SHOWING WHO WERE "PIGOTT AND WELLS."
Mr. Simnel, the secretary, sat at his desk, hard at work as usual, but
evidently tempering the dulness of the official minutes with some
recollections of a lively nature, as now and then he would put down
his pen, and smile pleasantly, nursing his knee the while. "Yes," he
said softly to himself, "I think I'll do it to-day. I've waited long
enough; now I'll put Kitty on to the scent, and stand the racket.
_Ruat caelum!_ I'll ride quietly up there this afternoon;" and he
touched the small handbell, with which he summoned his private
secretary. In response to this bell,--not the private secretary, who
was lunching with a couple of friends and discussing the latest
fashionable gossip,--the door was opened by Mr. Pringle, who begged to
know his chief's wishes.
"Eh?" said Simnel, raising his head at the strange voice; "oh,
Grammont at lunch, I suppose?--how do you do, Mr. Pringle? I want all
the letters brought in at once, please; I'm going away early to-day."
"Certainly, sir," said Mr. Pringle, who objected on principle to
interviews with great official swells, such interviews being generally
connected in his mind with rebukes known as "carpetings." "I'll see
about it, sir."
"Thank you, Mr. Pringle. How are all your people? bow is Mrs.
Schröder? who is your cousin, I think."
"Yes, my cousin. She's all right; but I'm sorry to say my uncle Mr.
Townshend is very ill; so ill that he leaves town for the Continent
to-night, and is likely to be away some time."
"Dear me! Pm very sorry to hear that."
"Fact, indeed, sir! I was thinking, sir," said Mr. Pringle, who never
missed a chance, "that as Mrs. Schröder may perhaps be rather dull
to-morrow after her father's gone, I might perhaps have a day's leave
of absence to be with her."
"Certainly; by all means, Mr. Pringle! Now send in the letters,
please." And Mr. Pringle retired into the next room, where he indulged
in the steps of a comic dance popular with burlesque-actors, and known
as a "nigger break-down."
"Going out of town, eh? likely to be abroad some time! very unwell!"
said Mr. Simnel, nursing his leg; "then I must alter my arrangements.
I'll go and see him at once, and bring that matter to a head. I can
deal with Kitty afterwards." And when Mr. Simnel had signed all the
letters brought in to him, he unlocked his desk and took out a paper
which he placed in his pocketbook; then carefully locking every thing
after him, he departed.
In the Strand he called a cab, and was driven to Austin Friars, where
he dismounted, and walked up the street until he came to a large door,
on the posts of which were inscribed the words, "Townshend and Co."
There was no Co., there never had been; Mr. Townshend was the entire
concern; he was the first of his name who had been known in the place,
and no one knew his origin. He first made his mark in the City as a
daring money-broker and speculator; two or three lucky hits
established his fame, and he then became cautious, wary,
well-informed, and almost invariably successful.. The name of
Townshend was highly thought of on 'Change; its owner had been invited
to a seat in the Bank Direction, and had been consulted by more than
one Chancellor of the Exchequer; he had been a member of the Gresham
Club, there made acquaintances, who introduced him into the True Blue
and the No-Surrender, for Mr. Townshend was intensely conservative;
and by the time his daughter was fit to head his table (his wife had
died years since), he had a set of ancestors on his walls in Harley
Street dating from warriors who fought at Ramillies and Malplaquet,
down to the "civil servant of the Company," who shook the pagoda-tree
in the East, and from whom, as Mr. Townshend said, his first start in
life was derived. It is doubtful--and immaterial--whether Mr. Simnel
knew or not of the non-existence of the Co. He asked for Mr.
Townshend, whether Mr. Townshend was in; and he put the question to
one of four young gentlemen who were writing at a desk, which, if it
must be called by its right name, was a counter. After a great deal of
fencing with this youth, who was reading out wild commercial
documents, such as "Two two four nine, Lammas and Childs on National
of Ireland--note for dis.," and who declined to be interrupted until
he had completed his task,--Mr. Simnel at length got his name sent in
to Mr. Townshend, and was shown into the great man's presence.
Mr. Townshend was seated at a large desk covered with papers, which
were arranged in the most precise and orderly fashion. He was dressed
with great precision, in a blue body-coat and a buff waistcoat with
gilt buttons; his thin hair was brushed up over his temples, and his
face was thin and pale. He received his visitor somewhat pompously,
and made him a very slight bow. Mr. Simnel returned the salute much in
the same fashion, and said, "You will wonder what has brought me to
call on you, Mr. Townshend?"
"I--I am not aware what can have procured me the honour of a visit,
Mr.--Mr.--" and the old gentleman held up Mr. Simnel's card at
arm's-length, and looked at it through his double eyeglass.
"Simnel's my name! I daresay it conveys to you no meaning whatsoever?"
"Oh, I beg your pardon! On the contrary, your name is familiar to me
as that of the secretary of the Tin-Tax Office. I am glad to make your
acquaintance, sir. I often have communication with official men. What
can I do for you?"
"It's in a private capacity that I've come to see you," said Mr.
Simnel. "I heard you were going out of town, and I had something
special to talk over with you."
"I must trouble you to be concise and quick," said Mr. Townshend, by
no means relishing the easy manner of his visitor. "As you say, I am
going out of town,--for the benefit of my health,--and every moment is
precious."
"I shall not detain you very long," said Simnel, who had begun to
nurse his leg, to Mr. Townshend's intense disgust. "I suppose we're
private here? You'll excuse me; but you'll be glad of it before I've
done. I may as well be brief in what I have to say; it will save both
of us trouble. To begin with: I'm not by origin a London man. I come
from Combcardingham; so do you."
Mr. Townshend's cheeks paled a little as he said, "I came from
Calcutta sir."
"Yes; last, I know; but you went to Calcutta, and from
Combcardingham."
"I never was in the place in my life."
"Weren't you indeed? then it must have been your twin-brother. I know
a curious story about him, which I'll tell you."
"If you are come here to fool away my time, sir!" said Mr. Townshend,
rising.
"By no means, my dear sir. You don't know me personally; but I'll
pledge my official reputation that the story is worth hearing. I think
when I mention the names of Pigott and Wells--"
Down at last--sunk down cowering in his chair, just as at the
Schröders' dinner, when he heard those dreadful names.
"Ah, I thought you would remember them. Well, Pigott and Wells were
wool-merchants of old standing in Combcardingham. Pigott had long been
dead; but Wells carried on the business of the firm under the old
name. His solicitors were Messrs. Banner and Blair. One day Mr. Banner
came to their articled clerk, and said to him, 'Robert, I have got an
awkward business on hand; but you're a sharp fellow and can be
trusted. Old Wells is coming here presently with some one else. I
shall want a signature witnessed; but I'll get Podmore to do that. All
you have to do is to keep your eyes against that window,' pointing to
a pane hidden behind a curtain; 'and mark all you see, specially
faces. It may be a lesson to you on a future occasion.'"
"Well, sir?" interrupted Townshend.
"Well, sir, the clerk placed himself as directed, and saw old Mr.
Wells and a thickset, dissipated-looking man shown into the room.
Banner told Mr. Wells he was prepared for him, and produced a paper
for signature; the signer of which, in consideration of Mr. Wells
consenting to forego prosecuting him for the forgery of a bill of
120_l_. attached to the document, promised to leave England and never
to return. You're interested now; I thought you would be. Podmore was
called in, and witnessed the dissipated young man sign the paper; but
he knew nothing of its contents. Then old Wells, raising his shaking
forefinger, said, 'For your poor mother's sake, sir; not for yours!'
and the dissipated-looking man drew a long breath, as though a great
weight were off his mind, and strode out. The articled clerk saw all
this, and marked the features of the forger; he did not see him again
for many years. He sees him now!"
"What do you mean?"
"Simply, that you were the forger, I the clerk!"
"But that paper--that horrible confession, and the bill, they are
destroyed! Wells swore he would destroy them before his death!"
"He intended to do so but he died suddenly, poor old man; and in going
through his desk I found them. I've got them here!"
"And what use are they to you? What harm are they to me? I shall
swear--"
"Stop a minute! Podmore is alive; he's got Banner and Blair's business
in Combcardingham now; he would verify his signature any day, and
yours too. No; I fairly tell you I've thought of it all for several
years, and I don't see your loophole. I think I've got you tight!" And
Mr. Simnel smiled pleasantly as he squeezed his thumb and forefinger
together, as though he were choking a rabbit.
Mr. Townshend was cowering in his chair, and had covered his face
with his hands. When he raised it, he was livid. "What do you
want?--money?"
"No," said Simnel, "not exactly. Oddly enough, I want nothing at
present! I merely wanted, as you were going out of town, to set
matters straight, and let us understand each other before you left.
I'll let you know when I really require you to do something for me,
and you'll not fail, eh?" These last words rather sharply.
"In all human--I mean--in a--" and the old man stammered, broke down,
and threw himself back in his chair, sobbing violently.
"Come, come!" said Simnel; "don't take on so! You'll not find me hard;
but you know in these days one must utilise one's opportunities.
There, good-by! you won't forget my name; and I'll write here when I
want you."
And he touched, not unkindly, the shrinking old man's shoulder, and
went out.