Book: In Luck at Last

W >> Walter Besant >> In Luck at Last




On the fourth morning Lala Roy sallied forth. He was about to make a
great Moral Experiment, the nature of which you will immediately
understand. None but a philosopher who had studied Confucius and Lao
Kiun, would have conceived so fine a scheme.

First he paid a visit to Mr. Chalker.

The office was the ground-floor front room, in one of the small
streets north of the King's Road. It was not an imposing office, nor
did it seem as if much business was done there; and one clerk of
tender years sufficed for Mr. Chalker's wants.

"Oh!" he said, "it's our friend from India. You're a lodger of old
Emblem's, ain't you?"

"I have lived with him for twenty years. I am his friend."

"Very well. I dare say we shall come to terms, if he's come to his
senses. Just take a chair and sit down. How is the old man?"

"He has not yet recovered the use of his intellect."

"Oh! Then how can you act for him if he's off his head?"

"I came to ask an English creditor to show mercy."

"Mercy? What is the man talking about? Mercy! I want my money. What
has that got to do with mercy?"

"Nothing, truly; but I will give you your money. I will give you
justice, and you shall give me mercy. You lent Mr. Emblem fifty
pounds. Will you take your fifty pounds, and leave us in peace?"

He drew a bag out of his pocket--a brown banker's bag--and Mr. Chalker
distinctly heard the rustling of notes.

This is a sound which to some ears is more delightful than the finest
music in the world. It awakens all the most pleasurable emotions; it
provokes desire and hankering after possession; and it fills the soul
with the imaginary enjoyment of wealth.

"Certainly not," said Mr. Chalker, confident that better terms than
those would be offered. "If that is all you have to say, you may go
away again."

"But the rest is usury. Think! To give fifty, and ask three hundred
and fifty, is the part of an usurer."

"Call it what you please. The bill of sale is for three hundred and
fifty pounds. Pay that three hundred and fifty, with costs and
sheriff's poundage, and I take away my man. If you don't pay it, then
the books on the shelves and the furniture of the house go to the
hammer."

"The books, I am informed," said Lala Roy, "will not bring as much as
a hundred pounds if they are sold at auction. As for the furniture,
some of it is mine, and some belongs to Mr. Emblem's granddaughter."

"His granddaughter! Oh, it's a swindle," said Mr. Chalker angrily. "It
is nothing more or less than a rank swindle. The old man ought to be
prosecuted, and, mind you, I'll prosecute him, and you too, for
conspiring with him."

"A prosecution," said the Hindoo, "will not hurt him, but it might
hurt you. For it would show how you lent him fifty pounds five years
ago; how you made him give you a bill for a hundred; how you did not
press him to pay that bill, but you continually offered to renew it
for him, increasing the amount on each time of renewal; and at last
you made him give you a bill of sale for three hundred and fifty. This
is, I suppose, one of the many ways in which Englishmen grow rich.
There are also usurers in India, but they do not, in my country, call
themselves lawyers. A prosecution. My friend, it is for us to
prosecute. Shall we show that you have done the same thing with many
others? You are, by this time, well known in the neighborhood, Mr.
Chalker, and you are so much beloved that there are many who would be
delighted to relate their experiences and dealings with so clever a
man. Have you ever studied, one asks with wonder, the Precepts of the
great Sage who founded your religion?"

"Oh, come, don't let us have any religious nonsense!"

"I assure you they are worth studying. I am, myself, an humble
follower of Gautama, but I have read those precepts with profit. In
the kingdom imagined by that preacher, there is no room for usurers,
Mr. Chalker. Where, then, will be your kingdom? Every man must be
somewhere. You must have a kingdom and a king."

"This is tomfoolery!" Mr. Chalker turned red, and looked very
uncomfortable. "Stick to business. Payment in full. Those are my
terms."

"You think, then, that the Precepts of your Sage are only intended for
men while they sit in the church? Many Englishmen think so, I have
observed."

"Payment in full, mister. That's what I want."

He banged his fist on the table.

"No abatement? No mercy shown to an old man on the edge of the grave?
Think, Mr. Chalker. You will soon be as old as Mr. Emblem, your hair
as white, your reason as unsteady--"

"Payment in full, and no more words."

"It is well. Then, Mr. Chalker, I have another proposal to make to
you."

"I thought we should come to something more. Out with it!"

"I believe you are a friend of Mr. Emblem's grandson?"

"Joe? Oh yes, I know Joe."

"You know him intimately?"

"Yes, I may say so."

"You know that he forged his grandfather's name; that he is a
profligate and a spendthrift, and that he has taken or borrowed from
his grandfather whatever money he could get, and that--in short, he is
a friend of your own?"

It was not until after his visitor had gone that Mr. Chalker
understood, and began to resent this last observation.

"Go on," he said. "I know all about Joe."

"Good. Then, if you can tell me anything about him which may be of use
to me I will do this. I will pay you double the valuation of Mr.
Emblem's shop, in return, for a receipt in full. If you can not, you
may proceed to sell everything by auction."

Mr. Chalker hesitated. A valuation would certainly give a higher
figure than a forced sale, and then that valuation doubled!

"Well," he said, "I don't know. It's a cruel hard case to be done out
of my money. How am I to find out whether anything I tell you would be
of use to you or not? What kind of thing do you want? How do I know
that if you get what you want, you won't swear it is of no use to
you?"

"You have the word of one who never broke his word."

Mr. Chalker laughed derisively.

"Why," he said, "I wouldn't take the word of an English bishop--no,
nor of an archbishop--where money is concerned. What is it--what is
the kind of thing you want to know?"

"It is concerned with a certain woman."

"Oh, well, if it is only a woman! I thought it might be something
about money. Joe, you see, like a good many other people, has got his
own ideas about money, and perhaps he isn't so strict in his dealings
as he might be--few men are--and I should not like to let out one or
two things that only him and me know." In fact, Mr. Chalker saw, in
imagination, the burly form of Joe in his office, brandishing a stick,
and accusing him of friendship's trust betrayed.

"But as it is only a woman--which of 'em is it?"

"This is a young woman, said to be handsome, tall, and finely-made;
she has, I am told, light brown hair and large eyes. That is the
description of her given to me."

"I know the girl you mean. Splendid figure, and goes well in tights?"

"I have not been informed on that subject. Can you tell me any more
about her?"

"I suspect, mister," said Joe's friend, with cunning eyes, "that
you've made the acquaintance of a certain widow that was--married
woman that is. I remember now, I've seen Hindoos about her lodgings,
down Shadwell way."

"Perhaps," said Lala, "and perhaps not." His face showed not the least
sign which could be read. "You can tell me afterward what you know of
the woman at Shadwell."

"Well, then, Joe thinks I know nothing about it. Else I wouldn't tell
you. Because I don't want a fight with Joe. Is this any use to you? He
is married to the girl as well as to the widow."

"He is married to the girl as well as to the widow. He has, then, two
wives. It is against the English custom, and breaks the English law.
The young wife who is beautiful, and the old wife who has the
lodging-house. Very good. What is the address of this woman?"

Mr. Chalker looked puzzled.

"Don't you know it, then? What are you driving at?"

"What is the name and address of this Shadwell woman?"

"Well, then"--he wrote an address and handed it over--"you may be as
close as you like. I don't care. It isn't my business. But you won't
make me believe you don't know all about her. Look here, whatever
happens, don't say I told you."

"It shall be a secret," said Lala, taking out the bag of notes. "Let
us complete the business at once, Mr. Chalker. Here is another offer.
I will give you two hundred pounds in discharge of your whole claim,
or you shall have a valuation made, if you prefer it, and I will
double the amount."

Mr. Chalker chose the former promptly, and in a few moments handed
over the necessary receipts, and sent his clerk to recall the Man in
Possession.

"What are you going to do with Joe?" he asked. "No good turn, I'll
swear. And a more unforgiving face than yours I never set eyes on. It
isn't my business, but I'll give you one warning. If you make Joe
desperate, he'll turn on you; and Lord help your slender ribs if Joe
once begins. Don't make him desperate. And now I'll tell you another
thing. First, the woman at Shadwell is horribly jealous. She'll make a
row. Next, the young one, who sings at a music-hall, she's desperately
in love with her husband--more than he is with her--and if a woman's
in love with a man, there's one thing she never forgives. You
understand what that is. Between the pair, Joe's likely to have a
rough time."

"I do. I have had many wives myself."

"Oh, Lord, he says he's had many wives! How many?"

Lala Roy read the receipt, and put it in his pocket. Then he rose and
remarked, with a smile of supreme superiority:

"It is a pleasure to give money to you, and to such as you, Mr.
Chalker."

"Is it?" he replied with a grin. "Give me some more, then."

"You are one of those who, the richer they become, the less harm they
do. Many Englishmen are of this disposition. When they are poor they
are jackals, hyenas, wolves, and man-eating tigers; when they are rich
they are benevolent and charitable, and show mercy unto the wretched
and the poor. So that, in their case, the words of the Wise Man are
naught, when he says that the earth is barren of good things where she
hoardeth treasure; and that where gold is in her bowels no herb
groweth. Pray, Mr. Chalker, pray earnestly for gold in order that you
may become virtuous."

Mr. Chalker grinned, but looked uncomfortable.

"I will, mister," he said, "I will pray with all my might."

Nevertheless, he remained for the space of the whole morning in
uneasiness. The words of the Philosopher troubled him. I do not go so
far as to say that his mind went back to the days when he was young
and innocent, because he was still young, and he never had been
innocent; nor do I say that a tear rose to his eyes and trickled down
his cheek, because nothing brought tears into his eyes except a speck
of dust; or that he resolved to confine himself for the future to
legitimate lawyer's work, because he would then have starved. I only
say that he felt uncomfortable and humiliated, and chiefly so because
an old man with white hair and a brown skin--hang it! a common
nigger--had been able to bring discord into the sweet harmony of his
thoughts.

Lala Roy then betook himself to Joe's former lodgings, and asked for
that gentleman's present address.

The landlady professed to know nothing.

"You do know, however," he persisted, reading knowledge in her eyes.

"Is it trouble you mean for him?" asked the woman, "and him such a
fine, well-set-up young man, too! Is it trouble? Oh, dear, I always
thought he got his money on the cross. Look here. I ain't going to
round on him, though he has gone away and left a comfortable room. So
there! And you may go."

Lala Roy opened his hand. There were at least five golden sovereigns
glorifying his dingy palm.

"Can gold," the moralist asked, "ever increase the virtue of man?
Woman, how much?"

"Is it trouble?" she repeated, looking greedily at the money. "Will
the young man get copped?"

Lala understood no London slang. But he showed his hand again.

"How much? Who so is covetous let him know that his heart is poor. How
much?"

"Poor young man! I'll take them all, please, sir. What's he done?"

"Where does he live?"

"I know where he lives," she said, "because our Bill rode away with
him at the back of his cab, and saw where he got out. He's married
now, and his wife sings at the music-hall, and he lives on her
earnings. Quite the gentleman he is now, and smokes cigars all day
long. There's his address, and thank you for the money. Oh," she said
with a gasp. "To think that people can earn five pounds so easy."

"May the gold procure you happiness--such happiness as you desire!"
said Lala Roy.

"It will nearly pay the quarter's rent. And that's about happiness
enough for one morning."

Joe was sitting in his room alone, half asleep. In fact, he had a head
upon him. He sprung to his feet, however, when he saw Lala Roy.

"Hallo!" he cried. "You here, Nig? How the devil did you find out my
address?"

There was not only astonishment, but some alarm upon his countenance.

"Never mind. I want a little conversation with you, Mr. Joseph."

"Well, sit down and let us have it out. I say, have you come to tell
me that you did sneak those papers, after all? What did you get for
them?"

"I have not come to tell you that. I dare say, however, we shall be
able, some day, to tell you who did steal the papers--if any were
stolen, that is."

"Quite so, my jolly mariner. If any were stolen. Ho, ho! you've got to
prove that first, haven't you? How's the old man?"

"He is ill; he is feeble with age; he is weighed down with misfortune.
I am come, Mr. Joseph, to ask your help for him."

"My help for him? Why, can't he help himself?"

"Four or five years ago he incurred a debt for one who forged his
name. He needed not to have paid that money, but he saved a man from
prison."

"Who was that? Who forged his name?"

"I do not name that man, whose end will be confusion, unless he repent
and make amends. This debt has grown until it is too large for him to
pay it. Unless it is paid, his whole property, his very means of
living, will be sold by the creditor."

"How can I pay him back? It is three hundred and fifty pounds now,"
said Joseph.

"Man, thou hast named thyself."

Joseph stammered but blustered still.

"Well--then--what the devil do you mean--you and your forgery?"

"Forgery is one crime: you have since committed, perhaps, others.
Think. You have been saved once from prison. Will any one save you a
second time? How have you shown your gratitude? Will you now do
something for your benefactor?"

"What do you mean, I say? What do you mean by your forgery and prison?
Hang me, if I oughtn't to kick you out of the room. I would, too, if
you were ten years younger. Do you know, sir, that you are addressing
an officer and a gentleman?"

"There is sometimes, even at the very end, a door opened for
repentance. The door is open now. Young man, once more, consider. Your
grandfather is old and destitute. Will you help him?"

Joseph hesitated.

"I don't believe he is poor. He has saved up all his money for the
girl; let her help him."

"You are wrong. He has saved nothing. His granddaughter maintains
herself by teaching. He has not a penny. You have got from him, and
you have spent all the money he had."

"He ought to have saved."

"He could, at least, have lived by his calling but for you and for
this debt which was incurred by you. He is ruined by it. What will you
do for him?"

"I am not going to do anything for him," said Joseph. "Is it likely?
Did he ever have anything but a scowl for me?"

"He who injures another is always in the wrong. You will, then, do
nothing? Think. It is the open door. He is your grandfather; he has
kept you from starvation when you were turned out of office for drink
and dishonesty. I heard that you now have money. I have been told that
you have been seen to show a large sum of money. Will you give him
some?"

As a matter of fact, Joe had been, the night before, having a festive
evening at the music-hall, from which his wife was absent, owing to
temporary indisposition. While there, he took so much Scotch whisky
and water that his tongue was loosened and he became boastful; and
that to so foolish an extent that he actually brandished in the eyes
of the multitude a whole handful of banknotes. He now remembered this,
and was greatly struck by the curious fact that Lala Roy should seem
to know it.

"I haven't got any money. It was all brag last night. I couldn't help
my grandfather if I wanted to."

"You have what is left of three hundred pounds," said Lala Roy.

"If I said that last night," replied Joe, "I must have been drunker
than I thought. You old fool! the flimsies were duffers. Where do you
think I could raise three hundred pounds? No, no--I'm sorry for the
old man, but I can't help him. I'm going to see him again in a day or
two. We jolly sailors don't make much money, but if a pound or two,
when I come home, will be of any use to him, he's only got to say the
word. After all, I believe it's a kid, got up between you. The old man
must have saved something."

"You will suffer him, then, even to be taken to the workhouse?"

"Why, I can't help it, and I suppose you'll have to go there too. Ho,
ho! I say, Nig!" He began to laugh. "Ho, ho! They won't let you wear
that old fez of yours at the workhouse. How beautiful you'll look in
the workhouse uniform, won't you? I'll come home, and bring you some
'baccy. Now you can cheese it, old 'un."

"I will go, if that is what you mean. It is the last time that you
will be asked to help your grandfather. The door is closed. You have
had one more chance, and you have thrown it away."

So he departed, and Joe, who was of a self-reliant and sanguine
disposition, thought nothing of the warning, which was therefore
thrown away and wasted.

As for Lala, he called a cab, and drove to Shadwell. And if any man
ever felt that he was an instrument set apart to carry out a scheme of
vengeance, that Hindoo philosopher felt like one. The Count of Monte
Cristo himself was not more filled with the faith and conviction of
his divine obligation.

In the afternoon he returned to Chelsea, and perhaps one who knew him
might have remarked upon his face something like a gleam of
satisfaction. He had done his duty.

It was now five days since the fatal discovery. Mr. Emblem still
remained upstairs in his chair; but he was slowly recovering. He
clearly remembered that he had been robbed, and the principal sign of
the shock was his firm conviction that by his own exercise of memory
Iris had been enabled to enter into possession of her own.

As regards the Bill of Sale, he had clean forgotten it. Now, in the
morning, there happened a thing which surprised James very much. The
Man in Possession was recalled. He went away. So that the money must
have been paid. James was so astonished that he ran upstairs to tell
Iris.

"Then," said the girl, "we shall not be turned out after all. But who
has paid the money?"

It could have been no other than Arnold. Yet when, later in the day,
he was taxed with having committed the good action, Arnold stoutly
denied it. He had not so much money in the world, he said; in fact, he
had no money at all.

"The good man," said the Philosopher, "has friends of whom he knoweth
not. As the river returns its waters to the sea, so the heart
rejoiceth in returning benefits received."

"Oh, Lala," said Iris. "But on whom have we conferred any benefits?"

"The moon shines upon all alike," said Lala, "and knows not what she
illumines."

"Lala Roy," said Arnold, suddenly getting a gleam of intelligence, "it
is you who have paid this money."

"You, Lala?"

"No one else could have paid it," said Arnold.

"But I thought--I thought--" said Iris.

"You thought I had no money at all. Children, I have some. One may
live without money in Hindostan, but in England even the Philosopher
cannot meditate unless he can pay for food and shelter. I have money,
Iris, and I have paid the usurer enough to satisfy him. Let us say no
more."

"Oh, Lala!" The tears came to Iris's eyes. "And now we shall go on
living as before."

"I think not," he replied. "In the generations of Man, the seasons
continue side by side; but spring does not always continue with
winter."

"I know, now," interrupted Mr. Emblem, suddenly waking into life and
recollection; "I could not remember at first. Now I know very well,
but I cannot tell how, that the man who stole my papers is my own
grandson. James would not steal. James is curious; he wants to read
over my shoulders what I am writing. He would pry and find out. But he
would not steal. It doesn't matter much--does it?--since I was able to
repair the loss--I always had a most excellent memory--and Iris has
now received her inheritance; but it is my grandson Joe who has stolen
the papers. My daughter's son came home from Australia when--but this
I learned afterward--he had already disgraced himself there. He ran
into debt, and I paid his debts; he forged my name and I accepted the
bill; he took all the money I could let him have, and still he asked
for more. There is no one in the world who would rob me of those
papers except Joseph."

Now, the door was open to the staircase, and the door of communication
between the shop and the house-passage was also open. This seems a
detail hardly worth noting; yet it proved of the greatest importance.
From such small trifles follow great events. Observe that as yet no
positive proof was in the hands of the two conspirators which would
actually connect Iris with Claude Deseret. The proofs were in the
stolen papers, and though Clara had those papers, who was to show that
these papers were actually those in the sealed packet?

When Mr. Emblem finished speaking, no one replied, because Arnold and
Lala knew the facts already, but did not wish to spread them abroad:
and next, because to Iris it was nothing new that her cousin was a bad
man, and because she thought, now that the Man in Possession was gone,
they might just as well forget the papers, and go on as if all this
fuss had not happened.

In the silence that followed this speech, they heard the voice of
James down-stairs, saying:

"I am sorry to say, sir, that Mr. Emblem is ill upstairs, and you
can't see him to-day."

"Ill, is he? I am very sorry. Take him my compliments, James. Mr.
Frank Farrar's compliments, and tell him--"

And then Mr. Emblem sprung to his feet, crying:

"Stop him! stop him! Go down-stairs, some one, and stop him! I don't
know where he lives. Stop him! stop him!"

Arnold rushed down the stairs. He found in the shop an elderly
gentleman, carrying a bundle of books. It was, in fact, Mr. Farrar
come to negotiate the sale of another work from his library.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Arnold, "Mr. Emblem is most anxious to
see you. Would you step upstairs?"

"Quick, Mr. Farrar--quick," the old man held him tight by the hand.
"Tell me before my memory runs away with me again--tell me. Listen,
Iris! Yet it doesn't matter, because you have already--Tell me--" He
seemed about to wander again, but he pulled himself together with a
great effort. "You knew my son-in-law before his marriage?"

"Surely, Mr. Emblem; I knew your son-in-law, and his father, and all
his people."

"And his name was not Aglen, at all?" asked Arnold.

"No; he took the name of Aglen from a fancied feeling of pride when he
quarreled with his father about--well, it was about his marriage, as
you know, Mr. Emblem; he came to London, and tried to make his way by
writing, and thought to do it, and either to hide a failure or
brighten a success, by using a pseudonym. People were more jealous
about their names in those days. He had better," added the
unsuccessful veteran of letters, "he had far better have made his
living as a--as a"--he looked about him for a fitting simile--"as a
bookseller."

"Then, sir," said Arnold, "what was his real name?"

"His name was Claude Deseret, of course."

"Iris," said Arnold, taking her hand, "this is the last proof. We have
known it for four or five days, but we wanted the final proof, and now
we have it. My dear, you are the cousin of Clara Holland, and all her
fortune, by her grandfather's will, is yours. This is the secret of
the safe. This was what the stolen papers told you."




CHAPTER XIV.

THE HAND OF FATE.


At the first stroke of noon next day, Arnold arrived at his cousin's
house in Chester Square. He was accompanied by Iris, by Lala Roy, and
by Mr. Frank Farrar.

"Pray, Arnold, what is meant by all this mystery?" asked Clara,
receiving him and his party with considerable surprise.

"I will explain all in a few minutes, my dear Clara. Meanwhile, have
you done what you promised?"

"Yes, I wrote to Dr. Washington. He will be here, I expect, in a few
minutes."

"You wrote exactly in the form of words you promised me?"

"Yes, exactly. I asked him to meet me here this morning at a quarter
past twelve, in order to discuss a few points connected with Iris's
future arrangements, before he left for America, and I wrote on the
envelope, 'Immediate and important.'"

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