. "I'll go to the British Museum directly."
"The Museum!" cried Mr. Undercliff, looking with surprise. "Why, they will be half an hour groping for a copy of the _Times._ No, no; go to Peele's CoffeeHouse." He directed her where to find that place; and she was so eager to do something for Robert, however small, that she took up her bag directly, and put up the prayer-book, and was going to ask for her extracts, when she observed Mr. Undercliff was scrutinizing them with great interest, so she thought she would leave them with him; but, on looking more closely, she found that he was examining, not the reports, but the advertisements and miscellanea on the reverse side.
She waited out of politeness, but she colored and bit her lip. She could not help feeling hurt and indignant. "Any trash is more interesting to people than poor Robert's case," she thought. And at last she said bitterly:
"Those _advertisements_ seem to interest you, sir; shall I leave _them_ with you?"
"If you please," said the expert, over whose head, bent in dogged scrutiny, this small thunderbolt of feminine wrath passed unconscious.
Helen drove away to Peele's Coffee House.
Mrs. Undercliff pondered over the facts that had been elicited in this conversation; the expert remained absorbed in the advertisements at the back of Helen's reports.
When he had examined every one of them minutely, he held the entire extracts up to the light, and looked through them; then he stuck a double magnifier in his eye, and looked through them with that. Then he took two pieces of card, wrote on them Re Penfold, and looked about for his other materials, to put them all neatly together. Lo! the profile of Robert Penfold was gone.
"Now that is too bad," said he. "So much for her dove-like eyes, that you admired so. Miss Innocence has stolen that profile."
"Stolen! she bought it--of me."
"Why, she never said a word."
"No; but she looked a look. She asked me, with those sweet imploring eyes, might she have it; and I looked yes. Then she glanced toward you, and put down a note. Here it is."
"Why, you beat the telegraph, you two! Ten pounds for that thing! I must make it up to her somehow."
"I wish you could. Poor girl, she is a lady every inch. But she is in love with that Penfold. I'm afraid it is a hopeless case."
"I have seen a plainer. But hopeless it is not. However, you work your way, and I'll work mine."
"But you can't; you have no materials."
"No; but I have found a door that may lead to materials."
Having delivered himself thus myteriously, he shut himself up in obstinate silence until Helen Rolleston called again, two days afterward.
She brought a bag full of manuscript this time--to wit, copies in her own handwriting of eight reports, the Queen _v._ Penfold. She was in good spirits, and told Mrs. Undercliff that all the reports were somewhat more favorable than the two she had left; and she was beginning to tell Mr. Undercliff he was quite right in his recollection, when he interrupted her, and said, "All that is secondary now. Have you any objection to answer me a question?"
She colored; but said, "Oh, no. Ask me anything you like;" then she blushed deeper.
"How did you become possessed of those two reports you left with me the other day?"
At this question, so different from what she feared, Helen cleared up and smiled, and said, "From a Mr. Hand, a clerk in Mr. Wardlaw's office; they were sent me at my request."
The expert seemed pleased at this reply; his brow cleared, and he said:
"Then I don't mind telling you that those two reports will bring Penfold's case within my province. To speak plainly, Miss Rolleston, your newspaper extracts--ARE FORGERIES."
