GREEK MEETS GREEK.
The novelty of possession had not yet palled upon Lewis Rand. It seemed
to him still like a dream, of whose reality he could scarcely assure
himself. Day after day he wandered through the magnificently-furnished
rooms of the stately dwelling, and surveyed them with a proud rising of
the heart. In the evening, as he sat before the grate fire in the
library, for the evenings were growing cool, he would run over in his
mind the long list of his possessions, and launch forth in imagination
upon plans which he meant to carry out. If by chance the image of the
cousin whom he had defrauded presented itself, it was hastily dismissed.
One evening, as he sat idly before the fire, indulging in complacent
thoughts, a servant announced a visitor.
“Bring him in here,” said Lewis, albeit somewhat surprised at an
intrusion at that late hour. This surprise was not lessened when, in the
visitor, he recognized Mr. Sharp.
The lawyer advanced with an air of easy assurance, and as he glanced
about him observed, rubbing his hands, “Really, Mr. Rand, you are quite
charmingly situated. I am reminded of what I have read of the Mohammedan
Paradise. To make it complete, you only need a houri.”
“Yet, Paradise as it is,” said Lewis, significantly, for he had neither
forgotten nor forgiven the lawyer’s treachery, “it is not free from the
intrusion of evil spirits.”
“Indeed!” returned Mr. Sharp, with an admirable air of unconsciousness,
“you surprise me.”
“Not more than I am surprised to see you here. If it is not taking too
great a liberty, might I inquire the motive of your visit? I presume it
is not the pleasure of seeing me.”
“That’s undoubtedly one of my motives,” said the lawyer, affably; “but,
as you surmise, it is not the only one. I wish to speak with you on
important business.”
“Perhaps you have made out a bill of charge for the very valuable
services you have rendered me?”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Sharp, bowing; “I cannot express the gratification
I feel at this generous commendation on the part of one in whose behalf
I have put forth my poor efforts.”
“Sir,” said Lewis Rand, rising impatiently, “you cannot hope to deceive
me by your imperturbable assurance. You serve my interests! You put
forth efforts in my behalf! You, who turned traitor to my interests, and
sought by every means in your power to defeat my plans! This, I suppose,
is your idea of legal fidelity.”
“I fancy,” said the lawyer, boldly, “that I have been as faithful to you
as you to your uncle. If we are to indulge in recrimination, it may be
that I shall not come off second-best.”
“What do you mean, sir? You are disposed to be impertinent. Can you deny
that it was through your agency that my cousin was informed of that
which I most desired to conceal from him?”
“And thereby,” said the lawyer, composedly, “enabled a father and son to
meet before Death came in to separate them forever upon the earth.”
“This, then, is the construction which you put upon your conduct,” said
Lewis, with a sneer. “I congratulate you upon your elevated sentiments.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Sharp, bowing modestly. “Appreciation is always
soothing to the feelings. Praise from such a source makes me proud,
indeed.”
Lewis was incensed to find the lawyer adopting the tone which he had
hitherto arrogated to himself. That a briefless attorney should dare to
indulge in sarcasm at his expense was a piece of unparalleled
presumption.
“I need not say,” he remarked with a smile of conscious power, “how much
I regret putting to inconvenience a man of such elevated and Christian
sentiments as yourself. Yet I am under the necessity of reminding you
that you have in your possession some three hundred dollars which I
intrusted to you for a particular purpose. That sum I have present
occasion for. If you are unable to pay me, I may feel called upon to
resort to measures which may be mutually disagreeable.”
“I am glad you mentioned it,” said Mr. Sharp, blandly. “By the way, you
can show proof that you did intrust me with this money?”
Lewis colored with mortification. He had no such proof, and his threat
was futile.
“You perceive,” said the lawyer, nonchalantly, “that if I were
dishonest, I might deny the trust. But such is not my intention. Will
you favor me with a slip of paper?”
Mr. Sharp made out a bill for professional services amounting to three
hundred dollars. This he receipted, and handed to Lewis.
“I believe we are now quits,” he said.
Baffled once more, Lewis turned upon the lawyer with a fury which he no
longer attempted to conceal.
“Then,” said he, “I see no further reason for continuing this
interview.”
“Pardon me,” said Mr. Sharp, “my business is not yet completed; I came
here in behalf of your cousin, my client, Robert Rand.”
“Perhaps,” said Lewis, with a sneer, “he has come to his senses, and
decided to accept the offer I made him the day after the funeral. You
may inform him that he is too late. The offer is withdrawn.”
“As to that, your message is unnecessary, since he has not the slightest
disposition to accept it.”
“Indeed! Then may I beg to know with what message you are charged?”
“He will agree to receive nothing less than half the estate.”
“He is quite moderate. You are sure that he does not demand the whole?”
“Quite so. He has no disposition to impoverish you, notwithstanding the
wrongs he has received at your hands.”
“He is considerate,” said Lewis, “very considerate! How soon does he
expect an answer to his modest proposal?”
“This very night.”
“And suppose,” said Lewis, “(of course, it is highly improbable) but
suppose I should decline complying with this very moderate demand of my
worthy cousin? What then?”
Lewis regarded Mr. Sharp with an exulting smile.
“Allow me, before answering your question, to propose one of my own.”
“Certainly, Mr. Sharp,” said Lewis, graciously, already exulting in the
other’s discomfiture; “I shall be happy to give you information upon any
point you may desire.”
He leaned back and surveyed the lawyer with an insolent smile. But his
triumph was short-lived.
“Are you acquainted with a copyist named Wynne,—Jacob Wynne?”—asked Mr.
Sharp, looking searchingly at his late client.
Lewis Rand started, and his sallow face grew red and white by turns.
“Well,” said he, with a vain effort to speak carelessly, “and if I do?”
“He is now an inmate of the Tombs,” said Mr. Sharp, significantly.
Lewis rose from his seat, and paced the room. At length he paused before
the lawyer.
“Why do you tell me this?” he demanded fiercely, “What have I to do with
a paltry scrivener? What is it to me that he is in prison? Doubtless he
has been there before, and you too, for ought I know.”
“He was arrested on a charge of forgery,” said the lawyer, slowly,
watching the effect of this announcement on his companion.
Lewis sat down, brought to bay at last, and leaned his head upon the
table. He no longer dared to evade the subject. He felt that the danger
was imminent, and must be confronted.
“How was his arrest brought about?” he inquired.
“Through the agency of a woman,—his wife, I believe,—who, in consequence
of some quarrel, wishes to revenge herself upon this Jacob. When the
forgery was committed she was a concealed spectator, and saw and heard
the whole. _She can swear to the person who employed Jacob Wynne to do
this service!_ Nor is this all. She has a piece of paper—a torn half
sheet—which was used by the copyist to try his pen on that night. It
contains a name several times repeated.”
Lewis did not inquire what name.
“Go on,” he said, hoarsely.
“This woman—this Margaret—fell in with me, and applied to me to help
her. It suited my purpose to do so, although her poverty will prevent my
receiving any recompense from her.”
“Then she is poor,” said Lewis, thoughtfully. “Where is she?”
“Pardon me,” said Mr. Sharp, reading the purpose of Lewis in his face;
“that is a question which I cannot answer.”
“Has Jacob divulged anything since he was imprisoned?”
“That was not needful. I will at once speak to the point, Mr. Rand. It
can be abundantly proved that this forgery was committed at your
instigation. Once let this be known, and you become amenable to the same
penalties which now menace your instrument. One word from me will carry
you to prison to-night. There is no chance of escape. I have obtained a
warrant, and an officer is waiting at the door. But there is an
alternative.”
Lewis summoned all the energies of his crafty and subtile mind to devise
some method of escape. But he was entangled in a labyrinth from which he
could not extricate himself.
“Give me till to-morrow,” he said.
“I regret that I cannot do so,” said the lawyer, politely.
“Name your proposition, then,” he said, sullenly.
Mr. Sharp drew from his pocket a legal instrument conveying one half of
all his estates to Robert Rand, some time known as Robert Ford. It was
drawn up with all the precision and technicality required by the law. It
only needed the signature of Lewis.
Lewis read it with dark and lowering face. “I cannot sign it,” he said,
desperately.
“Then I fear you must exchange this warm fireside for an apartment less
luxurious.”
“Fate is against me,” muttered Lewis, moved by this threat. “Since it
must be done.”
“Will you have the kindness to summon two of your servants to witness
the document?” said the lawyer.
Lewis rang the bell sharply.
“Jacqueline, call Antoine, and come in yourself.”
Lewis signed his name.
“Will that satisfy you?” he said, bitterly.
“Perfectly,” said Mr. Sharp, bowing.
“Then, Antoine, you will show this gentleman to the door.”
Mr. Sharp bowed graciously, and withdrew. A moment more, and Lewis was
left alone,—a prey to the keenest disappointment. Troubled as he was by
the loss of one half his possessions, there were two things that
troubled him even more. He had been out-generalled by one of his own
tools, whom he had looked upon with contempt, and his cousin, whom he
detested more than ever, was now as wealthy as himself.
Lewis Rand paced the library with disordered steps, till far into the
night, and, when he retired to his chamber, it was not to sleep.