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diff --git a/34738.txt b/34738.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9856a5d --- /dev/null +++ b/34738.txt @@ -0,0 +1,21953 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Ivory Gate, a new edition, by Walter Besant + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Ivory Gate, a new edition + +Author: Walter Besant + +Release Date: December 23, 2010 [EBook #34738] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IVORY GATE, A NEW EDITION *** + + + + +Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from +scanned images of public domain material from the Internet +Archive. + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Book Cover] + + + + +THE IVORY GATE + + + _Sunt geminae Somni portae: quarum altera fertur + Cornea, qua veris facilis datur exitus umbris: + Altera candenti perfecta nitens elephanto: + Sed falsa ad caelum mittunt insomnia manes._ + + VIRGIL, _AEn._ VI. + + + + +NOTE. + + +After this novel was commenced in _Chambers's Journal_ it was discovered +that the title had already been used by the late Mr. Mortimer Collins, +for a novel published in the year 1865. The Author communicated with Mr. +Collins's representatives, and has to thank them for making no +opposition to the use of this title. + + + + +THE IVORY GATE + + +BY +WALTER BESANT + +AUTHOR OF 'ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN' ETC. + + +[Illustration] + + +_A NEW EDITION_ + + +London +CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY +1893 + + + + +_TO_ +_S. SQUIRE SPRIGGE, ESQ., M.D._ + + + _MY DEAR SPRIGGE,_ + + _Since it was you who first instructed me in the existence + of the brain disease which forms the motif of this story, + and furnished me with such illustrations of its working as + enabled me to write the story, I am in honour bound to make + the most public acknowledgment possible of this fact._ + + _I therefore beg to inscribe your name on the title page of + this volume in grateful recognition of an obligation which + is not by any means discharged by such recognition. I am + also moved to do so in remembrance of another kind of work + in which I have been so fortunate as to have your invaluable + collaboration._ + + _Very sincerely yours,_ + _WALTER BESANT._ + + UNITED UNIVERSITY CLUB, S.W. + _September 12, 1892._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + PROLOGUE: WHO IS EDMUND GRAY? 1 + I. UP THE RIVER 29 + II. IN THE OFFICE 37 + III. THE SELECT CIRCLE 47 + IV. A REBELLIOUS CHILD 56 + V. SOMETHING HAPPENS 65 + VI. SOMETHING MORE HAPPENS 74 + VII. SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENS 83 + VIII. IN HONOUR OF THE EVENT 93 + IX. AT THE GATES OF PARADISE 102 + X. A MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERY 110 + XI. A MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERY 118 + XII. THE FIRST FIND 134 + XIII. THINGS MORE REMARKABLE 142 + XIV. CHECKLEY'S CASE 152 + XV. WHO IS EDMUND GRAY? 162 + XVI. THE VOICE OF DUTY 172 + XVII. WAS HE IN RAGS? 180 + XVIII. THE PRODIGAL AT HOME 188 + XIX. THE WHISPER OF CALUMNY 195 + XX. HE COMES FROM EDMUND GRAY 205 + XXI. I AM EDMUND GRAY 213 + XXII. MASTER AND DISCIPLE 223 + XXIII. THE HALL OF THE NEW FAITH 231 + XXIV. CAN HE REMEMBER? 240 + XXV. WILL HE REMEMBER? 248 + XXVI. THE LESSON OF THE STREET 255 + XXVII. 'I KNOW THE MAN' 272 + XXVIII. ATHELSTAN'S DISCOVERY 280 + XXIX. CHECKLEY SEES A GHOST 288 + XXX. THE DAY AFTER THE GHOST 296 + XXXI. THE THREE ACCOMPLICES 304 + XXXII. ELSIE AND HER MOTHER 315 + XXXIII. PLENARY CONFESSION 320 + XXXIV. LE CONSEIL DE FAMILLE 338 + XXXV. THE LAST 355 + + + + +PROLOGUE + +WHO IS EDMUND GRAY? + + +Mr. Edward Dering, in a rare interval of work, occupied himself with +looking into his bank book. Those humble persons whom the City, +estimating the moral and spiritual worth of a man by his income, calls +'small,' frequently and anxiously examine their bank books, add up the +columns, and check the entries. Mr. Dering, who was not a small man, but +a big man, or rather, from a City point of view, a biggish man, very +seldom looked at his bank book; first because, like other solicitors in +large practice, he had clerks and accountants to do that kind of work +for him: next because, like many solicitors, while he managed the +affairs of other people with unceasing watchfulness, he was apt to +neglect his own affairs. Happily, when one has an income of some +thousands, private affairs from time to time force themselves upon their +owner in the most agreeable manner possible. They obtrude themselves +upon him. They insist upon being noticed. They compel him to look after +them respectfully: to remove them from the dulness of the bank, and to +make them comfortable in investments. + +Mr. Dering opened the book, therefore, having for the moment nothing +else to do, looked at the balance, was satisfied with its appearance, +and began working backwards, that is to say, upwards, to read the +entries. Presently, he came to one at which he stopped, holding his +forefinger on the name. + +It was on the right-hand side, the side which to small men is so +terrifying, because it always does its best to annihilate the cash +balance, and seems bent upon transforming addition into multiplication, +so amazing are the results. The name which Mr. Dering read was Edmund +Gray. The amount placed in the same line opposite to that name was +720_l_. Therefore, he had drawn a cheque to the order of Edmund Gray for +the sum of 720_l_. + +Now, a man may be in very great practice indeed; but if, like Mr. +Dering, he knows the details of every case that is brought into the +House, he would certainly remember drawing a cheque for 720_l_., and the +reason why it was drawn, and the person for whom it was drawn, +especially if the cheque was only three weeks old. Seven hundred and +twenty pounds! It is a sum in return for which many and very substantial +services must be rendered. + +'Edmund Gray!' he murmured. 'Strange! I cannot remember the name of +Edmund Gray. Who is Edmund Gray? Why did I give him 720_l_.?' + +The strange fact that he should forget so large a sum amused him at +first. Beside him lay a book which was his private Diary. He opened it +and looked back for three months. He could find no mention anywhere of +Edmund Gray. To repeat: he knew all the details of every case that came +into the House: he signed all the cheques: his memory was as tenacious +and as searching as the east wind in April; yet this matter of Edmund +Gray and his cheque for 720_l_. he could not recall to his mind by any +effort. + +There is a certain stage in brain fatigue when one cannot remember +names: it is the sure and certain symptom of over-work: the wise man +recognises the symptom as a merciful warning and obeys it. Mr. Dering +knew this symptom. 'I must take a holiday,' he said. 'At sixty-seven, +one cannot afford to neglect the least loss of memory. Edmund Gray! To +forget Edmund Gray and 720_l_.! I must run down to the sea-side for a +fortnight's rest.' + +He shut up the bank book and tried to go back to his work. But this name +came back to him. 'Edmund Gray,' he murmured--'Edmund Gray. Who on earth +is this Edmund Gray? Why did he get a cheque for 720_l_.?' + +The thing ceased to amuse him: it began to irritate him: in two minutes +it began to torture him: he leaned back in his chair: he drummed with +his fingers on the table: he took up the book and looked at the entry +again. He got up and walked about the room--a long lean figure in a +tight frock-coat. To walk about the room and to swing your arms often +stimulates the memory. In this case, however, no good effect followed. +The _nomme_ Edmund Gray remained a name and nothing more--the shadow of +a name. Mr. Dering rapped the table with his paper-knife, as if to +conjure up that shadow. Futile superstition! No shadow appeared. But how +could the shadow of a name--an unknown name--carry off 720 golden +sovereigns? + +'I feel as if I am going mad,' he murmured. 'Seven hundred and twenty +pounds paid by myself in a single lump, only three weeks ago, and I +remember nothing about it! I have no client named Edmund Gray. The money +must therefore have been paid by me for some client to this unknown +person. Yet it was paid by my cheque, and I don't remember it. Strange! +I never forgot such a thing before.' + +There was an office bell on the table. He touched it. A clerk--an +elderly clerk--an ancient clerk--obeyed the call. He was the clerk who +sat in the room outside Mr. Dering's office: the clerk who wrote the +cheques for the chief to sign, brought back the letters when they had +been copied, directed the letters for the post, received visitors, and +passed in cards: in fact, the private secretary, stage-manager--we all +want a stage-manager in every profession--or confidential clerk. As +befits a man of responsibility, he was dressed all in black, his office +coat being as shiny as a mirror on the arms and on the shoulders: by +long habit it hung in certain folds or curves which never unbent: his +face was quite shaven and shorn: all that was left of his white hair was +cut short: his eyes were keen and even foxy: his lips were thin: his +general expression was one of watchfulness: when he watched his master +it was with the attention of a servant: when he watched anybody else it +was as one who watches a rogue, and would outwit him, if he could, at +his own roguery. In certain commercial walks of the lower kind, where +honour and morality consist in the success of attempts to cheat each +other, this kind of expression is not uncommon. Whether his expression +was good or bad, he was an excellent clerk: he was always at his post at +nine in the morning: he never left the office before seven, and, because +Mr. Dering was a whale for work, he sometimes stayed without a grumble +until eight or even nine. Man and boy, Checkley had been in the office +of Dering & Son for fifty-five years, entering as an errand-boy at +twelve. + +'Checkley,' said his master, 'look at this bank book. Credit side. +Fourth entry. Have you got it?' + +'Edmund Gray, 720_l_.,' the clerk read. + +'Yes. What is that cheque for? Who is Edmund Gray?' + +The clerk looked surprised. 'I don't know,' he said. + +'Why did I pay that money?' + +The clerk shook his head. + +'Did you look at the book when you laid it on the table?' + +The clerk nodded. + +'Well--what did you think of it?' + +'I didn't think of it at all. It wasn't one of the cheques you told me +to draw about that time ago. If I had thought, I should have supposed it +was your private business.' + +'I was not aware, Checkley, that I have any private affairs that you do +not know.' + +'Well--but you might have.' + +'True. I might have. Just so. As I haven't--who, I ask you again--who is +this Edmund Gray?' + +'I don't know.' + +'Have you ever heard of any Edmund Gray?' + +'Never to my knowledge.' + +'This is the first time you have heard that name?' the lawyer persisted. + +'The very first time.' + +'Consider. Is there any Edmund Gray in connection with any of my +clients?' + +'Not to my knowledge.' + +'Not to your knowledge. Has any Edmund Gray ever been employed about the +office?' + +'No--certainly not.' + +'We have recently been painted and papered and whitewashed and new +carpeted at great expense and inconvenience. Did Edmund Gray conduct any +of those operations?' + +'No.' + +'Has the name of Edmund Gray ever been mentioned in any letters that +have come here?' + +It was notorious in the office that Checkley read all the letters that +came, and that he never forgot the contents of any. If you named any +letter he would at once tell you what was written in it, even if it were +twenty years old. + +'I have never even heard the name of Edmund Gray in any letter or in any +connection whatever,' the clerk replied firmly. + +'I put all these questions, Checkley, because I was pretty certain +myself from the beginning; but I wanted to make myself quite certain. I +thought it might be a trick of failing memory. Now, look at the name +carefully'--the clerk screwed up his eyes tightly in order to get a good +grip of the name. 'You see I have given him a cheque for 720_l_., only +three weeks ago. I am not the kind of man to give away 720_l_. for +nothing. Yet I have actually forgotten the whole business.' + +Certainly he did not look the kind of man to forget such a simple thing +as the giving away of 720_l_. Quite the contrary. His grave face, his +iron-grey hair, his firm lips, his keen, steady eyes, apart from the +methodical regularity with which his papers were arranged before him, +all proclaimed that he was very far from being that kind of man. Very +much the reverse, indeed. + +'You don't mean to say, sir,' Checkley began, with a change in his face +from watchfulness to terror--'you can't mean----' + +'I mean this, Checkley. I know of no Edmund Gray; and unless the bank +has made a mistake, there has been committed--a--what do they call it in +the law-courts?' + +The clerk held the bank book in his hand, staring at his master with +open eyes. 'What?' he repeated. 'What do they call it? Good Lord! They +call it forgery--and for 720_l_.! And on you, of all people in the +world! And in this office! In our office!--our office! What a dreadful +thing, to be sure! Oh, what a dreadful thing to happen! In our +office--here!' The clerk seemed unable to express his astonishment. + +'First of all, get me the returned cheques.' + +The cheques always came back in the pocket of the bank book. Checkley +was accustomed to take them out and to file them in their proper place. + +Again, Mr. Dering neither drew his cheques nor wrote his letters with +his own hand. He only signed them. One clerk wrote the letters; another +drew the cheques by his instruction and dictation. + +Checkley went back to his own room and returned with a bundle of +returned drafts. He then looked in the safe--a great fireproof +safe--that stood open in one corner of the room, and took out the +current cheque book. + +'Here it is,' he said. 'Check drawn by you yourself in your own +handwriting, and properly signed, payable to order--not crossed--and +duly endorsed. Now you understand why I know nothing about it. Edmund +Gray, Esquire, or order. Seven hundred and twenty pounds. Signed Dering +& Son. Your own handwriting and your own signature.' + +'Let me look.' Mr. Dering took the paper and examined it. His eyes +hardened as he looked. 'You call this my handwriting, Checkley?' + +'I--I--I did think it was,' the clerk stammered. 'Let me look again. And +I think so still,' he added more firmly. + +'Then you're a fool. Look again. When did I ever sign like that?' + +Mr. Dering's handwriting was one of those which are impossible to be +read by any except his own clerks, and then only when they know what to +expect. Thus, when he drew up instructions in lawyer language, he +expressed the important words by an initial, a medial, or a final +consonant, and made scratches for all the words between; his clerks, +however, understood him very well. If he had written a love letter, or a +farce, or a _ballade_, or a story, no one, either clerks, or friends, or +compositors, would have understood anything but a word here and a word +there. For his signature, however, that was different. It was the +signature of the Firm: it was a signature a hundred and twenty years +old: it was an eighteenth-century signature: bold, large, and clear, +every letter fully formed: with dots and flourishes, the last letter +concluding with a fantasia of penmanship belonging to a time when men +knew how to write, belonging to the decorative time of penmanship. + +'Two of the dots are out of place,' said Checkley, 'and the flourish +isn't quite what it should be. But the cheque itself looks like your +hand,' he added stoutly. 'I ought to have seen that there was something +wrong about the signature, though it isn't much. I own to that. But the +writing is like yours, and I would swear to it still.' + +'It isn't my handwriting at all, then. Where is the counterfoil?' + +Checkley turned over the counterfoils. 'What is the date?' he asked. +'March the 4th? I can't find it. Here are cheques for the 3rd and for +the 6th, but none at all for the 4th.' + +'Let me look.' Strange! There was no counterfoil. And the numbers did +not agree with that on the cheque. + +'You haven't got another cheque book, have you?' + +'No; I certainly have not.' + +Mr. Dering sat with the cheque in his hand, looking at it. Then he +compared it with a blank cheque. 'Why,' he said, 'this cheque is drawn +from an old book--two years old--one of the books before the bank +amalgamated and changed its title and the form of the cheques--not much +of a change, it is true--but--how could we be such fools, Checkley, as +not to see the difference?' + +'Then somebody or other must have got hold of an old cheque book. +Shameful! To have cheque books lying about for every common rogue to go +and steal!' + +Mr. Dering reflected. Then he looked up and said: 'Look again in the +safe. In the left-hand compartment over the drawer, I think you will +find an old cheque book. It belonged to a separate account--a Trust. +That has been closed. The book should be there.--Ah! There it is.--I +wonder now,' the lawyer went on, 'how I came to remember that book? It +is more than two years since I last used it or even thought of it. +Another trick of memory. We forget nothing, in fact, nothing at all. +Give it to me. Strange, that I should remember so slight a thing. +Now--here are the cheques, you see--colour the same--lettering the +same--size the same--the only difference being the style and title of +the Company. The fellow must have got hold of an old book left about, as +you say, carelessly. Ah!' His colour changed. 'Here's the very +counterfoil we wanted! Look! the number corresponds. The cheque was +actually taken from this very book! a book in my own safe! in this very +office! Checkley, what does this mean?' + +Checkley took the book from his master with a trembling hand, and read +feebly the writing of the counterfoil, March 4th, 1883. Edmund Gray, +720_l_.' + +'Lord knows what it means,' he said. 'I never came across such a thing +in my life before.' + +'Most extraordinary! It is two years since I have given a thought to +the existence of that book. Yet I remembered it the moment when it +became useful. Well, Checkley, what have you got to say? Can't you +speak?' + +'Nothing--nothing. O Lord, what should I have to say. If you didn't draw +that cheque with your own hand----' + +'I did not draw that cheque with my own hand.' + +'Then--then it must have been drawn by somebody else's hand.' + +'Exactly.' + +'Perhaps you dictated it.' + +'Don't be a fool, Checkley. Keep your wits together, though this is a +new kind of case for you. Criminal law is not exactly in your line. Do +you think I should dictate my own handwriting as well as my own words?' + +'No. But I could swear--I could indeed--that it is your writing.' + +'Let us have no more questions and answers. It is a forgery. It is a +forgery. It is not a common forgery. It has been committed in my own +office. Who can have done it? Let me think'--he placed the cheque and +the old cheque book before him. 'This book has been in my safe for two +years. I had forgotten its very existence. The safe is only used for my +private papers. I open it every morning myself at ten o'clock. I shut it +when I go up-stairs to lunch. I open it again when I return. I close it +when I go away. I have not departed from this custom for thirty years. I +could no more sit in this room with the safe shut--I could no more go +away with the safe open--than I could walk the streets in my shirt +sleeves. Therefore, not only has the forgery been committed by some one +who has had access to my safe, but by some one who has stolen the cheque +in my very presence and before my eyes. This consideration should narrow +the field.' He looked at the cheque again. 'It is dated March the 4th. +The date may mean nothing. But it was presented on the 5th. Who came to +my room on the 4th or the days preceding? Go and find out.' + +Checkley retired and brought back his journal. + +'You saw on the 4th----' He read the list of callers. + +'That doesn't help,' said Mr. Dering. + +'On the 1st, 2d, 3d, and 4th you had Mr. Arundel working with you here +every day from ten till twelve.' + +'Mr. Arundel. Yes, I remember. Anybody else?' + +'Nobody else.' + +'You forget yourself, Checkley,' Mr. Dering said. 'You were, as usual, +in and out at different times.' + +'O Lord! sir-- I hope you don't think----' The old clerk stammered, +turning pale. + +'I think nothing, I want to find out. Go to the bank. See the manager. +Let him tell you if he can find out by whom the cheque was cashed. If in +notes--it must have been in notes--let those notes be instantly stopped. +It is not crossed, so that we must not expect anything so simple as the +Clearing House. Go at once and find out exactly what happened.' + +This happened at about half-past ten. The bank was no more than five +minutes' walk. Yet it was twelve o'clock when the clerk returned. + +'Well, what have you found out?' asked the master. + +'I have found out a great deal,' Checkley began eagerly. 'First, I saw +the manager, and I saw the pay clerk. The cheque was handed in by a +commissionaire. Everybody trusts a commissionaire. The pay clerk knows +your signature, and thought it was all right. I showed the cheque to the +manager. He knows your handwriting, and he says he would swear that the +cheque was drawn by you yourself. So I am not such a fool as you think.' + +'Go on.' + +'The commissionaire told the pay clerk that he was ordered to take it +all in ten-pound notes. He took them, put them in his pouch, and walked +away. He was a one-armed man, and took a long time over the job, and +didn't seem a bit in a hurry.' + +'About the notes?' + +'The manager will stop them at once. But he says that if the thing was +done by an old hand, there must be confederates in it, and there will be +trouble. However, the notes are stopped. That's done. Then I went on to +the commissionaires' barracks in the Strand. The sergeant very soon +found the man, and I had a talk with him. He was employed by an old +gentleman, he says, staying at the Cecil Hotel, Strand. The old +gentleman sent him to the bank with instructions to get the money in +ten-pound notes; and very particular he was with him about not losing +any of them on the way. He didn't seem a bit in a hurry either. Took +the notes from the man and laid them in a pocket-book. It was in the +coffee-room, and half a dozen other gentlemen were there at the same +time. But this gentleman seemed alone.' + +'Humph! A pretty cool business, upon my word! No hurry about it. Plenty +of time. That was because they knew that the old cheque book would not +be found and examined.' + +'Why did they write the cheque on the counterfoil? Why did they put the +cheque book back again--after they had taken it out?' + +'I don't know. The workings of a forger's brain are not within the +compass of my experiences. Go on, Checkley.' + +'The commissionaire says that he is certain he would know the gentleman +again.' + +'Very good indeed, if we can only find the gentleman.' + +'I then went on to the Cecil Hotel and saw the head waiter of the +coffee-room. He remembered the commissionaire being sent for: he saw the +bundle of bank-notes brought back from the bank, and he remembers the +old gentleman very well. Says he should certainly know him again.' + +'Did he describe him?' + +'There didn't seem anything particular to describe. He was of average +height, so to speak, dressed in grey trousers and a black frock-coat, +and was grey-haired. Much as if I was to describe you.' + +'Oh! The notes are stopped. Yet in three weeks there has been ample time +to get them all changed. Every note may have been changed into gold in +three weeks. An elderly gentleman: grey hair: average height: that tells +us nothing. Checkley, the thing has been done by some one who had, or +still has, access to my safe. Perhaps, in some way or other, keys have +been procured. In that case----' He stepped over to the safe and opened +a drawer. 'See, Checkley; this drawer is untouched: it is full of +jewellery and things which belonged to my mother. Nothing touched. Here +is a bag of spade guineas again--nothing taken. What do you say to that? +If the forger had possessed keys, he would, first of all, have cleared +out the things which he could turn into money without any difficulty and +very little risk. Nothing taken except that cheque, and the cheque book +replaced. What do you say to that? Eh?' + +'I don't know what to say. I'm struck stupid. I never heard of such a +thing before.' + +'Nor I. Why, it must have been done in this room, while the safe was +open, while I was actually present. That is the only solution possible. +Again, who has been in this room?' + +'All the callers--I read their names to you--your clients.' + +'They all sit in that chair. They never leave that chair so long as they +are with me.' He indicated the chair which stood at the corner of the +lawyer's great table at his left hand. Now the safe was in the far +corner, on the other side of the room. 'They could not possibly---- +Checkley, the only two who could possibly have access to that safe in +office hours are yourself and Mr. Arundel.' + +'Good heavens! sir--you can't believe--you can't actually think----' + +'I believe nothing. I told you so before. I think nothing. I want the +facts.' + +The room was long rather than square, lit by two large windows, +overlooking the gardens of New Square, Lincoln's Inn. The lawyer sat +with his back to the fire, protected by a cane-screen, before a large +table. On his left hand, at the corner of the table, stood the clients' +chair: on his right hand, between the two windows, was a small table +with a couple of drawers in it. And in the corner, to the left of any +one writing at the small table, and on the right hand of the lawyer, was +the open safe already mentioned. There were two doors, one communicating +with the clerk's room, the other opening directly on the stairs. The +latter was locked on the inside. + +'Call Mr. Arundel,' said the chief. + +While Checkley was gone, he walked to the window and observed that any +one sitting at the table could, by merely reaching out, take anything +from the safe and put it back again unobserved, if he himself happened +to be occupied or looking another way. His grave face became dark. He +returned to his own chair, and sat thinking, while his face grew darker +and his eyes harder, until Mr. Arundel appeared. + +Athelstan Arundel was at this time a recently admitted member of the +respectable but too numerous family of solicitors. He was between two +and three and twenty years of age, a tall and handsome young fellow, of +a good manly type. He was an ex-articled clerk of the House, and he had +just been appointed a Managing Clerk until something could be found for +him. The Arundels were a City family of some importance: perhaps +something in a City Firm might presently be achieved by the united +influence of family and money. Meantime, here he was, at work, earning a +salary and gaining experience. Checkley--for his part, who was as +jealous of his master as only an old servant, or a young mistress, has +the right to be--had imagined symptoms or indications of a growing +preference or favour toward this young gentleman on the part of Mr. +Dering. Certainly, he had Mr. Arundel in his own office a good deal, and +gave him work of a most confidential character. Besides, Mr. Dering was +Executor and Trustee for young Arundel's mother, and he had been an old +friend and schoolfellow of his father, and had known the young man and +his two sisters from infancy. + +'Mr. Arundel,' the lawyer began. At his own house, he addressed his ward +by his Christian name: in the office, as managing clerk, he prefixed the +courtesy title. 'An extremely disagreeable thing has happened here. +Nothing short of a forgery.--Don't interrupt me, if you please'--for the +young man looked as if he was about to practise his interjections.--'It +is a most surprising thing, I admit. You needn't say so, however. That +wastes time. A Forgery. On the fifth of this month, three weeks ago, a +cheque, apparently in my handwriting, and with my signature, so +skilfully executed as to deceive even Checkley and the manager of the +bank, was presented at my bank and duly cashed. The amount +is--large--720_l_.--and the sum was paid across the counter in ten-pound +notes, which are now stopped--if there are any left.' He kept his eyes +fixed on the young man, whose face betrayed no other emotion than that +of natural surprise. 'We shall doubtless trace these notes, and through +them, of course, the forger. We have already ascertained who presented +the cheque. You follow?' + +'Certainly. There has been a forgery. The forged cheque has been cashed. +The notes are stopped. Have you any clue to the forgery--any +suspicions?' + +'As yet, none. We are only beginning to collect the facts.' The lawyer +spoke in the coldest and most austere manner. 'I am laying them, one by +one, before you.' + +Young Arundel bowed. + +'Observe then, that the forged cheque belongs to a cheque book which +has been lying, forgotten by me, in this safe for two years. Here is the +book. Turn to the last counterfoil. Here is the cheque, the forged +cheque, which corresponds. You see?' + +'Perfectly. The book has been in the safe for two years. It has been +taken out by someone--presumably the forger--the cheque has been forged; +the counterfoil filled up; and the book replaced. Why was all this +trouble taken? If the man had got the cheque, why did he fill up the +counterfoil? Why did he return the book? I beg your pardon.' + +'Your questions are pertinent. I come to the next point. The safe is +never opened but by myself. It is open so long as I am in the room, and +at no other time.' + +'Certainly, I know that.' + +'Very well. The man who took out this cheque book, forged the cheque, +and replaced the book, must have done it in my very presence.' + +'Oh! Could not someone--somehow--have got a key?' + +'I thought of that. It is possible. But the drawers are full of +valuables, jewellery--curios--all kinds of things which could easily be +turned into money. And they were not touched. Now, had the safe been +opened by a key, these things would certainly have vanished.' + +'So it would seem.' + +'These are the main facts, Mr. Arundel. Oh! one more. We have found the +messenger who cashed the cheque. Perhaps there are one or two other +points of more or less importance. There is only one more point I wish +to bring before you. Of course--I make no charge--I insinuate none. But +this must be remembered--there are only two persons who have had access +to this safe in such a manner as to make it possible for them to take +anything out of it-- Checkley----' + +'No--no--no,' cried the old man. + +'And you yourself. At the time of the robbery, you were working at that +table with the safe open and within reach of your left hand. This is a +fact, mind--one of the facts of the case--not a charge.' + +'What?' cried the young man, his cheek aflame--'you mean----' + +'I mean nothing--nothing at all. I want you--and Checkley--who alone +have used this room, not counting callers who sat in that chair--to know +the facts.' + +'The facts--yes--of course--the facts. Well'--he spoke rapidly and a +little incoherently--'it is true that I worked here--but--oh! it is +absurd. I know nothing of any cheque book lying in your safe. I was +working at this table'--he went to the table--'sitting in this chair. +How could I get up and search about in a safe for an unknown and +unsuspected cheque book before your very eyes?' + +'I do not know. It seems impossible. I only desire you to consider, with +me, the facts.' + +Had Mr. Dering spoken just a little less coldly, with just a little less +dryness in his manner, what followed would perhaps have been different. + +'Yes--the facts,' repeated the young man. 'Well--let us get at the +facts. The chief fact is that whoever took that cheque and filled it up +must have known the existence of that cheque book more than two years +old.' + +'It would seem so.' + +'Who could know about that old cheque book? Only one who had been about +your office more than two years, or one who had had opportunities of +examining the safe. Now, you sat there--I sat here'--he seated himself, +only turning the chair round. 'How is it possible for a man sitting here +to take anything out of that safe without your seeing him? How is it +possible for him, without your knowledge, to examine slowly and +carefully the contents of the safe?' + +'Everything is possible,' said Mr. Dering, still coldly. 'Let us not +argue on possibilities. We have certain facts before us. By the help of +these, I shall hope to find out others.' + +'At five o'clock every day I put the work in the drawer of this table +and I go away.' He opened the drawer, as if to illustrate this +unimportant fact. He saw in it two or three pieces of paper with writing +on them. He took them out. 'Good Heavens!' he cried. 'They are +imitations of your handwriting.' + +Checkley crossed the room swiftly, snatched them from him, and laid them +before his master. 'Imitations of your handwriting,' he said, +'imitations--exercises in forgery--practice makes perfect. Found in the +drawer. Now!' + +Mr. Dering looked at the papers and laid them beside the forged cheque. +'An additional fact,' he said. 'These are certainly imitations. The +probable conclusion is that they were made by the same hand that forged +this cheque.' + +'Found in the drawer,' said Checkley, 'used by Mr. Arundel. Never by me. +Ah! The only two, are we? These imitations will prove that I'm not in +it.' + +'The fact that these imitations are found in the drawer,' said Mr. +Dering, 'is a fact which may or may not be important.' + +'What?' cried the young man, flaring up. 'You think that I made those +imitations?' + +'I do not permit myself--yet--to make any conclusions at all. +Everything, however, is possible.' + +Then this foolish young man lost his temper and his head. + +'You have known me all my life,' he cried. 'You have known me and all my +people. Yet at the first moment you are ready to believe that I have +committed a most abominable forgery! You--my father's oldest friend--my +mother's Trustee! My own Guardian! You!' + +'Pardon me. There are certain facts in this case. I have laid them +before you. I have shown----' + +'To suspect me,' Arundel repeated, 'and all the time another man--that +man--your clerk--who knows everything ever done in this office, is in +and about the place all day long.' + +'The imitations,' said Checkley quietly, 'were found in his own +drawer--by himself.' + +'Who put them there? Who made them? You--villain and scoundrel!' + +'Stop, stop,' said Mr. Dering coldly. 'We go too fast. Let us first +prove our facts. We will then proceed to conclusions.' + +'Well, sir, you clearly believe that I forged your name and robbed you +of all this money. I have not got ten pounds in the world; but that is +not, I suppose, a fact which bears on the case. You think I have seven +hundred pounds somewhere. Very good. Think so, if you please. Meanwhile, +I am not going to stay in the service of a man who is capable of +thinking such a thing. I leave your service--at once. Get some one else +to serve you--somebody who likes being charged with forgery and theft.' +He flung himself out of the room and banged the door behind him. + +'He has run away,' said Checkley. 'Actually, run away at the very +outset! What do you think now?' + +'I do not think. We shall, I daresay, find out the truth in due course. +Meantime, these documents will remain in my keeping.' + +'Only, I hope, sir,' the clerk began, 'that after what you've just seen +and heard, after such insolence and running away and all----' + +'Don't be an ass, Checkley. So far as appearances go, no one could get +at the safe except you and Arundel. So far as the ascertained facts go, +there is nothing to connect either of you with the thing. He is a +foolish young man; and if he is innocent, which we must, I suppose, +believe'--but his look did not convey the idea of robust faith--'he will +come back when he has cooled down.' + +'The imitations of your handwriting in his drawer----' + +'The man who forged the cheque,' said Mr. Dering, 'whoever he was, could +easily have written those imitations. I shall see that hot-headed boy's +mother, and bring him to reason.--Now, Checkley, we will resume work. +And not a word of this business, if you please, outside. You have +yourself to think of as well, remember. You, as well as that boy, have +access to the safe. Enough--enough.' + +Athelstan Arundel walked home all the way, foaming and raging. No +omnibus, cab, or conveyance ever built could contain a young man in such +a rage. His mother lived at Pembridge Square, which is four good +measured miles from Lincoln's Inn. He walked the whole way, walking +through crowds, and under the noses of dray-horses, carriage-horses, and +cart-horses, without taking the least notice of them. When he reached +home, he dashed into the drawing-room, where he found his two +sisters--Hilda and Elsie--one of them a girl of eighteen, the other of +thirteen. With flaming cheeks and fiery eyes he delivered himself of his +story; he hurled it at their heads; he called upon them to share his +indignation, and to join with him in scorn and contempt of the +man--their supposed best friend, Trustee, Guardian, Adviser--their +father's best friend--who had done this thing--who had accused him, on +the bare evidence of two or three circumstantial facts, of such a crime! + +There is something magnetic in all great emotions: one proof of their +reality is that they are magnetic. It is only an actor who can endow an +assumed emotion with magnetism. Elsie, the younger girl, fell into a +corresponding sympathy of wrath: she was equal to the occasion: passion +for passion, she joined him and fed the flame. But--for all persons are +not magnetic--the elder sister remained cold. From time to time she +wanted to know exactly what Mr. Dering had said: this her brother was +too angry to remember: she was pained and puzzled: she neither soothed +him nor sympathised with him. + +Then the mother returned, and the whole story was told again, Elsie +assisting. Now, Mrs. Arundel was a woman of great sense: a practical +woman: a woman of keen judgment. She prided herself upon the possession +of these qualities, which are not supposed to be especially feminine. +She heard the story with disturbed face and knitted brow. + +'Surely,' she said, 'what you tell me, Athelstan, is beyond belief. Mr. +Dering, of all men, to accuse you--you--of such a thing! It is +impossible.' + +'I wish it was impossible. He accuses me of forging that cheque for +720_l_. He says that while I was working in his office for him, a +fortnight ago, I took a certain cheque book out of the safe, forged his +writing on a cheque, and returned the cheque book. This is what he says. +Do you call that accusing, or don't you?' + +'Certainly. If he says that. But how can he--Mr. Dering--the most exact +and careful of men? I will drive to Lincoln's Inn at once and find out. +My dear boy, pray calm yourself. There is--there must be--some terrible +mistake.' + +She went immediately; and she had a long interview with the solicitor. + +Mr. Dering was evidently much disturbed by what had happened. He did not +receive her as he usually received his clients, sitting in his +arm-chair. He pushed back the chair and stood up, leaning a hand on the +back of it, a tall, thin, erect figure, gray-haired, austere of face. +There was little to reassure the mother in that face. The very trouble +of it made her heart sink. + +'I certainly have not accused Athelstan,' he said. 'It is, however, +quite true that there has been a robbery here, and that of a large sum +of money--no less than 720_l_.' + +'But what has that to do with my boy?' + +'We have made a few preliminary inquiries. I will do for you, Mrs. +Arundel, what I did for your son, and you shall yourself understand +what connection those inquiries have with him.' + +He proceeded coldly and without comment to set forth the case so far as +he had got at the facts. As he went on, the mother's heart became as +heavy as lead. Before he finished, she was certain. There is, you see, a +way of presenting a case without comment which is more efficacious than +any amount of talk; and Mrs. Arundel plainly perceived--which was indeed +the case--that the lawyer had by this time little doubt in his own mind +that her son had done this thing. + +'I thought it right,' he continued, 'to lay before him these facts at +the outset. If he is innocent, I thought, he will be the better able to +prove his innocence, and perhaps to find the guilty person. If he is +guilty, he may be led to confession or restitution. The facts about the +cheque book and the safe are very clear. I am certain that the safe has +not been opened by any other key. The only persons who have had access +to it are Checkley and your son Athelstan. As for Checkley--he couldn't +do it, he could not possibly do it. The thing is quite beyond him.' + +Mrs. Arundel groaned. 'This is terrible!' she said. + +'Meantime, the notes are numbered: they may be traced: they are stopped: +we shall certainly find the criminal by means of those notes.' + +'Mr. Dering'--Mrs. Arundel rose and laid her hand on his--'you are our +very old friend. Tell me--if this wretched boy goes away--if he gives +back the money that remains--if I find the rest--will there be--any +further--investigation?' + +'To compound a felony is a crime. It is, however, one of those crimes +which men sometimes commit without repentance or shame. My dear lady, if +he will confess and restore--we shall see.' + +Mrs. Arundel drove home again. She came away fully persuaded in her own +mind that her son--her only son--and none other, must be that guilty +person. She knew Mr. Dering's room well: she had sat there hundreds of +times: she knew the safe: she knew old Checkley. She perceived the +enormous improbability of this ancient clerk's doing such a thing. She +knew, again, what temptations assail a young man in London: she saw what +her Trustee thought of it: and she jumped to the conclusion that her +son--and none other--was the guilty person. She even saw how he must +have done it: she saw the quick look while Mr. Dering's back was turned: +the snatching of the cheque book: the quick replacing it. Her very +keenness of judgment helped her to the conviction. Women less clever +would have been slower to believe. Shameful, miserable termination of +all her hopes for her boy's career! But that she could think of +afterwards. For the moment the only thing was to get the boy away--to +induce him to confess--and to get him away. + +He was calmer when she got home, but he was still talking about +the thing: he would wait till the right man was discovered: then +he would have old Dering on his knees. The thing would be set right +in a few days. He had no fear of any delay. He was quite certain +that it was Checkley--that old villain. Oh! He couldn't do it by +himself, of course--nobody could believe that of him. He had +accomplices--confederates--behind him. Checkley's part of the job was to +steal the cheque book and give it to his confederates and share the +swag. + +'Well, mother?' he asked. + +His mother sat down. She looked pale and wretched. + +'Mother,' cried Hilda, the elder sister. 'Quick! What has happened? What +does Mr. Dering say?' + +'He accuses nobody,' she replied in a hard dry voice. 'But----' + +'But what?' asked Hilda. + +'He told me everything--everything--and--and----Oh!' She burst into sobs +and crying, though she despised women who cry. 'It is terrible-- It is +terrible-- It is incredible. Yet, what can I think? What can any one +think? Leave us, Hilda. Leave us, Elsie.' The two girls went out +unwillingly. 'Oh! my son--how can I believe it? And yet--on the one +hand, a boy of two-and-twenty exposed to all the temptations of town: on +the other, an old clerk of fifty years' service and integrity. And when +the facts are laid before you both--calmly and coldly--you fly into a +rage and run away, while Checkley calmly remains to await the inquiry.' + +Mrs. Arundel had been accustomed all her life to consider Mr. Dering as +the wisest of men. She felt instinctively that he regarded her son with +suspicion: she heard all the facts: she jumped to the conclusion that he +was a prodigal and a profligate: that he had fallen into evil ways, and +spent money in riotous living: she concluded that he had committed these +crimes in order to get more money for more skittles and oranges. + +'Athelstan '--she laid her hand upon his arm, but did not dare to lift +her eyes and behold that guilty face--'Athelstan'--confess--make +reparation so far as you can--confess--oh! my son--my son! You will be +caught and tried and found guilty, and--oh! I cannot say it--through the +notes which you have changed. They are all known and stopped.' + +The boy's wrath was now changed to madness. + +'You!' he cried. 'You! My own mother! You believe it, no! Oh! we are all +going mad together. What? Then I am turned out of this house, as I am +turned out of my place. I go, then--I go; and'--here he swore a mighty +oath, as strong as anybody out of Spain can make them--'I will +never--never--never come home again till you come yourself to beg +forgiveness--you--my own mother!' + +Outside, in the hall, his sisters stood, waiting and trembling. + +'Athelstan,' cried the elder, 'what, in the name of Heaven, have you +done?' + +'Go, ask my mother. She will tell you. She knows, it seems, better than +I know myself. I am driven away by my own mother. She says that I am +guilty of--of--of forgery.' + +'If she says so, Athelstan,' his sister replied coldly, 'she must have +her reasons. She would not drive you out of the house for nothing. Don't +glare like that. Prove your innocence.' + +'What? You, too? Oh! I am driven away by my sisters as well----' + +'No, Athelstan--no,' cried Elsie, catching his hand. 'Not both your +sisters.' + +'My poor child;' he stooped and kissed her. 'They will make you believe +what they believe. Good Heavens! They make haste to believe it; they are +glad to believe it.' + +'No--no. Don't go, Athelstan.' Elsie threw her arms about him. 'Stay, +and show that they are wrong. Oh! you are innocent. I will +never--never--never believe it.' + +He kissed her again, and tore himself away. The street door slammed +behind him: they heard his footsteps as he strode away. He had gone. + +Then Elsie fell into loud weeping and wailing. But Hilda went to comfort +her mother. + +'Mother,' she said, 'did he really, really and truly do it?' + +'What else can I believe? Either he did it or that old clerk. Where is +he?' + +'He is gone. He says he will come back when his innocence is proved. +Mother, if he is innocent, why does he run away? It's foolish to say +that it is because we believe it. I've said nothing except that you +couldn't believe it without reasons. Innocent young men don't run away +when they are charged with robbery. They stay and fight it out. +Athelstan should have stayed.' + +Later on, when they were both a little recovered, Hilda tried to +consider the subject more calmly. She had not her mother's cleverness, +but she was not without parts. The following remarks--made by a girl of +eighteen--prove so much. + +'Mother,' she said, 'perhaps it is better, so long as this suspicion +rests upon him, that he should be away. We shall certainly know where +he is: he will want money, and will write for it. If it should prove +that somebody else did the thing, we can easily bring him back as a +martyr--for my own part I should be so glad that I would willingly +beg his pardon on my knees--and of course we could easily get him +replaced in the office. If it is proved that he did do it--and that, +you think, they will be certain to find out--Mr. Dering, for your sake, +will be ready to hush it up--perhaps we may get the notes back--he +can't have used them all; in any case it will be a great comfort to +feel that he is out of the way: a brother convicted--tried in open +court--sentenced--oh!' She shuddered. 'We should never get over it: +never, never! It would be a most dreadful thing for Elsie and me. As for +his going away, if people ask why he is gone and where, we must invent +something--we can easily make up a story--hint that he has been +wild--there is no disgrace, happily, about a young man being wild--that +is the only thing that reconciles one to the horrid selfishness of wild +young men--and if, by going away in a pretended rage, Athelstan has +really enabled us to escape a horrid scandal--why, mother, in that +case--we may confess that the blow has been by Providence most +mercifully softened for us--most mercifully. We ought to consider that, +mother.' + +'Yes, dear, yes. But he is gone. Athelstan is gone. And his future +seems ruined. There is no hope for him. I can see no hope whatever. My +dear, he was so promising. I thought that all the family influence would +be his--we haven't got a single City solicitor in the whole family. I +thought that he was so clever and so ambitious and so eager to get on +and make money and be a credit to the family. Solicitors do +sometimes--especially City solicitors--become so very, very rich; and +now it is all gone and done--and nothing left to hope but the miserable +wish that there should be no scandal.' + +'It is indeed dreadful. But still--consider--no scandal. Mother, I think +we should find out, if we can, something about his private life--how he +has been living. He has been out a good deal of evenings lately. If +there is any--any person--on whom he has been tempted to spend money--if +he has been gambling--or betting, or any of the things that I read +of'--this young lady, thanks to the beneficent assistance of certain +works of fiction, was tolerably acquainted with the ways of young men +and their temptations--'it would be a satisfaction to know it at least.' + +The ladies of a family where there is a 'wild' young man do not +generally find it easy to get at the facts of his wildness: these remain +locked up in the bosoms of his companions. No details could be learned +about any wildness--quite the contrary. He seemed, so far as could be +learned, to have led a very quiet and regular life. 'But then,' said the +philosopher of eighteen, quoting from a novel, 'men shelter each other. +They are all bad together.' + +But--no scandal. + +Everybody knows that kind of brother or sister by whom all family events +are considered with a view to the scandal likely to be caused and the +personal injury resulting to himself; or the envy that will follow and +the personal advantage accruing from that event. That her brother was +perhaps a shameful criminal might be considered by Hilda Arundel later +on: at first, she was only capable of perceiving that this horrid fact, +unless it could be hidden away and kept secret, might very materially +injure herself. + +Almost naturally, she folded her hands sweetly and laid her comely head +a little on one side--it is an attitude of resignation which may be +observed in certain pictures of saints and holy women. Hilda knew many +little attitudes. Also, quite naturally, she glanced at a mirror on the +wall and observed that her pose was one of sorrow borne with Christian +resignation. + +We must blame neither Hilda nor her mother. The case as put by Mr. +Dering in the form of plain fact without any comment, did seem very +black indeed against Athelstan. In every family the first feeling in +such a case--it is the instinct of self-preservation--is to hush up the +thing if possible--to avoid a scandal. + +Such a scandal as the prosecution of a brother for forgery--with a +verdict of guilty--is a most truly horrible, deplorable, fatal thing. It +takes the respectability out of a family perhaps at a critical moment, +when the family is just assuming the robes of respectability: it ruins +the chances of the girls: it blights the prospects of the boys: it +drives away friends: it is a black spot which all the soaps ever +advertised could never wash off. Therefore, while the mother hoped, +first of all, that the boy would escape the clutch of the law, Hilda +was, first of all, grateful that there would be no scandal. Mr. Dering +would not talk about it. The thing would not interfere with her own +prospects. It was sad: it was miserable; but yet--no scandal. With what +a deep, deep sigh of satisfaction did the young lady repeat that there +would probably be no scandal! + +As for Elsie, that child went about for many days with tearful eyes, red +cheeks, and a swollen nose. She was rebellious and sharp with her +mother. And to her sister she refused to speak. The days went on. They +became weeks, months, years. Otherwise they would not have been days. +Nothing at all was heard of Athelstan. He sent no letters to any one: he +did not even write for money: they knew not where he was or what he was +doing. He disappeared. It was understood that there had been wildness. + +Now--which was very remarkable--though the forger had had a clear run of +three weeks, it could not be discovered that any of the notes had been +presented. Perhaps they were sent abroad: yet foreign and colonial banks +would know the numbers of stopped notes. And towards the discovery of +the forger no further step had been taken. The commissionaire who took +the cheque had been, as you have seen, easily found: he said he should +know the old gentleman who gave him the forged draft to cash. He said, +being again interrogated, that Checkley was not in the least like that +old gentleman. What could be thought, then? Athelstan must have 'made +up' as an old man: he was fond of private theatricals: he could make up +very well: of course he had made up. And then, this point being settled, +they left off talking about the business. + +Other things happened--important things--which made the memory of the +prodigal son to wax dim. First of all came Hilda's case. She was a +graceful young person, with features of great regularity: her expression +was cold, her eyes were hard, and her lips were a little thin, but these +things at nineteen are hardly perceived. She was that sort of a girl who +seems created for the express purpose, first of wearing and beautifying +costly raiment, and next of sitting in a splendid vehicle. The finer the +dress, the more beautiful she looked. The grander the carriage, the more +queenly she seemed. In rags her coldness would be arctic, her hardness +would be granitic: in silk and velvet she became a goddess. It was +therefore most fitting that she should marry a rich man. Now, to be rich +in these days, one must be old. It is the price that one has to pay for +wealth. Sometimes one pays the price and gets old, and yet does not get +what one has paid for. That seems hardly fair. There was a certain rich +man, Mr. Dering's younger brother, Sir Samuel Dering, Knight, one of the +most substantial City men, a man who had a house in Kensington Palace +Gardens, a yacht, a country place in Sussex, and piles of papers in a +safe, meaning investments. He was a widower without encumbrance: he was +fifty-seven years of age, not yet decayed: he wanted a wife to be the +mistress of his house, and to look well at his dinner-parties. Of +course, when one does want a wife, at any age, one wants her young. +Hilda Arundel, his brother's ward, looked as if she would discharge the +duties required of the position admirably. He suggested the arrangement +to his brother, who spoke about it. + +There was a good deal of taking about it. Mrs. Arundel showed that she +knew the value of her daughter; but there was no doubt about the +conclusion of the matter. There was a grand wedding, at which all the +richer Arundels were present, and none of the poor relations. Mr. +Dering, the young lady's guardian, gave her away; Hilda became Lady +Dering, and has been perfectly happy ever since. Elsie remained with her +mother. Her brother was never spoken of between them. But she +remembered him, and she was firm in her conviction that his innocence +would be some day established. + +After five years, nothing at all having been heard of the notes, Mr. +Dering made application to the Bank of England, and received from them +the sum of 720_l_. in new crisp notes in the place of those of which he +had been robbed, so that the actual loss at 4 per cent. compound +interest amounted to no more than 155_l_. 19_s_. 9-3/4_d_., which is +more than one likes to lose, yet is not actually embarrassing to a man +whose income is about ten thousand a year. He ceased to think about the +business altogether, except as a disagreeable episode of his office. + +Then Athelstan Arundel became completely forgotten. His old friends, the +young men with whom he had played and sported, only remembered him from +time to time as a fellow who had come to some unknown grief, and had +gone away. There is always some young fellow in every set of young +fellows who gets into some scrape, and so leaves the circle, and is no +more seen or heard of. We go on just the same without him: very seldom +is such a man remembered long: it is the way of the world: we cannot +stop to lament over the fallen: we must push on: others fall: close up +the ranks: push on: Time drives: the memory of the fallen swiftly waxes +dim. + +Fours years or so after the mysterious business of Edmund Gray, Mr. +Dering received a letter with an American stamp marked 'Private and +Confidential.' He laid this aside until he had got through the business +letters; then he opened it. He turned first to the signature. 'Ha!' he +said, 'Athelstan Arundel. At last. Now we shall see. We shall see.' + +He expected a full confession of the crime. We should never expect, says +the Sage, what we desire, because we never obtain what we expect. It +would have made Mr. Dering more comfortable in his mind had the letter +contained a confession. Of course, Athelstan had done it. Nobody else +could have done it. Yet when he thought about the business at all, there +always arose in his mind an uneasy feeling that perhaps the boy had been +treated unwisely. It might have been more prudent to have kept the facts +from him, although they pointed so strongly in his direction, until +proof positive was obtained. It might, again, have been better had the +facts been put before him with a few words of confidence, even though +that confidence did not exist. Time only strengthened Mr. Dering's +suspicions against the young man. The thing _must_ have been done by +Checkley or by him. Now, Checkley was not able, if he had wished, to +imitate any handwriting. No! It was done by Athelstan. Why he did it, +what he got by it, seeing that those notes had never been presented, no +one could explain. But he did it--he did it. That was certain. + +Mr. Dering therefore began to read the letter with interest. Its +commencement was without any opening words of respect or friendliness. +And it was not by any means the letter of a wicked man turning away from +his wickedness. Not a word of repentance from beginning to end. + +'Four years ago,' Mr. Dering read, 'you drove me from your place and +changed my whole life, by a suspicion--amounting to a charge--of the +gravest kind. You assumed, without explanation or examination, that +because certain facts seemed to point in a certain direction, I had been +guilty of an enormous crime, that I had robbed my father's oldest +friend, my mother's Trustee, my own guardian, my employer, of a great +sum of money. You never asked yourself if this suspicion was justified +by any conduct of mine--you jumped at it.' + +'Quite wrong. Wilfully wrong,' said Mr. Dering. 'I laid the facts before +him. Nothing but the facts. I brought no charge.' + +'I daresay that by this time the criminal has been long since detected. +Had I remained, I would have brought the thing home to him. For of +course it could be none other than your clerk. I have thought over the +case thousands of times. The man who forged the cheque must have been +one of two--either your clerk--the man Checkley--or myself. It did not +take you long, I apprehend, to learn the truth. You would discover it +through the presentation of the notes.'--'This is a very crafty letter,' +said Mr. Dering; 'when he never presented any of the notes. Very +crafty.' He resumed the letter--'Enough said about that. I daresay, +however, that I shall some day or other--before you are dead, I +hope--return in order to receive some expression of sorrow from you if +you can feel shame.'--'Certainly not,' said Mr. Dering with +decision.--'Meantime, there is a service which I must ask of you for +the sake of my people. There is no one else whom I can ask. It is the +reason of my writing this letter. + +'I came away with ten pounds--all I had in the world--in my pocket. Not +seven hundred and twenty pounds, as you imagined or suspected. Ten +pounds. With that slender capital I got across the Atlantic. I have now +made twelve thousand pounds. I made it in a very short time by +extraordinary good luck.' Mr. Dering laid down the letter and +considered. Twelve thousand pounds might be made--perhaps--by great good +luck--with a start of seven hundred and twenty, but hardly with ten +pounds. A silver reef--or more likely a gambling table, or a second +crime, or a series of crimes. It will be observed that his opinion of +the young man was now very bad indeed: otherwise, he would have +reflected that as none of those notes had been presented, none of them +had been used. Even if an English ten-pound note is converted into +American dollars, the note comes home before ten years. 'Extraordinary +good luck.' He read the words again, and shook his head. 'Now, I want +you to take charge of this money, to say nothing at all about it, to +keep the matter a profound secret, to invest it or put it in some place +of safety, where confidential clerks with a taste for forgery cannot get +at it, and to give it, on her twenty-first birthday, to my sister Elsie. +Do not tell her or anybody from whom the money comes. Do not tell +anybody that you have heard from me. When I came away, she was the only +one of all my friends and people who declared that she believed in me. I +now strip myself of my whole possessions in order to show this mark of +my love and gratitude towards her. In sending you this money I go back +to the ten pounds with which I started.' + +Mr. Dering laid the letter down. The words, somehow, seemed to ring +true. Could the boy--after all----? He shook his head, and went on. 'You +will give Elsie this money on her twenty-first birthday, to be settled +on her for herself.' + + 'ATHELSTAN ARUNDEL.' + +The letter was dated, but no address was given. The post-mark was Idaho, +which, as we all know, belongs to a Western State. + +He looked into the envelope. There fell out a paper, which was a draft +on a well-known London Firm, payable to his order for twelve thousand +and fifty pounds. + +'This is very unbusiness-like,' said Mr. Dering. 'He puts all this money +into my hands, and vanishes. These are the ways he learns in America, I +suppose. Puts the money blindly in my hands without giving me the means +of communicating with him. Then he vanishes. How could he prove that it +was a Trust? Well, if I could only think--but I cannot--the +circumstantial evidence is too strong--that the boy was innocent--I +should be very sorry for him. As for Elsie--she must be eighteen +now--about eighteen--she will get this windfall in three years or so. It +will be a wonderful lift for her. Perhaps it may make all the difference +in her future! If I could only think that the boy was innocent--a clever +lad, too--which makes his guilt more probable. But I can't--no--I can't. +Either Checkley or that boy--and Checkley couldn't do it. He couldn't if +he were to try. What did the boy do it for? And what did he do with the +notes?' + + + + +CHAPTER I + +UP THE RIVER + + +'Can you not be content, George?' asked the girl sitting in the stern. +'I think that I want nothing more than this. If we could only go on +always, and always, and always, just like this.' She had taken off her +right-hand glove, and she was dipping her fingers into the cool waters +of the river as the boat slowly drifted down stream. 'Always like this,' +she repeated softly. 'With you close to me--so that I could touch you if +I wanted to--so that I could feel safe, you know--the sun behind us, +warm and splendid, such a sweet and fragrant air about us, trees and +gardens and fields and lanes on either side--and both of us always +young, George, and--and nice to look at, and all the world before us.' + +She, for one, was not only young and nice to look upon, but fair--very +fair to look upon. Even young persons of her own sex, critics and +specialists in the Art and Science of Beauty--rivals as well--had to +confess that Elsie was rather pretty. I believe that few such critics +ever go farther. She was, to begin with, of sufficient stature, in a +time when dumpy women are not considered, and when height is a first +necessity of comeliness: she paid, next, such obedience to the laws of +figure as becomes the age of twenty, and is, with stature, rigorously +demanded at this end of the century. Her chief points, perhaps, lay in +her eyes, which were of a darker shade of blue than is common. They were +soft, yet not languid; they were full of light; they were large, and yet +they could be quick. Her face was subject to sudden changes that made it +like a spring-time sky of shower, rainbow, sunshine, and surprise. Her +hair was of a very common brown, neither dark nor light. She was +attired, this evening, in a simple gray frock of nun's cloth with a +bunch of white roses on her left shoulder. + +When one says that her companion was a young man, nearly all is said, +because the young men of the present day are surprisingly alike. +Thousands of young men can be found like George Austin: they are all +excellent fellows, of much higher principles, on some subjects, than +their fathers before them; not remarkably intellectual, to judge by +their school record: yet with intelligence and application enough to get +through their examinations moderately: for the most part they do pass +them with moderate success: they are not ambitious of obtaining any of +the great prizes--which, indeed, they know to be out of their reach--but +they always set before themselves and keep always well in sight the +ideal suburban villa and the wife: they always work steadily, if not +feverishly, with the view of securing these two blessings; they always +hope to secure an income that will enable them to maintain that +wife--with a possible following of babies--in silk attire (for Sundays); +in ease as to household allowance; and in such freedom of general +expenditure as may enable her to stand up among her neighbours in church +without a blush. + +The world is quite full of such men: they form the rank and file, the +legionaries: their opinion on the subject of labour is purely +Scriptural--namely, that it is a curse: they do not particularly love +any kind of work: they would prefer, if they had the choice, to do +nothing at all: when they get their summer holiday they do nothing all +day long, with zeal: they give no more thought to their work than is +sufficient for the bread-winning: whether they are professional men or +trading men their view of professional work is solely that it brings in +the money. If such a young man becomes a clerk, he never tries to learn +any more after he has left school: he accepts the position: a clerk and +a servant he is, a clerk and a servant he will remain. If he is engaged +in trade he gives just so much attention to his business as will keep +his connection together: that and no more: others may soar: others may +become Universal Providers: for his part he is contented with his shop +and his Sunday feast. If he becomes a professional man he learns no more +of his science than is wanted every day. The lawyer passes his exam, and +puts away his law-books; he knows enough for professional purposes: the +doctor reads no more; he knows enough for the ordinary needs of the +G. P.: the schoolmaster lays aside his books; scholarship and science +interest him no longer; he has learned enough to teach his boys: the +curate makes no farther research into the history and foundations of his +church; he has learned enough. In a word, the average young man is +without ambition; he is inclined to be lazy; he loves the present far +more than the future--indeed, all his elders unite in letting him know +that his own is quite the most enviable time of life; he likes to enjoy +whatever he can afford, so that he very often eats up all his wages: he +does not read too much; he does not think too much: he does not vex his +soul too much with the problems of life--greater problems or lesser +problems--he accepts the teaching of his newspaper, and agrees with the +words and the wisdom of yesterday's leading article: he accepts +religion, politics, morals, social systems, constitutions, things +present, past, and future, as if--which is perfectly true--he had +nothing to do with them, and could not help it whatever was to happen. +He never wants to alter anything; he believes that all British +institutions are built on the solid rock and fashioned out of the +hardest granite: any exceptions to this rule, he thinks, have come +straight down from Heaven. + +Observe, if you please, that this kind of young man confers the greatest +possible benefits upon the country. He ought to be made a Baronet at +least, if honours meant anything. His apparent sluggishness keeps us +from the constant changes which trouble some nations: his apparent lack +of ambition makes it easy for the restless spirits to rise: were the +country full of aspiring young men we should be for ever having civil +wars, revolutions, social upsydowns, new experiments, new religions, new +governments, new divisions of property, every year. Again, it is this +young man who by his steady attention to business, his readiness to work +as much as is wanted, but no more; his disregard of theories and +speculations, his tenacity; his honesty, his loyalty, his courage, and +his stout heart, has built up the British name so that there has never +been any name like unto it, nor ever will be again, for these solid and +substantial virtues. + +Being, then, just a young man of the time, George Austin was naturally +like most young men in dress, in appearance, in language, and in +manners. And had it not been for the strange experience which he was to +undergo, he would have remained to this day just like other young men. +He was better looking than most, having a good figure, a well-shaped +head, and regular features, with eyes rather fuller of possibilities +than falls to the lot of most young men. In short, a good-looking +fellow, showing a capability for something or other in his firm mouth, +ample cheek, strong chin, and resolute carriage. He would have made a +fine soldier; but perhaps an unsuccessful general, for want of that +quality which in poets is called genius. In the same way he would in a +lower walk keep a business together, but would fail to achieve a great +fortune for lack of the same quality. As for his age, he was +seven-and-twenty. + +'Always like this,' the girl went on. 'Always floating down the stream +under a summer sky. Always sweet looks and love and youth. It seems as +if we could never be unhappy, never be worried, never want anything, on +such an evening as this.' She turned and looked up the stream, on which +lay the glory of the sinking sun--she sighed. 'It is good to come out on +such an evening only to have a brief dream of what might be. When will +the world give up their foolish quarrels, and join together to make the +lives of all happy?' + +They had been talking, among other things, of socialism, all out of +yesterday's leading article. + +'When,' George replied, 'there is enough of good things to go round: +when we invent a way to make all men ready to do their share as well as +to devour it: when we find out how to make everybody contented with his +share.' + +Elsie shook her head, which was filled with vague ideas--the ideas of a +restless and a doubting time. Then she went back to her original +proposition. 'Always like this, George--and never to get tired of it. +Time to stand still--nothing to change: never to get tired of it: never +to want anything else. That is Heaven, I suppose.' + +'We are on earth, Elsie,' said her lover. 'And on earth Everything +changes. If we were to go on drifting down the stream, we should get +into trouble over the weir. To capsize would be a pretty interruption to +your Heaven, wouldn't it! And the sun will soon be setting and the river +will get misty; and the banks will grow ugly. But the chief thing is +that we shall both grow old. And there is such a lot that we have got to +do before we grow old.' + +'Everything has to be done,' said Elsie. 'I suppose we have done nothing +yet.' + +'We have got to get married for the first thing, before we grow old.' + +'Couldn't you love an old woman, George?' + +'Not so well, Elsie,' her lover replied, truthfully. 'At least, I think +not.--And oh! Elsie, whenever I do think of the future, my heart goes +down into my boots. For the prospect grows darker and darker.' + +Elsie sighed. She knew, already, too well, what was in his mind. Plenty +of girls, in these days, know the familiar tale. + +'Darker every day,' he repeated. 'They keep on crowding into the +profession by multitudes, as if there was room for any number. They +don't understand that what with the decay of the landed interest and of +the country towns, and the cutting down of the costs, and the work that +goes to accountants, there isn't half the business to do that there was. +There don't seem any partnerships to be had for love or money, because +the few people who have got a good thing have got no more than enough +for themselves. It is no use for the young fellows to start by +themselves; so they have got to take whatever they can get, and they are +glad to get even a hundred a year to begin with--and I am +seven-and-twenty, Elsie, and I'm drawing two hundred pounds a year.' + +'Patience, George! something will turn up. You will find a partnership +somewhere.' + +'My child, you might as well tell Robinson Crusoe that a boiled leg of +mutton with caper sauce was going to turn up on his desert island. We +must not hope for the impossible. I ought to be grateful, I suppose, +considering what other men are doing. I am planted in a good solid +House. It won't run away, so long as the old man lives.' + +'And after that?' + +'Well, Mr. Dering is seventy-five. But he will not die yet, not for a +long time to come. He is made of granite: he is never ill: he never +takes a holiday: he works harder than any of his people; and he keeps +longer hours. To be sure, if he were to die without taking a +partner--well--in that case, there would be an end of everything, I +suppose.--Elsie, here's the position.' She knew it already, too +well--but it pleased them both to parade the facts as if they were +something quite novel. 'Let us face it'--they were always facing it. 'I +am Managing Clerk to Dering & Son--I get two hundred pounds a year--I +have no prospect of anything better. I am bound all my life to be a +servant. Elsie, it is not a brilliant prospect: I found out at school +that it was best not to be too ambitious. But--a servant all my life--I +confess that did not enter into my head. If I knew any other trade, I +would cut the whole business. If there was any mortal thing in the whole +world by which I could keep myself, I would try it. But there's nothing. +I have but one trade. I can't write novels, or leading articles; I can't +play on any instrument; I can't paint or act or sing or anything--I am +only a solicitor--that's all. Only a solicitor who can't get on--a +clerk, Elsie. No wonder her ladyship turns up her nose--a clerk.' He +leaned his chin upon his hands and laughed the conventional laugh of the +young man down on his luck. + +'Poor George!' she sighed. In such a case there are only two words of +consolation. One may say 'Poor George!' or one may say 'Patience!' There +is nothing else to say. Elsie first tried one method and then the other, +as a doctor tries first one remedy and then another when Nature sulks +and refuses to get well. + +'And,' he went on, piling up the misery, 'I am in love with the sweetest +girl in the whole world--and she is in love with me!' + +'Poor George!' she repeated with a smile. 'That is indeed a dreadful +misfortune.' + +'I am wasting your youth, Elsie, as well as my own.' + +'If it is wasted for your sake, George, it is well spent. Some day, +perhaps----' + +'No--no--not some day--immediately--at once.' The young man changed +colour and his eyes sparkled. It was not the first time that he had +advanced this revolutionary proposal. 'Let prudence go to the----' + +'Not there, George--oh! not there. To the winds, perhaps, or to that +famous city of Palestine. But not there. Why, we might never get her +back again--poor Prudence! And we shall be sure to want her all our +lives--very badly. We will, if you please, ask her to go for a short +voyage for the benefit of her health. We will give her six months' leave +of absence: but we shall want her services again after her holiday--if +you think we can do without her for so long.' + +'For a whole twelvemonth, Elsie. Let us brave everything, get married at +once, live in a garret, and have a splendid time--for a whole +twelvemonth--on my two hundred pounds.' + +'And am I to give up my painting?' + +'Well, dear, you know you have not yet had a commission from anybody.' + +'How can you say so, George? I have painted you--and my sister--and my +mother--and your sisters. I am sure that no studio even of an R.A. could +make a braver show of work. Well--I will give it up--until Prudence +returns. Is it to be a garret? A real garret, with sloping walls, where +you can only stand upright in the middle?' + +'We call it a garret. It will take the form, I suppose, of a tiny house +in a cheap quarter. It will have six rooms, a garden in front and a +garden behind. The rent will be thirty pounds. For a whole twelvemonth +it will be a real slice of Eden, Elsie, and you shall be Eve.' + +Elsie laughed. 'It will be great fun. We will make the Eden last longer +than a twelvemonth. I daresay I shall like it. Of course I shall have to +do everything for myself. To clean the doorstep will be equivalent to +taking exercise in the fresh air: to sweep the floors will be a kind of +afternoon dance or a game of lawn-tennis: to wash up the cups and +saucers will be only a change of amusement.--There is one thing, +George--one thing'--she became very serious--'I suppose you never--did +you ever witness the scouring of a frying-pan? I don't think I _could_ +do that. And did you ever see beef-steaks before they are cooked? They +suggest the animal in the most terrible way. I don't really think I +could handle those bleeding lumps.' + +'You shan't touch a frying-pan, and we will have nothing roasted or +fried. We will live on cold Australian beef eaten out of its native tin: +the potatoes shall be boiled in their skins. And perhaps--I don't +know--with two hundred pounds a year we could afford a servant--a very +little one--just a girl warranted not to eat too much.' + +'What shall we do when our clothes are worn out?' + +'The little maid will make some more for you, I suppose. We certainly +shall not be able to buy new things--not nice things, that is--and you +must have nice things, mustn't you?' + +'I do like things to be nice,' she replied, smoothing her dainty skirts +with her dainty hand. 'George, where shall we find this house--formerly +Eve's own country villa before she--resigned her tenancy, you know?' + +'There are places in London where whole streets are filled with families +living on a hundred and fifty pounds a year. Checkley--the chief's +private clerk--lives in such a place: he told me so himself. He says +there is nobody in his parish who has got a bigger income than himself: +he's a little king among them because he gets four hundred pounds a +year, besides what he has saved--which is enormous piles. Elsie, my +dear, we must give up our present surroundings, and take up with +gentility in its cheapest form.' + +'Can we not go on living among our own friends?' + +George shook his head wisely. 'Impossible. Friendship means equality of +income. You can't live with people unless you do as they do. People of +the same means naturally live together. Next door to Lady Dering is +another rich Madam, not a clerk's wife. For my own part I shall sell my +dress clothes for what they will fetch--you can exchange your evening +things for morning things. That won't matter much. Who cares where we +live, or how we live, so that we live together? What do you say, Elsie +dear?' + +'The garret I don't mind--nor the door-steps--and since you see your way +out of the difficulty of the frying-pan----' + +'You will be of age next week, when you can please yourself.' + +'Hilda gives me no peace nor rest. She says that there can be no +happiness without money. She has persuaded my mother that I am going to +certain starvation. She promises the most splendid establishment if I +will only be guided by her.' + +'And marry a man fifty years older than yourself with one foot already +well in----' + +'She says she has always been perfectly happy.--Well, George, you know +all that. Next Wednesday, which is my birthday, I am to have a grand +talk with my guardian. My mother hopes that he will bring me to my +senses. Hilda says that she trusts entirely to Mr. Dering's good sense. +I shall arm myself with all my obstinacy. Perhaps, George--who knows?--I +may persuade him to advance your salary.' + +'No, Elsie. Not even you would persuade Mr. Dering to give a managing +clerk more than two hundred pounds a year. But arm yourself with all you +have got--don't forget any piece of that armour, child. The +breastplate--there was a poor damsel once who forgot that and was caught +by an appeal to her heart--nor the helmet--another poor damsel was once +caught by an appeal to her reason after forgetting the helmet. The +shield, of course, you will not forget--and for weapons, my dear, take +your sweet eyes and your lovely face and your winning voice--and I +swear that you will subdue even Mr. Dering himself--that hardened old +parchment.' + +This was the kind of talk which these lovers held together whenever they +met. George was poor--the son of a clergyman, whose power of advancing +him ceased when he had paid the fees for admission. He was only a clerk, +and he saw no chance of being anything else but a clerk. Elsie could +bring nothing to the family nest, unless her mother made her an +allowance. Of this there could be no hope. The engagement was considered +deplorable: marriage, under the circumstances, simple madness. And Hilda +had done so well for herself, and could do so much for a sister so +pretty, so bright as Elsie! Oh! she was throwing away all her chances. +Did one ever hear of anything so lamentable? No regard for the family: +no ambition: no sense of what a girl owes to herself: no recognition nor +gratitude for the gift of good looks--as if beauty was given for the +mere purpose of pleasing a penniless lover! And to go and throw herself +away upon a twopenny lawyer's clerk! + +'George,' she said seriously, 'I have thought it all out. If you really +mean it--if you really can face poverty--mind--it is harder--much--for a +man than a woman----' + +'I can face everything--with you, Elsie,' replied the lover. Would he +have been a lover worth having if he had not made that answer? And, +indeed, he meant it, as every lover should. + +'Then--George--what in the whole world is there for me unless I can make +my dear boy happy? I will marry you as soon as you please, rich or poor, +for better for worse--whatever they may say at home.--Will that do for +you, George?' + +Since man is so constituted that his happiness wholly depends upon the +devotion of a woman, I believe that no dear boy ever had a better chance +of happiness than George Austin--only a managing clerk--with his Elsie. +And so this history begins where many end, with an engagement. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +IN THE OFFICE + + +'I'll take in your ladyship's name. There is no one with him at this +moment.--Oh yes, my lady,' Checkley smiled superior. 'We are always +busy. We have been busy in this office for fifty years and more.--But I +am sure he'll see you. Take a chair, my lady. Allow me.' + +Checkley, the old clerk, had other and younger clerks with him; but he +kept in his own hands the duty, or the privilege, of going to the +private room of the chief. He was sixty-seven when last we saw him. +Therefore, he was now seventy-five; a little more bent in the shoulders, +a little more feeble; otherwise unaltered. In age we either shrivel or +we swell. Those live the longest who shrivel; and those who shrivel +presently reach a point when they cease to shrink any more till they +reach the ninetieth year. Checkley was bowed and bent and lean: his face +was lined multitudinously: his cheeks were shrunken: but not more so +than eight years before. He wrote down the name of the caller--Lady +Dering--on a square piece of paper, and opened the door with an +affectation of extreme care not to disturb the chief's nerves by a sharp +turn of the handle, stepped in as if it was most important that no one +should be able to peep into the room, and closed the door softly behind +him. Immediately he reappeared, and held the door wide open, inviting +the lady to step in. She was young; of good stature and figure, +extremely handsome in face; of what is called the classical type, and +very richly dressed. Her carriage might have been seen, on looking out +of the window, waiting in the square. + +'Lady Dering, sir,' said Checkley. Then he swiftly vanished, closing the +door softly behind him. + +'I am glad to see you, Hilda.' The old lawyer rose, tall and commanding, +and bowed, offering his hand with a stately and old-fashioned courtesy +which made ladies condone his unmarried condition. 'Why have you called +this morning? You are not come on any business, I trust. Business with +ladies who have wealthy husbands generally means trouble of some kind. +You are not, for instance, in debt with your dressmaker?' + +'No--no. Sir Samuel does not allow of any difficulties or awkwardness of +that kind. It is not about myself that I am here, but about my sister, +Elsie.' + +'Yes? What about her? Sit down, and let me hear.' + +'Well, you know Elsie has always been a trouble to us on account of her +headstrong and wilful ways. She will not look on things from a +reasonable point of view. You know that my mother is not rich, as I have +learnt to consider rich, though of course she has enough for a simple +life and a man-servant and a one-horse brougham. Do you know,' she added +pensively, 'I have often found it difficult not to repine at a +Providence which removes a father when he was beginning so well, and +actually on the high-road to a great fortune.' + +'It is certainly difficult to understand the wisdom of these +disappointments and disasters. We must accept, Hilda, what we cannot +escape or explain.' + +'Yes--and my mother had nothing but a poor thousand a year!--though I am +sure that she has greatly bettered her circumstances by her transactions +in the City. Well--I have done all I can, by precept and by example, to +turn my sister's mind into the right direction. Mr. Dering'--by long +habit Hilda still called her guardian, now her brother-in-law, by his +surname--'you would hardly believe the folly that Elsie talks about +money.' + +'Perhaps because she has none. Those who have no property do not +understand it. Young people do not know what it means or what it +commands. And whether they have it or not, young people do not know what +the acquisition of property means--the industry, the watchfulness, the +carefulness, the self-denial. So Elsie talks folly about money--well, +well'--he smiled indulgently--'we shall see.' + +'It is not only that she talks, but she acts. Mr. Dering, we are in +despair about her. You know the Rodings?' + +'Roding Brothers? Everybody knows Roding Brothers.' + +'Algy Roding, the eldest son of the senior partner--enormously rich--is +gone--quite gone--foolish about Elsie. He has been at me a dozen times +about her. He has called at the house to see her. He cares nothing at +all about her having no money. She refuses even to hear his name +mentioned. Between ourselves, he has not been, I believe, a very steady +young man; but of course he would settle down; we could entirely trust +to a wife's influence in that respect: the past could easily be +forgotten--in fact, Elsie need never know it: and the position would be +splendid. Even mine would not compare with it.' + +'Why does she object to the man?' + +'Says he is an ugly little snob. There is a becoming spirit for a girl +to receive so rich a lover! But that is not all. She might have him if +she chose, snob or not, but she prefers one of your clerks--actually, +Mr. Dering, one of your clerks.' + +'I have learned something of this from your mother. She is engaged, I am +told, to young Austin, one of my managing clerks.' + +'Whose income is two hundred pounds a year. Oh! think of it! She refuses +a man with ten thousand a year at the very least, and wants to marry a +man with two hundred.' + +'I suppose they do not propose to marry on this--this pittance--this two +hundred a year?' + +'They are engaged: she refuses to break it off: he has no money to buy a +partnership: he must therefore continue a clerk on two hundred.' + +'Managing clerks get more, sometimes; but, to be sure, the position is +not good, and the income must always be small.' + +'My mother will not allow the man in the house: Elsie goes out to meet +him: oh, it is most irregular. I should be ashamed for Sir Samuel to +know it. She actually goes out of the house every evening, and they walk +about the square garden or in the Park till dark. It is exactly like a +housemaid going out to meet her young man.' + +'It does seem an unusual course; but I am no judge of what is becoming +to a young lady.' + +'Well--she needn't go on like a housemaid,' said her sister. 'Of course +the position of things at home is strained, and I don't know what may +happen at any moment. Elsie says that she shall be twenty-one next week, +and that she means to act on her own judgment. She even talks of setting +up a studio somewhere and painting portraits for money. That is a +pleasant thing for me to contemplate. My own sister earning her own +living by painting!' + +'How do you think I can interfere in the matter? Lovers' quarrels or +lovers' difficulties are not made or settled in this room.' + +'Mr. Dering, there is no one in the world of whom she is afraid, except +yourself. There is no one of whose opinion she thinks so much. Will you +see her? Will you talk with her? Will you admonish her?' + +'Why, Hilda, it so happens that I have already invited her to call upon +me on her birthday, when she ceases to be my ward. I will talk to her +if you please. Perhaps you may be satisfied with the result of my +conversation.' + +'I shall--I am sure I shall.' + +'Let me understand. You desire that your sister shall marry a man who, +if he is not already rich, should be at least on the high road to +wealth. You cannot force her to accept even the richest young man in +London unless she likes him, can you?' + +'No. Certainly not. And we can hardly expect her to marry, as I did +myself, a man whose wealth is already established. Unless she would take +Algy Roding.' + +'Very good. But he must have a certain income, so as to ensure the means +of an establishment conducted at a certain level.' + +'Yes. She need not live in Palace Gardens, but she ought to be able to +live--say in Pembridge Square.' + +'Quite so. I suppose, with an income of fifteen hundred or so to begin +with. If I make her understand so much, you will be satisfied?' + +'Perfectly.--My dear Mr. Dering, I really believe you have got the very +young man up your sleeve. But how will you persuade her to give up the +present intruder?' + +'I promise nothing, Hilda--I promise nothing. I will do my best, +however.' + +Hilda rose and swept back her dress. + +'I feel an immense sense of relief,' she said. 'The dear child's +happiness is all I desire. Perhaps if you were to dismiss the young man +immediately, with ignominy, and were to refuse him a written character +on the ground of trying to win the affections of a girl infinitely above +him in station, it might produce a good effect on Elsie--showing what +you think of it--as well as an excellent lesson for himself and his +friends. There is no romance about a cast-off clerk. Will you think of +this, Mr. Dering? The mere threat of such a thing might make him ready +to give her up; and it might make her inclined for his own sake to send +him about his business.' + +'I will think of it, Hilda.--By the way, will you and my brother dine +with me on Monday, unless you are engaged? We can talk over this little +affair then at leisure.' + +'With pleasure. We are only engaged for the evening. Now I won't keep +you any longer.--Good-bye.' + +She walked away, smiling graciously on the clerks in the outer office, +and descended the stairs to the carriage, which waited below. + +Mr. Dering returned to his papers. He was not changed in the eight years +since the stormy interview with this young lady's brother: his small +whiskers were a little whiter: his iron-gray hair was unchanged; his +lips were as firm and his nostrils as sharp, his eyes as keen as then. + +The room looked out pleasantly upon the garden of New Square, where the +sunshine lay warm upon the trees with their early summer leaves. +Sunshine or rain, all the year round, the solicitor sat in his +high-backed chair before his great table. He sat there this morning +working steadily until he had got through what he was about. Then he +looked at his watch. It was past two o'clock. He touched a bell on the +table, and his old clerk came in. + +Though he was the same age as his master, Checkley looked a great deal +older. He was bald, save for a small white patch over each ear; he was +bent, and his hands trembled. His expression was sharp, foxy, and +suspicious. He stood in the unmistakable attitude of a servant, hands +hanging in readiness, head a little bent. + +'The clerks are all gone, I suppose?' said Mr. Dering. + +'All gone. All they think about when they come in the morning is how +soon they will get away. As for any pride in their work, they haven't +got it.' + +'Let them go.--Checkley, I have wanted to speak to you for some time.' + +'Anything the matter?' The old clerk spoke with the familiarity of long +service which permits the expression of opinions. + +'The time has come, Checkley, when we must make a change.' + +'A change? Why--I do my work as well as ever I did--better than any of +the younger men. A change?' + +'The change will not affect you.' + +'It must be for you then. Surely you're never going to retire!' + +'No--I mean to hold on as long as I can. That will only be for a year or +two at most. I am seventy-five, Checkley.' + +'What of that? So am I. You don't find me grumbling about my work, do +you? Besides, you eat hearty. Your health is good.' + +'Yes, my health is good. But I am troubled of late, Checkley--I am +troubled about my memory.' + +'So is many a younger man,' returned the clerk stoutly. + +'Sometimes I cannot remember in the morning what I was doing the evening +before.' + +'That's nothing. Nothing at all.' + +'Yesterday, I looked at my watch, and found that I had been unconscious +for three hours.' + +'You were asleep. I came in and saw you sound asleep.' It was not true, +but the clerk's intentions were good. + +'To go asleep in the morning argues a certain decay of strength. Yet I +believe that I get through the work as well as ever. The clients do not +drop off, Checkley. There are no signs of mistrust--eh? No suspicion of +failing powers?' + +'They think more of you than ever.' + +'I believe they do, Checkley.' + +'Everybody says you are the top of the profession.' + +'I believe I am, Checkley--I believe I am. Certainly, I am the oldest. +Nevertheless, seventy-five is a great age to be continuing work. Things +can't last much longer.' + +'Some men go on to eighty, and even ninety.' + +'A few--a few only.' The lawyer sighed. 'One may hope, but must not +build upon the chance of such merciful prolongation. The older I grow, +Checkley, the more I enjoy life, especially the only thing that has ever +made life happy for me--this work. I cling to it'--he spread his hands +over the papers--'I cling to it. I cannot bear to think of leaving it.' + +'That--and your savings,' echoed the clerk. + +'It seems as if I should be content to go on for a hundred years more at +the work of which I am never tired. And I must leave it before long--in +a year--two years--who knows? Life is miserably short--one has no time +for half the things one would like to do. Well'--he heaved a deep +sigh--'let us work while we can. However, it is better to climb down +than to be pulled down or shot down. I am going to make preparations, +Checkley, for the end.' + +'What preparations? You're not going to send for a minister, are you?' + +'No. Not that kind of preparation. Nor for the doctor either. Nor for a +lawyer to make my will. All those things are duly attended to. I have +resolved, Checkley, upon taking a partner.' + +'You? Take a partner? You? At your time of life?' + +'I am going to take a partner. And you are the first person who has been +told of my intention. Keep it a secret for the moment.' + +'Take a partner? Divide your beautiful income by two?' + +'Yes, Checkley. I am going to give a share in that beautiful income to a +young man.' + +'What can a partner do for you that I can't do? Don't I know the whole +of the office work? Is there any partner in the world who can draw up a +conveyance better than me?' + +'You are very useful, Checkley, as you always have been. But you are not +a partner, and you never can be.' + +'I know that very well. But what's the good of a partner at all?' + +'If I have a partner, he will have his own room, and he won't interfere +with you. There's no occasion for you to be jealous.' + +'As for jealous--well--after more than sixty years' work in this office, +it would seem hard to be turned out by some new-comer. But what I say +is--what is the good of a partner?' + +'The chief good is that the House will be carried on. It is a hundred +and twenty years old. I confess I do not like the thought of its coming +to an end when I disappear. That will be to me the most important +advantage to be gained by taking a partner. The next advantage will be +that I can turn over to him a quantity of work. And thirdly, he will +bring young blood and new connections. My mind is quite made up, +Checkley. I am going to take a partner.' + +'Have you found one yet?' + +'I have. But I am not going to tell you who he is till the right time +comes.' + +Checkley grumbled inaudibly. + +'If I had been less busy,' Mr. Dering went on, 'I might have married and +had sons of my own to put into the House. But somehow, being very much +occupied always, and never thinking about such things, I let the time +pass by. I was never, even as a young man, greatly attracted to love or +to young women. Their charms, such as they are, seem to me to depend +upon nothing but a single garment.' + +'Take away their frocks,' said Checkley, 'and what are they? All +alike--all alike. I've been married myself--women are expensive frauds.' + +'Well--things being as they are, Checkley, I am going to take a +partner.' + +'You'll do as you like,' said his servant. 'Mark my words, however; +you've got ten years more of work in you yet--and all through these ten +years you'll regret having a partner. Out of every hundred pounds his +share will have to come. Think of that!' + +'It is eight years, I remember,' Mr. Dering went on, 'since first I +thought of taking a partner. Eight years--and for much the same reason +as now. I found my memory going. There were gaps in it--days, or bits of +days, which I could not recollect. I was greatly terrified. The man whom +I first thought of for a partner was that young Arundel, now----' + +'Who forged your name. Lucky you didn't have him.' + +'Who ran away in a rage because certain circumstances seemed to connect +him with the crime.' + +'Seemed? Did connect him.' + +'Then the symptoms disappeared. Now they have returned, as I told you. I +have always regretted the loss of young Arundel. He was clever and a +quick worker.' + +'He was a forger,' said the clerk stoutly.--'Is there anything more I +can do for you?' + +'Nothing; thank you.' + +'Then I'll go. On Saturday afternoon I collect my little rents. Not +much--in your way of thinking. A good deal to me. I hope you'll like +your partner when you do get him. I hope I shan't live to see him the +master here and you knuckling under. I hope I shan't see him driving +away the clients.' + +'I hope you will not see any of these distressing consequences, +Checkley.--Good-day.' + +The old clerk went away, shutting the outer door after him. Then the +lawyer was the sole occupant of the rooms. He was also the sole occupant +of the whole house and perhaps of the whole Square. It was three +o'clock. + +He sat leaning back in his chair, looking through the open window upon +the trees in the Square garden. Presently there fell upon his face a +curious change. It was as if the whole of the intelligence was taken out +of it: his eyes gazed steadily into space with no expression whatever in +them; the lips slightly parted, his head fell back; the soul and spirit +of the man had gone out of him, leaving a machine which breathed. + +The watch in his pocket ticked audibly: there was no other sound in the +room--the old man sat quite motionless. + +Four o'clock struck from the Clock Tower in the High Court of Justice, +from St. Clement's Church, from Westminster, from half-a-dozen clocks +which could be heard in the quiet of the Saturday afternoon. But Mr. +Dering heard nothing. + +Still he sat in his place with idle hands, and a face like a mask for +lack of thought. + +The clocks struck five. + +He neither moved nor spoke. + +The clocks struck six--seven--eight. + +The shades of evening began to gather in the corners of the room as the +sun sank lower towards his setting. At twilight in the summer there is +never anybody to fear--man, woman, or cat--in the chambers, and at that +hour the mice come out. They do not eat parchment or foolscap or red +tape, but they eat the luncheon crumbs. Mr. Checkley, for instance, +always brought his dinner in a paper parcel in his coat-tail pocket, and +ate it when so disposed, sprinkling crumbs lavishly--the only lavishment +of which he was ever guilty--on the floor. Junior clerks brought buns +and biscuits, or even apples, which they devoured furtively. Mr. Dering +himself took his luncheon in his own room, leaving crumbs. There was +plenty for a small colony of mice. They came out, therefore, as usual; +they stopped at sight of a man, an unwonted man, in a chair. But he +moved not: he was asleep: he was dead: they ran without fear all about +the rooms. + +It was past nine, when the chambers were as dark as at this season of +the year they ever are, that Mr. Dering returned to consciousness. + +He sat up, staring about him. The room was dark. He looked at his watch. +Half-past nine. 'What is this?' he asked. 'Have I been asleep for seven +hours? Seven hours? I was not asleep when Checkley went away. Why did I +fall asleep? I feel as if I had been somewhere--doing something. What? I +cannot remember. This strange sensation comes oftener. It is time that I +should take a partner before something worse happens. I am old--I am +old.' He rose and walked across the room erect and with firm step. 'I am +old and worn out and spent. Time to give up the keys--old and spent.' + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE SELECT CIRCLE + + +At half-past nine on this Saturday evening, the parlour of the +_Salutation Inn_, High Holborn, contained most of its customary +visitors. They came every evening at eight: and they sat till eleven, +drinking and talking. In former days every tavern of repute kept such a +room for its own select circle, a club, or society, of _habitues_, who +met every evening, for a pipe and a cheerful glass. In this way all +respectable burgesses, down to fifty years ago, spent their evenings. +Strangers might enter the room, but they were made to feel that they +were there on sufferance: they were received with distance and +suspicion. Most of the regular visitors knew each other: when thy did +not, it was tavern politeness not to ask; a case is on record of four +cronies, who used the _Cock_ in Meet Street for thirty years, not one +knowing either the name or the trade of the other three. Yet when one +died, the other three pined away. This good old custom is now decayed. +The respectable burgess stays at home, which is much more monotonous. +Yet there may still be found a parlour here and there with a society +meeting every evening all the year round. + +The parlour of the _Salutation_ was a good-sized room wainscoted and +provided with a sanded floor. It was furnished with a dozen wooden +chairs, and three small round tables, the chairs disposed in a circle so +as to prevent corners or cliques in conversation. Sacred is the +fraternity, liberty, and equality of the parlour. The room was low, and, +in the evenings, always hot with its two flaming unprotected gas jets; +the window was never opened except in the morning, and there was always +present a rich perfume of tobacco, beer, and spirits, both that +anciently generated and that of the day's creation. + +Among the frequenters,--who were, it must be confessed, a somewhat faded +or decayed company--was, to put him first because he was the richest the +great Mr. Robert Hellyer, of Barnard's Inn, usurer or money-lender. +Nobody quite likes the profession--one knows not why. Great fortunes +have been made in it; the same fortunes have been dissipated by the +money-lenders' heirs. Such fortunes do not stick, somehow. Mr. Hellyer, +for instance, was reputed wealthy beyond the dreams of the wildest +desire. It was also said of him, under breath and in whispers and +envious murmurs, that should a man borrow a five-pound note of him, that +borrower would count himself lucky if he escaped with the loss of +seventy-five pounds; and might generally expect to lose the whole of his +household furniture, and the half of his income, for the rest of his +natural life. To be sure, he sometimes had losses, as he said himself, +with a groan; as when an unscrupulous client jumped off the Embankment, +when he had not paid more than fifty pounds on the original five; or +when a wicked man sold off his furniture secretly, in contempt of the +bill of sale, and got clean out of the country with his wife and +children. But on the whole he did pretty well. It was further said, by +old clients, that his heart was a simple piece of round granite, for +which he had no use, and that he made money out of it by letting it out +at so much an hour for a paving mallet. + +Mr. Robert Hellyer was not a genial man, or a cheerful or a pleasant man +to look upon; he neither loved nor comprehended a jest; he never smiled; +he kept his mind always employed on the conduct of his business. Every +night--forgive the solitary weakness--he drank as much as he could +carry. In appearance, he was red-faced, thick-necked, and stout; his +voice was thick even in the morning, when he was under no compulsion to +thickness; it was believed by his friends that his education had been +imperfect; perhaps because he never gave anybody reason to suppose that +he had ever received any education at all. To such men as Mr. Hellyer, +who every night take much strong drink, and on no occasion whatever take +any exercise, sixty is the grand climacteric. He was, a year ago, just +fifty-nine. Alas! he has not even reached his grand climacteric. Already +he is gone. He was cut off by pneumonia, or apoplexy, last Christmas. +Those who saw the melancholy _cortege_ filing out of the narrow gates of +Barnard's Inn, mournfully remarked that none of his money was taken with +him, and asked what happiness he could possibly find in the next world, +which he would begin with nothing--nothing at all--not even credit--an +absolute pauper. + +Mr. Robert Hellyer sat on one side of the empty fireplace. On the +opposite side, a great contrast to his coarse and vulgar race, sat an +elderly man, tall, thin, dressed in a coat whose sleeves were worn to +shininess. His face was dejected: his features were still fine: he was +evidently a gentleman. This person was a barrister, decayed and +unsuccessful; he lived in a garret in Gray's Inn. There are a good many +wrecks at the Bar, but few quite so forlorn as this poor old man. He +still professed to practise, and picked up a guinea now and then by +defending criminals. On these casual fees he managed to live. His +clothes were threadbare; it was many years since he had had a greatcoat; +on rainy and cold days he had a thin cape which he wore over his +shoulders. Heaven knows how he dined and breakfasted; every evening, +except in the hot days of summer, he came to this place for light and +warmth. Unless he was very poor indeed, he called for a pint of old and +mild and read the day's paper. Sometimes he talked, but not often; +sometimes one or other of the company would offer him a more costly +drink, which he always accepted with all that was left to him of +courtesy. Outside, he had no friends; they had all forgotten him or +died--it is very easy for a poor man to be forgotten; he had no +relations; they had all died, emigrated, and dispersed; the relations of +the unsuccessful are easily lost. When he talked, he sometimes became +animated, and would tell anecdotes of the Bar and of the time when he +was called, nearly fifty years agone, by the Benchers of Gray's Inn. +What had become of the hopes and ambitions with which that young man +entered upon the profession, which was to lead him to the parlour of the +_Salutation_ and the company that gathered there--and to the bare and +miserable garret of Gray's Inn, forgotten and alone? + +Another man, also elderly, who sat next to the barrister, was a +gentleman who sold an excellent business and retired, in order to betake +himself more completely to toping. He drank in three taverns during the +day. One was in Fleet Street, where he took his chop at three; one was +near Drury Lane Theatre, where he dallied with a little whisky from five +to nine; and this was the third. He was a quiet, happy, self-respecting, +dignified old man. In the evening, he spoke not at all--for sufficient +reasons; but he benevolently inclined his head if he was addressed. + +Next to him sat a younger man, a solicitor, whose practice consisted in +defending prisoners in the Police Courts. He had with him two friends, +and he had a confident swagger, which passed for ability. Next to him +and his friends was a house agent, who had been a member for an Irish +borough: and there was a gentleman, whose wife sang in music halls, so +that this fortunate person could--and did--sit about in taverns all day +long. His appearance was that of a deboshed City clerk, as he was. Not +to mention other members of the company, Checkley was there, occupying a +chair next to the money-lender. + +Here he was called Mr. Checkley. He came every evening at nine o'clock, +Sundays included. Like the money-lender, he wanted his little +distractions, and took them in this way. Here, too, he was among those +who respected him, not so much on account of his public and private +virtues, or for his eminence in the law, as his money. It is not often +that a solicitor's clerk becomes a 'warm' man, but then it is not often +that one of the calling deliberately proposes to himself early in life +to save money, and lives till seventy-five steadily carrying out his +object. If you are good at figures, you will understand how Mr. Checkley +succeeded. Between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five he had an income +which averaged about seventy-five pounds. He lived upon fifty pounds a +year. From twenty-five to thirty-five he made an average of one hundred +and fifty pounds: he still lived upon fifty pounds a year. At +thirty-five he was induced by prudential considerations to marry: the +lady, considerably his senior, had a thousand pounds. She was even more +miserly than himself, and in a year or so after marriage, she fell into +a decline, owing to insufficient nourishment, and presently expired. On +the whole he calculated that he was the better man for the marriage by a +thousand pounds. From thirty-five to forty-five his income rose to two +hundred pounds: it then for twenty-five years stood at three hundred +pounds a year; at the age of seventy Mr. Dering gave him four hundred +pounds. Therefore, to sum up, he had put by out of his pay the sum of +11,675_l_.--and this without counting the compound interest always +mounting up from his investments, which were all of a careful kind such +as he understood: tenement houses, of which he had a good number: shares +in building societies: money lent on bills of sale or on mortgage. At +home--Mr. Checkley lived on the ground floor of one of his own +houses--he grew more miserly as he grew older. The standard of luxury is +not high when fifty pounds a year covers all; but of late he had been +trying to keep below even that humble amount. He conducted his affairs +in the evening between his office hours and nine at his own house, or +among the people where his property lay. It was in the district, visited +by few, lying east of Gray's Inn Road: his own house was in a certain +small square, a good half of the houses in which belonged to him. + +At nine o'clock he arrived at the tavern. Here his drinks cost him +nothing. A custom had grown up in the course of years for the +money-lender to consult him on the many difficult points which arise in +the practice of his profession. He was one of those who like to have one +foot over the wall erected by the law, but not both. In other words, he +was always trying to find out how far the law would allow him to go, and +where it called upon him to stop. With this view he schemed perpetually +to make his clients sign bonds under the delusion that they meant a +hundredth part of what they really did mean. And as, like all ignorant +men, he had the most profound belief in the power and the knowledge and +the chicanery of lawyers, he was pleased to obtain Checkley's advice in +return for Checkley's drinks. + +It was a full gathering. The old clerk arrived late: he was gratified at +hearing the ex-M.P. whispering to his friends that the new arrival was +worth his twenty thousand pounds if a penny. He swelled with honourable +pride. Yes. Twenty thousand pounds! And more--more. Who would have +thought, when he began as an office boy, that he could ever achieve so +much? + +The money-lender, bursting with a new case, real or supposed, took his +pipe out of his mouth and communicated it in a hoarse whisper. + +'Suppose----' it began. + +'Then'--Checkley replied when the case was finished--'you would lay +yourself open to a criminal prosecution. Don't you go so much as to +think of it. There was a case twenty-five years ago exactly like it. The +remarks of the judge were most severe, and the sentence was heavy.' + +'Ah!' The usurer's red face grew redder. 'Then it can't be thought of. +Pity, too. There's a houseful of furniture and a shopful of stuff. And +a young man as it would do good to him just to start fair again. +Pity.--Put a name to it, Mr. Checkley.' + +'Rum. Hot. With lemon,' replied the sage. 'You get more taste in your +mouth, more upliftin' for your heart, as they say, more strengthenin' +for the stomach, better value all round for your money out of rum than +any other drink that I know.' + +At this point, and before the waiter could execute the order, voices and +steps were heard outside the room. The voices of two men. That of one +loud, eager, noisy. That of the other quiet, measured, and calm. + +Checkley sat upright suddenly and listened. + +'That is young Cambridge,' said the old barrister. 'I thought he would +be here--Saturday night and all.' He smiled, as if expectant of +something, and drank off the rest of his beer at a draught. + +'Most distinguished Cambridge man,' whispered the ex-M.P. to his +friends. 'Wanst a Fellow of Cambridge College. Great scholar. Ornament +to any circle. Dhrinks likes an oyster. Son of a Bishop too--Son of an +Irish Bishop--Talks Greek like English. He'll come in directly. He's +taking something outside. He's always half dhrunk to begin, and quite +dhrunk to finish. But he only talks the better--being Oirish. Most +remarkable man.' + +The voice of this distinguished person Checkley knew. But the other +voice? That he knew as well. And he could not remember whose voice it +was. Very well indeed he remembered the sound of it. Some men never +forget a face: some men never forget a shape or figure: some men never +forget a voice: some men never forget a handwriting. A voice is the +simplest thing, after all, to remember, and the most unchanging. From +eighteen till eighty a man's voice changes not, save that in volume it +decreases during the last decade: the distinguishing quality of the +voice remains the same to the end. + +'Have a drink, my dear fellow.' That was the voice of the Pride of +Cambridge. + +'Thanks. I don't want a drink.' + +Whose voice was it? Checkley sat up eager for the door to be opened, and +that doubt to be resolved. + +It was opened. The two men came in first, the Cambridge man leading the +way. He was a good-looking, smooth-faced man of thirty-two or so, with +bright blue eyes--too bright--a fine face, full of delicacy and +mobility, a high, narrow forehead, and quick sensitive lips; a man who +was obviously in want of some one to take him in hand and control him: +one of those men who have no will of their own, and fall naturally +before any temptation which assails them. The chief temptation which +assailed Freddy Carstone--it seems to stamp the man that his friends all +called him Freddy--a Freddy is amiable, weak, beloved, and given to err, +slip, fall, and give way--was the temptation to drink. He was really, as +the ex-M.P. told his friends, a very fine scholar: he had been a Fellow +of his college, but never received any appointment or office of Lecturer +there on account of this weakness of his, which was notorious. When his +Fellowship expired, he came to London, lived in Gray's Inn, and took +pupils. He had the reputation of being an excellent coach if he could be +caught sober. He was generally sober in the morning; often a little +elevated in the afternoon; and always cheerfully--not stupidly--drunk at +night. + +'You must have a drink,' Freddy repeated. 'Not want a drink? Hang it, +old man, it isn't what you want, it's what you like. If I only took what +I wanted, I should be--what should I be? Fellow and Tutor of the +college--very likely Master--most probably Archdeacon--certainly Bishop. +Wasn't my father a Bishop? Now, if you take what you like, as well as +what you want--what happens? You go easily and comfortably down +hill--down--down--down--like me. Tobogganing isn't easier: the +switchback railway isn't more pleasant. Always take what you like.' + +'No--no, Freddy; thanks.' + +'What? You've got ambitions still? You want to be climbing? Man alive! +it's too late. You've stayed away from your friends too long. You can't +get up. Better join us at the _Salutation_ Club. Come in with me. I'll +introduce you. They'll be glad to have you. Intellectual conversation +carried on nightly. Romantic scenery from the back window. Finest +parlour in London. Come in and sample the Scotch.--Not want a drink? Who +ever saw a man who didn't want a drink?' + +The other man followed, reluctantly--and at sight of him Checkley jumped +in his chair. Then he snatched the paper from the hands of the ancient +barrister, and buried his head in it. The action was most remarkable and +unmistakable. He hid himself behind the paper; for the man whom the +Cambridge scholar was dragging into the room was none other than +Athelstan Arundel--the very man of whom Mr. Dering had been speaking +that very afternoon: the very man whose loss he had been regretting: the +man accused by himself of forgery. So great was his terror at the sight +of this man that he was fain to hide behind the paper. + +Yes: the same man: well dressed, apparently, and prosperous--in a velvet +jacket and a white waistcoat, with a big brown beard--still carrying +himself with that old insolent pride, as if he had never forged +anything: looking not a day older, in spite of the eight years that had +elapsed. What was he doing here? + +'Come in, man,' said Freddy again. 'You shall have one drink at least, +and as many more as you like.--Robert, two Scotch and soda. We haven't +met for eight long years. Let us sit down and confess our sins for eight +years. Where have you been?' + +'For the most part--abroad.' + +'You don't look it. He who goes abroad to make his fortune always comes +home in rags, with a pistol in his coat-tail, and a bowie-knife in his +belt. At least we are taught so. You wear velvet and fine linen. You +haven't been abroad. I don't believe you've been farther than +Camberwell. In fact, Camberwell has been your headquarters. You've been +living in Camberwell--on Camberwell Green, which is a slice of Eden, +with--perhaps--didn't pretty Polly Perkins live on Camberwell +Green?--for eight long years.' + +'Let me call upon you in your lodgings, where we can talk. + +'I haven't got any lodgings. I am in Chambers--I live all by myself in +Gray's Inn. Come and see me. I am always at home in the mornings--to +pupils only--and generally at home in the afternoon to pupils and topers +and Lushingtons. Here's your whisky. Sit down. Let me introduce you to +the company. This is a highly intellectual society--not what you would +expect of a Holborn Parlour. It is a club which meets here every +evening--a first-class club. Subscription, nothing. Entrance fee, +nothing. Order what you like. Don't pretend not to know your +brother-members.--Gentlemen, this is my old friend, Mr. Athelstan +Arundel, who has been abroad--on Camberwell Green--for the sake of Polly +Perkins--for eight years, and has now returned.' + +The ex-M.P. nudged his friends to call their attention to something +good. The rest received the introduction and the remarks which followed +in silence. + +'Arundel, the gentleman by the fireplace, he with the pipe--is our +Shylock, sometimes called the Lord Shylock.' The money-lender looked up +with a dull and unintelligent eye: I believe the allusion was entirely +above his comprehension.--'Beside him is Mr. Vulpes--he with his head +buried in the paper--you'll see him presently. Mr. Vulpes is advanced in +years, but well preserved, and knows every letter of the law: he is, +indeed, an ornament of the lower branch. Vulpes will let you a house--he +has many most charming residences--or will advance you money on +mortgage. He knows the law of landlord and tenant, and the law regarding +Bills of Sale. I recommend Vulpes to your friendly consideration.--Here +is Senex Bibulus Benevolens.'--The old gentleman kindly inclined his +head, being too far gone for speech.--'Here is a most learned counsel, +who ought, had merit prevailed, to have been by this time Lord +Chancellor, Chief Justice, Judge or Master of the Rolls, or Queen's +Counsel at least. So far he is still a Junior, but we hope for his +speedy advancement.--Sir, I entreat the honour of offering you a goblet +of more generous drink.--Robert, Irish whisky and a lemon for this +gentleman.--There'--he pointed to the ex-M.P., who again nudged his +friends and grinned--'is our legislator and statesman, the pride of his +constituents, the darling of Ballynacuddery till they turned him +out.--There'--he pointed to the deboshed clerk--'is a member of a great +modern profession, a gentleman with whom it is indeed a pride to sit +down. He is Monsieur le Mari: Monsieur le Mari complaisant et content.' + +'I don't know what you mean,' said the gentleman indicated. 'If you want +to talk Greek, talk it outside.' + +'I cannot stay,' said Athelstan, looking about the room with scant +respect. 'I will call upon you at your Chambers.' + +'Do--do, my dear fellow.' Athelstan shook hands and walked away. 'Now, +there's a man, gentlemen, who might have done anything--anything he +might have done. Rowed stroke to his boat. Threw up everything eight +years ago and went away--nobody knew why. Sad to see so much promise +wasted. Sad--sad. He hasn't even touched his drink. Then I +must--myself.' And he did. + +Observe that there is no such lamentation over the failure of a +promising young man as from one who has also failed. For, by a merciful +arrangement, the failure seldom suspects himself of having failed. + +'Now, Mr. Checkley,' said the barrister, 'he's gone away and you needn't +hide yourself any longer--and you can let me have my paper again.' + +Mr. Checkley spoke no more that evening. He drank up his rum-and-water, +and he went away mightily perturbed. That Athelstan Arundel had come +back portended that something would happen. And like King Cole's +prophet, he could not foretell the nature of the event. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A REBELLIOUS CHILD + + +Elsie left her lover at the door. Most accepted suitors accompany their +sweethearts into the very bosom of the family--the gynaeceum--the +parlour, as it used to be called. Not so George Austin. Since the +engagement--the deplorable engagement--it was understood that he was not +to presume upon entering the house. Romeo might as well have sent in his +card to Juliet's mamma. In fact, that lady could not possibly regard the +pretensions of Romeo more unfavourably than Mrs. Arundel did those of +George Austin. This not on account of any family inequality, for his +people were no more decidedly of the middle class than her own. That is +to say, they numbered as many members who were presentable and quite as +many who were not. Our great middle class is pretty well alike in this +respect. In every household there are things which may be paraded and +things _tacenda_: members unsuccessful, members disgraceful. All the +world knows all the things which must be concealed: we all know that all +the world knows them; but still we pretend that there are no such +things, and so we maintain the family dignity. Nor could the widow +object to George on account of his religious opinions, in which he +dutifully followed his forefathers; or of his abilities, manners, +morals, culture, accomplishments, or outward appearance, in all of which +he was everything that could be expected of a young man who had his own +fortune to make. A rich young man has no need of manners, morals, +abilities, or accomplishments: a thing too often forgotten by satirists +when they depict the children of Sir Midas Georgias and his tribe. The +lady's objection was simply and most naturally that the young man had +nothing and would probably never have anything: that he was a managing +clerk without money to buy a partnership in a highly congested +profession. To aggravate this objection, he stood in the way of two most +desirable suitors who were supposed to be ready should Elsie give them +any encouragement. They were a rich old man whose morals could no longer +be questioned; and a rich young man whose morals would doubtless improve +with marriage--if, that is, they wanted improvement, for on this +delicate subject ladies find it difficult to get reliable information. +And, again, the exalted position of the elder sister should have been an +example and a beacon. Which of you, Mesdames, would look on with +patience at such a sacrifice--a young and lovely daughter thrown away, +with all her charms and all her chances, upon a man with two hundred +pounds a year and no chance of anything much better? Think of it--two +hundred pounds a year--for a gentlewoman! + +There are some families--many families--with whom the worship of wealth +is hereditary. The Arundels have been City people, married with other +City people--in trade--for two hundred years and more: they are all +members of City Companies: there have been Lord Mayors and Sheriffs +among them: some of them--for they are now a clan--are rich: some are +very rich; one or two are very, very rich: those who fail and go +bankrupt quickly drop out of sight. All their traditions are of +money-getting: they estimate success and worth and respect by the amount +a man leaves behind--it is the good old tradition: they talk of money: +they are not vulgar or loud or noisy or disagreeable in any way: but +they openly and without disguise worship the great god Plutus and +believe that he, and none other, is the God of the Christians. They have +as much culture as other people, at least to outward show: they furnish +their houses as artistically as other people: they buy pictures and +books: but ideas do not touch them: if they read new ideas, they are not +affected by them, however skilfully they may be put: they go to Church +and hear the parable about Dives and they wonder how Dives could have +been so hard-hearted. Then they go home and talk about money. + +Elsie's father, a younger son of the richest branch of this family, +started with a comfortable little fortune and a junior partnership. He +was getting on very well indeed: he had begun to show the stuff of which +he was made, a good, stout, tenacious kind of stuff, likely to last and +to hold out; he was beginning to increase his fortune: he looked forward +to a successful career: and he hoped to leave behind him, after many, +many years, perhaps three-quarters of a million. He was only thirty-five +years of age, yet he was struck down and had to go. His widow received +little more than her husband's original fortune: it was small compared +with what she might fairly have expected when she married, but it was +large enough for her to live with her three children in Pembridge +Gardens. What happened to the son, you know. He went away in a royal +rage and had never been heard of since. The elder daughter, Hilda, when +about two-and-twenty, as you also know, had the good fortune to attract +the admiration of a widower of very considerable wealth, the brother of +her guardian. He was forty years older than herself, but he was +rich--nay, very rich indeed. Jute, I believe, on an extensive scale, was +the cause of his great fortune. He was knighted on a certain great +occasion when Warden of his Company, so that he offered his bride a +title and precedence, as well as a great income, a mansion in Palace +Gardens, a handsome settlement, carriages and horses, and everything +else that the feminine heart can desire. + +The widow, soon after her husband died, found the time extremely dull +without the daily excitement of the City talk to which she had been +accustomed. There was no one with whom she could discuss the money +market. Now, all her life, she had been accustomed to talk of shares and +stocks and investments and fluctuations and operations and buying in and +selling out. She began, therefore, to watch the market on her own +account. Then she began to operate: then she gave her whole time and all +her thoughts to the business of studying, watching, reading, and +forecasting. Of course, then, she lost her money and fell into +difficulties. Nothing of the kind: she made money. There is always +plenty of virtuous indignation ready for those foolish persons who +dabble in stocks. They are gamblers; they always lose in the long run: +we all know that; the copy-books tell us so. If two persons play heads +and tails for sovereigns, do they both lose in the long run? If so, who +wins? Where does the money go? Even a gambler need not always lose in +the long run, as all gamblers know. _La veuve_ Arundel was not in any +sense a gambler. Nor was she a dabbler. She was a serious and +calculating operator. She took up one branch of the great money market +and confined her attentions to that branch, which she studied with so +much care and assiduity that she became a professional; that is to say, +she threw into the study all her energies, all her thoughts, and all her +intellect. When a young man does this on the Stock Exchange he may +expect to win. Mrs. Arundel was not an ordinary young man; she was a +sharp and clever woman: by hard work she had learned all that can be +learned, and had acquired some of that prescience which comes of +knowledge--the prophet of the future is, after all, he who knows and can +discuss the forces and the facts of the present: the Sibyl at the +present day would be a journalist. She was clear-headed, quick to see +and ready to act: she was of a quick temper as well as a quick +perception: and she was resolute. Such qualities in most women make them +absolute sovereigns in the household. Mrs. Arundel was not an absolute +sovereign--partly because she thought little of her household, and +partly because her children were distinguished by much the same +qualities, and their subjection would have proved difficult if not +impossible. + +This was the last house in London where one might have expected to find +a girl who was ready to despise wealth and to find her happiness in a +condition of poverty. Elsie was completely out of harmony with all her +own people. There is a good deal of opinion going about in favour of the +simple life: many girls have become socialists in so far as they think +the amassing of wealth neither desirable nor worthy of respect: many +would rather marry a man of limited means who has a profession than a +rich man who has a business: many girls hold that Art is a much finer +thing than wealth. Elsie learned these pernicious sentiments at school: +they attracted her at first because they were so fresh: she found all +the best literature full of these sentiments: she developed in due +course a certain natural ability for art: she attended an art school: +she set up an easel: she painted in pastel: she called her room a +studio. She gave her friends the greatest uneasiness by her opinions: +she ended, as you have seen, by becoming engaged to a young man with +nothing. How could such a girl be born of such parents? + +When she got home on Saturday evening she found her mother playing a +game of double _vingt un_ with a certain cousin, one Sydney Arundel. The +game is very good for the rapid interchange of coins: you should make it +a time game, to end in half an hour--one hour--two hours, and at the end +you will find that you have had a very pretty little gamble. Mrs. +Arundel liked nothing better than a game of cards--provided the stakes +were high enough to give it excitement. To play cards for love is indeed +insipid: it is like a dinner of cold boiled mutton or like sandwiches of +veal. The lady would play anything, piquet, ecarte, double dummy--and +her daughter Elsie hated the sight of cards. As for the cousin, he was +on the Stock Exchange: he came often to dinner and to talk business +after dinner. He was a kind of musical box or barrel organ in +conversation, because he could only play one tune. His business as well +as his pleasure was in the money market. + +'So you have come home, Elsie?' said Mrs. Arundel coldly. + +'Yes, I have come home.' Elsie seated herself at the window and waited. + +'Now, Sydney'--her mother took up the cards. 'My deal--will you take any +more?' + +She was a good-looking woman still, though past fifty: her abundant hair +had gone pleasantly gray, her features were fine, her brown eyes were +quick and bright: her lips were firm, and her chin straight. She was +tall and of good figure: she was clad in black silk, with a large gold +chain about her neck and good lace upon her shoulders. She wore many +rings and a bracelet. She liked, in fact, the appearance of wealth as +well as the possession of it: she therefore always appeared in costly +raiment: her house was furnished with a costly solidity: everything, +even the bindings of her books, was good to look at: her one man-servant +looked like the responsible butler of a millionaire, and her one-horse +carriage looked as if it belonged to a dozen. + +The game went on. Presently, the clock struck ten. 'Time,' said the +lady. 'We must stop. Now then. Let us see--I make it seventy-three +shillings.--Thank you. Three pounds thirteen--an evening not altogether +wasted.--And now, Sydney, light your cigar. You know I like it. You +shall have your whisky and soda--and we will talk business. There are +half-a-dozen things that I want to consult you about. Heavens! why +cannot I be admitted to the Exchange? A few women among you--clever +women, like myself, Sydney--would wake you up.' + +They talked business for an hour, the lady making notes in a little +book, asking questions and making suggestions. At last the cousin got +up--it was eleven o'clock--and went away. Then her mother turned to +Elsie. + +'It is a great pity,' she said, 'that you take no interest in these +things.' + +'I dislike them very much, as you know,' said Elsie. + +'Yes--you dislike them because they are of real importance. Well--never +mind.--You have been out with the young man, I suppose?' + +'Yes--we have been on the river together.' + +'I supposed it was something of the kind. So the housemaid keeps company +with the potboy without consulting her own people.' + +'It is nothing unusual for me to spend an evening with George. Why not? +You will not suffer me to bring him here.' + +'No,' said her mother with firmness. 'That young man shall never, under +any circumstances, enter this house with my knowledge! For the rest,' +she added, 'do as you please.' + +This was the kind of amiable conversation that had been going on day +after day since Elsie's engagement--protestations of ceasing to +interfere, and continual interference. + +There are many ways of considering the subject of injudicious and +unequal marriages. You may ridicule: you may cajole: you may argue: you +may scold: you may coax: you may represent the naked truth as it is, or +you may clothe its limbs with lies--the lies are of woven stuff, strong, +and home-made. When you have an obdurate, obstinate, contumacious, +headstrong, wilful, self-contained maiden to deal with, you will waste +your breath whatever you do. The mother treated Elsie with scorn, and +scorn alone. It was her only weapon. Her elder sister tried other +weapons: she laughed at the makeshifts of poverty: she cajoled with +soft flattery and golden promises: she argued with logic pitiless: she +scolded like a fishwife: she coaxed with tears and kisses: she painted +the loveliness of men who are rich, and the power of women who are +beautiful. And all in vain. Nothing moved this obdurate, obstinate, +contumacious, headstrong, wilful Elsie. She would stick to her promise: +she would wed her lover even if she had to entertain Poverty as well all +her life. + +'Are you so infatuated,' the mother went on, 'that you cannot see that +he cares nothing for your happiness? He thinks about nobody but himself. +If he thought of you, he would see that he was too poor to make you +happy, and he would break it off. As it is, all he wants is to marry +you.' + +'That is indeed all. He has never disguised the fact.' + +'He offers you the half of a bare crust.' + +'By halving the crust we shall double it.' + +'Oh! I have no patience. But there is an end. You know my opinion, and +you disregard it. I cannot lock you up, or beat you, for your +foolishness. I almost wish I could. I will neither reason with you any +more nor try to dissuade you. Go your own way.' + +'If you would only understand. We are going to live very simply. We +shall put all unhappiness outside the luxuries of life. And we shall get +on if we never get rich. I wish I could make you understand our point of +view. It makes me very unhappy that you will take such a distorted +view.' + +'I am glad that you can still feel unhappiness at such a cause as my +displeasure.' + +'Well, mother, to-night we have come to a final decision.' + +'Am I to learn it?' + +'Yes; I wish to tell you at once. We have been engaged for two years. +The engagement has brought me nothing but wretchedness at home. But I +should be still more wretched--I should be wretched all my life--if I +were to break it off. I shall be of age in a day or two and free to act +on my own judgment.' + +'You are acting on your own judgment already.' + +'I have promised George that I will marry him when he pleases--that is, +about the middle of August, when he gets his holiday.' + +'Oh! The misery of poverty will begin so soon? I am sorry to hear it. As +I said above, I have nothing to say against it--no persuasion or +dissuasion--you will do as you please.' + +'George has his profession, and he has a good name already. He will get +on. Meantime, a little plain living will hurt neither of us. Can't you +think that we may begin in a humble way and yet get on? +Money--money--money. Oh! Must we think of nothing else?' + +'What is there to think of but money? Look round you, silly child. What +gives me this house--this furniture--everything? Money. What feeds you +and clothes you? Money. What gives position, consideration, power, +dignity? Money. Rank without money is contemptible. Life without money +is miserable, wretched, intolerable. Who would care to live when the +smallest luxury--the least comfort--has to be denied for want of money. +Even the Art of which you talk so much only becomes respectable when it +commands money. You cannot keep off disease without money; you cannot +educate your children without money: it will be your worst punishment in +the future that your children will sink and become servants. Child!' she +cried passionately, 'we must be masters or servants--nay--lords or +slaves. You leave the rank of lord and marry the rank of slave. It is +money that makes the difference--money--money--money--that you pretend +to despise. It is money that has done everything for you. Your +grandfather made it--your father made it--I am making it. Go on in your +madness and your folly. In the end, when it is too late, you will long +for money, pray for money, be ready to do anything for money--for your +husband and your children.' + +'We shall have, I hope, enough. We shall work for enough--no more.' + +'Well, child,' her mother returned quietly, 'I said that I would say +nothing. I have been carried away. Let there be no more said. Do as you +please. You know my mind--your sister's mind--your cousins'----' + +'I do not wish to be guided by my cousins.' + +'Very well. You will stay here until your wedding day. When you marry +you will leave this house--and me and your sister and all your people. +Do not expect any help from me. Do not look forward to any inheritance +from me. My money is all my own to deal with as I please. If you wish +to be poor you shall be poor. Hilda tells me that you are to see your +guardian on Monday. Perhaps he may bring you to your senses. As for +me--I shall say no more.' + +With these final words the lady left the room and went to bed. How many +times had she declared that she would say no more? + +The next day being Sunday, the bells began to ring in the morning, and +the two ladies sallied forth to attend Divine service as usual. They +walked side by side, in silence. That sweet and gracious nymph, the Lady +Charity, was not with them in their pew. The elder lady, externally +cold, was full of resentment and bitterness: the younger was more than +usually troubled by the outbreak of the evening. Yet, she was no nearer +surrender. The sermon, by a curious coincidence, turned upon the +perishable nature of earthly treasures, and the vanity of the objects +desired by that unreasoning person whom they used to call the Worldling. +The name has perished, but the creature still exists, and is found in +countless herds in every great town. The parsons are always trying to +shoot him down; but they never succeed. There was just a fiery passage +or two directed against the species. Elsie hoped that the words would go +home. Not at all. They fell upon her mother's heart like seed upon the +rock. She heard them, but heard them not. The Worldling, you see, never +understands that he is a Worldling. Nor does Dives believe himself to be +anything more than Lazarus, such is his modesty. + +The service over, they went home in silence. They took their early +dinner in silence, waited on by the solemn man-servant. After dinner, +Elsie sought the solitude of her studio. And here--nobody looking +on--she obeyed the first law of her sex, and had a good cry. Even the +most resolute of maidens cannot carry through a great scheme against +great opposition without the consolation of a cry. + +On the table lay a note from Mr. Dering: + + 'MY DEAR WARD--I am reminded that you come of age on Monday. + I am also reminded by Hilda that you propose to take a very + important step against the wish of your mother. Will you + come and see me at ten o'clock to talk this over?--Your + affectionate Guardian.' + +Not much hope to be got out of that letter. A dry note from a dry man. +Very little doubt as to the line which he would take. Yet, not an unkind +letter. She put it back in her desk and sighed. Another long discussion. +No: she would not discuss--she would listen, and then state her +intention. She would listen again, and once more state her intention. + +On the easel stood an almost finished portrait in pastel, executed from +a photograph. It was the portrait of her guardian. She had caught--it +was not difficult with a face so marked--the set expression, the closed +lips, the keen eyes, and the habitual look of caution and watchfulness +which become the characteristics of a solicitor in good practice. So far +it was a good likeness. But it was an austere face. Elsie, with a few +touches of her thumb and the chalk which formed her material, softened +the lines of the mouth, communicated to the eyes a more genial light, +and to the face an expression of benevolence which certainly had never +before been seen upon it. + +'There!' she said. 'If you would only look like that to-morrow, instead +of like your photograph, I should have no fear at all of what you would +say. I would flatter you, and coax you, and cajole you, till you had +doubled George's salary and promised to get round my mother. You dear +old man! You kind old man! You sweet old man! I could kiss you for your +kindness.' + + + + +CHAPTER V + +SOMETHING HAPPENS + + +So far a truly enjoyable Sunday. To sit in church beside her angry +mother, both going through the forms of repentance, charity, and +forgiveness: and to dine together, going through the ordinary forms of +kindliness while one at least was devoured with wrath. Waste of good +roast lamb and gooseberry tart! + +Elsie spent the afternoon in her studio, where she sat undisturbed. +People called, but her mother received them. Now that the last +resolution had been taken: now that she had promised her lover to brave +everything and to live the simplest possible life for love's sweet sake, +she felt that sinking which falls upon the most courageous when the +boats are burned. Thus Love makes loving hearts to suffer. + +The evening, however, made amends. For then, like the housemaid, who +mounted the area stair as Elsie went down the front-door steps, she went +forth to meet her lover, and in his company forgot all her fears. They +went to church together. There they sat side by side, this church not +having adopted the barbarous custom of separating the sexes--a custom +which belongs to the time when women were monkishly considered unclean +creatures, and the cause, to most men, of everlasting suffering, which +they themselves would most justly share. This couple sat hand in hand; +the service was full of praise and hope and trust: the Psalms were +exultant, triumphant, jubilant: the sermon was a ten minutes' +ejaculation of joy and thanks: there was a Procession with banners, to +cheer up the hearts of the faithful--what is Faith without a Procession? +Comfort stole back to Elsie's troubled heart: she felt less like an +outcast: she came out of the church with renewed confidence. + +It was still daylight. They walked round and round the nearest square. +Jane the housemaid and her young man were doing the same thing. They +talked with confidence and joy of the future before them. Presently the +rain began to fall, and Elsie's spirits fell too. + +'George,' she said, 'are we selfish, each of us? Is it right for me to +drag and keep you down?' + +'You will not. You will raise me and keep me up. Never doubt that, +Elsie. I am the selfish one because I make you sacrifice so much.' + +'Oh! no--no. It is no sacrifice for me. You must make me brave, George, +because I am told every day by Hilda and my mother the most terrible +things. I have been miserable all day long. I suppose it is the battle I +had with my mother yesterday.' + +'Your mother will be all right again as soon as the thing is done. And +Hilda will come round too. She will want to show you her new carriage +and her newest dress. Nobody admires and envies the rich relation so +much as the poor relation. That is the reason why the poor relation is +so much courted and petted in every rich family. We shall be the poor +relations, you know, Elsie.' + +'I suppose so. We must accept the part and play it properly.' She spoke +gaily, but with an effort. + +'She will give you some of her old dresses. And she will ask us to some +of her crushes; but we won't go. Oh! Hilda will come round. As for your +mother----' He repressed what he was about to say. 'As for your mother, +Elsie, there is no obstinacy so desperate that it cannot be softened by +something or other. The constant dropping, you know. Give her time. If +she refuses to change--why--then'--again he changed the words in +time--'dear child, we must make our own happiness for ourselves without +our own folk to help us.' + +'Yes; we will. At the same time, George, though I am so valiant in talk, +I confess that I feel as low as a schoolboy who is going to be +punished.' + +'My dear Elsie,' said George, with a little exasperation, 'if they will +not come round, let them stay flat or square, or sulky, or anything. I +can hardly be expected to feel very anxious for a change of temper in +people who have said so many hard things of me. To-morrow, dear, you +shall get through your talk with Mr. Dering. He's as hard as nails; but +he's a just man, and he is sensible. In the evening, I will call for you +at nine, and you shall tell me what he said. In six weeks we can be +married. I will see about the banns. We will find a lodging somewhere, +pack up our things, get married, and move in. We can't afford a +honeymoon, I am afraid. That shall come afterwards when the ship comes +home.' + +'Yes. When I am with you I fear nothing. It is when you are gone: when I +sit by myself in my own room, and know that in the next room my mother +is brooding over her wrath and keeping it warm--that I feel so guilty. +To-night, it is not that I feel guilty at all: it is quite the contrary; +but I feel as if something was going to happen.' + +'Something is going to happen, dear. I am going to put a wedding ring +round this pretty finger.' + +'When one says something in the language of superstition one means +something bad, something dreadful, something that shall stand between us +and force us apart. Something unexpected.' + +'My child,' said her lover, 'all the powers of all the devils shall not +force us apart.' A daring and comprehensive boast. + +She laughed a little, lightened by words so brave. 'Here we are, dear,' +she said, as they arrived at the house. 'I think the rain means to come +down in earnest. You had better make haste home. To-morrow evening at +nine, I will expect you.' + +She ran lightly up the steps and rang the bell: the door was opened: she +turned her head, laughed, waved her hand to her lover, and ran in. + +There was standing on the kerb beneath the street lamp a man apparently +engaged in lighting a cigar. When the girl turned, the light of the lamp +fell full upon her face. The man stared at her, forgetting his +cigar-light, which fell burning from his hand into the gutter. When the +door shut upon her, he stared at George, who, for his part, his mistress +having vanished, stared at the door. + +All this staring occupied a period of at least half a minute. Then +George turned and walked away: the man struck another light, lit his +cigar, and strode away too, but in the same direction. Presently he +caught up George and laid a hand upon his shoulder. + +'Here, you sir,' he said gruffly; 'I want a word with you before we go +any further.' + +George turned upon him savagely. Nobody likes a heavy hand laid upon the +shoulder. In the old days it generally meant a writ and Whitecross +Street and other unpleasant things. + +'Who the devil are you?' he asked. + +'That is the question I was going----' He stopped and laughed.--'No--I +see now. I don't want to ask it. You are George Austin, are you not?' + +'That is my name. But who are you--and what do you want with me?' + +The man was a stranger to him. He was dressed in a velvet coat and a +white waistcoat: he wore a soft felt hat; and with the velvet jacket, +the felt hat, and a full beard, he looked like an artist of some kind. +At the end of June it is still light at half-past nine. George saw that +the man was a gentleman: his features, strongly marked and clear cut, +reminded him of something--but vaguely; they gave him the common feeling +of having been seen or known at some remote period. The man looked about +thirty, the time when the physical man is at his best: he was of good +height, well set up, and robust. Something, no doubt, in the art world: +or something that desired to appear as if belonging to the art world. +Because, you see, the artists themselves are not so picturesque as those +who would be artists if they could. The unsuccessful artist, certainly, +is sometimes a most picturesque creature. So is the model. The rags and +duds and threadbarity too often enter largely into the picturesque. So +with the ploughboy's dinner under the hedge, or the cotter's Saturday +night. And the village beershop may make a very fine picture; but the +artist himself does not partake in those simple joys. + +'Well, sir, who are you?' George repeated as the other man made no +reply. + +'Do you not remember me? I am waiting to give you a chance.' + +'No--certainly not.' + +'Consider. That house into which you have just taken my--a young +lady--does it not connect itself with me?' + +'No. Why should it?' + +'Then I suppose that I am completely forgotten.' + +'It is very strange. I seem to recall your voice.' + +'I will tell you who I am by another question. George Austin, what in +thunder are you doing with my sister?' + +'Your sister?' George jumped up and stared. 'Your sister? Are you--are +you Athelstan come home again? Really and truly--Athelstan?' + +'I am really and truly Athelstan. I have been back in England about a +fortnight.' + +'You are Athelstan?' George looked at him curiously. When the reputed +black-sheep comes home again, it is generally in rags with a long story +of fortune's persecutions. This man was not in the least ragged. On the +contrary, he looked prosperous. What had he been doing? For, although +Elsie continued passionate in her belief in her brother's innocence, +everybody else believed that he had run away to escape consequences, and +George among the number had accepted that belief. + +'Your beard alters you greatly. I should not have known you. To be sure +it is eight years since I saw you last, and I was only just beginning my +articles when you--left us.' He was on the point of saying 'when you ran +away.' + +'There is a good deal to talk about. Will you come with me to my rooms? +I am putting up in Half Moon Street.' + +Athelstan hailed a passing hansom and they drove off. + +'You have been a fortnight in London,' said George, 'and yet you have +not been to see your own people.' + +'I have been eight years away, and yet I have not written a single +letter to my own people.' + +George asked no more questions. Arrived at the lodging, they went in and +sat down. Athelstan produced soda and whisky and cigars. + +'Why have I not called upon my own people?' Athelstan took up the +question again. 'Because, when I left home, I swore that I would never +return until they came to beg forgiveness. That is why. Every evening I +have been walking outside the house, in the hope of seeing some of them +without their seeing me. For, you see, I should like to go home again; +but I will not go as I went away, under a shameful cloud. That has got +to be lifted first. Presently I shall know whether it is lifted. Then I +shall know how to act. To-night, I was rewarded by the sight of my +sister Elsie, walking home with you. I knew her at once. She is taller +than I thought she would become when I went away. Her face hasn't +changed much, though. She always had the gift of sweet looks, which +isn't quite the same thing as beauty. My sister Hilda, for instance, was +always called a handsome girl, but she never had Elsie's sweet looks.' + +'She has the sweetest looks in the world.' + +'What are you doing with her, George Austin, I ask again?' + +'We are engaged to be married.' + +'Married? Elsie married? Why--she's--well--I suppose she must be grown +up by this time.' + +'Elsie is very nearly one-and-twenty. She will be twenty-one to-morrow.' + +'Elsie going to be married. It seems absurd. One-and-twenty to-morrow. +Ah!' He sat up eagerly. 'Tell me, is she any richer? Has she had any +legacies or things?' + +'No. How should she? Her _dot_ is her sweet self, which is enough for +any man.' + +'And you, Austin. I remember you were an articled clerk of eighteen or +nineteen when I went away--are you rich?' + +Austin blushed. 'No,' he said; 'I am not. I am a managing clerk at your +old office. I get two hundred a year, and we are going to marry on +that.' + +Athelstan nodded. 'A bold thing to do. However----Twenty-one +to-morrow--we shall see.' + +'And I am sorry to say there is the greatest opposition--on the part of +your mother and your other sister. I am not allowed in the house, and +Elsie is treated as a rebel.' + +'Oh! well. If you see your way, my boy, get married, and have a happy +life, and leave them to come round at their leisure. Elsie has a heart +of gold. She can believe in a man. She is the only one of my people who +stood up for me when they accused me without a shadow of proof of---- +The only one--the only one. It is impossible for me to forget that--and +difficult,' he added, 'to forgive the other thing.--Is my sister Hilda +still at home?' + +'No. She is married to Sir Samuel, brother of your Mr. Dering. He is a +great deal older than his wife; but he is very rich.' + +'Oh!--and my mother?' + +'I believe she continues in good health. I am not allowed the privilege +of calling upon her.' + +'And my old chief?' + +'He also continues well.' + +'And now, since we have cleared the ground so far, let us come to +business. How about that robbery?' + +'What robbery?' The old business had taken place when George was a lad +just entering upon his articles. He had ceased to think of it. + +'What robbery? Man alive!'--Athelstan sprang to his feet--'there is only +one robbery to me in the whole history of the world since men and +robberies began. What robbery? Look here, Master George Austin, when a +man is murdered, there is for that man only one murder in the whole +history of the world. All the other murders, even that of Abel himself, +are of no concern at all--not one bit. He isn't interested in them. They +don't matter to him a red cent. That's my case. The robbery of eight +years ago, which took a few hundred pounds from a rich man, changed my +whole life; it drove me out into the world; it forced me for a time to +live among the prodigals and the swine and the husks. It handed me over +to a thousand devils; and you ask me what robbery?' + +'I am very sorry. It is now a forgotten thing. Nobody remembers it any +more. I doubt whether Mr. Dering himself ever thinks of it.' + +'Well, what was discovered after all? Who did it?' + +'Nothing at all has been discovered. No one knows to this day who did +it.' + +'Nothing at all?--I am disappointed. Hasn't old Checkley done time for +it? Nothing found out?' + +'Nothing. The notes were stopped in time, and were never presented. +After five or six years the Bank of England gave Mr. Dering notes in the +place of those stolen. And that is all there is to tell.' + +'Nothing discovered! And the notes never presented? What good did the +fellow get by it, then?' + +'I don't know. But nothing was discovered.' + +'Nothing discovered!' Athelstan repeated. 'Why, I took it for granted +that the truth had come out long since. I was making up my mind to call +upon old Dering. I don't think I shall go now.--And my sister Hilda will +not be coming here to express her contrition. I am disappointed.' + +'You can see Elsie if you like.' + +'Yes--I can see her,' he repeated.--'George'--he returned to the old +subject--'do you know the exact particulars of that robbery?' + +'There was a forged cheque, and the Bank paid it across the counter.' + +'The cheque,' Athelstan explained, 'was made payable to the order of a +certain unknown person named Edmund Gray. It was endorsed by that name. +To prove that forgery, they should have got the cheque and examined the +endorsement. That was the first thing, certainly. I wonder how they +began.' + +'I do not know. It was while I was in my articles, and all we heard was +a vague report. You ought not to have gone away. You should have stayed +to fight it out.' + +'I was right to give up my berth after what the chief said. How could I +remain drawing his pay and doing his work, when he had calmly given me +to understand that the forgery lay between two hands, and that he +strongly suspected mine?' + +'Did Mr. Dering really say so? Did he go so far as that?' + +'So I walked out of the place. I should have stayed at home and waited +for the clearing up of the thing, but for my own people--who--well--you +know---- So I went away in a rage.' + +'And have you come back--as you went--in a rage?' + +'Well--you see, that is the kind of fire that keeps alight of its own +accord.' + +'I believe that some sort of a search was made for this Edmund Gray; but +I do not know how long it lasted or who was employed.' + +'Detectives are no good. Perhaps the chief didn't care to press the +business. Perhaps he learned enough to be satisfied that Checkley was +the man. Perhaps he was unwilling to lose an old servant. Perhaps the +villain confessed the thing. It all comes back to me fresh and clear, +though for eight long years I have not talked with a soul about it.' + +'Tell me,' said George, a little out of sympathy with this dead and +buried forgery--'tell me where you have been--what you have done--and +what you are doing now.' + +'Presently--presently,' he replied with impatience. 'I am sure now that +I was wrong. I should not have left the country. I should have taken a +lodging openly, and waited and looked on. Yes; that would have been +better. Then I should have seen that old villain, Checkley, in the dock. +Perhaps it is not yet too late. Still--eight years. Who can expect a +commissionaire to remember a single message after eight years?' + +'Well--and now tell me,' George asked again, 'what you have been doing.' + +'The black-sheep always turns up, doesn't he? You learn at home that he +has got a berth in the Rocky Mountains; but he jacks it up and goes to +Melbourne, where he falls on his feet; but gets tired, and moves on to +New Zealand, and so home again. It's a regular round.' + +'You are apparently the black-sheep whose wool is dyed white. There are +threads of gold in it. You look prosperous.' + +'A few years ago I was actually in the possession of money. Then I +became poor again. After a good many adventures I became a journalist. +The profession is in America the refuge of the educated unsuccessful, +and the hope of the uneducated unsuccessful. I am doing as well as +journalists in America generally do: I am over here as the +representative of a Francisco paper. And I expect to stay for some +time--so long as I can be of service to my people. That's all.' + +'Well--it might be a great deal worse. And won't you come to Pembridge +Crescent with me?' + +'When the cloud is lifted: not before. And--George--not a word about me. +Don't tell--yet--even Elsie.' + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +SOMETHING MORE HAPPENS + + +Checkley held the door of the office wide open, and invited Elsie to +enter. The aspect of the room, solid of furniture, severe in its +fittings, with its vast table covered with papers, struck her with a +kind of terror. At the table sat her guardian, austere of countenance. + +All the way along she had been imagining a dialogue. He would begin with +certain words. She would reply, firmly but respectfully, with certain +other words. He would go on. She would again reply. And so on. Everybody +knows the consolations of imagination in framing dialogues at times of +trouble. They never come off. The beginning is never what is expected, +and the sequel, therefore, has to be changed on the spot. The conditions +of the interview had not been realised by Elsie. Also the beginning was +not what she expected. For her guardian, instead of frowning with a brow +of corrugated iron, and holding up a finger of warning, received her +more pleasantly than she had imagined it possible for him, bade her sit +down, and leaned back, looking at her kindly. + +'And so,' he said, 'you are twenty-one--twenty-one--to-day. I am no +longer your guardian. You are twenty-one. Everything that is past seems +to have happened yesterday. So that it is needless to say that you were +a baby only yesterday.' + +'Yes; I am really twenty-one.' + +'I congratulate you. To be twenty-one is, I believe, for a young lady at +least, a pleasant time of life. For my own part, I have almost forgotten +the memory of youth. Perhaps I never had the time to be young. Certainly +I have never understood why some men regret their youth so +passionately. As for your sex, Elsie, I know very little of it except in +the way of business. In that way, which does not admit of romance, I +must say that I have sometimes found ladies importunate, tenacious, +exacting, persistent, and even revengeful.' + +'Oh!' said Elsie, with a little winning smile of conciliation. This was +only a beginning--a prelude--before the unpleasantness. + +'That, Elsie, is my unfortunate experience of women--always in the +way of business, which of course may bring out the worst qualities. +In society, of which I have little experience, they are +doubtless--charming--charming.' He repeated the word, as if he had found +an adjective of whose meaning he was not quite clear. 'An old bachelor +is not expected, at the age of seventy-five, to know much about such a +subject. The point before us is that you have this day arrived at the +mature age of twenty-one. That is the first thing, and I congratulate +you. The first thing.' + +'I wonder,' thought Elsie timidly, 'when he will begin upon the next +thing--the real thing.' + +There lay upon the table before him a paper with notes upon it. He took +it up, looked at it, and laid it down again. Then he turned to Elsie and +smiled--he actually smiled--he unmistakably smiled. 'At twenty-one,' he +said, 'some young ladies who are heiresses come into their property----' + +'Those who are heiresses. Unhappily, I am not.' + +'Come into their property--their property. It must be a beautiful thing +for a girl to come into property, unexpectedly, at twenty-one. For a +man, a temptation to do nothing and to make no more money. Bad! Bad! But +for a girl already engaged, a girl who wants money, a girl who is +engaged--eh--to a penniless young solicitor----' + +Elsie turned crimson. This was the thing she expected. + +'Under such circumstances, I say, such a stroke of fortune would be +providential and wonderful, would it not?' + +She blushed and turned pale, and blushed again. She also felt a strong +disposition to cry--but repressed that disposition. + +'In your case, for instance, such a windfall would be most welcome. Your +case is rather a singular case. You do not belong to a family which has +generally disregarded money--quite the reverse--you should inherit the +love of money--yet you propose to throw away what I believe are very +good prospects, and----' + +'My only prospect is to marry George Austin.' + +'So you think. I have heard from your mother, and I have seen your +sister Hilda. They object very strongly to the engagement.' + +'I know, of course, what they would say.' + +'Therefore, I need not repeat it,' replied Mr. Dering drily. 'I learn, +then, that you are not only engaged to this young gentleman, but that +you are also proposing to marry upon the small income which he now +possesses.' + +'Yes--we are prepared to begin the world upon that income.' + +'Your mother asked me what chance he had in his profession. In this +office he can never rise to a considerable salary as managing clerk. If +he had money, he might buy a partnership. But he has none, and his +friends have none. And the profession is congested. He may remain all +his life in a position not much better than he now occupies. The +prospect, Elsie, is not brilliant.' + +'No--we are fully aware of that. And yet----' + +'Allow me, my dear child. You are yourself--we will say for the +moment--without any means of your own.' + +'I have nothing.' + +'Or any expectations, except from your mother, who is not yet sixty.' + +'I could not count upon my mother's death. Besides, she says that, if I +persist, she will not leave me anything at all.' + +'So much I understand from herself. Her present intention is to remove +your name from her will, in case you go on with this proposed marriage.' + +'My mother will do what she pleases with her property,' said Elsie. 'If +she thinks that I will give way to a threat of this kind, she does not +know me.' + +'Do not let us speak of threats. I am laying before you facts. Here they +are plainly. Young Austin has a very small income: he has very little +prospect of getting a substantial income: you, so far as you know, have +nothing; and, also so far as you know, you have no prospect of anything. +These are the facts, are they not?' + +'Yes--I suppose these are the facts. We shall be quite poor--very +likely, quite poor always.' The tears rose to her eyes. But this was not +a place for crying. + +'I want you to understand these facts very clearly,' Mr. Dering +insisted. 'Believe me, I do not wish to give you pain.' + +'All this,' said Elsie, with the beginnings of the family obstinacy in +her eyes, 'I clearly understand. I have had them put before me too +often.' + +'I also learn from your sister, Lady Dering, that if you abandon this +marriage she is ready to do anything for you that she can. Her house, +her carriage, her servants--you can command them all, if you please. +This you know. Have you considered the meaning of what you propose? Can +you consider it calmly?' + +'I believe we have.' + +'On the one side poverty--not what is called a small income. Many people +live very well on what is called a small income--but grinding, hard +poverty, which exacts real privations and burdens you with unexpected +loads. My dear young lady, you have been brought up to a certain amount +of plenty and ease, if not to luxury. Do you think you can get along +without plenty and ease?' + +'If George can, I can.' + +'Can you become a servant--cook, housemaid, lady's-maid--as well as a +wife--a nurse as well as a mother?' + +'If George is made happier by my becoming anything--anything, it will +only make me happier. Mr. Dering, I am sure you wish me well--you are my +father's old friend--you have always advised my mother in her +troubles--my brother was articled to you--but----' She paused, +remembering that he had not been her brother's best friend. + +'I mean the best possible for you. Meantime, you are quite fixed in your +own mind: you are set upon this thing. That is clear. There is one other +way of looking at it. You yourself seem chiefly desirous, I think, to +make the man you love happy. So much the better for him.--Are you quite +satisfied that the other party to the agreement, your lover, will remain +happy while he sees you slaving for him, while he feels his own +helplessness, and while he gets no relief from the grinding poverty of +his household--while--lastly--he sees his sons taking their place on a +lower level, and his daughters taking a place below the rank of +gentlewoman?' + +'I reply by another question.--You have had George in your office as +articled clerk and managing clerk for eight years. Is he, or is he not, +steadfast, clear-headed, one who knows his own mind, and one who can be +trusted in all things?' + +'Perhaps,' said Mr. Dering, inclining his head. 'How does that advance +him?' + +'Then, if you trust him, why should not I trust him? I trust George +altogether--altogether. If he does not get on, it will be through no +fault of his. We shall bear our burden bravely, believe me, Mr. Dering. +You will not hear him--or me--complain. Besides, I am full of hope. Oh! +it can never be in this country that a man who is a good workman should +not be able to get on. Then I can paint a little--not very well, +perhaps. But I have thought--you will not laugh at me--that I might +paint portraits and get a little money that way.' + +'It is quite possible that he may succeed, and that you may increase the +family income. Everything is possible. But, remember, you are building +on possibilities, and I on facts. Plans very beautiful and easy at the +outset often prove most difficult in the carrying out. My experience of +marriages is learned by fifty years of work, not imaginative, but +practical. I have learned that without adequate means no marriage can be +happy. That is to say, I have never come across any case of wedded +poverty where the husband or the wife, or both, did not regret the day +when they faced poverty together instead of separately. That, I say, is +my experience of such marriages. It is so easy to say that hand in hand +evils may be met and endured which would be intolerable if one was +alone. It isn't only hand in hand, Elsie. The hands are wanted for the +baby, and the evils will fall on the children yet unborn.' + +Elsie hung her head. Then she replied timidly: 'I have thought even of +that. It only means that we go lower down in the social scale.' + +'Only? Yet that is everything. People who are well up the ladder too +often deride those who are fighting and struggling to get up higher. It +is great folly or great ignorance to laugh. Social position, in such a +country as ours, means independence, self-respect, dignity, all kinds of +valuable things. You will throw these all away--yet your grandfathers +won them for you by hard work. You are yourself a gentlewoman--why? +Because they made their way up in the world, and placed their sons also +in the way to climb. That is how families are made--by three generations +at least of steady work uphill.' + +Elsie shook her head sadly. 'We can only hope,' she murmured. + +'One more word, and I will say no more. Remember, that love or no love, +resignation or not, patience or not, physical comfort is the beginning +and the foundation of all happiness. If you and your husband can satisfy +the demands of physical comfort, you may be happy--or at least resigned. +If not---- Well, Elsie, that is all. I should not have said so much had +I not promised your mother and your sister. I am touched, I confess, by +your courage and your resolution.' + +'We mean never to regret, never to look back, and always to work and +hope,' said Elsie. 'You will remain our friend, Mr. Dering?' + +'Surely, surely.--And now----' + +'Now'--Elsie rose--'I will not keep you any longer. You have said what +you wished to say very kindly, and I thank you.' + +'No.--Sit down again; I haven't done with you yet, child. Sit down +again. No more about that young villain--George Austin.' He spoke so +good-humouredly, that Elsie complied wondering, but no longer afraid. +'Nothing more about your engagement. Now, listen carefully, because this +is most important. Three or four years ago a person wrote to me. That +person informed me that he--for convenience we will call the person a +man--wished to place a certain sum of money in my hands in trust--for +you.' + +'For me? Do you mean--in trust? What is Trust?' + +'He gave me this sum of money to be given to you on your twenty-first +birthday.' + +'Oh!' Elsie sat up with open eyes. 'A sum of money?--and to me?' + +'With a condition or two. The first condition was, that the interest +should be invested as it came in: the next, that I was on no +account--mind, on no account at all--to tell you or any one of the +existence of the gift or the name of the donor. You are now twenty-one. +I have been careful not to afford you the least suspicion of this happy +windfall until the time should arrive. Neither your mother, nor your +sister, nor your lover, knows or suspects anything about it.' + +'Oh!' Elsie said once more. An interjection may be defined as a +prolonged monosyllable, generally a vowel, uttered when no words can do +justice to the subject. + +'And here, my dear young lady'--Elsie cried 'Oh!' once more because--the +most curious thing in the world--Mr. Dering's grave face suddenly +relaxed and the lines assumed the very benevolence which she had the day +before imparted to his portrait, and wished to see upon his +face!--'Here, my dear young lady'--he laid his hand upon a paper--'is +the list of the investments which I have made of that money. You have, +in fact, money in Corporation bonds--Newcastle, Nottingham, +Wolverhampton. You have water shares--you have gas shares--all good +investments, yielding at the price of purchase an average of nearly +three and two-thirds per cent.' + +'Investments? Why--how much money was it, then? I was thinking when you +spoke of a sum of money, of ten pounds, perhaps.' + +'No, Elsie, not ten pounds. The money placed in my hands for your use +was over twelve thousand pounds. With accumulations, there is now a +little under thirteen thousand.' + +'Oh!' cried Elsie for the third time and for the same reason. No words +could express her astonishment. + +'Yes; it will produce about four hundred and eighty pounds a year. +Perhaps, as some of the stock has gone up, it might be sold out and +placed to better advantage. We may get it up to five hundred pounds.' + +'Do you mean, Mr. Dering, that I have actually got five hundred pounds a +year--all my own?' + +'That is certainly my meaning. You have nearly five hundred pounds a +year all your own--entirely your own, without any conditions +whatever--your own.' + +'Oh!' She sat in silence, her hands locked. Then the tears came into her +eyes. 'Oh, George!' she murmured, 'you will not be so very poor after +all.' + +'That is all I have to say to you at present, Elsie,' said Mr. Dering. +'Now you may run away and leave me. Come to dinner this evening. Your +mother and your sister are coming. I shall ask Austin as well. We may +perhaps remove some of those objections. Dinner at seven sharp, +Elsie.--And now you can leave me.' + +'I said last night,' said Elsie, clasping her hands with feminine +superstition, 'that something was going to happen. But I thought it was +something horrid. Oh, Mr. Dering, if you only knew how happy you have +made me! I don't know what to say. I feel stunned. Five hundred pounds a +year! Oh! it is wonderful! What shall I say? What shall I say?' + +'You will say nothing. Go away now. Come to dinner this evening.--Go +away, my young heiress. Go and make plans how to live on your enlarged +income. It will not prove too much.' + +Elsie rose. Then she turned again. 'Oh, I had actually forgotten. Won't +you tell the man--or the woman--who gave you that money for me, that I +thank him from my very heart? It isn't that I think so much about money, +but oh! the dreadful trouble that there has been at home because George +has none--and this will do something to reconcile my mother. Don't you +think it will make all the difference?' + +'I hope that before the evening you will find that all opposition has +been removed,' said her guardian cautiously. + +She walked away in a dream. She found herself in Lincoln's Inn Fields: +she walked all round that great square, also in a dream. The spectre of +poverty had vanished. She was rich: she was rich: she had five hundred +pounds a year. Between them they would have seven hundred pounds a year. +It seemed enormous. Seven hundred pounds a year! Seven--seven--seven +hundred pounds a year! + +She got out into the street called Holborn, and she took the modest +omnibus, this heiress of untold wealth. How much was it? Thirteen +millions? or thirteen thousand? One seemed as much as the other. Twelve +thousand: with accumulations: with accumulations--ations--ations. The +wheels of the vehicle groaned out these musical words all the way. It +was in the morning when the Bayswater omnibus is full of girls going +home to lunch after shopping or looking at the shops. Elsie looked at +these girls as they sat along the narrow benches. 'My dears,' she longed +to say, but did not, 'I hope you have every one got a brave lover, and +that you have all got twelve thousand pounds apiece--with accumulations-- +twelve thousand pounds--with accumulations--ations--ations--realising +four hundred and eighty pounds a year, and perhaps a little more. With +accumulations--ations--ations--accumulations.' + +She ran into the house and up the stairs singing. At the sound of her +voice her mother, engaged in calculations of the greatest difficulty, +paused wondering. When she understood that it was the voice of her child +and not an organ-grinder, she became angry. What right had the girl to +run about singing? Was it insolent bravado? + +Elsie opened the door of the drawing-room and ran in. Her mother's cold +face repelled her. She was going to tell the joyful news--but she +stopped. + +'You have seen Mr. Dering?' asked her mother. + +'Yes; I have seen him.' + +'If he has brought you to reason----' + +'Oh! He has--he has. I am entirely reasonable.' + +Mrs. Arundel was astonished. The girl was flushed of face and bright of +eye; her breath was thick; her lips were parted. She looked entirely +happy. + +'My dear mother,' she went on, 'I am to dine with him to-night. Hilda is +to dine with him to-night. You are to dine with him to-night. It is to +be a family party. He will bring us all to reason--to a bag full of +reasons.' + +'Elsie, this seems to me to be mirth misplaced.' + +'No--no--in its right place--reasons all in a row and on three shelves, +labelled and arranged and classified.' + +'You talk in enigmas.' + +'My dear mother'--yet that morning the dear mother would not speak to +the dear daughter--'I talk in enigmas and I sing in conundrums. I feel +like an oracle or a Delphic old woman for dark sayings.' + +She ran away, slamming the door after her. Her mother heard her singing +in her studio all to herself. 'Can she be in her right mind?' she asked +anxiously. 'To marry a Pauper--to receive the admonition of her +guardian--and such a guardian--and to come home singing. 'Twould be +better to lock her up than let her marry.' + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENS + + +Mr. Dering lay back in his chair, gazing at the door--the unromantic +office door--through which Elsie had just passed. I suppose that even +the driest of old bachelors and lawyers may be touched by the sight of a +young girl made suddenly and unexpectedly happy. Perhaps the mere +apparition of a lovely girl, dainty and delicate and sweet, daintily and +delicately apparelled, so as to look like a goddess or a wood-nymph +rather than a creature of clay, may have awakened old and long-forgotten +thoughts before the instincts of youth were stifled by piles of +parchment. It is the peculiar and undisputed privilege of the historian +to read thoughts, but it is not always necessary to write them down. + +He sat up and sighed. 'I have not told her all,' he murmured. 'She shall +be happier still.' He touched his hand-bell. 'Checkley,' he said, 'ask +Mr. Austin kindly to step this way.--A day of surprise--of joyful +surprise--for both.' + +It was indeed to be a day of good fortune, as you shall see. + +He opened a drawer and took out a document rolled and tied, which he +laid upon the table before him. + +George obeyed the summons, not without misgiving, for Elsie, he knew, +must by this time have had the dreaded interview, and the call might +have some reference to his own share in the great contumacy. To incur +the displeasure of his employer in connection with that event might lead +to serious consequences. + +Astonishing thing! Mr. Dering received him with a countenance that +seemed transformed. He smiled benevolently upon him. He even laughed. He +smiled when George opened the door: he laughed when, in obedience to a +gesture of invitation, George took a chair. He actually laughed: not +weakly or foolishly, but as a strong man laughs. + +'I want ten minutes with you, George Austin'--he actually used the +Christian name--'ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, or perhaps half an +hour.' He laughed again. 'Now, then'--his face assumed its usual +judicial expression, but his lips broke into unaccustomed smiles--'Now +then, sir, I have just seen my ward--my former ward, for she is now of +age--and have heard--well--everything there was to hear.' + +'I have no doubt, sir, that what you heard from Elsie was the exact +truth.' + +'I believe so. The questions which I put to her I also put to you. How +do you propose to live? On your salary? You have been engaged to my late +ward without asking the permission of her guardians--that is, her mother +and myself.' + +'That is not quite the case. We found that her mother opposed the +engagement, and therefore it was not necessary to ask your permission. +We agreed to let the matter rest until she should be of age. Meanwhile, +we openly corresponded and saw each other.' + +'It is a distinction without a difference. Perhaps what you would call a +legal distinction. You now propose to marry. Elsie Arundel is no longer +my ward; but, as a friend, I venture to ask you how you propose to live? +A wife and a house cost money. Shall you keep house and wife on your +salary alone? Have you any other resources?' + +There are several ways of putting these awkward questions. There is +especially the way of accusation, by which you charge the guilty young +man of being by his own fault one of a very huge family--of having no +money and no expectations--nothing at all, unless he can make it for +himself. It is the manner generally adopted by parents and guardians. +Mr. Dering, however, when he put the question smiled genially and rubbed +his hands--a thing so unusual as to be terrifying in itself--as if he +was uttering a joke--a thing he never had done in his life. The +question, however, even when put in this, the kindest way, is one most +awkward for any young man, and especially to a young man in either +branch of the law, and most especially to a young man beginning the +ascent of the lower branch. + +Consider, of all the professions, crowded as they are, there is none so +crowded as this branch of the law. 'What,' asks anxious Quiverful Pere, +'shall I do with this boy of mine? I will spend a thousand pounds upon +him and make him a solicitor. Once he has passed, the way is clear for +him.' 'How,' asks the ambitious man of trade, 'shall I advance my son? +I will make him a lawyer; once passed he will open an office and get a +practice and become rich. He will be a gentleman. And his children will +be born gentlemen.' Very good; a most laudable custom it is in this +realm of Great Britain for the young men still to be pressing upwards, +though those who are already high up would fain forget the days of +climbing and sneer at those who are making their way. But, applied to +this profession, climbing seems no longer practicable. This way of +advance will have to be abandoned. + +Consider, again. Every profession gets rich out of its own mine. There +is the mine Ecclesiastic, the mine Medical, the mine Artistic, the mine +Legal. The last-named contains leases, covenants, agreements, wills, +bonds, mortgages, actions, partnerships, transfers, conveyances, county +courts, and other treasures, all to be had for the digging. But--and +this is too often forgotten--there is only a limited quantity to be +taken out of the mine every year, and there is not enough to go round, +except in very minute portions. And since, until we become socialists at +heart, we shall all of us continue to desire for our share that which is +called the mess of Benjamin, and since all cannot get that mess--which +Mr. Dering had enjoyed for the whole of his life--or anything like that +desirable portion, most young solicitors go in great heaviness of +spirit--hang their heads, corrugate their foreheads, write despairing +letters to the girls they left behind them, and with grumbling gratitude +take the hundred or two hundred a year which is offered for their +services as managing clerks. Again, the Legal mine seems of late years +not to yield anything like so much as formerly. There has been a cruel +shrinkage all over the country, and especially in country towns: the +boom of building seems to have come to an end: the agricultural +depression has dragged down with it an immense number of people who +formerly flourished with the lawyers, and, by means of their savings, +investments, leases, and partnerships and quarrels, made many a +solicitor fat and happy. That is all gone. It used to be easy, if one +had a little money, to buy a partnership. Now it is no longer possible, +or, at least, no longer easy. Nobody has a business greater than he +himself can manage; everybody has got a son coming in. + +These considerations show why the question was difficult to answer. + +Said George in reply, but with some confusion: 'We are prepared to live +on little. We are not in the least extravagant: Elsie will rough it. +Besides, she has her Art----' + +'Out of which she makes at present nothing a year.' + +'But she will get on--and I may hope, may reasonably hope, some time to +make an income larger than my present one.' + +'You may hope--you may hope. But the position is not hopeful. In fact, +George Austin, you must marry on ten times your present income, or not +at all.' + +'But I assure you, sir, our ideas are truly modest, and we have made up +our minds how we can live and pay our way.' + +'You think you have. That is to say, you have prepared a table of +expenses showing how, with twopence to spare, you can live very well on +two hundred pounds a year. Of course you put down nothing for the +thousand and one little unexpected things which everybody of your +education and habits pays for every day.' + +'We have provided as far as we can see.' + +'Well, it won't do. Of course, I can't forbid the girl to marry you. She +is of age. I can't forbid you--but I can make it impossible--impossible +for you, Master Austin--impossible.' + +He rapped the table. The words were stern, but the voice was kindly, and +he smiled again as he spoke. 'You thought you would do without me, did +you? Well--you shall see--you shall see.' + +George received this threat without words, but with a red face, and with +rising indignation. Still, when one is a servant, one must endure the +reproofs of the master. He said nothing therefore, but waited. + +'I have considered for some time,' Mr. Dering continued, 'how to meet +this case in a satisfactory manner. At last, I made up my mind. And if +you will read this document, young gentleman, you will find that I have +made your foolish proposal to marry on love and nothing else quite +impossible--quite impossible, sir.' He slapped the table with the paper, +and tossed it over to George. + +George took the paper, and began to read it. Suddenly he jumped out of +his chair. He sprang to his feet. '_What?_' he cried. + +'Go on--go on,' said Mr. Dering benevolently. + +'Partnership? Partnership?' George gasped. 'What does it mean?' + +'It is, as you say, a Deed of Partnership between myself and yourself. +The conditions of the Partnership are duly set forth--I hope you will +see your way to accepting them.--A Deed of Partnership. I do not know +within a few hundreds what your share may be, but I believe you may +reckon on at least two thousand for the first year, and more--much +more--before long.' + +'More than a thousand?' + +'You have not read the deed through. Call yourself a lawyer? Sit down, +and read it word for word.' + +George obeyed, reading it as if it was a paper submitted to him for +consideration, a paper belonging to some one else. + +'Well? You have read it?' + +'Yes; I have read it through.' + +'Observe that the Partnership may be dissolved by Death, Bankruptcy, or +Mutual Consent. I receive two-thirds of the proceeds for life. +That--alas!--will not be for long.--Well, young man, do you accept this +offer?' + +'Accept? Oh! Accept? What can I do? What can I say--but accept?' He +walked to the window, and looked out; I suppose he was admiring the +trees in the square, which were certainly very beautiful in early July. +Then he returned, his eyes humid. + +'Aha!' Mr. Dering chuckled. 'I told you that I would make it impossible +for you to marry on two hundred pounds a year. I waited till Elsie's +birthday. Well? You will now be able to revise that little estimate of +living on two hundred a year. Eh?' + +'Mr. Dering,' said George, with breaking voice, 'I cannot believe it; I +cannot understand it. I have not deserved it.' + +'Shake hands, my Partner.' + +The two men shook hands. + +'Now sit down and let us talk a bit,' said Mr. Dering. 'I am old. I am +past seventy. I have tried to persuade myself that I am still as fit for +work as ever. But I have had warnings. I now perceive that they must be +taken as warnings. Sometimes it is a little confusion of memory--I am +not able to account for little things--I forget what I did yesterday +afternoon. I suppose all old men get these reminders of coming decay. It +means that I must reduce work and responsibility. I might give up +business altogether and retire: I have money enough and to spare: but +this is the third generation of a successful House, and I could not bear +to close the doors, and to think that the Firm would altogether vanish. +So I thought I would take a partner, and I began to look about me. +Well--in brief, I came to the conclusion that I should find no young man +better qualified than yourself for ability and for power of work and for +all the qualities necessary for the successful conduct of such a House +as this. Especially I considered the essential of good manners. I was +early taught by my father that the greatest aid to success is good +breeding. I trust that in this respect I have done justice to the +teaching of one who was the most courtly of his time. You belong to an +age of less ceremony and less respect to rank. But we are not always in +a barrack or in a club. We are not all comrades or equals. There are +those below to consider as well as those above. There are women: there +are old men: you, my partner, have shown me that you can give to each +the consideration, the deference, the recognition that he deserves. True +breeding is the recognition of the individual. You are careful of the +small things which smooth the asperities of business. In no profession, +not even that of medicine, is a good manner more useful than in ours. +And this you possess.--It also pleases me,' he added after a pause, 'to +think that in making you my partner I am also promoting the happiness of +a young lady I have known all her life.' + +George murmured something. He looked more like a guilty schoolboy than a +man just raised to a position most enviable. His cheeks were flushed and +his hands trembled. Mr. Dering touched his bell. + +'Checkley,' he said, when that faithful retainer appeared, 'I have +already told you of my intention to take a partner. This is my new +partner.' + +Checkley changed colour. His old eyes--or was George wrong?--flashed +with a light of malignity as he raised them. It made him feel +uncomfortable--but only for a moment. + +'My partner, Checkley,' repeated Mr. Dering. + +'Oh!' His voice was dry and grating. 'Since we couldn't go on as +before---- Well, I hope you won't repent it.' + +'You shall witness the signing of the deed, Checkley. Call in a clerk. +So--there we have it, drawn, signed, and witnessed. Once more, my +partner, shake hands.' + + * * * * * + +Elsie retired to her own room after the snub administered to her rising +spirits. She soon began to sing again, being much too happy to be +affected by anything so small. She went on with her portrait, preserving +some, but not all, of the softness and benevolence which she had put +into it, and thereby producing what is allowed to be an excellent +portrait, but somewhat flattering. She herself knows very well that it +is not flattering at all, but even lower than the truth, only the other +people have never seen the lawyer in an expansive moment. + +Now while she was thus engaged, her mind going back every other minute +to her newly-acquired inheritance, a cab drove up to the house--the door +flew open, and her lover--her George--flew into her arms. + +'You here--George? Actually in the house? Oh! but you know----' + +'I know--I know. But I could not possibly wait till this evening. My +dear child, the most wonderful--the most wonderful thing--the most +extraordinary thing--in the whole world has happened--a thing we could +never hope and never ask----' + +'Mr. Dering has told you, then?' + +'What? Do you know?' + +'Mr. Dering told me this morning.--Oh, George! isn't it wonderful?' + +'Wonderful? It is like the last chapter of a novel!' This he said +speaking as a fool, because the only last chapter in life is that in +which Azrael crosses the threshold. + +'Oh, George!--I have been walking in the air--I have been flying--I have +been singing and dancing. I feel as if I had never before known what it +was to be happy. Mr. Dering said something about having it +settled--mind--it's all yours, George--yours as well as mine.' + +'Yes,' said George, a little puzzled. 'I suppose in the eyes of the law +it is mine, but then it is yours as well. All that is mine is yours. + +'Oh! Mr. Dering said it was mine in the eyes of the law. What does it +matter, George, what the stupid old law says?' + +'Nothing, my dear--nothing at all.' + +'It will be worth five hundred pounds a year very nearly. That, with +your two hundred pounds a year, will make us actually comfortable after +all our anxieties.' + +'Five hundred a year? It will be worth four times that, I hope.' + +'Four times? Oh, no!--that is impossible. But Mr. Dering told me that he +could hardly get so much as four per cent., and I have made a sum and +worked it out. Rule for simple interest: multiply the principal by the +rate per cent., and again by the time, and divide by a hundred. It is +quite simple. And what makes the sum simpler, you need only take one +year.' + +'What principal, Elsie, by what interest? You are running your little +head against rules of arithmetic. Here there is no principal and no +interest. It is a case of proceeds, and then division.' + +'We will call it proceeds, if you like, George, but he called it +interest. Anyhow, it comes to five hundred a year, very nearly; and with +your two hundred----' + +'I don't know what you mean by your five hundred a year. As for my two +hundred, unless I am very much mistaken, that will very soon be two +thousand.' + +'Your two hundred will become----? George, we are talking across each +other.' + +'Yes. What money of yours do you mean?' + +'I mean the twelve thousand pounds that Mr. Dering holds for me--with +accumulations--accumulations'--she began to sing the rhyme of the +omnibus wheels--'accumulations--ations--ations.' + +'Twelve thousand pounds? Is this fairyland? Twelve thousand----? I +reel--I faint--I sink--I melt away. Take my hands--both my hands, +Elsie--kiss me kindly--it's better than brandy--kindly kiss me. Twelve +thousand pounds! with accumulations----' + +'--ations--ations--ations,' she sung. 'Never before, George, have I +understood the loveliness and the power of money. They were given to Mr. +Dering by an anonymous person to be held for me--secretly. No one +knows--not even, yet, my mother.' + +'Oh! It is altogether too much--too much: once there was a poor but +loving couple, and Fortune turned her wheel, and---- You don't +know--you most unsuspecting ignorant Thing--you can't guess-- Oh, Elsie, +I am a partner--Mr. Dering's partner! + +They caught hands again--then they let go--then they sat down, and gazed +upon each other. + +'Elsie,' said George. + +'George,' said Elsie. + +'We can now marry like everybody else--but much better. We shall have +furniture now.' + +'All the furniture we shall want, and a house where we please. No +contriving now--no pinching.' + +'No self-denying for each other, my dear.' + +'That's a pity, isn't it?--But, George, don't repine. The advantages may +counterbalance the drawbacks. I think I see the cottage where we were +going to live. It is in Islington: or near it--Barnsbury, perhaps: there +is a little garden in front, and one at the back. There is always +washing hung out to dry. I don't like the smell of suds. For dinner, one +has cold Australian tinned meat for economy, not for choice. The rooms +are very small, and the furniture is shabby, because it was cheap and +bad to begin with. And when you come home--oh, George!'--she stuck her +forefinger in her chalk, and drew two or three lines on his face--'you +look like that, so discontented, so grumpy, so gloomy. Oh, my dear, the +advantages--they do so greatly outbalance the drawbacks; and George--you +will love your wife all the more--I am sure you will--because she can +always dress properly and look nice, and give you a dinner that will +help to rest you from the work of the day.' + +Once more this foolish couple fell into each other's arms and kissed +again with tears and smiles and laughter. + +'Who,' asked Mrs. Arundel, ringing the bell up-stairs, 'who is with Miss +Elsie below?' + +On hearing that it was Mr. George Austin, whose presence in the house +was forbidden, Mrs. Arundel rose solemnly and awfully, and walked down +the stairs. She had a clear duty before her. When she threw open the +door, the lovers were hand in hand dancing round the room laughing--but +the tears were running down Elsie's cheeks. + +'Elsie,' said her mother, standing at the open door, 'perhaps you can +explain this.' + +'Permit me to explain,' said George. + +'This gentleman, Elsie, has been forbidden the house.' + +'One moment,' he began. + +'Go, sir.' She pointed majestically to the window. + +'Oh!' cried Elsie. 'Tell her, George--tell her; I cannot.' She fell to +laughing and crying together, but still held her lover by the hand. + +'I will have no communication whatever with one who robs me of a +daughter,' said this Roman matron. 'Will you once more leave the house, +sir?' + +'Mother--you _must_ hear him.' + +'Nothing,' said Mrs. Arundel, 'will ever induce me to speak to +him--nothing.' + +'Mother, don't be silly,' Elsie cried; 'you don't know what has +happened. You _must_ not say such things. You will only be sorry for +them afterwards.' + +'Never--never. One may forgive such a man, but one can never speak to +him, never--whatever happens--never.' The lady looked almost heroic as +she waved her right hand in the direction of the man. + +'I will go,' said George, 'but not till you have heard me. I am +rich--Elsie is rich--we shall not marry into poverty. The whole +situation is entirely changed.' + +'Changed,' Elsie repeated, taking George's arm. + + * * * * * + +'My dear George,' said Mrs. Arundel, when she had heard the whole +story--and by cross examination persuaded herself that it was true--'you +know on what a just basis my objections were founded. Otherwise, I +should have been delighted at the outset.--Kiss me, Elsie.--You have my +full consent, children. These remarkable events are Providential.--On +Mr. Dering's death or retirement, you will step into an enormous +practice. Follow his example. Take no partner till old age compels you. +Keep all the profits for yourself--all.--My dear George, you should be a +very happy man. Not so rich, perhaps, as my son-in-law, Sir Samuel, but +above the ordinary run of common happiness. As for the past---- We will +now go down to lunch.--There is the bell. These emotions are +fatiguing.' + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +IN HONOUR OF THE EVENT + + +May one dwell upon so simple a thing as a small family dinner-party? It +is generally undramatic and uneventful: it is not generally marked even +by a new dish or a bottle of rare wine. Yet there lingers in the mind of +every man the recollection of pleasant dinners. I should like to write a +Book of Dinners--not a book for the _gourmet_, but a book of memories. +It might be a most delightful volume. There would be in it the +school-boys' dinner. I remember a certain dinner at eighteenpence a +head, at Richmond, before we had the row in the boat, when we quarrelled +and broke the oars over each other's heads, and very nearly capsized: a +certain undergraduates' dinner, in which four men--three of whom are now +ghosts--joined: the Ramblers' dinner, of lamb chops and bottled ale and +mirth and merriment: the two-by-two dinner in the private room, a dainty +dinner of sweet lamb, sweet bread, sweet peas, sweet looks, sweet +Moselle, and sweet words. Is it really true that one never--never--gets +young again? Some people do, I am sure, but they are under promise to +say nothing about it. I shall--and then that dinner may perhaps--one +cannot say--one never knows--and I suppose--if one was young again--that +they would be found just as pretty as they ever were. There is the +official dinner, stately and cold: the city dinner, which generally +comes to a man when his digestion is no longer what it was: the family +dinner, in which the intellect plays so small a part, because no one +wastes his fine things on his brothers and sisters: the dinner at which +one has to make a speech. Indeed, this Book of Dinners promises to be a +most charming volume. I should attempt it, however, with trembling, +because, to do it really well, one should be, first of all, a scholar, +if only to appreciate things said and spoken, and in order to connect +the illustrious past with food and drink. Next, he ought to be still +young: he certainly must have a proper feeling for wine, and must +certainly understand when and why one should be grateful to good Master +Cook: he should be a past or present master in the Art of Love and a +squire of Dames: he should be good at conversation: he must, in the old +language, be a worshipper of Bacchus, Venus, Phoebus Apollo, the Muses +nine and the Graces three. He must be no poor weakling, unable to enjoy +the good creatures of flesh, fowl, fish, and wine: no boor: and no log +insensible to loveliness. + +Dinner, which should be a science, has long been treated as one of the +Fine Arts. Now every Fine Art, as we all know, has its fashions and its +caprices. Those who are old enough to remember the dinners of twenty, +thirty, or forty years ago can remember many of their fashions and +caprices. In the Thirties, for instance, everything was carved upon the +table. It required a man with a strong wrist to give a dinner-party. +Fortunately, a dinner then consisted of few dishes. They drank sherry +with dinner, and port afterwards. The champagne, if there was any, was +sweet. The guests were bidden for half-past six: they sat down to dinner +before seven. At eight the ladies went up-stairs: at half-past ten the +men joined them. Their faces were flushed, their shoulders were inclined +to lurch, and their speech was the least bit thick. Wonderful to relate, +brandy-and-water used to be served to these topers in the drawing-room +itself. + +Mr. Dering had altered little in his dinner customs. They mostly +belonged to the Sixties, with a survival of some belonging to the +Thirties. Things were carved upon the sideboard: this was in deference +to modern custom: champagne formed an integral part of the meal: but the +dinner itself was solid: the cloth after dinner was removed, leaving the +dark polished mahogany after the old fashion: the furniture of the room +was also in the old style: the chairs were heavy and solid: the walls +were hung with a dark crimson paper of velvety texture: the curtains and +the carpets were red: there were pictures of game and fruit: the +sideboard was as solid as the table. + +Checkley the clerk, who was invited as a faithful servant of the House, +to the celebration of the new partnership, was the first to arrive. +Dressed in a hired suit, he looked like an undertaker's assistant: the +gloom upon his face heightened the resemblance. Why the partnership +caused this appearance of gloom, I know not. Certainly, he could never +expect to be made a partner himself. It was perhaps a species of +jealousy which filled his soul. He would no longer know so much of the +business. + +George came with the Mother-in-law Elect and the _fiancee_. Forgiveness, +Peace, Amnesty, and Charity sat all together upon the brow of the elder +lady. She was magnificent in a dark crimson velvet, and she had a good +deal of gold about her arms and neck. Jewish ladies are said to show, by +the magnificence of their attire, the prosperity of the business. Why +not? It is a form of enjoying success. There are many forms: one man +buys books: let him buy books. Another collects pictures. Why not? One +woman wears crimson velvet. Why not? In this way she enjoys her wealth +and proclaims it. Again, why not? It seems to the philosopher a fond and +vain thing to deck the person at all times, and especially fond when the +person is middle-aged and no longer beautiful. We are not all +philosophers. There are many middle-aged men who are extremely happy to +put on their uniform and their medals and their glittering helmets. Mrs. +Arundel wore her velvet as if she enjoyed the colour of it, the richness +of it, the light and shade that lay in its folds, and the soft feel of +it. She wore it, too, as an outward sign that this was a great occasion. +Her daughter, Lady Dering, came also arrayed in a queenly dress of amber +silk with an aigrette of feathers in her hair. To be sure, she was going +on somewhere after the dinner. Elsie, for her part, came in a creamy +white almost like a bride: but she looked much happier than most brides. +Hilda's husband, Sir Samuel, who was some six or seven years younger +than his brother, was in appearance a typical man of wealth. The rich +man can no longer, as in the days of good old Sir Thomas Gresham, +illustrate his riches by costly furs, embroidered doublets, and heavy +chains. He has to wear broadcloth and black. Yet there is an air, a +carriage, which belongs to the rich man. In appearance, Sir Samuel was +tall, like his brother, but not thin like him: he was corpulent: his +face was red: he was bald, and he wore large whiskers, dyed black. +The late dissensions were completely forgotten. Hilda embraced her +sister fondly. 'My dear,' she whispered, 'we have heard all. +Everything--everything is changed by these fortunate events. They do you +the greatest credit.--George'--she took his hand and held it +tenderly--'I cannot tell you how happy this news has made us all. You +will be rich in the course of years. Sir Samuel was only saying, as we +came along----' + +'I was saying, young gentleman,' the Knight interrupted, 'that the most +beautiful thing about money is the way it develops character. We do not +ask for many virtues--only honesty and diligence--from the poor. When a +man acquires wealth we look for his better qualities.' + +'Yes, indeed,' Hilda murmured. 'His better qualities begin to +show.--Elsie, dear, that is a very pretty frock. I don't think I have +seen it before. How do you like my dress?' + +George accepted this sudden turn in opinion with smiles. He laughed at +it afterwards. For the moment it made him feel almost as if he was being +rewarded for some virtuous action. + +Dinner was announced at seven--such were the old-fashioned manners of +this old gentleman. He led in Mrs. Arundel, and placed Elsie on his +left. At first, the dinner promised to be a silent feast. The two lovers +were not disposed to talk much--they had not yet recovered from the +overwhelming and astonishing events of the day. Sir Samuel never talked +at the beginning of dinner--besides, there was turtle soup and red +mullet and whitebait--it is sinful to divert your attention from these +good creatures. His wife never talked at dinner or at any other time +more than she could help. Your statuesque beauty seldom does. Talking +much involves smiling and even laughing, which distorts the face. A +woman must encourage men to talk: this she can do without saying much +herself. + +Presently Mr. Dering roused himself and began to talk, with a visible +effort, first to Mrs. Arundel of things casual: then to Elsie: and then +to his brother, but always with an effort, as if he was thinking of +other things. And a constraint fell upon the party. + +When the cloth was removed and the wine and fruit placed upon the dark +and lustrous board, he filled a glass and made a kind little speech. + +'My Partner,'he said, 'I drink to you. May your connection with the +House be prosperous! It is a very great good fortune for me to have +found such a Partner.--Elsie, I join you with my Partner. I wish you +both every happiness.' + +He drained the bumper and sent round the decanters. + +Then he began to talk, and his discourse was most strange. 'Had it +been,' said his brother afterwards, 'the idle fancies of some +crackbrained writing fellow, I could have understood it; but from +him--from a steady old solicitor--a man who has never countenanced any +kind of nonsense--to be sure he said it was only an illusion. I hope it +isn't a softening. Who ever heard of such a man as that having dreams +and illusions?' + +Certainly no one had ever before heard Mr. Dering talk in this new +manner. As a rule, he was silent and grave even at the head of his own +table. He spoke little and then gravely. To-night his talk as well as +his face was changed. Who would have thought that Mr. Dering should +confess to illusions, and should relate dreams, and should be visited by +such dreams? Remember that the speaker was seventy-five years of age, +and that he had never before been known so much as to speak of +benevolence. Then you will understand something of the bewilderment +which fell upon the whole company. + +He began by raising his head and smiling with a strange and new +benignity--but Elsie thought of her portrait. 'We are all one family +here,' he said; 'and I may talk. I want to tell you of a very remarkable +thing that has recently happened to me. It has been growing, I now +perceive, for some years. But it now holds me strongly, and it is one +reason why I am anxious to have the affairs of the House in the hands of +a younger man. For it may be a sign of the end. At seventy-five anything +uncommon may be a sign.' + +'You look well, Mr. Dering, and as strong as most men of sixty,' said +Mrs. Arundel. + +'Perhaps. I feel well and strong. The fact is that I am troubled--or +pleased--or possessed--by an Illusion.' + +'You with an Illusion?' said his brother. + +'I myself. An Illusion possesses me. It whispers me from time to time +that my life is wholly spent in promoting the happiness of other +people.' + +'Well,' said his brother, 'since you are a first-class solicitor, and +manage the affairs of many people very much to their advantage, you +certainly do promote their happiness.' + +'Yes, yes--I suppose so. My Illusion further is that it is done outside +my business--without any bill afterwards'--Checkley looked up with eyes +wide open--'I am made to believe that I am working and living for the +good of others. A curious Illusion, is it not?' + +The City man shook his head. 'That any man can possibly live for the +good of others is, I take it, always and under all circumstances an +Illusion. In the present state of society--and a very admirable state it +is'--he rolled his bald head as he spoke and his voice had a rich roll +in it--'a man's first duty--his second duty--his third duty--his +hundredth duty--is to himself. In the City it is his business to amass +wealth--to roll it up--roll it up'--he expressed the words with +feeling--'to invest it profitably--to watch it, and to nurse it as it +fructifies--fructifies. Afterwards, when he is rich enough, if ever a +man can be rich enough, he may exercise as much charity as he +pleases--as he pleases. Charity seems to please some people as a glass +of fine wine'--he illustrated the comparison--'pleases the +palate--pleases the palate.' + +The lawyer listened politely and inclined his head. + +'There is at least some method in my Illusion,' he went on. 'You +mentioned it. The solicitor is always occupied with the conduct of other +people's affairs. That must be admitted. He is always engaged in +considering how best to guide his fellow-man through the labyrinthine +world. He receives his fellow-man at his entrance into the world, as a +ward: he receives him grown up, as a client: he advises him all his life +at every step and in every emergency. If the client goes into +partnership, or marries, or buys a house, or builds one, or gets into +trouble, the solicitor assists and advises him. When the client grows +old, the solicitor makes his will. When the client dies, the solicitor +becomes his executor and his trustee, and administers his estate for +him. It is thus a life, as I said, entirely spent for other people. I +know not of any other, unless it be of medicine, that so much can be +said. And think what terrors, what anxieties, what disappointments, the +solicitor witnesses and alleviates! Think of the family scandals he +hushes up and keeps secret! Good heavens! if a solicitor in large +practice were to tell what he knows, think of the terrible disclosures! +He knows every thing. He knows more than a Roman Catholic priest, +because his penitents not only reveal their own sins but also those of +their wives and sons and friends and partners. And anxiety, I may tell +you, makes a man better at confessing than penitence. Sometimes we bring +actions at law and issue writs and so forth. Well now: this part of our +business, which is disagreeable to us, is actually the most beneficent +of any. Because, by means of the cases brought before the High Court of +Justice, we remind the world that it must be law abiding as well as law +worthy. The Law, in order to win respect, must first win fear. Force +comes before order. The memory of force must be kept up. The presence +of force must be felt. For instance, I have a libel case just begun. It +is rather a bad libel. My libeller will suffer: he will bleed: but he +will bleed for the public good, because thousands who are only anxious +to libel and slander, to calumniate and defame their neighbours, will be +deterred. Oh! it will be a most beneficent case--far reaching--striking +terror into the hearts of ill-doers.--Well--this, my friends, is my +Illusion. It is, I suppose, one of the many Illusions with which we +cheat old age and rob it of its terrors. To everybody else I am a +hard-fisted lawyer, exacting his pound of flesh from the unfortunate +debtor, and making myself rich at the expense of the creditor.' + +'Nonsense about how a man gets rich,' said the man of business. 'He can +only get rich if he is capable. Quite right. Let the weak go under. Let +the careless and the lazy starve.' + +'At the same time,' said Elsie softly, 'it is not all illusion. There +are others besides the careless and the lazy----' + +'Sometimes,' the old lawyer went on, 'this Illusion of mine--oh! I know +it is only Illusion--takes the form of a dream--so vivid that it comes +back to me afterwards as a reality. In this dream, which is always the +same, I seem to have been engaged in some great scheme of practical +benevolence.' + +'Practical---- What? You engaged in Practical Benevolence?' the City man +asked in profound astonishment. The Illusion was astonishing enough; but +to have his brother talk of practical benevolence was amazing indeed. + +'Practical benevolence,' repeated Mr. Dering. His voice dropped. His +eyes looked out into space: he seemed as one who narrates a story. 'It +is a curiously persistent dream. It comes at irregular intervals; it +pleases me while it lasts.--Oh! in the evening after dinner, while one +takes a nap in the easy chair, perhaps--it is, as I said, quite vivid. +The action of this dream always takes place in the same room--a large +room, plainly furnished, and looking out upon an open space--I should +know it if I saw it--and it fills me with pleasure--in my dream--just to +feel that I am--there is no other word for it--diffusing happiness. How +I manage this diffusion, I can never remember; but there it is--good +solid happiness, such as, in waking moments, one feels to be +impossible.' + +'Diffusing happiness--you!' said his brother. + +'A very beautiful dream,' said Elsie. But no one dared to look in each +other's face. + +'This strange dream of mine,' continued Mr. Dering, 'does not form part +of that little Illusion, though it seems connected with it. And as I +said, mostly it comes in the evening. The other day, however, I had it +in the afternoon--went to sleep in my office, I suppose.--Did you find +me asleep, Checkley? It was on Friday.' + +'No. On Friday afternoon you went out.' + +'Ah! When I came back, then-- I had forgotten that I went out. Did I go +out? Strange! Never mind. This continuous dream opens up a world of new +ideas and things which are, I perceive, when I am awake, quite unreal +and illusory. Yet they please. I see myself, as I said, diffusing +happiness with open hands. The world which is thus made happier consists +entirely of poor people. I move among them unseen: I listen to them: I +see what they do, and I hear what they say. Mind--all this is as real +and true to me as if it actually happened. And it fills me with +admiration of the blessed state of poverty. In my dream I pity the rich, +with all my heart. To get rich, I think--in this dream--they must have +practised so many deceptions----' + +'Brother! brother!' Sir Samuel held up both hands. + +'In my dream--only in my dream. Those who inherit riches are burdened +with the weight of their wealth, which will not suffer them to enter +into the arena; will not allow them to develop and to exercise their +talents, and afflicts them with the mental and bodily diseases that +belong to indolence. The poor, on the other hand, who live from day to +day, sometimes out of work for weeks together, practise easily the +simple virtues of brotherly love, charity, and mutual helpfulness. They +have learned to combine for the good of all rather than to fight, one +against another, for selfish gain. It is the only world where all are +borrowing and lending, giving and helping.' + +'Brother, this dream of yours is like a socialistic tract.' + +'It may be. Yet you see how strongly it takes hold of me, that while I +see the absurdity of the whole thing, it is not unpleasing to recall the +recollection of it. Well--I do not know what set me talking about this +dream.' + +The smiles left his face: he became grave again: he ceased to talk: for +the rest of the evening he was once more the old solicitor, weighed down +with the affairs of other people. + +'Checkley'--it was on the doorstep, and Sir Samuel waited while his wife +said a few fond things to her sister--'what the devil came over my +brother to-night?' + +'I don't know indeed, Sir Samuel. I never heard him talk like that +before. Doin' good to 'em? Servin' a writ upon 'em is more our line. I +think he must be upset somewhere in his inside, and it's gone to his +head.' + +'Practical benevolence! Living for other people! Have you heard him +complain of anything?' + +'No, Sir Samuel. He never complains. Eats hearty, walks upright and +strong, works like he always has worked.--Doin' good! And the +blessedness of being pore! Seems most wonderful. Blessedness of being +pore! Well, Sir Samuel, I've enjoyed that blessedness myself, and I know +what it's like. Any or'nary preachin' chap might talk that nonsense; but +for your eminent brother, Sir Samuel, such a lawyer as him--to be +talking such stuff--if I may humbly so speak of my learned master's +words--it is--Sir Samuel--it really is amazing!' + +'He said it was a dream, remember. But I agree with you, Checkley.--It +is amazing.' + +'Humph! The blessedness of being pore! And over such a glass of port, +too! I thought I should ha' rolled off my chair--I did, indeed.--Here's +your good lady, Sir Samuel.' + + * * * * * + +'Elsie,' said Mrs. Arundel in the carriage, 'I think it was high time +that Mr. Dering should take a partner. He to dream of practical +benevolence! He to be diffusing happiness with open hands! Oh! most +lamentable--I call it. However, the deeds are signed, and we are all +right. In case of anything happening, it is a comfort to think that +George's position would be only improved.' + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +AT THE GATES OF PARADISE + + +Many women have advanced the doctrine that the happiest time of life is +that of their engagement. Of course no man can possibly understand this +theory; but from a woman's point of view it can be defended, because it +is for some girls the most delightful thing in the world to be wooed; +and until the church service is actually said and the ring is on the +finger, the bride is Queen and Mistress; afterwards--not always. But the +happiness of it depends upon its being a courtship without obstacles. +Now, in the case of the young couple whose fortunes we are following, +there was plenty of love with excellent wooing; but the engagement had +been opposed by the whole tribe of Arundels, so that every time she met +her lover it was in open rebellion against her mother. To go home from a +walk with him only to find the silence of resentment at home was not +pleasant. Again, we have seen how they were looking forward to a life of +poverty--even of privation. Dame Penury with her pinching ways and +shrewish tongue was going to be their constant lodger. Then the young +man could not choose but ask himself whether he was not a selfish beast +to take a girl out of plenty into privation. And the girl could not +choose but ask herself whether she was not selfish in laying this great +burden upon the back of her lover. No one can be indifferent to such a +prospect: no one can contemplate with pleasure the cheeseparings, the +savings, the management of such a life: no one can like having to make a +penny do the work of sixpence: no one can rejoice as one steps down, +down, down the social ladder: no one can anticipate with satisfaction +the loss of gentlehood for the daughters, and the loss of an adequate +education for the sons. + +'You will make me happy,' said the lover, 'at the cost of everything +that makes life happy for yourself.' + +'If I make you happy,' said the girl, 'I ask for nothing more. But oh! I +am laying a heavy burden upon you. Can you bear it? Will you never blame +me if the burden is greater than you can bear?' + +And now all the trouble vanished like a cloud from the morning +sky--vanished so completely that there was not a trace of it left +anywhere. The accusing figure of her mother was changed into a smiling +face of pleased and satisfied maternity: reproaches were turned into +words of endearment, angry looks to presents and caresses. And as for +her sister, you might have thought that all this good fortune was +actually achieved and conquered by Elsie--otherwise, how could one +justify the praise and flattery that Hilda now lavished upon her? She +gave a great dinner as a kind of official reception of the bridegroom +into the family; she also gave a dance, at which she herself was the +most beautiful woman--she stood in a conspicuous place all the evening, +magnificently dressed, statuesque, wonderful: and Elsie was the +prettiest girl at the party; but between the most beautiful woman and +the prettiest girl was a difference! There is nothing like good fortune +to bring out a girl's good qualities: Elsie had always had friends, now +she might have numbered them by hundreds. Good fortune breeds friends as +the sunshine creates the flowers. She was congratulated, caressed, and +flattered enough to turn her head. Now, girls are so constituted that +they love admiration, which is a kind of affection, even when it takes +the form of flattery: and their heads may be easily turned; but they are +as easily turned back again. And the house--the widow's house--which for +so many years had been so dull and quiet a place, was transformed into a +place of entertainment. It only wanted coloured lamps to make it another +Vauxhall: it was crowded every night with the younger friends of bride +and bridegroom. George had many friends. He was gregarious by nature: he +was a rowing man on the athletic side: he had a healthy love and a light +hand for things like billiards, shooting, and fishing: they are tastes +which assist in the creation of friendships. + +These friends--young fellows of like mind--came to the house in +multitudes to rally round the man about to desert their ranks. Young men +are forgiving: George would row no more among them: he would be lost to +the billiard table, and to the club itself: yet they forgave him, and +accepted his invitation and went to see the bride. They found her with +the friends of her own age. Heavens! how the daring of one man in taking +away a maiden from the band encourages others! There are six love +stories at least, all rising out of these evenings, and all of +surpassing interest, had one the time to write them. They are both grave +and gay: there are tears in every one: the course of true love in no +case ran smooth except in the Story of the Two Stupids. Love's enemies +can never effect aught against a Stupid, and so these two Stupids became +engaged without opposition, and were married with acclamations; but they +are too Stupid--perhaps--to know their own happiness. + +All this went on for three weeks. It was arranged that the happy pair +should be married in the middle of August: they had resolved to spend +their honeymoon in France, staying a few days in Paris, and then going +on to see the towns and the country along the Loire, with the old city +of Tours for their centre. They proposed to live entirely upon fruit and +wine and kisses. No place in the world like Touraine for those who are +so young, and so much in love, and so perfectly satisfied with so simple +a diet. Even for those who take a cutlet with the fruit and the wine, +there is no place equal to Touraine. Meantime, against the home-coming, +a desirable flat was secured, not one of your little economical flats, +all drawing-room with two or three rabbit-hutches for bedrooms, but a +large and highly decorated flat with all the newest appliances, large +rooms, and a lift and plenty of space for the dinner-parties and +receptions which Elsie would have to give. The servants were engaged. +The furniture was ordered, all in the advanced taste of the +day--carpets, curtains, pictures, over-mantels, cabinets, screens. Elsie +went every day to her new home and found something omitted, and sat down +in it to wonder what it would be like--this new life she was entering +upon. Oh! it was a busy time.--Then there was her trousseau--everybody +knows the amount of thought and care required for a trousseau: this was +approaching completion--everybody knows the happiness, peculiar, and +unlike any other kind of happiness, with which a girl contemplates a +heap of 'things,' all her own. I suppose that it is only at her wedding +that she can enjoy this happiness, for afterwards, the 'things' are not +her own, but the things of the family. The bride's dress, another thing +of supreme importance, had been tried on, though as yet it was very, +very far from being finished. The bridesmaids, two of George's sisters, +had also already tried on their dresses. They came every day, two very +sweet girls, who have both to do with those six love stories which will +never, I fear, be told, to talk over the events and to see the presents. +These came in daily, and were laid out in a room by themselves, looking +very splendid: their splendour proved the wealth and the position of the +pair, because rich presents are only given to rich people. + +In a word, everybody was heartily, loyally sympathetic, as if to make up +for the previous harshness and coldness. For four weeks this happiness +lasted! It was on Monday, June 29, that the golden shower descended upon +them: it was on Monday, July 20, that the rain of gold ceased, and +another kind of cloud came up which speedily changed into a driving +storm of rain and sleet and hail and ice and snow. + +Look at them on Sunday. Before the storm there is generally a brief time +of sunshine, warm and fine: after the storm, the calm that follows is a +time of dismay, speechless and tearless. Sunday was the day before the +storm: it was a day of sunshine without and within. The lovers spent the +whole day together, hand in hand. They went to church together: they sat +side by side, they warbled off the same hymn book. The service proved, +as the preacher used to say, a season of refreshment, for never doth +religion so uplift the soul as when it is entirely happy: the voices of +the choir chanting the psalms filled them with joy, and would have done +so even if they had been penitential minors, and the lamentation of a +sinner. Their hearts rose higher and higher as the preacher exhorted, +and would have flown upwards just as much whether he had brandished the +terrors of the law or held out the gracious promise of the Gospel. For +you see, at such a time as this, whatever was said or done only led this +faithful pair farther and deeper into the shady glades and fragrant +lawns and flowery dells of Love's Paradise. + +Every church, at every service, and especially in the evening, contains +many such lovers. You may know them by certain infallible signs. They +sit very close together: they sing off the same book: their faces betray +by the rigidity of their attitude, which is that of pretended attention, +the far-away expression of their eyes, and the absence of any external +sign of emotion or sympathy with the preacher, that their hands, beneath +some folds of the feminine gabardine, are closely clasped. It has +sometimes pleased the philosopher and relieved the tedium of a dull +sermon to look round the congregation and to pick out the lovers--here a +pair and there a pair. Even in the church, you see, Love is conqueror +and king. + +These lovers, therefore, went to church in a frame of mind truly +heavenly: nobody in the whole congregation felt more deeply pious: every +response was an Act of Praise: every prayer an Act of Gratitude: every +hymn a personal Thank-offering. But beneath those seemingly calm faces +was flying and rushing a whirlwind of hopes, memories, plans, projects, +and gratitudes. He who looks back upon the days immediately before his +wedding-day--most men no more remember their own emotions than a child +remembers yesterday's earache--will wonder how he lived through that +time of change, when all that he prayed for was granted, but on the +condition of a turning upside down of all his habits, customs, and +petted ways. + +All round them sat the people, no doubt with minds wholly attuned to the +service of Prayer and Praise. Well, the sheep in a flock to outward +seeming are all alike, yet every animal has his own desires and small +ambitions for himself. So I suppose with the congregation. As every man +shuts the street door behind him and trudges along the way to +church--the _Via Sacra_--with wife and children, he carries in his +waistcoat pocket, close to his heart, a little packet of business cares +to think upon during the sermon. And if all the thoughts of all the +people could be collected after the sermon instead of the offertory, +they would make a salutary oblation indeed. + +'George,' said Elsie, as they came out, 'let us go into the Gardens and +sit under a tree and talk. Let us get away from everybody for half an +hour.' + +Kensington Gardens were filled with the customary throng of those who, +like themselves, had been to church. The carping philosopher says unkind +things about Church, and Gardens, and Fashion. As if Church would ever +keep like from congregating with like! There were shoals of beautiful +girls, dressed as well as they knew or could afford: dozens of young +fellows, and with them the no longer quite so young, the no longer +young, the no longer young at all, the middle-aged, the elderly and the +old, not to speak of the children. Elsie looked up and down the walk. +'We are never so much alone as in a crowd,' she said, with the air that +some girls assume of saying an original thing which no woman ever did +say yet, unless by accident. They joined the stream: presently George +led the girl out of the road and across the grass to a place where two +or three chairs were set under the trees. They sat down. Then occurred +the miracle wrought in these gardens every day and all day long. Out of +the ground sprang a man--for such he seemed, though doubtless a +spirit-messenger--who demanded twopence. This paid, he vanished +straightway. After this ceremony they talked. + +'George,' said the girl, 'every day now, wherever I am, even at church, +I feel as if I should like to jump up and sing and dance. This morning I +should have liked a service all to ourselves--you to read and I to sing: +you to pray and I to praise. I kept wondering if there was any girl in +the place so happy as myself--or so unhappy as I was three short weeks +ago.' + +'Elsie,' said George--a simple thing to say, but it had a thousand +meanings. + +'We have not deserved it. Indeed, indeed--we have not. Why are we +singled out for such joy? We already had the greatest thing of all--we +had love. That is happiness enough for some women. We only wanted a +little more money, and now we have all this great fortune.' + +'It is wonderful, Elsie!' + +She laid her hand on his and spoke in her sweet low voice, gazing +upwards. 'George! I am so happy, that I want everybody else to be happy +as well. The angels, I am sure, must lose some of their joy in wishing +that all were with them. I pity all those poor girls who have no lovers: +all those poor married people who are lying in poverty: all those poor +creatures who are trying for what they cannot get; all those who are +weeping outside the gates of Heaven. George, it is a beautiful world, +and it should be such a happy world: there should be nothing but joy all +through life. There is such an abundance of happiness possible in it. +Sadness is only a passing cloud: anxiety is only a touch of east wind: +evil and pain are only fleeting shadows.' + +She sighed and clasped her hands, and the tears rose to her eyes. + +'We shall grow old together, George,' she went on, murmuring rather than +speaking.--I omit her lover's interruptions and interjections.--'You +will always love me, long after my beauty--you know you will call it +beauty, George--is past and gone: even when I am a poor old crone +doubled up in my arm-chair: you will always love me. My life will be +full--full--full of love. Perhaps----' Here her face flushed, and she +stopped. 'We shall have no trouble about money: we shall go on always +learning more and more, growing wiser and wiser and wiser. You will be a +wise and good man, thinking and working all your life for other people, +just as Mr. Dering imagined--three weeks ago. Everybody will love and +respect you. Then you will grow grey-headed, you poor, dear boy; and all +the world will say how wise and strong you are; and I shall be prouder +of my old husband than even I was of my young lover. The life that +others have dreamed, we shall live. Every day shall come laden with its +own joy, so that we would not, if we could help it, suffer it to go +away.' She struck a deeper note, and her voice trembled and sank and her +eyes filled with tears: 'Life shall be all happiness, as God intended +for us. Even Death will be little sorrow, for the separation will be so +short.' Once more she laid her hand on his. + +Even to the most frivolous, the prospect of the wedded life awakens +grave and solemn thoughts: for those who have eyes to see and ears to +hear and brains to understand, there is no prospect so charged with +chances and possibilities, where even life itself may become a Death in +Life. + +When George left her in the evening, he drove to see Athelstan. + +'So,' he said, 'you have been courting all day, I suppose. You ought to +have had enough of it. Sit down and have something--a pipe--a +cigar.--Well--you are going to be very jolly, I suppose. Elsie's little +fortune will help a bit, won't it?' + +'I should think so, indeed.' + +'Yes--I've been very glad, ever since you told me that the child had had +this stroke of luck. I wonder who gave her the money? To be sure, there +is plenty of money knocking about among the Arundels. Most of us have +had a sort of instinct for making money. Put us down anywhere among a +lot of men in a city, and we begin to transfer the contents of their +pockets to our own.' + +'Meanwhile, give up this old resentment. Come back to your own people. +Come to our wedding.' + +'I cannot possibly, unless you will tell me who forged that cheque. How +could I go back to people who still believe me guilty? When you are +married, I will go and see Elsie, which I can do with a light heart. You +have not told any one about my return?' + +'Certainly not. No one suspects, and no one talks or thinks about you.' + +Athelstan laughed a little. 'That is a doubtful piece of information. Am +I to rejoice or to weep, because I am completely forgotten and out of +mind? It is rather humiliating, isn't it?' + +'You are not forgotten at all. That is a different thing. Only they do +not speak of you.' + +'Well, George, never mind that now. I am glad you came to-night, because +I have some news for you. I have found the commissionaire who took the +cheque to the Bank--actually found the man.' + +'No! After all these years?' + +'I wrote out the particulars of the case--briefly. Yesterday I took the +paper to the commissionaires' barrack in the Strand and offered a reward +for the recovery of the man who had cashed the cheque. That same evening +the man presented himself and claimed the reward. He remembered the +thing very well--for this reason: the gentleman who employed him first +sent him with a bag to a Parcel Delivery Office: he did not look at the +address. The gentleman was staying at the Cecil Hotel. Now the +commissionaire was a one-armed man. Because he had only one arm, the +gentleman--who was a pleasant-spoken gentleman--gave him ten shillings +for his trouble, which was nine shillings more than his proper pay. The +gentleman sent him to the Bank with this cheque to cash, and he returned +with seven hundred and twenty pounds in ten-pound notes. Then it was +that the gentleman--who seems to have been a free-handed gentleman--gave +him the ten shillings. The man says that he would know that gentleman +anywhere. He was old, and had grey hair. He says that he should know him +wherever he saw him. What do you think of that?' + +'Well--it is something, if you could find that old man.' + +'Why, of course it was Checkley--grey-haired Checkley. We'll catch that +old fox, yet. Beware of Checkley. He's a Fox. He's a Worm. He's a +creeping Centipede. When the old man goes, you must make Checkley +pack.' + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERY + + +On Monday morning the Unexpected happened. It came with more than common +malignity. In fact, nothing more threatening to the persons chiefly +concerned in the calamity could have happened, though at first they were +happily spared the comprehension of its full significance. + +There is a wide-spread superstition--so wide that it must be true--that +at those rare moments when one feels foolishly happy, at peace with all +the world, at peace with one's own conscience, all injuries forgiven, +the future stretched out before like a sunlit peaceful lake, some +disaster, great or small, is certainly imminent. 'Don't feel too happy,' +says Experience Universal. The Gods resent the happiness of man. Affect +a little anxiety. Assume a certain sadness. Restrain that dancing leg. +If you must shake it, do so as if by accident, or as if in terror--for +choice, shake it over an open grave in the churchyard. Stop singing that +song of joy; try the Lamentation of a Sinner instead. So will the Gods +be deceived. Above all, never allow yourself to believe that the Devil +is dead. He is not even asleep. By carefully observing these +precautions, a great many misfortunes may be averted. If, for instance, +George had gone home soberly on Sunday night instead of carrying on like +a schoolboy in playtime, obviously happy, and so inviting calamity, +perhaps he would never have been connected--as he afterwards +became--with this disaster. + +You have heard that Mr. Dering was a man of method. Every morning he +arrived at his office at a quarter before ten: he hung up his coat and +hat in a recess behind the door: he then opened his safe with his own +hand. Checkley had already laid out the table with a clean blotting-pad, +pens, and letter-paper: he had also placed the letters of the day upon +the pad. The reading of the letters began the day's work. The lawyer +read them, made notes upon them, rang for his shorthand clerk, and +dictated answers. These dispatched, he turned to the standing business. +This morning, with the usual routine, he was plodding through the +letters of the day, taking up one after the other, and reading half +mechanically. Presently he opened one, and looked at the heading. 'Ellis +& Northcote,' he said. 'What do they want?' Then he suddenly stopped +short and started. Then he began the letter again, and again he stopped +short. It was from his brokers in the City, and it recommended a certain +advantageous investment. That was not in itself very extraordinary. But +it contained the following remarkable passage: 'You have made such great +transfers and so many sales during the last few months that you have +probably more profitable uses for money in your own business. But if you +should have a few thousands available at the present moment, it is a +most favourable opportunity----' + +'Great transfers and many sales?' asked Mr. Dering, bewildered. 'What +transfers? What sales does he mean?' + +He turned over the pages of his Diary. He could find no transactions of +the kind at all. Then he reflected again. 'I can remember no transfers,' +he murmured. 'Is this another trick of memory?' + +Finally, he touched the bell upon his table. + +'Checkley,' said Mr. Dering, on the appearance of the ancient clerk, 'I +have got a letter that I don't understand at all. I told you that my +memory was going. Now you see. Here is a letter about transfers and +sales of stock. What transfers? I don't understand one word of it. My +memory is not only going--it is gone.' + +'Memory going? Nonsense,' the old man shook his head. 'No--no; your +memory is all right. Mine is as clear as a bell. So's yours. You eat +hearty. So do I. You sleep well. So do I. We're both as hale and hearty +as ever.' + +'No--no. My memory is not what it was. I've told you so a dozen times. I +lose myself sometimes. Yesterday, when the clock struck twelve, I +thought it was only ten. I had lost two hours. And sometimes when I walk +home, I lose recollection of the walk afterwards.' + +'Tut, tut; nobody of your age is such a young man as you. Why, you walk +like five-and-twenty. And you eat hearty--you eat very hearty.' His +words were encouraging, but he looked anxiously at his master. Truly, +there was no apparent decay in Mr. Dering. He sat as upright: he looked +as keen: he spoke as clearly, as ever. + +'Well--about this letter. My friend Ellis, of Ellis & Northcote, writes +to me about something or other, and speaks of my effecting great +transfers and sales of stock lately. What does he mean?' + +'You haven't bought or sold any stock lately, that I know of.' + +'Well, you would have known.--Have we had to make any investments for +clients of late? There was the Dalton-Smith estate.' + +'That was eleven months ago.' + +'I suppose he must mean that--he can't mean anything else. Yes, that is +it. Well--I've got a Partner now, so that it matters less than it would +have done--had my memory played me tricks with no other responsible man +in the place.' + +'You didn't want a partner,' said Checkley jealously. 'You had ME.' + +'He must mean that,' Mr. Dering repeated. 'He can't mean anything else. +However--has my Bank book been made up lately?' + +'Here it is. Made up last Friday. Nothing been in or out since.' + +Mr. Dering had not looked at his book for three or four months. He was +well served: his people took care of his Bank book. Now he opened it, +and began to run his finger up and down the pages. + +'Checkley,' he said, 'what has happened to Newcastle Corporation Stock? +The dividends were due some weeks ago. They are not paid yet. Is the +town gone bankrupt? And--eh? Where is Wolverhampton? And--and----' He +turned over the paper quickly. 'Checkley, there is something wrong with +the book. Not a single dividend of anything entered for the last four +months. There ought to have been about six hundred pounds in that time.' + +'Queer mistake,' said Checkley. 'I'll take the book round to the Bank, +and have it corrected.' + +'A very gross and careless mistake, I call it. Tell the manager I said +so. Let it be set right at once, Checkley--at once--and while you wait. +And bring it back to me.' + +The Bank was in Chancery Lane, close to the office. The old clerk went +off on his errand. + +'A very careless mistake,' the lawyer repeated; 'any clerk of mine who +committed such a mistake should be dismissed at once.' In fact, the +certainty of full and speedy justice kept Mr. Dering's clerks always at +a high level of efficiency. + +He returned to the letters, apparently with no further uneasiness. + +After ten minutes, Checkley taking longer than he expected, Mr. Dering +became aware that his attention was wandering. 'Great transfers and many +sales,' he repeated. 'After all, he must mean the investment of that +Dalton-Smith money. Yet that was only a single transaction. What can he +mean? He must have made a mistake. He must be thinking of another +client. It's his memory, not mine, that is confused. That's it--his +memory.' + +The large open safe in the corner was filled with stacks of paper tied +up and endorsed. These papers contained, among other things, the +securities for the whole of Mr. Dering's private fortune, which was now +very considerable. Even the greatest City magnate would feel for Mr. +Dering the respect due to wealth if he knew the amount represented by +the contents of that safe. There they were, the leases, agreements, +mortgages, deeds, bonds, conveyances, shares, all the legal documents by +which the wicked man is prevented from seizing and appropriating the +rich man's savings. Formerly the rich man kept his money in a box with +iron bands. He locked up the box and put it in a recess in the cellar +contrived in the stone wall. If he was only a bourgeois, it was but a +little box, and he put it in a secret place (but everybody knew the +secret) at the head of his bed. If he were a peasant, he tied his money +up in a clout and put it under the hearthstone. In any case, thieves +broke in and stole those riches. Now, grown wiser, he has no box of +treasures at all: he lends it all in various directions and to various +associations and companies. Every rich man is a money-lender: he is +either Shylock the Great or Shylock the Less, according to the amount he +lends. Thieves can steal nothing but paper which is no use to them. As +we grow wiser still, we shall have nothing at all in any house that can +be of any use to any thief, because everything in the least valuable +will have its papers, without the production of which nothing of value +will be bought or sold. And all the gold and silver, whether forks or +mugs, will be lodged in the Bank. Then everybody will become honest, and +the Eighth Commandment will be forgotten. + +Among Mr. Dering's papers were share certificates, bonds, and scrip of +various kinds, amounting in all to a great many thousands. Of this money +a sum of nearly thirteen thousand pounds belonged to Elsie, but was +still in her guardian's name. This, of course, was the fortune which had +fallen so unexpectedly into the girl's hands. The rest, amounting to +about twenty-five thousand pounds, was his own money. It represented of +course only a part, only a small part, of his very respectable fortune. + +Mr. Dering, whose memory, if it was decaying, was certainly clear on +some points, looked across the room at the open safe, and began to think +of the papers representing their investments. He remembered perfectly +all the different Corporation Stock. All the water, gas, railway shares, +the Indian Stock and the Colonial Stock: the Debenture companies and the +Trading companies. He was foolish, he thought, to be disturbed by a mere +mistake of the broker: his recent lapses of memory had made him nervous: +there could be nothing wrong: but that clerk at the Bank ought to be +dismissed for carelessness. There could be nothing wrong: for the sake +of assurance he would turn out the papers: but there could be nothing +wrong. + +He knew very well where they were; everything in his office had its +place: they were all tied up together in a bulky parcel, bestowed upon a +certain shelf or compartment of the safe. He pushed back his chair, got +up, and walked over to the safe. + +Strange! The papers were not in their place. Again he felt the former +irritation at having forgotten something. It was always returning: every +day he seemed to be forgetting something. But the certificates must be +in the safe. He stood irresolutely looking at the piles of papers, +trying to think how they could have been displaced. While he was thus +wondering and gazing, Checkley came back, Bank-book in hand. + +'There is something wrong,' he said. 'No dividends at all have been paid +to your account for the last three months. There is no mistake at the +Bank. I've seen the manager, and he's looked into it, and says there +can't be any mistake about the entries.' + +'No dividends? What is the meaning of it, Checkley? No dividends? Why, +there's thirty-eight thousand pounds worth of stock. The certificates +are kept here in the safe; only, for some reason or other, I can't find +them at the moment. They must be in the safe somewhere. Just help me to +find them, will you?' + +He began to search among the papers, at first a little anxiously, then +nervously, then feverishly. + +'Where are they?' he cried, tossing over the bundles. 'They must be +here. They must be here. Let us turn out the whole contents of the safe. +We must find them. They have never been kept in any other place. Nobody +has touched them or seen them except myself.' + +The old clerk pulled out all the papers in the safe and laid them in a +great pile on the table. When there was nothing left in the safe, they +began systematically to go through the whole. When they had finished, +they looked at each other blankly. + +Everything was there except the certificates and scrip representing the +investment of thirty-eight thousand pounds. These alone could not be +found. They examined every packet: they opened every bundle of papers: +they looked into every folded sheet of parchment or foolscap. The +certificates were not in the safe. 'Well,' said the clerk at last, +'they're not here, you see.--Now then!' + +In the midst of their perplexity happened a thing almost as surprising +and quite as unexpected as the loss of the certificates. Among the +papers was a small round parcel tied up with red tape. Checkley opened +it. 'Bank-notes,' he said, and laid it aside. They were not at the +moment looking for bank-notes, but for certificates. When he was +satisfied that these were not in the safe, and had thrown, so to speak, +the responsibility of finding out the cause of their absence upon his +master, he took up once more this bundle. It was, as he had said, a +bundle of bank-notes rolled up and tied round. He untied the knot and +laid them flat, turning up the corners and counting. 'Curious,' he said; +'they're all ten-pound notes--all ten-pound notes: there must be more +than fifty of them. And the outside one is covered with dust. What are +they?' + +'How should I know?' said Mr. Dering irritably. 'Give them to me. +Bank-notes? There are no bank-notes in my safe.' + +'Forgotten!' the clerk murmured. 'Clients' money, perhaps. But the +client would have asked for it. Five or six hundred pounds. How can five +hundred pounds be forgotten? Even a Rothschild would remember five +hundred pounds. Forgotten!' He glanced suspiciously at his master, and +shook his head, fumbling among the papers. + +Mr. Dering snatched the bundle from his clerk. Truly, they were +bank-notes--ten-pound bank-notes; and they had been forgotten. The clerk +was right. There is no Firm in the world where a bundle worth five +hundred pounds could be forgotten and no inquiry made after it. Mr. +Dering stared blankly at them. 'Notes!' he cried--'notes! Ten-pound +notes. What notes?--Checkley, how did these notes come here?' + +'If you don't know,' the clerk replied, 'nobody knows. You've got the +key of the safe.' + +'Good Heavens!' If Mr. Dering had been twenty years younger, he would +have jumped. Men of seventy-five are not allowed to jump. The dignity of +age does not allow of jumping. 'This is most wonderful! Checkley, this +is most mysterious!' + +'What is it?' + +'These notes--the Devil is in the safe to-day, I do believe. First the +certificates are lost; that is, they can't be found--and next these +notes turn up.' + +'What notes are they, then?' + +'They are nothing else than the bank-notes paid across the counter for +that forged cheque of eight years ago. Oh! there is no doubt of it--none +whatever. I remember the numbers--the consecutive numbers--seventy-two +of them--seven hundred and twenty pounds. How did they get here? Who put +them in? Checkley, I say, how did these notes get here?' + +He held the notes in his hand and asked these questions in pure +bewilderment, and not in the expectation of receiving any reply. + +'The notes paid to that young gentleman when he forged the cheque,' said +Checkley, 'must have been put back in the safe by him. There's no other +way to account for it. He was afraid to present them. He heard you say +they were stopped, and he put them back. I think I see him doing it. +While he was flaring out, he done it--I'm sure I see him doing it.' + +Mr. Dering received this suggestion without remark. He laid down the +notes and stared at his clerk. The two old men stared blankly at each +other. Perhaps Checkley's countenance, of the two, expressed the greater +astonishment. + +'How did those notes get into the safe?' the lawyer repeated. 'This is +even a more wonderful thing than the mislaying of the certificates. You +took them out. Show me exactly where they were lying.' + +'They were behind these books. See! the outside note is covered with +dust.' + +'They must have been lying there all these years. In my safe! The very +notes paid across the counter to the forger's messenger! In my safe! +What does this mean? I feel as if I was going mad. I say-- What does all +this mean, Checkley?' + +The clerk made answer slowly, repeating his former suggestion. + +'Since young Arundel forged the cheque, young Arundel got the notes. +Since young Arundel got the notes, young Arundel must have put them +back. No one else could. When young Arundel put them back, he done it +because he was afraid of your finding out. He put them back unseen by +you that day when you charged him with the crime.' + +'I did not charge him. I have charged no one.' + +'I charged him, then, and you did not contradict. I'd charge him again +if he was here.' + +'Any man may charge anything upon any other man. There was no proof +whatever, and none has ever come to light.' + +'You're always for proofs that will convict a man. I only said that +nobody else could do the thing. As for putting the notes back again in +the safe, now I come to think of it'--his face became cunning and +malignant--'I do remember--yes--oh! yes--I clearly remember--I quite +clearly remember--I see it as plain as if it was before me. He got +sidling nearer and nearer the safe while we were talking: he got quite +close--so--he chucked a bundle in when he thought I wasn't looking. I +think--I almost think--I could swear to it.' + +'Nonsense,' said the lawyer. 'Your memory is too clear. Tie up the +notes, Checkley, and put them back. They may help, perhaps, some time, +to find out the man. Meantime, let us go back to our search. Let us find +these certificates.' + + * * * * * + +They had now examined every packet in the safe: they had looked at every +paper: they had opened every book and searched through all the leaves. +There was no doubt left: the certificates were not there. + +Checkley began to tie up the bundles again. His master sat down trying +to remember something--everything--that could account for their +disappearance. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +A MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERY + + +The safe disposed of, there remained a cupboard, two tables full of +drawers, twenty or thirty tin boxes. Checkley examined every one of +these receptacles. In vain. There was not anywhere any trace of the +certificates. + +'Yet,' said Mr. Dering, 'they must be somewhere. We have been hunting +all the morning, and we have not found them. They are not in this room. +Yet they must be somewhere. Certificates and such things don't fly away. +They are of no use to any one. People don't steal certificates. I must +have done something with them.' + +'Did you take them home with you?' + +'Why should I do that? I have no safe or strong-room at home.' + +'Did you send them to the Bank for greater safety? To be sure, they +would be no more safe there than here.' + +'Go and ask. See the manager. Ask him if he holds any certificates of +mine.' + +The clerk turned to obey. + +'No.' Mr. Dering stopped him. 'What's the good? If he held the things, +there would have been dividends. Yet what can I do?' For the first time +in his life the lawyer felt the emotion that he had often observed in +clients at times of real disaster. He felt as if there was nothing +certain: not even Property: as if the law itself, actually the law--was +of no use. His brain reeled: the ground was slipping under his feet, and +he was falling forward through the table, and the floor and the +foundation--forward and down--down--down. 'What can I do?' he repeated. +'Checkley, go. See the manager. There may be something to find out. I +can't think properly. Go.' + +When the clerk left him, he laid his head upon his hands and tried to +put things quite clearly before himself. 'Where can the certificates +be?' he asked himself, repeating this question twenty times. He was +quite conscious that if he had been consulted on such a point by a +client he would have replied with the greatest readiness, suggesting the +one really practical thing to do. For himself he could advise nothing. +'Where can the certificates be? Nobody steals Corporation stock and gas +companies' shares. They are no good if you do steal them. They can't be +sold without the authority of the owner: he has got to sign transfer +papers: if they were stolen, the dividends would go on being paid to the +owner just the same. Besides----' Somewhere about this point he +bethought him of the Bank-book. If the stock had been sold the money +would appear to his credit. He snatched the book and looked at it. No; +there was no entry which could possibly represent the sale of stock. He +knew what every entry meant, and when the amount was paid in: his memory +was perfectly clear upon this point. + +Checkley's suggestion occurred to him. Had he taken the certificates +home with him? He might have done for some reason which he had now +forgotten. Yes; that was the one possible explanation. He must have +done. For a moment he breathed again--only for a moment, because he +immediately reflected that he could not possibly do such a thing as take +those securities to a house where he never transacted any business at +all. Then he returned to his former bewilderment and terror. What had +become of them? Why had he taken them out of the safe? Where had he +bestowed them? + +And why were there no dividends paid to him on these stocks? Why? He +turned white with terror when he realised that if he got no more +dividends, he could have no more stocks. + +During a long professional career of fifty years, Mr. Dering had never +made a mistake--at least he thought so. If he had not always invested +his money to the greatest profit, he had invested it safely. He did not +get the interest that some City men expect, but he made no losses. He +looked upon himself, therefore, as a man of great sagacity, whereas in +such matters he was only a man of great prudence. Also, during this long +period he was always in the enjoyment of a considerable income. +Therefore he had never known the least anxiety about money. Yet all his +life he had been counselling other people in their anxieties. It was +exactly as if a specialist in some mortal disease should be himself +attacked by it. Or it was as if the bo'sun, whose duty it is to +superintend the flogging, should be himself tied up. + +Nothing came to him: no glimmer of light: not the least recollection of +anything. Then he thought desperately, that perhaps if he were to +imagine how it would be if somebody else, not himself at all, were to +come to himself and lay the story before him as a solicitor, for advice. +Or how it would be if he himself were to go to himself as a solicitor +and put the case. + +When Checkley came back, he found his master leaning back in his chair, +his eyes wide open and staring at him as he opened the door--yet they +saw nothing. Checkley stood under the gaze of those eyes, which saw him +not. 'Good Lord!' he murmured. 'Is the time come? Is he going to die?' + +His face was white. He seemed to be listening anxiously: his lips were +parted. 'He's in a fit of some kind,' thought the old clerk. + +He stood watching. He ought, perhaps, to have called for assistance. He +did not think of it. He stood and watched, his face as pale as his +master's. Was it the end? If so--we all think of ourselves first--what +about his berth and salary? + +Suddenly his master's eyes closed; he dropped his head: he heaved a deep +sigh: he moved his head and opened his eyes. He was restored to himself. +The fit, whatever it was, had passed. + +'Checkley,' he said, 'I've been trying to put the thing to myself as if +some other man--a client--was putting his case to me. I began very well. +The other man came--that is, I myself called upon myself. I sat and +heard my own story. I forgot, somehow, what the story was'--he shook his +head impatiently. 'Forget--forget--I always forget. But I remember that +it wasn't the story I wanted him to tell. It was another story +altogether. He didn't tell me what I wanted to know. That is--what has +become of the certificates. I'm no nearer than I was. He made out that I +was actually selling the certificates myself.' + +'You're wandering a bit,' said Checkley, anxiously watching him. 'That's +all. You'll be all right presently. You've bin shook up a bit, with the +certificates and the notes and all. If I were you I'd have a glass of +something stiff.' + +'No--no; I shall come round presently. Yes--that's it. I'm a good deal +upset by this business. Somehow, I don't seem able to think clearly +about it. Let me see'--he sighed heavily--'I think you went +somewhere--somewhere for me, before--before the other man came.' + +'For Lord's sake, don't talk about the other man. There's no such +person. Yes--I did go for you; I went to ask the manager of the Bank +whether he held any stock for you.' + +'The manager of the Bank. True. Well, and does he hold anything?' + +'Not a scrap. Never had any.' + +'Then, Checkley'--Mr. Dering dropped his hands helplessly--'what is to +be done?' + +'I don't know, I'm sure,' the clerk replied with equal helplessness. 'I +never heard of such a thing before in all my life. Thirty-eight thousand +pounds! It can't be. Nobody ever heard of such a thing before. Perhaps +they are about the place somewhere. Let's have another search.' + +'No--no. It is useless. Why--I have had no dividends. The shares were +all transferred, and nothing has been paid for them. The shares have +been stolen. Checkley, I can't think. For the first time in my life, I +can't think--I want some one to advise me. I must put the case in +somebody's hands.' + +'There's your young partner--a chance for him to show that he's worth +his pay. Why don't you consult him, and then come back to the old plan +of you and me? We're knocked a bit silly just at first; but the case +will come to us in the long run. You would have a partner--nothing would +do but a partner. The boy's in his own room now, I suppose, with a crown +upon his head and the clerks kneelin' around--as grand as you please. +Send for him.' + +Mr. Dering nodded. + +The partner, when he arrived a few minutes later, found the Chief +walking about the room in uncontrollable agitation. On the table +lay piled the whole contents of the safe. In front of it stood +the ancient clerk, trembling and shaking--head, hands, knees, and +shoulders--following the movements of his master with eyes full of +anxiety and terror. This strange fit, this forgetfulness, this rambling +talk about another man, this new restlessness, frightened him. + +'You are come at last.' Mr. Dering stopped and threw himself into his +chair. Now, my partner, hear the case and resolve the difficulty for +us, if you can.--Tell him, Checkley--or--stay; no. I will tell it +myself. Either I have lost my reason and my memory, or I have been +robbed.' + +George stood at the table and listened. Something of the utmost gravity +had happened. Never before had he seen his Chief in the least degree +shaken out of his accustomed frigidity of calm. Now he was excited; his +eyes were restless; he talked fast, he talked badly. He made half a +dozen attempts to begin: he marshalled his facts in a slovenly and +disorderly manner, quite unlike his usual clear arrangement: for fifty +years he had been marshalling facts and drawing up cases, and at his own +he broke down. + +'I think I understand the whole,' said George, when his Chief paused and +Checkley ceased to correct and to add. 'You had certificates +representing investments to the amount of 38,000_l_.: these are gone, +unaccountably gone: no dividends have been paid for some months, and +your broker speaks of large transfers.' + +'That's not all,' said Checkley. 'Tell him about the notes.' + +'Yes. The fact may have some bearing upon the case. While we were +looking for the certificates, and in order, I suppose, to complicate +things and to bewilder me the more, we found in the safe the very +notes--give me the bundle, Checkley--there they are--that were paid over +the Bank counter to the man who forged my name eight years ago.' + +'What? The case in which Athelstan Arundel was accused?' + +'The same. There they are--you hold them in your hand--the very notes! +Strange! on the very day when I am threatened with another and a worse +robbery! Yes--yes; the very notes!--the very notes! This is wonderful. +Who put them there?' + +'How can I know?' + +'Well--but in any case one thing is certain. Athelstan's name is cleared +at last. You will tell his mother that.' + +'Not at all,' said Checkley. 'Why shouldn't he put 'em in himself? I saw +him edging up towards the safe----' + +'Saw him edging--stuff and nonsense! His name is cleared. This will be +joyful news to his mother and sisters.' + +'Austin, get me back my certificates,' said Mr. Dering; 'never mind +those notes now. Never mind the joyful news. Never mind Athelstan's +name; that can wait. The thought of him and the old forgery only +bewilders my brain at this juncture. I cannot act. I cannot think. I +feel as if I was blinded and stupefied. Act for me--think for me--work +for me. Be my solicitor, George, as well as my partner.' + +'I will do my best. It is difficult at first to understand--for what has +happened? You cannot find--you have mislaid--certain papers. Certain +dividends which were due do not appear to have been paid: and your +brokers, Ellis & Northcote, have used a phrase in a letter which you do +not understand. Would it not be well to get them here; or shall I go +into the City and ask them exactly what they meant and what has been +done?' + +'If I could remember any transactions with them during the last six +months. But I cannot, except a small purchase of Corporation stock last +month--a few hundreds. And here are the papers belonging to that.' + +'Which of the partners do you deal with?' + +'The old man, Ellis--he's always acted for me. He has been my friend for +close on fifty years.' + +'Well, I will send for him, and tell him to come as soon as possible, +and to bring along with him all the letters and papers he has.' + +'Good, good,' said Mr. Dering, more cheerfully. 'That is practical. I +ought to have thought of that at the very outset. Now we shall get +along. The first thing is to arrive at the facts--then we can act. If it +was another man's case, I should have known what to do. But when it is +your own--and to lose the certificates, and when a sum of nearly forty +thousand pounds is at stake--it looks like losing the money itself--and +the feeling of uncertainty----' + +'All taken together, becomes rather overwhelming. Of course I should +like to see the letter-book, and we must run through the letters to see +if they throw any light upon the business. Perhaps the papers themselves +may be found among them.' + +The presence of this young man, cheerful, decided, taking practical +measures at once, cheered up the lawyer, and steadied his shattered +nerves. But Checkley the clerk looked on gloomily. He replaced the +papers in the safe, and stood beside it, as if to guard it; he followed +the movements of the new partner with watchful, suspicious eyes; and he +muttered sullenly between his teeth. + +First George sent a telegram to the City for the broker. Then, while the +old clerk still stood beside the safe, and Mr. Dering continued to show +signs of agitation uncontrollable, sometimes walking about the room and +sometimes sitting at his table, sometimes looking into the empty shelves +of the safe, he began to look through the copied letters, those, that +is, which had gone out of Mr. Dering's office. He searched for six +months, working backwards. + +'Nothing for six months,' he said.--'Checkley, give me the letters.' He +went through these. They were the letters received at the office, all +filed, endorsed, and dated. There was not one during the letters of six +months which he examined which had anything to do with the sales of +stocks and shares. + +'If,' he said, 'you had written to Ellis & Northcote, a copy of your +letter would be here in this book. If they had written to you, these +letters would be among these bundles. Very well. Since no such letters +are here, it is clear that no such letters were written. Therefore, no +sales.' + +'Then,' said Mr. Dering, 'where are my certificates? Where are my +dividends?' + +'That we shall see. At present, we are only getting at the facts.' + +Then Mr. Ellis, senior partner of Ellis & Northcote, arrived, bearing a +small packet of papers. Everybody knew Mr. Ellis, of Ellis & Northcote, +one of the most respectable stockbrokers in London--citizen and Lorimer. +He belonged eminently to the class called worthy: an old gentleman, +carefully dressed, of smooth and polished appearance, pleasing manners, +and great integrity. Nobody could look more truly _integer vitae_ than +Mr. Ellis. Nor did his private practice belie his reputation and his +appearance. His chin and lips looked as if they could not possibly +endure the burden of beard or moustache; his sentiments, one observed at +a glance, would certainly be such as one expects from a citizen of his +respectability. + +'Here I am, dear sir,' he said cheerfully--'here I am, in immediate +obedience to your summons. I hope that there is nothing wrong; though +your request that I would bring with me certain papers certainly made me +a little apprehensive.' + +'There is, I fear, a good deal wrong,' said Mr. Dering. 'Sit down, my +old friend.--Give Mr. Ellis a chair, Checkley.--Austin, you will tell +him what he wants to know.' + +'You wrote to Mr. Dering yesterday recommending a certain +investment----' + +'I certainly did. A very favourable opportunity it is, and a capital +thing it will prove.' + +'You mentioned in your letter certain transfers and sales which, +according to your letter, he had recently effected.' + +'Certainly.' + +'What sales were they?' + +Mr. Ellis looked at his papers. 'February last--sale of various stock, +all duly enumerated here, to the value of 6,500_l_. March last, sale of +various stock, also all duly enumerated, to the value of 12,000_l_. odd. +April last, sale of stock to the value of 20,000_l_.--more or +less--realising----' + +'You note the dates and amounts, Austin?' said Mr. Dering. + +'Certainly; we will, however, get the dates and the amounts more exactly +in a moment.--Now, Mr. Ellis, of course you received instructions with +the papers themselves. Were they in writing or by word of mouth?' + +'In writing. By letters written by Mr. Dering himself.' + +'Have you got these letters with you?' + +'Everything is here, and in proper order.' He laid his hand upon the +papers. 'Here, for instance, is the first letter, dated February 14, +relating to these transactions.--You will no doubt remember it, Mr. +Dering.' He took up a letter, and read it aloud: '"MY DEAR ELLIS,--I +enclose a bundle of certificates and shares. They amount to somewhere +about 6,500_l_. at current price. Will you have these transferred to the +name of Edmund Gray, gentleman, of 22 South Square, Gray's Inn? Mr. +Edmund Gray is a client, and I will have the amount paid to my account +by him. Send me, therefore, the transfer papers and the account showing +the amount due to me by him, together with your commission.--Very +sincerely yours, EDWARD DERING." That is the letter. The proceeding is +not usual, yet not irregular. If, for instance, we had been instructed +to buy stock for Mr. Dering---- But of course you know.' + +'Pardon me,' said George. 'I am not so much accustomed to buy stock as +my partner. Will you go on?' + +'We should have done so, and sent our client the bill for the amount +with our commission. If we had been instructed to sell, we should have +paid in to Mr. Dering's bank the amount realised less our commission. A +transfer is another kind of work. Mr. Dering transferred this stock to +Edmund Gray, his client. It was therefore for him to settle with his +client the charges for the transfer and the value of the stock. We +therefore sent a bill for these charges. It was sent by hand, and a +cheque was received by return of the messenger.' + +George received the letter from him, examined it, and laid it before his +partner. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Dering read the letter, held it to the Checkley. + +'If anybody knows my handwriting,' he said, 'it ought to be you. Whose +writing is that?' + +'It looks like yours. But there is a trembling in the letters. It is not +so firm as the most of your work. I should call it yours; but I see by +your face that it is not.' + +'No; it is not my writing. I did not write that letter. This is the +first I have heard of the contents of that letter.--Look at the +signature, Checkley. Two clots are wanting after the word Dering, and +the flourish after the last "n" is curtailed of half its usual +dimensions. Did you ever know me to alter my signature by a single +curve?' + +'Never,' Checkley replied. 'Two clots wanting and half a flourish.--Go +on, sir; I've just thought of something. But go on.' + +'You don't mean to say that this letter is a forgery?' asked Mr. Ellis. +'Why--then---- Oh! it is impossible. It must then be the beginning of a +whole series of forgeries. It's quite impossible to credit it. The +letter came from this office: the post-mark shows it was posted in this +district: the answer was sent here. The transfers--consider--the +transfers were posted to this office. They came back duly signed and +witnessed--from this office. I forwarded the certificate made out in the +name of Edmund Gray--to this office: and I got an acknowledgment--from +this office. I sent the account of the transaction with my commission +charges--to this office, and got a cheque for the latter--from this +office. How can such a complicated business as this--only the first of +these transactions--be a forgery? Why, you want a dozen confederates at +least for such a job as this.' + +'I do not quite understand yet,' said George, inexperienced in the +transfer of stocks and shares. + +'Well, I cannot sell stock without the owner's authority; he must sign a +transfer. But if I receive a commission from a lawyer to transfer his +stock to a client, it is not my business to ask whether he receives the +money or not.' + +'Yes--yes. And is there nothing to show for the sale of this 6,000_l_. +worth of paper?' George asked Mr. Dering. + +'Nothing at all. The letters and everything are a forgery.' + +'And you, Mr. Ellis, received a cheque for your commission?' + +'Certainly.' + +'Get me the old cheques and the cheque-book,' said Mr. Dering. The +cheque was drawn, as the letter was written, in Mr. Dering's +handwriting, but with the slight difference he had pointed out in the +signature. + +'You are quite sure,' asked George, 'that you did not sign that cheque?' + +'I am perfectly certain that I did not.' + +'Then as for this Edmund Gray of 22 South Square, Gray's Inn--what do +you know about him?' + +'Nothing at all--absolutely nothing.' + +'I know something,' said Checkley. 'But go on--go on.' + +'He may be a non-existent person, for what you know.' + +'Certainly. I know nothing about any Edmund Gray.' + +'Wait a bit,' murmured Checkley. + +'Well, but'--Mr. Ellis went on--'this was only a beginning. In March you +wrote to me again; that is to say, I received a letter purporting to be +from you. In this letter--here it is--you instructed me to transfer +certain stock--the papers of which you enclosed--amounting to about +12,000_l_.--to Edmund Gray aforesaid. In the same way as before the +transfer papers were sent to you for signature: in the same way as +before they were signed and returned: and in the same way as before the +commission was charged to you and paid by you. It was exactly the same +transaction as before--only for double the sum involved in the February +business.' + +Mr. Dering took the second letter and looked at it with a kind of +patient resignation. 'I know nothing about it,' he said--'nothing at +all.' + +'There was a third and last transaction,' said the broker, 'this time in +April. Here is the letter written by you with instructions exactly the +same as in the previous cases, but dealing with the stock to the amount +of 19,000_l_., which we duly carried out, and for which we received your +cheque--for commission.' + +'Every one of these letters--every signature of mine to transfer papers +and to cheques--was a forgery,' said Mr. Dering slowly. 'I have no +client named Edmund Gray: I know no one of the name: I never received +any money from the transfers: these investments are stolen.' + +'Let me look at the letters again,' said George. He examined them +carefully, comparing them with each other. 'They are so wonderfully +forged that they would deceive the most careful. I should not hesitate, +myself, to swear to the handwriting.' + +It has already been explained that Mr. Dering's handwriting was of a +kind which is not uncommon with those who write a good deal. The +unimportant words were conveyed by a curve, with or without a tail, +while the really important words were clearly written. The signature, +however, was large, distinct, and florid--the signature of the House, +which had been flourishing for a hundred years and more, a signature +which had never varied. + +'Look at it,' said George again. 'Who would not swear to this writing?' + +'I would for one,' said Mr. Ellis. 'And I have known it for forty years +and more.--If that is not your own writing, Dering, it is the very +finest imitation ever made.' + +'I don't think my memory can be quite gone.--Checkley, have we ever had +a client named Edmund Gray?' + +'No--never. But you've forgotten one thing. That forgery eight years +ago--the cheque of 720_l_.--was payable to the order of Edmund Gray.' + +'Ah! So it was. This seems important.' + +'Most important,' said George. 'The forger could not possibly by +accident choose the same name. This cannot be coincidence. Have you the +forged cheque?' + +'I have always kept it,' Mr. Dering replied, 'on the chance of using it +to prove the crime and convict the criminal. You will find it, Checkley, +in the right-hand drawer of the safe. Thank you. Here it is. "Pay to the +order of Edmund Gray;" and here is his endorsement. So we have his +handwriting at any rate.' + +George took it. 'Strange,' he said. 'I should without any hesitation +swear to your handwriting here as well. And look--the signature to the +cheque is exactly the same as that of these letters. The two dots +missing after the name, and the flourish after the last "n" curtailed.' + +It was so. The handwriting of the cheque and of the letters was the +same: the signatures were slightly, but systematically, altered in +exactly the same way in both letters and cheque. + +'This again,' said George, 'can hardly be coincidence. It seems to me +that the man who wrote that cheque also wrote those letters.' + +The endorsement was in a hand which might also be taken for Mr. Dering's +own. Nothing to be got out of the endorsement. + +'But about the transfer papers,' said George. 'They would have to be +witnessed as well as signed.' + +'They were witnessed,' said the broker, 'by a clerk named Lorry.' + +'Yes, we have such a man in our office.--Checkley, send for Lorry.' + +Lorry was a clerk employed in Mr. Dering's outer office. Being +interrogated, he said that he had no recollection of witnessing a +signature for a transfer paper. He had witnessed many signatures, but +was not informed what the papers were. Asked if he remembered especially +witnessing any signature in February, March, or April, he replied that +he could not remember any, but that he had witnessed a great many +signatures: that sometimes Mr. Dering wanted him to witness his own +signature, sometimes those of clients. If he were shown his signature he +might remember. Lorry, therefore, was allowed to depart to his own +place. + +'There can be no longer any doubt,' said George, 'that an attempt has +been made at a robbery on a very large scale.' + +'An attempt only?' Mr. Dering asked. 'Where are my certificates?' + +'I say attempt, because you can't really steal stock. Dividends are only +paid to those who lawfully possess it. This Edmund Gray we can find, if +he exists. I take it, however, that he does not. It is probably a name +assumed by the forger. And I suppose that he has made haste to sell his +stock. Whether or no, you will certainly recover your property. People +may as well steal a field as steal stocks and shares.' + +'We can easily find out for you,' said Mr. Ellis, 'what has become of +your paper.' + +'If the thieves have kept it,' George went on, 'all they could make +would be the dividends for five months. That, however, is only because +the Bank-book was not examined for so long. They could not reckon upon +such an unusual stroke of luck. It seems almost certain that they must +get rid of the stock as quickly as they could. Suppose that they have +realised the whole amount. It is an immense sum of money. It would have +to be paid by cheque into a bank: the holder could only draw out the +money gradually: he might, to be sure, go to America and have the whole +amount transferred, but that would not help him much unless he could +draw it out in small sums payable to confederates. In fact, the robbery +seems to me hedged about with difficulties almost impossible.' + +'It is the most extraordinary attempt at robbery that ever was,' said +Mr. Ellis. 'Thirty-eight thousand pounds in shares. Well, I will find +out for you if they have been sold and to whom. Meantime, my old friend, +don't you be down-hearted about it. As Mr. Austin says, you will +certainly get your property back again. What? We live in a civilised +country. We cannot have large sums like 40,000_l_. stolen bodily. +Property isn't kept any longer in bags of gold. Bank notes, banks, +investments, all tend to make great robberies impossible. Courage; you +will get back your property.' + +Mr. Dering shook his head doubtfully. + +'There is another chance,' George suggested. 'One has heard of robberies +effected with the view of blackmail afterwards. Suppose we were to get a +letter offering the whole to be returned for a certain sum.' + +'No--no. It is now four months since the thing was done. They have sold +out the stock and disappeared--gone to America, as you suggested. Why, +the things may have been sold a dozen times over in the interval. That +is the danger. Suppose they _have_ been sold a dozen times over. +Consider. Here is a share in the Great Western. I transfer it from A to +B. Very good. The share now belongs to B, and stands in his name whether +honestly come by or not. B sends it to another broker, who sells it to +C. He, again, to D. Every transaction is right and in form except the +first. You can trace the share from owner to owner. B has vanished. A +says to C: "You bought that share of a thief." C says: "Very sorry. How +was I to know? D has got it now." D says that it is his, and he will +stick to it. We go to law about the share. What is going to happen? Upon +my word, I don't know. Well--but this is only conjecture. Let me first +find out what has become of the shares. Of course there is a record, to +which I have only to refer. I will let you know by to-morrow morning, if +I can.' + +When Mr. Ellis was gone, George began to sum up, for the clearing of his +own mind, the ascertained facts of the case, so far as they had got. + +'First,' he said, 'the letters to Ellis and Northcote were written on +our headed paper. Clearly, therefore, the writer must have had access to +the office. Next, he knew and could copy your handwriting. Third, he was +able to intercept the delivery of letters, and to prevent your getting +any he wished to stop, because the correspondence was conducted openly +through the post. That seems to be a very important point. Fourth, the +letters were all, apparently, in your handwriting, very skilfully +imitated, instead of being dictated and then signed. Fifth, he must at +least have known of the last forgery, or how did he arrive at the name +of Edmund Gray?' And was it out of devilry and mockery, because that +forgery escaped detection, that he used the name again? Sixth, he must +have had access to the safe where the cheque-book (as well as the +certificates) was kept. Seventh, he must have known the office pretty +well, or how did he find out the names of your brokers? Eighth, the +handwriting appeared to be exactly the same as that of the former +forgery.' + +'It is the same as last time,' said Checkley. 'That forgery was done in +the office, if ever a thing was done here. Same with this--same with +this. Well--time will show. Same with this.' He glared from under his +great eyebrows at the young partner, as if he suspected that the young +gentleman could throw some light upon that mystery if he wished. + +'We have given Time long enough to discover the author of the last +business,' said Mr. Dering; 'but he has not chosen to do so as yet. The +loss of property,' he groaned--'the loss of close on forty thousand +pounds.' + +'I don't believe it is lost,' said George. 'It can't be lost. It is a +bit of a railway--part of a reservoir--a corner of the gas-works--you +can't lose these things--unless, indeed, the difficulty suggested by Mr. +Ellis occurs.' + +Here Mr. Dering pushed back his chair and began again to walk about the +room in restless agitation. He was no longer the grave and serious +lawyer; he became one of his own clients, lamenting, as they had so +often lamented in that room, the greatness of his misfortune. He uttered +the actual commonplaces of men in distress--there is a dreadful sameness +about the Lamentations of Ill Luck. We all know them--the hardness of +the thing: the injustice of it: the impossibility of warding it off: his +own sagacity in taking every precaution: the dreadfulness of being +singled out of a whole generation for exceptional misfortune. Mr. Dering +himself, the grave, calm, reserved old lawyer, who seemed made of +granite, broke down under the blow and became an ordinary human +creature. In the lower walks, they weep. Checkley would have wept. Mr. +Dering became eloquent, wrathful, sarcastic. No retired General who has +ruined himself by gambling in stocks could so bemoan his luck. George +listened, saying nothing. It was an experience. No man so strong but has +his weak point. No man is completely armoured against the arrows of +fate. + +Presently he grew a little more calm, and sat down. 'Forgive me, +George,' he said gently--'forgive this outbreak. There is more in the +business than you know of. I feel as if I know something about it, but +can't bring it out. I am growing so forgetful--I forget whole days--I am +filled with the feeling that I ought to know about it. As for the loss, +what I have said is true. You do not yet feel as I do about Property. +You are too young: you have not got any Property yet. Wait a few +years--then you will be able to agree with me that there is nothing in +the world so hard as to lose your Property--the Property that you have +made--by your own exertions--for yourself.' + +'Now you talk like yourself,' said Checkley. 'That's sense. Nothing so +dreadful as to lose Property. It's enough to kill people, it has killed +many people.' + +'Property means everything. You understand that the more the older you +get.' + +'You do,' echoed Checkley. 'There's nothing in the world worth +considering except Property.' + +'It means--remember--all the virtues--prudence--courage--quick +sight--self-restraint--tenacity--all the fighting qualities. We do well +to honour rich men. I hoped to receive honour myself as a rich man. When +you have put together a few thousands--by the exercise of these finer +qualities, so that the thought of this gives you dignity----' + +'Ah!' cried Checkley, straightening himself. + +'To feel that they are gone--gone--gone--it is cruel.--George, you don't +understand it. You are young: as yet you have no money.--Checkley, you +have saved----' + +'Me? Oh! A trifle, a trifle.' But he covered his mouth with his hand to +conceal the smile of satisfaction. + +'You are reputed rich.' + +'No--no--no. Not rich. My chances have been few. I have not let them go. +But rich? No--no.' + +'How would you regard the loss--the robbery of your property--Checkley?' + +The old clerk shook his head. He had no words adequate to the question. + +'Apart from the loss,' Mr. Dering went on, 'there is the sense of +insecurity. I felt it once before when the other forgery took place. +There seems no safety anywhere. Papers that I keep in my private safe, +to which no one has a key but myself, which I never leave open if I +leave the room even to go into another room, are taken. Cheque-books +which I keep there are taken out and cheques stolen. Finally, things are +put in--the bundle of notes--for instance. I say that I feel a sense of +helplessness, as if everything might be taken from me and I should be +powerless to resist.' + +'Let us first get back the certificates,' said George, 'and we will find +out and defeat this gang, if it is a gang, of confederates. Yes--it is +as you say--the ground itself seems sinking beneath one's feet--when +one's own investments are sold for nothing by a letter so like your own +writing that it would deceive anybody.' + +'Done in the office,' Checkley murmured--'in the office. Same as last +time. Well--we shall find him--we shall find him.' He began to bundle +the papers back into the safe, murmuring: 'Same as last time--done in +the office--we shall find him--we shall find him. We found him before, +and we'll find him now.' + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE FIRST FIND + + +'Yes,' said George thoughtfully, 'a day or two ought to unravel this +matter. We must first, however, before going to the Police, find out as +much as we can ourselves. Let me take up the case by myself for a bit.' + +'No--no,' Checkley grumbled. 'Police first. Catch the man first.' + +'Put aside everything,' said the Chief, 'everything, George. Forget +everything until you have found out the mystery of the conspiracy.' + +'It looks to me like a Long Firm,' George went on--'a Long Firm with a +sham name and a respectable address. Of course there is no such person, +really, as Edmund Gray.' + +'It is not only the loss--perhaps, let us hope'--Mr. Dering +sighed--'only a temporary loss; if a real loss, then a most terrible +blow--not only that, but it is the sense of insecurity. No one ever +found out about that cheque--and here are the notes in the safe all the +time.' + +'He put 'em in,' said Checkley. + +'This is the second time--and the same name still--Edmund Gray. It fills +me with uneasiness--I am terrified, George. I know not what may be the +next blow--what may be taken from me--my mortgages--my houses--my +land--everything. Go. I can do the work of the office--all the work--by +myself. But this work I cannot do. I am not able to think about it. +These thoughts overpower me and cloud my reason.' + +'Well,' said George, 'I will do what I can. I don't suppose there is any +Edmund Gray at all: but one must try to find out. There can be no harm +in paying a visit to Gray's Inn. If the thing had been done yesterday, +it would be necessary to strike at once with a warrant for the arrest of +the said Edmund Gray. As it is four months since the last robbery, there +can be small harm in the delay of a day or two. I will go and inquire a +little.' + +Nothing easier than to inquire. There was the man's address: everybody +knows Gray's Inn: everybody knows South Square. The place is only ten +minutes' walk from Lincoln's Inn. George took his hat, walked over and +proceeded straight to No. 22, expecting to find no such name on the +door-posts. On the contrary, there it was. '2nd Floor, Mr. Edmund Gray,' +among the other occupants of the staircase. He mounted the stairs. On +the second floor right was the name over the door, 'Mr. Edmund Gray.' +But the outer door was closed. That is a sign that the tenant of the +Chambers is either not at home or not visible. On the first floor were +the offices of a Firm of Solicitors. He sent in his card. The name of +Dering and Son commands the respectful attention of every solicitor in +London. One of the partners received him. The firm of Dering and Son was +anxious to see Mr. Edmund Gray, who had the Chambers overhead. At what +hours was Mr. Edmund Gray generally in his rooms? Nobody knew, not +either of the partners, not any of the clerks. He might have been met +going up and down the stairs, but nobody knew him by sight or anything +about him. This at first sight seemed suspicious; afterwards George +reflected that men may live for years on the same staircase and never +know anything about each other. Men who live in Gray's Inn do not visit +each other: there is little neighbourly spirit among men in Chambers, +but rather an unspoken distrust. + +'But,' said the partner, 'I can tell you who is his landlord. He does +not take the rooms of the Inn direct, but as we do, from one who has +several sets on a long lease, and sublets the rooms. They may know +something about the man at the Steward's office across the Square. If +not, the landlord will certainly know.' + +George asked if Edmund Gray was newly arrived. No. It appeared that he +had been in the Inn for a long time. 'But then,' his informant added, +'he may have been here a hundred years for all we know: we never think +of our neighbours in Chambers. Opposite is a man whose name has been +over the door as long as I can remember anything. I don't know who he is +or what is his business. I don't even know him by sight. So with Mr. +Edmund Gray. If I were to meet him on the stairs, I should not be any +the wiser. You see, I am only here in the daytime. Now, the other man on +the second floor I do know something about, because he is a coach and +was a Fellow of my College. And the man in the garrets I hear about +occasionally, because he is an old barrister who sometimes defends a +prisoner.' + +At the Steward's office George put the same question. 'I am a +solicitor,' he said. 'Here is my card. I am most anxious to see Mr. +Edmund Gray, of No. 22. Could you save me time by letting me know at +what hour he is in his Chambers?' + +They could tell him nothing. Mr. Gray was not a tenant of the Inn. Very +likely he was a residential tenant who came home in the evenings after +business. + +Everything learned is a step gained. Whether Edmund Gray was a man or a +Long Firm, the name had been on the door for many years. But--many +years?--could a confederacy of swindlers go on for many years, +especially if they undertook such mighty schemes for plunder as this +business? + +Next he went to the address of the landlord. He was a house agent in +Bloomsbury, and apparently a person of respectability. + +'If you could tell me,' George began with the same question, 'at what +hours I could find your tenant in his Chambers; or if you could give me +his business address, we should be very greatly obliged. We want to find +him at once--to-day, if possible, on very important business.' + +'Well, I am sorry, very sorry--but--in fact, I don't know anything about +my tenant's hours, nor can I give you his place of business. I believe +he has no business.' + +'Oh! But you took him as a tenant. You must have had some references.' + +'Certainly. And upon that I can satisfy you very shortly.' He opened a +great book and turned over the pages. 'Here it is--to No. 22, South +Square, Gray's Inn, Second floor, north side--Edmund Gray, gentleman. +Rent 40_l_. a year. Date of taking the rooms, February, 1882, at the +half-quarter. Reference, Messrs. Dering and Son, Solicitors, New Square, +Lincoln's Inn.' + +'Why--you mean that he referred to us--to Messrs. Dering and Son--in the +year 1882!' + +'That is so. Would you like to see the letter which we received on +application? Wait a moment.' He rang the bell, and a clerk appeared, to +whom he gave instructions. 'I am bound to say,' the landlord went on, +'that a more satisfactory tenant than Mr. Gray does not exist. He pays +his rent regularly by Post-office order every quarter, on the day before +quarter day.' + +'Oh! I wonder----' But he stopped, because to begin wondering is always +futile, especially at so early a stage. When there are already +accumulated facts to go upon, and not till then, wondering becomes the +putting together of the puzzle. + +'Well, here is the letter. "Gentlemen"'--the house agent read the letter +received on application to the reference-'"In reply to your letter of +the 13th, we beg to inform you that Mr. Edmund Gray is a client of ours, +a gentleman of independent means, and that he is quite able to pay any +reasonable rent for residence or Chambers.--Your obedient servants, +DERING AND SON."--I suppose,' he added, 'that a man doesn't want a +better reference than your own?' + +'No; certainly not.' George looked at the letter. It presented as to +handwriting exactly the same points of likeness and of difference as all +the other letters in this strange case: the body of the letter +apparently written in the hand of Mr. Dering; that is, so as to deceive +everybody: the signature, with one or two small omissions. 'Certainly +not,' he repeated. 'With such a reference, of course, you did not +hesitate. Did you ever see Mr. Gray?' + +'Certainly. I have seen him often. First when he was getting his rooms +furnished, and afterwards on various occasions.' + +'What kind of a man is he to look at?' + +'Elderly. Not exactly the kind of man you'd expect to have Chambers. +Mostly, they're young ones who like the freedom. An elderly gentleman: +pleasant in his manners: smiling and affable: gray-haired.' + +'Oh!' Then there was a real Edmund Gray of ten years' standing in the +Inn, who lived or had Chambers at the number stated in the forged +letters. + +'I suppose,' said the house agent, 'that my respectable tenant has not +done anything bad?' + +'N-no--not to my knowledge. His name occurs in rather a disagreeable +case. Would you be so very kind as to let him know, in case you should +meet him--but of course we shall write to him--that we are most anxious +to see him?' + +This the landlord readily promised. 'There is another person,' he said, +'who can tell you a great deal more than anybody else. That is his +laundress. I don't know who looks after him, but you can find out at +the Inn. The policeman will know. Go and ask him.' + +In the game of battledore and shuttlecock, the latter has no chance +except to take the thing coolly, without temper. George was the +shuttlecock. He was hit back into Gray's Inn--this time into the arms of +the policeman. + +'Well, sir,' said the guardian of the peace, 'I do not know anything +about the gentleman myself. If he was one of the noisy ones, I should +know him. But he isn't, and therefore I have never heard of him. But if +he lives at No. 22, I can tell you who does his rooms; and it's old Mrs. +Cripps, and she lives in Leather Lane.' + +This street, which is now, comparatively speaking, purged and cleansed, +is not yet quite the ideal spot for one who would have pure air and +cleanliness combined with godliness of conversation. However, individual +liberty is nowhere more absolutely free and uncontrolled than in Leather +Lane. + +Mrs. Cripps lived on the top floor, nearest to Heaven, of which she +ought to be thinking because she was now old and near her end. She was +so old that she was quite past her work, and only kept on Mr. Gray's +rooms because he never slept there, and they gave her no trouble except +to go to them in the morning with a duster and to drop asleep for an +hour or so. What her one gentleman gave her, moreover, was all she had +to live upon. + +Though the morning was warm, she was sitting over the fire watching a +small pan, in which she was stewing a savoury mess, consisting of a +'block ornament' with onions, carrots, and turnips. Perhaps she was +thinking--the poor old soul--of the days gone by--gone by for fifty +years--when she was young and wore a feather in her hat. Old ladies of +her class do not think much about vanished beauty, but they think a good +deal about vanished feathers and vanished hats: they remember the old +free carriage in the streets with the young friends, and the careless +laugh, and the ready jest. It is the ancient gentlewoman who remembers +the vanished beauty, and thinks of what she was fifty years ago. + +Mrs. Cripps heard a step on the narrow stair leading to her room--a +manly step. It mounted higher and more slowly, because the stairs were +dark as well as narrow. Then the visitor's hat knocked against the door. +He opened it, and stood there looking in. A gentleman! Not a District +Visitor or a Sister trying to persuade her to early Church--nor yet the +clergyman--a young gentleman. + +'You are Mrs. Cripps?' he asked. 'The policeman at Gray's Inn directed +me here. You are laundress, I believe, to Mr. Edmund Gray of No. 22?' + +'Suppose I am, sir,' she replied suspiciously. A laundress is like the +Hall Porter of a Club: you must not ask her about any of her gentlemen. + +'I have called to see Mr. Edmund Gray on very important business. I +found his door shut. Will you kindly tell me at what hours he is +generally in his Chambers?' + +She shook her head: but she held out her hand. + +The young gentleman placed half a sovereign in her palm. Her fingers +closed over the coin. She clutched it, and she hid it away in some +secret fold of her ragged dress. There is no woman so ragged, so +dropping to pieces with shreds and streamers and tatters, but she can +find a safe hiding-place, somewhere in her rags, for a coin or for +anything else that is small or precious. + +'I never tell tales about my gentlemen,' she said, 'especially when they +are young and handsome, like you. A pore laundress has eyes and ears and +hands, but she hasn't got a tongue. If she had, there might be terrible, +terrible trouble. Oh! dear--yes. But Mr. Gray isn't a young gentleman. +He's old, and it isn't the same thing.' + +'Then,' said George, 'how and when can I find him?' + +'I was coming to that. You can't find him. Sometimes he comes, and +sometimes he doesn't come.' + +'Oh! He doesn't live in the rooms, then!' + +'No. He doesn't live in the rooms. He uses the rooms sometimes.' + +'What does he use them for?' + +'How should I know? All the gentlemen do things with pens and paper. How +should I know what they do? They make their money with their pens and +paper. I dun know how they do it. I suppose Mr. Gray is making his money +like the rest of them.' + +Oh! he goes to the Chambers and writes?' + +'Sometimes it's weeks and weeks and months and months before he comes at +all. But always my money regular and beforehand sent in an envelope and +a postal order.' + +'Well, what is his private address? I suppose he lives in the country?' + +'I don't know where he lives. I know nothing about him. I go there every +morning, and I do the room. That's all I know.' + +There was no more information to be obtained. Sometimes he came to the +Inn; sometimes he stayed away for weeks and weeks, and for months and +months. + +'I might ha' told you more, young gentleman,' murmured the old woman, +'and I might ha' told you less. P'raps you'll come again.' + +He went back to Lincoln's Inn, and set down his facts. + +First, there was a forgery in the year 1882, in which the name of Edmund +Gray was used. Next, in the series of forgeries just discovered, not +only was the name of Edmund Gray used throughout, but the handwriting of +the letters and cheques was exactly the same as that of the first +cheque, with the same peculiarities in the signature. This could hardly +be a coincidence. The same man must have written the whole. + +Then, who was Edmund Gray? + +He was a real personage--a living man--not a Firm--one known to the +landlord of the Chambers, and to the laundress, if to nobody else. He +did not live in the Chambers, but he used them for some business +purposes; he sometimes called there and wrote. What did he write? Where +was he, and what was he doing, when he was not at the Chambers? He might +be one--leader or follower--of some secret gang. One has read of such +gangs, especially in French novels, where the leaders are noble Dukes of +the first rank, and Princesses--young, lovely, of the highest fashion. +Why should there not be such a gang in London? Clever conspirators could +go a very long way before they were even suspected. In this civilisation +of cheques and registered shares and official transfers, property is so +much defended that it is difficult to break through the armour. But +there must be weak places in that armour. It must be possible for the +wit of man to devise some plan by means of which property can be +attacked successfully. Had he struck such a conspiracy? + +Thus. A man calling himself Edmund Gray gets a lease of Chambers by +means of a forged letter in answer to a reference. It is convenient for +certain conspirators, hereinafter called the company, to have an +address, though it may never be used. The conspiracy begins by forging +a cheque to his order for 720_l_. That was at the outset, when the +conspirators were young. It was found dangerous, and the notes were +therefore replaced in the safe. Note, that the company, through one or +other of its members, has access to that safe. This might perhaps be by +means of a key--in the evening, after office hours: or by some one who +was about the place all day. + +Very good. The continued connection of some member of the Firm with +Dering and Son is proved by the subsequent proceedings. After eight +years, the company having matured their machinery, and perhaps worked +out with success other enterprises, return to their first quarry, where +they have the advantage of access to the letters, and can look over +their disposition. They are thus enabled to conduct their successive +_coups_, each bigger than the one before. And for four months the thing +remains undiscovered. Having the certificates in their hands, what was +to prevent them from selling the whole and dividing the proceeds? +Nothing. Yet, in such a case they would disappear, and here was Edmund +Gray still fearlessly at large. Why had he not got clear away long +before? + +Again--all the correspondence concerning Edmund Gray was carried on +between the office and the brokers. There were no letters from Edmund +Gray at all. Suppose it should be found impossible to connect Edmund +Gray with the transactions carried on in his name. Suppose the real +Edmund Gray were to deny any knowledge at all of the transactions. +Suppose he were to say that ten years before he had brought a letter of +introduction to Mr. Dering, and knew nothing more about him. Well--but +the certificates themselves--what about them? Their possession would +have to be accounted for. So he turned the matter over and over and +arrived at nothing, not even the next step to take. + +He went back to the Chief and reported what he had discovered: the +existence of an Edmund Gray--the letter of recommendation to the +landlord. 'Another forgery,' groaned Mr. Dering. + +'It is done in the office,' said George. 'It is all done in the +office--letters--cheques--everything.' + +'The office,' Checkley repeated. 'No doubt about it.' + +'Give up everything else, George,' said Mr. Dering eagerly 'everything +else. Find out--find out. Employ detectives. Spend money as much as you +please. I am on a volcano--I know not what may be taken from me next. +Only find out, my partner, my dear partner--find out.' + +When George was gone, Checkley went after him and opened the door +mysteriously, to assure himself that no one was listening. + +'What are you going on like that for, Checkley?' asked his master +irritably. 'Is it another forgery? It rains forgeries.' + +'No--no. Look here. Don't trouble too much about it. Don't try to think +how it was done. Don't talk about the other man. Look here. You've sent +that young gentleman to find out this business. Well--mark my words: he +won't. He won't, I say. He'll make a splash, but he won't find anything. +Who found out the last job?' + +'You said you did. But nothing was proved.' + +'I found that out. Plenty of proof there was. Look here'--his small eyes +twinkled under his shaggy eyebrows--'I'll find out this job as well, see +if I don't. Why----' He rubbed his hands. 'Ho! ho! I _have found out_. +Don't ask me--don't put a single question. But--I've got 'em--oh! I've +got 'em. I've got 'em for you--as they say--on toast.' + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THINGS MORE REMARKABLE + + +After such a prodigious event as the discovery of these unparalleled +forgeries, anything might happen without being regarded. People's minds +are open at such times to see, hear, and accept everything. After the +earthquake, ghosts walk, solid things fly away of their own accord, good +men commit murder, rich men go empty away, and nobody is in the least +surprised. + +See what happened, the very next day, at the office in New Square. When +George arrived in the morning he found that the senior Partner had not +yet appeared. He was late. For the first time for fifty years and more, +he was late. He went to his place, and the empty chair gave an air of +bereavement to the room. Checkley was laying out the table; that is, he +had done so a quarter of an hour before, but he could not leave off +doing it: he was loth to leave the table before the master came: he took +up the blotting pad and laid it down again: he arranged the pens: he +lingered over the job. + +'Not come yet?' George cried, astonished. 'Do you think that yesterday's +shock has been too much for him?' + +'I believe it's killed him,' said the old clerk--'killed him. That's +what it has done;' and he went on muttering and mumbling. 'Don't,'he +cried, when George took up the letters. 'P'r'aps he isn't dead yet--you +haven't stepped into his shoes just yet. Let them letters alone.' + +'Not dead yet. I hope not.' George began to open the letters, regardless +of the surly and disrespectful words. One may forgive a good deal to +fidelity. 'He will go on for a good many years after we have got the +money back for him.' + +'After some of us'--Checkley corrected him--'have got his money back for +him.' He turned to go back to his own office, then turned again and came +back to the table. He laid both hands upon it, leaned forward, shaking +his head, and said with trembling voice: 'Did you never think, Mr. +Austin, of the black ingratitood of the thing? Him that done it you +know--him that eat his bread and took his money.' When Checkley was +greatly moved, his grammar went back to the early days before he was +confidential clerk. + +'I daresay it was ungrateful. I have been thinking, hitherto, of +stronger adjectives.' + +'Well--we've agreed--all of us--haven't we?--that it was done in this +office--some one in the office done it with the help of some one out: +some one who knows his ways'--he pointed to the empty chair--'some one +who'd known all his ways for a long time, ten years at least.' + +'Things certainly seem to point that way'--'and they point to you,' he +would have added, but refrained. + +The old man shook his head again and went on. 'They've eaten his bread +and done his work; and--and--don't you call it, Mr. Austin--I ask you +plain--don't you call it black ingratitood?' + +'I am sure it is. I have no doubt whatever about the ingratitude. But, +you see, Checkley, that vice is not one which the Courts recognise. It +is not one denounced in the Decalogue.--There is a good deal to +consider, in fact, before we get to the ingratitude. It is probably a +criminal conspiracy; it is a felony; it is a thing to be punished by a +long term of penal servitude. When we have worried through all this and +got our conspirators under lock and key, we will proceed to consider +their ingratitude. There is also the bad form of it and the absence of +proper feeling of it; and the want of consideration of the trouble they +give. Patience! We shall have to consider the business from your point +of view presently.' + +'I wouldn't scoff and snigger at it, Mr. Austin, if I were you. Scoffin' +and sniggerin' might bring bad luck. Because, you know, there's others +besides yourself determined to bring this thing to a right issue.' + +George put down his papers and looked at this importunate person. What +did he mean? The old man shrunk and shrivelled and grew small. He +trembled all over. But he remained standing with his hands on the +table--leaning forward. 'Eight years ago,' he went on, 'when that other +business happened--when Mr. Arundel cut his lucky----' + +'I will have nothing said against Mr. Arundel. Go to your own room.' + +'One word--I will speak it. If _he's_ dead I shall not stay long here. +But I shall stay so long as he's alive, though you are his partner. Only +one word, sir. If Mr. Arundel hadn't--run away--he'd 'a been a partner +instead of you.' + +'Well?' + +'Well, sir--s'pose he'd been found out _after_ he was made a partner, +instead of before?' + +George pointed to the door. The old man seemed off his head--was it with +terror? Checkley obeyed. But at the door he turned his head and grinned. +Quite a theatrical grin. It expressed malignity and the pleasure of +anticipation. What was the matter with the old man? Surely, terror. Who, +in the office, except himself, had the control of the letters? Who drew +that quarterly cheque? Surely, terror. + +It was not until half-past eleven that Mr. Dering arrived at the office. +He usually passed through the clerk's office outside his own; this +morning he entered by his own private door, which opened on the stairs. +No one had the key except himself. He generally proceeded in an orderly +and methodical manner to hang up his hat and coat, take off his gloves, +place his umbrella in the stand, throw open the safe, sit down in his +chair, adjusted at a certain distance of three inches or so, to put on +his glasses, and then, without either haste or dawdling, to begin the +work of the day. It is very certain that to approach work always in +exactly the same way saves the nerves. The unmethodical workman gets to +his office at a varying hour, travels by different routes--now on an +omnibus, now on foot; does nothing to-day in the same way that he did it +yesterday. He breaks up early. At sixty he talks of retiring, at seventy +he is past his work. + +This morning, Mr. Dering did nothing in its proper order. First, he was +nearly two hours late. Next, he came in by his private door. George rose +to greet him, but stopped because--a most wonderful thing--his Partner +made as if he did not observe his presence. His eyes went through George +in creepy and ghostly fashion. The junior partner stood still, silent, +in bewilderment. Saw one ever the like, that a man should at noontide +walk in his sleep! His appearance, too, was strange; his hat, pushed a +little back, gave a touch of recklessness--actually recklessness--to the +austere old lawyer: his eyes glowed pleasantly; and on his face--that +grave and sober face--there was a pleased and satisfied smile: he looked +happy, interested, benevolent, but not--no--not Mr. Edward Dering. +Again, his coat, always tightly buttoned, was now hanging loose; +outside, it had been swinging in the breeze, to the wonder of Lincoln's +Inn: and he wore no gloves, a thing most remarkable. He looked about the +room, nodded his head, and shut the door behind him. + +'He's somnambulating,' George murmured, 'or else I am invisible: I must +have eaten fern-seed without knowing it.' + +Mr. Dering, still smiling pleasantly, walked across the room to the safe +and unlocked it. He had in his hand a brown-paper parcel tied with red +tape--this he deposited in the safe, locked it up, and dropped the keys +in his pocket. The window beside the safe was open. He sat down, looking +out into the Square. + +At this moment Checkley opened the door softly, after his wont, to bring +in more letters. He stopped short, seeing his master thus seated, head +in hand, at the window. He recognised the symptoms of yesterday--the +rapt look, the open eyes that saw nothing. He crept on tiptoe across the +room. 'Hush!' he whispered. 'Don't move. Don't speak. He went like this +yesterday. Don't make the least noise. He'll come round presently.' + +'What is it?' + +'Kind of fit, it is. Trouble done it. Yah! Ingratitood.' He would have +hissed the word, but it has no sibilant. You can't hiss without the +materials. 'Yesterday's trouble. That's what's done it.' + +They stood watching in silence for about ten minutes. The office was +like the Court of the sleeping Princess. Then Checkley sneezed. Mr. +Dering probably mistook the sneeze for a kiss, for he closed his eyes +for a moment, opened them again, and arose once more himself, grave and +austere. + +He nodded cheerfully, took off his hat, hung it on its peg, buttoned his +coat, and threw open the safe. Evidently he remembered nothing of what +had just passed. + +'You are early, George,' he said. 'You are before me, which is unusual. +However--the early bird--we know.' + +'Before you for once. Are you quite well this morning? None the worse +for yesterday's trouble?' + +'He's always well,' said Checkley, with cheerfulness assumed. 'Nobody +ever sees him ill--_he_ get ill? Not him. Eats as hearty as +five-and-twenty and walks as upright.' + +'I am perfectly well, to the best of my knowledge. Yesterday's business +upset me for the time--but it did not keep me awake. Yet it is certainly +a very great trouble. You have no news, I suppose, that brought you here +earlier than usual?' + +'Nothing new since yesterday.' + +'And you feel pretty confident?' + +'I feel like a sleuth-hound. I understand the pleasures of the chase. I +long to be on the scent again. As for Edmund Gray, he is as good as in +prison already.' + +'Good. I was for the moment shaken out of myself. I was bewildered. I +was unable to look at the facts of the case calmly. For the first time +in my life I wanted advice. Well: I now understand what a great thing it +is that our profession exists for the assistance of men in trouble. How +would the world get along at all without solicitors?' + +He took his usual place at the table and turned over his letters. 'This +morning,' he went on, 'I feel more assured: my mind is clear again. I +can talk about the case. Now then. Let us see--Edmund Gray is no shadow +but a man. He has made me recommend him to his landlord. He is a clever +man and a bold man. Don't be in a hurry about putting your hands upon +him. Complete your case before you strike. But make no delay.' + +'There shall be none. And you shall hear everything from day to day, or +from hour to hour.' + +Left alone, Mr. Dering returned to his papers and his work. + +At half-past one, Checkley looked in. 'Not going to take lunch this +morning?' + +'Lunch? I have only just----' Mr. Dering looked at his watch. 'Bless me! +Most extraordinary! This morning has slipped away. I thought I had only +just sat down. It seems not more than half an hour since Mr. Austin left +me. Why, I should have forgotten all about it and let the time go +by--nothing worse for a man of my years than irregular feeding.' + +'It's lucky you've got me,' said his clerk. 'Half-a-dozen partners +wouldn't look after your meal-times.--Ah!' as his master went up-stairs +to the room where he always had his luncheon laid out, 'he's clean +forgotten. Some of these days, walking about wropped up in his thoughts, +he'll be run over.--Clean forgotten it, he has. Sits down in a dream: +walks about in a dream: some of these days he'll do something in a +dream. Then there will be trouble.' He closed the door and returned to +his own desk, where he was alone, the juniors having gone out to dinner. +His own dinner was in his coat pocket. It consisted of a saveloy cut in +thin slices and laid in bread with butter and mustard--a tasty meal. He +slowly devoured the whole to the last crumb. Then, Mr. Dering having by +this time finished his lunch and descended again, Checkley went +up-stairs and finished the pint of claret of which his master had taken +one glass. 'It's sour stuff,' he said. 'It don't behave as wine in a +man's inside ought to behave. It don't make him a bit joyfuller. But +it's pleasant too. Why they can't drink Port wine--which is real +wine--when they can afford it, I don't know.' + +It was past three in the afternoon when George returned, not quite so +confident in his bearing, yet full of news. + +'If you are quite ready to listen,' he said, 'I've got a good deal to +tell. First of all, I thought I would have another shot at Gray's Inn. I +went to the Chambers. The outer door was open, which looked as if the +man was at home. I knocked at the inner door, which was opened by the +laundress, the old woman whom I saw yesterday. "Well, sir," she said, +"you are unlucky. The master has been here this very morning. And he +hasn't been long gone. You've only missed him by half an hour or so." I +asked her if he would return that day; but she knew nothing. Then I +asked her if she would let me write and leave a note for him. To this +she consented, rather unwillingly. I went in therefore, and wrote my +note at Mr. Gray's table. I asked him to call here on important +business, and I marked the note "Urgent." I think there can be no harm +in that. Then I looked about the room. It is one of those old wainscoted +rooms, furnished simply, but everything solid and good--a long table, +nearly as large as this one of yours: solid chairs--a solid sofa. Three +or four pictures on the wall, and a bookcase full of books. No signs of +occupation: no letters: no flowers. Everything covered with dust, +although the old woman was there. I could have wished to examine the +papers on the table, but the presence of the old woman forbade that +dishonourable act. I did, however, look at the books. And I made a most +curious discovery. Mr. Edmund Gray is a Socialist. All his books are on +Socialism: they are in French, German, and English: all books of +Socialism. And the pictures on the wall are portraits of distinguished +Socialists. Isn't that wonderful? Did one ever hear before of Socialism +and forgery going together?' + +'Not too fast. We haven't yet connected Edmund Gray with the forgery. At +present, we only know that his name was used.' + +'Wait a bit. I am coming to that. After leaving the Chambers, I went +into the City and saw Mr. Ellis. First of all, none of the stock has +been sold.' + +'Oh! they have had three months, and they have not disposed of it? They +must have met with unforeseen difficulties. Let me see.' + +Mr. Dering was now thoroughly alert. The weakness of the morning had +completely passed away. 'What difficulties? Upon my word, I cannot +understand that there could have been any. They have got the papers from +a respectable solicitor through a respectable broker. No--no. Their +course was perfectly plain. But rogues often break down through their +inability to see the strength of their own case.' + +'Next, Mr. Ellis has ascertained that some of the dividends are received +by your Bank. I therefore called on the manager. Now, be prepared for +another surprise.' + +'Another forgery?' + +'Yes--another forgery. It is nine or ten years since you sent a letter +to the manager--I saw it--introducing your client Edmund Gray, +gentleman, who was desirous of opening a private account. He paid in a +small sum of money, which has been lying to his credit ever since, and +has not been touched. In February last he received another letter from +you; and again in March and April, forwarding certificates, and +requesting him to receive the dividends. With your own hand you placed +the papers in the Bank. I saw the letters. I would swear to your +handwriting.' + +'These people are as clever as they are audacious.' + +'At every point a letter from you--a letter which the ablest expert +would tell was your handwriting. Your name covers and vouches for +everything.' + +'Did you tell the manager what has happened?' + +'Certainly; I told him everything. And this is in substance the line he +takes. "Your Partner," he says, "alleges that those papers have been +procured by forgery. He says that the letter of introduction is a +forgery. Very good. It may be so. But I have opened this account for a +customer who brought me an introduction from the best solicitor in +London, whose handwriting I know well, and recognise in the letter. Such +an allegation would not be enough in itself for me to take action: until +a civil or criminal action is brought--until it is concluded--I could +not refuse to treat the customer like all the rest. At the same time I +will take what steps I can to inquire into my customer's antecedents."' + +'Quite right,' said Mr. Dering. + +'I asked him next, what he would do if the customer sent for the papers. +He said that if an action were brought, he would probably be served with +a _sub poena duces tecum_, making him keep and produce these papers as +forming part of the documents in the case.' + +'Certainly, certainly; the manager knows his law.' + +'"And," he went on, "as regards cheques, I shall pay them or receive +them until restrained."' + +'In other words, he said what we expected. For our own action now.' + +'We might apply to a judge in Chambers for an attachment or a garnishee +order. That must be _pendente lite_, an interlocutory proceeding, in the +action. As yet, we have not brought an action at all. My partner'--Mr. +Dering rubbed his hands cheerfully--'I think we have done very well so +far. These are clumsy scoundrels, after all. They thought to divert +suspicion by using my name. They thought to cover themselves with my +name. But they should have sold and realised without the least delay. +Very good. We have now got our hands upon the papers. It would have +complicated matters horribly had the stock been sold and transferred. So +far we are safe. Because, you see, after what they have heard, the Bank +would certainly not give them up without letting us know. They would +warn us: they would put the man off: they would ask him awkward +questions about himself. Oh! I think we are safe--quite safe.' + +Mr. Dering drew a long breath. 'I was thinking last night,' he +continued, 'of the trouble we might have if those certificates had +changed hands. They might have been bought and sold a dozen times in +four months: they might have been sold in separate small lots, and an +order of the Court necessary for every transaction. We have now nothing +but the simple question before us: how did the man Edmund Gray get +possession of this property?' + +He sat in silence for a few minutes. Then he went on quietly. 'To lose +this money would be a heavy blow for me--not all my fortune, nor a +quarter, but a large sum. I have plenty left. I have no hungry and +expectant heirs: my people are all wealthy. But yet a very heavy loss. +And then--to be robbed. I have always wondered why we left off hanging +robbers. They ought to be hanged, every one. He who invades the sacred +right of property should be killed--killed without hope of mercy.' He +spoke with the earnestness of sincerity. 'To lose this property would +not be ruin to me; yet it would be terrible. It would take so many years +out of my past life. Every year means so much money saved. Forty +thousand pounds means ten years of my past--not taken away so that I +should be ten years younger, but, ten years of work annihilated. Could I +forgive the man who would so injure me? Never.' + +'I understand,' said George. 'Fortunately, we shall get the papers +back. The fact of their possession must connect the possessor with +the fraud. Who is he? Can he be warned already? Yet who should tell +him? Who knows that we have discovered the business? You--your friend +Mr. Ellis--the manager of the Bank--no one else. Yes--there is also +Checkley--Checkley,' he repeated. He could not--yet--express his +suspicions as to the old and faithful servant. 'Checkley also knows.' + +At this point Checkley himself opened the door and brought in a +card--that of the Bank manager. + +'I have called,' said the visitor hurriedly, 'to tell you of something +important, that happened this morning. I did not know it when we were +talking over this business, Mr. Austin. It happened at ten o'clock, as +soon as the doors were open. A letter was brought by hand from Mr. +Dering----' + +'Another forgery! When will they stop?' + +'----asking for those certificates to be given to the bearer--Mr. Edmund +Gray's certificates. This was done. They are no longer at the Bank.' + +'Oh! Then they have been warned,' cried George. 'Who was the messenger?' + +'He was a boy. Looked like an office boy.' + +'I will inquire directly if it was one of our boys. Go on.' + +'That settles the difficulty as to our action in case the papers are +wanted by you. We no longer hold them. As to the dividends, we shall +continue to receive them to the account of Mr. Edmund Gray until we get +an order or an injunction.' + +'The difficulty,' said George, 'is to connect the case with Mr. Edmund +Gray bodily. At present, we have nothing but the letters to go upon. +Suppose the real Edmund Gray says that he knows nothing about it. What +are we to do? You remember receiving the dividends for him. Has he drawn +a cheque?' + +'No; we have never paid any cheque at all for him.' + +'Have you seen him?' + +'No; I have never seen him.' + +'It is a most wonderful puzzle. After all, the withdrawal of the papers +can only mean a resolution to sell them. He must instruct somebody. He +must appear in the matter.' + +'He may instruct somebody as he instructed me--in the name of Mr. +Dering.' + +'Another forgery.' + +'Yes,' said George. 'We must watch and find out this mysterious Edmund +Gray. After all, it will not help us to say that a forged letter gave +certain instructions to do certain things for a certain person--say the +Queen--unless you can establish the complicity of that person. And +that--so far--we certainly have not done. Meantime--what next?' + +Obviously, the next thing was to find out if any of the office boys had +taken that letter to the Bank. No one had been sent on that errand. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +CHECKLEY'S CASE + + +That evening Mr. Checkley was not in his customary place at the +_Salutation_, where his presence was greatly desired. He arrived late, +when it wanted only a quarter to eleven. The faded barrister was left +alone in the room, lingering over the day's paper with his empty glass +beside him. Mr. Checkley entered with an air of triumph, and something +like the elastic spring of a victor in his aged step. He called Robert, +and ordered at his own expense, for himself, a costly drink--a compound +of Jamaica rum, hot water, sugar and lemon, although it was an evening +in July and, for the time of year, almost pleasantly warm. Nor did he +stop here, for with the manner of a man who just for once--to mark a +joyful occasion--plunges, he rattled his money in his pocket and ordered +another for the barrister. 'For,' he said, 'this evening I have done a +good work, and I will mark the day.' + +When the glasses were brought, he lifted his and cried: 'Come, let us +drink to the confusion of all Rogues, great and small. Down with 'em!' + +'Your toast, Mr. Checkley,' replied the barrister, 'would make my +profession useless; if there were no rogues, there would be no Law. +That, however, would injure me less than many of my brethren. I drink, +therefore, confusion to Rogues, great and small. Down with 'em.--This is +excellent grog.--Down with 'em!' So saying, he finished his glass and +departed to his garret, where, thanks to the grog, he slept nobly, and +dreamed that he was a Master in Chancery. + +The reason of this unaccustomed mirth was as follows: Checkley by this +time had fully established in his own mind the conclusion that the +prime mover in the deed--the act--the Thing--was none other than the new +partner, the young upstart, whom he hated with a hatred +unextinguishable. He was as certain about him as he had been certain +about Athelstan Arundel, and for much the same reasons. Very well. As +yet he had not dared to speak: King Pharaoh's chief scribe would have +had the same hesitation at proffering any theory concerning Joseph. +To-night, however---- But you shall hear. + +Everybody was out of the office at half-past seven, when he left it. He +walked round the empty rooms, looking into unlocked drawers--one knows +not what he expected to find. He looked into Mr. Austin's room and shook +his fist and grinned at the empty chair. + +'I'll have you yet,' he said. 'Oh, fox! fox! I'll have you, if I wait +for thirty years?' + +It adds an additional pang to old age when one feels that if the end +comes prematurely, when one is only ninety or so, there may be a revenge +unfinished. I have always envied the dying hero who had no enemies to +forgive because he had killed them all. + +When Checkley left the place he walked across the Inn and so into +Chancery Lane, where he crossed over and entered Gray's Inn by the +Holborn archway. He lingered in South Square: he walked all round it +twice: he read the names on the door-posts, keeping all the time an eye +on No. 22. Presently, he was rewarded. A figure which he knew, tall and +well proportioned, head flung back, walked into the Inn and made +straight for No. 22. It was none other than Athelstan Arundel.--The old +man crept into the entrance, where he was partly hidden; he could see +across the Square, himself unseen. Athelstan walked into the house and +up the stairs: the place was quiet: Checkley could hear his steps on the +wooden stairs: he heard him knock at a door--he heard the door open and +the voices of men talking. + +'Ah!' said Checkley, 'now we've got 'em!' + +Well--but this was not all. For presently there came into the Inn young +Austin himself. + +'Oh!' said Checkley, finishing his sentence--'on toast. Here's the +other; here they are--both.' + +In fact, George, too, entered the house known as No. 22 and walked up +the stairs. + +Checkley waited for no more. He ran out of the Inn and he called a cab. + +If he had waited a little longer, he would have seen the new partner +come out of the house and walk away: if he had followed him up the +stairs, he would have seen him knocking at the closed outer door of Mr. +Edmund Gray. If he had knocked at the door opposite, he would have found +Mr. Athelstan Arundel in the room with his own acquaintance, Mr. Freddy +Carstone, the Cambridge scholar and the ornament of their circle at the +_Salutation_. But being in a hurry, he jumped to a conclusion and called +a cab. + +He drove to Palace Gardens, where Sir Samuel had his town-house. Sir +Samuel was still at dinner. He sat down in the hall, meekly waiting. +After a while the Service condescended to ask if he wished a message to +be taken in to Sir Samuel. + +'From his brother's--from Mr. Dering's office, please tell him. From his +brother's office--on most important business--most important--say.' + +Sir Samuel received him kindly, made him sit down, and gave him a glass +of wine. 'Now,' he said, 'tell me what it all means. My brother has had +a robbery--papers and certificates and things--of course they are +stopped. He won't lose anything. But it is a great nuisance, this kind +of thing.' + +'He has already lost four months' dividends--four months, sir, on +thirty-eight thousand pounds. And do you really think that he will get +back his papers?' + +'Certainly--or others. They are, after all, only vouchers. How is my +brother?' + +'Well, Sir Samuel, better than you'd think likely. This morning, to be +sure----' He stopped, being loth to tell how his master had lost +consciousness. 'Well, sir, I've been thinking that the property was +gone, and from what I know of them as had to do with the job, I thought +there was mighty little chance of getting it back. It kept me awake. Oh! +it's an awful sum. Close upon forty thousand pounds. He can stand that +and double that----' + +'And double that again,' said Sir Samuel. 'I should hope so.' + +'Certainly, sir. But it's a blow-- I can feel for him. I'm only a clerk; +but I've saved a bit and put out a bit, Sir Samuel. Cheese-parings, +you'd say; but I've enjoyed saving it up--oh! I've enjoyed it. I don't +think there is any pleasure in life like saving up--watching it +grow--and grow and grow--it grows like a pretty flower, doesn't it?--and +adding to it. Ah!' he sighed, and drank his glass of wine. 'Sir Samuel, +if I was to lose my little savings, it would break my heart. I'm an old +man, and so is he--it would break me up, it would indeed. Ever since +yesterday morning, I've been thinking whether anything could happen to +make me lose my money. There's Death in the thought. Sir Samuel--for an +old man--and a small man--like me--there's Death in the thought.' + +'Don't tell anybody where your investments are, and lock up the papers, +Checkley.--Now, what do you want me to do for you?' + +'I want you to listen to me for half an hour, Sir Samuel, and to give me +your advice, for the business is too much for me.' + +'Go on, then. I am listening.' + +'Very well. Now, sir, I don't know if I shall be able to make my case +clear--but I will try. I haven't been about Mr. Dering for fifty years +for nothing, I hope. The case is this. Nine years ago, a man calling +himself Edmund Gray took Chambers in South Square, Gray's Inn, forty +pounds a year. He is represented as being an elderly man. He has paid +his rent regularly, but he visits his Chambers at irregular intervals. +Eight years ago there was a forgery at your brother's. The cheque was +payable to the order of Edmund Gray; mark that. The money was paid----' + +'I remember. Athelstan Arundel was accused or suspected of the thing.' + +'He was. And he ran away to avoid being arrested. Remember that. And +he's never been heard of since. Well, the series of forgeries by which +the shares and stocks belonging to Mr. Dering have been stolen are all +written in the same handwriting as the first, and are all carried on in +the name and for the order of Edmund Gray. That you would acknowledge in +a moment if you saw the papers: there are the same lines and curves of +the letters----' + +'Which proves, I should say, that Athelstan never did it.' + +'Wait a minute. Don't let's be in a hurry. The forgers by themselves +could do nothing. They wanted some one in the office, some one always +about the place: some one who could get at the safe: some one who could +get from the office what the man outside wanted: some one to intercept +the letters----' + +'Well?' + +'That person, Sir Samuel, I have found.' + +Sir Samuel sat up. 'You have found him?' + +'I have. And here's my difficulty. Because, Sir Samuel, he is your +brother's new partner; and unless we lodge him in the Jug before many +days, he will be your own brother-in-law.' + +Sir Samuel changed colour, and got up to see that the door behind the +screen was shut. 'This is a very serious thing to say, Checkley--a very +serious thing.' + +'Oh! I will make it quite plain. First, as to opportunities; next, as to +motives; third, as to facts. For opportunities, then. Latterly, for the +last six months, he's been working in the Chief's office nearly all day +long. There he sat, at the little table between the windows, just half +turned round to catch the light, with the open safe within easy reach of +his hand when the Chief wasn't looking; or when--because he doesn't +always touch the bell--Mr. Dering would bring papers into my office and +leave him alone--ah! alone--with the safe. That's for opportunities. Now +for motives. He's been engaged for two years, I understand, to a young +lady----' + +'To Lady Dering's sister.' + +'Just so, sir. And I believe, until the unexpected luck of his +partnership, against the wish of Lady Dering's family.' + +'That is true.' + +'He had two hundred a year. And he had nothing else--no prospects and no +chances. So I think you will acknowledge that there's sufficient motive +here for him to try anything.' + +'Well, if poverty is a motive--no doubt he had one.' + +'Poverty was the motive. You couldn't have a stronger motive. There +isn't in the whole world a stronger motive--though, I admit, some young +men who are pore may keep honest. I did. Mr. Austin, I take it, is one +of those that don't keep honest. That's for motive. Now for facts. Mr. +Austin had nothing to do with the forgery eight years ago; he was only +an articled clerk beginning. But he knew young Arundel who did the +thing, remember. That cheque was written by young Arundel, who ran away. +The letters of this year are written by _the same hand_--by your +brother-in-law, Sir Samuel--by Mr. Athelstan Arundel.' + +'But he is gone: he has disappeared: nobody knows where he is.' + +Checkley laughed. This was a moment of triumph. 'He is back again, Sir +Samuel. I have seen him.' + +'Where? Athelstan back again?' + +'I will tell you. All these forgeries use the name of Edmund Gray, of 22 +South Square, Gray's Inn. I have told you that before. When the thing is +discovered, young Austin goes off and makes himself mighty busy tracking +and following up, hunting down, doing detective work, and so on. Oh! who +so busy as he? Found out that Edmund Gray was an old man, if you please; +and this morning again, so cheerful and lively that it does your heart +good--going to settle it all in a day or two. Yah! As if I couldn't see +through his cunning! Why! I'm seventy-five years old. I'm up to every +kind of dodge: what will happen next, unless you cut in? First, we shall +hear that Mr. Edmund Gray has gone abroad, or has vanished, or +something. When he's quite out of the way, we shall find out that he did +the whole thing--him and nobody else. And then if there's no more money +to be made by keeping the papers, they will all come back--from Edmund +Gray, penitent--oh! I know.' + +'But about Athelstan Arundel?' + +'To be sure. I'm an old man, Sir Samuel, and I talk too much. Well, I go +most nights to a parlour in Holborn--the _Salutation_ it is--where the +company is select and the liquor good. There I saw him a week ago. He +was brought in by one of the company. I knew him at once, and he wasn't +in hiding. Used his own name. But he didn't see me. No--no, thinks I. We +won't give this away. I hid my face behind a newspaper. He's been +staying in Camberwell for the last eight years, I believe, all the +time.' + +'In Camberwell? Why in Camberwell?' + +'In bad company--as I was given to understand. In Prodigal Son's +company.' + +'You don't mean this, Checkley? Is it really true?' + +'It is perfectly true, Sir Samuel. I have seen him. He was dressed like +a Prince--velvet jacket and crimson tie and white waistcoat. And he +walked in with just his old insolence--nose up, head back, looking round +as if we were not fit to be in the same room with him--just as he used +to do.' + +'By Jove!' said Sir Samuel, thrusting his hands into his pockets. 'What +will Hilda say--I mean--Lady Dering, say, when she hears it?' + +'There is more to hear, Sir Samuel--not much more. But it drives the +nail home--a nail in their coffin, I hope and trust.' + +'Go on. Let me hear all.' + +'You've caught on, have you, to all I said about Edmund Gray of 22 South +Square--him as was mentioned eight years ago--and about the handwriting +being the same now as then?' + +'Yes.' + +'So that the same hand which forged the cheque then has forged the +letters now?' + +'Quite so.' + +'I said then--and I say now--that young Arundel forged that cheque. I +say now that he is the forger of these letters, and that Austin stood in +with him and was his confidant. What do you think of this? To-night, +after office, I thought I would go and have a look at 22 South Square. +So I walked up and down on the other side: my eyes are pretty good +still: I thought I should perhaps see something presently over the way. +So I did. Who should come into the Square, marching along as if the old +place, Benchers and all, belonged to him, but Mr. Athelstan Arundel! He +pulled up at No. 22--No. 22, mind--Edmund Gray's number--he walked +up-stairs--I heard him--to the second floor--Edmund Gray's floor.' + +'Good Lord!' cried Sir Samuel. 'This is suspicious with a vengeance.' + +'Oh! but I haven't done. I stayed where I was, wondering if he would +come down, and whether I should meet him and ask him what he was doing +with Edmund Gray. And then--I was richly rewarded--oh! rich was the +reward, for who should come into the Square but young Austin himself! +He, too, went up the stairs of No. 22. And there I left them both, and +came away--came to put the case into your hands.' + +'What do you want me to do?' + +'I want you to advise me. What shall I do? There is my case complete--I +don't suppose you want a more complete case--for any Court of Justice.' + +'Well, as for that, I'm not a lawyer. As a City man, if a clerk of mine +was in such a suspicious position as young Austin, I should ask him for +full explanations. You've got no actual proof, you see, that he, or +Athelstan either, did the thing.' + +'I beg your pardon, Sir Samuel. I'm only a clerk, and you're a great +City Knight, but I don't know what better proof you want. Don't I see +young Austin pretending not to know who Edmund Gray is, and then going +up to his Chambers to meet his pal Athelstan Arundel? Ain't that proof? +Don't I tell you that the same hand had been at work in both forgeries? +Isn't that hand young Arundel's?' + +'Checkley, I see that you are greatly interested in this matter----' + +'I would give--ah!--twenty pounds--yes, twenty hard-earned pounds to see +those two young gentlemen in the Dock--where they shall be--where they +shall be,' he repeated. His trembling voice, cracked with old age, +seemed unequally wedded to the malignity of his words and his +expression. + +'One of these young gentlemen,' said Sir Samuel, 'is my brother-in-law. +The other, unless this business prevents, will be my brother-in-law +before many days. You will, therefore, understand that my endeavours +will be to keep them both out of the Dock.' + +'The job will be only half complete without; but still--to see young +Austin drove out of the place--with disgrace--same as the other one +was--why, that should be something--something to think about +afterwards.' + +Checkley went away. Sir Samuel sat thinking what was best to be done. +Like everybody else, he quite believed in Athelstan's guilt. Granted +that fact, he saw clearly that there was another very black-looking case +against him and against George Austin. What should be done? He would +consult his wife. He did so. + +'What will Elsie say?' she asked. 'Yet, sooner or later, she must be +told. I suppose that will be my task. But she can wait a little. Do you +go to-morrow morning to Mr. Dering and tell him. The sooner he knows the +better.' + + * * * * * + +You now understand why Mr. Checkley was so joyous when he arrived at the +_Salutation_, and why he proposed that toast. + +In the morning Sir Samuel saw his brother and whispered in his ear the +whole of the case, as prepared and drawn up by Checkley. 'What do you +say?' he asked when he had concluded. + +'I say nothing.' Mr. Dering had heard all the points brought out one +after the other without the least emotion. 'There is nothing to be +said.' + +'But, my dear brother, the evidence!' + +'There is no evidence. It is all supposition. If Athelstan committed the +first forgery--there is no evidence to show that he did--if he has been +living all these years a life of profligacy in England--I have evidence +to the contrary in my own possession--if he was tempted by poverty--if +young Austin was also tempted by poverty--if the two together--or either +separately--could undertake, under temptation, risks so terrible--you +see, the whole case is built upon an "if."' + +'Yet it holds together at every point. It is a perfect case. Who else +could do it? Checkley certainly could not. That old man--that old +servant.' + +'I agree with you, Checkley could not do it. Not because he is too +old--age has nothing to do with crime--nor because he is an old servant. +He could not do it because he is not clever enough. This kind of thing +wants grasp and vision. Checkley hasn't got either. He might be a +confederate. He may have stopped the letters. He is miserly--he might be +tempted by money. Yet I do not think it possible.' + +'No--I cannot believe that,' said Sir Samuel. + +'Yet it is quite as difficult to believe such a thing of young Austin. +Oh! I know everything is possible. He belongs to a good family: he has +his own people to think of: he is engaged--he has always led a blameless +life. Yet--yet--everything is possible.' + +'I have known cases in the City where the blameless seeming was only a +pretence and a cloak--most deplorable cases, I assure you--the cloak to +hide a profligate life.' + +'I think if that were so, I should not be deceived. Outward signs in +such cases are not wanting. I know the face of the profligate, open or +concealed. Young Austin presents no sign of anything but a regular and +blameless life. For all these reasons, I say, we ought to believe him +incapable of any dishonourable action. But I have been in practice for +fifty years--fifty years--during this long period I know not how many +cases--what are called family cases--have been in my hands. I have had +in this room the trembling old profligate of seventy, ready to pay any +price rather than let the thing be known to his old wife, who believes +in him, and his daughters, who worship him. I have had the middle-aged +man of standing in the City imploring me to buy back the paper--at any +price--which would stamp him with infamy. I have had the young man on +his knees begging me never to let his father know the forgery, the +theft, the villainy, the seduction--what not. And I have had women of +every age sitting in that chair confessing their wickedness, which they +do for the most part with hard faces and cold eyes, not like the men, +with shame and tears. The men fall being tempted by want of money, which +means loss of pride and self-respect, and position, and comfort. There +ought to have been a clause in the Litany, "From want of money at all +ages and on all occasions, Good Lord, deliver us."' + +'True--most true,' said Sir Samuel. '"From want of money"--I shall say +this next time I go to church--"from want of money at all ages, and +particularly when one is getting on in years, and has a title to keep +up--Good Lord, deliver us." Very good indeed, brother. I shall quote +this in the City. To-morrow, I have to make a speech at the Helmet +Makers' Company. I shall quote this very remarkable saying of yours.' + +Mr. Dering smiled gravely. 'A simple saying, indeed. The greatest +temptation of any is the want of money. Why, there is nothing that the +average man will not do rather than be without money. He is helpless: he +is a slave: he is in contempt: without money.--Austin, you tell me, was +tempted by want of money. I think not. He was poor: he had enough to +keep him: he was frugal: he had simple wants: he had never felt the want +of money. No--I do not think that he was tempted by poverty. Everything +is possible--this is possible.--But, brother, silence. If you speak +about this, you may injure the young man, supposing him to be innocent. +If he is guilty, you will put him on his guard. And, mind, I shall show +no foolish mercy--none--when we find the guilty parties. All the more +reason, therefore, for silence.' + +Sir Samuel promised. But he had parted with the secret--he had given it +into the keeping of a woman. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +WHO IS EDMUND GRAY? + + +Athelstan laughed on the first hearing of the thing--it was on the +Tuesday evening, the day after the discovery, and George was dining with +him. He laughed both loud and long and with some of the old bitterness. +'So the notes were in the safe all along, were they? Who put them there? +"I," says old Checkley, "with my pretty fingers--I put them there."' + +'As soon as this other business is over, the Chief must tell your +mother, Athelstan. It ought to come from him. I shall say nothing to +Elsie just yet. She shall learn that you are home again, and that your +name is clear again, at the same moment.' + +'I confess that I should be pleased to make them all confess that their +suspicions were hasty and unfounded. At the same time I did wrong to go +away; I ought to have stuck to my post. As for this other business, one +thinks with something like satisfaction of the wise old lawyer losing +forty thousand pounds. It made him sit up, did it? For such a man to sit +up indicates the presence of deep emotion. Lost forty thousand pounds! +And he who holds so strongly to the sanctity of Property! Forty thousand +pounds!' + +'Well; but we shall recover the certificates, or get new ones in their +place.' + +'I suppose so. Shares can't be lost or stolen, really--can they? +Meantime, there may be difficulty, and you must try to find the forger. +Has it yet occurred to you that Checkley is the only man who has had +control of the letters and access at all times to the office?' + +'It has.' + +'Checkley is not exactly a fox: he is a jackal: therefore he does +somebody's dirty work for him at a wage. That is the way with the +jackal, you know. Eight years ago he tried to make a little pile by a +little forgery--he did not commit the forgery, I am sure--but he did the +jackal; only he forgot that notes are numbered: so when he remembered +that, he put them back. Now, his friend the forger, who is no doubt a +begging-letter writer, has devised an elaborate scheme for getting hold +of shares--ignorant that they are of no value.' + +'Well, he has drawn the dividends for four months.' + +'That is something, you see; but he hoped to get hold of thirty-eight +thousand pounds. It is the same hand at work, you infer from the +writing. You are quite sure of that?' + +'There can be no doubt of it. How could two different hands present +exactly the same curious singularities?' + +'And all the letters, cheques, and transfers for the same person. What +is his name?' + +'One Edmund Gray, resident at 22 South Square, Gray's Inn.' + +'No. 22? Oh! that is where Freddy Carstone lives. Do you know anything +about the _nomme_ Edmund Gray?' + +'I have been in search of information about him. He is described by the +landlord of the rooms and by his laundress as an elderly gentleman.' + +'Elderly. Checkley is elderly.' + +'Yes, I thought of Checkley, of course. But somehow the indications +don't fit. My informants speak of a gentleman. Nobody at his kindliest +and most benevolent mood could possibly call Checkley a gentleman.' + +'The word gentleman,' said Athelstan, 'is elastic. It stretches with the +employer or the consumer of it. It is like the word truth to a +politician. It varies from man to man. You cannot lay down any +definition of the word gentleman. Do you know nothing more about him?' + +'A little. He has held this set of Chambers for nine years, and he pays +his rent regularly before the day it falls due. Also I called upon him +the other day when his laundress was at work and wrote a note to him at +his table. The room is full of Socialist books and pamphlets. He is +therefore, presumably, a Socialist leader.' + +'I know all their leaders,' said Athelstan the Journalist. + +'I've made the acquaintance of most for business purposes. I've had to +read up the Socialist Literature and to make the acquaintance of their +chiefs. There is no Edmund Gray among them. Stay--there is a Socialist +letter in the _Times_ of to-day--surely---- Waiter'--they were dining at +the club where Athelstan was a temporary member--'let me have the +_Times_ of to-day. Yes, I thought so. Here is a letter from the +Socialist point of view, signed by Edmund Gray--and--and yes--look +here--it is most curious--with the same address--22 South Square--a long +letter, in small print, and put in the supplement; but it's there. See; +signed "Edmund Gray." What do you think of that, for impudence in a +forger?' + +George read the letter through carefully. It was a whole column long; +and it was in advocacy of Socialism pure and simple. One was surprised +that the editor had allowed it to appear. Probably he was influenced by +the tone of it, which was generous, cheerful, and optimistic. There was +not the slightest ring of bitterness about it. 'We who look,' it said, +'for the coming disappearance of Property, not by violence and +revolution, but by a rapid process of decay and wasting away, regard the +present position of the holders of Property with the greatest +satisfaction. Everywhere there are encouraging signs. Money which +formerly obtained five per cent. now yields no more than half that rate. +Shares which were formerly paying ten, twelve, and twenty per cent. are +now falling steadily. Companies started every day in the despairing hope +of the old great gains, fail and are wound up. Land, which the old wars +forced up to an extraordinary value, has now sunk so enormously that +many landlords have lost three-fourths and even more of their income. +All those enterprises which require the employment of many hands--as +docks, railways, printing-houses, manufactories of all kinds--are +rapidly falling into the condition of being able to pay no dividend at +all, because the pay of the men and the maintenance of the plant absorb +all. When that point is reached, the whole capital--the +millions--embarked in these enterprises will be lost for ever. The stock +cannot be sold because it produces nothing: it has vanished. In other +words, sir, what I desire to point out to your readers is that while you +are discussing or denouncing Socialism, the one condition which makes +Socialism possible and necessary is actually coming upon the +world--namely, the destruction of capital. Why have not men in all ages +combined to work for themselves? Because capital has prevented them. +When there is no capital left to employ them, to bully them, to make +laws against their combinations, or to bribe them, they will then have +to work with and for themselves or starve. The thing will be forced upon +them. Work will be a necessity for everybody: there will be no more a +privileged class: all who work will be paid at equal rates for their +work: those who refuse to work will be suffered to starve.' + +The letter went on to give illustrations of the enormous losses in +capital during the last fifteen years, when the shrinkage began. It +concluded: 'For my own part, I confess that the prospect of the future +fills me with satisfaction. No more young men idle, middle-aged men +pampered, and old men looking back to a wasted life: nobody trying to +save, because the future of the old, the widows, the children, the +decayed, and the helpless, will be a charge upon the strong and the +young--that is, upon the juvenes, the workers of the State. No more +robbery: no more unproductive classes. Do not think that there will be +no more men of science and of learning. These, too, will be considered +workers. Or no more poets, dramatists, artists, novelists. These, too, +will be considered workers. And do not fear the coming of that time. It +is stealing upon us as surely, as certainly, as the decay of the powers +in old age. Doubt not that when it comes we shall have become well +prepared for it. Those of us who are old may lament that we shall not +live to see the day when the last shred of property is cast into the +common hoard. Those of us who are young have all the more reason to +rejoice in their youth, because they may live to see the Great Day of +Humanity dawn at last.--EDMUND GRAY, 22 South Square, Gray's Inn.' + +'You have read this?' asked George. + +'Yes; I read it this morning before I knew the significance of the +signature. Letter of a dreamer. He sees what might happen, and thinks +that it will happen. Capital is too strong yet.' + +'Is this the letter of a forger, a conspirator--a thief?' + +'It does not strike me in that light. Yet many great thieves are most +amiable in their private lives. There is no reason why this dreamer of +dreams should not be also a forger and a thief. Still, the case would be +remarkable, I admit.' + +'Can there be two Edmund Grays--father and son?' + +'Can there be a clerk to Edmund Gray, imprudently using his master's +name, and ready to open any letter that may come? Consider--Clerk is a +friend of old Checkley. Clerk invents the scheme. Checkley does his +share. However, we can easily find out something more about the man, +because my old friend, Freddy Carstone, has Chambers on the same floor. +We will walk over after dinner, and if Freddy happens to be sober--he +is about this time pleasantly, not stupidly, drunk, as a rule--he will +tell us what he knows about his neighbour.' + +'I ought to see Elsie this evening, but this is more important.' + +'Much more. Send her a telegram. Waiter, we will take coffee here. So. +You have got the conduct of the case in your own hands. What has +Checkley got?' + +'Nothing. I believe he is jealous of me. I don't know why. But it does +not matter what an old man like that thinks.' + +'Even an old man can strike a match and light a fire. Checkley is a +malignant old man. He is quite capable of charging you with the job. I +wonder he hasn't done it by this time. Remember my case, old man.' +Athelstan's face darkened at the recollection. 'Dirt sticks sometimes. +Look at me. I am smirched all over.' + +'His manner was very odd this morning--insolent and strange. He began to +talk mysteriously of the ingratitude of the forger.' + +'Why he's actually going to do it! Don't you see--he means that you are +the forger?' + +'Oh! does he? Very well, Athelstan'--George finished his coffee and got +up--'the sooner we find out this mystery of this Edmund Gray the better. +Let us seek your tipsy Scholar.' + +They walked from Piccadilly to Holborn, turning the thing over and +making a dozen surmises. Edmund Gray, twins: Edmund Gray, father and +son--father wanting to destroy property, a Socialist; son wanting to +steal property, individualist: Edmund Gray cousins--one the mild +philosopher, rejoicing in the decay of wealth; the other a bandit, +robber and conspirator: Edmund Gray, father and daughter--the young lady +of the advanced type, who has not only thrown over her religion but her +morals also: Edmund Gray, master and clerk: Edmund Gray under domination +of a villain: there was in every situation a noble chance for the +imagination. George showed a capacity unsuspected: he should have been a +novelist. The hypothesis was always beautiful and admirable: but it +wanted one thing--_vraisemblance_: one felt, even while advancing and +defending one, that it was impossible. + +They turned into the gateway of the Inn and walked down the passage into +the Square. 'Look!' Athelstan caught his companion by the wrist. 'Who is +that?' + +'Checkley himself. He is coming out of No 22!' + +'Yes, out of 22. What is he doing there? Eh? What has he been doing +there?' + +It was Checkley. The old man walking feebly, with bent head, came out +from the entrance of No. 22 and turned northward into Field Court. They +waited, watching him, until he left the Square. 'What is he doing +there?' asked George again. 'Come. Edmund Gray must be at home. Let us +go up.' + +They found the outer door shut. They knocked with their sticks: there +was no answer. + +'What was he doing here?' asked Athelstan. + +The Scholar's door stood open. The Scholar himself was for once +perfectly sober, and welcomed them joyously and boisterously. + +'We are here on business, Freddy,' said Athelstan. + +'You are here to sit and talk and drink whisky-and-soda till midnight, +till two o'clock in the morning. It is not until two in the morning that +you can get the full flavour of the Inn. It is like a college then, +monastic, shut off from the world, peaceful----' + +'Business first, then. You know your neighbour, Mr. Edmund Gray?' + +'Certainly. We exchange the compliments of the season and the news of +the weather when we meet on the stairs. He has been in here, but not +often. A man who drinks nothing is your true damper. That, believe me, +and no other, was the veritable skeleton at the Feast.' + +'Our business concerns your neighbour, Mr. Edmund Gray. We want you to +tell us what you know about him.' + +'Go on, then. Question, and I will answer, if I can.' + +'Does Mr. Edmund Gray live at these Chambers?' + +'No. He may sometimes sleep in them, but I should say not often. He +calls at irregular intervals. Sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes in +the morning, sometimes not for several weeks together. He is most +uncertain.' + +'Do many people call upon him?' + +'No one ever calls upon him.' + +'Does he keep clerks? Does he carry on an extensive correspondence?' + +'I have never heard the postman knock at his door.' + +'Has he a son or a brother or a partner or anything?' + +'I don't know. He may have these hindrances, but they are not apparent.' + +'What is his occupation or trade?' + +'He is a Socialist. He is athirst for the destruction of property. +Meantime, I believe, he lives on his own. Perhaps his will be spared to +the last. He is an old gentleman of pleasant manners and of benevolent +aspect. The old women beg of him; the children ask him the time; the +people who have lost their way apply to him. He dreams all the time: he +lives in a world impossible. Oh! quite impossible. Why, in a world all +Socialist, I myself should be impossible. They wouldn't have me. My old +friend told me the other day that I should not be tolerated. They would +kill me. All because I do no work--or next to none.' + +George looked at Athelstan. 'We are farther off than ever,' he said. + +'Mr. Edmund Gray believes that the Kingdom of Heaven is a kind of hive +where everybody has got to work with enormous zeal, and where nobody +owns anything. Also he thinks that it is close at hand, which makes him +a very happy old gentleman.' + +'This can't be Checkley,' said George. + +'It would seem not,' Athelstan replied. 'Did you ever see another old +man up here--we saw him coming out just now--one Checkley, a lawyer's +clerk?' + +'No; not up here. There is an elderly person--a Party--of the name, who +uses the parlour of the _Salutation_, where I myself sometimes--one must +relax--Porson loved a tavern; so did Johnson--I myself, I say, sometimes +forget that I used to belong to the Combination room, and sit with +Checkley and his companions. But I do not think he is a friend of Mr. +Gray. As well call the Verger the friend of the Bishop. Mr. Gray is a +gentleman and a scholar; he is a man of generous instincts and culture. +He _could_ not be a friend of the man Checkley.' + +'Yet we saw Checkley coming out of this very staircase.' + + * * * * * + +They talked of other things. They talked till midnight; when they came +away the Scholar was at his best: one more glass--which he took after +they left--would have turned the best into the worst. + +'We are as far off as before,' said George. + +'No--we are so much the nearer that we know who Edmund Gray is not. He +is not Checkley. He has no clerks. He has no visitors. He comes seldom. +George, this looks to me suspicious. We met Checkley stealing out of the +door. Why does Edmund Gray keep these Chambers? No business done there: +no letters brought there: no callers: the man does not live there. The +Socialism may be--must be--a blind. Why does the man keep on these +Chambers?' + + * * * * * + +Meantime at the _Salutation_ the usual company was assembled. 'I fear,' +said the barrister, 'that we shall not have our friend the Scholar here +this evening. As I came down the stairs I saw him through his door +receiving two gentlemen--young gentlemen. He will display his wonted +hospitality upon them this evening instead.' He sighed, and called for +the glass of old and mild mixed, which was all he could afford. Had the +Scholar been with them, certainly there would have been a nobler and a +costlier glass. He took up the morning paper and began to read it. + +The conversation went on slowly and with jerks. A dull conversation: a +conversation of men without ideas: a day-before-yesterday conversation: +the slow exchange of short, solid sentences taken from the paper, or +overheard and adopted. We sometimes praise the old tavern life, and we +regret the tavern talk. We need not: it was dull, gross, ignorant, and +flat: it was commonplace and conventional: because it was so dull, the +men were fain to sing songs and to propose sentiments, and to drink more +than was good for them. Why and when do men drink more than is good for +them? First, when and because things are desperately dull: there is +nothing to interest them: give them animation, thoughts, amusements, and +they will not begin to drink. When they have begun, they will go on. +When they have arrived at a certain stage, let them drink as fast as +they can, and so get out of the way, because they will never mend, and +they only cumber the earth. Here is, you see, a complete solution--a +short solution--of the whole drink question. It will not be accepted, +because people like a long solution--a three-column solution. + +The barrister lifted his head. 'There is a letter here,' he said, +interrupting the ex-M.P., who was clearing the way for what he called an +argument by an introduction in the usual form. 'While on the one hand, +gentlemen,' he was saying, 'I am free to confess----' + +'There is a letter here,' he repeated in a louder voice. The barrister +was now old, but he could still assume at times the masterful manner of +counsel before the Court, 'which should be read. It is a letter on +Socialism.' + +'Ugh!' said the money-lender. 'Socialism! They want to destroy Property. +Socialism! Don't tell me, sir.' + +'It is a dream of what might be--a noble--a generous letter.' He looked +round him. In their dull and fishy eyes there was no gleam or sparkle of +response. 'I forgot,' he said; 'you cannot be interested in such a +letter.--I beg your pardon, sir.' He bowed with great courtesy to the +ex-M.P. 'I interrupted your valuable observations. We shall listen, I am +sure, with--the--greatest----' He buried his head in the paper again. + +The legislator began again. 'As I was a-saying, gentlemen, when I was +interrupted, on the subject of education and the ratepayers, being a +ratepayer myself, as we all are, and having our taxes to pay, which is +the only advantage we ever get from being a ratepayer, while on the one +hand I am free to confess----' + +'Why!' the barrister interrupted once again, 'this letter is from a man +on our staircase, No. 22'--Checkley started--'an acquaintance of mine, +if I can call him so, and of our friend the Scholar. A very able man, +now somewhat in years. By name Edmund Gray.' + +'What?' said Checkley, 'Edmund Gray? You know Edmund Gray?' + +'Certainly. I have known him this nine years. Ever since he has been in +the Inn.' + +'W-w-what sort of a man is he?' Checkley stammered in his eagerness. + +'A very good sort of a man. Why do you ask?' + +'I want to know--for his advantage--oh! yes--yes--for his own +advantage.' + +'Yes.' The barrister retreated to his paper. 'Oh, yes,' he added. 'Quite +so.' + +'For his great personal advantage,' Checkley repeated.--'Robert, I think +the gentleman would take a tumbler, if you will bring it--hot, +Robert--strong--with lemon and sugar--a large rummer, Robert.' + +The ancient barrister's head behind the paper was observed to tremble. + +Robert returned with his rummer, the glass spoon tinkling an invitation. +Dinner had been but a sorry affair that day--a stop-gap--insufficient in +bulk; the tempted man felt a yearning that could not be resisted. He +stretched out his hand and took the glass and tasted it. Then turning to +Checkley: + +'You have purchased my speech, sir. You were asking me about Mr. Edmund +Gray. What do you wish to know?' + +'Everything--his business--his private life--anything.' + +'As for his business, he has none; he is a gentleman living on his +means--like myself; but his means are larger than my own: he has a +residence elsewhere--I don't know where; he uses his Chambers but +little: he has a collection of books there, and he keeps them for +purposes of study.' + +'Does he call there every day?' + +'No. Only at irregular times. Sometimes not for many weeks together.' + +'Has he got any friends?' + +'I should say that he has no friends at all--at least none that come to +the Inn. I have never heard or seen anyone in his room. A quiet man. No +slammer. An excellent man to have on the staircase. No trampler; doesn't +tramp up and down like an elephant. Isn't brought home drunk.' + +'What does he look like?' + +'He is a man advanced in years--perhaps seventy--a good-looking +man--very cheerful countenance: tall and well set up still--wears a long +frock coat. And that I believe is all I know about him.' + +'That's all you've got to tell me, is it?' + +'That is all, Mr. Checkley. Except that he has written a very remarkable +letter to the _Times_ of this morning.' + +'Well, sir, if that is all, it isn't much for your rum-and-water, let me +tell you.' + +The barrister rose and poured the half-glass that remained into the +cinders. 'Then let me drink no more than my information was worth,' he +said; and at the sight of so much magnanimity the broad earth trembled +and Mr. Checkley sat aghast. + +The ex-statesman cleared his throat and began again. 'After the third +interruption, gentlemen, I may hope for a hearing. While, therefore, on +the one hand----' + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE VOICE OF DUTY + + +Elsie in her studio was at work. She was painting a fancy portrait. You +have seen how, before her interview with Mr. Dering, she transformed him +from a hard and matter-of-fact lawyer into a genial, benevolent old +gentleman. She was now elaborating this transformation. It is a +delightful process, known to every portrait-painter, whereby a face +faithfully represented becomes the face of another person, or the face +as it might be, so that a hard and keen face, such as Mr. Dering's, may +become a face ennobled with spiritual elevation, benevolence, charity, +and kindness of heart. Or, on the other hand, without the least change +of feature, this hard keen face may become, by the curve of a line or +the addition of a shadow, the face of a cruel and pitiless Inquisitor. +Or, again, any face, however blurred and marred by the life of its +owner, may by the cunning portrait-painter be restored to the face +intended by its Maker, that is to say, a sweet and serious face. Great +indeed is the power, marvellous is the mystery, of the limner's art. + +'Now,' Elsie murmured, 'you look like some great philanthropist--a +thoughtful philanthropist, not a foolish person: your high forehead and +your sharp nostril proclaim that you are no impulsive gusher: your +kindly eyes beam with goodness of heart: your lips are firm because you +hate injustice. Oh, my dear guardian, how much I have improved you! +Something like this you looked when you told me of my fortune--and like +this when you spoke of your dream, and your illusions--something like +this you looked.' + +She went on working at her fantasy, crooning a simple ditty, composed of +many melodies running into one, as girls use when they are quite happy. +The afternoon was hot. Outside, Elsie's windows looked upon a nest of +little London gardens, where nasturtiums twisted round strings upon the +walls; hollyhocks and sunflowers, which love the London smoke, lifted +their heads; and Virginia creepers climbed to the house-tops. The +little London gardens do sometimes look gay and bright in the yellow +glow of a July afternoon. The window was open, and the room was almost +as hot as the street outside; we get so few hot days that one here and +there cannot be too hot. On the table lay a photograph of her lover; +over the mantel hung her own drawing in Pastel of that swain; on her +finger was his ring: round her neck lay his chain: all day long she was +reminded of him, if she should cease for a moment to think of him. But +there was no need of such reminder. It was Friday afternoon, four days +after the great Discovery. Elsie had been informed of the event, the +news of which she received after the feminine manner, with an +ejaculation of surprise and an interjection of sympathy. But one cannot +expect a girl on the eve of her marriage to be greatly distressed +because her guardian, a rich man, is annoyed by the temporary loss of +certain shares. And as to finding the criminal and getting back those +shares--it was man's work. All the troublesome and disagreeable part of +the world's work belongs to man. + +It was nearly five o'clock. Elsie was beginning to think that she had +done enough, and that, after tea, a walk in the Gardens might be +pleasant. Suddenly, without any noise or warning of steps outside, her +door was opened and her sister Hilda appeared. Now, so swift is the +feminine perception, that Elsie instantly understood that something had +happened--something bad--something bad to herself. For first, the door +was opened gently, as in a house of mourning; and next, Hilda had on a +dress--lavender with heliotrope, costly, becoming, sympathetic, and +sorrowful--a half-mourning dress--and she stood for a moment at the door +with folded hands, her classical head inclined a little downward to the +left, and her eyes drooping--an artistic attitude of sadness. Hilda not +only said the right thing and held the proper sentiments, but she liked +to assume the right attitude and to personate the right emotion. Now it +is given to woman, and only to her when she is young, tall, and +beautiful, to express by attitude all or any of the emotions which +transport or torture her fellow-creatures. Hilda, you see, was an +artist. + +'Come in, dear,' said Elsie. 'I am sure that you have got something +disagreeable to tell me.' + +Hilda kissed her forehead. 'My poor child,' she murmured. 'If it could +have been told you by anybody else!' + +'Well--let us hear it. Is it anything very disagreeable?' + +'It is terrible. I tremble--I dare not tell you. Yet I must. You ought +to know.' + +'If you would go on. It is much more terrible to be kept in suspense.' + +'It is about George.' + +'Oh!' said Elsie, flaming. 'I have had so much trouble about George +already, that I did think----' + +'My dear, all opposition of the former kind is removed, as you know. +This is something very different. Worse,' she added in a hollow +voice--'far worse.' + +'For Heaven's sake, get along.' + +'He has told you about the dreadful robbery. Of course you have talked +about nothing else since it happened. I found my mother full of it.' + +'Yes--George is in charge of the case. He says that everything must be +recovered, and that Mr. Dering will in the end suffer no more injury +than the trouble of it.' + +'That may be so. Elsie--I hardly dare to tell you--there is a clue. +Checkley has got that clue, and has told Sir Samuel everything. He is +following up the clue. I shudder to think of it. The man is as +relentless as a bloodhound.' + +'Does that clue concern me?' Her cheek became pale because she +guessed--she knew not what. + +'Sir Samuel, against his will, is convinced that Checkley has found the +clue. He has told me the whole. He has consented to my telling the +dreadful story to my mother and to you--and now I am afraid. Yet I +must.' + +Elsie made a gesture of impatience. + +'Go back, Elsie, eight years, if you can. Remember the wretched business +of our unworthy brother.' + +'I remember it. Not unworthy, Hilda. Our most unfortunate brother. Why, +they have found the very notes he was charged with stealing. They were +found in the safe on the very day when they made the other discovery. +Have they not told you?' + +'Checkley told Sir Samuel. He also remembers seeing Athelstan place the +packet in the safe.' + +'Oh! Does he dare to say that? Why, Hilda, the robbery was proved to lie +between himself and Athelstan. If he saw that, why did he not say so? He +keeps silence for eight long years, and then he speaks.' + +Hilda shook her head sadly. 'I fear,' she said, 'that we cannot accept +the innocence of our unfortunate brother. However, Athelstan was accused +of forging Mr. Dering's handwriting and signature. In this new forgery, +the same handwriting is found again--exactly the same. The forger is the +same.' + +'Clearly, therefore, it cannot be Athelstan. That settles it.' + +'Yes--unfortunately--it does settle it. Because, you see, Athelstan is +in London. He is said to have been living in London all the time--in +some wretched place called Camberwell, inhabited, I suppose, by runaways +and low company of every kind. He has lately been seen in the +neighbourhood of Gray's Inn, apparently passing under his own name. +Checkley has seen him. Another person has seen him.' + +'Have you come to tell me that Athelstan is charged with this new +wickedness?' + +'The forger must have had an accomplice in the office; a man able +to get at the safe: able to intercept the post: acquainted with Mr. +Dering's ways: such a man as--say--Checkley--or--the only other +possible--George.' Hilda paused. + +'Oh! This is too absurd. You are now hinting that George--my George,' +she said proudly, 'was the confederate of Athelstan--no--of a forger.' + +'They have been seen together. They have been seen together at the house +from which the forger addresses his letters. Has George told you that he +has known all along--for eight years--of Athelstan's residence in +London?' + +Observe how that simple remark made in the _Salutation_ Parlour, that +Athelstan must have been living in Camberwell, had by this time grown +into a complete record of eight years' hiding, eight years' disgraceful +company on the part of one, and eight years' complicity and guilty +knowledge on the part of the other. Hilda had not the least doubt. It +was quite enough for her that Checkley said so. Half the contents of our +newspapers are conducted on the same confiding principle. + +'If George has not told me,' Elsie replied, 'it must be for some good +reason. Perhaps he was pledged to secrecy.' + +'My dear'--Hilda rose impressively with fateful face-'the hand that +forged the letters is the hand that forged the cheque--your brother's +hand. The hand that took the certificates from the safe'--she laid her +own upon Elsie's hand--'the hand of the confederate, my poor sister, +is--your lover's hand.' + +'I knew,' said the girl, 'that you were coming to this. I have felt it +from the beginning.' + +'Remember, the thing was done in the months of February, March, and +April. First of all, Athelstan was then, as now, desperately poor: the +life that he has led for the last eight years--the life of +a--a--Camberwell profligate'--she spoke as if that respectable suburb +was the modern Alsatia-'has certainly destroyed whatever was left of +honour and of principle. There comes a time, I have read, in the career +of every wicked man when he hesitates no longer whatever means are +offered him of making money. Athelstan it was--so they believe--who +devised this scheme, which has been as successful as it is disgraceful. +My dear Elsie, this is the most terrible disgrace that has ever befallen +my family: the most dreadful and the most unexpected calamity for you.' + +Elsie caught her sister by the wrist. 'In the name of God, Hilda, are +you telling me what is proved and true, or what is only suspected?' + +'I am telling you what is as good as proved. More than suspected.' + +'As good as proved. Oh!' Elsie drew a long breath. 'As good as proved. +That is enough. Like Athelstan's guilt eight years ago,' she flared out +suddenly, springing up again and walking about the room. 'Oh! it is +wonderful!' she cried--'wonderful! What a family we are! We had a +brother, and we believed that he was an honourable gentleman, as the son +of his father must be. Then there was a charge, a foolish charge, based +upon nothing but may--have--been and must--have--been---- We believed +the charge----' + +'Because we had no choice but to believe, Elsie,' her sister +interrupted. 'Do you think we wanted to believe the charge?' + +'We should have believed him innocent until the thing was proved. We did +not. We cast him out from among us; and now, after eight years--he has +come back poor, you say, and sunk so low that he is ashamed to see his +people, and we are going to believe another charge based on may have +been and must have been. No, Hilda. I will not believe it--I will +not.--And then there is George. If I cease to believe in his honour and +his truth, I cease to believe in everything. I cannot believe in Heaven +itself unless I believe in my lover. Why, his heart is light about this +business: he is not concerned: he laughs at that old man's ravings. +Ravings? If Athelstan is right, then his is the hand that has done it +all--his--Hilda--Checkley is the man concerned with both crimes.' + +Hilda shook her head. 'No, Elsie, no. The old man is above suspicion.' + +'Why should he be above suspicion more than George? And you ask me on +the first breath of accusation to treat George as you treated Athelstan. +Well--Hilda, I will not.' + +'I make every allowance for you, Elsie. It is a most dreadful +business--a heart-breaking business. You may misrepresent me as much as +you please-- I will continue to make allowances for you. Meantime, what +will you do?' + +'Do? What should I do? Nothing, nothing, nothing. I shall go on as if +this thing had never happened.' + +'Sir Samuel ordered me to warn you most seriously. If you consent to see +him again----' + +'Consent? Consent? Why should I refuse? In a fortnight he will be my +husband and my master, whom I must obey. He calls me his mistress now, +but I am his servant. Consent to see him?' She sat down and burst into +tears. + +'If you see him again,' her sister continued, 'warn him to leave the +country. The thing is so certain that in a day or two the proofs will be +complete, and it will then be too late. Make him leave the country. Be +firm, Elsie. Better still, refuse to see him at all and leave him to his +fate. What a fate! What madness!' + +'We allowed Athelstan to leave the country. He ought to have stayed. If +I advise George at all I shall advise him to stick to his post and see +the business through. If he were to leave the country, I would go with +him.' + +'You are infatuated, Elsie. I can only hope that he may fly the country +of his own accord. Meantime, there is one other point----' + +'What is it? Pray, don't spare me, Hilda. After what has gone before, it +must be a very little point.' + +'You are bitter, Elsie, and I don't deserve your bitterness. But that is +nothing. At such a moment everything must be pardoned and permitted. The +point is about your wedding. It is fixed for the 12th of next month, +less than three weeks from to-day. You must be prepared to put it off.' + +'Indeed! Because you say that a thing impossible is as good as proved! +Certainly not, Hilda.' + +'I have come here to-day, Elsie, by Sir Samuel's express wish, in order +to soften the blow and to warn you. Whether you will tell--that unhappy +young man or not, is for you to decide. Perhaps, if you do, he may +imitate our unworthy brother and run away. If he does not, the blow will +fall to-morrow--to-day--the day after to-morrow--I know not when. He +will be arrested: he will be taken before a magistrate: he will be +remanded: he will be out on bail. Oh, Elsie, think of marrying a man out +on bail! One might as well marry a man in convict dress. Oh! Horrible!' + +'I would rather marry George in convict dress than any other man in fine +raiment. Because, once more, the thing is impossible.' + +'You carry your faith in your lover beyond bounds, Elsie. Of course a +girl is right to believe in a man's honour. It makes her much more +comfortable, and gives her a sense of security. Besides, we always like +to believe that we are loved by the best of men. That makes us feel like +the best of women.--But in this case, when I tell you that Sir Samuel--a +man who has always lived among money--so to speak--and knows how money +is constantly assailed--is firmly convinced of George's complicity, I do +think that you might allow something for human frailty. In the case of +Athelstan, what did Mr. Dering say? Everything is possible. So I say of +George Austin, everything is possible.' + +'Not everything. Not that.' + +'Yes, even that.--What do you know of his private life? Why has he +concealed the fact of Athelstan's residence in London? Why has he never +told us of his friendship with that unfortunate outcast?' + +'I don't know. He has his reasons.' + +'It is a most dreadful thing for you,' Hilda went on. 'And after getting +to believe in the man and--well--becoming attached to him--though such +attachments mean little and are soon forgotten--and after going the +length of fixing the day and ordering the dress and the wedding-cake, +and putting up the banns---- Oh! it is a wretched business--a horrible +misfortune. The only thing to be said is that in such a case, the fact +being known to everybody, no one can blame a girl; and perhaps, in the +long run, she will suffer no injury from it. Our circle, for instance, +is so different from that of this young man's friends, that the thing +would not even be known among us.' + +'I believe, Hilda, you will drive me mad.' + +'My dear, one must look ahead. And remember that I look ahead for you. +As for the young man, I dissociate him henceforth from you. What he does +and where he goes I do not inquire or care about, any more than I +trouble myself about a disgraceful brother. Some acts cut a man off from +his mistress--from his sisters--from the world.' + +'Do not talk any more,' said Elsie. 'Let the blow, as you call it, fall +when it pleases. But as for me, I shall not warn George that he is to be +charged with dishonesty, any more than I will believe him capable of +dishonesty.' + +'Well, my dear, there is one comfort for us. You may resolve on marrying +him. But a man charged with a crime--out on bail--cannot marry any girl. +And he will be charged, and the evidence is very strong.' + +'No doubt. As good as proved--as good as proved. Poor George! Who never +had ten pounds in the world until he was made a partner----' + +'True. And there we have the real motive. Seek the motive, Sir Samuel +says, and we shall find the criminal. Here you have the reason of the +secret partnership with Athelstan. Poverty is the tempter--Athelstan is +the suggested.' + +Elsie shook her head impatiently. + +'Mr. Dering was to give you away. Who will now? Athelstan? How can +we--Sir Samuel and I--assist at a wedding where the bridegroom lies +under such a charge?--by one so near to us as Mr. Dering? How can your +mother be present? Oh, Elsie, think!' + +Elsie shook her head again, with greater impatience. + +'Think what a fate you may be dragging upon yourself! Think of possible +children with such a brand upon them!' + +'I think only of an honourable and an innocent man.' + +'I have just come from my mother, Elsie. She says positively that if the +charge is brought, the wedding must be put off until the man is cleared. +And for the moment she does not feel strong enough to meet him. You can +receive him here if you please. And she desires that there may be no +disputes or arguments about it.' + +'It is truly wonderful!' Elsie walked to the open window and gasped as +if choking. 'Wonderful!' she repeated. 'The same fate--in the same +manner--threatens George that fell upon Athelstan. And it finds us as +ready to believe in the charge and to cast him out. Now, Hilda, go to my +mother and tell her that though the whole world should call George--my +George--a villain, I will marry him. Tell her that though I should have +to take him from the prison door, I will marry him. Because, you see, +all things are not possible. This thing is impossible.' + +'We shall have trouble with Elsie,' Lady Dering told her mother. 'Call +her soft and yielding? My dear, no mule was ever more stubborn. She will +marry her convict, she says, even at the prison door.' + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +WAS HE IN RAGS? + + +Stubborn as a mule. Yes--it is the way with some girls: man is soft as +wax compared with woman: man concedes, compromises, gives way, submits: +woman has her own way--when that way is the right way she becomes a +pearl above price. + +Elsie, when the door was shut and her sister gone, stood silent, +immovable. A red spot burned in her cheeks: her eyes were unnaturally +bright: her lips parted: she was possessed by a mighty wrath and great +determination: she was the tigress who fights for her beloved. Meantime, +everything was changed: the sunshine had gone out of the day: the warmth +out of the air: her work, that had pleased her so much an hour ago, +seemed a poor weak thing not worth thinking about. Everything was a +trifle not worth thinking about--the details of her wedding: her +presents: her honeymoon: her pretty flat--all became insignificant +compared with this threatened charge against her lover. How was it to be +met? If it was only a suspicion put into shape by Sir Samuel and old +Checkley it would be best to say nothing. If it was really going to be +brought against him, would it not be best to warn him beforehand? And +about her brother---- + +She sat down and wrote out the facts. To be doing this cleared her +brain, and seemed like working for her lover. In March 1882 a cheque for +720_l_. to the order of one Edmund Gray was cashed in ten-pound notes by +a commissionaire sent from an hotel in Arundel Street, Strand. No one +ever found out this Edmund Gray. Athelstan was suspected. The notes +themselves were never presented, and were found the other day in Mr. +Dering's safe, covered with dust, at the back of some books. + +In February, March, and April, by means of forged letters, a great +quantity of shares were transferred from the name of Edward Dering to +that of Edmund Gray. The writing of the letters was the same as that of +the forged cheque. + +These were the only facts. The rest was all inference and presumption. +Athelstan had been seen in London: Athelstan had been living all the +time in London: Athelstan had been seen going into the house which was +given as the residence of Edmund Gray. Well--Athelstan must be seen the +very first thing. Further than this point she could not get. She rang +the bell, ordered tea to be brought to her own room, and then put on her +hat and went out to the Gardens, where she walked about under the trees, +disquieted and unhappy. If a charge is going to be brought against him, +the most innocent man in the world must be disquieted until he knows the +nature of the evidence against him. Once satisfied as to that, he may be +happy again. What evidence could they bring against George? + +She went home about eight, going without dinner rather than sit down +with her mother. It is a miserable thing for a girl to be full of +hardness against her mother. Elsie already had experience, as you have +seen. For the present better not to meet at all. Therefore she did not +go home for dinner, but took a bun and a cup of coffee--woman's +substitute for dinner--at a confectioner's. + +When George called about nine o'clock, he was taken into the studio, +where he found Elsie with the traces of tears in her eyes. + +'Why, Elsie,' he cried, 'what is the matter? Why are you crying, my +dear? and why are you alone in this room?' + +'I choke in this house, George. Take me out of it--take me away. Let us +walk about the Squares and talk. I have a good deal to say.' + +'Now, dear, what is it?'--when they were outside. 'What happened? You +are trembling--you have been shaken. Tell me, dear.' + +'I don't think I can tell you just at present--not all.' + +'Something then--the rest afterwards. Tell me by instalments.' + +'You are quite happy, George? Nobody has said anything to make you +angry, at the office, or anywhere else?' + +'Nobody. We are going on just the same. Mr. Dering thinks and talks +about nothing but the robbery. So do I. So does everybody else. I +suppose Checkley has told, for every clerk in the place knows about it, +and is talking about it. Why do you ask if anybody has made me angry?' + +'My dear George, Hilda has been here this afternoon. You know +that--sometimes--Hilda does not always say the kindest things about +people.' + +'Not always. I remember when she wrote me a letter asking whether I +thought that a lawyer's clerk was a fit aspirant for the hand of her +sister. Not always just the kindest things. But I thought we were all on +the most affectionate terms, and that everything had been sponged out. +Has she been saying more kind, sisterly, things about me? What have I +done now? Isn't the money difficulty solved?' + +'I will tell you some other time--not now--what she said. At the present +moment I want to ask you a question. If you have reasons for not +answering, say so, and I shall be quite satisfied; but answer me if you +can. This is the question. Hilda says that Athelstan is secretly in +London, and that you know it, and that you have been seen with him. Is +that true?' + +'Well--Elsie--the only reason for not telling you that Athelstan is here +is that he himself made me promise not to tell you. Athelstan is in +London. I see him often. I shall see him this evening after leaving you. +He is in London, walking about openly. Why not? I know no reason for any +concealment. But he cannot go to see his mother, or enter his mother's +house, until this charge against him has been acknowledged to be +baseless. As for you, he will be the first person to visit you--and will +be your most frequent visitor--when we are married. He is always talking +about you. He is longing for the time when he can see you openly. But +nothing will persuade him to come here. He is still bitter against his +mother and against Hilda.' + +Elsie sighed. 'It is very terrible--and now---- But go on.' + +'I have answered your question, Elsie.' + +'Oh, no. I have only just begun. You say that Athelstan is in London; +but you do not tell me what he is doing and how he fares.' + +'He fares very well, and he is prosperous.' + +'Hilda says that he has been living in some wretched quarter of London +all these years; that he has been frequenting low company; and that he +has been, until the last few weeks, in rags and penniless.' + +George laughed aloud. 'Where on earth did Hilda get this precious +information? Athelstan in a low quarter? Athelstan a Prodigal? Athelstan +in rags? My dearest Elsie, if Lady Dering were not your sister, I should +say that she had gone mad with venomous hatred of the brother whom she +made so much haste to believe guilty.' + +'Oh! Tell me quick, George. Don't say anything against Hilda, please. I +am already---- Tell me quick the whole truth.' + +'Well, dear, the whole truth is this. Athelstan is doing very well. I +suppose you might call him prosperous. When he went away, he had ten +pounds to begin with. People kindly credited him with the nice little +sum of 720_l_. obtained by a forgery. We now know that this money has +been lying in the safe all the time--how it got there, the Lord +knows--perhaps Checkley could tell. He went to America by the cheapest +way possible. He had many adventures and many ups and downs, all of +which he will tell you before long. Once he had great good fortune on a +silver mine or something: he made thousands of pounds over it. Then he +lost all his money--dropped it down a sink or into an open drain--you +know, in America, these traps are plentiful, and started again on his +ten pounds. He was a journalist all the time, and he is a journalist +still. He is now over here as the London correspondent of a great paper +of San Francisco.--That, my dear Elsie, is, briefly, the record of your +brother since he went away.' + +'Oh! But are you quite sure, George?--quite--quite sure? Because, if +this can be proved----' + +'Nothing is more easy to prove. He brought letters to a London Bank +introducing him as the correspondent, and empowering him to draw certain +moneys.' + +'How long has Athelstan been at home?' She remembered the dates of the +recent forgeries, and the alleged fact that all were in the same +handwriting. + +'You are so persistent, Elsie, that I am certain you have got something +serious on your mind--won't you tell me?' + +'No, George--not to-night. But--how long has Athelstan been in England?' + +'I will tell you exactly how and when I met him. Do you remember three +weeks ago, that Sunday evening when we were so happy and so +miserable--resolved on braving everything--going to live on love and a +crust for the rest of our lives?--you poor, dear, brave girl!' He +touched her fingers. 'I shall always be thankful for that prospect of +poverty, because it revealed my mistress to me in all her loveliness of +love and trust and courage.' + +'Oh, George--you spoil me. But then I know myself better.' + +'Well--on that evening we went to Church together; and after Church, as +I was not allowed in the house, we walked round and round the Square +until the rain came on, and we had to go home. Well, you did not take +any notice; but as you stood on the steps waiting for the door to be +opened, a man was standing on the kerb under the lamp close by. When the +door was shut behind you, I turned and walked away. This man followed me +and clapped me on the shoulder. It was Athelstan.' + +'And I saw him and did not know him!' + +'He has grown a big beard now, and wore a felt hat. He is a picturesque +object to look at. Ought to have been one of Drake's men. I daresay he +was in a former existence. He had then been in England exactly a week, +and every day he had prowled about the place in the hope of seeing +you--not speaking to you--he trusted that you would not know him again.' + +'Oh, poor Athelstan! That is nearly three weeks ago. He has been in +England four weeks--a month--and three--four--five months ago--where was +he?' + +'I told you. In California.' + +'Oh! then he could not--possibly--not possibly--and it can be +proved--and oh! George--George--I am so glad--I am so glad.' She showed +her joy by a light shower of tears. + +'Why, my dear,' he said, soothing her, 'why are you so troubled and yet +so glad?' + +'You don't quite understand, George. You don't know the things that are +said. All these forgeries are in the same handwriting.' + +'Certainly.' + +'One man has written all these letters and cheques and things--both that +of eight years ago and those of last March?' + +'That is perfectly certain.' + +'Then, don't you see? Athelstan was out of England when these +newly-discovered forgeries were done. Therefore, he had no hand in them. +Therefore, again, he could have had no hand in the earlier one. Why--you +establish his innocence perfectly. Now you see one of the reasons why I +was so glad.' + +The other reason--that this fact destroyed at one blow the whole of the +splendid edifice constructed upon the alleged stay of Athelstan in +London--Elsie concealed. Her heart, it must be acknowledged, was +lightened. You may have the most complete belief in the innocence of a +person, but it is well to have the belief strengthened by facts. + +'As for me,' said George, 'I have been so long accustomed to regard him +as one of the worst used of men, that I never thought of that +conclusion. Of course, if the handwriting is the same, and it certainly +seems the same--a very good imitation of Mr. Dering's hand--there is +nothing now to be said. Athelstan was in California in the spring. That +settles it. And the notes were in the safe. Two clinchers. But to some +minds a suspicion is a charge, and a charge is a fact.' + +'George, you must take me to Athelstan. Give me his address.' + +'He is in lodgings in Half Moon Street. I will ask him if he will meet +you.' + +'No--no; let me go to him. It is more fitting. You will see him +presently. Will you tell him that I will call upon him to-morrow morning +at eleven? And tell him, George, that something has happened--something +that makes it impossible for me to remain at home--even for the short +time before our wedding.' + +'Elsie! this is very serious.' + +'Yes, it is very serious. Tell him that I shall ask him to receive me +until the wedding, or until certain things have happened.--But in any +case--oh! they must happen so--they must--it is too absurd.' + +'Elsie, my dear, you grow interjectional.' + +'Yes--yes. I mean, George, that if things turn out as I hope they may, I +will go home again. If not, we will be married from Athelstan's +lodgings.' + +'And you will not tell me what this terrible business is?' + +'Not to-night, George,' she repeated. 'It is very serious, and it makes +me very unhappy that my mother and sister----' + +'It is something to do with me, Elsie, clearly. Never mind. You will +tell me when you please. Whatever you do is sure to be right. I will see +him this evening.' + +'Thank you, George. I think that what I propose is the wisest thing to +do. Besides, I want to be with you and Athelstan. Tell him that as he +left the house eight years ago I leave it now.' + +'You? Why, my dear child, what forgeries have you been committing?' + +'None. And yet---- Well, George, that is enough about me and my +troubles. Tell me now about your search into this business. How have you +got on?' + +'There is nothing new to report. I told you that I left a note on Edmund +Gray's table. No answer has come to that. The Bank has written to tell +him that his letter of introduction was a forgery. No answer. The +dividends are accumulating: he draws no cheques: he makes no sign. In a +word, though this money is lying to his credit, and the shares are +transferred to his name, and the letters give his address, there is +nothing whatever to convict the man himself. We could not prove his +signature, and he has taken none of the money. He might call any day and +say that he knew nothing about it. I wonder he hasn't done it. When he +does, we shall just have to put everything straight again. As for poor +old Checkley, I really believe that he is going mad. If I meet him he +glares; if he is in his master's room, his eyes follow me about under +his shaggy eyebrows with a malignity which I have never seen painted. As +for being described, words couldn't do it. I suppose he sees that the +end is inevitable. Really, Elsie, the man would murder me if he dared.' + +'The man is dangerous, George, as well as malignant. But I think he will +do you no harm in the long run. Have you told Athelstan what is going +on?' + +'Certainly. He follows the business with the greatest interest. He +agrees with me that the thing is done out of the office with the help of +some one in it. Now, the point is, that the man in the office must have +the control of the post. All the letters must pass through his hands. +'Who is that man? No one but Checkley. Everything turns on that. Now, +here is a lucky accident. An old friend of Athelstan's, a man who +coaches, has Chambers on the same stairs and on the same floor. He knows +this Mr. Edmund Gray. We have been to his rooms to question him.' + +'Is it to see this old friend that Athelstan visits No. 22?' + +'Yes. His name is Carstone--commonly called Freddy Carstone--a pleasing +man, with a little weakness, which seems to endear him to his friends.' + +'This is the way in which things get distorted in a malignant mind! +Well. What did this gentleman tell you about this mysterious Edmund +Gray?' + +'Nothing definite. That he is some kind of Socialist we knew before: +that he has occupied the Chambers for ten years or so we knew before. +Also, that he is an elderly gentleman of benevolent aspect. And that he +is irregular in his visits to his Chambers. We seem to get no further. +We see Checkley coming out of the house. That connects him, to be sure. +But that is not much. There is no connection established between Edmund +Gray and the forgeries in his name. Nor between Checkley and the +forgeries. One feels that if one could lay hold of this mysterious +elderly gentleman, a real step in advance would be taken.' + +'You talked at first of arresting him on the charge.' + +'Well--there is no evidence. His name has been used--that is all. On +that evidence no magistrate would issue a warrant. Sometimes one's head +goes round with the bewilderment of it. I've managed to learn something +about Checkley in the course of these inquiries. He is quite a great +man, Elsie; a tavern oracle in the evening; a landlord and householder +and collector of his own rents at odd hours; a capitalist and a miser. +But he is not, as thought at first--Edmund Gray.' + +They had by this time got round to the house again. 'Go, now, George,' +said Elsie. 'See Athelstan this evening. Tell him that I must go to him. +I will tell him why to-morrow.' + +'If he is not at his club I will go to his lodgings. If he is not there +I will wait till he comes home. And before I go home I will drop a note +for you.--Good-night, sweetheart--good-night.' + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE PRODIGAL AT HOME + + +In the morning, Elsie rose at seven and put together such things as she +should want for the three weeks before her marriage, if she was to spend +that interval under her brother's care. At eight o'clock she received +her letters--including one in a handwriting she did not know. She opened +it. + + 'Dear Elsie,' it said, 'come to me at once. Come early. Come + to breakfast at nine. I will wait for you till ten, or any + time. + + 'Your affectionate Brother, + 'ATHELSTAN.' + +'Oh!' she murmured. 'And I did not know his writing. And to think that I +am twenty-one, and he is thirty-one; and that I have never had a letter +from him before!' + +Her boxes were packed. She put on her jacket and hat and descended into +the breakfast-room, where her mother was already opening her letters and +waiting breakfast. + +'You are going out, Elsie?' she asked coldly. + +'Yes. Hilda told you, I suppose, what she came here for yesterday. In +fact, you sent me a message.' + +'I hope she delivered it correctly.' + +'She said that you would not sanction my wedding while this charge, or +suspicion, was hanging over George's head. And that you would not see +him until it was withdrawn or cleared away.' + +'Certainly. In such a case it would be worse than hypocrisy to receive +him with friendliness.' + +'Then, like Hilda, you accept the conclusion.' + +'I am unable to do anything else. The conclusion seems to me +inevitable. If not, let him explain. I hope that no time will be lost in +bringing the formal charge. It is foolish kindness--real cruelty--to all +concerned to keep such a thing hanging over our heads. I say _our_ +heads, not yours only, Elsie, because you know your brother is +implicated--perhaps the real contriver--of the dreadful scheme.' + +'Would you believe me if I were to tell you that Athelstan _could_ not +be implicated?' + +'My dear--believe you? Of course, I would believe if I could. +Unfortunately, the evidence is too strong.' + +Elsie sighed. 'Very well; I will say nothing more. You have driven out +my lover, as you drove out my brother for the self-same cause, and on +the self-same charge. I follow my lover and my brother.' + +'Elsie!'--her mother started. 'Do not, I pray you, do anything rash. +Remember--a scandal--a whisper even--may be fatal to you hereafter. Sit +down and wait. All I ask you to do is to wait.' + +'No; I will not wait. If those two are under any cloud of suspicion, I +too will sit under the cloud and wait until it lifts. I am going to stay +with my brother until my wedding. That is to be on the 12th.' + +'No--no--my poor child. There will be no wedding on the 12th.' + +'Before that time, everything will be cleared up, and I shall be +married from this house, so that I have left all my things, my +presents--everything.' + +Her mother shook her head. + +'Try not to think so cruelly of George and of Athelstan, mother. You +will be sorry afterwards. Try to believe that though a case may look +strange, there may be a way out.' + +'I have told you'--her mother was perfectly cold and unmoved--'that I +have come to this conclusion on the evidence. If the young man can +explain things, let him do so. There will be no wedding on the 12th, +Elsie. You can come home as soon as you are convinced that your brother +is an improper person for a young lady to live with, and as soon as you +have learned the truth about the other young man. That is to say, I will +receive you under these distressing circumstances, provided there has +been no scandal connected with your name.' + +Elsie turned and left the room. The Fifth Commandment enjoins that under +such circumstances as these the least said the soonest mended. + +When a man learns that his sister, his favourite sister, from whom he +has been parted for eight years, the only member of his family who stood +up for him when he was falsely accused of a disgraceful thing, is about +to take breakfast with him, he naturally puts as much poetry into that +usually simple meal as circumstances allow. Mostly Athelstan took a cup +of coffee and a London egg. This morning he had flowers, raspberries +lying in a bed of leaves, a few late strawberries, various kinds of +confitures in dainty dishes, toast and cake, with fish and +cutlets--quite a little feast. And he had had the room cleared of the +bundles of newspapers; the pipes and cigar-cases and all the +circumstances of tobacco were hidden away--all but the smell, which +lingered. One thinks a good deal about a sister's visit, under such +conditions. At a quarter past nine Elsie arrived. Athelstan hastened to +open the door, and to receive her with open arms and kisses strange and +sweet. Then, while the people of the house took in her luggage, he led +his sister into the room, which was the front room on the ground-floor. + +'Elsie!' he said, taking both her hands in his, 'eight years since we +parted--and you are a tall young lady whom I left a little girl. To hold +your hand--to kiss you, seems strange after so long.' He kissed her +again on the forehead. She looked up at the tall handsome man with a +kind of terror. It was almost like casting herself upon the care of a +strange man. + +'I remember your voice, Athelstan, but not your face. You have changed +more than I, even.' + +'And I remember your voice, Elsie--always a soft and winning voice, +wasn't it?--to suit soft and winning ways. There never was any child +more winning and affectionate than you--never.' + +'Oh! you are grown very handsome, Athelstan. See what a splendid beard, +and the brown velvet jacket, and white waistcoat--and the crimson tie. +You look like an artist. I wish all men wore colours, as they used to +do. I only heard yesterday that you were in London. Hilda told me.' + +'Was that the reason why you cannot stay at home?' + +'Part of the reason. But you shall have breakfast first. You can take me +in without any trouble?' + +'My dear child, I am more than delighted to have you here. There is a +room at the back where you will be quiet: we have only this one room for +sitting-room, and I think we shall find it best to go out every day to +dinner. That will not hurt us, and George will come every evening.--Now, +Elsie, you sit here, and I will---- No-- I quite forgot. You will pour +out the tea. Yes--I see. I thought I was going to wait upon you +altogether.--There--now you will make a good breakfast, and--and---- +Don't cry, dear child.' + +'No--Athelstan.' She brushed away the tears. 'It is nothing. I shall be +very happy with you. But why are you not at home? And why am I here? Oh! +it is too cruel--too perverse of them!' + +'We had better have it out before breakfast, then.--Strawberries don't +go well with tears, do they? Nor jam with complainings. Come, Elsie, why +need you leave home?' + +'Because, in two words, they are treating George as they treated you. I +was younger then, or I would have gone away with you.' + +'Treating George? Oh! I understand. They are pouring suspicion upon him. +Well, I saw that this was coming. Old Checkley, I swear, is at the +bottom of this.' + +'Yes--Checkley went to Sir Samuel with the "Case," as he called it, +complete. He has proved to their joint satisfaction that nobody could +have done the thing except George, assisted by you.' + +'Oh! assisted by me.' + +'Yes--while you were in California, I suppose. There is to be a warrant +for your arrest--yours and George's--in a few days, they say. Hilda +brought the news to my mother. They both believe it, and they want me to +break off my engagement. My mother refuses to see George so long as this +charge, as she calls it, remains over him. So I came away.' + +'You did wisely. Well--any one may call up a cloud of suspicion, and it +is sometimes difficult to disperse such a cloud. Therefore, we must do +everything we can to find out who is the real criminal.--Now, let us +rest quite easy. There can be no arrest--or any charge--or anything but +a fuss created by this old villain. It is only troublesome to find one's +own people so ready to believe.' + +'Why did you not tell me that you were home again?' + +'Pour out the coffee, Elsie, and begin your breakfast. I wanted to +reserve the Return of the Prodigal until you came home after your +honeymoon. Then I meant to call mysteriously about sunset, before George +was home. I thought I would have a long cloak wrapped about me. I should +have begun: "Madam: you had once a brother."--"I had"--that is you.--"On +his deathbed."--"My brother dead?"--that's you.--"With this +packet."--Oh! we have lost a most beautiful little play. How can I +forgive you?' + +Then they went on with breakfast, talking and laughing until, before the +meal was finished, they had lost their shyness and were brother and +sister again. + +After breakfast, Athelstan took a cigarette and an easy-chair. 'Now I am +going to devote the whole day to you. I have nothing to do for my paper +which cannot wait till to-morrow. All this morning we will talk--that +is, until we are tired. We will have lunch somewhere, and go to see the +pictures; George will come at about seven: we will have dinner, and go +to some exhibition, somewhere. Then we will get home, and have another +talk. To-morrow, I shall have to leave you to your own devices between +ten and six or so. I am very busy some days: on others, I can find time +for anything.--Now that's all cleared up. I am to be your banker and +everything.' + +'Not my banker, Athelstan. Oh! you don't know. I am a great heiress.' + +'Indeed? How is that?' he asked, a little twinkle in his eye. + +'Mr. Dering told me when I was twenty-one, three weeks ago. Somebody has +given me an immense sum of money--thirteen thousand pounds.' + +'That is a very handsome sum. Who gave it to you?' + +'That is a secret. Mr. Dering refuses to tell me. I wish I knew.' + +'I wouldn't wish if I were you. Gratitude is at all times a burden and a +worry. Besides, he might be a vulgar person without aspirates or +aspirations. Much better not inquire after him. Thirteen thousand pounds +at three and a half per cent. means four hundred and fifty pounds a +year. A nice little addition to your income. I congratulate you, Elsie; +and this evening we will drink the health of the unassuming benefactor; +the retiring and nameless recogniser of maidenly worth. Bless him!' + +'And now, Athelstan, begin your adventures. Tell me everything: from the +day you left us till now. You cannot tell me too much or talk too long. +Before you begin, ask any questions about my mother and Hilda that you +want to ask. Then we can go on undisturbed.' + +'I have no questions to ask about either. I have already ascertained +from George that both are in good health, and that Hilda has married a +man with an immense fortune. That is happiness enough for her, I +hope.--Now, Elsie, I shall be tedious, I am afraid; but you shall hear +everything.' + +He began. It was such a narrative as thousands of young Englishmen have +been able to tell during the last five-and-twenty years. The story of +the young man with a few pounds in his pocket, no friends, no +recommendations, and no trade. Athelstan landed at New York in this +condition. He looked about for employment and found none. He hastened +out of the crowded city: he went West, and got work in the business open +to every sharp and clever man--that of journalism. He worked for one +paper after another, getting gradually more and more West, until he +found himself in San Francisco, where he was taken on by a great paper, +which had now sent him over here as its London correspondent. That was +all the story; but there were so many episodes in it, so many +adventures, so many men whom he remembered, so many anecdotes cropping +up, in this eight years' history of a man with an eye, a brain, and a +memory, that it was long past luncheon-time when Athelstan stopped and +said that he must carry on the next chapter at another time. + +'That pile of dollars that you made over the silver mine, +Athelstan--what became of them?' + +'What became of them? Well, you see, Elsie, in some parts of the United +States money vanishes as fast as it is made. All these dollars dropped +into a deep hole of the earth, and were hopelessly lost.' + +She laughed. 'You will tell me some day--when you please--how you lost +that fortune. Oh! what a thing it is to be a man and to have all these +adventures!--Now, Athelstan, consider--if it had not been for your bad +fortune, you would never have had all this good fortune.' + +'True. Yet the bad fortune came in such an ugly shape. There has been a +black side to my history. How was I to tell people why I left my own +country? I could make no friends. At the first appearance of friendship, +I had to become cold, lest they should ask me where I came from and why +I left home.' + +Elsie was silent. + +They carried out part of their programme. They went to see the +pictures--it was eight years since Athelstan had seen a picture--and +after the pictures they walked in the Park. Then they went home and +waited for George, who presently appeared. Then they went to one of the +Regent Street restaurants and made a little feast. After this, Elsie +asked them to come home and spend a quiet evening talking about things. + +By common consent they avoided one topic. Edmund Gray was not so much as +mentioned, nor was the malignity of Checkley alluded to. They talked of +old days, when Athelstan was a big boy and George a little boy and Elsie +a child. They talked of the long engagement, and the hopeless time, when +it seemed as if they were going to marry on two hundred pounds a year: +and of that day of miracle and marvel when Mr. Dering gave to one of +them a fortune, and to the other a partnership. They talked of their +honeymoon and the tour they were going to make, and the beautiful places +they would see. Tours and Blois, Chenonceaux and Amboise; Angouleme and +Poitiers and La Rochelle; and of their return, and the lovely flat, +where the friends would be made so welcome. Athelstan was a person of +some sympathy. Elsie talked as freely to him as she could to George. +They talked till midnight. + +Then Elsie got up. 'Whatever happens, Athelstan,' she said, +'mind--whatever happens, you shall give me away on the 12th.' + +'Now she has left us,' said George, 'you may tell me why she refused to +stay at home.' + +'Well--I suppose you ought to know. Much for the same reason that I +refused to stay at home. They then chose to jump at the conclusion that +at one step I had become, from a man of honour, a stupid and clumsy +forger. They now choose--I am ashamed to say--my mother and sister +choose--to believe that you and I together have devised and invented +this elaborate scheme of forgery. With this end in view, it has been +found necessary to contrive certain little fabrications--as that I have +been living in London on my wits--that is to say, by the exercise of +cheatery--for the last eight years; and that, being in rags and +penniless, I persuaded you to join me in this neat little buccaneering +job.' + +'Oh! it is too absurd! But I suspected something. Well--it is perfectly +easy to put a stop to that.' + +'Yes, it is easy. At the same time, it will be well to put a stop to it +as soon as possible, before the thing assumes serious proportions, and +becomes a horrid thing, that may stick to you all your life. You have +got to do with a malignant man--perhaps a desperate man. He will spread +abroad the suspicion as diligently as he can. Let us work, therefore.' + +'Well--but what can we do, that we have not done? How can we fix the +thing upon Checkley?' + +'I don't know. We must think--we must find out something, somehow. Let +us all three work together. Elsie will make the best detective in the +world. And let us work in secret. I am very glad--very glad indeed--that +Elsie came.' + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE WHISPER OF CALUMNY + + +Whispered words are ever more potent than words proclaimed aloud upon +the house-top. If the envious man from the house-top denounces a man of +reputation as a thief, a gambler, a patricide, a sororicide, amicocide, +no man regardeth his voice, though he call out with the voice of +Stentor: people only stare: these are the words of a madman or a +malignant. But whisper these charges in the ear of your neighbour: +whisper them with bated breath: say that, as yet, the thing is a +profound secret. Then that rumour swiftly flies abroad, until every +burgess in the town regards that man askance; and when the time for +voting comes, he votes for another man, and will not have him as beadle, +sexton, verger, schoolmaster, turncock, policeman, parish doctor, +workhouse chaplain, common-councilman, alderman, Mayor, or Member of +Parliament. And all for a whisper. + +It was Checkley who set going the whisper, which at this moment was +running up and down the office, agitating all hearts, occupying all +minds, the basis of all conversation. + +King Midas's servant, when he was irresistibly impelled to whisper, dug +a hole in the ground and placed his whisper at the bottom of that hole. +But the grasses grew up and sighed the words to the passing breeze, so +that the market women heard them on their way: 'The King's ears are the +ears of an Ass--the ears of an Ass--the ears of an Ass.' The old and +trusty servant of Dering and Son buried his secret in the leaves of his +Copying-book. Here it was found by the boy who worked the Copying-press. +As he turned over the pages, he became conscious of a sibilant, +malignant, revengeful murmur: 'Who stole the bonds? The new +Partner.--Who forged the letters? The new Partner.--Who robbed the safe? +The new Partner.' Here was a pretty thing for a pretty innocent office +boy to hear! Naturally, his very soul became aflame: when the dinner +hour arrived, he told another boy as a profound secret what he had +heard. That boy told an older boy, who told another still older, who +told another, and so up the long official ladder, until everybody in the +place knew that the new Partner--actually the new Partner--the most +fortunate of all young men that ever passed his Exam.--who had stepped +at a bound from two hundred to a thousand, at least--this young man, of +all young men in the world, had forged his partner's name, robbed his +partner's safe, made away with his partner's property. Who after this +can trust anybody? + +But others there were who refused to believe this thing. They pointed +out that the new Partner continued--apparently--on the best of terms +with the old Partner: they argued that when such things are done, +friendships are killed and partnerships are dissolved. They even went so +far, though members of the great profession which believes in no man's +goodness, as to declare their belief that the new Partner could not +possibly by any temptation do such things. And there were others who +pointed to the fact that the whisper came from the boy of the +Copying-press: that he heard it whispered by the fluttering leaves: and +that it was imparted to those leaves by Checkley--old Checkley--whose +hatred towards the new Partner was notorious to all men: not on account +of any personal qualities or private injuries, but out of the jealousy +which made him regard the Chief as his own property: and because he had +been deprived of his power in the office--the power of appointment and +disappointment and the raising of screw, which he had previously +possessed. Checkley was dethroned. Therefore, Checkley spread this +rumour. Others, again, said that if the rumour was really started by +Checkley, which could not be proved, seeing that, like all whispers or +rumours, the origin was unknown, and perhaps supernatural, then Checkley +must have very strong grounds for starting such a thing. + +Thus divided in opinion, the office looked on, expectant. Expectancy is +a thing which gets into the air: it fills every room with whispers: it +makes a conspirator or a partisan or a confederate of every one: it +divides a peaceful office into camps: it is the cause of inventions, +lies, and exaggerations. There were two parties in this office--one +which whispered accusations, and the other which whispered denials. +Between these hovered the wobblers or mugwumps, who whispered that while +on the one hand--on the other hand--and that while they readily +admitted--so they were free to confess----Everybody knows the wobbler. +He is really, if he knew it, the master of the situation; but, because +he is a wobbler, he cannot use his strength. When he is called upon to +act, he falls into two pieces, each of which begins to wobble and to +fall into other two pieces of its own accord. The whole process of a +Presidential Election--except the final voting--was going on in that +office of half-a-dozen rooms, but in whispers, without a single +procession, and not one German band. And all unconscious of the tumult +that raged about him--a tumult in whispers--a civil war in silence--the +object of this was going on his way unconscious and undisturbed. + +Now, however, having learned that the old clerk was actually seeking to +fix this charge upon him, George perceived the whispering and understood +the charge. When he passed through the first or outer office in the +morning, he perceived that the clerks all looked at him curiously, and +that they pretended not to be looking at him, and plied their pens with +zeal. On the stairs he met an articled clerk, who blushed a rosy red +with consciousness of the thing: on his way to his own room through his +own clerks' room, he felt them looking after him curiously as he passed; +and he felt them, when his own door was closed, whispering about him. +This made him extremely angry. Yet, for a whisper, one cannot suffer +wrath to become visible. That would only please the whisperers. There +is only one thing worse than to be suspected rightly; it is to be +suspected wrongly; for the latter makes a man mad. What? That he--even +he--the man of principle and rule, should be suspected! Does nothing, +then--no amount of character, no blamelessness of record, avail? Is the +world coming to an end? + +George then shut his door and sat down to his table in a very wrathful +and savage frame of mind. And while he was just beginning to nurse and +nourish this wrath, coaxing it from a red glow to a roaring flame, a +card was brought to him. + +'I will see Sir Samuel at once,' he said. + +It is as well that we do not hear the remarks of the clerks' room and +the servants' hall. The Service, in fact, is a body of critics whose +judgments would, if we only heard them, cause us to reconsider our +self-respect. Great Philanthropist, great Statesman, saintly +Preacher--if you only knew what they say of you--down below! + +The clerks, as Sir Samuel Dering--his face composed to the solemnity of +a mute--walked into the new Partner's room, whispered to each other: +'He's going to finish him. There'll be a bolt to-night.--He won't dare +face it out.--He _have_ got a nerve!!!--The game's up at last.--They +won't prosecute; you see if they do. If it was one of us, now.--Sir +Samuel's come to warn him--now you'll see.' With other exchanges and +surmises. + +Sir Samuel, big and important, coldly inclined his head and took a +chair. 'A few words,' he said--'a few serious words, if you please, +sir.' + +'Pray, go on.' George sat up and listened, his upper lip stiffened. He +knew what was coming. The thing which Sir Samuel proposed to say, +apparently became difficult. He turned red and stammered. In fact, it is +very difficult to inform a highly respectable young man in a highly +respectable position that he is going to be charged with a crime of +peculiar atrocity. + +'I am here,' he said, after two or three false starts, 'without my +brother's knowledge. This is a private and unofficial visit. I come to +advise. My visit must be regarded as without prejudice.' + +'Is it not well to ask first of all if your advice is invited?' + +'In such a case as this, I venture to obtrude advice,' Sir Samuel +replied with dignity. 'There are occasions on which a man should +speak--he is bound to speak. You will remember that I was to have been +your brother-in-law----' + +'You are to be my brother-in-law. Well, Sir Samuel, go on. I will hear +what you have to say.' + +'You are, as no doubt you suspect and fear, about to be charged in +company with another, with complicity in this long series of forgeries.' + +'Really? I heard last night from Elsie that there was some talk of such +a charge. Now, Sir Samuel, a man of your experience must be aware that +it is not enough for a foolish old clerk to suggest a charge; but there +must be some connection between the accused person and the crime.' + +'Connection? Good Heavens! There is a solid chain of evidence, without a +single weak point.' + +'Is there indeed? Well, we will not ask for the production of your +chain. Let us take it for granted. Go on to the next point.' + +'I wish, young gentleman, I wish most sincerely, for the credit +of yourself, and for the happiness of the unfortunate girl who +has given you her heart, that my chain was of glass, to fly into +a thousand fragments. But it is not. Everything is complete. The +motive: the tempter: the conspiracy: the working out: the apparent +success--everything complete. The motive--want of money.' + +'Want of money? Well, I was pretty badly off. That cannot be denied. Go +on.' + +'You wanted money--both of you--wanted money. In ninety cases out of a +hundred, this is the cause--wanted money. So you went and did it. Always +the way in the City--they want money--and so they go and do it--go and +do it.' + +'I see. Well, we need not have the tempter and the rest of it. They can +wait. Let us go on to the advice.' + +'Just so. What I came to say is this. You are in a devil of a mess, +young gentleman: the whole job is found out: there's no use in trying to +brazen it out. Best come down at once.' + +George nodded with as much good humour as he could assume under the +circumstances. + +'Down at once,' Sir Samuel repeated. 'It is always best in the long run. +In your case, there is every reason why a scandal should be avoided. +The thing hasn't got into the papers: we are only yet in the first stage +of finding out what has been actually stolen: it has not been a case in +which the police could help. Now my brother is not a vindictive man. I, +for my own part, don't want my wife's brother, to say nothing of you, +convicted of forgery. Eh? Beastly thing, to go down to the City in the +morning and to hear them whispering, "That's his wife's brother in the +papers to-day. Lagged for fifteen years." Fifteen years for certain, it +will be, my fine fellow.' + +'Fifteen years for certain,' George repeated. + +'Let me help you out of the mess. Don't make difficulties. Don't stick +out your chin. Think of Elsie!' + +George nearly lost his self-control--not quite. + +'Think of Elsie!' he cried. 'Best not mention her name, Sir Samuel, if +you please.' + +'She would be heart-broken if it went so far. If it stops short of that, +she will soon get over the little disappointment.' + +'Go on to the next point.' + +'Well--it is just this. I'll help you both--Athelstan as well as +you--yes--I'll help Athelstan. Hang the fellow! Why couldn't he stay at +Camberwell? Who cares about him and his bad company, if he keeps himself +out of people's way? Now, then. Let me have back the money. You haven't +drawn anything out of the Bank. Give me the papers. Then I'll square it +with my brother. I will advance you a hundred or two: you shall go clear +out of the country, and never come back again. And then, though it's +compounding a felony, we'll just put everything back again, and say +nothing more about it.' + +'Oh! That is very good of you.' + +'Yes, I know. But I want to make things easy. I don't want a beastly row +and a scandal. As for Athelstan, I shouldn't know the fellow if I ever +saw him. I hardly remember him. But for you I've always had a liking, +until these little events happened.' + +'Very good, indeed, of you.' + +'When the thing came out, I said to Lady Dering. "My dear," I said, "I'm +very sorry for your sister, because it will vex her more than a bit. The +engagement, of course, will be broken off; but we must not have a +scandal. We cannot afford it. We can not"--he smiled--"we are positively +not rich enough. Only the very richest people can afford to have such a +scandal. I will try and get things squared," I said, "for all our +sakes." That is what I said to Lady Dering. Now, be persuaded. Do the +right thing. Tell Athelstan what I have told you. The warrant for the +arrest of the man Edmund Gray will be issued to-morrow, I suppose, or +next day. After that, nothing can save you.' + +'Nothing can save me,' George repeated. 'Is that all you came to say, +Sir Samuel?' + +'That is all. A clean breast is all we ask.' + +'Then, Sir Samuel'--George rose and took a bundle of papers from the +table--'let us find my Partner. You shall hear what I have to say.' + +'Ah! that's right--that's sensible. I knew that you would be open to +reason. Come. He is sure to be alone at this early hour. Come at once.' + +They went out together. The clerks noted their faces full of 'business,' +as we poetically put it--matters of buying and selling being notoriously +of the highest importance conceivable. Evidently something very serious +indeed had passed. But the chief personage still held up his head. +'Game, sir, game to the last. But there will be a bolt.' + +Mr. Dering was in his usual place, before the letters, which were still +unopened. He looked ill, worn, and worried. + +'Brother,' said Sir Samuel, 'I bring you a young gentleman who has a +communication to make of great importance.' + +'Is it about this case? Have you--at last found out something?' The +tone, the words, suggested extreme irritability. + +'I fear not. You know, I believe, all that we have found out. But now,' +said Sir Samuel, rubbing his hands--'now comes the long-expected----' + +George interrupted--'What I have to say will not take long. I hear from +Sir Samuel that he and Checkley between them have got up a case which +involves me in these forgeries.' + +'Quite right,' said Sir Samuel. 'Involves you inextricably.' + +'And that things have gone so far that I am about to be arrested, tried, +and convicted. Which he rightly thinks will be a great scandal. So it +will--so it certainly will. He therefore proposes that I should make a +clean breast of the whole business, and give back the stolen bonds. I am +sorry that I cannot do this, for a very simple reason--namely, that +there is nothing to confess. But there is one thing that I must do. You +placed the case in my hands----' + +'I did. I asked you to find out. I have brought no charge against you. +Have you found out?' + +Mr. Dering spoke like a schoolmaster in one of his least amiable moods. + +'It is a very improper thing for a person accused of a crime to be +engaged in detecting it. So I resign the case--there are the papers. You +had better go to some solicitor accustomed to this kind of work.' + +'Stuff and rubbish!' cried Mr. Dering. + +'Sir, you have deceived me.' Sir Samuel's face was gradually resuming +its normal length. 'You promised to confess, and you have not. You as +good as confessed just now.--This man is clearly, unmistakably guilty,' +he added, turning to his brother. + +'I have not asked you, my Partner,' Mr. Dering added, more softly, 'to +give up the case. I have heard what is said. I have observed that the +so-called case is built up entirely on conjecture.' + +'No--no,' said Sir Samuel. 'It is a sound structure, complete in every +part.' + +'And there is nothing as yet to connect any man with the thing--not even +the man Edmund Gray.' + +'Quite wrong--quite wrong,' said Sir Samuel. 'In the City, we may not be +lawyers, but we understand evidence.' + +'I cannot choose but give up the case,' George replied. 'Consider. +Already Mrs. Arundel has requested her daughter to break off her +engagement; I am forbidden the house; Elsie has left her mother and gone +to her brother. No, sir--take the papers, and give them to some other +person.' + +Mr. Dering mechanically took the papers, and laid his hand upon them. + +'Let me remind you,' George continued, 'how far we have got. We have +proved that Edmund Gray is a real person, known to many. We have not +proved the connection between him and the robberies committed in his +name. He is apparently a most respectable person. The problem before you +is still to fix the crime on someone. I shall be glad to hear that it +has been successfully solved.' + +'Glad?' asked Sir Samuel. 'You will be glad? This is amazing!' + +'Eight years ago, Mr. Dering, another man stood here, and was accused of +a similar crime. He refused to stay in the house under such a charge. +That was foolish. Time has established his innocence. I shall stay. I am +your Partner. The Partnership can only be dissolved by mutual consent. I +remain.' + +Mr. Dering laid his head upon his hand and sighed. 'I believe I shall be +driven mad before long with this business,' he said querulously. He had +lost something of his decision of speech. 'Well, I will give the case to +somebody else. Meantime, look here. Tell me how these things came here.' + +The 'things' were two envelopes containing letters. They were addressed +to Edmund Gray, and had been opened. One of them was George's own note +inviting him to call. The other was the letter from the Manager of the +Bank asking for other references. + +'How did they get here?' asked Mr. Dering again. + +'Had you not better ask Checkley?' George rang the bell. + +'I found these on the top of my letters, Checkley,' said Mr. Dering. +'You were the first in the room. You put the letters on the table. I +found them on the top of the heap. Nobody had been in the room except +you and me. You must have put them there.' + +Checkley looked at the envelopes, and began to tremble. 'I don't know,' +he said. 'I put the letters on the table. They were not among them. +Somebody must have put them there'--he looked at the new Partner--'some +friend of Mr. Edmund Gray, between the time that I left the room and the +time when you came.' + +'I entered the room,' Mr. Dering replied, 'as you were leaving it.' + +'Observe,' said George, 'that in the whole conduct of this business +there has been one man engaged who has control of the letters. That +man--the only man in the office--is, I believe, the man before us--your +clerk--Checkley.' + +'How came the letters here?' Mr. Dering repeated angrily. + +'I don't know,' answered Checkley. 'He'--indicating George--'must have +put them there.' + +'The Devil is in the office, I believe. How do things come here? How do +they vanish? Who put the notes in the safe? Who took the certificates +out of the safe? All you can do is to stand and accuse each other. What +good are you--any of you? Find out. Find out. Yesterday, there was a +handbill about Edmund Gray in the safe. The day before there was a +handful of Socialist tracts on the letters. Find out, I say.' + +'Give the things to detectives,' said George. + +'Let me take the case in hand, brother.' Sir Samuel laid hands on the +papers. 'I flatter myself that I will very soon have the fellow under +lock and key. And then, sir'--he turned to George--'scandal or no +scandal, there shall be no pity--no mercy--none.' + +George laughed. 'Well, Sir Samuel, in a fortnight or so I shall call +myself your brother-in-law. Till then, farewell.' He left the office and +returned to his own room, the ripple of the laughter still upon his lips +and in his eyes, so that the clerks marvelled, and the faith of those +who believed in him was strengthened. + +'Before then, young crowing bantam,' cried Sir Samuel after him, 'I +shall have you under lock and key.' + +'Ah!' This was Checkley. The little interjection expressed, far more +than any words could do, his satisfaction at the prospect. Then he left +the room grumbling and muttering. + +'I believe that this business will finish me off.' Mr. Dering sighed +again, and passed his hand over his forehead. 'Night and day it worries +me. It makes my forgetfulness grow upon me. I am as good as gone. This +hour I cannot remember the last hour. See--I had breakfast at home as +usual. I remember that. I remember setting out. It is ten minutes walk +from Bedford Row to here. I have taken an hour and a half. How? I do not +know. What did I do last night? I do not know; and I am pursued by this +forger--robber--demon. He puts things in my safe--yesterday, a placard +that Edmund Gray was going to give a lecture on something or other--the +day before, a bundle of tracts by Edmund Gray. What do these things +mean? What can I do?' + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +HE COMES FROM EDMUND GRAY + + +'Nothing,' said Athelstan, 'could possibly happen more fortunately. We +have turned whispering conspirators into declared enemies. Now you are +free to investigate in your own way without having to report progress +every day.' + +'About this new business about the letters and the things in the safe,' +said Elsie. 'It looks to me like _diablerie_. Checkley couldn't do it. +No conjuror in the world could do it. There must be somebody else in the +office to do these things. They mean defiance. The forger says: "See--I +do what I please with you. I return your letters addressed to Edmund +Gray. I place placards about Edmund Gray in your safe--for which nobody +has a key except yourself. Find me, if you can."' + +'Yes; it is very mysterious.' + +'A Person on Two Sticks might manage it. Very likely, he is concerned in +the business. Or a boy under the table would be able to do it. Perhaps +there is a boy under the table. There must be. Mr. Dering's table is +like the big bed of Ware. I daresay fifty boys might creep under that +table and wait there for a chance. But perhaps there is only one--a +comic boy.' + +'I should like to catch the joker,' said George. 'I would give him +something still more humorous to laugh at.' + +'If there is no comic boy--and no Person on Two Sticks,' Elsie +continued, 'we are thrown back upon Checkley. He seems to be the only +man who receives the letters and goes in and out of the office all day. +Well--I don't think it is Checkley. I don't think it can be-- George, +you once saw Mr. Dering in a very strange condition, unconscious, +walking about with open eyes seeing nobody. Don't you think that he may +have done this more than once?' + +'What do you mean, Elsie?' + +'Don't you think that some of these things--things put in the safe, for +instance, may have been put there by Mr. Dering himself? You saw him +open the safe. Afterwards he knew nothing about it. Could he not do +this more than once--might it be a habit?' + +'Well--but if he puts the things in the safe--things that belonged to +Edmund Gray, he must know Edmund Gray. For instance, how did he get my +note to Edmund Gray, left by me on his table in Gray's Inn? That must +have been given to him by Edmund Gray himself.' + +'Or by some friend of Edmund Gray. Yes; that is quite certain.' + +'Come,' said Athelstan. 'This infernal Edmund Gray is too much with us. +Let us leave off talking about him for a while. Let him rest for this +evening.--Elsie, put on your things. We will go and dine somewhere, and +go to the play afterwards.' + +They did so. They had the quiet little restaurant dinner that girls have +learned of late to love so much--the little dinner, where everything +seems so much brighter and better served than one can get at home. After +the dinner they went to a theatre, taking places in the Dress Circle, +where, given good eyes, one sees quite as well as from the stalls at +half the money. After the theatre they went home and there was an +exhibition of tobacco and soda water. Those were very pleasant days in +the Piccadilly lodgings, even allowing for the troubles which brought +them about. Athelstan was the most delightful of brothers, and every +evening brought its feast of laughter and of delightful talk. But all +through the evening, all through the play, Elsie saw nothing but Mr. +Dering and him engaged in daylight somnambulism. She saw him as George +described him, opening the safe, closing it again, and afterwards wholly +forgetful of what he had done. + +She thought about this all night. Now, when one has a gleam or glimmer +of an idea, when one wants to disengage a single thought from the +myriads which cross the brain, and to fix it and to make it clear, there +is nothing in the world so good as to talk about it. The effort of +finding words with which to drag it out makes it clearer. Every +story-teller knows that the mere telling of a story turns his +characters, who before were mere shadows, and shapeless shadows, into +creatures of flesh and blood. Therefore, in the morning she began upon +the thought which haunted her. + +'Athelstan,' she said, 'do you know anything about somnambulism?' + +'I knew a man once in California who shot a grizzly when he was +sleep-walking. At least, he said so. That's the sum of my knowledge on +the subject.' + +'I want to know if people often walk about in the daytime unconscious?' + +'They do. It is called wool-gathering.' + +'Seriously, Athelstan. Consider. George saw Mr. Dering arrive in a state +of unconsciousness. He saw nobody in the room. He opened the safe and +placed some papers there. Then he locked the safe. Then he sat down at +the window. Presently he awoke, and became himself again. If he did that +once, he might do it again.' + +'Well? And then?' + +'You heard yesterday about the letters, and the placard and the +Socialist tracts. Now Checkley couldn't do that. He couldn't, and he +wouldn't.' + +'Well?' + +'But Mr. Dering could. If he had that attack once, he might have it +again and again. Why, he constantly complains of forgetting things.' + +'But the letters yesterday were addressed to Edmund Gray. How do you +connect Edmund Gray with Edward Dering?' + +'I don't know. But, my dear brother, the more I think of this business, +the more persuaded I am that Checkley is not the prime mover, or even a +confederate.' + +'The same hand has doubtless been at work throughout. If not Checkley's +aid to make that hand possible and successful, who is there? And look at +the malignity with which he tries to fix it on some one else.' + +'That may be because he is afraid of its being fixed upon him. Consider +that point about the control of the letters. The business could only be +done by some one through whose hands passed all the letters.' + +'Checkley is the only person possible.' + +'Yes; he understands that. It makes him horribly afraid. He therefore +lies with all his might in order to pass on suspicion to another person. +You and George think him guilty--well, I do not. If I were trying to +find out the man, I should try a different plan altogether.' + +Her brother had work to do which took him out directly after an early +breakfast. When Elsie was left alone, she began again to think about +Mr. Dering's strange daylight somnambulism; about his continual fits of +forgetfulness; about the odd things found on his table and in his safe, +all connected with Edmund Gray. Checkley could not have placed those +letters on the table: he could not have put those things in the safe. + +Elsie looked at the clock. It was only just after nine. She ran to her +room, put on her jacket and hat, and called a cab. + +She arrived at half-past nine. Checkley was already in his master's +room, laying out the table for the day's work as usual. The girl was +touched at the sight of this old servant of sixty years' service doing +these offices zealously and jealously. She stood in the outer office +watching him through the open door. When he had finished, he came out +and saw her. + +'Oh!' he grumbled. 'It's you, is it? Well--he hasn't come. If you want +to see Mr. Dering, it's full early. If you want to see the new partner, +he isn't come. He don't hurry himself. Perhaps you'll sit down a bit and +look at the paper. Here's the _Times_. He'll be here at a quarter to +ten.' + +Checkley sat down at his desk and took up a pen. But he laid it down +again and began to talk. 'We're in trouble, Miss. No fault of yours-- I +don't say it is. We're in trouble. The trouble is going to be worse +before it's better. They're not content with robbing the master, but +they mock at him and jeer him. They jeer him. They put on his table +letters addressed to the man they call Edmund Gray. They open his safe +and put things in it belonging to Edmund Gray. We're not so young as we +was, and it tells upon us. We're not so regular as we should be. +Sometimes we're late--and sometimes we seem, just for a bit, not to know +exactly who we are nor what we are. Oh! it's nothing--nothing, but what +will pass away when the trouble's over. But think of the black +ingratitood, Miss--Oh! black--black. I'm not blamin' you; but I think +you ought to know the trouble we're in--considering who's done it and +all.' + +Elsie made no reply. She had nothing to say. Certainly she could not +enter into a discussion with this man as to the part, if any, taken in +the business by the new partner. Then Checkley made a show of beginning +to write with zeal. The morning was hot: the place was quiet: the old +man's hand gradually slackened: the pen stopped: the eyes closed: his +head dropped back upon his chair: he was asleep. It is not uncommon for +an old man to drop off in this way. + +Elsie sat perfectly still. At eleven o'clock she heard a step upon the +stairs. It mounted: it stopped: the private door was opened, and Mr. +Dering entered. He stood for a moment in the doorway, looking about the +room. Now, as the girl looked at him, she perceived that he was again in +the condition described by George--as a matter of fact, it was in this +condition that Mr. Dering generally arrived in the morning. His coat was +unbuttoned: his face wore the genial and benevolent look which we do not +generally associate with lawyers of fifty years' standing: the eyes were +Mr. Dering's eyes, but they were changed--not in colour or in form, but +in expression. Elsie was reminded of her portrait. That imaginary sketch +was no other than the Mr. Dering who now stood before her. + +He closed the door behind him and walked across the room to the window. + +Then Elsie, lightly, so as not to awaken the drowsy old clerk, stepped +into Mr. Dering's office and shut the door softly behind her. + +The sleep-walker stood at the window, looking out. Elsie crept up and +stood beside him. Then she touched him on the arm. He started and +turned. 'Young lady,' he said, 'what can I do for you?' He showed no +sign of recognition at all in his eyes: he did not know her. 'Can I do +anything for you?' he repeated. + +'I am afraid--nothing,' she replied. + +He looked at her doubtfully. Then apparently remembering some duty as +yet unfulfilled, he left the window and unlocked the safe. He then drew +out of his pocket a manuscript tied up with red tape. Elsie looked into +the safe and read the title--'_The New Humanity_, by Edmund Gray,' which +was written in large letters on the outer page. Then he shut and locked +the safe and dropped the key in his own pocket. This done, he returned +to the window and sat down, taking no manner of notice of his visitor. +All this exactly as he had done before in presence of George and his old +clerk. + +For ten minutes he sat there. Then he shivered, straightened himself, +stood up, and looked about the room, Mr. Dering again. + +'Elsie!' he cried. 'I did not know you were here. How long have you been +here?' + +'Not very long. A few minutes, perhaps.' + +'I must have fallen asleep. It is a hot morning. You must forgive the +weakness of an old man, child. I had a bad night too. I was awake a long +time, thinking of all these troubles and worries. They can't find out, +Elsie, who has robbed me.' He spoke querulously and helplessly. 'They +accuse each other, instead of laying their heads together. Nonsense! +Checkley couldn't do it. George couldn't do it. The thing was done by +somebody else. My brother came here with a cock-and-bull case, all built +up of presumptions and conclusions. If they would only find out!' + +'The trouble is mine as much as yours, Mr. Dering. I have had to leave +my mother's house, where I had to listen to agreeable prophecies about +my lover and my brother. I wish, with you, that they would find out!' + +He took off his hat and hung it on its peg. He buttoned his frock-coat +and took his place at the table, upright and precise. Yet his eyes were +anxious. + +'They tease me too. They mock me. Yesterday, they laid two letters +addressed to this man, Edmund Gray, on my letters. What for? To laugh at +me, to defy me to find them out. Checkley swears he didn't put them +there. I arrived at the moment when he was leaving the room. Are we +haunted? And the day before--and the day before that--there were things +put in the safe----' + +'In the safe? Oh! but nobody has the key except yourself. How can +anything be put in the safe?' + +'I don't know. I don't know anything. I don't know what may be taken +next. My houses--my mortgages, my lands, my very practice----' + +'Nay,--they could not. Is there anything this morning?' + +He turned over his letters. 'Apparently not. Stay; I have not looked in +the safe. He got up and threw open the safe. Then he took up a packet. +'Again!' he cried almost with a scream. 'Again! See this!' He tossed on +the table the packet which he had himself, only ten minutes before, +placed in the safe with his own hands. 'See this! Thus they laugh at +me--thus they torment me!' He hurled the packet to the other side of the +room, returned to his chair, and laid his head upon his hands, sighing +deeply. + +Elsie took up the parcel. It was rather a bulky manuscript. The title +you have heard. She untied the tape and turned over the pages. The work, +she saw, was the Autobiography of Edmund Gray. _And it was in the +handwriting of Mr. Dering!_ + +She replaced it in the safe. 'Put everything there,' she said, 'which is +sent to you. Everything. Do you know anything at all about this man +Edmund Gray?' + +'Nothing, my dear child, absolutely nothing. I never saw the man. I +never heard of him. Yet he has planted himself upon me. He holds his +Chambers on a letter of recommendation from me. I was his introducer to +the manager of the Bank--I--in my own handwriting--as they thought. He +drew a cheque of 720_l_. upon me eight years ago. And he has transferred +thirty-eight thousand pounds' worth of shares and stock to his own +address.' + +'Added to which, he has been the cause of suspicion and vile accusation +against my lover and my brother, which it will cost a great deal of +patience to forgive. Dear Mr. Dering, I am so sorry for you. It is most +wonderful and most mysterious. Suppose,' she laid her hand upon +his--'suppose that I was to find out for you----' + +'You, child? What can you do, when the others have failed?' + +'I can but try.' + +'Try, in Heaven's name. Try, my dear. If you find out, you shall be +burned for a witch.' + +'No. If I find out, you shall be present at my wedding. You were to have +given me away. But now--now--Athelstan shall give me away, and you will +be there to see. And it will be a tearful wedding'--the tears came into +her own eyes just to illustrate the remark--'because everyone will be so +ashamed of the wicked things they have said. Sir Samuel will remain on +his knees the whole service, and Checkley will be fain to get under the +seat.--Good-bye, Mr. Dering. I am a Prophetess. I can foretell. You +shall hear in a very few days all about Edmund Gray.' + +She ran away without any further explanation. Mr. Dering shook his head +and smiled. He did not believe in contemporary Prophecy. That young +people should place their own affairs--their love-makings and +weddings--before the affairs of their elders, was not surprising. For +himself, as he sometimes remembered--and always when this girl, with +her pretty ways and soft voice, was with him--her visit had cheered him. +He opened his letters and went on with the day's work. + +As for Elsie, the smile in her eyes died out as she descended the +stairs. If she had been herself a lawyer, she could not have worn a +graver face as she walked across the courts of the venerable Inn. + +She had established the connection between Mr. Dering and Edmund Gray. +It was he, and nobody else, who laid those letters on the table--placed +those things in the safe. This being so, it must be he himself, and +nobody else, who wrote all the letters, signed the cheques, and did all +the mischief. He himself! But how? Elsie had read of hypnotism. +Wonderful things are done daily by mesmerists and magnetisms under their +new name. Mr. Dering was hypnotised by this man Edmund Gray--as he +called himself--for his own base ends. Well--she would find out this +Edmund Gray. She would beard this villain in his own den. + +She walked resolutely to Gray's Inn. She found No. 22--she mounted the +stairs. The outer door was closed. She knocked, but there was no answer. +She remembered how George had found his laundress, and visited her at +her lodgings--she thought she would do the same. But on the stairs she +went down she met an old woman so dirty, so ancient, so feeble, that she +seemed to correspond with George's account of her. + +'You are Mr. Gray's laundress?' she asked. + +'Yes, Miss; I am.' The woman looked astonished to see such a visitor. + +'I want to see him. I want to see him on very important business. Most +important to himself. When can I see him?' + +'I don't know, Miss. He is uncertain. He was here yesterday evening. He +said he should not be here this evening. But I don't know.' + +'Look here.' Elsie drew out her purse. 'Tell me when you think he will +be here, and if I find him I will give you two pounds--two golden +sovereigns. If you tell me right I will give you two sovereigns.' + +She showed them. The old woman looked hungrily at the coins. 'Well, +Miss, he's been here every Saturday afternoon for the last six months. I +know it by the litter of papers that he makes. Every Saturday +afternoon.' + +'Very good. You shall have your money if I find him.' + +In the evening, Elsie said nothing about Mr. Dering and her strange +discovery. The two young men talked about trying this way and that way, +always with the view of implicating Checkley. But she said nothing. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +I AM EDMUND GRAY + + +On Saturday afternoon, the policeman on day-duty at Gray's Inn was +standing near the southern portals of that venerable Foundation in +conversation with the boy who dispenses the newspapers, from a warehouse +constructed in the eastern wall of the archway. It was half-past three +by the clock and a fine day, which was remarkable for the +season--August--and the year. The sun poured upon the dingy old courts, +making them dingier instead of brighter. Where the paint of the windows +and door-posts is faded and dirty--where the panes are mostly in want of +cleaning--where there are no flowers in the windows--where there are no +trees or leaves in the Square--where the bricks want painting, and where +the soot has gathered in every chink and blackens every cranny--then the +sunshine of summer only makes a dingy court shabbier. Gray's Inn in July +and August, unless these months are as the August of the year of grace +1891, looks old, but not venerable. Age should be clean and nicely +dressed: age should wear a front to conceal her baldness: age should +assume false teeth to disguise those gums stripped of their ivory. It +was felt by the policeman. 'We want a washin' and a brightenin' in this +old place,' he remarked to the journalist. We want somethin' younger +than them old laundresses,' said the newspaper boy. Great is the Goddess +Coincidence. Even while he uttered this aspiration, a young lady entered +the gate and passed into the Inn. + +'Ha!' breathed the policeman, softly. + +'Ah!' sighed the journalist. + +She was a young lady of adorable face and form, surpassing the wildest +dreams either of policeman or of paper-man--both of whom possessed the +true poetic temperament. She was clothed in raiment mystic, wonderful, +such as seldom indeed gets as far east as Gray's Inn, something in gray +or silver gray with an open front and a kind of jacket. She passed them +rapidly, and walked through the passage into the Square. + +'No. 22,' said the policeman. 'Now, who does she want at No. 22? Who's +on the ground-floor of 22?' + +'Right hand--Architects and Surveyors. Left hand--Universal +Translators.' + +'Perhaps she's a Universal Translator. They must be all gone by this +time. The first floor is lawyers. They're all gone too. I saw the clerks +march out at two o'clock. Second floor--there's Mr. Carstone on the +left, and Mr. Edmund Gray on the right. Perhaps it's Mr. Carstone she's +after. I hope it isn't him. He's a gentleman with fine manners, and they +do say a great scholar, but he's a Lushington, and a sweet young thing +like that ought not to marry a man who is brought home every other night +too tipsy to stand. Or there's Mr. Gray--the old gent--perhaps she's his +daughter. What's Mr. Edmund Gray by calling, Joe?' + +'Nobody knows. He don't often come. An old gentleman--been in the Inn a +long time--for years. Lives in the country, I suppose, and does no work. +Lives on other people's work--my work--honest working men's work,' said +the boy, who was a Socialist and advanced. + +'Ah! There's something up about Mr. Gray. People are coming to inquire +for him. First, it was a young gentleman: very affable he was--and free +with his money--most likely other people's money. He wanted to know a +good deal about Mr. Gray--more than I could tell him--wanted to know how +often he came, and what he was like when he did come--and would I tell +him all I knew. He went to the old laundress afterwards.--Then it was a +little old man--I know him by sight--uses the _Salutation_ Parlour of an +evening--he wanted to know all about Mr. Gray too. No half-crown in that +quarter, though. He's been spying and watching for him--goes and hides +up the passage on the other side of the Square. Kind of a spider he is. +He's watching him for no good, I'll bet. Perhaps the young lady wants to +find out about him too.--Joe, there's something up at No. 22. The old +gentleman isn't in his chambers, I believe. She'll come out again +presently, and it'll be: "Oh, Mr. Policeman, could you very kindly tell +me how I can find Mr. Edmund Gray?" With a shilling perhaps, and +perhaps not. I wonder what she wants with Mr. Edmund Gray? Sometimes +these old chaps break out in the most surprising manner. Joe, if you +ever go into the Service, you'll find the work hard and the pay small. +But there's compensation in learnin' things. If you want to know human +nature, go into the Force.' + +'There's old Mr. Langhorne, up at the top.' + +'So there is. But no young lady wants to see that poor old chap. He's +got no friends, young nor old--no friends and no money. Just now, he's +terrible hard up. Took a shillin' off o' me last Sunday to get a bit of +dinner with. Fine thing--isn't it, Joe?--to be a gentleman and a +barrister all your life, isn't it--and to end like that? Starvation in a +garret--eh?-- Look out. She will be coming down directly.' + +But she did not come down. Two hours and more passed, and she did not +come down. + +The visitor was Elsie Arundel. She walked up the stairs to the second +floor. Here she stopped. There was a black door, closed, on the right of +her, and another black door, closed, on the left of her. On the lintel +of one was the name of Mr. F. W. Carstone. On the lintel of the other +was that of Mr. Edmund Gray. Elsie knocked with her parasol at the +latter door. There was no reply. 'The old laundress,' she murmured, +'told me that Saturday afternoon was my best chance of finding him. I +will wait.' She sat down with hesitation on the stairs leading to the +third floor--they were not too clean--and waited. + +She was going to do a very plucky thing--a dangerous thing. She had made +a discovery connecting Mr. Dering directly with this Edmund Gray. She +had learned that he came to the office in a strange condition, perhaps +hypnotic, bringing things from Edmund Gray. She now suspected that the +only person who carried on the forgeries on Mr. Dering was Mr. Dering +himself, acted on and perhaps mesmerised by Edmund Gray--and she wanted +to find out who this Edmund Gray was. She would confront him and tax him +with the crime. It was dangerous, but he could not kill her. Besides, he +was described as quite an elderly man. He was also described as a +benevolent man, a charitable man, a kindly man: and he wrote letters +brimful of the most cheerful optimism. Yet he was carrying on a series +of complicated forgeries. She resolved to wait for him. She would wait +till sundown, if necessary, for him. + +The place was very quiet. All the offices were closed and the clerks +gone. Most of the men who lived in the chambers were away, out of town, +gone on holiday, gone away from Saturday till Monday. Everything was +quite quiet and still: the traffic in Holborn was only heard as a +continuous murmur which formed part of the stillness: the policeman, who +had now said all he had to say to the newspaper boy, was walking slowly +and with heavy tread round the Court. The Inn was quite empty and +deserted and still. Only, overhead there was the footfall of a man who +walked up and down his room steadily, never stopping or ceasing or +changing the time, like the beat of a pendulum. Elsie began to wonder, +presently, who this man could be, and if he had nothing better to do +than to pace his chamber all day long, when the sun was bright and the +leaves on the trees and the flowers in full bloom. + +The clock struck four: Elsie had been waiting half an hour: still Mr. +Edmund Gray did not arrive: still the steady beat of the footstep +continued overhead. + +The clock struck five. Still that steady footfall. Still Elsie sat upon +the stairs waiting in patience. + +When the clock struck six, the footsteps stopped--or changed. Then a +door overhead opened and shut and the steps came down the stairs. Elsie +rose and stood on one side. An old man came down--tall and thin, +close-shaven, pale, dressed in a black frock-coat, worn to a shiny +polish in all those parts which take a polish--a shabby old man whose +hat seemed hardly able to stand upright: and a gentleman--which was +perfectly clear from his bearing--a gentleman in the last stage of +poverty and decay. + +He started, surprised to see a young lady on the stairs. + +'You are waiting for Mr. Carstone?' he asked. 'He is out of town. He +will not be back till Monday. Nobody ever comes back before Monday. From +Saturday to Monday I have the Inn to myself. All that time there are no +slammers and no strangers. It is an agreeable retreat, if only----' He +shook his head and stopped short. + +'I am not waiting for Mr. Carstone. I am waiting for Mr. Edmund Gray.' + +'He is very uncertain. No one knows when he comes or whither he goeth. I +would not wait if I were you. He may come to-day, or to-morrow, or at +any time. He comes on Sunday morning, often. I hear him coming up-stairs +after the chapel bell stops. He is a quiet neighbour--no slammer or +tramper. I would not wait, I say, if I were you.' + +'I will wait a little longer. I am very anxious to see Mr. Gray.' + +'He should wait for you,' Mr. Langhorne replied, politely. 'The stairs +are not a fit resting-place for you. This old Inn is too quiet for such +as you. Mirth and joy belong to you-- Silence and rest to such as me. +Even slamming does not, I daresay, greatly displease youth and beauty. +Chambers are not for young ladies. Beauty looks for life and love and +admiration. They do not exist here. Run away, young lady--leave the Inn +to the poor old men, like me, who cannot get away if they would.' + +'Thank you.--I must see Mr. Edmund Gray, if I can. It will not hurt me +to wait a little longer.' + +'You wish to see Edmund Gray. So do I. So do I. You are a friend of his. +Perhaps, therefore, you will do as well. Those who are his friends are +like unto him for kindness of heart. Those who wish to be his friends +must try to be like unto him. Young lady, I will treat you as the friend +of that good man. You can act for him.' + +'What can I do if I do act for him?' But there was a hungry eagerness in +the man's eyes which made her divine what she could do. + +'It is Saturday.' He replied without looking at her. He turned away his +head. He spoke to the stair-window. 'To-morrow is Sunday. I have before +this, on one or two occasions, found myself as I do now--without money. +I have borrowed of Mr. Carstone and of Mr. Edmund Gray. Sometimes, I +have paid it back--not always. Lend me--for Mr. Edmund Gray--if you are +not rich, he will give it back to you--the sum of five shillings--say, +five shillings. Otherwise, I shall have nothing to eat until Monday, +when Mr. Carstone returns.' + +'Nothing to eat? Nothing at all to eat?' Beggars in the street often +make the same confession, but somehow their words fail to carry +conviction. Mr. Langhorne, however, did carry conviction. + +The old man shook his head. 'I had some food yesterday at this time. +Since then I have had nothing. There was neither tea nor bread in my +rooms for breakfast. When the clock struck six, my dinner hour, I +thought I would walk along the street and look at the things to eat +which are placed in the shop windows. That relieves a little. But +to-morrow will be a bad time--a very bad time. I shall lie in bed. Oh! I +have gone through it before. Sometimes'--he dropped his voice--'I have +been sore tempted to take something---- No--no; don't think I have given +way. No--no. Why--I should be--disbarred. Not yet--not yet.' + +Elsie opened her purse. It contained two sovereigns and a shilling or +two. 'Take all,' she said eagerly. 'Take all the gold, and leave me the +silver. Take it instantly.' She stamped her foot. + +He hesitated. 'All?' he asked. 'All? Can you spare it? I can never +repay----' + +'Take it!' she said again, imperiously. + +He obeyed: he took the gold out of the purse with trembling fingers. +Then he raised his rickety old hat--was that a tear that stole into his +eyes, or the rheum of old age?--and slowly walked down the stairs, +holding by the banisters. He was weak, poor wretch! with hunger. But it +was his dinner hour, and he was going to have his dinner. + +Elsie sat down again. + +It was half-past six--she had been waiting for three hours--when other +footsteps entered the house. Elsie sprang to her feet: she turned pale: +her heart stood still; for now she realised that if this step was truly +that of the man she expected, she was about to confront a person +certainly of the deepest criminality, and possibly capable of villainy +in any other direction. The steps mounted the stairs. I really think +that the bravest persons in the world are those who before the event +look forward to it with the utmost apprehension. They know, you see, +what the dangers are. Elsie was going to face a great danger. She was +going to find out, alone and unaided, who this man was, and why and how +he worked these deeds of darkness. + +The footsteps mounted higher: from the door to the top of the stairs it +took but a single minute, yet to Elsie it seemed half an hour, so rapid +were her thoughts. Then the man mounted the last flight of steps. +Heavens! Elsie was fain to cry out for sheer amazement. She cried out: +she caught at the banisters. For, before her, taking the key of Mr. +Edmund Gray's Chambers from his waistcoat pocket, was none other than +Mr. Dering himself! + +Yes. An elderly man, of truly benevolent aspect, his coat open flying +all abroad, his face soft, gracious, smiling, and full of sunshine, his +hat just the least bit pushed back, his left hand in his pocket. Elsie +thought again of her portrait at home, in which she had transformed her +guardian--and here he was in the flesh--transformed according to her +portrait. + +She stared at him with an amazement that bereft her of speech and of +motion. She could only stare. Even if her mother's voice were suddenly +to call out to her that it is rude for little girls to stare, she could +not choose but stare. For Mr. Dering looked at her with that kind of +surprise in his eyes which means, 'What have we here to do with +beautiful young ladies?' There was not the least sign of any knowledge +of her. He looked at her as one suffers the eyes to rest for a moment +without interest upon a stranger and a casual passenger in the street. + +He opened his outer door, and was about to walk in, when she recovered +some presence of mind--not much. She stepped forward. 'Can you tell me, +please, how I could find Mr. Edmund Gray?' + +'Certainly,' he smiled--'nothing easier. 'I am Edmund Gray.' + +'You!--you--Edmund Gray? Oh! No--no. You cannot be Edmund Gray--you +yourself!' All her beautiful theory of hypnotic influence vanished. No +mesmerism or magnetic influence at all. 'You yourself?' she repeated, +'you--Edmund Gray?' + +'Assuredly. Why not? Why should a man not be himself?' + +'Oh! I don't understand. The world is going upside down. I took +you--took you for another person.' + +He laughed gently. 'Truly, I am none other than Edmund Gray--always +Edmund Gray. My first name I can never change if I wished, because it is +my baptismal name. The latter I do not wish to change, because it is my +name ancestral.' + +'I asked because--because--I fancied a resemblance to another person. +Were you ever told that you are much like a certain other person?' + +'No; I think not. Resemblances, however, are extremely superficial. No +two living creatures are alike. We are alone, each living out his life +in the great Cosmos, quite alone--unlike any other living creature. +However, I am Edmund Gray, young lady. It isn't often that I receive a +visit from a young lady in these Chambers. If you have no other doubt +upon that point, will you let me ask you, once more, how I can help you? +And will you come in and sit down?' + +'Oh! it is wonderful,' she cried--'wonderful! most wonderful!' Again she +controlled herself. 'Are you,' she asked again, 'the same Mr. Edmund +Gray who wrote the letter to the _Times_ the other day?' + +'Certainly. There is no other person, I believe, of the name in this +Inn. Have you read that letter?' + +'Yes--oh, yes.' + +'And you have come here to talk to me about that letter?' + +'Yes--yes.' She caught at the hint. 'That is why I came--to talk about +that letter. I came in the hope of finding the author of that letter at +home.' + +He threw open the door of his sitting-room. + +'Will you step in? We can talk quite quietly here. The Inn at this +hour on Saturday is almost deserted.' He closed the outer door and +followed his visitor into the sitting-room. 'This,' he went on, 'is +the quietest place in the whole of London. We have not, in this +Square, the stately elms of the old garden, but still we have our little +advantages--spacious rooms--quiet always in the evening and on Sundays. +A few rackety young men, perhaps; but for one who reads and meditates, +no better place in London.--Now, young lady, take the easy-chair and sit +down. We will talk. There are very few people who talk to me about my +theories. That is because I am old, so that I have lost my friends, and +because my views are in advance of the world. No man is so lonely as the +man born before his time. He is the prophet, you know, who must be +stoned because he prophesies things unintelligible and therefore +uncomfortable--even terrifying. I shall be very glad to talk a little +with you.--Now, allow me first to open these letters.' + +Elsie sat down and looked about her. She was in a large low wainscoted +room, with two windows looking upon the Square. The room was quite +plainly but quite well furnished. There was a good-sized study table +with drawers: a small table between the windows: a few chairs, a couch +and an easy-chair; and a large bookcase filled with books--books on +Socialism, George had told her. A door opened upon a smaller room: there +was probably a bedroom at the back. A plain carpet covered the floor. +Above the high old-fashioned mantel were two or three portraits of +Socialist leaders. The room, if everything had not been covered with +dust, would have been coldly neat: the chairs were all in their places: +the window-blinds were half-way down as the laundress thought was +proper--millions of Londoners always keep their blinds half-way down--a +subject which must some day be investigated by the Folklore Society: the +curtains were neatly looped: it wanted only a Bible on a table at a +window to make it the Front Parlour of a Dalston Villa. There were no +flowers, no ornaments of any kind. + +Mr. Edmund Gray opened half-a-dozen letters lying on his table and +glanced at them. There were a great many more waiting to be opened. + +'All are from people who have read my letter,' he said. 'They share with +me in the new Faith of a new Humanity. Happy is the man who strikes the +note of leading at the right moment. Happy he who lights the lamp just +when the darkness is beginning to be felt.--Yes, young lady, you are not +the only one who has been drawn towards the doctrines of that letter. +But I have no time to write to all of them. A letter makes one +convert--a paragraph may make a thousand.' + +Elsie rose from her chair. She had decided on her line. You have heard +that her voice was curiously soft and winning--a voice that charms--a +voice which would soothe a wild creature, and fill a young man's heart +with whatever passion she chose to awaken. She had, besides, those soft +eyes which make men surrender their secrets, part with their power and +their strength. Did she know that she possessed all this power?--the +girl who had no experience save of one man's love, and that the most +natural, easy, and unromantic love in the world, when two who are +brought up side by side and see each other every day, presently catch +each other by the hand and walk for the future hand in hand without a +word. Yet Delilah herself, the experienced, the crafty, the trained and +taught--could not--did not--act more cleverly and craftily than this +artless damsel. To be sure, she possessed great advantages over +Delilah--by some esteemed attractive--in the matter of personal charm. + +'Oh!' she murmured softly, 'it is a shame that you should be expected to +waste your valuable time in writing letters to these people. You must +not do it. Your time is wanted for the world, not for individuals.' + +'It is,' he replied--'it is. You have said it.' + +'You are a Master--a Leader--a Prince in Israel--a Preacher--a Prophet.' + +'I am--I am. You have said it. I should not myself have dared to say it. +But I am.' + +'No one can doubt it who has read that letter. Be my Master--too--as +well as the Master of--of all these people who write to you.' + +'Be your Master?' He blushed like a boy. 'Could I desire anything +better?' + +'My Father and my Master,' she added with a little change of colour. +Girls take fright very easily, and perhaps this old gentleman might +interpret the invitation--well--into something other than was meant. + +'Yes--yes.' He held out his hand. She took it in her own--both her own +soft hands, and bowed her head--her comely head--over it. + +'I came to-day thinking only'--Oh, Delilah!--'to thank you for your +great and generous and noble words, which have put fresh heart into me. +And now that I have thanked you, I am emboldened to ask a favour----' + +'Anything, anything.' + +'You will be my Master--you will teach me. Let me, in return, relieve +you of this work.' She laid her hand on the pile of letters. 'Let me +answer them for you. Let me be your Private Secretary. I have nothing to +do. Let me work for you.' She looked into his face with the sweetest +eyes and the most winning smile, and her voice warmed the old man's ear +like soft music. Ah, Circe!--'Now that I have seen you--let me be your +disciple, your most humble disciple, and'--Ah, Siren!--'let me be more, +Edmund Gray--I cannot say Mr. Gray--let me be more, Edmund Gray.' She +laid her hand, her soft-gloved, dainty, delicate hand, upon his, and it +produced the effect of an electric battery gently handled. 'Let me be +your Secretary.' + +It was ten o'clock before Elsie reached home that evening, and she +refused to tell them, even her own brother and her lover, where she had +been or how she had spent her evening. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +MASTER AND DISCIPLE + + +It was Sunday afternoon in Gray's Inn. The new Disciple sat at the feet +of the Master, her Gamaliel: one does not know exactly the attitude +adopted by a young Rabbi of old, but in this case the disciple sat in a +low chair, her hands folded in her lap, curiously and earnestly watching +the Master as he walked up and down the room preaching and teaching. + +'Master,' she asked, 'have you always preached and held these +doctrines?' + +'Not always. There was a time when I dwelt in darkness--like the rest of +the world.' + +'How did you learn these things? By reading books?' + +'No. I discovered them. I worked them out for myself by logic, by +reason, and by observation. Everything good and true must be discovered +by a man for himself.' + +'What did you believe in that old time? Was it, with the rest of the +world, the sacredness of Property?' + +'Perhaps.' He stood in front of her, laying his right forefinger in his +left forefinger and inclining his head. 'My dear young scholar, one who +believes as I believe, not with half a heart, but wholly, and without +reserve, willingly forgets the time when he was as yet groping blindly +in darkness or walking in artificial light. He wishes to forget that +time. There is no profit in remembering that time. I have so far drilled +and trained myself not to remember that time, that I have in fact clean +forgotten it. I do not remember what I thought or what I said, or with +whom I associated in that time. It is a most blessed forgetfulness. I +daresay I could recover the memory of it if I wished, but the effort +would be painful. Spare me. The recovery of that Part would be +humiliating. Spare me, scholar. Yet, if you wish--if you command----' + +'Oh, no, no! Forgive me.' Elsie touched his hand. He took hers and held +it. Was it with a little joy or a little fear that the girl observed the +power she already had over him? 'I would not cause you pain. +Besides--what does it matter?' + +'You know, my child, when the monk assumes the tonsure and the triple +cord, he leaves behind him, outside the cell, all the things of the +world--ambition, love, luxury, the pride of the eye--all--all. He +forgets everything. He casts away everything. He abandons +everything--for meditation and prayer. The monk,' added the Sage, 'is a +foolish person, because his meditation advances not the world a whit. I +am like the monk, save that I think for the world instead of myself. And +so, spending days and nights in meditation, I know not what went +before--nor do I care. It is a second birth when the new faith takes you +and holds you together, so that you care for nothing else. Oh, +child!--upon you also this shall come--this obsession--this +possession--so that your spirit shall know of no time but that spent in +the service of the Cause. Nay, I go so far that I forget from day to day +what passed, except when I was actively engaged for the Cause. Yesterday +I was here in the afternoon. You came. We talked. You offered yourself +as my disciple. I remember every word you said. Could I ever forget a +disciple so trustful and so humble? But--before you came. Where was I? +Doubtless here--meditating. But I know not. Then there are things which +one must do to live--breakfast, dinner--of these I remember nothing. Why +should I? It is a great gift and reward to me that I should not remember +unnecessary things--low and common things. Why should I try to do so? + +'No--no,' murmured the catechumen, carried away by his earnestness. +'Best forget them. Best live altogether in and for the Cause.' Yet--she +wondered--how was she to bring things home to him unless he could be +made to remember? He was mad one hour and sane the next. How should she +bridge the gulf and make the mad man cross over to _the other side_? + +The Master took her hand in his and held it paternally. 'We needed such +a disciple as you,' he went on, slightly bending his head over her. +'Among my followers there is earnestness without understanding. They +believe in the good time, but they are impatient. They want revolution, +which is terrific and destroys. I want conviction. There are times when +a great idea flies abroad like the flame through the stubble. But men's +minds must first be so prepared that they are ready for it. The world is +not yet ready for my idea, and I am old, and may die too soon to see the +sudden rise of the mighty flood, when that doctrine shall suddenly +cease in all mankind. We need disciples. Above all, we need women. Why +do women, I wonder, throw themselves away in imitating man, when there +are a thousand things that they can do better than any man? I want +women--young, beautiful, faithful. I can find work for hundreds of +women. Hypatia would be worth to me--to us--far more than he of the +Golden Mouth. Child--your sweet voice, your sweet face, your sweet +eyes--I want them. I will take them and use them--expend them--for the +great Cause. It may be that you will be called upon to become the first +martyr of the Cause. Hypatia was murdered by a raging mob. You will have +against you a mob worse than any of Alexandria. You will have a mob +composed of all those who are rich, and all who want to be rich, and all +the servile crews at their command. Happy girl! You will be torn to +pieces for the cause of humanity. Happy girl! I see the roaring, +shrieking mob. I see your slender figure on the steps--what steps? +Where? I hear your voice, clear and high. You are preaching to them; +they close in round you: you disappear--they have dragged you down: they +trample the life out of you. You are dead--dead--dead--and a name for +ever. And the Cause has had its martyr.' + +It was strange. She who had offered herself as a disciple with deception +in her heart, thinking only to watch and wait and spy until she could +see her way plain before her, who knew that she was listening to the +voice and the dreams of a madman. Yet she was carried away: he made her +see the mob: she saw herself dragged down and trampled under their +heels. She shuddered, yet she was exultant: her eyes glowed with a new +light: she murmured: 'Yes--yes. Do with me what you please. I am your +disciple, and I will be your martyr, if you please.' + +Great and wonderful is the power of Enthusiasm. You see, it matters +nothing--nothing in the world--what a man has to preach and +teach--whether he advocates Obi, or telepathy, or rapping, or spirits +who hide teacups in coat pockets--it matters nothing that there is +neither common sense nor evidence, nor common reason to back him: if he +only possess the magnetic power, he will create a following: he will +have disciples who will follow him to the death. What is it--this power? +It makes the orator, the poet, the painter, the novelist, the +dramatist: it makes the leader of men: it made the first King, the first +Priest, the first Conqueror. + +'Come,' said Mr. Edmund Gray; 'the time passes. I must take you to my +Place.' + +They walked out together, Master and Scholar. The man who was mad walked +carelessly and buoyantly, his coat flying open, one hand in his pocket, +the other brandishing his walking-stick, his head thrown back, his face +full of light, and, though his words were sometimes strong, always full +of kindness. Now the sane man, the man of Lincoln's Inn, wore his coat +tightly buttoned, walked with a firm precise step, looked straight +before him, and showed the face of one wholly occupied with his own +thoughts. There was a man who was mad and a man who was sane: and +certainly the madman was the more interesting of the two. + +'This place,' said the Master, meaning Gray's Inn, 'is entirely filled +with those who live by and for the defence of Property. They absorb and +devour a vast portion of it while they defend it. No one, you see, +defends it unless he is paid for it. Your country, your family, your +honour--you will defend for nothing; but not another man's Property--no. +For that you must be paid. Every year it becomes more necessary to +defend Property; every year the hordes of mercenaries increase. Here +they are lawyers and lawyers' clerks--a vast multitude. Outside there +are agents, brokers, insurers, financiers--I know not what--all +defending Property. They produce nothing, these armies: they take their +toll: they devour a part of what other people have produced before they +hand on the residue to the man who says it is his Property.' + +'Oh!'--but Elsie did not say this aloud--'if these words could only be +heard in Lincoln's Inn! If they could be repeated to a certain lawyer.' +From time to time she looked at him curiously. How if he should suddenly +return to his senses? What would he think? How should she explain? 'Mr. +Dering, you have been off your head. You have been talking the most +blasphemous things about Property. You would never believe that even in +madness you could say such things.' No; he never would believe +it--never. He could not believe it. What if his brother, Sir Samuel, +were to hear those words? Meantime, the Apostle walked along +unconscious, filled with his great Mission. Oh, heavens! that Mr. +Dering--Mr. Dering--should believe he had a Mission! + +The Master stopped a passing tramcar. 'Let us climb up to the roof,' he +said. 'There we can talk and breathe and look about us, and sometimes we +can listen.' + +On the seat in front of them sat two young men, almost boys, talking +together eagerly. Mr. Edmund Gray leaned forward and listened +shamelessly. 'They are two young atheists,' he said. 'They are cursing +religion. There is to be a discussion this evening at Battle Arches +between a Christian and an Atheist, and they are going to assist. They +should be occupied with the question of the day; they can not, because +they, too, are paid defenders of Property. They are lawyers' clerks. +They are poor and they are slaves: all their lives they will be slaves +and they will be poor. Instead of fighting against slavery and poverty, +which they know and feel, they fight against the Unknown and the +Unintelligible. Pity! Pity!' + +They passed two great Railway Termini, covering an immense area with +immense buildings. + +'Now,' said the Sage, 'there are millions of Property invested in +railways. Whenever the railway servants please, they can destroy all +that Property at a stroke. Perhaps you will live to see this done.' + +'But,' said Elsie timidly, 'we must have things carried up and down the +country.' + +'Certainly. We shall go carrying things up and down the country, but not +in the interests of Property.' + +The tram ran past the stations and under broad railway arches, called +Battle Arches--where the two young atheists got down, eager for the +fray, always renewed every Sunday afternoon, with the display of much +intellectual skill and much ignorance. It is a duel from which both +combatants retire, breathed and flushed, proud of having displayed so +much smartness, both claiming the victory, surrounded by admiring +followers, and neither of them killed, neither of them hurt, neither of +them a bit the worse, and both ready to begin again the following Sunday +with exactly the same attack and exactly the same defence. There are +some institutions--Christianity, the Church of England, the House of +Lords, for instance--which invite and receive perpetual attacks, from +which they emerge without the least hurt, so far as one can perceive. If +they were all abolished to-morrow, what would the spouters do? + +The car stopped again, and two girls mounted--two work girls of the +better sort--not, that is to say, the sort which wears an ulster and a +large hat with a flaming feather in it: working-girl dressed quietly and +neatly. They ought to have been cheerful and even gay, for they were +both young, both good-looking, both nicely dressed, and it was Sunday +afternoon, warm and sunny. Yet they were not cheerful at all. One of +them was in a rage royal, and the other, her friend, was in a rage +sympathetic--quite a real rage. They were talking loudly on the kerb +while they waited for the tram: they carried on their conversation as +they climbed the stair: they continued it while they chose a seat, and +before they sat down, without the least regard to those who sat near +them, whether they overheard or wished not to hear--or anything. They +were wholly occupied with themselves and their rage and their narrative. +They neither saw nor heeded anyone else--which is the way that the angry +woman has. + +'So I told her--I up and told her, I did. "Yes," I sez, "you and your +fifteen hours a day and overtime," I sez--"and your fines--so as to rob +the poor girls of their money, and your stinkin' little room, as isn't +fit for two, let alone a dozen--and your flarin' gas," I sez, "to choke +us and poison us--and your dinners--yah! your dinners," I sez--"fit for +pigs; and your beast of a husband comin' round with his looks and his +leers"--"You let my husband alone," she sez--"His looks and his leers," +I sez. "Some day the girls'll take him out and drownd him head first, in +the gutter," I sez. "And a good job too!"' + +'You didn't say all that, Liz?' asked the other, admiringly. 'My! What's +she say to that? "Her beast of a husband"? And "his looks and his +leers"? Did you really, Liz, and her that jealous?' + +'I did. Oh! I let her have it. For once she did have it. Then I took my +money and I went off.--Never mind what she called me; that don't matter. +She got the truth for once.' + +'What do you make of this, disciple?' asked the Master. + +'It seems a quarrel between the girl and her employer.' + +'These are the makers of Property. They are not the soldiers who defend +it. They are those who create it. The girls are employed by the sweater, +who stands on the lowest rung of the ladder of Property, and steals the +things as fast as they are made.' + +'One of them has been turned out. What will she do? Will she find +another place?' + +'I don't know. What becomes of the young? It is a difficult question. No +one knows. Some say this and some say that. We know what becomes of the +old when they are turned out. They die. But as for the young, I know +not. You are young, and you are a woman. Go among the young women who +have been turned out and find for yourself--for the world--what does +become of them.' + +They passed an immense churchyard, with an ancient church standing in +the midst--the churchyard now cleared of its headstones and converted +into a beautiful garden, after the modern fashion, in which we have +abandoned the pretence of remembering the dead, and plant flowers and +turf above their graves for the solace of the living. Why not? Let the +nameless dead be remembered by the nameless dead. Their virtues, if they +had any, may live after them in their descendants. + +'See,' said Mr. Edmund Gray, moralising. 'Here they lie, those who were +soldiers of Property and those who were slaves of Property. They are +mostly the poor of their parish who lie in that garden. No headstones +mark their grave. They were born: they toiled for others to enjoy: and +they died. Is this the life that men should most desire?' + +'Nay,' said the disciple. 'But there must be the strong and weak--clever +and dull: there must be inequalities.' + +'Yes, inequalities of gifts. One man is stronger, one is sharper, one is +cleverer than another. Formerly, those gifts were used to make their +possessor richer and more powerful. The strong man got followers and +made slaves. The clever man cheated the dull man out of his land and his +liberty. Henceforth, these gifts will be used for the general good. +Patience! You shall understand all in good time.' + +He stopped the tram and they descended. + +Lying east of the Hampstead Road and Camden High Street, and bounded on +that side by the canal--the great space occupied by the Midland and +Great Northern Goods Depot, by gas-works, wharfs, and railway +arches--there is a network of streets very little known to any but the +parish clergy. No part of London is less interesting than this district. +It used to be called Somers Town, but I think that the old name has +almost died out. It is about a hundred years old, regarded as a +settlement: it possesses three churches at least, two work-houses, one +almshouse, and three burial-grounds turned into gardens. It is also +cheered by the presence of a coal depot. Many small industries are +carried on in this quarter: there are many lodging-houses: the streets +are rather grimy, the houses are rather shabby, the people are rather +slipshod. They are not criminals: they are, in a way, respectable--that +is to say, tolerably respectable. It is not a picturesque suburb: +dulness reigns: it is a dull, a dull, a dismally dull quarter. There are +children, but they lack mirth: and young girls, but they lack the spring +of youth: one would say that there was a low standard in everything, +even in the brightness of dress: the place looks better in winter than +in summer. To-day, the bright sunshine only made the shabbiness of the +streets more shabby. + +'Is your place here?' asked Elsie. + +'Yes; it is here.--You wonder why I came here. Because the people here +are not all working-people. Some of them are small employers--those of +whom I spoke--who stand on the lowest rung of the ladder and steal the +things as fast as they are made, and take toll, and hoard up savings. +The working-man is generous and open to others, compared with these +people. I planted my place down in the midst of them. But you shall +see--you shall see.' + +It was like a dream. Elsie walked beside her conductor. Yesterday she +made the acquaintance of this man for the first time; she had never seen +him before except in his sane condition; he was a madman--a real +dangerous madman--stark staring mad; he was taking her she knew not +where--to some place among strange people: she walked beside him without +the least fear. She who would have fled before the most harmless +lunatic; and she was going with him as his disciple. + +'George,' she said afterwards, 'I do not know how it happened. I could +not choose but go with him. I could not choose but to become his +disciple: he compelled me. I lost my will. I even forgot that he was a +madman: I gave up my reason and all: I followed him, and I believed all +that he told me. How did he get that power? Directly I left him, I +became myself again. I perceived the mad enthusiast. I saw Mr. Dering +caricatured and proclaiming foolishness. But in his presence I was his +servant and his slave.' + + * * * * * + +'Here we are,' he said. 'This is my Place. Let us go in.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE HALL OF THE NEW FAITH + + +The Place, as Mr. Edmund Gray modestly called it, was a meek and +unpretending Structure. The word is used advisedly, because no one could +call it anything else. Not an Edifice; not a Building--a Structure. It +turned its gabled front to the street, with a door below and a window +above. It was of gray brick with a slate roof--a very plain and simple +Structure. It might have been a Primitive Methodist Chapel--the +Connexion are fond of such neat and unpretending places: or a room +belonging to the Salvation Army: or one of those queer lecture halls +affected by Secularists and generally called the Hall of Science. On the +doorpost was affixed a small handbill, announcing that every Sunday +evening at seven o'clock an address would be pronounced by Edmund Gray, +on the subject of 'Property.' On the same bill, below the line of the +principal title, were suggestive sub-titles. Thus: + + 'PROPERTY AND ITS ORIGIN.' + 'PROPERTY AND ITS EVILS.' + 'PROPERTY AND ITS DANGERS.' + 'PROPERTY AND LIBERTY.' + 'PROPERTY AND PROGRESS.' + 'PROPERTY AND ITS DECAY.' + +The Master pointed to the Bill. 'Read it,' he said. 'There you have my +mission clearly announced. No mistake about it. A bold pronouncement, +which cannot be mistaken. I make war against Property--I am the enemy +irreconcilable--the enemy to the death--of Property. I am almost alone +against the world, for my followers are a feeble folk and without power. +All the interests, all the prejudices, all the powers, all the +intellect, of the whole world are against me. I stand alone. But I +fear nothing, because the future is given over to me and to +mine--yea--though I do not live to see the day of Victory.' + +He opened the door, and Elsie entered. She found herself in a room about +sixty feet long by twenty broad, and lofty--a fine and goodly room. It +was furnished with a long and narrow table running down the middle, and +a few benches. Nothing else. The table was laid with a white cloth, and +provided with plates of ham and beef, cold sausages, hard-boiled eggs, +cakes, toast, muffins, bread and butter, marmalade, jam, shrimps, +water-cresses, and teacups. In fact, there was spread out a Tea of +generous proportions. + +The room was half filled with thirty or forty people, mostly young, +though there were some elderly men. Among them Elsie remarked, without +surprise, the decayed Barrister of Gray's Inn. Perhaps he was attracted +as much by the loaves as by the sermon. Three-quarters of them were +young men. Elsie noticed that they were young men of a curious +type--their faces keen, their eyes hard, their manner aggressive. They +belonged to a Church Militant. They longed to be fighting. On the +appearance of their preacher they flocked about him, shaking hands and +inquiring after his health. At least, therefore, he had the affection of +his followers. + +'My friends,' said the Prophet, 'I bring you a new Disciple. She comes +to us from the very stronghold of Property. Her friends'--yet he had +shown no sign of recognition--'are either those who pillage the +producer, or those who rob the possessor on pretence of defending him. +She is at present only a recruit. She comes to listen and to learn. She +will go home to remember and to meditate. She is a recruit now who will +be hereafter a Leader.' + +The people received her with curiosity. They were not of the higher +classes, to put it mildly, and they had never had a young lady among +them before. Two or three girls who were present--girls from the +dressmaker's workrooms--looked at her frock with envy, and at her bonnet +and her gloves with a yearning, helpless, heart-sinking admiration. To +the young men she seemed a goddess, unapproachable. They stood at a +distance: men of the rank above them would have worshipped. These young +men only gaped. Such a girl had nothing to do with their lives. + +Apparently they had been waiting for the Master, for at the moment a +stout woman and a girl appeared bearing trays with teapots and jugs of +hot water, which they placed upon the board. Mr. Edmund Gray took the +chair. Elsie began to feel like Alice in Wonderland. She came to see a +'Place': she expected to hear a sermon or a lecture; and behold a Tea! + +'Sit beside me,' said the Master. 'We begin our evening on Sunday with a +simple feast, which I provide. It is a sign of brotherhood. Every Sunday +we begin with this renewal of fraternity. Those who break bread together +are brothers and sisters. In the good time to come every meal shall be +in common, and every evening meal shall be a Feast. Eat and drink with +us, my daughter. So you will understand that you belong to a +Brotherhood.' + +'Try some shrimps, Miss,' said her neighbour on the right, an elderly +man, who was a builder's foreman. + +History does not concern itself with what Elsie took. She found the meal +very much to the purpose after a long afternoon of talk, argument, and +emotion. She was young and she was hungry. The tea was good: the things +to eat were good: the cake and toast were admirable. Elsie ate and drank +and wondered what was coming next. + +After a little, she began to look round her and to watch the company. +There were now, she counted, forty-five of them--forty-five disciples of +Mr. Edmund Gray. What had he to teach them? The destruction of Property. +Out of the four millions of London, forty-five were found who wanted to +destroy Property--only forty-five. But perhaps all who advocated that +step were not present. Her ancient prejudices whispered that this was a +reassuring fact, considering that the Preacher had preached his doctrine +for nine long years. Only forty-five. Next to her the foreman began to +talk to her of Fourier and Owen, and a dozen half-forgotten leaders in +the old experiments. He had been a Chartist in the Forties: he was a +Socialist in these, the Nineties: but he confessed that before any real +reform was attempted, Property must first be destroyed. + +'It's the selfishness,' he whispered earnestly, 'that's got to be torn +out by the roots. Take that away, and there's a chance for the world. It +never can be taken away till a man finds that he can't work no longer +for himself, and that he must work for all, whether he likes it or lumps +it. Don't give him the choice nor the chance, I say. Take away Property, +and there's neither choice nor chance left. You hear Mr. Gray upon +that. Oh, he's powerful! What do they say? Naked we came into the world. +Naked we enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. There's a wonderful lot of +fine things hangin' to that. You must wait till you hear Mr. Gray upon +that theme.--Kingdom of Heaven! To hear the parsons talk, it's away +above the clouds. Not so. It's here--close beside us--on this earth. All +we've got to do is to put out our hands and reach it.' + +'You may put out your hands as much as you like,' said one of the +younger men; 'but you won't reach it, all the same. Property stands +between.' + +'At our place,' said a girl sitting opposite--a girl of intelligent +face, pale and thin,--'we work from eight till eight, and sometimes +longer, for twelve shillings a week. I know what things cost and what +they sell for. I could produce enough to keep me--ah! a good deal better +than I live now--if I could sell what I made myself--for four hours' +work a day. So I work eight hours a day, not counting the dinner hour, +just to keep the boss and to make Property for him. My Property it +is--well--I know--in here, we say, _our_ Property: outside we say, _my_ +Property. Where's your Kingdom of Heaven, then, if you reach out your +hand ever so far, so long as I've got to work to make somebody else +rich? Let's destroy Property, and then we shall see.' + +A desire--a foolish concealed desire, born of prejudice, seized Elsie to +argue. For she perceived in the girl's reasoning certain confusions and +intricacies. But she had the courage to suppress the inclination: she +refrained. She was a disciple. She must listen. + +'I am a slave, like all the rest of us,' another young man remarked +cheerfully. 'My Master owns me. He can sell me if he likes, only he +calls it by another name; he can't take a whip and lash me, though he'd +like to, because, if he did, I'd break every bone in his body for him, +but he can cut down the work and the money. I do editing and reporting +for a local paper. Thirty shillings a week. The proprietor makes ten +pounds a week out of it. And I'm not allowed to tell the truth for fear +of advertisers.' He added a few words not commonly heard in a place that +looks like a chapel on a Sunday evening. + +Elsie observed that their faces showed two variations of +expression--only two. The majority of the company had the eyes of the +dreamer, the theorist, the enthusiast. They are soft eyes, and in repose +are heavy, and they look through stone walls into space, far away--space +where their dreams are realised and men and women live according to +their theories. In moments of enthusiasm and passion they become flaming +fires. These eyes belonged to most of those present. The rest--the +minority--were those who are angry and restless and eager for the +practical application of the doctrine. These want revolution: they are +impatient: they feel for themselves the injustices and impressions which +enthusiasts feel for others: these are always resentful: the others are +always hopeful: these want to convert the world at once with bludgeon +and with gun: the others are certain that before long the world will be +converted by reason. The one despairs of anything but force: the other +will have no force: the one hates his enemy: he would kill him if he +could: he has no words too bad for him: the enthusiast, on the other +hand, regards his enemy with pity, and would at any moment welcome him, +forgive him, and--well--invite him to a Fraternal Tea if he would only +desert his ranks and come over. And these are the two divisions in every +party, and such is the nature of man that there must always be these two +divisions. + +The Fraternal Tea finished, the company cleared the tables, everybody +lending a hand, perhaps as another sign or pledge of fraternity. It was +then nearly seven o'clock, the hour appointed for the address. The door +was thrown wide open for the admission of the world; but there was no +sign that the world took the least interest in the subject of Property. +No one came at all. Elsie learned afterwards that the world outside the +Hall had long since grown tired of the subject on which Mr. Gray had +been preaching for nine years. Those who came to the Tea were the inner +circle of believers or disciples, a small but faithful company, to whose +members there was rarely any addition. + +At seven Mr. Edmund Gray rose to commence his address, standing at the +head of the table, so that it was like an after-dinner speech. Outside, +the sun was hot and bright and the air clear. Within the Hall, there +were the mingled odours and steams of long-protracted and hearty +Fraternal Tea: the air was heavy and the room dark. When the Master +began to speak, a young man--one of the ardent and wrathful kind--drew +out a note-book and took everything down: all listened with respect, +some with rapt interest. Some nodded--some groaned--some said 'Hear' +softly--to encourage the preacher and to show their adhesion to +principle. + +Elsie sat at the right hand of the speaker. His discourses moved her +much less in this public place than in his chambers. The persuasive +voice was there, but it did not persuade her--moreover, she could not +meet his eyes. Their magnetism failed to touch her. So much the better, +because she could listen with cold judgment and watch the people. + +'My friends,' he began, 'my brothers and my sisters--we are all long +since agreed that the root of all evil, the first form of disease, the +first fatal step that was leading to so many other mischiefs, was the +beginning of Property. We have proved that so often--we are all so +entirely agreed upon this vital principle, that we seldom, and only on +rare occasions, find it necessary to do more than assume its truth. That +occasion, however, is the present, when we have among us one who comes +as a stranger, yet a disciple: one who has a mind open to the influence +of reason: one who is anxious to clear herself of the prejudices and +absurdities in which she has been from infancy brought up. Let us, +therefore, briefly, for her instruction and for the strengthening of our +own faith, point out some of the arguments which support this position. +It is to us an axiom. To the world it still requires proof. And the +world refuses to accept the proof, because it is given over to the Chase +of the Abominable Thing.' + +He proceeded to parade the reasons which made his School regard Property +as the root of all evil. The line which lie pursued was not new: many +men have pointed out before Mr. Edmund Gray the selfishness of mankind +as illustrated by the universal game of Grab: others, with equal force, +have shown that the protection of Things causes an immense expenditure +and a great shrinkage in Things: others have shown that it is the +continual efforts of men to get without working the Things for which +others have worked, that fill our jails and keep up an army of police. + +'We start with a false principle,' the Master went on, 'which has ruined +the world and still keeps it down. If there are to be rich men, they +must become rich at the expense of the rest: they must be few and the +poor must be many. Therefore, the protection of Property is the robbery +of the poor by law. We all know that: in this place we have agreed, so +far a thousand times: the rich can only become rich by robbing the poor: +they rob their land: they rob their work: they rob their whole +lives--and they are permitted and encouraged by the Law. Shall we, then, +change the Law? No: it would be a work too vast. Shall we change the +minds of men? Not by reason: it is impossible by any argument so long as +by law and custom they can still rob the producer of his work. The only +way is to destroy all Property. When men can no longer by any kind of +thought get richer than their neighbours, then they will cease to think +for themselves, and think for the whole community. You will say--some +one may object--that some are not the same in strength of mind or of +body: there will be many, then, who will refuse to work at all, and +become burdens on the community. We have thought of that objection. At +first, there would be many such; but not for long. Because we should +kill them. Yes, my friends,' he added with a smile of the sweetest +benevolence. 'For the good of the community it will be necessary, +without any sentimental considerations, to kill all those who refuse to +work, all those who shirk their work, all those who persistently do +scamped and bad work. They must die. So the commonwealth shall contain +none but those who are vigorous, loyal, and true. For the +rest--Death--if it means the death of a million who were once +rich--Death is the only escape from the difficulty which is so often +objected. + +'It has been asked again how we differ from the Socialists. In this. We +would begin with no theories, no constitution, no code. Only let every +man give all his strength, all his heart, all his mind, to the good of +the commonwealth, without the least power of enriching himself, saving +money--of course there would be no money--without the chance of getting +better food and better clothes than the rest--and we may safely leave +the world to take care of itself. Why--my brothers--why--my +sisters--should we poor purblind creatures, unable to comprehend more +than a glimpse of that glorious future which awaits the world when +Property shall be destroyed--why--I say--should we dare to lay down +schemes and invent systems for that glorified humanity? Let us leave +them to themselves. They will be as far above us, my brothers, as we are +already above the holders and the defenders of Property.' + +Elsie looked at the little gathering--five-and-forty--with a little +smile. They were then already far above the holders and the defenders of +Property, and again she thought, 'What if these words were heard in +Lincoln's Inn?' + +'How, then, can Property be destroyed?' + +At this practical question every one sat upright, coughed, and looked +interested. Their Preacher had often enough declaimed upon the evils of +Property. He seldom spoke of a practical way. Perhaps the time had come. + +'There are, my friends, several ways. They are already beginning to be +understood and to be worked. The Irish and the politicians who wanted +the Irish vote have shown the world how to destroy property in land. +Believe me, that example will be followed. It was an evil day for the +holders of Property when the Government interfered between the landlord +and his tenant. That example will bear fruit elsewhere. We shall see +everywhere the owners of the land turned out and their places taken by +those who work the land. The next step is from land to houses. Why not +with houses as with land? Since a beginning has been made, it must be +carried on. But there is other property besides lands and houses. There +are companies with shares, railways, and so forth. We have only begun to +see what united labour can effect--since union of labour is, in fact, +not yet begun. When it is fairly started it will pay small respect to +shareholders and to dividends. When wages are paid, there will be +perhaps no dividend left at all. In a single year--nay, a single +week--the whole capital invested in all the companies will lose its +value: it will be so much waste-paper. My friends, we need not stir hand +or foot to bring about this end: it will be done for us by the +working-man, and by those who follow the example of Ireland. They will +do it for their own selfish ends first--but--Property once destroyed, we +shall never again allow it to be created. + +'Oh!'--he warmed with his subject, his voice grew more musical, his face +glowed--'I see a splendid--a noble sight. I see the great houses in the +country fallen to ruin and decay: their contents are stored in museums: +the great palaces of the towns are pulled down: the towns themselves are +decayed and shrunk: there is no Property: there is no one working for +himself: the man of science works his laboratory for the community--but +he has the honour of his discoveries: the medical man pursues his work +with no thought of getting rich: there is plenty to go the round of +everything--oh! plenty of the best. We can have what we like, do what we +like, dress as we like, teach what we please--provided we work for the +State. If we refuse--Death! If we give bad work--Death! It is the only +Law. We shall have no lawyers--no power--no magistrates. Oh! great and +glorious time--you shall see it, you who are young--yes, you shall see +it--while I--I--I--who have dreamed of the time so long--I shall lie low +in the grave. What matter--so the time come and so the world rises free +at last to follow out the destiny of a new and glorified humanity!' + +He sat down and laid his head upon his hand, as one in prayer. They +remained in silence till he raised his head. Then the young man who had +called attention to his slavery spoke. + +'There is perhaps another way,' he said, 'which might do the job for us. +Suppose the chemists were to find out how to produce food--food of any +kind--artificially--just as good and as nourishing as if it was +butcher-meat or bread. Suppose it could be produced dirt cheap--most +chemists' things cost nothing. Then no one would need to work: because +he'd have his food found for him. If no one would need to work, no one +could get rich any more. And if no one wanted to buy anything, nobody +could sell. Then riches wouldn't count, and there you are. Let's get a +chemist to take the thing up.' + +The conversation that followed struck out new ideas. Presently it +flagged, and one by one the people stole away. + +The Master and the Disciple returned in the tram as far as Gray's Inn. + +The Master fell into profound silence a quarter of an hour before the +end of the journey. When they got down, Elsie observed first, that he +buttoned his coat; next, that he put on gloves; thirdly, that he pulled +his hat forwards: and lastly, that he ignored her presence. He drew +himself erect, and walked away with firm and precise step in the +direction of Bedford Row, which is on the other side of Gray's Inn. He +was once more Mr. Edward Dering. + +'I wonder,' said Elsie, 'how much, to-morrow, he will recollect?' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +CAN HE REMEMBER? + + +It was past ten o'clock that Sunday evening when Elsie arrived home. +Athelstan and George were waiting up for her. 'Again the mysterious +appointment?' asked the former. 'Are we to know anything yet?'--Elsie +shook her head.--'Not to-night? Very good. You look tired, Elsie.' + +'I am tired, thank you. And--and I think I would rather not talk +to-night. I will go to my own room.--Have patience, both of you, for a +day or two longer. Believe me, everything is going well. The only reason +why I cannot tell you what I have been doing is that it is so +strange--so wonderful--that I have not been able even to shape it into +words in my own mind.--What is to-day? The 1st of August.' + +'Only eleven days yet--eleven long days,' said George, 'but also eleven +short days.' + +'I do not forget. Well--you may both of you sit down--go about your +business--you need do nothing more. As for me, I think you will have to +get on without me every evening this week. But be quite easy. The thing +is done.' And with that, nodding and laughing, she ran out of the room. + +'It is done,' repeated George. 'The thing is done. Which thing?' + +'It is done,' repeated Athelstan. 'What is done? How was it done? Who +did it? When was it done?' + +'Since Elsie says it is done, I am bound to accept her assurance. +Presumably, she has caught old Checkley at South Square, in the very +act. Never mind; I am quite sure that Elsie knows what she says.' + +In her own retreat Elsie sat down to consider. + +If you think of it, she had a good deal to consider. She had, in fact, a +tremendous weapon, an eighty-ton Woolwich, in her possession; a thing +which had to be handled so that when it was fired it should not produce +a general massacre. All those who had maligned and spoken and thought +evil of her brother and her lover should, she thought, be laid +prostrate by the mere puff and whiff of the discharge. Checkley should +fall backwards, and raise a bump at the back of his head as big as an +egg. Sir Samuel and Hilda should be tumbled down in the most ignominious +fashion, just as if they had no money at all. And her mother should be +forced to cry out that she had been wrong and hasty. + +She held in her own hands nothing less than the complete demolition of +all this erection of suspicion and malignity. Nothing less. She could +restore to her brother that which he had never lost, save in the eyes of +his own people, who should have been the most jealous to preserve it. No +greater service could be rendered to him. And she could clear from her +lover's name whatever shreds and mists had been gathered round it by the +industrious breath of Checkley--that humble Cloud Compeller. You see, we +all have this much of Zeus in us, even in the compelling of Clouds: +every man by the exercise of a little malignity, a little insinuation +and a few falsehoods, can raise quite a considerable mist about the head +or the name or the figure or the reputation of anyone. Women--some +women, that is--are constantly engaged in this occupation; and after +they have been at their work, it is sometimes hard for the brightest +sunshine to melt those mists away. + +To be able to clear away clouds is a great thing. Besides this, Elsie +had found out what the rest had failed to find out--and by the simplest +method. She had learned from the only person who knew at what hour she +should be most likely to find the mysterious Edmund Gray, and she had +then waited on the stairs until he came. No method more direct--yet +nobody thought of it except herself. She had done it. As the result, +there was no longer any mystery. The man who forged the first cheque: +the man who wrote those letters and conducted their transfer: was, as +they all thought at first, Edmund Gray. No other. And Edmund Gray was +Edward Dering, one and the same person--and Edward Dering was a Madman, +and this discovery it was which so profoundly impressed her. There were +no confederates: there was no one wanted to intercept the post: no one +had tampered with the safe: the Chief himself had received the letters +and conducted the correspondence alternately as Edmund Gray himself, or +Edmund Gray acting unconsciously for Edward Dering. + +Perfectly impossible-- Perfectly simple-- Perfectly intelligible. As for +the impossibility, a fact may remain when its impossibility is +established. Elsie was not a psychologist or a student of the brain. She +knew nothing about mental maladies. She only said after what she had +seen and heard: 'The man is mad.' + +Then she thought how she should best act. To establish the identity of +Mr. Dering and Edmund Gray must be done. It was the one thing necessary. +Very well. That could easily be done, and in a simple way. She had only +to march into his office at the head of a small band of witnesses and +say: 'You wanted us to find out Edmund Gray! I have found him. And thou +art the man!' + +He would deny it. He certainly knew nothing about it. Then she would +call upon her witnesses. First, Athelstan's commissionaire, who declared +that he should remember, even after eight years or eighty years, the +gentleman who sent him to cash that cheque. 'Who is this man, +commissionaire?' + +'That is Mr. Edmund Gray.' + +Next the landlord of his chambers. 'Who is this man?' + +'That is Mr. Edmund Gray, my tenant for nine years.' + +Then she would call the eminent Barrister, Mr. Langhorne. 'Do you know +this man?' + +'He is my neighbour, Mr. Edmund Gray.' + +And Freddy Carstone the Coach. + +'He is my neighbour, Mr. Edmund Gray.' + +And the laundress, and she would say: 'I have done for the gentleman for +nine years. He's a very good gentleman, and generous--and his name is +Mr. Edmund Gray.' + +And the people from the Hall--and they would make answer, with one +consent: 'That is Mr. Edmund Gray, our preacher and our teacher.' + +And she herself would give her testimony: 'I have sat with you in your +Chambers. I have heard you lecture in your Hall, surrounded by these +good people, and you are Edmund Gray.' + +The thing was quite easy to do. She could bring forward all this +evidence at once, and it would be unanswerable and convincing even to +Sir Samuel. + +Except for one thing which made it difficult. + +The discovery would be a most dreadful--a most terrible--revelation to +one who believed himself to be the most respectable solicitor in the +whole of London; the most trustworthy; the clearest in mind; the keenest +in vision; the coldest in judgment. He would learn without the least +previous suspicion or preparation, or any softening of the blow, that +for many years he had been---- What? Is there any other word--any kinder +word--any word less terrifying or less humiliating by which the news +could be conveyed to him that he had been Mad--Mad--Mad? Heavens! what a +word it is! How terrible to look at with its three little letters which +mean so much! All the words that mean much are monosyllables: +God--Love--Joy--Hate--Fear--Glad--Sad--Mad--Bad--Hell--Home--Wife-- +Child--House--Song--Feast--Wine--Kiss--everything--they are the oldest +words, you see; they have been used from time immemorial by prehistoric +man as well as by ourselves. + +Mr. Dering had to be told that he was Mad. Somehow or other, he must be +told that. It seemed at first the only way out of the difficulty. How +could this girl communicate the dreadful news to her guardian, who had +always been to her considerate, and even affectionate? She shrank from +the task. Then she thought she would hand it over to her brother +Athelstan. But he was far more concerned about clearing up the hateful +business than about softening the blow for Mr. Dering. Or of +communicating it to George. What should she do? Mr. Dering was mad. Not +mad all the time, but mad now and then, sometimes every day, sometimes +with intervals. This kind of madness, I believe, takes many forms--a +fact which should make the strongest men tremble. Sometimes it lasts a +long time before it is found out. Sometimes even it is never found out +at all. Solicitors and doctors tell queer stories about it. For +instance, that story--quite a common story--of an old gentleman of +irreproachable reputation, a speaker and leader in religious circles, a +man enormously respected by all classes, concerning whom not his +bitterest enemy had a word of scandal--yet, after his death, things +deplorable, things incredible, things to be suppressed at any cost, were +brought to the knowledge of his lawyers. At certain times he went mad, +you see. Then he forgot who he was: he forgot his reputation, his place +in the world, and the awful penalties of being found out: he went down: +he lived among people of the baser sort, and became an inferior man with +another name, and died without ever knowing his own dreadful record. +Another of whom I have heard was mad for fifteen years, yet the Chief of +a great House, who all the time conducted the business with great +ability. He was found out at last because he began to buy things. Once +he sent home six grand pianos: another time he bought all the cricket +bats that were in stock in a certain shop; and another time he bought +all the hats that fitted him at all the hatters' shops within a circle +whose centre was Piccadilly Circus and the radius a mile long. After +this they gave him a cheerful companion, who took walks abroad with him, +and he retired from active business. + +Some philosophers maintain that we are all gone mad on certain points. +In that case, if one does not know it or suspect it, and if our friends +neither know nor suspect it, what does it matter? There are also, we all +know, points on which some of us are mad, and everybody knows it. There +is the man who believes that he is a great poet, and publishes volume +after volume, all at his own expense, to prove it: there is the man--but +he ought to be taken away and put on a treadmill--who writes letters to +the papers on every conceivable subject with the day before yesterday's +wisdom: there is the man who thinks he can paint--we all know plenty of +men mad like unto these, and we are for the most part willing to +tolerate them. Considerations, however, on the universality of the +complaint fail to bring consolation to any except those who have it not. +In the same way, nobody who dies of any disease is comforted with the +thought of the rarity or the frequency of that disease; its interesting +character has no charm for him. Nor is the man on his way to be hanged +consoled by the reminder that thousands have trodden that flowery way +before him. To Mr. Dering, proud of his own intellect, self-sufficient +and strong, the discovery of these things would certainly bring +humiliation intolerable, perhaps--even--shame unto Death itself. +How--oh! how could things be managed so as to spare him this pain? + +Elsie's difficulties grew greater the more she pondered over them. It +was past midnight when she closed the volume of thought and her eyes at +the same moment. + +In the morning, Athelstan kissed her gravely. + +'Do you remember what you said last night, Elsie? You said that we could +rest at peace because the thing was done.' + +'Well, Athelstan, the words could only have one meaning, could they? I +mean, if you want me to be more explicit, that the thing is actually +done. My dear brother, I know all about it now. I know who signed that +first cheque--who sent the commissionaire to the Bank--who received the +notes--who placed them in the safe--who wrote about the transfers--who +received the letters and carried on the whole business. I can place my +hand upon him to-day if necessary.' + +'Without doubt? With proofs, ample proofs?' + +'Without the least doubt--with a cloud of witnesses. My dear brother, do +not doubt me. I have done it. Yet--for a reason--to spare one most +deeply concerned--for the pity of it--if you knew--give me a few days--a +week, perhaps, to find a way if I can. If I cannot, then the cruel truth +must be told bluntly, whatever happens.' + +'Remember all the mischief the old villain has done.' + +'The old villain? Oh! you mean Checkley?' + +'Of course; whom should I mean?' + +'Nobody--nothing. Brother, if you bid me speak to-day, I will speak. No +one has a better right to command. But if this--this person--were to die +to-day, my proofs are so ample that there could be no doubt possible. +Yes--even my mother--it is dreadful to say it--but she is so hard and so +obstinate--even my mother would acknowledge that there is no doubt +possible.' + +Athelstan stooped and kissed her. 'Order it exactly as you please, my +child. If I have waited eight long years, I can wait another week. +Another week. Then I shall at last be able to speak of my people at +home. I shall go back to California with belongings like other men. I +shall be able to make friends; I can even, if it comes in my way, make +love, Elsie. Do you think you understand quite what this means to me?' + +He left her presently to go about his work. + +In the corner of the room stood her easel with the portrait, the fancy +portrait, of Mr. Dering the Benevolent--Mr. Dering the Optimist--Mr. +Dering as he might be with the same features and the least little change +in their habitual setting. + +Elsie stood before this picture, looking at it curiously. + +'Yes,' she murmured, 'you are a dear, tender-hearted, kindly, +benevolent, simple old Thing. You believe in human nature: you think +that everybody is longing for the Kingdom of Heaven. You think that +everybody would be comfortable in it: that everybody longs for honesty. +Before I altered you and improved your face, you were Justice without +mercy: you were Law without leniency: you were Experience which knows +that all men are wicked by choice when they get the chance: you had no +soft place anywhere: you held that Society exists only for the +preservation of Property. Oh! you are so much more lovable now, if you +would only think so--if you only knew. You believe in men and women: +that is a wonderful advance--and you have done well to change your old +name to your new name. I think I should like you always to be Edmund +Gray. But how am I to tell you? How, in the name of wonder, am I to tell +you that you are Edmund Gray? First of all, I must see you-- I must +break the thing gently-- I must force you somehow to recollect, as soon +as possible. I must make you somehow understand what has happened.' + +She had promised to meet Mr. Edmund Gray at his Chambers that evening at +five. He showed his confidence in her by giving her a latch-key, so that +she might let herself in if he happened not to be in the Chambers when +she called, at five. She would try, then, to bring him back to himself. +She pictured his amazement--his shame--at finding himself in strange +rooms under another name, preaching wild doctrines. It would be too much +for him. Better go to Mr. Dering, the real Mr. Dering, and try to move +him in his own office, to recollect what had happened. Because, you see, +Elsie, unacquainted with these obscure forms of brain disease, imagined +that she might by artful question and suggestion clear that clouded +memory, and show the lawyer his double figuring as a Socialist. + +She waited till the afternoon. She arrived at New Square about three, +two hours before her engagement at Gray's Inn. + +Mr. Dering received her with his usual kindness. He was austerely +benignant. + +'I tried to see you last night,' she said, untruthfully, because the +words conveyed the impression that she had called upon him. + +'No--no. I was-- I suppose I was out. I went out----' His face clouded, +and he stopped. + +'Yes--you were saying, Mr. Dering, that you went out.' + +'Last night was Sunday, wasn't it? Yes; I went out.--Where did I go?' He +drummed the table with his fingers irritably. 'Where did I go? +Where?--What does it matter?' + +'Nothing at all. Only it is strange that you should not remember.' + +'I told you once before, Elsie,' he said, 'I suffer--I labour--under +curious fits of forgetfulness. Now, at this moment, I--it really is +absurd--I cannot remember where I was last night. I am an old man. It is +the privilege of age to forget yesterday, and to remember fifty years +ago.' + +'I was talking last night to an old gentleman who said much the same. He +has Chambers where he goes to write: he has a Lecture Hall--where he +preaches to the people----' + +Mr. Dering looked at her in mild surprise. What did she mean? Elsie +coloured. + +'Of course,' she said, 'this has nothing to do with you.' + +'How I spent the evening I know very well,' Mr. Dering went on. 'Yet I +forget. That is the trouble with me. My housekeeper will not give me +dinner on Sunday evening, and on that day I go to my Club. I get there +about five or six: I read the magazines till seven. Sometimes I drop off +to sleep--we old fellows will drop off, you know--about seven I have +dinner. After dinner I take my coffee, and read or talk if there is any +one I know. About nine I walk home. That has been my custom for many +years. Therefore, that is how I spent the evening of yesterday.--But, +you see, I cannot remember it. Breakfast I remember, and the Church +service afterwards. Luncheon I remember: getting home at ten I remember. +But the interval between I cannot remember.' + +'Do you forget other things? Do you remember Saturday afternoon, for +instance?' + +'Yes--perfectly. I left the office about five. I walked straight +home.--No--no--that isn't right. It was nearly eight when I got home. I +remember. The dinner was spoiled.--No--I did not go straight home.' + +'Perhaps you stayed here till past seven?' + +'No--no. I remember looking at the clock as I put on my hat. It was +half-past five when I went out-- Five. What did I do between half-past +five o'clock and eight? I forget. You see, my trouble, Elsie--I forget. +Perhaps I went to the Club: perhaps I strolled about: perhaps I came +back here. There are three hours to account for--and I have forgotten +them all.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +WILL HE REMEMBER? + + +Should she tell him? She could not. The way must somehow be prepared. +No--she could not tell him just so--in cold blood. How would he look if +she were to begin: 'I have found out the mystery. You are Edmund Gray. +During the hours that you cannot recall, you are playing the part of a +Socialist teacher and leader: you are actively propagating the doctrines +that you hold to be dangerous and misleading'? What would he say? What +would he feel when he realised the truth? + +On the table lay a copy of the _Times_--a fortnight-old copy--open at +the place where there was a certain letter from a certain Edmund Gray. +Elsie pointed to it. Mr. Dering sighed. 'Again,' he said, 'they +persecute me. Now it is a letter addressed to Edmund Gray, lying on my +table: now it is the bill of a pernicious lecture by Edmund Gray: to-day +it is this paper with the letter that appeared a week or two ago. Who +brought it here? Checkley says he didn't. Who put it on my table?' + +Elsie made no reply. It was useless to test her former theory of the boy +under the table. + +'As for the man who wrote this letter,' Mr. Dering went on, 'he bears +the name of our forger and writes from the same address. Yet he is not +the man. Of that I am convinced. This man is a fool because he believes +in the honesty of mankind: he is a generous fool, because he believes +that people would rather be good than bad. Nonsense! They would rather +be stealing from each other's plates, like the monkeys, than dividing +openly. He has what they call a good heart--that is, he is a soft +creature--and he is full of pity for the poor. Now, in my young days, I +was taught--what after-experience has only brought more home to +me--that the poor are poor in consequence of their vices. We used to say +to them: "Go away--practise thrift. Be sober--work hard. By exercising +these virtues we rose out of your ranks. By continuing to exercise them +we remain on these levels. Go away. There is no remedy for disease +contracted by vice. Go away and suffer." That's what we said formerly. +What they say now is: "Victims of greed! You are filled with every +virtue possible to humanity. You are down-trodden by the Capitalist. You +are oppressed. Make and produce for others to enjoy. We will change all +this. We will put the fruits--the harvest--of your labour in your own +hands, and you shall show the world your justice, your noble +disinterestedness, your generosity, your love of the common weal." +That's the new gospel, Elsie, and I prefer the old.' + +Strange that a man should at one time hold and preach with so much +fervour and earnestness the very creed which at another time he +denounced as fiercely! + +'This man, and such as he,' continued Mr. Dering, lifted out of his +anxieties by that subject, 'would destroy Property in order to make the +workman rich. Wonderful doctrine! He would advance the world by +destroying the only true incentive and stimulant for work, invention, +civilisation, association, and every good and useful thing. He would +destroy Property. And then? Can he not see what would follow? Why, these +people do not know the very alphabet of the thing. By Property they mean +the possession by individuals of land or money. But that is only a part +of Property. Take that away, and the individual remains. And he has +got--what you cannot take away--the rest of his Property, by which he +will speedily repair the temporary loss. Consider, child, if you can, +what does a man possess? He has, I say, Property--all his own--which +cannot be taken from him or shared with another--Property in his brain, +his trade, his wit, his craft, his art, his skill, his invention, his +enterprise, his quickness to grip an opportunity. Again, he has his wife +and children--sometimes a very valuable Property: he has, besides, his +memories, his knowledge, his experience, his thoughts, his hopes, his +projects, and intentions: he has his past and he has his future: he has, +or thinks he has, his inheritance in the Kingdom of Heaven. Take away +all these things bit by bit, what is left? Nothing. Not even the shadow +of a man. Not even a naked figure. This, Elsie, is Property. These +things separate the individual from the mass, and each man from his +neighbour. A shallow fanatic, like this Edmund Gray, thinks that wealth +is the whole of Property. Why, I say, it is only a part of Property: it +is the external and visible side of certain forms of Property. Take all +the wealth away to-day--even if you make ten thousand laws, the same +qualities--the same forms of Property--the same lack of those qualities +will produce like results to-morrow.--Do you now understand, child, what +is meant by Property? It is everything which makes humanity. Wealth is +only the symbol or proof of society so organised that all these +qualities--the whole Property of a man, can be exercised freely and +without injustice.' + +'I see,' said Elsie, gazing with wonder undisguised. Was this last +night's Prophet? Could the same brain hold two such diverse views'? + +'You are surprised, child. That is because you have never taken or +understood this larger view of Property. It is new to you. Confess, +however, that it lends sacredness to things which we are becoming +accustomed to have derided. Believe me, it is not without reason that +some of us venerate the laws which have been slowly, very slowly, +framed: and the forms which have been slowly, very slowly, framed: as +experience has taught us wisdom for the protection of man--working man, +not loafing, lazy man. It is wise and right of us to maintain all those +institutions which encourage the best among us to work and invent and +distribute. By these forms alone is industry protected and enterprise +encouraged. Then such as this Edmund Gray'--he laid his hand again upon +the letter--'will tell you that Property--Property--causes certain +crimes--ergo, Property must be destroyed. Everything desirable causes +its own peculiar class of crime. Consider the universal passion of Love. +It daily causes crimes innumerable. Yet no one has yet proposed the +abolition of Love--eh?' + +'I believe not,' Elsie replied, smiling. 'I hope no one will--yet.' + +'No. But the desire for Property, which is equally universal--which is +the most potent factor in the cause of Law and Order--they desire and +propose to destroy. I have shown you that it is impossible. Let the +companies pay no dividends, let all go to the working men: let the +lands pay no rent: the houses no rent: let the merchants' capital yield +no profit: to-morrow the clever man will be to the front again, using +for his own purposes the dull and the stupid and the lazy. That is my +opinion.--Forgive this sermon, Elsie. You started me on the subject. It +is one on which I have felt very strongly for a long time. In fact, the +more I think upon it the more I am convinced that the most important +thing in any social system is the protection of the individual--personal +liberty: freedom of contract: right to enjoy in safety what his ability, +his enterprise, and his dexterity may gain for him.' + +Elsie made no reply for a moment. The conversation had taken an +unexpected turn. The vehemence of the upholder of Property overwhelmed +her as much as the earnestness of its destroyer. Besides, what chance +has a girl of one-and-twenty on a subject of which she knows nothing +with a man who has thought upon it for fifty years? Besides, she was +thinking all the time of the other man. And now there was no doubt--none +whatever--that Mr. Dering knew nothing of Mr. Edmund Gray--nothing at +all. He knew nothing and suspected nothing of the truth. And which +should she believe? The man who was filled with pity for the poor and +saw nothing but their sufferings, or the man who was full of sympathy +with the rich, and saw in the poor nothing but their vices? Are all men +who work oppressed? Or are there no oppressed at all, but only some lazy +and stupid and some clever? + +'Tell me more another time,' she said, with a sigh. 'Come back to the +case--the robbery. Is anything discovered yet?' + +'I have heard nothing. George refuses to go on with the case out of some +scruple because----' + +'Oh! I know the cause. Very cruel things have been said about him. Do +you not intend to stand by your own partner, Mr. Dering?' + +'To stand by him? Why, what can I do?' + +'You know what has been said of him--what is said of him--why I have had +to leave home----' + +'I know what is said, certainly. It matters nothing what is said. The +only important thing is to find out--and that they cannot do.' + +'They want to connect Edmund Gray with the forgeries, and they are +trying the wrong way. Checkley is not the connecting link--nor is +George.' + +'You talk in riddles, child.' + +'Perhaps. Do you think, yourself, that George has had anything whatever +to do with the business?' + +'If you put it so, I do not. If you ask me what I have a right to +think--it is that everything is possible.' + +'That is what you said about Athelstan. Yet now his innocence is +established.' + +'That is to say, his guilt is not proved. Find me the man who forged +that cheque, and I will acknowledge that he is innocent. Until then, he +is as guilty as the other man--Checkley--who was also named in +connection with the matter. Mind, I say, I do not believe that my +Partner could do this thing. I will tell him so. I have told him so. If +it had to be done over again, I would ask him to become my partner. But +all things are possible. My brother is hot upon it. Well--let him search +as he pleases. In such a case the solution is always the simplest and +the most unexpected. I told him only this morning--he had lunch with +me--that he was on a wrong scent--but he is obstinate. Let him go on.' + +'Yes--let him divide a family--keep up bitterness between mother and +son--make a lifelong separation between those who ought to love each +other most---- Oh! it is shameful! It is shameful! And you make no +effort--none at all--to stop it.' + +'What can I do? What can I say, more than I have said? If they would +only not accuse each other--but find out something!' + +'Mr. Dering--forgive me--what I am going to say'--she began with jerks. +'The honour of my brother--of my lover--are at stake.' + +'Say, child, what you please.' + +'I think that perhaps'--she did not dare to look at him--'if you could +remember sometimes those dropped and forgotten evenings--those hours +when you do not know what you have said and done--if you could only +remember a little--we might find out more.' + +He watched her face blushing, and her eyes confused, and her voice +stammering, and he saw that there was something behind--something that +she hinted, but would not or could not express. He sat upright, +suspicious and disquieted. + +'Tell me what you mean, child.' + +'I cannot--if you do not remember anything. You come late in the +morning--sometimes two hours late. You think it is only ten o'clock when +it is twelve. You do not know where you have been for the last two +hours. Try to remember that. You were late on Saturday morning. Perhaps +this morning. Where were you?' + +His face was quite white. He understood that something was +going--soon--to happen. + +'I know not, Elsie--indeed--I cannot remember. Where was I?' + +'You leave here at five. You have ordered dinner, and your housekeeper +tells me that you come home at ten or eleven. Where are you all that +time?' + +'I am at the Club.' + +'Can you remember? Think--were you at the Club last night? George went +there to find you, but you were not there--and you were not at home. +Where were you?' + +He tried to speak--but he could not. He shook his head--he gasped twice. + +'You cannot remember? Oh! try--Mr. Dering--try--for the sake of +everybody--to put an end to this miserable condition--try.' + +'I cannot remember,' he said again feebly. + +'Is it possible--just possible--that while you are away--during these +intervals--you yourself may be actually--in the company--of this +Socialist--this Edmund Gray?' + +'Elsie--what do you mean?' + +'I mean--can you not remember?' + +'You mean more, child! Do you know what you mean? If what you suggest is +true, then I must be mad--mad. Do you mean it? Do you mean it? Do you +understand what you say?' + +'Try--try to remember,' she replied. 'That is all I mean. My dear +guardian, is there any one to whom I am more grateful than yourself? You +have given me a fortune and my lover an income. Try--try to remember.' + +She left him without more words. + +He sat looking straight before him--the horror of the most awful thing +that can befall a man upon him. Presently, he touched his bell, and his +old clerk appeared. + +'Checkley,' he said, 'tell me the truth.' + +'I always do,' he replied surlily. + +'I have been suffering from fits of forgetfulness. Have you observed +any impairing of the faculties? When a man's mental powers are decaying, +he forgets things: he loses the power of work: his old skill leaves him: +he cannot distinguish between good work and bad. He shows his mental +decay, I believe, in physical ways--he shuffles as he walks; he stoops +and shambles--and in his speech--he wanders and he repeats--and in his +food and manner of eating. Have you observed any of these symptoms upon +me, Checkley?' + +'Not one. You are as upright as a lance: you eat like five-and-twenty: +your talk is as good and your work is as good as when you were +forty.--Don't think such things. To be sure you do forget a bit. But not +your work. You only forget sometimes what you did out of the office--as +if that matters. Do you remember the case you tackled yesterday +afternoon?' + +'Certainly.' + +'Do you tell me that any man--forty years younger than you--could have +tackled that case more neatly? Garn! Go 'long!' + +Checkley went back to his office. + +'What did she mean by it, then?' Mr. Dering murmured. 'Who put her on to +such a suspicion? What did she mean by it? Of course it's nonsense.' So +reassuring himself, he yet remained disquieted. For he could not +remember. + +At half-past five or so, Mr. Edmund Gray arrived at his Chambers. The +outer door was closed, but he found his disciple waiting for him. She +had been there an hour or more, she said. She was reading one of the +books he had recommended to her. With the words of Mr. Dering in her +ears, she read as if two voices were speaking to her--talking to each +other across her. + +She laid down the book and rose to greet him. 'Master,' she said, 'I +have come from Mr. Dering. He is your solicitor, you told me.' + +'Assuredly. He manages my affairs.' + +'It is curious--I asked him if he knew you--and he said that he knew +nothing about you.' + +'That is curious, certainly. My solicitor for--for many years. He must +have mistaken the name. Or--he grows old--perhaps he forgets people.' + +'Do you often see him?' + +'I saw him this morning. I took him my letter to the _Times_. He is +narrow--very narrow, in his views. We argued the thing for a bit. But, +really, one might as well argue with a stick as with Dering when +Property is concerned. So he forgets, does he? Poor old chap! He +forgets--well--we all grow old together!' He sighed. 'It is his time +to-day and mine to-morrow.--My Scholar, let us talk.' + +The Scholar left her Master at seven. On her way out she ran against +Checkley, who was prowling round the court. 'You!' he cried. 'You! Ah! +I've caught you, have I? On Saturday afternoon I thought I see you going +into No. 22. Now I've caught you coming out, have I?' + +'Checkley,' she said, 'if you are insolent, I shall have to speak to Mr. +Dering;' and walked away. + +'There's another of 'em,' Checkley murmured, looking after her--'a +hardened one, if ever there was. All for her lover and her brother! A +pretty nest of 'em. And calls herself a lady!' + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE LESSON OF THE STREET + + +'Child,' said the Master, 'it is time that you should take another +lesson.' + +'I am ready. Let us begin.' She crossed her hands in her lap and looked +up obedient. + +'Not a lesson this time from books. A practical lesson from men and +women, boys and girls, children and infants in arms. Let us go forth and +hear the teaching of the wrecks and the slaves. I will show you +creatures who are men and women mutilated in body and mind--mutilated by +the social order. Come, I will show you, not by words, but by sight, why +Property must be destroyed.' + +It was seven o'clock, when Mr. Dering ought to have been thinking of his +dinner, that Mr. Edmund Gray proposed this expedition. Now, since that +other discourse on the sacredness of Property, a strange thing had +fallen upon Elsie. Whenever her Master spoke and taught, she seemed to +hear, following him, the other voice speaking and teaching exactly the +opposite. Sometimes--this is absurd, but many true things are +absurd--she seemed to hear both voices speaking together: yet she heard +them distinctly and apart. Looking at Mr. Dering, she knew what he was +saying: looking at Mr. Edmund Gray, she heard what he was saying. So +that no sooner had these words been spoken, than, like a response in +church, there arose the voice of Mr. Dering. And it said: 'Come. You +shall see the wretched lives and the sufferings of those who are +punished because their fathers or themselves have refused to work and +save. Not to be able to get Property is the real curse of labour. It is +no evil to work provided one chooses the work and creates for one's self +Property. The curse is to have to work for starvation wages at what can +never create property, if the worker should live for a thousand years.' + +Of the two voices she preferred the one which promised the abolition of +poverty and crime. She was young: she was generous: any hope of a return +of the Saturnian reign made her heart glow. Of the two old men--the mad +man and the sane man--she loved the mad man. Who would not love such a +man? Why, he knew how to make the whole world happy! Ever since the time +of Adam we have been looking and calling out and praying for such a man. +Every year the world runs after such a man. He promises, but he does not +perform. The world tries his patent medicine, and is no better. Then, +the year after, the world runs after another man. + +Elsie rose and followed the Master. It was always with a certain anxiety +that she sat or talked with him. Always she dreaded lest, by some +unlucky accident, he should awaken and be restored to himself suddenly +and without warning--say in his Lecture Hall. How would he look? What +should she say? 'See--in this place for many years past you have in +course of madness preached the very doctrines which in hours of sanity +you have most reprobated. These people around you are your disciples. +You have taught them by reason and by illustration with vehemence and +earnestness to regard the destruction of property as the one thing +needful for the salvation of the world. What will you say now? Will you +begin to teach the contrary? They will chase you out of the Hall for a +madman. Will you go on with your present teaching? You will despise +yourself for a madman.' Truly a difficult position. Habit, however, was +too strong. There was little chance that Edmund Gray among his own +people, and at work upon his own hobby, would become Edward Dering. + +They went out together. He led her--whither? It mattered not. North and +South and East and West you may find everywhere the streets and houses +of the very poor hidden away behind the streets of the working people +and the well-to-do. + +The Master stopped at the entrance of one of those streets--it seemed to +Elsie as if she was standing between two men both alike, with different +eyes. At the corner was a public-house with swinging doors. It was +filled with men talking, but not loudly. Now and then a woman went in or +came out, but they were mostly men. It was a street long and narrow, +squalid to the last degree, with small two-storied houses on either +side. The bricks were grimy; the mortar was constantly falling out +between them: the woodwork of doors and windows was insufferably grimy: +many of the panes were broken in the windows. It was full of children: +they swarmed: they ran about in the road, they danced on the pavement, +they ran and jumped and laughed as if their lot was the happiest in the +world and their future the brightest. Moreover, most of them, though +their parents were steeped in poverty, looked well fed and even rosy. +'All these children,' said Mr. Edmund Gray, 'will grow up without a +trade: they will enter life with nothing but their hands and their legs +and their time. That is the whole of their inheritance. They go to +school, and they like school: but as for the things they learn, they +will forget them, or they will have no use for them. Hewers of wood and +drawers of water shall they be: they are condemned already. That is the +system: we take thousands of children every year, and we condemn them to +servitude--whatever genius may be lying among them. It is like throwing +treasures into the sea, or burying the fruits of the earth. Waste! +Waste! Yet, if the system is to be bolstered up, what help?' + +Said the other Voice: 'The world must have servants. These are our +servants. If they are good at their work, they will rise and become +upper servants. If they are good upper servants, they may rise higher. +Their children can rise higher still, and their grandchildren may join +us. Service is best for them. Good service, hard service, will keep them +in health and out of temptation. To lament because they are servants is +foolish and sentimental.' + +Standing in the doorways, sitting on the door-steps, talking together, +were women--about four times as many women as there were houses. This +was because there were as many families as rooms, and there were four +rooms for every house. As they stood at the end of the street and looked +down, Elsie observed that nearly every woman had a baby in her arms, and +that there were a great many types or kinds of women. That which does +not surprise one in a drawing-room, where every woman is expected to +have her individual points, is noticed in a crowd, where, one thinks, +the people should be like sheep--all alike. + +'A splendid place, this street, for such a student as you should be, my +Scholar.' The Master looked up and down--he sniffed the air, which was +stuffy, with peculiar satisfaction: he smiled upon the grubby houses. +'You should come often; you should make the acquaintance of the people: +you will find them so human, so desperately human, that you will +presently understand that these women are your sisters. Change dresses +with one of them: let your hair fall wild: take off your bonnet----' + +'Shall I then be quite like them?' asked Elsie. 'Like them, Master? Oh! +not quite like them.' + +'Not quite like them,' he said. 'No; you could never talk like them.' + +He walked about among the people, who evidently knew him, because they +made way for him, nodded to him, and pretended, such was their +politeness, to pay no attention to the young lady who accompanied him. + +'Every one of them is a study,' he continued. 'I could preach to you on +every one as a text. Here is my young friend Alice Parden, for +instance'--he stopped before a pale girl of seventeen or so, tall and +slender, but of drooping figure, who carried a baby in her arms. 'Look +at her. Consider. Alice is foolish, like all the Alices of this street. +Alice must needs marry her chap a year ago, when she was sixteen and he +was eighteen. Alice should be still at her club in the evening and her +work in the daytime. But she must marry, and she is a child mother.--Is +he out of work still?' Alice nodded, and hugged her baby closer. Mr. +Edmund Gray shook his head in admonition, but gave her a coin, and went +on. 'Now look at this good woman'--he stopped before a door where an +Amazon was leaning--a woman five feet eight in height, with brawny arms +and broad shoulders and a fiery furnace for a face--a most terrible and +fearful woman.--'How are you this evening, Mrs. Moss? And how is your +husband?' + +Long is the arm of coincidence. Mrs. Moss was just beginning to repose +after a row royal; she was slowly simmering and slowly calming. There +had been a row royal, a dispute, an argument, a quarrel, and a fight +with her husband. All four were only just concluded. All four had been +conducted on the pavement, for the sake of coolness and air and space. +The residents stood around: the controversy was sharp and animated: the +lady bore signs of its vehemence in a bruise, rapidly blackening, over +one eye, and abrasions on her knuckles. The husband had been conducted +by his friends from the spot to the public-house at the corner, where he +was at present pulling himself together, and forgetting the weight of +his consort's fists, and solacing his spirit with strong drink. + +'How is my husband?' the lady repeated. 'Oh! I'll tell you. I'll tell +you, Mr. Gray, how my husband is. Oh! how is he? Go, look for him in the +public-house. You shall see how he is and what he looks like.' She +descended two steps, still retaining the advantage of the lowest. Then, +describing a semicircle with her right arm, she began an impassioned +harangue. The residents fled, right and left, not knowing whether in her +wrath she might not mistake the whole of them, collectively, for her +husband. The men in the public-house hearing her voice, trembled, and +looked apprehensively at the door. But Mr. Gray stood before her without +fear. He knew her better than to run away. The lady respected his +courage, and rejoiced in a sympathetic listener. Presently she ran down: +she paused: she gasped: she caught at her heart: she choked: she wept. +She sat down on the doorstep, this great strong woman, with the brawny +arms and the fiery face, and she wept. The residents crept timidly back +again and gathered round her, murmuring sympathy: the men in the +public-house trembled again. Mr. Gray grasped her by the hand and +murmured a few words of consolation; for indeed there were great wrongs, +such as few wives even in this street expect, and undeniable +provocations. Then he led his Scholar away. + +At the next house he entered, taking Elsie with him to a room at the +back where a woman sat making garments. She was a middle-aged woman, and +though very poorly dressed, not in rags: the room was neat except for +the garments lying about. She looked up cheerfully--her eyes were +bright, her face was fine--and smiled. 'You here, Mr. Gray?' she said. +'Well, I was only thinking yesterday how long it is since you came to +see me last. I mustn't stop working, but you can talk.' + +'This is a very special friend of mine,' said the Master. 'I have known +her for ten years, ever since I began to visit the street. She is always +cheerful: though she has to live on sweating work and sweating pay. She +never complains. She lives like the sparrows, and eats about as much as +a sparrow: she is always respectable. She goes to church on Sundays: she +is always neat in her dress. Yet she must be always hungry.' + +'Ah!' said the woman, 'you'd wonder. Miss, if you knew how little a +woman can live upon.' + +'Oh! but,' said Elsie, 'to have always to live on that little!' + +'She is the daughter of a man once thought well to do.'--'He was most +respectable,' said the woman.--'He died, and left nothing but debts. The +family were soon scattered, and--you see--this street contains some of +those who have fallen low down as well as those who are born low down. +It is Misfortune Lane as well as Poverty Lane. To the third and fourth +generation, misfortune, when it begins--the reason of its beginning is +the wickedness of one man--still persecutes and follows the family.' + +'Thank you, Miss,' said the woman. 'And if you will come again +sometimes---- Oh! you needn't be afraid. No one would hurt a friend of +Mr. Gray.' So they went out. + +On the next doorstep and the next and the next, there sat women old and +young, but all of these had the same look and almost the same +features--they were heavy-faced, dull-eyed, thick-lipped, unwashed, and +unbrushed. 'These,' said the Master, 'are the women who know of nothing +better than the life they lead here. They have no hope of rising: they +would be unhappy out of this street. They bear children: they bring them +up, and they die. It is womanhood at its lowest. They want warmth, food, +and drink, and that is nearly all. They are the children and +grandchildren of women like themselves, and they are the mothers of +women like themselves. Savage lands have no such savagery as this, for +the worst savages have some knowledge, and these women have none. They +are mutilated by our system. We have deprived them of their souls. They +are the products of our system. In a better order these people could not +exist: they would not be allowed parents or birth. The boy would still +be learning his trade, and the girl would be working at hers. That +little woman who meets her troubles with so brave a heart has been +sweated all her life--ever since her misfortunes began: she takes it as +part of the thing they call life: she believes that it will be made up +to her somehow in another world. I hope it will.' + +'All these people,' said the other Voice, 'are what they are because of +the follies and the vices of themselves and their fathers. The +boy-husband has no trade. Whose fault is that? The rickety boy and the +rickety girl bring into the world a rickety baby. Whose fault is that? +Let them grow worse instead of better until they learn by sharper +suffering that vice and folly bring their punishment.' + +'You see the children,' continued the Master, 'and the mothers. You do +not see any old men, because this sort mostly die before they reach the +age of sixty. Those who are past work and yet continue to live go into +the House. The girls you do not see, because those who are not forced to +work all the evening as well as all the day are out walking with their +sweethearts. Nor the men, because they are mostly in the public-house. +They are all hand-to-mouth working men: they live by the job when they +can get any. When they are out of work, they live upon each other. We +hide this kind of thing away in back streets like this, and we think it +isn't dangerous. But it is. Formerly, the wreckage huddled together bred +plagues and pestilences, which carried off rich and poor with equal +hand, and so revenged itself. In other ways, the wreckage revenges +itself still.' + +'This kind of people,' said the other Voice, 'may be dangerous. We have +a Police on purpose to meet the danger. They would be quite as dangerous +if you were to give them free dinners and house them without rent. The +class represents the untameable element. They are always a danger. To +cry over them is silly and useless.' + +They walked down the street. Everybody knew Mr. Edmund Gray. He had a +word for all. It was evident that he had been a visitor in the street +for a long time: he had the air of a proprietor: he entered the houses +and opened doors and sat down and talked, his disciple standing beside +him and looking on. He asked questions and gave advice--not of a +subversive Socialistic kind, but sound advice, recognising the order +that is, not the order that should be. + +All the rooms in this street were tenanted, mostly a family to each. In +many of them work was going on still, though it was already eight +o'clock. Sometimes it would be a woman sitting alone in her room like a +prisoner in a cell, stitching for dear life: sometimes three or four +women or girls sitting all together, stitching for dear life: sometimes +a whole family, little children and all, making matches, making canvas +bags, making paper bags, making card-boxes, all making--making--making +for dear life. And the fingers did not stop and the eyes were not +lifted, though the visitors opened the door and came in and asked +questions, to which one replied in the name of all the rest. + +It is an old, old story--everybody knows the slum: people go to gaze +upon it; it is one of the chief sights of Victorian London, just as a +hundred and fifty years ago it was one of the sights to see the women +flogged at Bridewell. Not such a very great advance in civilisation, +perhaps, after all. + +'It is a hive--the place is swarming with life,' said the girl, who had +never before seen such a street. + +'Life means Humanity. All these people are so like you, my Scholar, that +you would be surprised. You would not be like them if you were dressed +in these things, but they are like you. They want the same things as +you--they have the same desires--they suffer the same pains. What makes +your happiness? Food--warmth, sufficiency, not too much work. These are +the elements for you as well as for them. In my system they will have +all these--and then perhaps they will build up, as you have done, an +edifice of Knowledge, Art, and Sweet Thoughts. But they are all like +you. And most in one thing. For all women of all classes, there is one +thing needful. These girls, like you, want love. They all want love. Oh, +child! they are so like you, so very like you--these poor women of the +lowest class. So very like their proud sisters.' He paused for a moment. +Elsie made no reply. 'You see,' he continued, 'they are so hard at work +that they cannot even lift their eyes to look at you--not even at you, +though they seldom see a girl among them so lovely and so well dressed. +One would have thought--but there is the Whip that drives--that +dreadful Whip--it hangs over them and drives them all day long without +rest or pause. Their work pays their rent and keeps them alive. It just +keeps them alive, and that is all. No more. It must be hard to work all +day long for another person--if you come to think of it. Happily, they +do not think. And all this grinding poverty--this terrible work, that +one family may be able to live in a great house and to do nothing.' + +'They are working,' said the other Voice, 'because one man has had the +wit to create a market for their work. His thrift, his enterprise, his +clearness of sight, have made it possible for these girls to find the +work that keeps them. If they would have the sense not to marry +recklessly, there would be fewer working girls, and wages would go up. +If their employer raised their wages only a penny a day, he would +benefit them but little and would ruin himself. They must learn--if they +can--the lesson of forethought by their own sufferings. No one can help +them.' + +As Mr. Edmund Gray walked into the houses and out again Elsie went with +him, or she waited outside while he went in. Sometimes she heard the +chink of coin: sometimes she heard words of thanks. The Socialist, +whatever he taught, practised the elementary form of charity possible +only for those who have money. Elsie remarked this little point, but +said nothing. + +'What you see here,' said the Master, 'is the lowest class of all--if +one ever gets to the lowest level. For my own part, I have seen men and +women so wretched that you would have called them _miserrimi_--of all +created beings the most wretched. Yet have I afterwards found others +more wretched still. In this street are those who make the lowest +things: those who can make nothing, and have no trade, and live on odd +jobs: and those who can neither make nor work, but thieve and lie +about.' + +'I see all that; but, dear Master, what will your new order do for such +people? Will it make those who will not work industrious?' + +'It will give every producer the fruits of his own labour: it will teach +a trade to every man, and find men work. And those who cannot work, it +will kill, or lock up until they die. They shall have no children. +Perhaps it will kill them all. It might be better. We will have no human +failures in our midst. That street is full of lessons, all calling +aloud for the destruction of Property.' + +Then the other Voice spoke: 'The presence of the human failure is a +lesson always before us--a warning and a lesson to rich and poor alike. +As he is, so all may be. None are so rich but they may be brought to +poverty: none so poor but they may be poorer. So far from hiding away +the wreckage, it is always in our sight. It prowls about the streets: we +can never escape it. And it fills all hearts with terror: it spurs all +men to industry and invention and perseverance. The human failure +inspires a never-ending hymn in praise of Property.' + +Elsie's guide stopped to greet a woman whom he knew. She had the usual +baby on her arm. She was a sad-faced woman, with some refinement in her +looks: she was wretchedly dressed, thin, pale, and dejected. + +'The same story?' + +'Yes, sir. It's always the same,' she sighed hopelessly. 'But he would +work if he could get anything to do. Nobody will employ a man who's had +a misfortune. It's hard--because such a thing may happen to anybody. +It's like measles, my husband says. He can't get drunk because there's +no money. That's my only comfort.' + +He gave her some money, and she passed on her way. + +'Her husband was a clerk,' Mr. Gray explained, 'who took to drink and +robbed his employer. His father was a barrister, who died young. His +grandfather was a well-known--almost a great lawyer. I know the whole +family history. I learned it----' He stopped for a moment, as if his +memory suddenly failed him--'somehow--a long time ago. It is a story +which shows how our sins and follies fall upon our own children. This +family sprang from the gutter. First, the working man: then his son the +shopkeeper: then his grandson, who became a great lawyer: then his +great-grandson, not so great a lawyer. He, you see, is the first of the +family who begins life as a gentleman and is brought up among gentlemen: +he inherited money: he had a practice: he married in the class called +gentle, and had children. But he lost all his money, and in despair he +killed himself. Cousinly affection is a cold thing at best. It helped +the widow to a pittance, and sent her boys to a cheap school. At fifteen +they had to take whatever employment they could get. Observe that this +branch of the family was now going downhill very fast. The future of a +boy who has been taught no trade and has entered no profession is black +indeed. One of the boys went out to New Zealand, which has little to +give a friendless boy: another enlisted, served three years, and has +never got any work since. I believe he carries boards about the street. +Another became a tenth-rate actor, and now starves on fifteen shillings +a week, paid irregularly. Another--the youngest--was put into a +merchant's office. He rose to a hundred and twenty pounds a year: he +married a girl of the clerkly class--that woman you saw: he took to +drink: he embezzled his master's money: he went to prison: he is now +hopelessly ruined. He cannot get any lower in the social scale. What +will his children do? They have no friends. They will grow up like the +children around them: they will join the hopeless casuals: they will be +hewers of wood. Property, my child, Property--has done this. He stole. +In our society nobody will be tempted to steal. He drank--with us he +would be kept judiciously under control until he could be trusted again. +That would be the care of the State. He is another victim of Property. +When his grandfather was framing Acts of Parliament for the protection +of Property, he did not dream that he was making another engine for the +oppression of his grandchildren.' + +Said the other Voice: 'We rise by our virtues. We sink by our vices. Let +these people suffer. Their sufferings should make the rest of us wiser. +Teach the children to rise again as their great-grandfather rose. Do not +contend against the great Law which metes out suffering in return for +vice.' + +'Those,' continued the Socialist Professor, 'who do most to make a few +men rich are the real enemies of what they suppose themselves to be +defending. Given a thousand women sweated for one man, and there +presently arises indignation either among the women or among the +bystanders. From indignation we get revolution, because the employer +never gives way. He cannot. He would lose, if he did, his wealth, which +is his Heaven. If you divide the thousand women into companies of ten, +each company under its own sweater, and all the sweaters under other +sweaters, you make a hierarchy of sweaters, culminating in one at the +top. That was the old state of things. The man at the top was a Chief, +a Patriarch: he knew his people: he sweated them, but kindly: he tossed +them crumbs: he looked after the sick and the old. Now all this is +changing. The old family tie--such as it was--is dissolved. The man at +the top has disappeared: a Board of Directors has taken his place: there +is nothing left but the Board and its employees. The men who work are no +longer interested in the business of the firm, except so far as their +pay is concerned. Their pay will go up and the dividends will go down. +And with every increase of wages so much Property is destroyed. Let +every thing--everything--be turned into Companies to help the +destruction of Property.' + +Said the other Voice: 'Property is strengthened by being diffused. +Companies organise labour: they give capital its proper power: they are +not easily intimidated: they interest all who can save anything. Let us +turn into Companies every industrial and distributive business in the +country.' + +'All times of change,' the Master went on, 'are times of interest. We +are living at a time when great changes are impending--the greatest +changes possible. Before great changes there is always a period of +unconscious preparation. The minds of people are being trained. Without +any perception of the fact, old ideas are dying out and new ones are +coming into existence. When the Revolution actually arrives, everybody +is ready for it and nobody is surprised. It was so with the Reformation. +For a hundred years and more the idea of the Great Revolt had been +slowly growing in men's minds. When it came at last, there was no +surprise and there were few regrets. For a hundred years and more the +ideas of the French Revolution had been talked about by philosophers: +these ideas sank down among the people. Nobody was surprised, not even +the nobles themselves, when the end came. So with our Revolution. It is +coming--it is coming--its ideas are no longer timidly advanced--here and +there--by a fanatic here or a philosopher there: they are lying in the +hearts of the people ready to spur them into action: they are helping on +the cause by successive steps, every one of which means nothing less +than the abolition of Property. These things are new to you, child. You +were only born yesterday or the day before. I was born a hundred years +ago or thereabouts. Consider again'--he leaned against a lamp-post for +greater ease, and discoursed as one addressing an audience--'Consider, I +say, this great question of Companies and their results. Formerly, one +man made things which he took to market--sold or exchanged, and went +home again. He, by himself, did everything. Then one man made and +another man sold. The next improvement was for twenty men to work, for +one to receive and to collect their work, and for another to sell it. In +this way the twenty remained poor, and the two became rich. So they went +on, and trade flourished, and the twenty producers more and more fell +into the power of the two, who were now very rich and strong. Now the +merchants are forming themselves into companies, and the companies are +amalgamating with each other, and the small people may contemplate ruin. +For these--now merchants, shopkeepers, manufacturers, workmen--there +will be nothing but service in the companies; no possibility of +acquiring Property, nothing but service all their lives. Now do you see +how that helps the cause? They will become accustomed to work, but not +for themselves: they will grow accustomed to work for a bare living and +no more: they won't like either: but they will ask why the second should +go with the first: the two great obstacles to Socialism will be removed. +Then--either the step I spoke of just now--the abolition of the +dividends--or, which is just as likely, a revolution, when the servants +of the companies shall make the State take over all and work them for +the good of all. Some there are who think that the workman will have +hope and power for union crushed out of him. I think not; but if so--woe +to the rich! The Jacquerie and the French Revolution will be spoken of +as mild ebullitions of popular feeling compared with what will happen +then. But I think not. I do not believe that the working man will sink +again. He has got up so far. But he needs must climb higher. + +'You think it would be impossible'--by this time a small crowd had got +round them, but the speaker still addressed his disciple as if no one +else at all was listening--'for the State to take over the great +producing and distributing companies. But it has been done already. The +State has the Post and the Telegraph Services. They will deal with +railways, steamers, coaches, cabs, omnibuses, trams, canals, water, gas, +electric light, breweries, bakeries, factories, shops, just as they have +dealt with these two. The State can take it all. The State will take the +management of all. But, you say, the shares of the company will become +Funds. They will, and the Funds will pay interest--but the interest +will become rapidly lower and lower, so that what was once five per +cent. is now but two and a half, and before long shall be two--one and a +half--one--and nothing at all. There will be no cry of spoliation, +because the holders of stock will be forced gradually into looking more +and more to their own efforts, and because widows and sick people and +old people, to whom the stocks were once so useful, will be all provided +for by the State as a matter of right, and without any of the old +humiliation of pauperdom. Pauper! Oh, heavenly word! Child, in the world +of the future--the world which you will help to mould, we shall all be +paupers,--every one.' + +He spoke with fine enthusiasm, his face lit up, his eyes bright. The +girl was almost carried away, until the other Voice began coldly and +judicially: + +'Nothing is so good for man as to be ruled and kept in discipline, +service, and subjection. It is a foolish and a mischievous dream which +supposes all men eager for advance. The mass of mankind asks for no +advancement. It loves nothing and desires nothing but the gratification +of the animal. Give it plenty of animalism and it is satisfied. That +condition of society which keeps the mass down and provides for the rise +of the ambitious few is the only condition which is reasonable and +stable. Base your social order on the inertness of the mass. Make the +workman do a good day's work: pay him enough, so that he shall have some +of the comforts he desires: educate the clever boy and make him foreman, +headman, manager, or artist, journalist, dramatist, novelist. Give him +the taste for wealth. Let him have some. Then he, too, will be ready to +fight if necessary in the army of order.' + +While the other Voice was speaking, there came slouching around the +corner into the street where he held the fifth--perhaps the tenth part +of a room, a really excellent specimen of the common or London thief, +the habitual criminal. He was a young man--the habitual criminal is +generally young, because in middle and elderly life he is doing long +sentences--he had a furtive look, such as that with which the jackal +sallies forth on nocturnal adventures: he had a short slight figure, a +stooping and slouching gait, and narrow shoulders. His eyes were bright, +but too close together: his mouth was too large and his jowl too heavy: +his face was pale, his hair was still short, though growing rapidly: his +hands were pendulous: his round hat was too big for his little head: he +wore a long loose overcoat. His face, his figure, his look proclaimed +aloud what he was. + +He stopped at the corner and looked at the little crowd. Everybody, for +different reasons, is attracted by a crowd. Professionals sometimes find +in crowds golden opportunities. This crowd, however, was already +dispersing. The speaker had stopped. Perhaps they had heard other and +more fervid orators on the Socialist side. Perhaps they were not in the +least interested in the subject. You see, it is very difficult to get +the hand-to-mouth class interested in anything except those two organs. + +'This street,' said the Master, observing him with professional +interest, 'is full--really full--of wealth for the observer. Here is a +case now--an instructive though a common case.' The fellow was turning +away disappointed, perhaps, at the melting of the crowd and any little +hope he might have based upon their pockets. 'My friend'--he heard +himself called, and looked round suspiciously--'you would like, perhaps, +to earn a shilling honestly, for once.' + +He turned slowly: at the sight of the coin held up before him, his sharp +eyes darted right and left to see what chance there might be of a grab +and a bolt. Apparently, he decided against this method of earning the +shilling. 'What for?' he asked. + +'By answering a few questions. Where were you born?' + +'I dunno.' + +'Where were you brought up? Here?--In this street? Very well. You went +to school with the other children: you were taught certain subjects up +to a certain standard. What trade were you taught?' + +'I wasn't taught no trade.' + +'Your father was, I believe, a thief?'--The lad nodded--'And your +mother, too?'--He nodded again, and grinned.--'And you yourself and your +brothers and sisters are all in the same line, I suppose?'--He nodded +and grinned again.--'Here is your shilling.' The fellow took it, and +shambled away. + +'Father--mother--the whole family, live by stealing. Where there is no +Property there can be no theft. In our world, such a creature would be +impossible. He could not be born: such parents as his could not exist +with us: he could not be developed: there would be no surroundings that +would make such a development possible. He would be what, I believe, men +of science call a Sport: he would be a deformity. We should put him in a +hospital and keep him there until he died.' + +'In that world,' said the other Voice, 'there would be deformities of +even a worse kind than this--the deformities of hypocrisy and shams. By +a thousand shifts and lies and dishonesties the work of the world would +be shifted on the shoulders of the weak. The strong man has always used +his strength to make the weak man work for him, and he always will. The +destruction of Property would be followed by the birth of Property on +the very self-same day. There is the power of creation--of +invention--which is also a kind of Property. Laws cannot destroy that +power. Laws cannot make men industrious. Laws cannot make the strong man +work for the weak. Laws cannot prevent the clever man from taking +advantage of the stupid man. When all the failures--all the +deformities--have been killed off, the able man will still prey upon the +dull-witted. Better let the poor wretch live out his miserable life, +driven from prison to prison, an example for all the world to see.' + +It was at this point that Elsie discovered the loss of her purse. Her +pocket had been picked by one of the intelligent listeners in the crowd. +She cried out on finding what had happened, in the unphilosophic +surprise and indignation with which this quite common accident is always +received. + +'Child,' said the Master, 'when there is no longer any Property, money +will vanish: there will be no purses; even the pocket will disappear, +because there will no longer be any use for a pocket.--Did the purse +contain much? Suppose you had nothing to lose and nothing to gain. Think +of the lightness of heart, the sunshine on all faces, which would +follow. I fear you are rich, child. I have observed little signs about +you which denote riches. Your gloves are neat and good; your dress seems +costly. Better far if you had nothing.' + +'Master, if I were like that girl on the other side, would you like me +better? Could I be more useful to the cause if I dressed like her?' + +The girl was of the common type--they really do seem, at first, all +alike--who had on an ulster and a hat with a feather and broken boots. + +'If I were like her,' Elsie went on, 'I should be ignorant--and obliged +to give the whole day to work, so that I should be useless to you--and +my manners would be rough and my language coarse. It is because I am not +poor that I am what I am. The day for poverty is not come yet, dear +Master.' + +'In the future, dear child, there shall be no poverty and no riches. To +have nothing will be the common lot. To have all will be the common +inheritance. Oh! there will be differences: men shall be as unlike then +as now: we shall not all desire the same things. You and such as you +will desire Art of every kind. You shall have what you desire. In our +world, as in this, like will to like. You shall have the use for +yourselves of pictures, of musical instruments, of everything that you +want. The rest of the world will not want these things. If they do, more +can be made. You shall have dainty food--the rest of the world will +always like coarse and common fare. Think not that we shall level up or +level down. All will be left to rise or to sink. Only they shall not +starve, they shall not thieve, they shall not be sweated. Oh! I know +they paint our society as attempts to make all equal. And they think +that we expect men no longer to desire the good things in the world. +They will desire them--they will hunger after them--but there will be +enough for all. The man who is contented with a dinner of herbs may go +to a Carthusian convent, which is his place, for we shall have no place +for him in a world which recognises all good gifts and assigns to every +man his share.' + +Then spoke the other Voice, but sadly: 'Dreams! Dreams! There are not +enough of the good things to go round--good things would become less +instead of more. Without the spur there is no work. Without the desire +of creating Property, all that is worth anything in life will +perish--all but the things that are lowest and the meanest and the +commonest. Men will not work unless they must. By necessity alone can +the finest work be ordered and executed. As men have been, so will men +always be. The thing that hath been, that shall be again.' + +'You have learned some of the lessons of Poverty Lane, Scholar,' said +the Master.--'Let us now go home.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +'I KNOW THE MAN' + + +'Another evening of mystery, Elsie?' said Athelstan. + +'Yes. Another, and perhaps another. But we are getting to an end. I +shall be able to tell you all to-day or to-morrow. The thing is becoming +too great for me alone.' + +'You shall tell us when you please. Meantime, nothing new has been found +out, I believe. Checkley still glares, George tells me. But the opinion +of the clerks seems on the whole more favourable, he believes, than it +was. Of that, however, he is not perhaps a good judge.' + +'They shall all be turned out,' cried Elsie. 'How dare they so much as +to discuss----' + +'My sister, it is a very remarkable thing, and a thing little +understood, but it is a true thing. People, people--clerks and _le +Service_ generally--are distinctly a branch of the great human tribe. +They are anthropoid. Therefore, they are curious and prying and +suspicious. They have our own faults, my dear.' + +All day Elsie felt drawn as with ropes to Mr. Dering's office. Was it +possible that after that long evening among the lessons of Poverty Lane +he should remember nothing? How was she to get at him--how was she to +make him understand or believe what he had done? Could she make the sane +man remember the actions and words of the insane man? Could she make the +insane man do something which would absolutely identify him with the +sane man? She could always array her witnesses: but she wanted more: she +wanted to bring Mr. Dering himself to understand that he was Mr. Edmund +Gray. + +She made an excuse for calling upon him. It was in the afternoon, about +four, that she called. She found him looking aged, his face lined, his +cheek pale, his eyes anxious. + +'This business worries me,' he said. 'Day and night it is with me. I am +persecuted and haunted with this Edmund Gray. His tracts are put into my +pockets; his papers into my safe: he laughs at me: he defies me to find +him. And they do nothing. They only accuse each other. They find +nothing.' + +'Patience,' said Elsie softly. 'Only a few days--a day or +two--then--with your help--we will unravel all this trouble. You shall +lose nothing.' + +'Shall I escape this mocking devil--this Edmund Gray?' + +'I cannot promise. Perhaps.--Now, my dear guardian, I am to be married +next Wednesday. I want you to be present at my wedding.' + +'Why not?' + +'Because things have been said about George: and because your presence +will effectually prove that you do not believe them.' + +'Oh! Believe them? I believe nothing. It is, however, my experience that +there is no act, however base, that any man may not be tempted to do.' + +'Happily, it is my experience,' said the girl of twenty-one, 'that there +is no act of baseness, however small, that certain men could possibly +commit. You will come to my wedding, then. Athelstan will give me away.' + +'Athelstan? Yes; I remember. We found those notes, didn't we? I wonder +who put them into the safe? Athelstan! Yes. He has been living in low +company, I heard--Camberwell.--Rags and tatters.' + +'Oh!' Elsie stamped impatiently. 'You will believe anything--anything, +and you a lawyer! Athelstan is in the service of a great American +journal.--Rags and tatters!' + +'American? Oh! yes.' Mr. Dering sat up and looked interested. 'Why, of +course. How could I forget it? Had it been yesterday evening, I should +have forgot. But it is four years ago. He wrote to me from somewhere in +America. Where was it? I've got the letter. It is in the safe. Bring me +the bottom right-hand drawer. It is there, I know.' He took the drawer +which Elsie brought him, and turned over the papers. 'Here it is among +the papers of that forgery. Here is the letter.' He gave it to Elsie. +'Read it. He writes from America, you see. He was in the States four +years ago--and--and----What is it?' + +'Oh!' cried Elsie, suddenly springing from her chair--'Oh! Do you know +what you have given me? Oh! do you know what you have told me? It is the +secret--the secret--of my fortune. Oh! Athelstan gave it to +me--Athelstan--my brother!' + +Mr. Dering took the letter from her and glanced at the contents. 'I +ought not to have shown you the letter,' he said. 'I have violated +confidence. I forgot. I was thinking of the trouble--I forgot. I forget +everything now--the things of yesterday as well as the things of to-day. +Yes; it is true, child: your little fortune came to you from your +brother. But it was a secret that he alone had the right to reveal.' + +'And now I know it-- I know it. Oh! what shall I say to him?' The tears +came in her eyes. 'He gave me all he had--all he had--because--oh! for +such a simple thing--because I would not believe him to be a villain. +Oh! my brother--my poor brother! He went back into poverty again. He +gave me all because--oh! for such a little thing!--Mr. Dering!' She +turned almost fiercely upon him. 'After such a letter, _could_ you +believe that man to be a villain? Could you? Tell me! After such a deed +and such a letter!' + +'I believe nothing. My experience, however, tells me that any man, +whoever he is, may be led to commit----' + +'NO! I won't have it said again.--Now, listen, Mr. Dering. These +suspicions must cease. There must be an end. Athelstan returned six +weeks ago--or thereabouts. That can be proved. Before that time, he was +working in San Francisco on the journal. That can be proved. While these +forgeries, with which he is now so freely charged, were carried on here, +he was abroad. I don't ask you to believe or to disbelieve or to bring +up your experience--oh! such experience--one would think you had been a +police magistrate all your life.' + +'No, Elsie.' Mr. Dering smiled grimly. 'There was no need to sit upon +the bench; the police magistrate does not hear so much as the family +solicitor. My dear, prove your brother's innocence by finding out who +did the thing. That is, after all, the only thing. It matters nothing +what I believe--he is not proved innocent--all the world may be +suspected of it--until the criminal is found. Remove the suspicions +which have gathered about your lover by finding the criminal. There is +no other way.' + +'Very well, then. I will find the criminal, since no one else can.' + +Mr. Dering went on without heeding her words. + +'They want to get out a warrant against Edmund Gray. I think, for my own +part, that the man Edmund Gray has nothing to do with the business. He +is said to be an elderly man and a respectable man--a gentleman--who has +held his Chambers for ten years.' + +'They need not worry about a warrant,' Elsie replied. 'Tell your +brother, Mr. Dering, that it will be perfectly useless. Meantime--I +doubt if it is any good asking you--but--if we want your help, will you +give me all the help you can?' + +'Assuredly. All the help I can. Why not? I am the principal person +concerned.' + +'You are, indeed,' said Elsie gravely--'the principal person concerned. +Very well, Mr. Dering--now I will tell you more. I know the--the +criminal. I can put my hand upon him at any moment. It is one man who +has done the whole, beginning with the cheque for which Athelstan was +suspected--one man alone.' + +'Why, child, what can you know about it? What can you do?' + +'You were never in love, Mr. Dering--else you would understand that a +girl will do a great deal--oh! a great deal more than you would +think--for her lover. It is not much to think for him and to watch for +him--and for her brother--the brother who has stripped himself of +everything to give his sister!' She was fain to pause, for the tears +which rose again and choked her voice. + +'But, Elsie--what does this mean? How can you know what no one else has +been able to find out?' + +'That is my affair, Mr. Dering. Perhaps I dreamed it.' + +'Do you mean that you will get back all the papers--all the +transfers--the dividends that have been diverted--everything?' + +'Everything is safe. Everything shall be restored.--My dear guardian, +it is a long and a sad story. I cannot tell you now. Presently, +perhaps. Or to-morrow. I do not know how I shall be able to tell +you. But for your property, rest easy. Everything will come back to +you--everything--except that which cannot be stored in the vaults of the +Bank.' + +The last words he heard not, or understood not. + +'I shall get back everything!' The eyes of the Individualist lit up and +his pale cheek glowed--old age has still some pleasures. 'It is not +until one loses Property that one finds out how precious it has become. +Elsie, you remember what I told you, a day or two ago. Ah! I don't +forget quite everything--a man is not the shivering naked soul only, but +the complete figure, equipped and clothed, armed and decorated, bearing +with him his skill, his wit, his ingenuity, his learning, his past, and +his present, his memories and his rejoicings, his sorrows and his +trials, his successes and his failures, and his Property--yes--his +Property. Take away from him any of these things, and he is mutilated: +he is not the perfect soul. Why, you tell me that my Property is coming +back-- I awake again. I feel stronger already; the shadows are flying +before me: even the terror of that strange forgetfulness recedes: and +the haunting of Edmund Gray. I can bear all, if I get my Property back +again. As for this forger--this miscreant--this criminal--you will hale +him before the judge------' + +'Yes--yes. We will see about the miscreant afterwards. The first thing +is to find the man and recover your Property, and to dispel the +suspicions resting on innocent persons. If I do the former, you must aid +me in the latter.' + +'Assuredly. I shall not shrink from that duty.' + +'Very well.--Now tell me about yourself. Sometimes it does good to talk +about our own troubles. Tell me more about these forgetful fits. Do they +trouble you still?' Her eyes and her voice were soft and winning. One +must be of granite to resist such a voice and such eyes. + +'My dear'--Mr. Dering softened. 'You are good to interest yourself in an +old man's ailments. It is Anno Domini that is the matter with me. The +forgetful fits are only symptoms--and the disease is incurable. Ask the +oak why the leaves are yellow.--It is the hand of winter. That is my +complaint. First the hand of winter, then the hand of Death. Meantime, +the voice of the grasshopper sings loud and shrill.' In presence of the +simple things of age and death, even a hard old lawyer grows poetic. + +'Tell me the symptoms, then. Do you still forget things?' + +'Constantly. More and more. I forget everything.' + +'Where were you yesterday evening, for instance?' + +'I don't know. I cannot remember. I have left off even trying to +remember. At one time I racked my brain for hours, to find out, and +failed. Now I remember nothing. I never know when this forgetfulness may +fall upon me. At any hour.--For instance--you ask me about yesterday +evening. I ordered dinner at home. My housekeeper this morning reminded +me that I did not get home last night till eleven. Where was I? Where +did I spend the evening?' + +'At the Club?' + +'No-- I took a cab this morning and drove there under pretence of asking +for letters. I asked if I was there last night. The hall porter stared. +But I was not there. I thought that I might have fallen asleep there. I +have done so before. Checkley tells me that I went away before him. +Where was I?-- Child!'--he leaned forward and whispered, with white +cheeks--'I have read of men going about with disordered brains doing +what they afterwards forget. Am I one of these unfortunates? Do I go +about with my wits wandering? Oh! horrible! I picture to myself an old +man--such as myself--of unblemished reputation and blameless +life--wandering about the streets demented--without conscience--without +dignity--without self-respect--committing follies--things +disgraceful--even things which bring men before the law----' He +shuddered. He turned pale. + +'No--no,' murmured Elsie. 'You could not. You could never----' + +'Such things are on record. They have happened. They may happen again. I +have read of such cases. There was a man once--he was like myself--a +Solicitor--who would go out and do things, not knowing what he did. They +found him out at last doing something so incredibly foolish that there +was but one explanation. In another man and a younger man it would have +been worse than foolish, it would have been criminal. Then they gave him +a companion, and he discovered what he had done. The shame and the shock +of it killed him. I have thought of that man of late. Good Heavens! +Think, if you can, of any worse disaster. Let me die--let me die, I say, +rather than suffer such a fate--such an affliction. I see myself brought +before the magistrate--me--myself--at my age, charged with this and with +that. What defence? None, save that I did not remember.' + +'That could never be,' said Elsie confidently, because she knew the +facts. 'If such a thing were to befall, your character would never be +changed. You might talk and think differently, but you could never be +otherwise than a good man. You to haunt low company? Oh! you could not +even in a waking dream. People who dream, I am sure, always remain +themselves, however strangely they may act. How could you--you--after +such a life as yours, become a haunter of low company? One might perhaps +suppose that Athelstan had been living among profligates because he is +young and untried--but you?--you? Oh! no. If you had these waking +dreams--perhaps you have them--you would become--you would become--I +really think you would become'--she watched his face--'such--such a man +as--as--Mr. Edmund Gray, who is so like yourself, and yet so different.' + +He started. 'Edmund Gray again? Good Heavens! It is always Edmund Gray!' + +'He is now a friend of mine. I have only known him for a week or two. He +does not think quite as you do. But he is a good man. Since, in dreams, +we do strange things, you might act and speak and think as Edmund Gray.' + +'I speak and think as---- But--am I dreaming? Am I forgetting again? Am +I awake? Edmund Gray is the man whom we want to find.' + +'I have found him,' said Elsie quietly. + +'The forger--if he is the forger----' + +'No--no. Do not make more mistakes. You shall have the truth in a day or +two. Would you like to see Edmund Gray? Will you come with me to his +Chambers? Whenever you call, you--you, I say--will find him at home.' + +'No--no. I know his doctrines--futile doctrines--mischievous doctrines. +I do not wish to meet him. What do you mean by mistakes? There are the +letters--there are the forgeries. Are there two Edmund Grays?' + +'No--only one. He is the man they cannot find. I will show you, if you +like, what manner of man he is.' + +'No. I do not want to see a Socialist. I should insult him.--You are +mysterious, Elsie. You know this man, this mischievous doctrinaire--this +leveller--this spoliator. You tell me that he is a good man--you want me +to see him. What, I ask, do these things mean?' + +'They mean many things, my dear guardian. Chiefly they mean that you +shall get back your Property, and that suspicion shall be removed from +innocent persons--and all this, I hope, before next Wednesday, when I am +to be married. We must all be happy on my wedding day.' + +'Will--will Mr. Edmund Gray be there as well?' + +'He has promised.--And now, my dear guardian, if you will come round to +Gray's Inn with me, I will show you the Chambers of Mr. Edmund Gray.' + +'No--no. Thank you, Elsie-- I do not wish to make the personal +acquaintance of a Socialist.' + +'He has Chambers on the second floor. The principal room is large and +well furnished. It is a wainscoted room with two windows looking on the +Square. It is not a very pretty Square, because they have not made a +garden or laid down grass in the middle--and the houses are rather +dingy. He sits there in the evening. He writes and meditates. Sometimes +he teaches me, but that is a new thing. In the morning he is sometimes +there between nine o'clock and twelve. He has an old laundress, who +pretends to keep his rooms clean.' + +She murmured these words softly, thinking to turn his memory back and +make him understand what had happened. + +'They are pleasant rooms, are they not?' He made no reply--his eyes +betrayed trouble. She thought it was the trouble of struggling +memory.--'He sits here alone and works. He thinks he is working for the +advancement of the world. There is no one so good, I think, as Edmund +Gray.' + +He suddenly pushed back the chair and sprang to his feet. + +'My Scholar! You speak of me?' + +It was so sudden that Elsie cried out and fell backwards in her chair. +She had brought on the thing by her own words, by conjuring up a vision +of the Chambers. But--the trouble was not the struggle of the memory +getting hold of evasive facts. + +'Why, child,' he remonstrated, 'you look pale. Is it the heat? Come, it +is cooler outside. Let us go to the Chambers in Gray's Inn. This old +fellow--this Dering--here he sits all day long. It is Tom Tiddler's +ground. It is paved with gold, which he picks up. The place--let us +whisper--because he must be in the outer office--it reeks of +Property--reeks of Property.' + +He took his hat and gloves. 'My Scholar, let us go.' By force of habit, +he shut and locked the safe and dropped the bunch of keys in his +pocket. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +ATHELSTAN'S DISCOVERY + + +On the evening of that same day the same discovery was made by another +of the persons chiefly concerned. + +You have seen that Athelstan on his return made haste to find out the +commissionaire who had presented the forged cheque. Happily, the man +remembered not only the circumstance itself but also his employer on +that occasion. A generosity far above what is commonly found among those +who employ the services of that corps endeared and preserved the memory +of the day. He had received, in fact, half a sovereign for an +eighteenpenny job; and the commissionaire is not like the cabby, to whom +such windfalls are common. Not at all. With the former we observe the +letter of the law. + +After eight years this man's memory was rewarded. This thrice blessed +job produced yet more golden fruit. Heard one ever of a more prolific +job? + +After breakfast, Athelstan was informed that a commissionaire desired to +speak with him. It was his one-armed friend. + +'Beg your pardon, sir,' he said, saluting after the military +manner--'you said I was to come and tell you, first thing, if I found +your man for you.' + +'Certainly. I told you also that I would give you a five-pound reward +for finding my man, as you call him. Well--I will be as good as my word +if you have found him.' + +'I saw him yesterday. The very same old gentleman that sent me to the +Bank that day. He's older, and he doesn't look so jolly, and he walks +slower; but I knew him at once.' + +'Oh! are you quite sure? Because a resemblance, you know----' + +'Well, sir, I can swear to him. I remember him as well as I remember +anybody. He sat in the chair, and he laughed, and he said: "You've been +quick over the job, my man. There's something extra, because you might +have dropped the money down a grating, or run away with it, or +something," he says. "Here's half a sovereign for you, my man," says he; +"and I daresay you can do with it." "I can so, sir," I says, "and with +as many more like them as I can pick up." Then he laughed, and I +laughed, and we both laughed.--And that's the same man that I saw +yesterday evening.' + +'Oh! this is very curious. Are you quite sure?' + +'I'd swear to him anywhere. A man can't say fairer.' + +'No--as you say--a man can hardly say fairer, can he? Now, then, when +did you see him?' + +'It was between six and seven. I'd been doing a message for a gentleman +in the Strand--a gentleman in the dining-room line to a gentleman in +Holborn in the sausage and tripe line--and I was going back with a +letter, and going through Lincoln's Inn for a short cut. Just as I was +getting near the gate to the Fields, I saw coming out of the door at No. +12 the very man you want to find. I wasn't thinking about him, not a +bit-- I was thinking of nothing at all, when he come out of the door and +walked down the steps. Then I knew him. Lord! I knew him at once. +"You're the man," I says to myself, "as give me the half-sov. instead of +eighteenpence." Well, I stood at the corner and waited to see if he +would remember me. Not a bit of it. He stared at me hard, but he never +recollected me a bit--I could see that. Why should he? Nobody remembers +the servant any more than they remember the private in the ranks. The +very same old gentleman; but he's grown older, and he didn't look jolly +any more. P'raps he's lost his money.' + +'Came out of No. 12, did he? Why, Dering & Son's office is there. What +does this mean?' + +'I thought I'd like to find out something more about him; and I thought +that a five-pound note was better worth looking after than +eighteenpence--so I let the letter from the tripe and sausage man lay a +bit, and I followed my old gentleman at a good distance.' + +'Oh! you followed him. Very good. Did you find out where he lived? I can +tell you that. He went to No. 22 South Square, Gray's Inn.' + +'No; he didn't, sir.--But you are not very far wrong. He went through +Great Turnstile; then he crossed Holborn and turned into Featherstone +Buildings, which is all lodging-houses. But he doesn't live there. He +walked through the Buildings, and so into Bedford Row, and he stopped at +a house there----' + +'What! In Bedford Row?' + +'Yes; in Bedford Row--and he pulls out a latch-key and lets himself in. +That's where he lives. No. 49 Bedford Row, on the west side, very near +the bottom. He lives in Bedford Row.--Well, sir, I like to do things +proper, and so, to make the job complete, I went to the _Salutation_, +Holborn, where they keep a Directory, and I looked out his name. The +gentleman that lives at No. 49 Bedford Row is named Edward Dering--and +among the names of No. 12 New Square, Lincoln's Inn, is the name of +Dering & Son.--So, sir, I don't think it is too much to say that your +man is Mr. Dering, who belongs both to Bedford Row and Lincoln's Inn. +He's the man who sent me to the Bank eight years ago.' + +Athelstan stared at him. 'He the man?' he cried. 'You are talking +impossibilities. He can't be the man.' + +'Nobody else, sir. If that was Mr. Dering that I saw yesterday walking +home from New Square to Bedford Row--he's the man who sent me for the +money.' + +To this statement the man stuck firm. Nor could he be moved by any +assertion that his position was impossible. 'For, my friend,' said +Athelstan, 'the man who sent you with the cheque was the man who robbed +Mr. Dering.' + +'Can't help that, sir. If the gentleman I saw yesterday walking from +Lincoln's Inn to Bedford Row was Mr. Dering--then he robbed hisself.' + +'That's foolishness. Oh! there must be some explanation. Look here! Mr. +Edward Dering leaves his office every evening between six and seven. I +will be in New Square on the west side this evening at six. You be +there, as well. Try not to seem as if you were watching for anybody. +Stand about at your ease.' + +'I'll make it sentry-go, sir,' said the old soldier. 'I'll walk up and +down in front of the door same as some of our chaps got to do in front +of shops. You trust me, sir, and I won't take no notice of you.' + +This little plot, in fact, was faithfully carried out. At six o'clock +Athelstan began to walk up and down outside the gate which opens upon +Lincoln's Inn Fields--the commissionaire at the same time was doing +sentry-go in front of No. 12 in New Square. When the clock struck six +there was a rush and a tramp of hurrying feet; these were the clerks set +free for the day. There are not many solicitors' offices in New Square, +and these once gone, the place becomes perfectly quiet. At half-past +six there was the footfall as of one man on the stairs, and he descended +slowly. He came out of the door presently, an old bent figure with white +hair and shrivelled face. Paying no heed to the sentry, he walked away +with feeble step in the direction of Chancery Lane. Checkley this was, +on his way to look after his tenants and his property. + +Athelstan looked after him, through the gate. Then he called his old +soldier. 'See that man?' he asked. 'That's the man who sent you to the +Bank.' + +'No--he isn't.' The man was stout on that point. 'Not a bit like him. +That old man's a servant, not a gentleman. See the way he holds his +hands. Never a gentleman yet carried his hands that way. You can always +tell 'em by their hands. The other day I met an old pal--seemed to +forget me, he did. Wanted to make out that he'd never been in the army +at all. So I lay by for a bit. Then I gets up--and he gets up too. +"'Tention," says I, and he stood to 'tention like a good old Tommy +Atkins. You watch their hands whatever they say. Always tell 'em by +their hands. That old man he's a servant. He isn't a gentleman. He can't +sit among the swells and order about the waiters. He hasn't learned that +way. He'd get up himself, if you asked him, and put the napkin under his +arm and bring you a glass of sherry wine. He's not my man. You wait a +bit.' + +At a quarter to seven another footstep was heard echoing up and down the +empty building. Then an old man, erect, thin, tightly buttoned, wearing +neat gloves and carrying an umbrella, came out of the door. His face was +hard, even austere. His walk was firm. The Sentry, as this person walked +out of the gate, followed at a distance. When he was beside Athelstan, +he whispered: 'That's the man. I'd swear to him anywhere. That's the man +that sent me to the Bank.' + +Athelstan heard in unbounded astonishment. That the man? Why--it was Mr. +Dering himself! + +'Let us follow him,' he whispered. 'Not together. On opposite sides of +the road. Good Heavens! This is most wonderful. Do not lose sight of +him.' + +To follow him was perfectly easy, because Mr. Dering turned neither to +the right nor to the left, but marched straight on through Great +Turnstile, across Holborn, through Featherstone Buildings, and into +Bedford Row. At No. 49, his own house. Where else should he stop? + +Athelstan took out his purse and gave the man the five pounds. 'I don't +know what it means,' he said. 'I can't understand a word. But I suppose +you have told me the truth. I don't know why you should make up a +lie----' + +'It's Gauspel Truth,' said the man. + +'And therefore again--I don't understand it. Well--I've got your name +and your number. If I want you again I will send for you.' + +The man saluted and walked away. Half a sovereign for an eighteenpenny +job, and eight years afterwards five pounds on account of the same job. +Robbery, was it? Robbery--and the old man pretending to rob himself. Now +what did that mean? Laying it on to some poor harmless innocent cove, +the soldier guessed: laying it on to some one as he had a spite +against--the old villain--very likely this young governor--most likely-- +Donation on account of that same job, very likely--the old villain! + +As for Athelstan, he returned to Lincoln's Inn Fields, where, the +evening being fine and the sun warm and the place quiet except for the +children at play, he walked up and down the east or sunny side for half +an hour turning the thing over in his mind. + +For, you see, if Mr. Dering went through the form of robbing himself and +finding out the robbery and coldly suffering the blame to fall upon +himself--then Mr. Dering must be one of the most phenomenally wicked of +living men. Or, if Mr. Dering robbed himself, and did not know it--then +Mr. Dering must be mad. + +Again, if such a thing could be done on a small scale, it might be done +on a larger scale with the same result--namely, suspicion to fall upon a +blameless person; obloquy to gather round his name--for in some cases +simply to be charged is almost as fatal as to be convicted: and perfect +impunity for himself. 'This is not my own writing, but a forgery,' said +the man who had been robbed. Then, who is the forger? You--you. None but +you. The bare suspicion becomes a certainty in the minds of those who +were once that man's friends.--And his life is cankered at the outset. +He thought of his own life; the bitterness of alienation and exile. +Never any time for eight years when he could explain the reasons of his +exile. Debt, the cultivation of wild oats, failure to pass +examinations--anything would do for such a reason except suspicion of +forgery. Athelstan was a cheerful young man. He seldom allowed himself +to be cast down by the blows of fate. Nevertheless, during his whole +time of exile, the drop of bitterness that poisoned his cup was that he +could not tell the whole story because the world would believe no more +than half--that half, namely, which contained the accusation. When one +walks about thinking, there comes a time when it seems no good to think +any longer. The mind can only get a certain amount out of a case at one +sitting. That amount absorbed, the best thing is to go on to something +else. Athelstan went on to dinner. He left his sister to the care of her +young man, and dined by himself. He took a steak at a Holborn restaurant +with an evening paper, which he considered professionally. After dinner +he returned to his subject. Perhaps he should get a step farther. +No--perhaps on account of the sweet influence of dinner he got no +farther at all. Here was an astonishing fact. How to account for it? You +have seen--by one of two ways--malignity unspeakable: or +madness--madness of a very curious kind--the madness of a man whose calm +cold judgment had made him appear to his friends as one with an +intellect far above any ordinary weaknesses of humanity. Mr. Dering mad? +Then the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Speaker of the House of +Commons, the President of the Royal Society, the President of the +Institute of Civil Engineers, the Cambridge Professors of +Mathematics--all these men might be mad as well. And nobody to know it +or to suspect it. Mr. Dering mad! and yet, if not, what was he? + +There was one way. He had tried it already once. He left the restaurant +and turned eastwards. He was going to try South Square, Gray's Inn, +again. Perhaps Mr. Edmund Gray would be in his rooms. + +He was not. The door was shut. But the opposite door stood open, that of +Freddy Carstone. Athelstan knocked, and was admitted with eloquence +almost tumultuous. + +'Just in time,' said the coach. 'I've got a new brand of whisky, +straight from Glasgow. You shall sample it. Have you had dinner yet? So +have I. Sit down. Let us talk and smoke tobacco and drink whisky and +soda.' + +'I will do the talking and the tobacco at any rate.' + +'I love Virtue,' said Freddy. 'She is a lovely goddess--for "if Virtue +feeble were, Heaven itself would stoop to her." She has only one fault. +There is reproach in her voice, reproach in her eye, and reproach in her +attitude. She is an uncomfortable goddess. Fortunately, she dwells not +in this venerable foundation. Do not imitate Virtue, old boy. Let me---- +That's right. We shall then start fair upon the primrose path--the broad +and flowery way--though I may get farther down than you. Athelstan the +Wanderer--Melmoth the Wanderer--Childe Harold the Pilgrim--drink and be +human.' He set the example. 'Good whisky--very good whisky. Athelstan, +there's a poor devil up-stairs, starving for the most part--let's have +him down. It's a charity.' He ran up-stairs, and immediately returned +with the decayed Advocate, who looked less hungry than usual, and a +shade less shabby--you have seen how he borrowed of Mr. Edmund Gray +through Elsie. + +'Now,' said the host, 'I call this comfortable; a warm August evening; +the window open; a suspicion of fresh air from the gardens; soda and +whisky; and two men for talk. Most evenings one has to sit alone. Then +there's a temptation to--to close the evening too quickly.' + +'Freddy, I want to hear more about your neighbour. You told me +something, if you remember, a week or two ago.' + +'Very odd thing. Old Checkley at the _Salutation_ is always pestering +about Mr. Edmund Gray. What has he to do with Mr. Edmund Gray? Wanted me +to answer his questions.' + +'And me,' said Mr. Langhorne. 'I did answer them.' + +'Well--Mr. Edmund Gray is---- What is he? An old gentleman of cheerful +aspect, who is apparently a Socialist. We must all be allowed our little +weaknesses. All I ask for is----' He reached his hand for the whisky. +'This old gentleman carries his hobbies so far as to believe in them +seriously. I've talked to him about them.' + +'I have heard him lecture at Camden Town,' said the Barrister. 'I go +there sometimes on Sunday evening. They have a tea-feast with him and +cake and toast. It is a pleasant gathering. It reminds one of the Early +Church.' + +'Well, Athelstan, what else can I tell you? Hark!' There was a step +heard ascending the stairs. 'I believe that is the old man himself. If +it is, you shall see him. I will bring him in.' + +He went out to meet the unknown footstep on the landing. He greeted the +owner of that footstep: he stopped him: he persuaded him to step into +the opposite room. 'You must be lonely, Mr. Gray, sitting by yourself. +Come in and have an hour's talk. Come in. This way. The room is rather +dark. Here is Mr. Langhorne, your overhead neighbour, whom you know; and +here is Mr. Athelstan Arundel, whom you don't know. Those who do know +him like him, except for his Virtue, which is ostentatious in one so +young.' + +It was now nearly nine o'clock. The lamp was not lit, and the room lay +in twilight. It is the favourite shade for ghosts. A ghost stood before +Athelstan, and shook hands with him--the ghost of Mr. Dering. + +'I am happy'--the ghost held out his hand--'to make your acquaintance, +Mr. Arundel. An old man, like myself, makes acquaintances, but not +friends. His time for new friendships is gone. Still, the world may be +full of pleasant acquaintances.' + +He sat down, taking a chair in the window: the shade of the curtain fell +upon his face so that nothing could be seen but a white circle. + +'Let us have candles, Freddy,' said Athelstan. + +'By all means.' Freddy lit a lamp on the table and two candles on the +mantel-shelf. By their light the lineaments and figure of the ghost came +out more distinctly. Athelstan gazed on it with bewilderment; his head +went round; he closed his eyes: he tried to pull himself together. + +He sat up: he drank half a glass of whisky and soda, he stared steadily +at the figure he had not seen for eight years, since---- Good Heavens! +and this man had done it himself! And he was as mad as a hatter. + +Mr. Edmund Gray looked serenely cheerful. He lay back in the long chair, +his feet extended and crossed: his elbows on the arms of the chair, his +finger-tips touching; his face was wreathed with smiles; he looked as if +he had always found the world the best of all possible worlds. + +Athelstan heard nothing of what was said. His old friend Freddy Carstone +was talking in his light and airy way, as if nothing at all mattered. He +was not expected to say anything. Freddy liked to do all the talking for +himself--therefore he sat watching a man under an illusion so +extraordinary that it made him another man. Nothing was changed in +him--neither features nor voice nor dress--yet he was another man. +'Why,' asked Athelstan, 'why did he write that cheque for seven hundred +and twenty pounds?' + +Presently Freddy stopped talking, and Mr. Edmund Gray took up the +conversation. What he said--the doctrines which he advanced, we know +already. 'And these things,' said Athelstan to himself, 'from those +lips! Is it possible?' + +At ten o'clock Mr. Edmund Gray rose. He had to write a letter; he prayed +to be excused. He offered his hand again to Athelstan. 'Good-night, +sir,' he said. 'To the pleasure of seeing you again.' + +'Have we never met before, Mr. Gray?' Athelstan asked. + +'I think not. I should remember you, Mr. Arundel, I am sure,' Mr. Gray +replied politely. 'Besides, I never forget a face. And yours is new to +me.--Good-night, sir.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +CHECKLEY SEES A GHOST + + +To Checkley, watching every evening, though not always at the same time, +sooner or later the same discovery was certain to come. It happened, in +fact, on Friday evening, the day after Athelstan shook hands with Mr. +Edmund Gray. On that night he left the office between six and seven, +walked to his lodgings in Clerkenwell, made himself a cup of tea, and +hurried back to Gray's Inn. Here he planted himself, as usual, close to +the passage in the north-east corner of South Square, so that he could +slip in on occasion and be effaced. Like many of the detective tribe, or +like the ostrich, fount of many fables, he imagined himself by reason of +this retreat entirely hidden from the observation of all. Of course the +exact contrary was the result. The Policeman regarded him with the +liveliest curiosity: the laundresses watched him daily: the newspaper +vendor came every evening from the gateway to see what this ancient spy +was doing, and why he lurked stealthily in the passage and looked out +furtively. He was one of the little incidents or episodes which vary the +daily routine of life in the Inn. Many of these occur every year: the +people who come to their offices at ten and go away at five know nothing +about them: the residents who leave at ten and return at six or seven +or twelve know nothing about them. But the Service know: and they talk +and conjecture. Here was an elderly man--nay, an old, old man, +apparently eighty years of age. What did he want, coming night after +night to hide himself in a passage and peer out into the Square? What, +indeed? The Policeman, who had done duty in Hyde Park, could tell +instructive stories from his own experience about frisky age: the +laundresses remembered gentlemen for whom they had 'done,' and pranks +with which those gentlemen amused themselves; but no one knew a case +parallel to this. Why should an old man stand in the corner and secretly +look out into the Square? He generally arrived at half-past seven, and +he left his post at nine, when it was too dark to see across the Square. +Then he went to the _Salutation_ and enjoyed society, conversation, and +a cheerful glass, as you have seen. + +The time he chose was unfortunate, because Mr. Edmund Gray, when he +called at his Chambers, generally did so at half-past six or seven, on +his way to the Hall of Science, Kentish Town. Therefore, Checkley might +have gone on watching for a long time--say an aeon--watching and waiting +in vain. But an accident happened which rewarded him richly for all his +trouble. It was on Friday. Elsie, provided by this time with a latch-key +to the Chambers, arrived at Gray's Inn at six. She was going to spend +the evening with the Master. She walked in, ascended the staircase--Mr. +Gray had not yet arrived--opened the door, shut it behind her, and +entered the room. + +The hand of woman was now visible in the general improvement of the +room. The windows were clean and bright: the wainscoted walls had been +cleaned: the ceiling whitewashed: the carpet had been swept and the +furniture dusted: there were flowers on the table: there was an easel, +on which stood Elsie's fancy portrait of Mr. Dering, so wonderfully like +Mr. Gray--a speaking likeness: books lay about the table--they were all +books on the Labour Question: on the Social Question: on the Problems of +the Day: all the books on all the questions with which men now torture +themselves, and think thereby to advance the coming of the Kingdom of +Heaven. There were new curtains, dainty curtains, of lace, hanging +before the windows: and the window-blinds themselves were clean and new. +Elsie looked about her with a certain satisfaction: it was her own +doing, the work of her own hand, because the old laundress was satisfied +to sit down and look on. 'At the least,' she said, 'the poor dear man +has a clean room.' Then she remembered that in a day or two she would +leave him to his old solitude, and she sighed, thinking how he clung to +her and leaned upon her, and already looked upon her as his +successor--'a clean room,' she said, 'when I have left him. Perhaps he +will leave the room, too, and be all day long what he used to be.--Sane +or mad? I love him best when he is mad.' + +The table was covered with manuscripts. These were part of the great +work which he was about to give to the world. + +Elsie had never seen the room behind this. A guilty curiosity seized +her. She felt like the youngest of Bluebeard's wives. She felt the +impulse: she resisted: she gave way: she opened the door and looked in. + +She found a room nearly as large as the sitting-room. The windows were +black with dust and soot. She opened one, and looked out upon a small +green area outside, littered with paper and bottles and all kind of +jetsam. The floor of the room was a couple of inches deep with dust: the +chairs and the dressing-table were deep in dust. The bed was laid, but +the blankets were devoured by moths: there was not a square inch left +whole. It looked as if it had been brought in new and covered with +sheets and blankets and so left, the room unopened, the bed untouched, +for the ten years of Mr. Edmund Gray's tenancy. + +Between the bedroom and the sitting-room was a small dark room, +containing a bath, a table for washing-up, knives and forks in a basket, +teacups and saucers. + +'The pantry,' said Elsie, 'and the scullery, and the house-maid's +closet, all together. Oh! beautiful! And to think that men live in such +dens--and sleep there contentedly night after night in this lonely, +ghostly old place. Horrible! 'A rattling behind the wainscoting warned +her that ghosts can show themselves even in the daytime. She shuddered, +and retreated to the sitting-room. Here she took a book and sat by the +open window, heedless of the fact that she could be seen by anyone from +the Square. + +It was seven o'clock before Mr. Edmund Gray arrived. 'Ah! child,' he +cried tenderly, 'you are here before me. I was delayed--some business. +What was it? Pshaw! I forget everything. Never mind--I am here; and +before we take a cab, I want you once more to go through with me the +points of my new Catechism. Now, if you are ready.' + +'Quite ready, Master.' + + * * * * * + +At half-past seven Checkley arrived at his corner and took a preliminary +survey of the Square. 'There he is,' said the Policeman. 'There he is +again,' said two laundresses conversing on a doorstep. 'There he is as +usual,' said the newspaper man. 'Now,' asked all in chorus, 'what's he +want there?' + +Mr. Checkley looked out from his corner, saw no one in the Square, and +retreated into his passage. Then he looked out again, and retreated +again. If anyone passed through the passage, Checkley was always walking +off with great resolution in the opposite direction. + +Presently, in one of his stealthy peerings, he happened to look up. Then +he started--he shaded his eyes: he looked his hardest. Yes, at the open +window, freely displayed, without the least attempt at concealment, he +saw the head and face of Miss Elsie Arundel. There! There! What more was +necessary? Edmund Gray was Athelstan Arundel, or George Austin, or +both--and Elsie Arundel was an accomplice after the act. There! There! +He retreated to the seclusion of the passage and rubbed his hands. This +would please Sir Samuel. He should hear it that very night. This ought +to please him very much, because it made things so clear at last. There +she was--up-stairs, in the Chambers of Mr. Edmund Gray--in the very +room! There! There! There! + +Perhaps he was mistaken. But his sight was very good--for distant +things. In reading a newspaper he might make mistakes, because he was +one of those elderly persons who enjoy their newspaper most when they +can nail it upon the wall and sit down to read it from the other side of +a large room. He looked up again. The setting sun shining on the window +of the side where he stood--the eastern side was reflected upon the +windows of No. 22--Elsie's shapely head--she had taken off her hat--was +bathed in the reflected sunshine. No doubt about her at all. There she +was. There! There! There! The old man was fain to take a walk up Verulam +Buildings and back again, to disguise his delight at this discovery. He +walked chuckling and cracking his fingers, so that those who saw +him--but there are not many in Raymond's Buildings on an August +evening--thought that he must be either a little mad or a little drunk +or a little foolish. But nobody much regards the actions of an ancient +man. It is only the respect of his grandchildren or the thought of his +possessions that gives him importance. Only the strong are regarded, and +an old man who looks poor gets no credit even for foolishness and silly +chuckles. Then Checkley went back to his corner. Oh! what was that? He +rubbed his eyes again. He turned pale: he staggered: he caught at the +door-posts. What was that? He shaded his eyes and looked again--bent and +trembling and shaking all over. Said the Policeman: 'Looks as if he's +going to get 'em again.' Said the laundresses: 'He looks as if he'd seen +a ghost.' The newspaper boy stepped half-way across the Square. 'He's +looking at Mr. Edmund Gray and the young lady. Jealous--p'raps--knows +the young lady--wouldn't have believed it prob'ly.' + +Yes--Checkley was looking at that window. No doubt of that at all. He +was not able to disguise his astonishment: he no longer pretended to +hide himself. For he saw, sitting in the window, the young lady whom he +believed to be an accomplice in the crime; and standing over her, with +an expression of fatherly affection, was none other than Mr. Dering +himself. + +Yes-- Mr. Dering. Most wonderful! What did it mean? Had Mr. Dering +resolved to clear up the mystery of Edmund Gray? Had he penetrated the +Chambers and found there--not Edmund Gray--but Elsie Arundel? + +'My friend,' said the Policeman, standing before him so that the view of +the window was intercepted, 'you seem interested over the way.' + +'I am. I am. Oh! yes. Much interested.' + +'Well--don't you think you've looked at that old gentleman long enough? +Perhaps he wouldn't like so much looking at. There's a young lady, too. +It isn't manners to be staring at a young lady like a stuck pig.' + +'No--no, Policeman-- I've seen enough--thank you.' + +'And, still talking in a friendly way, do you think Mr. Edmund Gray over +there would like it if he knew there was a detective or a spy watching +every evening on the other side of the Square? What's the little game, +guv'nor? Anything in our line? Not with that most respectable old +gentleman, I do hope--though sometimes---- Well--what is it? Because we +can't have you goin' on as you have a been goin' on, you know.' + +'Policeman'--Checkley pulled him aside and pointed to the little group +at the window--'you see that old gentleman there--do you know him?' + +'Certainly. Known him ever since I came to the Inn--two years ago. The +people of the Inn have known him for ten years, I believe. That's Mr. +Edmund Gray. He's not one of the regular residents, and he hasn't got an +office. Comes here now and then when he fancies the place--Mr. Edmund +Gray, that is. I wish all the gentlemen in the Inn were half as liberal +as he is.' + +'Oh! it's impossible! Say it again, Policeman. Perhaps I'm a little +deaf--I'm very old, you know--a little deaf perhaps. Say it again.' + +'What's the matter with the man?' For he was shaking violently, and his +eyes stared. 'Of course that is Mr. Edmund Gray.' + +'What does the girl do with him? Why are they both there together?' + +'How should I know why she calls upon him? She's a young lady, and a +sweet young thing too. He's her grandfather likely.' + +Checkley groaned. + +'I must go somewhere and think this out,' he said. 'Excuse me, +Policeman. I am an old man, and--and-- I've had a bit of a shock and---- +Good-evening, Policeman.' He shaded his eyes again and looked up. +Yes--there they were, talking. Then Elsie rose and he saw her putting on +her hat. Then she retreated up the room. But still he stood watching. + +'Not had enough yet, guv'nor?' asked the Policeman. + +'Only a minute. I want to see her go out.--Yes--there they are--going +out together. It is, after all---- Oh! there is no mistake.' + +'There is no mistake, guv'nor,' said the Policeman. 'There goes Mr. +Edmund Gray, and there goes that sweet young thing along of him.--Ah! +there's many advantages about being a gentleman. No mistake, I say, +about them two.--Now, old man, you look as if you'd had a surprise. +Hadn't you better go home and take a drop of something?' + +It was earlier than Checkley generally went to the _Salutation_. But he +delayed no longer. He tottered across the Square, showing very much of +extreme feebleness, looking neither to the right nor to the left, his +cheek white, his eyes rolling. The people looked after him, expecting +that he would fall. But he did not. He turned into the tavern, hobbled +along the passage, and sank into an arm-chair in the parlour. + +'Good gracious, Mr. Checkley!' cried the barmaid as he passed, 'whatever +is the matter?' + +Some of the usual company were already assembled, although it was as yet +hardly eight. The money-lender was there, sitting in his corner, taking +his tobacco and his grog in silence. The decayed Barrister was there, +his glass of old and mild before him, reading the morning newspaper. The +ex-M.P. was there. When Checkley tumbled into the room, they looked up +in surprise. When he gazed about him wildly and gasped, they were +astonished, for he seemed like unto one about to have a fit. + +'Give me something, Robert--give me something,' he cried. +'Quick--something strong. I'll have it short. Quick--quick!' + +Robert brought him a small glass of brandy, which he swallowed hastily. + +'Oh!' he groaned, sitting up, 'I've seen-- I've seen----' + +'You look as if you had seen a ghost,' said the barmaid, who had come +along with a glass of water. 'Shall I bathe your forehead?' + +'No--no. I am better now--I am all right again.--Gentlemen'--he looked +round the room solemnly--'I've seen this evening a good man--an old +man--a great man--a rich man; gentlemen, wrecked and cast away and +destroyed and ruined. With a little devil of a woman to laugh at him!' + +'They don't generally laugh at the men when they are ruined,' said Mr. +Langhorne. 'They laugh while they are ruining them. It's fun to them. So +it is to the men. Great fun it is while it lasts. I daresay the little +woman won't really laugh at him. In my case----' + +His case was left untold, because he stopped and buried his head in his +newspaper. + +Then Shylock spoke. He removed his pipe from his lips and spoke, moved, +after his kind, by the mention of the words wreck and ruin, just as the +vulture pricks up its feathers at the word death. + +'To see a rich man wrecked and ruined, Mr. Checkley, is a thing which a +man may see every day. The thing is not to lose by their wreck--to make +money out of it. Rich men are always being wrecked and ruined. What else +can you expect if men refuse to pay their interest and to meet their +bills? The melancholy thing--ah! the real sadness--is the ruin of a man +who has trusted his fellow creatures and got taken in for his pains. +Only this morning I find that I've been let in by a swindler--a common +swindler, gentlemen--who comes round and says he can't pay up--can't pay +up--and I'm welcome to the sticks.--Which kind of man might your friend +be, Mr. Checkley, the man who's trusted his neighbour and got left--or +the neighbour who's ramped the man that trusted him?' + +'It isn't money at all,' Checkley replied. + +'Then, sir, if it isn't money,' said the money-lender, 'I don't know why +you come in frightening this honourable company out of their wits. If it +isn't money, how the devil can the gentleman be wrecked and ruined?' + +For two hours Mr. Checkley sat in silence, evidently not listening to +what was said. Then he turned to Mr. Langhorne the Barrister: 'You've +known Mr. Edmund Gray a long time, I believe?' + +'Nine years--ten years--since he came to the Inn.' + +'Always the same man, I suppose?' said Checkley. 'Never another man--not +sometimes a young man--or two young men--one rather a tall young man, +looks as if the world was all his--supercilious beast?' + +'Never more than one man at once,' replied the Barrister with a show of +forensic keenness. 'He might have been two young men rolled into one; +but not to my knowledge: always the same man to look at, so far as I +know--and the same man to talk with.' + +'Oh! yes--yes. There's no hope left--none. He's ruined and lost and cast +away and done for.' + +He rose and walked out. The company looked after him and shook their +heads. Then they drew their chairs a little closer, and the gap made by +his departure vanished. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +THE DAY AFTER THE GHOST + + +When Mr. Dering arrived at his office next morning he observed that his +table had not been arranged for him. Imagine the surprise of the +housewife should she come down to breakfast and find the ham and the +toast and the tea placed upon the table without the decent cloth! With +such eyes did Mr. Dering gaze upon the pile of yesterday's letters lying +upon his blotting-pad, the pens in disorder, the papers heaped about +anyhow, the dust of yesterday everywhere. Such a thing had never +happened before in his whole experience of fifty-five years. He touched +his bell sharply. + +'Why,' he asked, hanging up his coat without turning round, 'why is not +my table put in order?' He turned and saw his clerk standing at the open +door.--'Good Heavens! Checkley, what is the matter?' + +For the ancient servitor stood with drooping head and melancholy face +and bent shoulders. His hands hung down in the attitude of one who waits +to serve. But he did not serve. He stood still and he made no reply. + +He understood now. Since the apparition of South Square he had had time +to reflect. He now understood the whole business from the beginning to +the end. One hand there was, and only one, concerned with the case. Now +he understood the meaning of the frequent fits of abstraction, the long +silences, this strange forgetfulness which made his master mix up days +and hours, and caused him to wonder what he had done and where he had +been on this and that evening. And somebody else knew. The girl knew. +She had told her lover. She had told her brother. That was why the new +Partner laughed and defied them. It was on his charge that young Arundel +had been forced to leave the country. It was he who declared that he had +seen him place the stolen notes in the safe. It was he who had charged +young Austin and whispered suspicions into the mind of Sir Samuel. Now +the truth would come out, and they would all turn upon him, and his +master would have to be told. Who would tell him? How could they tell +him? Yet he must be told. And what would be done to the jealous servant? +And how could the old lawyer, with such a knowledge about himself, +continue to work at his office? All was finished. He would be sent about +his business. His master would go home and stay there--with an +attendant. How could he continue to live without his work to do? What +would he do all day? With whom would he talk? Everything finished and +done with. Everything---- + +He stood, therefore, stricken dumb, humble, waiting for reproof. + +'Are you ill, Checkley? asked Mr. Dering. 'You look ill. What is the +matter? + +'I am not ill,' he replied in a hollow voice, with a dismal shake of the +head. 'I am not exactly ill. Yes, I am ill. I tried to put your table in +order for you this morning, but I couldn't, I really couldn't. I feel as +if I couldn't never do anything for you--never again. After sixty years' +service, it's hard to feel like that.' + +He moved to the table and began mechanically laying the papers straight. + +'No one has touched your table but me for sixty years. It's hard to +think that another hand will do this for you--and do it quite as well, +you'll think. That's what we get for faithful service.' He put the +papers all wrong, because his old eyes were dimmed with unaccustomed +moisture. Checkley had long since ceased to weep over the sorrows of +others, even in the most moving situations, when, for instance, he +himself carried off the sticks instead of the rent. But no man is so old +that he cannot weep over his own misfortunes. Checkley's eye was +therefore dimmed with the tear of Compassion, which is the sister of +Charity. + +'I do not understand you this morning, Checkley. Have you had any +unpleasantness with Mr. Austin--with any of the people?' + +'No--no. Only that I had better go before I am turned out. That's all. +That's all'--he repeated the words in despair. 'Nothing but that.' + +'Who is going to turn you out? What do you mean, Checkley? What the +devil do you mean by going on like this? Am I not master here? Who can +turn you out?' + +'You can, sir, and you will--and I'd rather, if you'll excuse the +liberty, go out of my own accord. I'm a small man--only a very small +man--but, thank God! I've got enough to give me a crust of bread and +cheese to live upon.' + +'I tell you what, Checkley: you had better go home and lie down and rest +a little. You are upset. Now, at our age we can't afford to be upset. Go +home, and be easy. Old friends don't part quite so easily as you think.' +Mr. Dering spoke kindly and gently. One must be patient with so old a +servant. + +Checkley sobbed and choked. Like a child he sobbed. Like a child of +four, Checkley choked and sniffed. 'You don't understand,' he said. 'Oh, +no--you can't understand. It's what I saw last night.' + +'This is very wonderful. What did you see? A ghost?' + +'Worse than a ghost--who cares for a ghost? Ghosts can't turn a man out +of his place and bring him to be a laughingstock. No--no. It was a man +that I saw, not a ghost.' + +'If you can find it possible to talk reasonably'--Mr. Dering took his +chair and tore open an envelope--'when you can find it possible to talk +reasonably, I will listen. Meantime, I really think that you had better +go home and lie down for an hour or two. Your nerves are shaken; you +hardly know what you are saying.' + +'I was in Gray's Inn yesterday evening. By accident, at eight.' He spoke +in gasps, watching his master curiously. 'By accident--not spying. +No--by accident. On my way to my club--at the _Salutation_. Walking +through South Square. Not thinking of anything. Looking about +me--careless-like.' + +'South Square, Gray's Inn. That is the place where the man Edmund Gray +lives: the man we want to find and cannot find.' + +'Oh! Lord! Lord!' exclaimed the clerk. 'Is it possible?' He lifted his +hand and raised his eyes to heaven and groaned. Then he resumed his +narrative. + +'Coming through the passage, I looked up to the windows of No. 22--Mr. +Edmund Gray's Chambers, you know.' + +'I believe so.' Mr. Dering's face betrayed no emotion at all. 'Go on; I +am told so.' + +'In the window I saw Mr. Edmund Gray himself--himself.' + +'Curious. You have seen him--but why not?' + +'The man we've all been so anxious to find. The man who endorsed the +cheque and wrote the letters and got the papers--there he was!' + +'Question of identity. How did you know him, since you had never seen +him before?' + +This question Checkley shirked. + +'He came down-stairs five minutes afterwards, while I was still looking +up at the windows. Came down-stairs, and walked out of the Square--made +as if he was going out by way of Raymond's Buildings--much as if he +might be going to Bedford Row.' + +'These details are unimportant. Again--how did you know him?' + +'I asked the Policeman who the gentleman was. He said it was Mr. Edmund +Gray. I asked the newspaper boy at the Holborn entrance. He said it was +Mr. Edmund Gray, and that everybody knew him.' + +'So everybody knows him. Well, Checkley, I see nothing so very +remarkable about your seeing a man so well known in the Inn. It adds +nothing to our knowledge. That he exists, we know already. What share, +if any, he has had in this case of ours remains still a mystery. Unless, +that is, you have found out something else.' + +Checkley gazed upon his master with a kind of stupor. 'No--no,' he +murmured. 'I can't.' + +'What did you do, when you found out that it was the man?' + +'Nothing.' + +'You did nothing. Well--under the circumstances I don't know what you +could have done.' + +'And he walked away.' + +'Oh! He walked away. Very important indeed.--But, Checkley, this story +does not in the least account for your strange agitation this morning. +Have you anything more to tell me? I see that you have, but you seem to +experience more than usual difficulty in getting it out.' + +The clerk hesitated. 'Do you,' he asked at last--'do you--happen--to +know Gray's Inn?' + +'I daresay I have been there--years ago. Why?' + +'Oh! you haven't been there lately, have you?' + +'Not lately--not for forty years, or some such inconsiderable period. +Why?' + +'I thought you might yourself have met Mr. Edmund Gray--been to his +Chambers, perhaps.' + +Mr. Dering sat upright and laid his hand upon his letters. 'Checkley,' +he said, 'I am always willing to make allowance for people in mental +distress, but I think I have made allowance enough. Come to the point. +Have you lost any money?' + +'No--no; not so bad as that--but bad enough. No, I couldn't afford to +lose money. I haven't got enough to spare any. But I got a shock--a kind +of stroke--partly because of the man I met, and partly because of the +person with him.' + +'Oh! who was that? Are we arriving at something?' + +'I hadn't told you that. The person who was sitting at the open window +with him, who came down-stairs with him, and walked out of the Square +with him, was no other than your own ward, Miss Elsie Arundel herself!' + +'Oh! why not?' asked Mr. Dering carelessly. 'She told me yesterday, was +it? that she knows him.' + +'If it had been anyone else she was with,' he replied, mixing up his +grammar--'if it had been anyone else who was with her--I wouldn't have +been surprised! But to see the two together. That gave me a turn that I +can't get over.' + +'Still--why not? Miss Elsie Arundel has already told me that she is +acquainted with Mr. Edmund Gray.' + +'What? She has told you--she has actually told you? Oh! what has she +told you? Oh! Lord! Lord! What is a man to say or to do? She told +you--what is best to do?' He wrung his hands in his distress and his +perplexity. + +'I cannot understand, Checkley,' said Mr. Dering with emphasis, 'the +reason for this display of excitement. Why should she not tell me or +anybody else? Do you suppose that my ward is doing anything clandestine? +She has told me that she is acquainted with this man. She asserts +further--that we have made a great mistake about him. What she means, I +cannot understand. She says, in fact, that this gentleman is a perfectly +honourable person. It is possible that he has deceived her. It is also +possible that the name of Edmund Gray has been wrongfully used in the +papers which belong to the case. Certainly it was an Edmund Gray who +endorsed the first cheque; and an Edmund Gray having an address at 22 +South Square whose name is connected with the later business. Well, we +shall see presently.--When do you take out the warrant for the arrest +of this man? By the way, Elsie Arundel implores me not to allow that +step. When are you going to do it?' + +'This morning, I was going to do it. Everything is ready--but----' + +'But what?' + +'I can't do it now.' + +'The man is clean gone off his head.' + +'Leave it till to-morrow--only to-morrow, or Monday. Before then, +something is certain to turn up. Oh! certain sure it is. Something must +turn up.' + +'There is certainly something that you are keeping behind, Checkley. +Well--wait till Monday. To-day is Saturday. He can't do very much +mischief between this and Monday.--That's enough about Edmund Gray. Now, +here is another point, to which I want a direct answer from you. My +brother asserts, I believe on your authority, that Athelstan Arundel has +been living in a low and profligate manner in some London suburb, and +that he was in rags and poverty early this year. What is your authority +for this?' + +'Why, I heard him confess--or not deny--that he'd been living in +Camberwell in bad company. It was at the _Salutation_ I heard it. He +didn't see me. I'd got my head behind a paper. He never denied it.' + +'Humph!--And about the rags?' + +'I don't know anything about the rags.' + +'Very likely there is as much foundation for the one charge as for the +other. Three or four years ago, he was in America, to my knowledge. He +wrote to me from America. I now learn, on the authority of his sister, +that he only came back a month ago, and that he has been and is still in +the service of an American paper. What have you got to say to that?' + +'Nothing. I don't feel as if I could say anything. It's all turned upsy +down. That won't do, I suppose, no more than the rest.' + +'But, my friend, if that is true, your theory of conspiracy and +confederacy, which you took so much pains to build up, falls to the +ground as far as Athelstan is concerned.' + +'Yes.-- Oh! I haven't nothing to say.' It was a mark of the trouble +which possessed him that his language reverted to that of his young +days, before he had learned the art of correct speech from the copying +of legal documents. He preserved the same attitude with bent head and +hanging hands, a sad and pitiful object. + +'Since Athelstan was not in London during the months of March and April, +he could have had no hand in the later forgeries. And it is acknowledged +that the same hand was concerned both in the earlier and the later +business.' + +'Yes--yes--the same hand. Oh! yes--the same hand,' he repeated with +pathos unintelligible to his master. 'The same hand--the same hand; +yes--yes--the same hand--that's the devil of it--same hand done it all.' + +'Then what becomes of your charge against my young Partner? You were +extremely fierce about it. So was my brother. You had no proofs--nor had +he. If the same hand was in both forgeries, it could not have been the +hand of George Austin. What do you say to that?' + +'Nothing. I'm never going'--still standing hands hanging--'to say +anything again as long as I live.' + +'But you were very fierce about it, Checkley. You must either find more +proofs or withdraw your accusation.' + +'Oh! if that's all, I withdraw-- I withdraw everything.' + +'Why did you bring that charge then, Checkley? You've been making +yourself very busy over the character of my Partner. You have permitted +yourself to say things in the office before the clerks about him. If it +turns out that he has had nothing to do with the business, you will be +in a very serious position.' + +'I withdraw-- I withdraw everything,' the old clerk replied, but not +meekly. He was prepared to withdraw, but only because he was forced. + +'Remember, too, that it was you who brought the charge against young +Arundel.' + +'I withdraw-- I withdraw everything.' + +'You went so far as to remember--the other day--having seen him replace +the notes in the safe. What do you say to that?' + +'I withdraw.' + +'But it was a direct statement--the testimony of an eyewitness. Was it +true or not?--I don't know you this morning, Checkley. First, you appear +shaking and trembling: then you tell me things which seem in no way to +warrant so much agitation. Next, you withdraw an accusation which ought +never to have been made except with the strongest proof. And now you +wish to withdraw an alleged fact.' + +Checkley shook his head helplessly. + +'I acknowledge that the business remains as mysterious as before. +Nothing has been found out. But there remains an evident and savage +animosity on your part towards two young gentlemen in succession. Why? +What have they done to you?' + +Checkley made reply in bold words, but still standing with hanging +hands: 'I withdraw the animosity. I withdraw everything. As for young +Arundel, he was a supercilious beast. We were dirt beneath his feet. The +whole earth belonged to him. He used to imitate my ways of speaking, and +he used to make the clerks laugh at me. I hated him then. I hate him +still. It was fun to him that an old man, nigh seventy, with no +education, shouldn't speak like a young gentleman of Oxford and +Cambridge College. He used to stick his hat on the back of his head as +if it was a crown, and he'd slam the door after him as if he was a +Partner. I hated him. I was never so glad as when he ran away in a rage. +He was coming between you and me, too.--Oh! I saw it. Cunning he was. +Laying his lines for to come between you and me.' + +'Why--you were jealous, Checkley.' + +'I was glad when he ran away. And I always thought he'd done it, too. As +for seeing him put the cheque back in the safe, I perceive now that I +never did see him do it. Yet I seemed to think at the time that I'd +remembered seeing him do a kind of a sort of a something like it. I now +perceive that I was wrong. He never done it. He hadn't the wits to +contrive it. That sort is never half sharp. Too fine gentleman for such +a trick.--Oh! I know what you are going to say next. How about the +second young fellow? I hate him too. I hate him because he's the same +supercilious beast as the other, and because he's been able to get round +you. He's carneyed you--no fool like an old fool--and flattered +you--till you've made him a Partner. I've worked for you heart and soul +for sixty years and more, and this boy comes in and cuts me out in a +twelvemonth.' + +'Well! but Checkley--hang it!--I couldn't make you a Partner.' + +'You didn't want no Partners. You could do your work, and I could do +mine and yours too, even if you did want to go asleep of an afternoon.' + +'This is grave, however. You hated Mr. Austin, and therefore you bring +against him this foul charge. This is very grave, Checkley.' + +'No-- I thought he was guilty. I did, indeed. Everything pointed that +way. And I don't understand about young Arundel, because he came into +the _Salutation_ with the Cambridge gentleman who gets drunk there every +night, and he said that he lived at Camberwell for eight years with bad +company as I wouldn't name to you, sir. I thought he was guilty. I did, +indeed.' + +'And now?' + +'Oh! now it is all over. Everything's upsy down. Nobody's guilty. I know +now that he hasn't had anything to do with it. He's a young man of very +slow intelligence and inferior parts. He couldn't have had anything to +do with it. We ought to have known that.' + +'Well--but who has done it, after all?' + +'That's it.' Checkley was so troubled that he dropped into a chair in +the presence of his master. 'That's it. Who's done it? Don't you know +who done it? No-- I see you don't so much as suspect. No more don't I. +Else--what to do--what to say--Lord only knows!' He turned and ran--he +scuttled out of the room, banging the door behind him. + +'He's mad,' said Mr. Dering. 'Poor man! Age makes some men forgetful, +but it has driven Checkley mad.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THE THREE ACCOMPLICES + + +On that same evening the three accomplices--probably on the proceeds of +their iniquities--were dining together at the _Savoy_. After dinner they +sat on the verandah overlooking the river and the embankment. 'Tis +sweet, what time the evening shades prevail, while one is still in the +stage of physical comfort and mental peace attendant upon an artistic +little banquet, to view from the serene heights of a balcony at that +hotel the unquiet figures of those who flit backwards and forwards +below. They--alas!--have not dined so well, or they could not walk so +fast, or drag their limbs so hopelessly, or lean over the wall so sadly. + +Elsie leaned her head upon her hands, looking down upon this scene, +though not quite with these thoughts. Young ladies who are quite happy, +and are going to be married next week, do not make these comparisons. +Happiness is selfish. When one is quite happy, everybody else seems +quite happy too--even Lazarus and the leper. We must never be happy if +we do not wish to be selfish. + +Coffee was on the table. Athelstan had a cigar. They were all three +silent. During dinner they had talked gaily, because everybody knows +that you cannot talk with strange people listening. After dinner they +sat in silence, because it is only when the waiters are gone that one is +free to talk. + +'Elsie,' said George presently, 'you have something to tell +us--something you have discovered. For my own part, since I handed the +case over to anybody else, I feel as if I were not interested in it. But +still, one would like to know--just for curiosity's sake--when Checkley +is to be "run in."' + +'Yes,' said Elsie, 'I must tell you. Perhaps I ought to have told you +before. Yet there was a reason. Now--you will be greatly astonished, +George.' + +'Before you begin, Elsie '--Athelstan removed his cigar--'I must tell +you that yesterday evening I, too, made a discovery--what the Americans +call a pivotal discovery--a discovery that discovers everything. I +should have told you last night, but you announced your communications +for this evening, and I thought we would expose our discoveries at the +same time.' + +'You have found out too!' Elsie cried. 'I see by your face that you +have. Well, Athelstan, so much the better. Now, tell your discovery +first, and I will follow.' + +'It is this. I have discovered Edmund Gray. I have sat with him and +discoursed with him, in Freddy Carstone's Chambers. He came in, sat +beside me, and conversed for more than an hour.' + +'Oh!' said Elsie. 'Then you know all--as much as I know.' + +'Observe,' George interposed, 'that I know nothing as yet.' + +'Wait a moment, George. Learn that I have myself known Mr. Edmund Gray +for a fortnight. You will think, perhaps, that I ought to have told you +before. Well--but there is a reason--besides, the way, to begin with, +did not lie quite clear before me. Now the time has come when you should +advise as to the best course to follow.' + +'You have certainly been more mysterious than any oracle, Elsie. Yet you +will bear witness, if it comes to bearing witness, that I accepted your +utterances and believed in them.' + +'You certainly did, George.--And now, Athelstan, tell him the whole.' + +'In one word then--Edmund Gray, the man we have been looking after so +long, is none other than Edward Dering, of 12 New Square, Lincoln's Inn, +Solicitor.' + +'I don't understand,' said George, bewildered. 'Say it all again.' + +Athelstan repeated his words. + +'That is my discovery, too,' said Elsie. 'Now you know all, as you +understand.' + +'But I don't understand. How can one man be another man?' + +'I sat beside one man,' Athelstan added, 'for an hour and more; and lo! +all the time he was another man.' + +'And still I am fogged. What does it mean?' + +'It means, George, what you would never suspect. The one man received me +as a stranger. He knew nothing about me: he had never heard my name, +even. Yet the other man knows me so well. It was very odd at first. I +felt as if I was talking to a sleep-walker.' + +'Oh!' cried George, 'I know now. You have seen Mr. Dering in a kind of +sleep-walking state-- I too have seen him thus. But he said nothing.' + +'You may call it sleep-walking if you like. But, George, there is +another and a more scientific name for it. The old man is mad. He has +fits of madness, during which he plays another part, under another name. +Now, do you understand?' + +'Yes--but--is it possible?' + +'It is more than possible; it is an actual certainty. Wait. Let Elsie +tell her story.' + +Then Elsie began, with a little air of triumph, because it is not given +to every young lady to find out what all the men have failed to find. + +'Well--you see--I was always thinking over this business, and wondering +why nothing was found out about it, and watching you look this way and +that, and it occurred to me that the first thing of all was to find out +this Mr. Edmund Gray and lay hands upon him. At first I thought I would +just go and stand outside his door all day long and every day until he +came. But that seemed a waste of time. So I remembered how you found his +door open, and went in and spoke to the laundress. I thought that I +would do the same thing, and sit down there and wait until he should +come. But I was afraid to sit in the rooms of a strange man all +alone--no, I could not do it. So I just found out the old woman--the +laundress--as you did, George, and I gave her money, and she told me +that Mr. Gray was at his Chambers almost every Saturday afternoon. Very +well; if anybody chose to wait for him all Saturday afternoon, he would +certainly be found. So on Saturday afternoon I took a cab and drove to +Holborn, and got to the place before his arrival. But again, as it was +not quite nice to stand at an open doorway in a public Square, I thought +I would wait on the stairs. So I mounted--the doors were all +closed--nobody was left in the place at all--I thought I should be +perfectly safe and undisturbed, when I heard the noise of footsteps +overhead--a tramp, tramp, tramp up and down, with every now and then a +groan--like a hungry creature in a cage. This kept on for a long time, +and frightened me horribly. I was still more frightened when a door +overhead opened and shut and the footsteps came down-stairs. They +belonged to a man--an elderly man--who seemed as much frightened at +seeing me as I was at seeing him. He asked me whether I wanted any one; +and when I said I wanted Mr. Edmund Gray, he said that he was a friend +of Mr. Gray's, and that, since I was a friend too, I might act for +Edmund Gray and lend him some money. He looked desperately poor and +horribly hungry and thin and shabby, the poor old man!' + +'So you acted for Edmund Gray. That was old Langhorne. He is a +barrister, who lives in the garret, and is horribly down on his +luck.--Go on.' + +'Poor Elsie!' said George. 'Think of her, all alone on the staircase!' + +'When he was gone, there was no sound at all. The place was perfectly +quiet. The time passed so slowly--oh! so slowly. At last, however, I +heard a step. It came up the stairs. Oh! my heart began to beat. Suppose +it should be Mr. Edmund Gray. Suppose it was some other person. Suppose +it was some horror of a man! But I had not long to wait, because Mr. +Edmund Gray himself stood on the landing. He stared at me, rather +surprised to find a young lady on the stairs, but he showed no sign of +recognition whatever. I was a complete stranger to him.' + +'And was the man Mr. Dering?' + +'He was--Mr. Dering. There was just the least little change in him. He +wore his coat open instead of buttoned. He had no gloves, his hat was +not pulled over his eyes, and his face was somehow lighter and brighter +than usual.' + +'That is so,' said Athelstan. 'Exactly with these little changes he +presented himself to me.' + +'Perhaps there is another man in the world exactly like him.' + +'Futile remark!--Go on, Elsie.' + +'Then I guessed in a moment what it meant. I stepped forward and asked +him if he was Mr. Edmund Gray. And then I followed him into his +rooms.--George, there is no manner of doubt whatever. Mr. Dering has +periods, whether regular or not I cannot tell, when he loses himself and +becomes in imagination another man. He is mad, if you like, but there is +method in his madness. The other man is just himself turned inside out. +Mr. Dering believes in the possible wickedness of everybody: the other +man believes in the actual goodness of every man. Mr. Dering considers +Property the only stable foundation of Society: the other man considers +Property the root of all evil. Mr. Dering is hard and jealous: the other +man is full of geniality and benevolence. Mr. Dering is Justice: the +other man is Mercy.' + +'Very neatly put, Elsie. There is quite an eighteenth-century balance +about your sentences and sentiments. So far'--Athelstan contributed his +confirmation--'so far as I could judge, nothing could be more true. I +found my man the exact opposite of himself.' + +'Can such a thing be possible? If I were to speak to him, would he not +know me?' + +'You forget, George. You have seen him in that condition, and he did not +know you.' + +'Nothing is more common'--Athelstan the Journalist began to draw upon +the encyclopaedic memory which belongs to his profession--'than such a +forgetfulness of self. Have you ever been into a Lunatic Asylum? I +have--for professional purposes. I have discoursed with the patients, +and been instructed by the physicians. Half the time many of the +patients are perfectly rational: during the other half they seem to +assume another mind with other memories. It is not real possession, as +the ancients called it, because they never show knowledge other than +what they have learned before. Thus, a sane man who cannot draw would +never in insanity become an artist. So Mr. Dering, when he is mad, +brings the same logical power and skill to bear upon a different set of +maxims and opinions. Said a physician to me at this asylum of which I +speak: "There are thousands of men and women, but especially men, who +are mad every now and then, and don't know it. Most of the crimes are, I +believe, committed in moments of madness. A young fellow steals +money--it is because at the moment he is so mad that he even persuades +himself that borrowing is not stealing: that he is only borrowing: that +he can get it back, and put it back before it is found out. What is +uncontrollable rage but sudden madness? There are the men who know that +they are mad on some point or other, and cunningly hide it, and are +never found out. And there are the men who are mad and don't know it. In +their mad times they commit all kinds of extravagances and follies, yet +somehow they escape detection." So he talked; and he told me of a man +who was a lawyer in one town with a wife and family, and also a lawyer +in another with a different wife and family. But one lawyer never found +out the other; and the thing was only discovered when the man got a +paralytic stroke and died in a kind of bewilderment, because, when the +time came for him to be the other man, he found himself lying in a +strange bedroom with a strange family round him. I had long forgotten +the asylum. I did the place for my paper three or four years ago, and +scored by the description. Since last night I have been recalling my +experience and applying it. You see there can never be any physical +change. This is no Hyde and Jekyll business. Whatever happens must be +conducted with the same body and the same mind. The same processes of +mind in which the man is trained remain, but his madness requires a new +setting.' + +'One cannot understand,' said Elsie. + +'No. But then one cannot understand everything. That's the real beauty +of this world: we are planted in the midst of things: we can give names +to them--Adam began that way, didn't he?--but we can't understand any of +them; and most people think that when we have given a name we have +succeeded in understanding. Well, Elsie--we don't understand. But we may +find out something. I take it that the other man grew up by degrees in +his brain, so that there is no solution in the continuity of thought and +recollection. The Edmund Gray developed himself. He has been developed +for nearly ten years, since he has occupied the same Chambers all the +time.' + +'But about the forgeries?' George sprang to his feet. 'I declare,' he +cried, 'that I had quite forgotten the real bearing on our case.' + +'Edmund Gray,' said Elsie, 'says that his own lawyer who manages his +affairs is Edward Dering. If he were to write letters while Edmund Gray, +he would not impose upon Edward Dering.' + +'He cannot write to two men,' said Athelstan. 'There must be a +border-land between the waking and the dreaming, when the two spirits of +Edmund Gray and Edward Dering contend for the mastery, or when they +command each other--when Edmund Gray endorses cheques and Edward Dering +writes letters and conducts transfers for his client--his +double--himself.' + +'I have seen him in such a state,' said George. 'At the time I never +suspected anything but a passing trouble of mind, which caused him to be +so wrapped up in his thoughts as not to be able to distinguish anything. +He was then, I doubt not now, carrying out the instructions of Edmund +Gray, or he was Edmund Gray acting for himself. Checkley whispered not +to disturb him. He said that he had often seen him so.' + +'I have never tried to understand,' said Elsie. 'But I saw that Edmund +Gray was Mr. Dering gone mad, and that he himself, and nobody else, was +the perpetrator of all these forgeries; and I have been trying to +discover the best way--the kindest way to him--the surest way for us, of +getting the truth known.--George, this is the secret of my mysterious +movements. This is why I have not given you a single evening for a +whole fortnight. Every evening--both Sundays--I have spent with this +dear old man. He is the most delightful--the most gentle--the most +generous--old man that you ever saw. He is full of ideas--oh! quite +full--and they carry you out of yourself, until you awake next morning +to find that they are a dream. I have fallen in love with him. I have +had the most charming fortnight--only one was always rather afraid that +he might come to himself, which would be awkward.' + +'Well, Elsie, have you found a way?' + +'I think I have. First, I have discovered that when he is surrounded +with things that remind him of Edmund Gray, he remains Edmund Gray. +Next, I have found out that I can, by talking to him even at his office, +when he has his papers before him, turn him into Edmund Gray.' + +'You are a witch, Elsie.' + +'She is,' said George, looking at her in the foolish lover's way. 'You +see what she has turned me into--a long time ago, and she has never +turned me back again.' + +'I have been thinking too,' said Athelstan. 'For our purposes, it would +be enough to prove the identity of Edmund Gray and Edward Dering. That +explains the resemblance of the handwriting and of the endorsement. My +commissionaire's recollection of the man also identifies the cheque as +drawn by himself for himself under another name. It explains the +presence of the notes in the safe. It also shows that the long series of +letters which passed between him and the broker were written by himself +for himself. Here, however, is a difficulty. I can understand Edward +Dering believing himself to be Edmund Gray, because I have seen it. But +I cannot understand Edward Dering believing himself to be the Solicitor +to Edmund Gray and writing at his command.' + +'But I have seen him in that condition,' said Elsie. 'It was while he +was changing from one to the other. He sat like one who listens. I think +that Edmund Gray was at his elbow speaking to him. I think I could make +him write a letter by instruction from Edmund Gray. That he should +believe himself acting for a client in writing to the broker is no more +wonderful than that he should believe himself another man altogether.' + +'Show me, if you can, the old man acting for an imaginary client. +Meantime, I mentioned the point as a difficulty. Prove, however, to Mr. +Dering and to the others concerned that he is Edmund Gray, and all is +proved. And this we can do by a host of witnesses.' + +'I want more than this, Athelstan,' said Elsie. 'It would still be open +to the enemy to declare that George, or you, or I, had made use of his +madness for our own purposes. I want a history of the whole case written +out by Edmund Gray himself--a thing that we can show to Mr. Dering and +to everybody else. But I dread his discovery. Already he is suspicious +and anxious. I sometimes think that he is half conscious of his +condition. We must break it to him as gently as we can. But the shock +may kill him. Yet there is no escape. If the forgeries were known only +to ourselves, we might keep the discovery a secret; and only if +necessary--but it would not be necessary--keep some sort of watch over +him and warn the Bank. But Checkley has told the clerks and the people +at the Bank, and there are ourselves to think of and my mother and +Hilda.--No; we must let them all know.' + +'And if one may mention one's self,' said Athelstan, 'my own little +difficulty presses. Because, you see, I don't know how long I may be +kept here. Perhaps to-morrow I might go on to St. Petersburg or to +Pekin. Before I go, Elsie, I confess that I should like my mother to +understand that--that she was a little hasty--that is all.' + +'You are not going to St. Petersburg, brother.' Elsie took his hand. +'You are not going to leave us anymore. You are going to stay. I have +made another discovery.' + +'Pray, if one may ask----' + +'Oh! you may ask. I saw a letter to-day--Mr. Dering showed it to me. It +was written from the States three or four years ago. It showed where you +were at that time and showed me more, Athelstan--it showed me how you +lost the pile of money that you made over that silver mine--you +remember, Athelstan?' + +He made no reply. + +'Oh! do you think that I am going to accept this sacrifice? George, you +do not know. The donor of that great sum of money which Mr. Dering held +for me--we have often wondered who it was. I have only found out +to-day--it was Athelstan. He gave me all he had for such a trifling +thing--only because I would not believe that he was a villain--all he +had in the world--and went out again into the cold. He said he dropped +his money down a gully or a grating on the prairie--some nonsense. And +he sent it all to me, George.--What shall we do?' + +'Is this really true, Athelstan? Did you really give up all this money +to Elsie?' + +'She says so.' + +'It is quite true, George. I saw the letter--Mr. Dering showed it to +me--in which he sent that money home, and begged Mr. Dering to take care +of it, and to give it to me on the day when I should be one-and-twenty. +He cannot deny it. Look at him. He blushes--he is ashamed--he hangs his +head--he blows tobacco-smoke about in clouds, hoping to hide his red +cheeks. And he talks of going on to St. Petersburg, when we know this +secret, and have got the money! What do you call this conduct, George?' + +'Athelstan--there is no word for it. But you must have it back. You +must, and shall. There can be no discussion about it. And there is not +another man in the world, I believe, who would have done it.' + +'Nonsense. I should only have lost it, if I had kept it,' Athelstan +replied after the Irish fashion. + +'You hear, Athelstan. It is yours. There can be no discussion. That's +what I like a man for. While we women are all talking and disputing, the +man puts down his foot and says: "There can be no discussion." Then we +all stop, and the right thing is done. It is yours, brother; and you +shall have it, and you shall stay at home with us always and always.' +She laid her hand upon his shoulder, and her arm round his neck, +caressing him with hand and voice. + +The man who had wandered alone for eight years was not accustomed to +sisterly caresses. They moved him. The thing itself moved him. + +'All this belongs to another chapter,' he said huskily. 'We will talk of +it afterwards, when the business in hand is despatched. + +'Well, then--that is agreed. You are to have your money back: my mother +is to take her suspicions back: Mr. Dering is to have his certificates +back and his dividends: Checkley is to take his lies back: Sir Samuel is +to have his charges back: George and I are going to have our peace of +mind back. And we are all going to live happy ever afterwards.' + +'As for Wednesday now,' said George. 'It is not an unimportant day for +us, you know.' + +'Everything is ready. On Sunday morning my mother is always at home +before Church. I will see her then, and acquaint her with the news that +the wedding will take place as originally proposed, at her house. This +will astonish her very much, and she will become angry and polite and +sarcastic. Then I shall tell her to prepare not only for a wedding +feast, but also for a great, a very great surprise. And I shall also +inform her that I shall be given away by my brother. And then--then--if +I know my mother aright, she will become silent. I shall do that +to-morrow morning.--In the evening, George, you will get your best-man, +and I will get your sisters, my bridesmaids, and we will come here, or +go to Richmond or somewhere--and have dinner and a cheerful evening.--Am +I arranging things properly?' + +'Quite properly. Pray go on.' + +'Sunday afternoon I have promised to spend with my master--Edmund Gray. +He is going to read me a new Paper he has just finished, in which he +shows that Property can be destroyed by a painless process--Athelstan, +put all your money into your pocket and keep it there--in less than a +twelvemonth, and with it all crime--all sweating, all injustice.--No, +Athelstan, he is not mad. When he argues on this theme he is persuasive +and eloquent. He convinces everybody. I shall hear him out, and then I +shall try to make him write down all that has happened. If we can only +get such a confession, it would be better than anything else. But it may +be difficult. He does not like being questioned about himself. If I do +succeed--I don't know quite what I ought to do next. He must be told. +Some time or other he must have the truth. I thought of asking all the +people mentioned to meet at his office on Monday morning at noon when +Mr. Dering is always himself. On Sunday I would not. He has to address +his people on Sunday evening. Let him do so undisturbed. I will leave +him in happiness that one night longer. But you two--you will be +anxious. Come on Sunday evening--between eight and nine--to the Hall of +Science. Then you will hear him and see me. And I will let you know how +I have prospered.' + +'Sunday evening,' said George. 'Monday comes next, then Tuesday, and +before Wednesday, my Elsie, the character of these two convicts has to +be completely whitewashed, even to the satisfaction of Hilda herself. +Are we not running it pretty close?' + +'Unbeliever! Doubter! I tell you that you shall be married with all your +friends round you, and that Athelstan shall give me away. And you shall +go away on your holiday with a quiet heart and nothing to trouble you. +What a foolish boy not to be able to trust his bride even for such a +simple thing as getting a confession out of a madman!' + +'Do you sport a crest, old man?' asked Athelstan. + +'I believe there is some kind of a sort of a thing somewhere around. But +crests are foolishness.' + +'Not always. Take a new one, George--a real one. Stamp it on your spoons +and forks and in your books and on your carriage. Let it be simply the +words, "Dux Femina Facti."' + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +ELSIE AND HER MOTHER + + +'Can you spare me a few minutes, mother?' + +Mrs. Arundel looked up from the desk where she was writing a letter, and +saw her daughter standing before her. She started and changed colour, +but quickly recovered, and replied coldly: 'I did not hear you come in, +Elsie. What do you want with me?' + +Outside, the bells were ringing for Church: it was a quarter to eleven: +Mrs. Arundel was already dressed for Church. She was one of those who do +not see any incongruity between Church and a heart full of animosities. +She was bitter against her daughter, and hard towards her son, and she +hated her son-in-law elect with all the powers of her passionate nature. +But, my brothers, what an array of bare benches should we see in every +place of worship were those only admitted who came with hearts of +charity and love! + +'Do you wish to keep me long, Elsie? If so, we will sit down. If not, I +am ready for Church, and I do not like to arrive late. People in our +position should show a good example.' + +'I do not think that I shall keep you very long. But if you sit down, +you will be so much more comfortable.' + +'Comfort, Elsie, you have driven out of this house.' + +'I will bring it back with me, then. On Monday evening, mother, I am +coming back.' + +'Oh! What do you mean, child? Has the blow really fallen? I heard that +it was impending. Is the young man--is he--a prisoner?' + +'No, mother. You are quite mistaken. You have been mistaken all along. +Yet I shall come back on Monday.' + +'Alone, then?' + +'I shall leave it to you whether I come back alone, or with the two men +whom I most regard of all the world--my lover and my brother.' + +'You know my opinions, Elsie. There has been no change in them. There +can be none.' + +'Wednesday is my wedding day.' + +'I am not interested in that event, Elsie. After your wedding with such +a man, against the opinions, the wishes, the commands of all whom you +are bound to respect, I can only say that you are no longer my +daughter.' + +'Oh! How can you be so fixed in such a belief? Mother, let me make one +more appeal to your better feelings. Throw off these suspicions. Believe +me, they are baseless. There is not the shadow of a foundation for this +ridiculous structure they have raised. Consider. It is now--how +long?--three weeks since they brought this charge, and they have proved +nothing--absolutely nothing. If you would only be brought to see on what +false assumptions the whole thing rests.' + +'On solid foundations--hard facts--I want no more.' + +'If I could prove to you that Athelstan was in America until a month +ago.' + +'Unhappy girl! He is deceiving you. He has been living for eight years +in profligacy near London. Elsie, do not waste my time. It should be +enough for me that my son-in-law, Sir Samuel Dering, a man of the +clearest head and widest experience, is convinced that it is impossible +to draw any other conclusions.' + +'It is enough for me,' Elsie rejoined quickly, 'that my heart tells me +that my brother and my lover cannot be such creatures.' + +'You have something more to say, I suppose.' Mrs. Arundel buttoned her +gloves. The clock was now at five minutes before eleven. + +'Yes. If it is no use at all trying to appeal to----' + +'No use at all,' Mrs. Arundel snapped. 'I am not disposed for +sentimental nonsense.' + +'I am sorry, because you will be sorry afterwards. Well, then, I have +come to tell you that I have made all the preparations, with George's +assistance, for Wednesday.' + +'Oh!' + +'Yes. The wedding cake will be sent in on Tuesday. My own dress--white +satin, of course, very beautiful--is finished and tried on. It will be +sent in on Monday evening. The two bridesmaids' dresses will also come +on Monday. George has arranged at the Church. He has ordered the +carriages and the bouquets and has got the ring. The presents you have +already in the house. We shall be married at three. There will be a +little gathering of the cousins after the wedding, and you will give +them a little simple dinner in the evening, which will, I daresay, end +with a little dance. George has also seen to the red cloth for the steps +and all that. Oh! And on Tuesday evening you will give a big dinner +party to everybody.' + +'Are you gone quite mad, Elsie?' + +'Not mad at all, my dear mother. It is Sir Samuel who is mad, and has +driven you and Hilda mad. Oh! everything will come off exactly as I tell +you. Perhaps you don't believe it.' + +'You are mad, Elsie. You are certainly mad.' + +'No, my dear mother, I am not mad. Oh! it is so absurd, if it were not +so serious. But we are determined, George and I, not to make this +absurdity the cause of lasting bitterness. Therefore, my dear mother, I +do not want to be married from my brother's lodgings, but from your +house. You will come to my wedding, I prophesy, full of love--full of +love'--her eyes filled with tears--'for me and for George--and for +Athelstan--full of love and of sorrow and of self-reproach. I am to be +given away by my brother--you will come, I say, with a heart full of +love and of pity for him.' + +Mrs. Arundel gazed at her stonily. + +'Everybody will be there, and you will receive all your friends after +the wedding. I have taken care of the invitations. Hilda will be there +too, horribly ashamed of herself. It will be a lovely wedding; and we +shall go away with such good wishes from yourself as you would not in +your present state of mind believe possible. Go now to Church, my dear +mother, prepared for a happy and a joyful day.' + +'I sometimes believe, Elsie,' said Mrs. Arundel, more coldly still, +'that you have been deprived of your senses. So far from this, I shall +not be present at your wedding. I will not interfere with your holding +your marriage here, if you like; you may fill the house with your +friends, if you please. I shall myself take shelter with my more dutiful +daughter. I refuse to meet my unhappy son; I will not be a consenting +party to the tie which will entail a lifelong misery----' + +'My dear mother--you will do everything exactly as I have +prophesied.--Now, do not say any more, because it will only make our +reconciliation a little more difficult. I ought to go to Church on the +Sunday before my wedding if any day in the week. If you would only +recover your trust in my lover's honour, I could go to Church with you +and kneel beside you. But without that trust---- Oh! go, my dear mother. +You will find my prophecy come true, word for word--believe me or not.' + +Mrs. Arundel went to Church. During the service she felt strange +prickings of foreboding and of compunction and of fear, anxiety, and +hope, with a little sadness, caused by the communication and the +assurances of her daughter. Even in such a case as this, the thinker of +evil is sometimes depressed by the arrival of the prophet of good. When +Mrs. Arundel came away from Church, she became aware that she had not +heard one single word of the sermon. Not that she wanted very much to +hear the sermon, any more than the First or Second Lesson--all three +being parts of the whole which every person of respectability must hear +once a week. Only it was disquieting to come away after half an hour's +discourse with the feeling that she did not remember a single syllable +of it. She took her early dinner with the other daughter, to whom she +communicated Elsie's remarkable conduct, and her prediction and her +invitation. It was decided between them that her brain was affected--no +doubt, only for a time--and that it was not expedient for them to +interfere; that it was deplorable, but a part of what might have been +expected; and that time would show. Meanwhile, Sir Samuel reported that +it had been resolved to get a warrant for the arrest of the man Edmund +Gray, who hitherto had eluded all attempts to find him. + +'He appears to be a real person,' the knight concluded--'an elderly man, +whose character, so far as we can learn, is good. It is, however, +significant that nothing has been discovered concerning his profession +or calling. That is mysterious. For my own part, I like to know how a +man earns his daily bread. I have even consulted a person connected with +the Police. Nothing is known or suspected about him. But we shall see as +soon as he is before the magistrate.' + +'And Wednesday is so close! Oh! my dear Sir Samuel, hurry them up. Even +at the last moment--even at the risk of a terrible scandal--if Elsie +could be saved!' + +'Well,' said Sir Samuel, 'it is curious--I don't understand it--we had +arranged for the application for a warrant for Friday morning. Would you +believe it? That old donkey Checkley won't go for it--wants it put +off--says he thinks it will be of no use. What with this young man +Austin at first, and this old man Checkley next, we seem in a conspiracy +to defeat the ends of justice. But to-morrow I shall go myself to my +brother. It is time this business was finished.' + +'Yes--yes,' said Mrs. Arundel. 'And my dear Sir Samuel, before +Wednesday--let it be before Wednesday, I implore you, for all our +sakes!' + +'My dear Madam, it shall be to-morrow.' + + * * * * * + +At noon, Elsie returned to Half Moon Street, where George was waiting +for her. + +'I have made one more attempt,' she said, with tears; 'but it was +useless. Her heart is as hard about you as ever it was about Athelstan. +It is wonderful that she should have so little faith. I suppose it comes +of going into the City and trying to make money. Edmund Gray would say +so. I would have told her all, but for the old man's sake. He knows +nothing: he suspects nothing; and I want to make the case so complete +that there shall be no doubt--none whatever--possible in the minds of +the most suspicious. Even Checkley must be satisfied. I shall finish the +work, I hope, this afternoon-- Oh! George--is it possible? Is our +wedding day next Wednesday--actually next Wednesday? And the hateful +cloud shall be blown away, and--and--and----' + +For the rest of this chapter look into the book of holy kisses, where +you will very likely find it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +PLENARY CONFESSION + + +Early on Sunday afternoon Elsie started upon her mission. She was +anxious, because she was entering upon a most important business, and +one requiring the greatest delicacy in the handling. It was enough--more +than enough--that her witnesses should be able, one after the other, to +identify Mr. Dering with Mr. Edmund Gray: but how much more would her +hands be strengthened if she could produce a full and complete narrative +of the whole affair, written by the hand which had done it all? To get +that narrative was her business with the Master that afternoon. But she +was hopeful, partly because she knew her power over the philosopher; and +partly because, like every woman who respects herself, she had always +been accustomed to get exactly what she wanted, either by asking, +coaxing, flattering, or taking. + +The Master was waiting for her--one should never keep a Master +waiting--and she was a little late: he was impatient: he had so much to +talk about and to teach: one point suggested another in his mind: so +much to say: he grudged the least delay: he walked about the room +chafing because the hour appointed was already five minutes in the past: +he would scold her: she must really learn to be punctual: they had only +about five short hours before them for all he had to say. Was this the +zeal of a student? But at that point she opened the door and ran in, +breathless, smiling, eager, holding out both her hands, a dainty +delicate maiden all his own--his disciple--his daughter--the daughter of +the New Humanity--and he forgot his irritation, and took her hands in +his and kissed her forehead. 'Child,' he sighed, 'you are late. But +never mind. You are here. Why, you have grown so precious to me that I +cannot bear you to be a minute late. It is such a happiness--such a joy +in the present--such a promise for the future--that I have such a +disciple! Now sit down--take off your bonnet. I have put a chair for you +at the window--and a table for you to write. Here is your +note-book.--Now--you have thought over what I taught you last?--That is +well. Let us resume at the point where we left off--the rise of the +co-operative spirit, which is the rise of the New Humanity.' + +He talked for two hours--two long eloquent hours: he walked about the +room: or he stopped before his disciple emphasising with the forefinger +of admonition--repeating--illustrating by anecdote and memory--he had a +prodigious memory. The Scholar listened intelligently. Sometimes she +asked a question: sometimes she made notes. You must not think that she +was a sham scholar; her interest in the Master's system was not +simulated. Above all things, she loved to hear this enthusiast talk--who +would not love to hear of the New Jerusalem? Always he made her heart to +glow with the Vision that he conjured up before her eyes of a world +where there should be no more sorrow nor crying nor any more pain, nor +any of the former things. He made her actually see--what others only +read of--the Four-square City itself with its gates open night and day, +its jasper walls, and its twelve foundations of precious stones.--'Why,' +he said, 'the gates are open night and day because there is no Property +to defend; and the walls are of jasper because it is the most beautiful +of minerals, and because it can be polished like a mirror, so that the +country around is reflected on its surface, which shows that it all +belongs to the City; and the precious stones are the twelve cardinal +virtues of Humanity, on which the order of the future shall +rest--namely, Faith, Brotherly Love, Obedience, Patience, Loyalty, +Constancy, Chastity, Courage, Hope, Simplicity, Tenderness, and +Industry. It is an allegory--the whole book is an allegory--of +Humanity.' And she saw, beside the City, the river of life with the tree +of life for the healing of all nations. + +Then she clean forgot the purpose for which she had come: she was +carried away: her heart beat--her cheek glowed. Oh! Lovely Vision! Oh! +Great and glorious Prophet! He made a Heaven, and placed it on this +earth. Now the mind of man can conceive of no other happiness but that +which humanity can make out of the actual materials found upon this +earthly ball. The Heaven, even of the most spiritual, is a glorified +world; the Hell, even of the most gentle, is a world of fleshly pain: no +other Heaven attracts: no other Hell terrifies: there is no promise, or +hope, or prospect, or inheritance that man desires or poet can feign or +visionary can preach but an earthly Heaven: it must be a Heaven +containing sunshine and shower, kindly fruits in due season, love and +joy and music and art, and men and women who love each other and labour +for each other. Such a world--such a New Jerusalem--the Master drew +every day; he loved it, and lingered over it; he painted over and over +again this splendid Vision. He was never tired of painting it, or his +hearers of gazing upon it. But to-day he spoke with greater fulness, +more clearly, more brilliantly, more joyously than ever. Was the Prophet +really a man of seventy years and more? For his mind was young--the +enthusiast, like the poet, never grows old. His voice might have been +the voice of a boy--a marvellous boy--a Shelley--preaching the glories +of the world when Property should be no more. + +He ceased. And the Vision which he had raised quickly faded away. They +were back again in the dingy old Inn; they were among the solicitors and +the money-lenders and the young fellows who have their Chambers in the +place. The Inn is about as far from the New Jerusalem as any place under +the sun; it is made over bodily and belongs--every stair--every +chamber--to the interests of Property. + +He ceased his prophecy, and began to argue, to reason, to chop logic, +which was not by any means so interesting. At last he stopped this as +well. 'You have now, dear child,' he said, 'heard quite as much as you +can profitably absorb. I have noticed for the last two or three minutes +your eyes wandering and your attention wearied. Let us stop--only +remember what I have just said about the diseases of the Body Politic. +They are akin to those that affect the human body. By comparing the two +we may learn not only cause, but also effect. We have our rheumatisms, +gouts, asthmas, neuralgias, colds and coughs, fevers and other ills. So +has the Body Politic. Whence come our diseases? From the ignorance, the +follies, the vices, the greed and gluttony of our forefathers. So those +of the Body Politic. Take away Property and you destroy greed. With +that, half the diseases vanish.' + +Elsie heard and inclined her head. It did occur to her that perhaps +Property in the Body Politic might be represented by food in the Body +Human, but she forbore. The Master was one who did not invite argument. +Nearly all the great Teachers of the world, if you think of it, have +conveyed their wisdom in maxims and aphorisms. + +He took out his watch. 'It is nearly four,' he said. 'Shall we go on to +the Hall?' + +'Not yet. There is no need for us to be there before six. We have two +good hours before us. Let us use them more pleasantly than in sitting +alone in the Hall--you must own that it is stuffy. We will talk about +other things--about ourselves--not about me, because I am quite an +insignificant person, but about you, dear Master.' She was now about to +enter upon her plan of duplicity. She felt horribly ashamed, but it had +to be done. She strengthened herself: she resolved: she suppressed the +voice of conscience. + +'About me?' asked the Master. 'But what is there to talk about?' + +'Oh! there is ever so much.' She took his right hand in her own and held +it, knowing that this little caress pleased and moved him. 'Master--what +a wonderful chance it was that brought me here! I can never sufficiently +wonder at it. I have told George--George Austin--my lover, you know: and +Athelstan--he is my brother.' She looked at him sharply, but there was +no sign of recognition of those two names. Edmund Gray had never heard +of either. 'I have told them about you and of your great work, and how +you are teaching me and everything. But when they ask me who you are, +where you have lived, and all about you, I can tell them nothing. Oh! I +know it matters nothing about me and my own friends; but, my dear +Master, we have to think of the future. When the Cause has spread, and +spread, and spread, till it covers the whole world, people will want to +know all about the man who first preached its principles. Who will be +able to tell them? No one. You are alone; you have no wife or children. +Your name will remain for ever attached to the Cause itself. But +you--you--the man--what will you be? Nothing. Nothing but a name. You +ought to write an autobiography.' + +'I have sometimes thought I would do so'--his face became troubled; +'but--but----' + +'But you are always occupied with working for the world. You have no +time, of course. I quite understand that; and it worries you--does it +not?--to be called upon to turn your thoughts from the present back to +the past.' + +'Yes--yes; it does--it does. Elsie, you exactly express the +difficulty.' + +'And yet--you must own--you must confess--it is natural for the world to +want to know all about you. Who was the great Edmund Gray? Why, they +will want to know every particular--every single particular: where you +were born--where you were educated--who were your masters--what led you +to the study of Humanity and its problems--where you lived; if you were +married and to whom--what you read--who were your friends. Oh! there is +no end to the curiosity of the world about their great men.' + +'Perhaps.' He rose and looked out of the window. When men are greatly +pleased they must always be moving. 'I confess that I have never thought +of these things at all. Yet, to be sure--you are right.' He murmured and +purred. + +'No, but I have thought of them, ever since I had the happiness of being +received by you. Master, will you trust me? Shall I become your +biographer? You cannot find one more loving. You have only to give me +the materials. Now--let me ask you a few questions just for a +beginning--just to show you the kind of thing I shall want to know.' + +He laughed and sat down again. 'Why, my life has not got in it one +single solitary incident, or episode, or adventure. There are no +misfortunes in it. There is not such a thing as a disease in it. I have +always been perfectly well. There is not even a love episode or a +flirtation in it. There are not even any religious difficulties in it. +Without love, ill-health, misfortune, religious doubts--where is the +interest in the life, and what is there to tell?' + +'Well, a life that has no incident in it must be the life of a student. +It is only a student who never falls in love.' + +'Or,' said the Philosopher, 'a money-getter.' + +'Happily, there are not many students or we women should be disconsolate +indeed. Do you know, Master, that you can only be excused such a +dreadful omission in your history by that one plea? Sit down again, +Master,' for again he was walking about restlessly, partly disturbed by +her questions, and partly flattered and pleased by her reasons. She +opened her note-book and began to ask questions about himself--very +simple questions, such as would not introduce any disturbing points. He +answered readily, and she observed with interest that he gave correctly +the facts of his own--Edward Dering's--history. + +He was born, he said, in that class which upholds Property--the Better +Class--meaning the Richer. His father was a wealthy solicitor, who lived +in Bedford Row. He was born in the year 1815--Waterloo year. He was the +eldest of a family of five--three daughters and two sons. He was +educated at Westminster. On leaving school, his father offered him the +advantage of a University course, but he refused, being anxious to begin +as early as possible his life's work--as he thought--in the defence of +Property. He was therefore articled to his father; and at the age of +twenty-two he passed his examination and was admitted. + +'And then you were young--you were not yet a student--you went into +society. You saw girls and danced with them. Yet you never fell in love, +and were never married. How strange! I thought everybody wanted love. A +man's real life only begins, I have always been taught, with love and +marriage. Love means everything.' + +'To you, my child, no doubt it does. Such as you are born for love,' he +added gallantly. 'Venus herself smiles in your eyes and sits upon your +lips. But as for me I was always studious more or less, though I did not +for long find out my true line. I worked hard--I went out very little. I +was cold by nature, perhaps. I had no time to think about such things. +Now, when it is too late, I regret the loss of the experience. Doubtless +if I had that experience I should have gained greatly in the power of +persuasion. I should have a much more potent influence over the women +among my hearers. If I were a married man I should be much more in +sympathy with them.' + +'No--n--no.' Elsie hesitated a little. 'Perhaps women--especially the +younger kind--get on better with unmarried men. However, you were not +married.' + +'At first, then, I was a solicitor with my father. Then--presently----' +His face put on the troubled look again. + +'You continued,' Elsie interrupted quickly, 'to work at your profession, +though you took up other studies.' + +'No--no--not quite that.' + +'You began to take up Social problems, and gradually abandoned your +profession.' + +'No--no--not that either--quite.' + +'You found you could not reconcile your conscience any longer to +defending Property.' + +'No--I forget exactly. It is strange that one should forget a thing so +simple. I am growing old, I suppose.--Well--it matters not. I left the +profession. That is the only important thing to remember. That I did so +these Chambers prove. I came out of it. Yes, that was it. Just at the +moment, my head being full of other things, I cannot remember the exact +time, or the manner of my leaving the profession. I forget the +circumstances, probably because I attached so little importance to it. +The real point is that I came out of it and gave myself up to these +studies.' + +She noted this important point carefully and looked up for more. + +'There, my dear child, is my whole life for you. Without an incident or +an episode. I was born: I went to school: I became a solicitor: I gave +up my profession: I studied social economy: I made my great discovery: I +preached it. Then--did I say my life was without an episode and without +love? No--no--I was wrong. My daughter--I have at last found love and a +child--and a disciple. What more have I to ask?' + +'My Master!' No daughter could be more in sympathy with him than this +girl. + +'It is all most valuable and interesting,' she said, 'though the facts +are so few. Books will be written, in the future, on these facts, which +will be filled out with conjecture and inference. Even the things that +you think of so little importance will be made the subject of comment +and criticism. Well--but my Biography of you will be the first and best +and most important. I shall first make a skeleton life out of the facts, +and then fill in the flesh and blood and put on the clothes, and present +you, dear Master, just as you are.' + +'Ask me what you will, but not too often. It worries me to remember the +past. My dear, I am like a man who has made himself--who has risen from +the gutter. He cannot deny the fact, but he doesn't like to be talking +about it; and he is insulted if anyone charges him with the fact or +alludes to it in any way in his presence. That is my case exactly. I +have made myself. I have raised myself from the gutter--the gutter of +Property. I actually worked in defence of Property till I was sixty +years old and more. Now I am rather ashamed of that fact. I do not deny +it--you must put it into your Biography--but I do not like talking about +it.' + +'You were once a solicitor, and you are now a Prophet. What a leap! +What a wonderful leap! I quite understand. Yet sometimes, now and then, +for the sake of the curious impertinent world, look back and tell me +what you see.' + +'I suppose it is because I am so absorbed in my work that it is +difficult for me to remember things. Why, Elsie, day after day, from +morning to evening, I sit here at work. And in the evening I remember +nothing of the flight of time. The hours strike, but I hear them not. +Only the books on the table show what has been my occupation. And you +want me to go back, not to yesterday, but ten, twenty, thirty years ago. +My dear child, I cannot. Some of the past is clear to me--a day here and +there I remember clearly--all my evenings at the Hall of Science: my +lessons with you; those I remember. But to recall days passed in +meditation and absorbing study is not possible. No--no--I cannot even +try.' + +He spoke with a little distress, as if the very thought of the necessary +effort troubled him. + +'Believe me, my dear Master,' said Elsie, 'I would not vex you. Only for +some of the things which you do remember. For instance, the world always +wants to know about the private fortunes of its great men. Your own +affairs, you told me once, are in the hands of a--Mr.--Mr.--what is his +name?' + +'Dering--Dering. A very well known solicitor. His office is in New +Square, Lincoln's Inn--he manages my money matters. I am, I believe, +what the world calls wealthy.' + +'That gives you independence and the power of working for Humanity, does +it not?' + +'It does,' said the Scourge and Destroyer of Property, unconscious of +the incongruity. 'Dering, my solicitor, is, I believe, a very honest +man. Narrow in his views--wedded to the old school--quite unable to see +the advance of the tide. But trustworthy. He belongs to a tribe which is +indispensable so long as Property is suffered to exist.' + +'Yes--only so long. Property and lawyers will go out hand in hand.' + +'And magistrates,' he added with enthusiasm. 'And Courts of Justice and +prisons. And criminals, because the chief incentive to crime will be +destroyed. What a glorious world without a law, or a lawyer, or a +policeman!' + +'Mr. Dering, is it? Why, my dear Master, I know something about Mr. +Dering. My brother Athelstan was articled to him. He became a managing +clerk for him. Then there was trouble about a cheque. Something was +wrong about it. He was unjustly blamed or suspected, and he left the +House. I wonder, now, whether you could throw any light upon that +business of the cheque?' + +'I, my dear child? A single solitary cheque at a lawyer's office? How +should I possibly know anything about it?' + +'Oh! but you might remember this cheque, because, now I think of it, +your own name was connected with it. Yes--it was. I am certain it was. +The cheque was drawn in March in the year 1882--a cheque for seven +hundred and twenty pounds, payable to your order--the order of Edmund +Gray.' + +'A cheque for seven hundred and twenty pounds? In March 1882? That must +have been: yes--yes--that was about the time. Now, this is really most +remarkable, child, most remarkable that you should actually hit upon a +cheque--one of thousands issued from that office--which I should +remember perfectly. Life is full of coincidences--one is always hearing +odd things said, meeting faces which one knows.--Well, it is most +remarkable, because I received a cheque for that very amount at that +very time from Dering. Oh! I remember perfectly. It was when I had a +scheme--I thought it then, being younger than I am now--a very good +scheme indeed. It was intended for the gradual destruction of Property. +I did not understand at that time so fully as I do now the rising of the +tide and the direction of the current which is steadily advancing to +overwhelm Property without any feeble efforts on my part. Yet my scheme +was good so far as it went, and it might have been started with good +effect, but for the apathy of the workers. You see, they were not +educated up to it. I had already begun upon my scheme by advancing to +certain working men sums which should make them independent of their +employers until they should have produced enough to sell directly, +without the aid of an employer, at their own co-operative stores. +Unfortunately, most of them drank the money: the few who used it +properly, instead of backing up their fellow-workmen, became themselves +employers, and are now wealthy. Well, I thought I would extend this +method. I thought that if I got together a chosen band--say, of seventy +or so--and if, after teaching them and educating them a bit, I gave +them, say, ten pounds apiece, to tide them over the first few weeks, +that I might next open a distributive and co-operative store for them, +and so take the first step to abolishing the middle-man--the man of +trade.' + +'I see; and so you drew the money for that purpose?' + +'Yes. But as I told you, I was obliged to abandon my scheme. The men +were not sufficiently advanced. They listened; they professed great +willingness to receive the money; but they gave me no encouragement to +hope that they would carry out my plan. So it fell through. And the men +remain to this day with their employers. And so--you see--I never used +the money. I remember that I had the cheque cashed in ten-pound notes +for the purpose.' + +'What became of the notes?' + +'I don't know. They are in the Bank, I suppose--wandering about the +world. I gave them back to Dering.' + +'Oh! my dear Master'--Elsie sprang to her feet and laid a sheet of paper +on the table--'this is most Providential! I cannot tell you what a +dreadful cause of trouble this cheque has been to us. It has half ruined +my brother's life. For Heaven's sake, write it all down for me. Quick! +quick! before you forget it all.' + +'I shall not forget it. Nevertheless, Elsie, if a statement of the facts +can be of any use to you'--he changed his seat and took up the +pen--'certainly I will write it for you.' + +'I am requested,' he wrote, 'by Miss Elsie Arundel, my Scholar, to state +what I know of a certain transaction which took place in March 1882. The +facts are as follows: I had need of a sum of seven hundred and twenty +pounds. For certain purposes I wanted it in ten-pound notes. I asked my +agent, Mr. Dering, to give me a cheque; and as I thought that I should +want the money immediately, perhaps in an hour or so, I asked him to +make it payable to my order, and not to cross the cheque. He drew the +cheque and gave it to me in his office. I then went to the hotel where I +was stopping--a place in Arundel Street, Strand, and sent a +commissionaire to the Bank for the money. He brought it, as I had +requested, in ten-pound notes. In a few days I discovered that my plan +could not be even commenced without the greatest danger of defeating its +own object. I therefore took the notes to Mr. Dering's office and placed +them in his safe. I suppose that he has long since returned them to the +Bank.' + +'There, child,' he said, reading this statement aloud. 'That is what I +recollect about this matter.' + +'Sign it.' Elsie gave him the pen again. 'Sign it, dear Master.--Oh! +thanks--thanks a thousand times! You don't know--oh! you will never know +or understand--I hope--how precious this document will be for me'--she +folded the paper in an envelope and placed it in her handbag--'and for +my people--my brother and all. Oh! my dear Master.' She stooped and +kissed his hand, to hide the tears in her eyes. Athelstan's name was +safe now whatever happened. He would be completely cleared at last. + +'Why, my dear Scholar--my dear daughter.' Mr. Edmund Gray was moved +himself almost to tears at this unexpected burst of feeling. 'As if +there was anything I would not do for you if I could. I, who have never +loved any woman before, love one now. She is my daughter--my +grandchild.--So your brother will be helped by this little +reminiscence--will he? Actually, your brother! I wonder if there is +anything more that I could remember for you in this uneventful life of +mine.' + +'Oh no!--that would be too much to hope. Yet there is a chance--just a +chance. I wonder if I may tell you. There is still time before us. If we +are at the Hall by six we shall do very well. It is no more than +half-past four. Shall I tell you the trouble? Oh! But it is a shame. And +you with this great work laid upon you! No--no--I must not.' Oh! +Delilah! oh! Circe! for she looked as if, in spite of her unwilling +words, she wanted to tell it very badly indeed. + +'Nay, my dear. You must, and you shall.--What? You are in trouble, and +you will not tell me what it is. You--my Scholar--my clear-eyed +disciple, who can see what these dull creatures of clay around us can +never understand--you are in trouble, and you hesitate to tell me?--Fie! +fie! Speak now. Tell me all.' + +'I have told you that I have a lover, and that I am engaged to be +married.' + +'Yes--yes. His name, too, you have told me. It is George--George Austin. +There were Austins once--I seem to remember--but that does not matter.' + +'We are to be married on Wednesday.' + +'So soon? But you have promised that I shall not lose my pupil.' + +'No, dear Master. As soon as we come back from our holiday, I will come +and see you again and learn of you. Do not doubt that. I can never again +let you go out of my life. I shall bring my--my husband with me.' + +'If I thought your marriage would take you away from me, I should be the +most unhappy of men. But I will spare you for a month--two months--as +long as you please. Now, tell me what is on your mind.' + +'George was one of Mr. Dering's managing clerks--your Mr. Dering, you +know.'--Mr. Edmund Gray nodded gravely. 'He had no money when we were +engaged, and we thought that we were going to be quite a poor and humble +pair. But a great piece of good fortune happened to him, for Mr. Dering +made him a Partner.' + +'Did he? Very lucky for your friend. But I always thought that Dering +ought to have a Partner. At his age it was only prudent--necessary, +even.' + +'So we were made very happy; and I thought we were the luckiest couple +in the world. But just then there was a discovery made at the office--a +very singular discovery--I hardly know how to describe it, because it is +not quite clear to me even yet. It was concerned with the buying or +selling or transfer of certain stocks and shares and coupons and that +kind of thing. Mr. Dering seems not to remember having signed the papers +concerned. There is a fear that they are in wrong hands. There is a +suspicion of forgery even. I am ashamed even to mention such a thing to +you, but my lover's name has been connected with the business; and +Dering's clerk, Checkley--you know Checkley?'-- + +'Certainly--Dering's old servant.' + +'Has openly charged George--on no evidence, to be sure--of having forged +the letters or of having assisted in the forgery.' + +'This is very serious.' + +'It is very serious; but we do not intend to let the thing interfere +with our wedding. Only, unless I can remove the last ray of suspicion +before Wednesday, we shall spend our honeymoon at home, in order to +watch the case from day to day.' + +'Buying or selling stocks? Dering would be constantly doing that.' + +'It appears that these transactions were the only things of the kind +that he has done this year. That is to say, he denies having done +these.' + +'Well--as for these having been the only transactions of the kind, he +managed a good bit of such business for me this last spring.' + +'Did he? Do you remember the details of that business?' + +'Clearly. It was only yesterday, so to speak.' + +'Was it the purchase or transfer of stock or shares?' + +'Certainly. To a very large amount. I have told you about my Industrial +Village, have I not? The Village where all are to be equal--all are to +work for a certain time every day, and no longer--all are to be paid in +rations and clothes and houses, and there is to be no private +property--my Ideal Village.' + +'I know. A lovely Village.' + +'It was early in the spring that I finished my designs for it. Then it +occurred to me that it would be well if, instead of always going to my +lawyer for money, I had a large sum at my command lying at my Bank. So I +instructed Dering to transfer to my name a great quantity of stocks +lying in his name. He was a trustee or a--well--it is rather unusual, +but I like having all my business affairs managed for me, and---- But +this will not interest you'--this with the look of irritation or +bewilderment which sometimes passed over his face. 'The important thing +is that it was done, and that my Bank received those transfers, and has +instructions to receive the dividends.' + +'Oh! And has all the papers, I suppose?' + +'It had them. But I thought that perhaps my old friend might think it +looked like want of confidence if I left them there, so I sent for them, +and took them to his office. They are now in the safe. I put them there +myself with my own hand; or he did with his own hand--I forget. +Sometimes--it is very odd--when I think of things done at that office, I +seem to have done it myself; and sometimes I think that he did it. Not +that it matters.' + +'Not at all. The papers are actually in the safe again?' + +'Certainly. I--that is--he--he or I--put them there.' + +'Oh! my dear Master'--Elsie clapped her hands--'this is even more +important than the other. You do not know--you cannot guess--what +mischiefs you are able to stop. If I had only been able to talk to you +about these things before! The paper you have already written is for my +brother. Now sit down, my Master, and write another that will do for +me.' + +'I will do anything you ask me--and everything. But as for this, why not +ask Dering? His memory never fails. His mind is like a box which holds +everything and can never be filled. Perhaps he would not like these +private affairs--as between solicitor and client--to be talked about.' + +'We cannot go to Mr. Dering. There are certain reasons which would not +interest you. All we want is a clear, straightforward statement, an +exact statement of what happened. Sit down now and write me a full +account of each transaction.' + +'Certainly; if it will be of the least use to you.' + +'Early in the present year,' he began, 'I found that my plan of an +Industrial Village if it was to be carried into effect would want all +the money I could command. It occurred to me that it would be well to +transfer a certain sum from the hands of my agent, and to place it in my +own Bank ready to hand. I began then, in March, with a sum of six +thousand pounds, which Dering, by my instructions, handed over to my +Bank in the form of shares and stocks. I believe they were transfers of +certain stocks held by him in his own name, but forming part of my +fortune--my large private fortune. The Bank was instructed to receive +the dividends on that sum. A month or so later I obtained from Dering +other stock to the value of twelve thousand pounds, the papers of which +were also given to my Bank. And after that I took out papers +representing twenty thousand pounds; so that I had in my hands, ready to +be sold out and used at a moment's notice, no less than thirty-eight +thousand pounds. All this money I intended to devote to my Industrial +Village. The scheme is still one in which I put my whole confidence. But +it has not yet been carried into effect, in consequence of the +difficulty of finding working men equal to the situation. They +understand working for the man who has the money; they do not understand +working for the man who has none, that is for each other and for +themselves. For my own part I could only find working men of that stamp. +Perhaps I am too much in the study. I do not go about enough among +working men. There must be some advanced to my stage of +development.--Well, for want of men, I could not start my Village, and I +have not used the money. As for the papers, I have taken them out of the +Bank and placed them in Dering's safe.' + +Elsie looked over his shoulder, reading every word. 'The letters which +Mr. Dering wrote to the stockbroker in accordance with your +instructions. They were written for him--perhaps--by you. It is unusual, +but----' + +'I told you,' he replied sharply. 'What is the use of saying things +twice? There are some things which confuse a man. I wrote them--he wrote +them--he acted for me--or I acted for myself. What matter? The end is as +I have written down for you.--Now, will this paper be of any use to +you?' + +'Of the greatest use. Please sign it, dear Master.' + +He obeyed, and signed 'Edmund Gray.' + +'There is one thing more.' Elsie saw in his face signs of disquiet, and +hastened on. 'You have got your Bank book here?' + +'Yes. The Manager sent it here with an impertinent note about +references, which I have sent on to Dering.--What do you want with the +Bank book? It is in one of those drawers. See--here it is--cheque book +too.' + +'If I were you, Master, I would have no more trouble about the money. +You have given Mr. Dering the transfers and papers--why not give him +back the money as well? Do not be bothered with money matters. It is of +all things important to you to be free from all kinds of business and +money matters. Who ever heard of a Prophet drawing a cheque? You sit +here and work and meditate. You go to the Hall of Science and teach. It +is the business of your friends to see that all your necessities are +properly supplied.--Now, if you will in these minor matters suffer your +friends to advise----' + +'Surely. I ask for nothing else.' + +'Then, dear Master, here is your cheque book and here your Bank book. +Draw a cheque payable to the order of Edward Dering for all the money +that is lying here--I see it is seven hundred and twenty-three pounds +five shillings and threepence.--I will take care of the cheque--so.--Oh! +you have signed Edward Dering--careless Master! Draw another--now sign +it Edmund Gray.--That will do.--And you had better at the same time +write a letter to the Bank asking the Manager in future to receive the +dividends for the account of Mr. Dering. I will write the letter, and +you shall sign it. Now--no--no--not Edward Dering--Edmund Gray. Your +thoughts are wandering.--There!--Now, dear Master, you are free from +everything that might trouble you.' + +The Master pushed back the blotting-pad with impatience, and rose from +the chair. Elsie took possession of the signed cheques, the cheque book, +the Bank book, and the letter. She had all--the statement in Edmund +Gray's own handwriting-all--all--that was wanted to clear up the +business from the beginning to the end. She put everything together in +her handbag. She glanced at her companion: she perceived that his face +was troubled. 'I wish,' he said fretfully, 'that you had not worried me +with those questions about the past. They disturb me. The current of my +thoughts is checked. I am full of Dering and his office and his +safe--his safe--and all----' + +Elsie trembled. His face was changing--in a minute he would have +returned to Mr. Dering, and she would have had to explain. 'Master,' she +cried, laying her hand upon his arm, 'think. We are going to the Hall of +Science--your Hall of Science--yours. The people are waiting for their +Prophet. You are to address them. To-night you must surpass yourself, +because there are strangers coming. Tell us--once again--all over +again--of that world where there is no crime, no suffering, no iniquity, +no sin, no sorrow--where there are no poor creatures deprived by a cruel +social order of liberty, of leisure, of comfort, of virtue, of +everything--poor wretches born only to toil and to endure. Think of +them. Speak for them. Plan for them. Make our hearts burn within us for +shame and rage. Oh, Master'--for his face was troubled still and +doubtful, as if he was hovering on the border-land between himself and +his other self--'no one can speak to them like you; no one has your +power of speech: make them feel that new world--make them see +it--actually see it with their earthly eyes--make them feel it in their +hearts.' + +'Child'--he sighed; his face fell back into repose--'you comfort me. I +was falling--before you came to me I often used to fall--into a fit of +gloom--I don't know why. Something irritates me; something jars; +something awakens a feeling as if I ought to remember--remember--what? I +do not know.--I am better now. Your voice, my dear, at such a moment is +to me like the sound of David's harp to Saul. It chases away the +shadows. Oh! I am better already. I am well. If you want to ask any +other questions, do so. As for those transactions--they are perfectly +correct in form and everything. I cannot for the life of me understand +why Dering, who is a practical man----' + +'Never mind Dering, my dear Master--or those transactions. Think only of +the world of the New Humanity. Leave the transactions and the papers to +me. I hope that you will never find out why they were wanted, or how +they were to be used.--Now let us start. We shall be in excellent time.' + +The Hall of Science was half full of people--the usual gathering--those +who came every Sunday evening and took the simple feast of fraternity. +The table was spread with the white cloth, on which were laid out the +toast and muffins, the ham and shrimps, and bread and butter and +watercress; and on the appearance of the Chief, the tea was brought up, +and they all sat down. Now, it had been observed by all that since the +adhesion of this young lady the Leader's discourses had been much more +confident, his manner had been clearer, his points more forcibly put. +This was because, for the first time, he had had an opportunity of +discussing his own doctrines with a mind able to follow him. Nothing so +valuable to a teacher of new things as a sympathetic woman for listener +and disciple. Witness the leading example of the Prophet Mohammed. Also, +their leader had never before been so cheerful--so hopeful--so full of +life and youth and spring. He was young again: he talked like a young +man, though his hair was gray. This was because he loved a woman, for +the first time in his life: he called it paternal affection: whatever +kind of love it was, it worked in him the same miracle that love always +works in man--young or old--it gave him back the fire of youth. + +This evening he sat at the head of the table dispensing his simple +hospitality with a geniality and a heartiness unknown before the arrival +of this young lady. He talked, meantime, in the lofty vein, above the +style and manner common to his hearers, but not above their +comprehension; he spoke of a higher life attainable by man at his best, +when the victory over nature should be complete, and every force should +be subdued and made slave to man, and all diseases should be swept away, +and the Perfect man should stand upon the earth at last, Lord and Master +of all--Adamus Redivivus. When that time should come, there would be no +Property, of course; everything was to be in common; but the new life +would be full of love and joy; there would be long-continued youth, so +that none should be made to rise from the feast unsatisfied; nay, it +seemed to this Dreamer that everyone should continue at the feast as +long as he pleased, till he was satiated and desired a change. +Long-continued youth; all were to be young, and to keep young; the girls +were to be beautiful and the men strong; he pronounced--he--the +hermit--the anchorite--the celibate who knew not love--a eulogy on the +beauty of women: and he mourned over those men who miss their share of +love. + +The hearts of those who heard were uplifted, for this man had the +mesmeric faculty of compelling those who heard him to feel what he +wanted them to feel. Most of them had been accustomed to regard their +Leader as a man of benevolent manners but austere principles. Now he was +tender and human, full of sympathy even with those weak vessels who fall +in love, and for the sake of love are content to be all their lives +slaves--yea, even slaves to Property. + +After tea, the tables being cleared, the Chief pronounced his weekly +address or sermon. It was generally a discourse on the principles, which +all professed, of equality and the abolition of Property. To-night, he +carried on the theme on which he had spoken at tea-time, and discoursed +on the part which should be played by Love in the New Humanity. Never +before had he spoken so convincingly. Never had orator an audience more +in sympathy with him. + +Shortly after the beginning of the address, there arrived two gentlemen, +young and well dressed, who sat down modestly just within the door and +listened. The people turned and looked at them with interest. They were +not quite the kind of young man peculiar to the street or to the +quarter. + +When the lecture was over and the audience crowded together to talk +before they separated, Elsie slipped across to the new-comers and led +them to the lecturer. 'Master,' she said, 'this is my brother +Athelstan.' + +Mr. Edmund Gray shook hands with him. 'Why, Elsie,' he said, 'your +brother and I have met already in Gray's Inn.' + +'And this is my friend George Austin, Partner of Mr. Dering.' + +'Mr. Austin,' said Mr. Edmund Gray, 'I am glad to meet the man who is +about to enter into the most sacred of all bonds with one whom I venture +to love, sir, as much as you yourself can do, though I love her as my +daughter, and you love her as your bride. You will be the happiest of +men. Take care, sir, that you deserve your happiness.' + +'This day,' said Elsie, 'you have rendered us all such a service as can +never be acknowledged, or repaid, or forgotten. Yet we hope and pray +that somehow you will never understand how great it is.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +LE CONSEIL DE FAMILLE + + +'Checkley,' said Mr. Dering on Monday morning, 'here is a note from Miss +Elsie Arundel. She makes an appointment with me at four o'clock this +afternoon. Keep me free for that hour. Her brother Athelstan is coming +with her.--What's the matter, man?' + +'It's coming, then. I knew it would come,' Checkley groaned. 'It's all +over at last.' + +'What is all over?' + +'Everything. But don't you believe it. Tell 'em it's a lie made up to +screen themselves. They can't prove it. Nobody can prove it. I'll back +you up. Only don't you believe it. Mind--it is a lie--a made-up lie.' + +'I don't know what has been the matter with you for the last day or two, +Checkley. What am I not to believe? What is a lie? Who is making up a +lie which cannot be proved?' + +'Oh! I can't say the word--I can't. It's all over at last--at last.' He +ran out of the room and slammed the door behind him. + + * * * * * + +'My dear mother'--Hilda drove to Pembridge Square directly after +breakfast--'I have had a most curious letter from Elsie. What does it +mean? She orders--she does not invite--she positively orders--Sir +Samuel--actually orders Sir Samuel!--and myself to attend at Mr. +Dering's office at four. We are ordered to assist, she says, at the +demolition of the structure we have so carefully erected.--What +structure? What does she mean? Here is the letter.' + +'I too, dear, have had a letter from her. She says that at four o'clock +this afternoon all the wrongful and injurious suspicions will be cleared +away, and that if I value the affection of my son and herself--the +affection of herself--I must be present.--Hilda, what does this mean? I +am very much troubled about the letter. On Saturday, she came here and +informed me that the wedding would be held on Wednesday just as if +nothing had happened; and she foretold that we should all be present, +and that Athelstan would give her away--Athelstan. It is a very +disquieting letter, because, my dear, do you think we could all of +us--could we possibly be wrong, have been wrong from the very +beginning--in Athelstan's case? Could Sir Samuel be wrong in George's +case?' + +'My dear mother, it is impossible. The case, unhappily, is too clear to +admit of any doubt. Sir Samuel, with his long experience, could not be +wrong.' + +'Then, Hilda dear, what can Elsie mean?' + +'We have been talking about it all through breakfast. The only +conclusion we can come to is, that there is going to be a smothering up +of the whole business. Mr. Dering, who has been terribly put out with +the case, must have consented to smother up the matter. We think that +the papers have been returned with the money received on dividends and +coupons; and that Mr. Dering has agreed to take no further proceedings. +Now, if he would do that, Athelstan of course would come under a kind of +Act of Indemnity; and as the notes were never used by him, but were +returned to their owner, it becomes as easy to recognise his innocence +as that of the other man.--Do you see?' + +'Yes. But that will not make them innocent.' + +'Certainly not. But it makes all the difference in the world. Oh! there +are families everywhere who have had to smother up things in order to +escape a scandal. Well, I hope you will agree with us, and accept the +invitation.' + +'I suppose I must.--But how about removing all the suspicions?' + +'Oh! that is only Elsie's enthusiastic way. She will go on, if she +likes, believing that George had nothing to do with it. He will have +every inducement to live honestly for the future. We can easily pretend +to believe that Athelstan was always innocent, and we can persuade +him--at least I hope we can persuade him--to go abroad. Sir Samuel +kindly says that he will advance a hundred pounds in order to get rid of +him. Then there will be no scandal, and everybody will be satisfied. As +for our relations with Elsie and her husband, we can arrange them +afterwards. Perhaps they will agree to live in a distant suburb--say +Redhill, or Chislehurst, or Walthamstow--so that there may be a good +excuse for never having them to the house. Because--smothering or no +smothering--I can no longer have the same feelings towards Elsie as +before. Her obstinate infatuation for that man exasperates me only to +think of it. Nor have I the least intention of being on intimate +relations with a forger who has only just escaped being a convict. Sir +Samuel entirely agrees with me.' + +The mother sighed. 'I could have wished that we were mistaken. Perhaps, +after all, there may be something that Elsie has found out, some +unexpected----' + +'Say a miracle at once, my dear mother. It is just as likely to happen.' + + * * * * * + +The first to arrive at the office in the afternoon was Elsie herself, +carrying a handbag. + +'You were going to bring your brother, Elsie,' said Mr. Dering. 'Where +is he? And what is your important business with me? I suppose it is +something about this wretched forgery, which really seems destined to +finish me off. I have heard of nothing else--I think of nothing +else--ever since it happened.' + +'First, has anything new been discovered?' + +'I hardly know,' Mr. Dering replied wearily. 'They seem to have found +the man Edmund Gray; but Checkley has suddenly cooled. Formerly, he +clamoured perpetually that we must lose no time in getting a warrant for +his arrest; he now wants to put it off and put it off. He was going on +very strangely this morning. My dear, I sometimes think that my old +clerk is off his head.' + +'And you yourself--have you had any return of your forgetfulness?' + +'Worse--worse.--Every day, worse. I now know when to look for a return +of these fits. Every morning I ask myself what I did the day before. +Always there are the same hours of forgetfulness--the morning and the +evening. Last night, where was I? Perhaps somebody will find out for +me--for I cannot remember.' + +'Shall I find out for you, Mr. Dering? If I were to tell you where you +spent the evening yesterday, would you--would you?----' + +'What? How can you find out?' + +Elsie bent her head. The moment had almost arrived, and she was afraid. +She had come with the intention of clearing her brother and her lover at +the cost of letting her guardian know that he was insane. A dreadful +price to pay for their honour. But it had to be paid. And it must be +done in the sight of all, so that there should be no possible margin +left for malignity or suspicion. + +'This business,' she said, 'concerns the honour of the two men who are +dearer to me than all the world beside. Remember that--nothing short of +that would make me do what I have been doing--what I am now doing. Their +honour--oh! their honour. Think what it means to them. Self-respect, +dignity, everything: the happiness of their homes: the pride of their +children. Compared with one man's honour, what matters another man's +humiliation? What matters the loss of that man's self-respect? What +matters his loss of dignity? Their honour, Mr. Dering, think of +that--their honour!' + +He bowed his head gravely, wondering what was to follow. + +'A man's honour, as you say, Elsie, is the greatest thing in the world +to him. Compared with that, another man's self-respect need not, I +should say, as a general principle, be considered at all. Self-respect +may be regained unless honour is lost.' + +'Remember that, then, Mr. Dering, when you hear what I have to say. +Promise me to remember that. Oh! if there were a thousand reasons, +formerly, why I would not pain you by a single word, there are ten +thousand now--although you understand them not.' + +'Why, Elsie, you are troubling your little head about trifles. You will +not offend me whatever you say.' + +'It is so important a thing,' she went on, 'that I have asked my mother +and sister and Sir Samuel to meet us here at four o'clock, in order that +they, too, may hear as well as you. Athelstan is with George. They have +one or two persons to introduce to you.' + +'All this seems to promise a meeting of some interest, and so far as one +may judge from the preamble, of more than common importance. Well, +Elsie, I am quite in your hands. If you and your brother between you +will kindly produce the forger and give me back my property, I shall be +truly grateful.' + +'You shall see, Mr. Dering. But as for the gratitude----Oh! here is Sir +Samuel.' + +The City knight appeared, large and important. He shook hands with Elsie +and his brother, and took up his position on the hearth-rug, behind his +brother's chair. 'Well, Elsie,' he said, 'we are to hear something very +important indeed, if one may judge by the tone of your letter, which was +imperative.' + +'Very important indeed, Sir Samuel.' + +The next to arrive were Mrs. Arundel and Hilda. They wore thick veils, +and Hilda was dressed in a kind of half-mourning. They took chairs at +the open window, between the historic safe and the equally historic +small table. Lastly, George and Athelstan walked in. They received no +greetings. + +Mr. Dering rose. 'Athelstan,' he said, 'it is eight years since you left +us.' He held out his hand. + +'Presently, Mr. Dering,' said Athelstan. He looked round the room. His +mother trembled, dropped her head, and put her handkerchief to her eyes, +but said nothing. His sister looked out of window. Sir Samuel took no +notice of him at all. Athelstan took a chair--the clients' chair--and +placed it so as to have his mother and sister at the side. He was not +therefore compelled to look at them across the table. He sat down, and +remained in silence and motionless. + +The Court was now complete. Mr. Dering sat in his chair before his +table, expectant, judicial. Sir Samuel stood behind him. Mrs. Arundel +and Hilda, the two ladies, sat at the open window. Elsie stood opposite +to Mr. Dering, on the other side of the table, her handbag before her. +She looked like Counsel about to open the case for plaintiff. +Athelstan--or plaintiff--naturally occupied the clients' chair on Mr. +Dering's left; and George, as naturally--the other plaintiff--stood +behind him. + +'Now, Elsie, if you please,' Mr. Dering began. + +'I shall want your clerk, Checkley, to be present, if you please.' + +Mr. Dering touched his bell. The clerk appeared. He stood before them +like a criminal, pale and trembling. He looked at his master +appealingly. His hands hung beside him. Yet not a word of accusation had +been brought against him. + +'Lord! Man alive!' cried Sir Samuel, 'what on earth has come over you?' + +Checkley shook his head sadly, but made no reply. + +'I want to ask you a question or two, Checkley,' said Elsie, quietly. +'You have told Mr. Dering--you have told Sir Samuel--that you saw my +brother furtively put a parcel--presumably the stolen notes--into the +safe at the very moment when you were charging him with forgery. Now, +consider. That was a very serious thing to say. It was a direct +statement of fact. Before, the charge rested on suspicion alone; but +this is fact. Consider carefully. You may have been mistaken. Any of us +may make a mistake.' + +'It was true--Gospel truth--I see him place a parcel--along sideways--in +the safe. The parcel we found afterwards in the safe containing all the +notes.' The words were confident; but the manner was halting. + +'Very well. Next, you told Sir Samuel that my brother had been living in +some low suburb of London with profligate companions, and that he had +been even going about in rags and tatters.' + +'Yes, I did. I told Sir Samuel what I heard. Mr. Carstone told me. You'd +better ask him. I only told what I heard.' + +George went out, and returned, bringing with him Mr. Freddy Carstone. He +looked round the room and stared with surprise at Mr. Dering, but said +nothing. He had been warned to say nothing, except in answer to +questions. + +'Now, Mr. Carstone,' Elsie asked him, 'how long is it since you met my +brother after his return to England?' + +'About three weeks ago I met him. It was in Holborn. I invited him into +the _Salutation_ Tavern.' + +'Did you tell Mr. Checkley here anything about his way of living?' + +'I remember saying, foolishly, that he looked too respectable to have +come from America; and I said in joke that I believed he had been in +Camberwell all the time.' + +'Nothing about profligacy?' + +'Nothing at all.' + +'Nothing about rags and tatters?' + +'Certainly not. In fact, I knew nothing at all about Athelstan's life +during the eight years that he has been away.' + +'Have you anything to say, Checkley? You still stick to the parcel +story, do you? Very well, and to the Camberwell and profligacy story?' + +Checkley made no answer. + +'Now, then. There is another question. You made a great point about +certain imitations of Mr. Dering's writing found in a drawer of +Athelstan's table?' + +'Well, they were there, in your brother's hand.' + +'George, you have something to say on this point.' + +'Only this. I was not long articled at that time. The table was taken +from the room in which I sat, and placed here for some special work. +Now, the imitations of Mr. Dering's handwriting were made by myself and +another clerk in joke. I remember them perfectly. They were written at +the back of a letter addressed to me.' + +Mr. Dering went to the safe and produced the bundle containing all the +papers in the case. He unrolled the bundle and placed the contents on +the table. + +Everybody was now serious. Lady Dering looked out of the window no +longer. Mrs. Arundel had drawn her chair to the table. + +Elsie picked out the paper containing the imitations. 'Tell me,' she +said, 'if you remember--mind--everybody--this bundle of papers has never +been shown to George--tell me the name of your correspondent?' + +'It was Leonard Henryson.' + +She gave the paper to Mr. Dering. 'You see,' she said. + +The lawyer gave it to his brother, who passed it on to his wife, who +gave it to her mother. Mrs. Arundel laid it on the table and raised her +veil. + +'The next point,' said Elsie, 'is about Athelstan's whereabouts during +the last eight years. One letter was received by you, Mr. Dering, four +years ago. You have already shown it to me. Will you let me read this +letter aloud for all to hear?' It was in the bundle with the stopped +notes. He bowed assent--and she read it. + +'Twelve thousand pounds!' cried Sir Samuel--'twelve thousand pounds! All +he had! Good Heavens?' + +'All he had in the world,' said Elsie. 'And all for a child who refused +to believe that her brother could be a villain! All he had in the +world?' Her eyes filled with tears--but she dashed them aside and went +on. + +'He was in the States four years ago. That, I suppose, will no longer be +denied. The next question is--when did he return to this country?' + +George left the room again, and returned with a young gentleman. + +'This gentleman,' Elsie continued, 'comes from Messrs. Chenery & Sons, +bankers, of New York and London. He has brought a letter with him. Will +you kindly let me see it, sir?--It is,' she explained, 'a letter of +credit brought over by my brother from California. You see the +date--June 20th of this year.' + +Mr. Dering read it, and gave it to his brother, who gave it to his wife, +as before. + +'It says that Mr. Athelstan Arundel, one of the staff of a certain +Californian paper, will leave New York on June the 21st by the +_Shannon_, and that he is authorised to draw on Messrs. Chenery & Sons +for so much.--Thank you.' The young gentleman retired. + +'Now, Mr. Dering, are you satisfied that Athelstan was in America four +years ago--that he left America two months ago, and that he was then on +the staff of a Californian paper?' + +'There seems no reason to doubt these facts.--But'--he put his +forefinger on the cheque payable to the order of Edmund Gray--'are we +any nearer to the forger of this cheque?' + +'I am coming to that presently. I am going to show you all, so that +there shall be no doubt whatever, who is the forger--the one hand--in +the business. Wait a little.' + +Strangely enough, every eye fell upon Checkley, who now trembled and +shook with every sign of terror. + +'Sit down, Checkley,' said his master.--'Elsie, do we want this +gentleman any longer? His name I have not the pleasure of knowing.' + +'Oh! come,' said Mr. Carstone, who was nearest. 'You know my name, +surely.' + +George warned him with a look, and he subsided into silence. + +'I think I shall want you, Mr. Carstone,' Elsie replied, 'if you will +kindly take a chair and wait.--Now, Sir Samuel, I think I am right in +saying that your belief in the guilt of George rested entirely on the +supposed complicity of Athelstan. That gone, what becomes of your +charge? Also, there is no doubt, I believe, that one hand, and one hand +alone, has committed the whole long list of letters and forgeries. If, +therefore, Athelstan could not execute the second business, how could he +do the first? But I have more than arguments for you.' + +Sir Samuel coughed. Mrs. Arundel sighed. + +'As regards the charge against George, apart from his supposed intimacy +with an imaginary criminal, the only suspicious thing is that he may +have had access to the open safe. Well, Checkley also may have had +access.--Don't be afraid, Checkley--we are not going to charge you with +the thing at all. You are not the forger. In fact, there was a third +person who had access to the safe.' + +She opened her handbag and took out a packet of papers. + +Then she sat down, with these in her hand, and leaning over the table, +she looked straight and full into Mr. Dering's eyes, and began to talk +slowly in a low and murmuring voice. And now, indeed, everybody +understood that something very serious indeed was going to be said and +done. At the last moment a way had occurred to Elsie. She would let them +all see for themselves what had happened, and she would spare her +guardian the bitter shame and pain of being exposed in the presence of +all this company. + +'Mr. Dering,' she began, 'you have strangely forgotten that you know Mr. +Edmund Gray. How could you come to forget that? Why, it is ten years at +least since you made his acquaintance. He knows you very well. He does +not pretend to have forgotten you. You are his solicitor. You have the +management of his property--his large private fortune--in your hands. +You are his most intimate friend. It is not well to forget old friends, +is it? You must not say that you forget Edmund Gray.' + +Mr. Dering changed colour. His eyes expressed bewilderment. He made no +reply. + +'You know that Edmund Gray leaves this room every evening on his way to +Gray's Inn: you remember that. And that he comes here every morning, but +not till eleven or twelve--two hours after the time that you yourself +used to come. His head is always so full of his thoughts and his +teaching, that he forgets the time between twelve and four, just as you +forget the evening and the morning. You are both so much absorbed that +you cannot remember each other.' + +Mr. Dering sat upright, the tips of his fingers touching. He listened at +first gravely--though anxiously. Presently a remarkable change passed +over his face; he became full of anxiety. He listened as if he was +trying to remember; as if he was trying to understand. + +'Edmund Gray,' he said, speaking slowly. 'Yes, I remember my client +Edmund Gray. I have a letter to write for him. What is it? Excuse me a +moment; I must write that note for him.' He took pen and paper and +hastily wrote a note, which Elsie took from him, read, and gave to Sir +Samuel. + +'You want to tell the banker that Mr. Edmund Gray has returned you the +transfers.--Yes.--Thank you. I thought you could not forget that client, +of all others.' + +He leaned back smiling--his expression no longer anxious, but pleased +and happy. The change transformed him. He was not Mr. Dering, but +another. + +'Go on, child.' + +'The rooms of Gray's Inn are quiet all day long. It is a peaceful place +for study, is it not? You sit there, your books before you, the world +forgotten.' + +'Quite forgotten,' said Mr. Dering. + +'No--no,' cried Checkley, springing to his feet. 'I won't have it done. +I----' + +'Sit down.' George pushed him back into his chair. 'Another word, and +you leave the room.' + +'It is a peaceful day,' Elsie continued, 'that you pass--for the most +part alone--you with your books. Sometimes you come here to call upon +your old friend and solicitor, Mr. Dering.' + +'Sometimes,' he replied. 'We are very old friends. Though his views are +narrow.--Where is he?' He looked about the room. 'You are all waiting to +see him? He will be here directly. He is always here about this time.' + +'Yes, directly. You remember what I said to you on Sunday concerning +certain transactions? I told you how important it was to have the exact +truth about them.' + +'Certainly. I remember. I wrote an account of them for you.' + +'You did. Are these papers what you wrote?' + +He looked at them for a moment. 'These are my papers,' he said. 'They +are what I wrote at your request. They contain a perfectly true account +of what happened.' + +'Now, before I go on, you will not mind--these people here do not know +Mr. Edmund Gray--you will not mind my asking a few persons to testify +that you are really Mr. Edmund Gray?' + +'My dear child, ask all the world if you wish; though I do not +understand why my identity should be doubted.' + +'Not quite all the world.--Mr. Carstone, will you tell us the name of +this gentleman?' + +'He is Mr. Edmund Gray, my neighbour at No. 22 South Square, Gray's +Inn.' + +Mr. Edmund Gray inclined his head and smiled. + +George went outside and returned, followed by a small company, who, in +answer to Elsie, stepped forward one after the other and made answer. + +Said one: 'I am the landlord of the rooms at 22 South Square tenanted by +Mr. Edmund Gray. He has held the rooms for ten years. This gentleman is +Mr. Edmund Gray, my tenant.' + +Said another: 'I am a barrister, and the tenant of the rooms above those +held by Mr. Edmund Gray. I have known him--more or less--for ten years. +This gentleman is Mr. Edmund Gray.' + +Said a third: 'I am a commissionaire. I remember this gentleman very +well, though it is eight years since he employed me, and only for one +job then. I went from an hotel in Arundel Street, Strand, to a bank with +a cheque which I was to cash for him in ten-pound notes. He gave me half +a sovereign.' + +'Quite so,' said Mr. Edmund Gray. 'I remember you, too. It was a cheque +for seven hundred and twenty pounds, the particulars of which you have +in my statement, Elsie. I well remember this one-armed commissionaire.' + +And a fourth: 'I am the laundress who does for Mr. Edmund Gray. I have +done for him for ten years. This gentleman is Mr. Edmund Gray.' + +And a fifth: 'I am a news-agent, and I have a shop at the entrance of +Gray's Inn. This gentleman is Mr. Edmund Gray, of 22 South Square. I +have known him in the Inn for ten years.' + +To each in turn Mr. Dering nodded with a kindly smile. + +'Athelstan,' said Elsie, 'will you tell us when and where you have met +Mr. Edmund Gray?' + +'I met him last week in Carstone's rooms on the same landing. He sat +with us for an hour or more.' + +'It is quite true,' said Mr. Dering. 'I have had the pleasure of meeting +Mr. Arundel on that occasion.' + +'I also saw him,' Athelstan continued, 'at a small Lecture Hall at +Kentish Town on Sunday evening--yesterday.' + +'To complete the evidence,' said Elsie, 'I have myself spent many hours +almost daily with Mr. Edmund Gray during the last fortnight or so.--Is +not that true, dear Master?' + +'Quite true, my Scholar.' + +'Brother--brother'--Sir Samuel touched his arm--'I implore you--rouse +yourself. Shake off this fancy.' + +'Let him alone, Sir Samuel,' said George--'let him alone. We have not +done with him yet.' + +'Yes,' cried Mrs. Arundel, who had now left her seat and was leaning +over the table, following what was said with breathless interest--'let +us finish out this comedy or tragedy--as the case may be. Let no one +interrupt.' + +'I have also met you, sir'--Mr. Dering addressed Checkley, who only +groaned and shook. 'It was outside a tavern. You took me in and offered +me a drink.' + +Checkley shook his head, either in sadness or in denial--but replied +not, and at the thought of offering Mr. Dering a drink, everybody +laughed, which was a relief. + +'Dear Master,' Elsie went on in her soft voice, 'I am so glad that you +remember all these things. It makes one's task so much easier. Why, your +memory is as strong as ever, in spite of all your work.--Now, I am going +to read the two statements you wrote down yesterday afternoon. Then you +may recall anything else you might like to add. Remember, that as +regards this first affair, the cheque for seven hundred and twenty +pounds, my brother was charged, on suspicion only, with having forged +it. Now listen.' She read the brief statement which you have already +seen concerning the business of the first cheque. 'That is your history +of the affair.' + +'Quite so. Dering drew the cheque at my request. I cashed it. I found +that I had no need of the notes, and I returned them. That is very +simple.' + +'It is all so simple that nobody ever guessed it before.--Now we come to +the transfers made in the spring of the present year. You wrote a second +statement regarding them. I will read that as well. Please listen very +carefully.' + +She read the other statement, which you have also seen already. She read +it very slowly, so that there should be no mistake possible. During the +reading of these documents Sir Samuel's face expressed every possible +shade of surprise. Mrs. Arundel, leaning over the table, followed every +line. Hilda wept--her head gracefully inclined over her +pocket-handkerchief, as if it was an urn. + +'This is your account of the business?' + +'Certainly. There is nothing more to be added. It is a plain statement +of the facts. I do not understand how they could be in any way doubted +or misrepresented.' + +'Would you, Sir Samuel, like to ask Mr. Edmund Gray any question?' + +'I don't understand. He says that Mr. Dering wrote a letter for him.' + +Elsie showed him the letter they had seen Mr. Dering write, which he was +passing from one to the other. + +'Where are the transfers?' Sir Samuel went on. 'He says they were placed +by himself in the safe.' + +Mr. Edmund Gray rose and walked to the safe. He laid his hands upon a +packet and took it out. 'These are the papers,' he said. + +Sir Samuel opened the roll and looked them over. 'They seem all right,' +he said. 'This is very wonderful.' + +'Wonderful--and sad--most lamentable,' whispered Lady Dering. + +'Wonderful, indeed!' Mrs. Arundel echoed. 'Most wonderful! most +unexpected!' + +'A moment more, and I have done.' Elsie again took up the tale. 'Here is +a cheque to the order of Mr. Dering signed by Mr. Edmund Gray for the +whole of the money lying in his name at the Bank.--You agree, Master, +that it is best for the future that all your affairs should be in the +hands of your solicitor?' + +'I quite agree.' + +'Here is a letter to the manager of the Bank, requesting him to pay over +Edmund Gray's dividends to the account of Mr. Dering.--And now I think I +have proved my case. Here in the safe were the ten-pound notes received +by Mr. Edmund Gray, and placed there by him. Here were the transfers and +certificates placed there by him: you have heard half-a-dozen people +testify to the fact that you have Edmund Gray before you. His statement +of the business has been read to you. It shows, what no other theory of +the case could show, how the thing was really done. Lastly, it shows the +absolute and complete innocence of my brother and of George.--Have you +anything more to say, Sir Samuel?' + +'Nothing--except that I was misled by a statement concerning a +profligate life among low companions, without which no suspicion could +have fallen upon either of you gentlemen. It was'--he pointed to the +unhappy Checkley-'a vile and malignant falsehood. Do you hear, sir? Vile +and malignant. It only remains for us all to make such reparation as we +may--nothing would suffice, I know, but such reparation as we can--by +the expression of the shame and regret that we all feel.' + +'Athelstan,' said his mother, 'what can I say? Oh! what can I say?' + +Athelstan rose--during the long business he had sat motionless in the +clients' chair, his head in his hand. Now he rose and stepped over to +his mother. 'Hush!' he said. 'Not a word. It is all forgotten--all +forgiven.' + +But Hilda sank upon her knees and caught his hands. + +'George,' said Sir Samuel, 'forgive me. The case looked black against +you at one time. It did indeed. Forgive me.' He held out his hand. + +Then there was great hand-shaking, embracing, and many tears. As for +Checkley, he crept out and vanished in the retreat of his own room. 'It +is all over,' he murmured--'all over. I've lost four hundred pounds a +year. That's gone. All over--all over!' + +Mr. Edmund Gray looked on this happy scene of family reconciliation with +benevolence and smiles. + +Family reconciliations must not be prolonged; you cannot sit over a +family reconciliation as over a bottle of port. It must be quickly +despatched. Sir Samuel whispered to Hilda that they had better go. + +'Come,' said Lady Dering. 'We will all meet again this evening at +Pembridge Square--and to-morrow evening--and on Wednesday +afternoon.--Elsie, you are a witch and a sorceress and a wise woman. You +said that Athelstan should give you away, and he will.--Brother, come +with us. Leave Elsie to George.--Oh! how handsome you are looking, my +poor ill-used brother. Try to forgive us if you can.' + +She turned to Mr. Edmund Gray. 'Sir,' she said, 'we ought to be very +grateful to you--indeed, we are--for enabling us to clear away the +odious cloud of suspicion which had rolled over our heads. It was very +good of you to draw out those statements for my sister. But I do think +that if Mr. Dering had told his old friends about you--about Mr. Edmund +Gray--we should have been spared a great deal of trouble and unnecessary +shame.--Good-day, sir.' + +Sir Samuel lingered a moment. He looked as if he would appeal to Mr. +Edmund Gray as to a brother. 'Don't speak to him,' Elsie whispered. 'Let +him alone. He will become himself again presently. Let him alone.' + +So he went out, and the door was shut, and Edmund Gray was left alone +with George and the Scholar. + +'My Master'--Elsie sat down beside him--'I fear you have been +interrupted. But indeed it was necessary. Don't ask why. Things get into +a muddle sometimes, don't they? You have gathered something of the +trouble, too. Now that is all over--past and gone.' + +'I am glad for your sake, child.' + +'Master--dear Master--I have a confession to make. When I found out who +you were--I mean what manner of man you were--my only thought at first +was to coax you and wheedle you and flatter you till you gave me exactly +the information that I wanted. I confess it. That was my only purpose. +Nay--more--for the sake of my lover and my brother I would do it again. +Well--I found that the only way to win your confidence was to pretend to +be your Scholar and to believe all you taught. So I pretended. So I won +your confidence. So I obtained all I wanted. So I have made it +impossible for even the most malignant creature in the world to pretend +that these two men had anything to do with what they called a forgery. +But--believe me, dear Master--while I pretended, I was punished, because +my pretence is turned to certainty.' + +'Child, I knew it. You could not pretend--no woman could pretend so as +to deceive me on a point so simple.' + +'Dear Master, you do not know the possibilities of feminine craft. But I +pretend no more. Oh! I care not how you make your attempt, whether you +destroy Property or not. Mr. Dering says that Property is +Civilisation--but I don't care. To me it is enough to dream--to +know--that there is an Earthly Paradise possible, if only men will +think so and will keep it before their eyes, though it be as far off as +the blue hills. It is beautiful only to think of it; the soul is lifted +up only to think that there is such a place. Keep the eyes of your +people on this glorious place, dear Master: make it impossible for +them to forget it or to let it go out of their sight. Then, +half-unconsciously, they will be running, dragging each other, forcing +each other--exhorting each other to hurry along the dusty road which +leads to that Earthly Paradise with its Four-square City of the Jasper +wall. Preach about it, Master. Write about it. Make all men talk about +it and think about it.' + +She threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. + +'Master, we shall be away for a month or two. Then we shall come back, +and I shall sit at your feet again. You shall come and stay with us. We +will give you love, and you shall give us hope. I have made my +confession. Forgive me.' + +They left him sitting alone. Presently he arose, put all the papers back +in the safe, and walked slowly away--to Gray's Inn. + +Next morning when he opened his letters he found one marked 'Private.' +It was from Sir Samuel. + + 'DEAR EDWARD,' it said--'We are all very glad to tell you + that the business of the shares and certificates is now + completely cleared up. Checkley is not in any way concerned + in it--nor is George Austin. And I am happy to say there is + a complete solution of the former mystery which entirely + clears Hilda's brother. Under these circumstances, we are + agreed that it is best for you not to trouble yourself about + any further investigations. You will find in the safe the + transfers, a cheque to yourself of all the money received by + Edmund Gray, and an order in the Bank concerning the + dividends. You have been the victim of a very remarkable + hallucination. I need not explain further. Mr. Edmund Gray, + however, is undoubtedly insane. I hear, and have myself + observed, that you have been greatly disturbed and + distressed by these mysterious events. Now that they are + settled finally--I may say that only a happy chance set us + on the right track--we all hope that you will be satisfied + with our assurance, and that you will not trouble yourself + any more in the matter.--Your affectionate brother, + + 'SAMUEL DERING.' + +Mr. Dering, after reading this letter, got up and looked in the safe, +where he found the papers referred to. He rang the bell. 'Checkley, who +has been at my safe?' + +'Nobody but you.' + +'Don't tell lies. Who put those papers in the safe?' + +'They must have been put there yesterday--you were in the room.' + +'Yesterday--what happened yesterday?' + +Checkley was silent. + +'Who was here yesterday?--Go on, Checkley. Don't be afraid.' + +'Sir Samuel was here--and Lady Dering--and Mrs. Arundel--and Miss +Elsie--and your Partner--and Mr. Athelstan. Two or three more came in +and went away.' + +'That will do. You need tell me no more. I don't want to know the +particulars.--Checkley, my day's work is done. I have thought so for +some time past. Now I am certain, I shall retire.' + +'No--no,' cried Checkley, the tears running down his face. 'Not to +retire--after all these years--not to retire.' + +'I know now the meaning of my fits of forgetfulness. I have feared and +suspected it for a long time. While I am lost to myself, I am going +about the world, doing I know not what. And I will not ask. I may be +this Edmund Gray who preaches Socialism and gives me his precious +tracts. I may be some one else. I say, Checkley, that I know now what +has happened to me. Deny it if you can--if you can, I say.' + +Checkley did not offer any denial. He hung his head. 'This is the +meaning of Elsie's strange hints and queer protestations. Half my time I +am a madman--a madman.--Checkley, ask Mr. Austin to come to me at once. +My day is done.' He closed his open blotting-pad and placed the unopened +letters beside it. Then he rose and pushed back his chair--the chair in +which he had sat for fifty years and more. 'My day is done--my day is +done.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +THE LAST + + +Mr. Dering left his office, went back to Gray's Inn, and sat down again +before the Ivory Gate. Those who have once sat for an hour or two in +this place return to it again and again and never leave it. It is, to +begin with, the most beautiful gate ever erected. The brain and wit and +fancy of man could never conceive such a gate, could never execute such +a conception. It is all of pure ivory, carved with flowers such as never +grew; curving and flowing lines leading nowhere; figures of maidens +lovely beyond all dreams; philosophers whose wisdom reaches unto the +Heavens; statesmen who discern the gathering forces and control the +destinies of a nation; inventors who conquer nature; physicians who +prolong life; ecclesiastics who convert the Carthusian cell into a bower +of delight; poets who here find their fantasies divine; men and women in +a work-a-day dress who wear the faces of the heavenly host. + +All the dreamers lie here, not asleep, but dreaming. Their eyes are +open, but they do not see each other; they see these dreams. Those of +the young who are also generous come here and dream until they grow +older and are chained to their work and can dream no more. Men of all +conditions come here--even the little shop-boy--even the maiden who +cleans the knives and polishes the boots--all are here. The young Prince +is here: the little charity boy is here: the lad whose loftiest ambition +is that he may one day stand in the pulpit of the little Baptist village +chapel is here: here is the undergraduate who was Captain of Eton and +will be Senior Classic and Member of Parliament and Minister--even Prime +Minister--and will belong to History. The poet is here, and the painter, +and sometimes hither comes the novelist, and, but more rarely, the +dramatist. Hither comes the musician to lift up his soul with thoughts +that only music can give; and the singer, so that he sings more than is +apparent from the words; and the actor, so that he puts things into the +play never dreamed by him who wrote it. Great is the power, great the +gifts, of this noble Gate of Ivory. + +Sitting before that gate, such a dreamer as Edmund Gray receives strange +visions. He sees clearly and near at hand the things which might be, yet +are not, and never can be until man lays down his garb of selfishness +and puts on the white robes of Charity. To that dreamer the Kingdom of +Heaven, which seems to some so far off and to others impossible, so that +they deride the name of it, is actually close at hand--with us--easy to +enter if we only choose. He exhorts his fellows to enter with him. And +they would follow, but they cannot because they are held back by custom +and necessity. They must obey the laws of the multitude, and so they +stay where they are. And when the dreamer passes away, his memory is +quickly lost, and the brightness quickly leaves those dimly-lighted +lives. Yet other dreamers come--every day there arises an Edmund Gray. + +Now when Edmund Gray takes the place of Edward Dering, in which guise +does the soul, in the end, leave the earth? Are the dreams of Edmund +Gray perhaps the logical development of the doctrines held by Edward +Dering? Is the present stage of Individual Property--where every man +works for himself and his household--one through which the world must +pass before it can reach the higher level of working each for all? First +men and women hunt, separate: they live apart in hollow trees and caves. +Then they live together, and the man hunts for his wife and children. +Next, they live in communities, which grow into towns and tribes and +nations. Then men rely upon the protection of the law, and work for +themselves again. That is our present stage: it has lasted long--very +long. Perhaps it will break up some day: perhaps sooner than we think. +Who knows? All things are possible--even the crash and wreck of a +civilisation which has taken thousands of years to build up. And upon it +may come--one knows not--that other stage which now belongs to the +dreamer before the Ivory Gate. + + * * * * * + +The wedding was held then, as Elsie said it should be, shorn of none of +its splendours, and relieved of the cloud which had hung over them so +long and threatened them so gloomily. Athelstan the Exile--Athelstan the +Ne'er-do-well--Athelstan the Profligate--Athelstan the Resident of +Camberwell--Athelstan the Smirched and Soiled--stood beside the altar, +tall and gallant, and gave away the bride for all the world to +see--nobody in the least ashamed of him. There was not any breath of +scandal left. Here he was, returned from his travels, a tall and proper +man, dressed in broadcloth, perhaps with money in purse, prosperous and +successful in the sight of all. His mother gazed upon him when she +should have been looking at the bride or into her Prayer Book. Her eyes +were red, but then a mother is allowed a tear or two when her daughter +leaves the nest. And as to those who had whispered words about family +jars, quarrels and estrangements, or had spoken against the fair fame of +the groom, they were now as mute as mice. + +All the richer members of the House of Arundel--the City Arundels--were +present. One of them--chief partner in a leading firm of +accountants--afterwards computed, for the greater increase of the family +glory, how many hundreds of thousands of pounds were gathered together +at one moment beneath that sacred roof. He counted the members, and made +that little addition, during the performance of the ceremony. Those of +the Austins who were not disgracefully poor--there are some branches of +the family, I believe, pretty low down--were also present. And the +company went to Pembridge Square after the service, gazed admiringly at +the wedding presents, and drank the health of the bride and bridegroom, +and gathered with cousinly curiosity round the returned Prodigal. But +they knew nothing--mind you--of his connection with Camberwell. And +nothing about his supposed complicity in the Edmund Gray business. There +had been, happily, no scandal. + +Among the company in the church was Mr. Dering. He stood tall and erect, +his coat buttoned, his face keen and hard, the family lawyer stamped by +nature and long custom. + +Presently, when the service was about half way through, a change came +over him. His face relaxed: the lines curved just a little laterally, +the austerity vanished, his eyes brightened. He took off his gloves +furtively and opened his coat. He was Edmund Gray. In that capacity he +afterwards drank to the bride and wished her happiness. And he walked +all the way from Pembridge Square to South Square, Gray's Inn. + + * * * * * + +I see in the future an old man growing feeble: he leans upon the arm of +a girl whom he calls his Scholar, his disciple, and his child. His face +is serene: he is perfectly happy: the Advent of that Kingdom whose +glories he preaches is very nigh at hand. He lives in the house of his +disciple: he has forgotten the very existence of his lawyer: he goes no +more to Lincoln's Inn: always he is lying, night and day, before that +miracle of carven work in Ivory. There he watches--it is his Vision--the +long procession of those who work and sing at their work and are happy, +work they ever so hard, because they work each for all and all for each. +And there is no more sorrow or crying and no more pain. What hath the +Gate of Horn--through which is allowed nothing but what is +true--bitterly true--absolutely true--nakedly, coldly, shiveringly +true--to show in comparison with this? A crowd trampling upon each +other: men who enslave and rob each other: men and women and children +lying in misery--men and women and children starving.--Let us fly, my +brothers--let us swiftly fly--let us hasten--to the Gate of Ivory. + + + + +_OPINIONS OF THE PRESS_ + +ON + +THE IVORY GATE. + +By WALTER BESANT. + + +'The novel shows us throughout that Mr. Besant is one of those +fortunates who find fresh material.... Mr. Besant is a popular novelist, +but he shows here an artist's appreciation of whimsical contrast, and an +artist's skill in the delineation of character.... We are inclined to +think "The Ivory Gate" worthy of the past reputation of Mr. Besant, and +indicative of future development.'--SPEAKER. + +'It would be impossible to discuss at length the many and great merits +of "The Ivory Gate" without telling the story, and it is certainly a +story to be read, not to be told.... Our interest in the story never +flags for a moment. Neither in the "Golden Butterfly," nor "The Chaplain +of the Fleet," are there any characters to equal the city knight, Sir +Samuel Dering, and his wife Hilda, or the old clerk Checkley.'--SATURDAY +REVIEW. + +'The writing in "The Ivory Gate" has that nameless charm which belongs +to everything that comes from Mr. Besant's pen.'--NATIONAL REVIEW. + +'The complications arising from the situation are cleverly worked out, +with all the love of detail and the dramatic skill which always +distinguishes Mr. Besant's workmanship.'--TIMES. + +'The subject of the novel is a strong one, and it might have been made +most powerful; but the dreams that come to Mr. Dering through the Ivory +Gate are such happy ones, and he himself is so much more lovable +dreaming than awake, that the pathos of the situation does not weigh too +heavily upon the reader.'--GUARDIAN. + +'A story told in the author's happiest manner.... The spirit which +pervades the story is akin to that which pervades "All Sorts and +Conditions of Men."... There is a good deal of the feeling of Dickens in +this pleasantly interesting story.'--SPORTING LIFE. + +'The story is interesting, imaginative, abounding in matter for thought, +and is in Mr. Besant's happiest style.'--DAILY NEWS. + +'Mr. Besant's story is a solid boon, a fantasy in which he half escapes +from the commonplace veracities of existence, and yet keeps his readers' +feet on the London flagstones throughout.'--ATHENAEUM. + +'A delightful work.... A charming tale, full of life and interest.... As +a story it is in all respects excellent. It is worked out with skill and +power. There are many very fine passages. "The Ivory Gate" is charming +in its originality, and in the simplicity and force with which the plot +is developed.'--SCOTSMAN. + +'There is a good deal that is pleasant in "The Ivory Gate."... Both hero +and heroine are admirable.'--DAILY CHRONICLE. + +'Mr. Besant has hit on rather a felicitous subject, which is very well +wrought out----We venture to predict that hours spent over "The Ivory +Gate" will be pleasant.'--SCOTTISH LEADER. + +'Mr. Besant illustrates a very curious phase of madness; he preaches a +highly poetical kind of socialism, and he gives us a clear and +attractive picture of ordinary English life.... The story is full of +interesting characters.'--GLASGOW HERALD. + +'The story is cleverly planned and thoroughly readable from beginning to +end.'--LEEDS MERCURY. + +'"The Ivory Gate" is a novel of considerable interest, and it is a story +that is told in Mr. Besant's best style.'--PALL MALL GAZETTE. + +'The story is cleverly told and effective.'--MORNING POST. + + + + +[_October, 1892_] + +[Illustration] + +A List of Books + +PUBLISHED BY + +CHATTO & WINDUS, + +214, Piccadilly, London, W. + +_Sold by all Booksellers, or sent post-free for the published price by +the Publishers._ + + * * * * * + +=ABOUT.--THE FELLAH:= An Egyptian Novel. By EDMOND ABOUT. Translated by +SIR RANDAL ROBERTS. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, =2s.= + + * * * * * + +ADAMS (W. DAVENPORT), WORKS BY. + + =A DICTIONARY OF THE DRAMA.= Being a comprehensive Guide to + the Plays, Playwrights, Players, and Playhouses of the + United Kingdom and America. 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HALL), NOVELS BY.= Crown 8vo, cloth extra, =3s. 6d.= each; +post 8vo, illustrated boards, =2s.= each; cloth limp, =2s. 6d.= each. + + =SHADOW OF A CRIME.= + + =A SON OF HAGAR.= + + =THE DEEMSTER.= + + * * * * * + +=CAMERON (COMMANDER).--THE CRUISE OF THE "BLACK PRINCE" PRIVATEER.= By +V. LOVETT CAMERON, R.N., C.B. With Two Illustrations by P. MACNAB. Crown +8vo, cloth extra, =5s.=; post 8vo, illustrated boards, =2s.= + + * * * * * + +=CAMERON (MRS. H. LOVETT), NOVELS BY.= Post 8vo, illust. bds., =2s.= +each. + + =JULIET'S GUARDIAN.= + + =DECEIVERS EVER.= + + * * * * * + +=CARLYLE (THOMAS) ON THE CHOICE OF BOOKS.= With Life by R. H. SHEPHERD, +and Three Illustrations. Post 8vo, cloth extra, =1s. 6d.= + + =THE CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND RALPH WALDO + EMERSON, 1834 to 1872.= Edited by CHARLES ELIOT NORTON. With + Portraits. Two Vols., crown 8vo, cloth extra, =24s.= + + * * * * * + +=CARLYLE (JANE WELSH), LIFE OF.= By Mrs. ALEXANDER IRELAND. With +Portrait and Facsimile Letter. Small demy 8vo, cloth extra, =7s. 6d.= + + * * * * * + +=CHAPMAN'S (GEORGE) WORKS.= Vol. I. contains the Plays complete, +including the doubtful ones. Vol. II., the Poems and Minor Translations, +with an Introductory Essay by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. Vol. III., the +Translations of the Iliad and Odyssey. Three Vols., crown 8vo, cloth +extra, =6s.= each. + + * * * * * + +=CHATTO AND JACKSON.--A TREATISE ON WOOD ENGRAVING,= Historical and +Practical. By WILLIAM ANDREW CHATTO and JOHN JACKSON. With an Additional +Chapter by HENRY G. BOHN, and 450 fine Illusts. Large 4to. hf.-bd., +=28s.= + + * * * * * + +=CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN:= A Golden Key. By Mrs. H. R. HAWEIS. With 8 +Coloured Plates and 30 Woodcuts. Small 4to, cloth extra, =6s.= + + =CHAUCER FOR SCHOOLS.= By Mrs. H. R. HAWEIS. Demy 8vo, cloth + limp, =2s. 6d.= + + * * * * * + +=CLARE.--FOR THE LOVE OF A LASS:= A Tale of Tynedale. By AUSTIN CLARE. +Post 8vo, picture boards, =2s.=; cloth limp, =2s. 6d.= + + * * * * * + +=CLIVE (MRS. 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HOUGHTON. + + =THE DEAD SECRET.= With a Frontispiece by Sir JOHN GILBERT, + R.A. + + =QUEEN OF HEARTS.= With a Frontispiece by Sir JOHN GILBERT, + R.A. + + =THE WOMAN IN WHITE.= With Illusts. by Sir J. GILBERT, R.A., + and F. A. FRASER. + + =NO NAME.= With Illustrations by Sir J. E. MILLAIS, R.A., and + A. W. COOPER. + + =MY MISCELLANIES.= With a Steel-plate Portrait of WILKIE + COLLINS. + + =ARMADALE.= With Illustrations by G. H. THOMAS. + + =THE MOONSTONE.= With Illustrations by G. DU MAURIER and F. A. + FRASER. + + =MAN AND WIFE.= With Illustrations by WILLIAM SMALL. + + =POOR MISS FINCH.= Illustrated by G. DU MAURIER and EDWARD + HUGHES. + + =MISS OR MRS.?= With Illusts. by S. L. FILDES, R.A., and HENRY + WOODS, A.R.A. + + =THE NEW MAGDALEN.= Illustrated by G. DU MAURIER and C. S. + REINHARDT. + + =THE FROZEN DEEP.= Illustrated by G. DU MAURIER and J. + MAHONEY. + + =THE LAW AND THE LADY.= Illusts. by S. L. 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Crown 8vo, cloth extra, =3s. 6d.= + + * * * * * + +=DE GUERIN.--THE JOURNAL OF MAURICE DE GUERIN.= Edited by G. S. +TREBUTIEN. With a Memoir by SAINTE-BEUVE. Translated from the 20th +French Edition by JESSIE P. FROTHINGHAM. Fcap, 8vo, half-bound, =2s. +6d.= + + * * * * * + +=DE MAISTRE.-A JOURNEY ROUND MY ROOM=. By XAVIER DE MAISTRE. Translated +by HENRY ATTWELL. Post 8vo, cloth limp, =2s. 6d.= + + * * * * * + +=DE MILLE.--A CASTLE IN SPAIN.= By JAMES DE MILLE. With a Frontispiece. +Crown 8vo, cloth extra, =3s. 6d.=; post 8vo, illustrated boards, =2s.= + + * * * * * + +=DERBY (THE).--THE BLUE RIBBON OF THE TURF:= A Chronicle of the RACE FOR +THE DERBY, from Diomed to Donovan. With Brief Accounts of THE OAKS. By +LOUIS HENRY CURZON. 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Crown 8vo, + cloth extra, =3s. 6d.=; post 8vo, illustrated boards, =2s.= + + =TRACKED TO DOOM.= With 6 full-page Illustrations by GORDON + BROWNE. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, =3s. 6d.= + + * * * * * + +=DOYLE (CONAN).--THE FIRM OF GIRDLESTONE.= By A. CONAN DOYLE, Author of +"Micah Clarke." Crown 8vo, cloth extra, =3s. 6d.= + + * * * * * + +=DRAMATISTS, THE OLD.= With Vignette Portraits. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., =6s.= +per Vol. + + =BEN JONSON'S WORKS.= With Notes Critical and Explanatory, and + a Biographical Memoir by WM. GIFFORD. Edited by Col. + CUNNINGHAM. Three Vols. + + =CHAPMAN'S WORKS.= Complete in Three Vols. Vol. I. contains + the Plays complete; Vol. II., Poems and Minor Translations, + with an Introductory Essay by A. C. SWINBURNE; Vol. III., + Translations of the Iliad and Odyssey. + + =MARLOWE'S WORKS.= Edited, with Notes, by Col. CUNNINGHAM. One + Vol. + + =MASSINGER'S PLAYS.= From GIFFORD's Text. Edit by Col. + CUNNINGHAM. One Vol. + + * * * * * + +=DUNCAN (SARA JEANNETTE), WORKS BY.= + +Crown 8vo, cloth extra, =7s. 6d.= each. + + =A SOCIAL DEPARTURE:= How Orthodocia and I Went round the + World by Ourselves. With 111 Illustrations by F. H. + TOWNSEND. + + =AN AMERICAN GIRL IN LONDON.= With 80 Illustrations by F. H. + TOWNSEND. + + =THE SIMPLE ADVENTURES OF MEM SAHIB.= Numerous Illusts. + [_Preparing._] + + * * * * * + +=DYER.--THE FOLK-LORE OF PLANTS.= By Rev. T. F. THISELTON DYER, M.A. +Crown 8vo, cloth extra, =6s.= + + * * * * * + +=EARLY ENGLISH POETS.= Edited, with Introductions and Annotations, by +Rev. A. B. GROSART, D.D. Crown 8vo, cloth boards, =6s.= per Volume. + + =FLETCHER'S (GILES) COMPLETE POEMS.= One Vol. + + =DAVIES' (SIR JOHN) COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS.= Two Vols. + + =HERRICK'S (ROBERT) COMPLETE COLLECTED POEMS.= Three Vols. + + =SIDNEY'S (SIR PHILIP) COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS.= Three Vols. + + * * * * * + +=EDGCUMBE.--ZEPHYRUS:= A Holiday in Brazil and on the River Plate. By +E. R. PEARCE EDGCUMBE. With 41 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, +=5s.= + + * * * * * + +=EDWARDES (MRS. ANNIE), NOVELS BY:= + + =A POINT OF HONOUR.= Post 8vo, illustrated boards, =2s.= + + =ARCHIE LOVELL.= Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, + illust. boards, =2s.= + +=EDWARDS (ELIEZER).--WORDS, FACTS, AND PHRASES:= A Dictionary of +Curious, Quaint, and Out-of-the-Way Matters. By ELIEZER EDWARDS. Crown +8vo, cloth extra, =7s. 6d.= + + * * * * * + +=EDWARDS (M. BETHAM-), NOVELS BY.= + + =KITTY.= Post 8vo, illustrated boards, =2s.=; cloth limp, =2s. + 6d.= + + =FELICIA.= Post 8vo, illustrated boards, =2s.= + + * * * * * + +=EGERTON.--SUSSEX FOLK & SUSSEX WAYS.= By Rev. J. C. EGERTON. With +Introduction by Rev. DR. H. WACE, and 4 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo, cloth +ex., =5s.= + + * * * * * + +=EGGLESTON (EDWARD).--ROXY:= A Novel. 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Four Vols, demy + 8vo, cloth extra, =12s.= each.--Also a POPULAR EDITION, in + Four Vols., crown 8vo, cloth extra, =6s.= each.--And a Jubilee + Edition, with an Appendix of Events to the end of 1886, in + Two Vols., large crown 8vo, cloth extra, =7s. 6d.= each. + + =A SHORT HISTORY OF OUR OWN TIMES.= One Vol., crown 8vo, cloth + extra, =6s.=--Also a CHEAP POPULAR EDITION, post 8vo, cloth + limp, =2s. 6d.= + + =A HISTORY OF THE FOUR GEORGES.= Four Vols, demy 8vo, cloth + extra, =12s.= each. [Vols. I. & II. _ready_.] + + * * * * * + +Crown 8vo, cloth extra, =3s. 6d.= each; post 8vo, illustrated boards. +=2s.= each. + + =THE WATERDALE NEIGHBOURS.= + + =MY ENEMY'S DAUGHTER.= + + =A FAIR SAXON.= + + =LINLEY ROCHFORD.= + + =DEAR LADY DISDAIN.= + + =MISS MISANTHROPE.= + + =DONNA QUIXOTE.= + + =THE COMET OF A SEASON.= + + =MAID OF ATHENS.= + + =CAMIOLA:= A Girl with a Fortune. + + * * * * * + + ="THE RIGHT HONOURABLE."= By JUSTIN MCCARTHY, M.P., and Mrs. + CAMPBELL-PRAED. Fourth Edition. 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Two + Vols., crown 8vo, half-bound, =12s.= + + * * * * * + +=MACDONALD (GEORGE, LL.D.), WORKS BY.= + + =WORKS OF FANCY AND IMAGINATION.= Ten Vols., cl. extra, gilt + edges, in cloth case, =21s.= Or the Vols. may be had + separately, in grolier cl., at =2s. 6d.= each. + + Vol. I. WITHIN AND WITHOUT.--THE HIDDEN LIFE. + + Vol. II. THE DISCIPLE.--THE GOSPEL WOMEN.--BOOK OF + SONNETS.--ORGAN SONGS. + + Vol. III. VIOLIN SONGS.--SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS.--A + BOOK OF DREAMS.--ROADSIDE POEMS.--POEMS FOR CHILDREN. + + Vol. IV. PARABLES.--BALLADS.--SCOTCH SONGS. + + Vol. V. & VI. PHANTASTES: A Faerie Romance. + + Vol. VII. THE PORTENT. + + Vol. VIII. THE LIGHT PRINCESS.--THE GIANT'S HEART.--SHADOWS. + + Vol. IX. CROSS PURPOSES.--THE GOLDEN KEY.--THE + CARASOYN.--LITTLE DAYLIGHT. + + Vol. X. THE CRUEL PAINTER.--THE WOW O' RIVVEN.--THE + CASTLE.--THE BROKEN SWORDS.--THE GRAY WOLF.--UNCLE + CORNELIUS. + + * * * * * + + =THE POETICAL WORKS OF DR. GEORGE MACDONALD.= Collected and + arranged by the Author. 2 vols., crown 8vo, buckram, =12s.= + [_Shortly._] + + =A THREEFOLD CORD.= Poems by Three Friends. Edited by Dr. + GEORGE MACDONALD. Post 8vo, cloth, =5s.= + + =HEATHER AND SNOW:= A Novel. 2 vols., crown 8vo, [_Shortly._] + + * * * * * + +=MACGREGOR.--PASTIMES AND PLAYERS:= Notes on Popular Games. By ROBERT +MACGREGOR. Post 8vo, cloth limp, =2s. 6d.= + + * * * * * + +=MACKAY.--INTERLUDES AND UNDERTONES;= or, Music at Twilight. By CHARLES +MACKAY, LL.D. 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L.), WORKS BY.= Post 8vo, =1s.= each; cloth, =1s. 6d.= each. + + =THE HYGIENE OF THE SKIN.= With Directions for Diet, Soaps, + Baths, &c. + + =THE BATH IN DISEASES OF THE SKIN.= + + =THE LAWS OF LIFE, AND THEIR RELATION TO DISEASES OF THE + SKIN.= + + * * * * * + + =THE SUCCESSFUL TREATMENT OF LEPROSY.= Demy 8vo, =1s.= + + * * * * * + +=MINTO (WM.)--WAS SHE GOOD OR BAD?= Cr. 8vo, =1s.=; cloth, =1s. 6d.= + + * * * * * + +=MOLESWORTH (MRS.), NOVELS BY.= + + =HATHERCOURT RECTORY.= Post 8vo, illustrated boards, =2s.= + + =THAT GIRL IN BLACK.= Crown 8vo, cloth, =1s. 6d.= + + * * * * * + +=MOORE (THOMAS), WORKS BY.= + + =THE EPICUREAN; and ALCIPHRON.= Post 8vo, half-bound, =2s.= + + =PROSE AND VERSE,= Humorous, Satirical, and Sentimental, by + THOMAS MOORE; with Suppressed Passages from the MEMOIRS OF + LORD BYRON. Edited by R. HERNE SHEPHERD. With Portrait. + Crown 8vo, cloth extra, =7s. 6d.= + + * * * * * + +=MUDDOCK (J. E.), STORIES BY.= + + =STORIES WEIRD AND WONDERFUL.= Post 8vo, illust. boards, =2s.=; + cloth, =2s. 6d.= + + =THE DEAD MAN'S SECRET;= or, The Valley of Gold. With + Frontispiece by F. BARNARD. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, =5s.=; + post 8vo, illustrated boards, =2s.= + + =MAID MARIAN AND ROBIN HOOD:= A Romance of Old Sherwood + Forest. With 12 Illustrations by STANLEY L. WOOD. Crown 8vo, + cloth extra, =5s.= + + * * * * * + +=MURRAY (D. CHRISTIE), NOVELS BY.= + +Crown 8vo, cloth extra, =3s. 6d.= each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, +=2s.= each. + + =A LIFE'S ATONEMENT.= + + =JOSEPH'S COAT.= + + =COALS OF FIRE.= + + =VAL STRANGE.= + + =HEARTS.= + + =WAY OF THE WORLD.= + + =A MODEL FATHER.= + + =OLD BLAZER'S HERO.= + + =BY THE GATE OF THE SEA.= + + =A BIT OF HUMAN NATURE.= + + =FIRST PERSON SINGULAR.= + + =CYNIC FORTUNE.= + + * * * * * + + =BOB MARTIN'S LITTLE GIRL.= Three Vols., crown 8vo, [_Sept._] + + * * * * * + +=MURRAY (D. 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MASTERMAN. + + Half-a-dozen Daughters. + +By BRANDER MATTHEWS. + + A Secret of the Sea. + +By LEONARD MERRICK. + + The Man who was Good. + +By JEAN MIDDLEMASS. + + Touch and Go. + Mr. Dorillion. + +By Mrs. MOLESWORTH. + + Hathercourt Rectory. + +By J. E. MUDDOCK. + + Stories Weird and Wonderful. + The Dead Man's Secret. + +By D. 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