Mr Williams brought the latest
news, as was to be expected; news flowed in rivulets to
Mr Williams all day long; he paid for it, dealt in it,
could spread or suppress it.
"They've admitted the bail," Mr Williams announced, with
an air of self-surveillance. Rawlins had brought the
intelligence in too late for the current issue, and Mr
Williams was divided between his human desire to communicate
and his journalistic sense that the item would be the
main feature of the next afternoon's Express.
"I'm glad of that. I'm glad of that," repeated Dr Drummond.
"Thank you, Mrs Murchison, I'll send my cup. And did you
learn, Williams, for what amount?"
Mr Williams ran his hand through his hair in the effort
to remember, and decided that he might as well let it
all go. The Mercury couldn't fail to get it by tomorrow
anyhow.
"Three thousand," he said. "Milburn and Dr Henry Johnson."
"I thought Father was bound to be in it," remarked Dr
Harry.
"Half and half?" asked John Murchison.
"No," contributed Mrs Williams. "Mr Milburn two and Dr
Henry one. Mr Milburn is Walter's uncle, you know."
Mr Williams fastened an outraged glance on his wife, who
looked another way. Whatever he thought proper to do, it
was absolutely understood that she was to reveal nothing
of what "came in," and was even carefully to conserve
anything she heard outside with a view to bringing it
in.
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