Harassed and perplexed beyond measure, he walked through the busy streets of that central district for some time without knowing where he was going, and without the faintest purpose in his steps.  Then the notion suddenly flashed upon him that he might hear something of Percival Nowell at the shop in Queen Anne’s Court, supposing the old business to be still carried on there under the sway of Mr. Tulliver; and it seemed too early yet for the probability of any change in that quarter.

Gilbert was in the Strand when this notion occurred to him.  He turned his steps immediately, and went back to Wardour-street, and thence to the dingy court where he had first discovered Marian’s grandfather.

There was no change; the shop looked exactly the same as it had looked in the lifetime of Jacob Nowell.  There were the same old guineas in the wooden bowl, the same tarnished tankards and teapots on view behind the wire-guarded glass, the same obscure hints of untold riches within, in the general aspect of the place.

Mr. Tulliver darted forward from his usual lurking-place as Gilbert went in at the door.

“O!” he exclaimed, with undisguised disappointment, “it’s you, is it, sir?  I thought it was a customer.”

“I am sorry to disappoint your expectation of profit.  I have looked in to ask you two or three questions, Mr. Tulliver; that is all.”

“Any information in my power I’m sure I shall be happy to afford, sir.  Won’t you be pleased to take a seat?”

“How long is it since you saw Mr. Nowell, your former employer’s son?” Gilbert asked, dropping into the chair indicated by the shopman, and coming at once to the point.

Mr. Tulliver was somewhat startled by the question.  That was evident, though he was not a man who wore his heart upon his sleeve.

“How long is it since I’ve seen Mr. Nowell—­Mr. Percival Nowell, sir?” he repeated, staring thoughtfully at his questioner.

“Yes; you need not be afraid to speak freely to me; I know Mr. Nowell is in London.”

“Well, sir, I’ve not seen him often since his father’s death.”

Since his father’s death!  And according to Mr. Medler, Jacob Nowell’s son had only arrived in England after the old man’s death;—­or stay, the lawyer had declared that he had been only aware of Percival’s return within the last two or three weeks.  That was a different thing, of course; yet was it likely this man could have returned, and his father’s lawyer have remained ignorant of his arrival?

Gilbert did not allow the faintest expression of surprise to appear on his countenance.

“Not often since your master’s death:  but how often before?”

“Well, he used to come in pretty often before the old man died; but they were both of ’em precious close.  Mr. Percival never let out that he was my master’s son, but I guessed as much before he’d been here many times.”

“How was it that I never came across him?”