"BE SURE YOUR SIN WILL FIND YOU OUT."
When Mr. Scadgers walked into the lobby of the Tin-Tax Office soon
after noon on the day on which Mr. Beresford had announced to Mr.
Simnel his intention of taking some decisive step in the Schröder
business, he asked to be shown to Mr. Simnel. The abruptness and
audacity of this demand struck dismay into the breasts of the
attendant messengers; they could scarcely believe their ears. Mr.
Scadgers was not unknown in the classic regions of Rutland House: in
all the various departments of that grand governmental hive he drove a
roaring trade; and though it was mostly carried on by correspondence,
or through agents, yet he occasionally appeared in person on the
scene, notably on Quarter-days, for the purpose of "bouncing" an
instalment out of recalcitrant debtors. So, had he inquired for any of
the junior clerks, or for any recognised black sheep of higher
standing, he would have been quietly shown into the waiting-room
apportioned for the reception of the public, and a light-heeled
Mercury would have been torn from the perusal of the newspaper, and,
with his tongue in his cheek, have been started off to summon the
indebted one. But when Mr. Simnel's name was mentioned, it was quite a
different thing. The head messenger, who had never before attended to
Mr. Scadgers, condescended to listen to what he had to say, at the
same time deadening any hopes which might have been entertained with a
chilling shoulder-shrug. "I'll see, sir," said he,---"I'll see; but I
think the Seckittary is partic'lar engaged just now: if you'll take a
seat, sir, I'll let him have your name; but--" "That's all; you tell
him I'm here," said Mr. Scadgers, simply; "I'll stand the racket about
his seeing me or not." The chief messenger shook his head as he walked
slowly towards the secretarial apartment: he knew that no business in
Mr. Scadgers's peculiar line could be on foot between that worthy and
Mr. Simnel; for did not he, the chief messenger, take the Secretary's
pass-book to the bank; did he not pay-in moneys, and get cash for his
master's cheques; and was he not consequently aware that a very
capital balance was always standing in Mr. Simnel's name? What could
it be? The chief messenger's astonishment was increased when he
received his orders to show the "party of the name of Scadgers" in at
once to the secretarial presence; was at its height when, bidden to
send for a cab, he saw the Secretary and Mr. Scadgers drive away
together.
Arrived at Austin Friars, Mr. Simnel bade his companion wait in the
outer office, while he himself was shown into the sanctum. He found
Mr. Townshend somewhat aged and broken, but invested with all such
relics of his former haughtiness as he could command. He received his
visitor with studied cold politeness, pointed him to a chair, and
waited for him to speak.
"I was sorry," began Simnel, "to be compelled to ask you to return
home; but the fact is that the business was urgent, and I had no
alternative. You comprehend?"
"I comprehend, sir," answered Mr. Townshend, "that the last time I saw
you you proved yourself possessed of a secret, on the keeping of which
depends my--almost my life! The possession of this secret enables you
to dictate terms to me at your own convenience. Your convenience is
now. You ordered me to come here to hear your terms, and I am here.
Isn't that so?"
"You put matters a little harshly, Mr. Townshend; as, when you have
heard what you are pleased to call my terms, I think you will allow. I
do not come merely to dictate terms to you, as I at one time thought I
should. There are wheels within wheels in my scheme; and I must take
off the front, and show you the whole scheme at work before you will
be able to see the mechanism of it. The last time I had the pleasure
of talking with you, you asked me what I wanted; I told you nothing.
Since then I have made up my mind. I want justice!"
"Justice!" echoed the old man, turning deadly white; "justice!"
"Justice!" said Simnel; "not _on_ any one though, merely _for_
somebody. Pardon my again asking about that door. Nobody to listen,
eh? All right! Last time I was here I had a notion in my head, which
has since resolved itself into a certainty, and into the pivot on
which all my action turns. I must bore you with old memories once
more, I'm afraid. You recollect that, while you were at Combcardingham
with our old friends Piggott and Wells, you formed an acquaintance
with a very pretty girl--a 'hand' in one of the factories? You shake
your head, eh? it _is_ a long time since, and these sort of things get
pushed from one's mind by other affairs, and--however, I think you'll
recollect her when I mention her name. Does the name Ann Moore convey
to you--Ah! I thought so! I'll wait a minute, if you please; there's
no hurry."
"Go on, sir; go on!" said Mr. Townshend, whose face was hidden in, and
supported by, his hands.
"An attachment sprung up between you and Ann Moore, I think, which was
the cause of great distress to her only relation, a brother, with whom
she lived. This brother and you exchanged words--if not blows--on this
subject, and the result was that the girl left her brother and went to
live with you. Did you speak?"
If he had spoken, he did not repeat what he had said, but sat there
still and silent.
"She had been living with you for about a year when that unfortunate
affair of the acceptance happened. You were obliged to leave
Combcardingham; but you were not obliged, so far as I can make out, to
leave it as you did--without giving her the least notion of your
intention; without leaving her one shilling to support herself or your
little child! She could not go back to the factory; she had not been
there since the child's birth; and she was weak and ill, and unable to
do the work. So she and the child starved."
"Great God!" cried the old man, looking up in horror--"starved?"
"Well--for all you had to do with it! You're just as much a murderer
as if they actually had perished of want, leaving them as you did But
they didn't. Neighbours found them out only just in time; found out
her brother; and he, when he found you'd gone off, came round and took
his sister to his heart again. He was a printer just starting for
himself, and he took his sister--she'd always been his favourite--to
his new home; and there she died three weeks after her arrival."
"Died? Ann died? not of--"
"No, not of starvation, if you mean that; they said she died of a
broken heart at having been deserted by the man she worshipped; but we
know by medical science that that's an impossibility--don't we? At all
events, she died; and then the printer, who was a rising man, looked
after the little girl. He looked after her in an odd way. He had a
foster-brother, who was a rider in a circus; and when the little girl
was six years old he placed her with the circus-people, where she
remained until he started her in life on her own account."
"She lived, then?"
"Oh dear, yes; lived considerably; lives now and flourishes, and does
extremely well. You have heard of a riding-mistress and horsebreaker,
Miss Kate Mellon?"
"I have heard of such a person; and I have not heard--"
"Steady, please! Kate Mellon is Ann Moore's daughter. I need not point
out her relationship to you. You shake your head. Proofs of course you
want? I've taken the liberty of ringing the bell. Be good enough,"
added Mr. Simnel, to the clerk who appeared, "to tell that person who
is waiting outside to step in. Do you recognise him?" he asked of Mr.
Townshend, as Scadgers entered the room.
Mr. Townshend, shading his eyes with his hand, looked long at the
new-comer, and then said, "It is George Moore!"
"Right enough, sir," said Mr. Scadgers; "though it's many a long day
since we met; and we're neither of us so young as then. Lord bless me!
when I look at the Runner--we used to call him the 'Runner' because of
Townshend of Bow Street, which was a nickname for him," added he,
turning to Mr. Simnel,--"when I look at the Runner, and think how long
it is since I left my mark on him about--"
"We won't trouble you for details," interrupted Mr. Simnel; "this
gentleman acknowledges you as George Moore. Will you state whether you
are the brother of Ann Moore; and if so, what became of her and her
child?"
"Ann Moore was my sister," said Scadgers in a low voice, "as this man
knows well enough. After he left the town suddenly and without giving
her any notice, without leaving her any money, without--there, though
it's so long ago, it makes me mad now when I think of it. When he left
her starving and penniless, I took such care of her and the little one
as best I could. Then--poor Ann died, and the child came to me. Young
Phil Fox was my foster-brother; and he saw the little girl, and his
wife took a sort of fancy to her, having none of their own. So I
apprenticed her to old Fox, and she was with him for years, until I
had got on in life and made some money; and then I thought I'd do what
was right by the child, not letting myself be known in the matter, for
I couldn't get over poor Ann's disgrace; and I fetched her away and
had her put to business for herself."
"You didn't have her called by her mother's or her father's name, I
believe?"
"No; her mother's name was shame to me; her father's would have been
worse; so I called her Kate Mellon, after my mother's people; and by
that name she's gone ever since."
"Thank you. You hear this testimony, Mr. Townshend; you--"
"I hear! I hear!" said the old man testily. "I hear what may possibly
be a clever story arranged between two men for the purposes of
extortion--"
The black cloud settled on Mr. Simnel's face; but before he could
speak, Scadgers burst in: "Extortion: if I'd wanted any thing of you,
Mr. George Townshend, shouldn't I have had it years ago? I've known
where you've been and what money you've been making for the last
eighteen years; and if I'd wanted any thing of you, I could have come
down on you at any time. But I scorned it for me or for my sister's
flesh and blood, just as I scorn it now! Extortion! why--"
"There! you're very naturally annoyed and excited, my good sir; but I
think we shall bring Mr. Townshend to reason," said Mr. Simnel. "I
don't think I need detain you any longer. I shall see you in a very
short time, and, I hope, have some satisfactory news to communicate.
Good-day!" and Mr. Simnel shook hands with Mr. Scadgers, who made a
very curt bow to Mr. Townshend, and departed. Then Simnel turned to
the old man, and said, "I make every allowance for your annoyance in
this matter, Mr. Townshend; but you can no longer really doubt the
truth of this statement."
"And suppose I admit it, sir; what then? To what end have you hunted
up this story and--and the other, which you hold _in terrorem_ over
me? What views of yours am I to meet: What price am I to pay for past
follies?"
"Follies is an easy word," said Simnel, with a grim smile; "but I
don't think my proposition is a hard one. I am attached to Miss
Moore--Kate Mellon--call her what you like--your daughter, I
mean--honourably attached to her; but you, as a man of the world, will
see that it would be impossible for me to marry a girl who is simply
known for her eccentricity and her daring; who has no position in
society--no relations--no any thing which the world demands, save
money, and even of that she has not sufficient. You follow me?"
"Yes, sir, yes," said Mr. Townshend, who had again buried his face in
his hands.
"Well, then, what I propose," said Simnel, who was getting annoyed at
the old man's manner, "and what, moreover, I intend, by means of the
hold which I have over you, to carry out, is this: you must
acknowledge this young lady as your daughter; take her to your house,
and let her live there for a month or two; let our wedding--a formal
wedding, with all friends invited--take place from there; and you must
give her ten thousand pounds."
"I refuse!" said Mr. Townshend; "I entirely refuse; I--"
"Oh, no, you don't," interrupted Mr. Simnel; "you'll think better of
it. Why shouldn't you? You gave Mrs. Schröder, who didn't want it at
all, twenty thousand; but you're not so well off just now, I know."
"How do you know that, you who are so well-informed on all my
affairs?"
"Well, I think I know pretty nearly every shilling you have out," said
Simnel, rubbing his knee; "and Cotopaxis and Tierra del Fuegos have
gone down like water lately. No; as matters stand, I'll be content
with ten thousand."
"I did not so much mean about the money. I do not say that I would not
pay the sum you name to be rid of the annoyance; but I will never
undergo the humiliation of acknowledging that connexion."
"Better that than the humiliation of standing in the Old-Bailey dock!
Better that than stone-quarrying at Portland at your time of life,
sir, I can tell you, besides humiliation. Nonsense! It is not as if
the acknowledging this daughter would hurt the prospects of the other.
She has done with you now. If she marries again, it will be as Mr.
Schröder's widow, without reference to you. Don't you understand?"
("He didn't like that allusion to Portland," said Simnel to himself.
"I distinctly heard his teeth chatter as I said the word.")
"I did not so much mean about the money. I do not say that I would not
pay the sum you name to be rid of the annoyance; but I will never
undergo the humiliation of acknowledging that connexion."
"Better that than the humiliation of standing in the Old-Bailey dock!
Better that than stone-quarrying at Portland at your time of life,
sir, I can tell you, besides humiliation. Nonsense! It is not as if
the acknowledging this daughter would hurt the prospects of the other.
She has done with you now. If she marries again, it will be as Mr.
Schröder's widow, without reference to you. Don't you understand?"
("He didn't like that allusion to Portland," said Simnel to himself.
"I distinctly heard his teeth chatter as I said the word.")
"And suppose I were to consent to this proposition, sir," said the old
man in a tremulous voice, "what guarantee have I that you might not
come upon me at some future time for more money, or the gratification
of some other wish; and that, on my refusal, you might not betray that
horrible secret which you hold?"
"Now, my dear sir, there your usual sound common-sense has for once
deserted you. Is it likely that, when once you are my father-in-law, I
should proclaim a gentleman whose connexion with me I had taken so
much pains to make public, as--pardon me--as a felon?"
Mr. Townshend cowered back in his chair, as Simnel, leaning forward to
impart additional earnestness to his manner, uttered these last words.
For a minute or two there was a dead silence; then the old-man, with a
terrible effort at collecting himself, asked, "When do you require an
answer to this demand?"
"An answer? Immediately! I cannot conceive that there can be any
question as to the answer to be returned. I am sure that you, my good
sir, could not be mad enough to object to what is, under all the
circumstances, really a very reasonable proposition. I merely
want you to pass your word to agree to what I have placed before you,
and we will then settle the time for carrying the arrangement into
effect."
"What delay will you grant me?"
"Now, upon my word, Mr. Townshend," said Simnel, in a semi-offended
tone, "this is scarcely polite. You ask for delay, as though you were
ordered for execution, instead of having what might have been a very
unpleasant affair settled in a thoroughly satisfactory manner."
"You must pardon me, sir," said Mr. Townshend; "I am an old man now. I
am broken with illness; and this interview has been too much for me.
Pray end it as speedily as possible." Indeed he looked as wan and
haggard as a corpse.
"Poor devil!" thought Simnel, "I pity him thoroughly. But there must
be no shrinking now, and no delay, or that Schröder-Beresford business
may fall through; and then--" "I must get you to act at once, then,
Mr. Townshend, if you please," he said aloud. "Your daughter had
better come to you at once, and we can then be married in a month or
six weeks' time."
Mr. Townshend bowed his head. "As you please, sir; perhaps you will
see me again to-morrow, or the day after. Just now I can settle
nothing; my head is gone." And so the interview ended.
"I must keep him to it, by Jove!" soliloquised Mr. Simnel; "and pretty
tight too, or it will fall through yet. He looked horribly ill, and
he'll be going off the hooks without any recognition or any
settlement, and then we should be neatly in the hole; for, of course,
not one single soul would believe the story of Kitty's birth, though
told by me and sworn to by Scadgers. And now I must let her know the
whole truth, and ask for the reward. It's been a hard fight, and it
isn't won yet."