‘Father,’ said he, giving the archdeacon his hand, ’you have heard nothing yet about Mr Crawley?’

‘No,’ said the archdeacon, jumping up; ‘nothing new;—­what is it?’ Many ideas about Mr Crawley at that moment flitted across the archdeacon’s mind.  Could it be that the unfortunate man had committed suicide, overcome by his troubles?

‘It has all come out.  He got the cheque from my aunt.’

‘From your aunt Eleanor?’

’Yes; from my aunt Eleanor.  She has telegraphed over from Venice to say that she gave the identical cheque to Crawley.  That is all we know at present—­except that she has written an account of the matter to you, and that she will be here herself as quick as she can come.’

‘Who got the message, Henry?’

’Crawley’s lawyer—­a fellow named Toogood, a cousin of his wife’s—­a very decent fellow,’ added the major, remembering how necessary it was that he should reconcile his father to all the Crawley belongings.  ’He’s to be over here on Monday, and then will arrange what is to be done.’

‘Done in what way, Henry?’

’There’s a great deal to be done yet.  Crawley does not know himself at this moment how the cheque got into his hands.  He must be told and something must be settled about the living.  They’ve taken the living away from him among them.  And then the indictment must be quashed, or something of that kind done.  Toogood has got hold of the scoundrel at Barchester who really stole the cheque from Soames;—­or thinks he has.  It’s that Dan Stringer.’

’He’s got hold of a regular scamp, then.  I never knew any good of Dan Stringer,’ said the archdeacon.

Then Mrs Grantly was told, and the whole story was repeated again, with many expressions of commiseration in reference to all the Crawleys.  The archdeacon did not join in these at first, being rather shy on that head.  It was very hard for him to have to speak to his son about the Crawleys as though they were people in all respects estimable and well-conducted, and satisfactory.  Mrs Grantly understood this so well, that every now and then she said some half-laughing word respecting Mr Crawley’s peculiarities, feeling that in this way she might ease her husband’s difficulties.  ‘He must be the oddest man that ever lived,’ said Mrs Grantly, ‘not to have known where he got the cheque.’  The archdeacon shook his head, and rubbed his hands as he walked about the room.  ‘I suppose too much learning has upset him,’ said the archdeacon.  ’They say he’s not very good at talking English, but put him in Greek and he never stops.’