Book: In Luck at Last

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Clara did as she was asked readily and eagerly. Then Joe departed,
promising to call and say farewell before he left England, and
resolving that in his next visit--his last visit--there should be
another check. But he had made one mistake; he had parted with the
papers. No one in any situation of life should ever give up the power,
until he has secured the substance. But it is human to err.

"And now, my dear," said Clara warmly, "sit down and let us talk.
Arnold is coming to lunch with us, and to make your acquaintance."

When Arnold came a few minutes later, he was astonished to find his
cousin already on the most affectionate terms with the newly-arrived
Iris Deseret. She was walking about the room showing her the pictures
of her grandfather and other ancestors, and they were hand-in-hand.

"Arnold," said Clara, "this is Iris, and I hope you will both be great
friends; Iris, this is my cousin, but he is not yours."

"I don't pretend to know how that may be," said the young lady. "But
then I am glad to know all your cousins, whether they are mine or not;
only don't bother me with questions, because I don't remember
anything, and I don't know anything. Why, until the other day I did
not even know that I was an English lady, not until they found those
papers."

A strange accent for an American! and she certainly said "laidy" for
"lady," and "paipper" for "paper," like a cockney. Alas! This comes of
London Music Halls even to country-bred damsels!

Arnold made a mental observation that the new-comer might be called
anything in the world, but could not be called a lady. She was
handsome, certainly, but how could Claude Deseret's daughter have
grown into so common a type of beauty? Where was the delicacy of
feature and manner which Clara had never ceased to commend in speaking
of her lost cousin?

"Iris," said Clara, "is our little savage from the American Forest.
She is Queen Pocahontas, who has come over to conquer England and to
win all our hearts. My dear, my Cousin Arnold will help me to make you
an English girl."

She spoke as in the State of Maine was still the hunting-ground of
Sioux and Iroquois.

Arnold thought that a less American-looking girl he had never seen;
that she did not speak or look like a lady was to be expected,
perhaps, if she had, as was probable, been brought up by rough and
unpolished people. But he had no doubt, any more than Clara herself,
as to the identity of the girl. Nobody ever doubts a claimant. Every
impostor, from Demetrius downward, has gained his supporters and
partisans by simply living among them and keeping up the imposition.
It is so easy, in fact, to be a claimant, that it is wonderful there
are not more of them.

Then luncheon was served, and the young lady not only showed a noble
appetite, but to Arnold's astonishment, confessed to an ardent love
for bottled stout.

"Most American ladies," he said impertinently, "only drink water, do
they not?"

Lotty perceived that she had made a mistake.

"I only drink stout," she said, "when the doctor tells me. But I like
it all the same."

She certainly had no American accent. But she would not talk much; she
was, perhaps, shy. After luncheon, however, Clara asked her if she
would sing, and she complied, showing considerable skill with her
accompaniment, and singing a simple song in good taste and with a
sweet voice. Arnold observed, however, that there was some weakness
about the letter "h," less common among Americans than among the
English. Presently he went away, and the girl, who had been aware that
he was watching her, breathed more easily.

"Who is your Cousin Arnold?" she asked.

"My dear, he is my cousin but not yours. You will not see him often,
because he is going to be married, I am sorry to say, and to be
married beneath him--oh, it is dreadful! to some tradesman's girl, my
dear."

"Dreadful!" said Iris with a queer look in her eyes. "Well, cousin, I
don't want to see much of him. He's a good-looking chap, too, though
rather too finicking for my taste. I like a man who looks as if he
could knock another man down. Besides, he looks at me as if I was a
riddle, and he wanted to find out the answer."

In the evening Arnold found that no change had come over the old man.
He was, however, perfectly happy, so that, considering the ruin of his
worldly prospects, it was, perhaps, as well that he had parted, for a
time, at least, with his wits. Some worldly misfortunes there are
which should always produce this effect.

"You told me," said Lala Roy, "that another Iris had just come from
America to claim an inheritance of your cousin."

"Yes; it is a very strange coincidence."

"Very strange. Two Englishmen die in America at the same time, each
having a daughter named Iris, and each daughter entitled to some kind
of inheritance."

Lala Roy spoke slowly, and with meaning.

"Oh!" cried Arnold. "It is more than strange. Do you think--is it
possible--"

He could not for the moment clothe his thoughts in words.

"Do you know if any one has brought this girl to England?"

"Yes; she was brought over by a young American physician, one of the
family who adopted and brought her up."

"What is he like--the young American physician?"

"I have not seen him."

"Go, my young friend, to-morrow morning, and ask your cousin if this
photograph resembles the American physician."

It was the photograph of a handsome young fellow, with strongly marked
features, apparently tall and well-set-up.

"Lala, you don't really suspect anything--you don't think--"

"Hush! I know who has stolen the papers. Perhaps the same man has
produced the heiress."

"And you think--you suspect that the man who stole the papers is
connected with--But then those papers must be--oh, it cannot be! For
then Iris would be Clara's cousin--Clara's cousin--and the other an
impostor."

"Even so; everything is possible. But silence. Do not speak a word,
even to Iris. If the papers are lost, they are lost. Say nothing to
her yet; but go--go, and find out if that photograph resembles the
American physician. The river wanders here and there, but the sea
swallows it at last."




CHAPTER XI.

MR. JAMES MAKES ATONEMENT.


James arrived as usual in the morning at nine o'clock, in order to
take down the shutters. To his astonishment, he found Lala Roy and
Iris waiting for him in the back shop. And they had grave faces.

"James," said Iris, "your master has suffered a great shock, and is
not himself this morning. His safe has been broken open by some one,
and most important papers have been taken out."

"Papers, miss--papers? Out of the safe?"

"Yes. They are papers of no value whatever to the thief, whoever he
may be. But they are of the very greatest importance to us. Your
master seems to have lost his memory for a while, and cannot help us
in finding out who has done this wicked thing. You have been a
faithful servant for so long that I am sure you will do what you can
for us. Think for us. Try to remember if anybody besides yourself has
had access to this room when your master was out of it."

James sat down. He felt that he must sit down, though Lala Roy was
looking at him with eyes full of doubt and suspicion. The whole
enormity of his own guilt, though he had not stolen anything, fell
upon him. He had got the key; he had given it to Mr. Joseph; and he
had received it back again. In fact, at that very moment, it was lying
in his pocket. The worst that he had feared had happened. The safe was
robbed.

He was struck with so horrible a dread, and so fearful a looking
forward to judgment and condemnation, that his teeth chattered and his
eye gave way.

"You will think it over, James," said Iris; "think it over, and tell
us presently if you can remember anything."

"Think it over, Mr. James," Lala Roy repeated in his deepest tone, and
with an emphatic gesture of his right forefinger. "Think it over
carefully. Like a lamp that is never extinguished are the eyes of the
faithful servant."

They left him, and James fell back into his chair with hollow cheek
and beating heart.

"He told me," he murmured--"oh, the villain!--he swore to me that he
had taken nothing from the safe. He said he only looked in it, and
read the contents. The scoundrel! He has stolen the papers! He must
have known they were there. And then, to save himself, he put me on to
the job. For who would be suspected if not--oh, Lord!--if not me?"

He grasped his paste brush, and attacked his work with a feverish
anxiety to find relief in exertion; but his heart was not in it, and
presently a thought pierced his brain, as an arrow pierceth the heart,
and under the pang and agony of it, his face turned ashy-pale, and the
big drops stood upon his brow.

"For," he thought, "suppose that the thing gets abroad; suppose they
were to advertise a reward; suppose the man who made the key were to
see the advertisement or to hear about it! And he knows my name, too,
and my business; and he'll let out for a reward--I know he will--who
it was ordered that key of him."

Already he saw himself examined before a magistrate; already he saw in
imagination that locksmith's man who made the key kissing the
Testament, and giving his testimony in clear and distinct words, which
could not be shaken.

"Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!" he groaned. "No one will believe me, even if I
do confess the truth: and as for him, I know him well; if I go to him,
he'll only laugh at me. But I must go to him--I must!"

He was so goaded by his terror that he left the shop unprotected--a
thing he had never thought to do--and ran as fast as he could to Joe's
lodgings. But he had left them; he was no longer there; he had not
been there for six weeks; the landlady did not know his address, or
would not give it. Then James felt sick and dizzy, and would have sat
down on the doorstep and cried but for the look of the thing. Besides,
he remembered the unprotected shop. So he turned away sadly and walked
back, well understanding now that he had fallen like a tool into a
trap, artfully set to fasten suspicion and guilt upon himself.

When he returned he found the place full of people. Mr. Emblem was
sitting in his customary place, and he was smiling. He did not look in
the least like a man who had been robbed. He was smiling pleasantly
and cheerfully. Mr. Chalker was also present, a man with whom no one
ever smiled, and Lala Roy, solemn and dignified, and a man--an unknown
man--who sat in the outer shop, and seemed to take no interest at all
in the proceedings. Were they come, he asked himself, to arrest him on
the spot?

Apparently they were not, for no one took the least notice of him, and
they were occupied with something else. How could they think of
anything else? Yet Mr. Chalker, standing at the table, was making a
speech, which had nothing to do with the robbery.

"Here I am, you see, Mr. Emblem," he said; "I have told you already
that I don't want to do anything to worry you. Let us be friends all
round. This gentleman, your friend from India, will advise you, I am
sure, for your own good, not to be obstinate. Lord! what is the
amount, after all, to a substantial man like yourself? A substantial
man, I say." He spoke confidently, but he glanced about the shop with
doubtful eyes. "Granted that it was borrowed to get your grandson out
of a scrape--supposing he promised to pay it back and hasn't done so;
putting the case that it has grown and developed itself as bills will
do, and can't help doing, and can't be stopped; it isn't the fault of
the lawyers, but the very nature of a hill to go on growing--it's like
a baby for growing. Why, after all, you were your grandson's
security--you can't escape that. And when I would no longer renew, you
gave of your own accord--come now, you can't deny that--a Bill of Sale
on goods and furniture. Now, Mr. Emblem, didn't, you? Don't let us
have any bitterness or quarreling. Let's be friends, and tell me I may
send away the man."

Mr. Emblem smiled pleasantly, but did not reply.

"A Bill of Sale it was, dated January the 25th, 1883, just before that
cursed Act of Parliament granted the five days' notice. Here is the
bailiff's man in possession. You can pay the amount, which is, with
costs and Sheriff's Poundage, three hundred and fifty-one pounds
thirteen shillings and fourpence, at once, or you may pay it five days
hence. Otherwise the shop, and furniture, and all, will be sold off in
seven days."

"Oh," James gasped, listening with bewilderment, "we can't be going to
be sold up! Emblem's to be sold up!"

"Three hundred and fifty pounds!" said Mr. Emblem. "My friend, let us
rather speak of thousands. This is a truly happy day for all of us.
Sit down, Mr. Chalker--my dear friend, sit down. Rejoice with us. A
happy morning."

"What the devil is the matter with him?" asked the money-lender.

"There was something, Mr. Chalker," Mr. Emblem went on cheerfully,
"something said about my grandson. Joe was always a bad lot; lucky his
father and mother are out of the way in Australia. You came to me
about that business, perhaps? Oh, on such a joyful day as this I
forgive everybody. Tell Joe I do not want to see him, but I have
forgiven him."

"Oh, he's mad!" growled James; "he's gone stark staring mad!"

"You don't seem quite yourself this morning, Mr. Emblem," said Mr.
Chalker. "Perhaps this gentleman, your friend from India, will advise
you when I am gone. You don't understand, Mister," he addressed Lala
Roy, "the nature of a bill. Once you start a bill, and begin to renew
it, it's like planting a tree, for it grows and grows of its own
accord, and by Act of Parliament, too, though they do try to hack and
cut it down in the most cruel way. You see Mr. Emblem is obstinate.
He's got to pay off that bill, which is a Bill of Sale, and he won't
do it. Make him write the check and have done with it."

"This is the best day's work I ever did," Mr. Emblem went on.
"To remember the letter, word for word, and everything!
Mr. Arbuthnot has, very likely, finished the whole business
by now. Thousands--thousands--and all for Iris!"

"Look here, Mr. Emblem," said the lawyer angrily. "You'll not only be
a bankrupt if you go on like this, but you'll be a fraudulent bankrupt
as well. Is it honest, I want to know, to refuse to pay your just
debts when you've put by thousands, as you boast--you actually
boast--for your granddaughter?"

"Yes," said the old man, "Iris will have thousands."

"I think, sir," said Lala Roy, "that you are under an illusion. Mr.
Emblem does not possess any such savings or investments as you
imagine."

"Then why does he go on talking about thousands?"

"He has had a shock; he cannot quite understand what has happened. You
had better leave him for the present."

"Leave him! And nothing but these moldy old books! Here, you sir--you
James--you shopman--come here! What is the stock worth?"

"It depends upon whether you are buying or selling," said James. "If
you were to sell it under the hammer, in lots, it wouldn't fetch a
hundred pounds."

"There, you hear--you hear, all of you! Not a hundred pounds, and my
Bill of Sale is three-fifty."

"Pray, sir," said Lala Roy, "who told you that Mr. Emblem was so
wealthy?"

"His grandson."

"Then, sir perhaps it would be well to question the grandson further,
he may know things of which we have heard nothing."

The Act of 1882, which came into operation in the following January,
is cruel indeed, I am told, to those who advanced money on Bills of
Sale before that date, for it allows--it actually allows the debtor
five clear days during which he may, if he can, without being caught,
make away with portions of his furniture and belongings--the smaller
and the more precious portion; or he may find some one else to lend
him the money, and so get off clear and save his sticks. It is, as the
modern Shylock declares, a most wicked and iniquitous Act, by which
the shark may be balked, and many an honest tradesman, who would
otherwise have been most justly ruined, is enabled to save his stock,
and left to worry along until the times become more prosperous. To a
man like Mr. David Chalker, such an Act of Parliament is most
revolting.

He went away at length, leaving the man--the professional
person--behind. Then Lala Roy persuaded Mr. Emblem to go upstairs
again. He did so without any apparent consciousness that there was a
Man in Possession.

"James," said Lala Roy, "you have heard that your master has been
robbed. You are reflecting and meditating on this circumstance.
Another thing is that a creditor has threatened to sell off everything
for a debt. Most likely, everything will be sold, and the shop closed.
You will, therefore, lose the place you have had for five-and-twenty
years. That is a very bad business for you. You are unfortunate this
morning. To lose your place--and then this robbery. That seems also a
bad business."

"It is," said James with a hollow groan. "It is, Mr. Lala Roy. It is a
dreadful bad business."

"Pray, Mr. James," continued this man with grave, searching eyes which
made sinners shake in their shoes, "pray, why did you run away, and
where did you go after you opened the shop this morning? You went to
see Mr. Emblem's grandson, did you not?"

"Yes, I did," said James.

"Why did you go to see him?"

"I w--w--went--oh, Lord!--I went to tell him what had happened,
because he is master's grandson, and I thought he ought to know," said
James.

"Did you tell him?"

"No; he has left his lodgings. I don't know where he is--oh, and he
always told me the shop was his--settled on him," he said.

"He is the Father of Lies; his end will be confusion. Shame and
confusion shall wait upon all who have hearkened unto him or worked
with him, until they repent and make atonement."

"Don't, Mister Lala Roy--don't; you frighten me," said James. "Oh,
what a dreadful liar he is!"

All the morning the philosopher sat in the bookseller's chair, and
James, in the outer shop, felt that those deep eyes were resting
continually upon him, and knew that bit by bit his secret would be
dragged from him. If he could get up and run away--if a customer
would come--if the dark gentleman would go upstairs--if he could
think of something else! But none of these things happened, and James,
at his table with the paste before him, passed a morning compared with
which any seat anywhere in Purgatory would have been comfortable.
Presently a strange feeling came over him, as if some invisible force
was pushing and dragging him and forcing him to leave his chair, and
throw himself at the Philosopher's feet and confess everything. This
was the mesmeric effect of those reproachful eyes fixed steadily upon
him. And in the doorway, like some figure in a nightmare--a figure
incongruous and out of place--the Man in Possession sitting, passive
and unconcerned, with one eye on the street and the other on the shop.
Upstairs Mr. Emblem was sitting fast asleep; joy had made him sleepy;
and Iris was at work among her pupils' letters, compiling sums for the
Fruiterer, making a paper on Conic Sections for the Cambridge man, and
working out Trigonometrical Equations for the young schoolmaster, and
her mind full of a solemn exultation and glory, for she was a woman
who was loved. The other things troubled her but little. Her
grandfather would get back his equilibrium of mind; the shop might be
shut up, but that mattered little. Arnold, and Lala Roy, and her
grandfather, and herself, would all live together, and she and Arnold
would work. The selfishness of youth is really astonishing.
Nothing--except perhaps toothache--can make a girl unhappy who is
loved and newly betrothed. She may say what she pleases, and her face
may be a yard long when she speaks of the misfortunes of others, but
all the time her heart is dancing.

To Lala Roy, the situation presented a problem with insufficient data,
some of which would have to be guessed. A letter, now lost, said that
a certain case contained papers necessary to obtain an unknown
inheritance for Iris. How then to ascertain whether anybody was
expecting or looking for a girl to claim an inheritance? Then there
was half a coat-of-arms, and lastly there was a certain customer of
unknown name, who had been acquainted with Iris's father before his
marriage. So far for Iris. As for the thief, Lala Roy had no doubt at
all. It was, he was quite certain, the grandson, whose career he had
watched for some years with interest and curiosity. Who else was there
who would steal the papers? And who would help him, and give him
access to the safe? He did not only suspect, he was certain that James
was in some way cognizant of the deed. Why else did he turn so pale?
Why did he rush off to Joe's lodgings? Why did he sit trembling?

At half-past twelve Lala Roy rose.

"It is your dinner-hour," he said to James, and it seemed to the
unhappy man as it he was saying, "I know all." "It is your dinner
hour; go, eat, refresh the body. Whom should suspicion affright except
the guilty?"

James put on his hat and sneaked--he felt that he was sneaking--out of
the shop.

During his dinner-hour, Joseph himself called. It was an unusual thing
to see him at any time; in fact, as he was never wont to call upon his
grandfather, unless he was in a scrape and wanted money, no one ever
made the poor young man welcome, or begged him to come more often.

But this morning, he walked upstairs and appeared so cheerful, so
entirely free from any self-reproach for past sins, and so easy in his
mind, without the least touch of the old hang-dog look, that Iris
began to reproach herself for thinking badly of her cousin.

When he was told about the robbery, he expressed the greatest surprise
that any one in the world could be so wicked as to rob an old man like
his grandfather. Besides his abhorrence of crime in the abstract, he
affirmed that the robbery of a safe was a species of villainy for
which hanging was too mild--much too mild a punishment. He then asked
his grandfather what were the contents of the packet stolen, and when
he received no answer except a pleasant and a cheery laugh, he asked
Iris, and learned to his sorrow that the contents were unknown, and
could not, therefore, be identified even if they were found. This, he
said, was a thousand pities, because, if they had been known, a reward
might have been offered. For his own part he would advise the greatest
caution. Nothing at all should be done at first; no step should be
taken which might awaken suspicion; they should go on as if the papers
were without value. As for that, they had no real proof that there was
any robbery. Iris thought of telling him about the water-mark of the
blank pages, but refrained. Perhaps there was no robbery after
all--who was to prove what had been inside the packet? But if there
had been papers, and it they were valueless except to the rightful
owners, they would, perhaps, be sent back voluntarily; or after a
time, say a year or two, they might be advertised for; not as if the
owners were very anxious to get them, and not revealing the nature of
the papers, but cautiously; and presently, if they had not been
destroyed, the holders of the papers would answer the advertisement,
and then a moderate reward might, after a while, be offered; and so
on, giving excellent advice. While he was speaking, Lala Roy entered
the room in his noiseless manner, and took his accustomed chair.

"And what do you think, sir?" said Joseph, when he had finished. "You
have heard my advice. You are not an Englishman, but I suppose you've
got some intelligence."

Lala bowed and spread his hands, but replied not.

"Your opinion should be asked," Joseph went on, "because you see, as
the only other person, besides my grandfather and my cousin, in the
house, you might yourself be suspected. Indeed," he added, "I have no
doubt you will be suspected. When I talk over the conduct of the case,
which will be my task, I suppose, it will, perhaps, be my duty to
suspect you."

Lala bowed again and again, spread his hands, but did not speak.

In fact, Joseph now perceived that he was having the conversation
wholly to himself. His grandfather sat passive, listening as one who,
in a dream, hears voices but does not heed what they are saying, yet
smiling politely. Iris listened, but paid no heed. She thought that a
great deal of fuss was being made about papers, which, perhaps, were
worth nothing. And as for her inheritance, why, as she never expected
to get any, she was not going to mourn the loss of what, perhaps, was
worth nothing.

"Very well, then," said Joseph, "that's all I've got to say. I've
given you the best advice I can, and I suppose I may go. Have you
lost your voice, Iris?"

"No; but I think you had better go, Joseph. My grandfather is not able
to talk this morning, and I dare say your advice is very good, but we
have other advisers."

"As for you, Mr. Lala Roy, or whatever you call yourself," said Joe
roughly, "I've warned you. Suspicion certainly will fall upon you, and
what I say is--take care. For my own part I never did believe in
niggers, and I wouldn't have one in my house."

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