ALDERMAN SNIFF.—TOMLINSON AND GREENWOOD.
It was eleven o'clock in the forenoon of the day following the incidents
just related.
[Illustration]
The scene is Mr. Tomlinson's office in Tokenhouse Yard.
The stock-broker was seated at his desk. His manner was nervous, and his
countenance expressive of anxiety: he had, indeed, passed a sleepless
night—for he saw in the conduct of the Resurrection Man the renewal of a
system of extortion which was not likely to cease so long as there was a
secret to be hushed up.
The careful aspect of the stock-broker was not, however, noticed by Mr.
Alderman Sniff, who was lounging against the mantel, with his back to
the fire, and expatiating on his own success in life—a favourite subject
with this civic functionary, who considered "success" to be nothing more
nor less than the accumulation of money from a variety of schemes and
representations so nearly allied to downright swindling, that it was
impossible to say what a jury would have thought of them had they come
under the notice of a criminal tribunal.
"But how have you managed to do it all?" asked Tomlinson, by way of
saying something—although his thoughts were far removed from the topic
of Mr. Alderman Sniff's discourse.
"You see I began life with plenty of money," returned the Alderman: "I
mean I had a decent fortune at the death of my father, which took place
when I was about two-and-twenty. But that soon went; and I was glad to
accept an offer to go out to India. On my arrival at Madras I was
inducted into a situation as clerk in a mercantile establishment; and
there I was making some little money, when I was foolish enough to issue
a prospectus for the '_General Boa-Constrictor Killing and Wild Beast
Extirpation Joint-Stock Company_,'—a project which was not so well
relished as I could have wished. My employers discharged me; and, deeply
disgusted with the ignorance of the English settlers and the natives,
who could not understand the magnitude of my designs, I came back to
England. My trip to India was, however, very useful to me; for, on my
return to this country, I lived splendidly on the Deccan Prize Money for
four years."
"Lived on the Deccan Prize Money!" exclaimed Tomlinson: "why—what claim
had you to any of it?"
"None," replied Mr. Sniff; "I never was in the Deccan in my life. But I
declared that I had claims to I can't remember how many lacs of rupees;
and it was very easy to obtain loans from friends and get bills cashed
on the strength of the assertion. Of course this had an end: the
settlement of the Deccan Prize Money affairs was interminable; but the
facility for procuring cash on the strength of it was not equally
lasting. However,—as I just now observed,—I lived comfortably on my
alleged claims for four years; and then I started the '_Universal Poor
Man's Corn-Plaster and Blister Gratuitous Distribution Society_.' I got
several philanthropic and worthy men to join me in this laudable
undertaking: we took splendid offices in King Street, Cheapside; and the
enterprise progressed wonderfully. How well I remember our first annual
meeting at Exeter Hall! The great room was crowded to excess. I was the
Secretary, and it was my duty to read the _Report_ of the Committee.
That document had been drawn up in most pathetic language by some poor
devil of an author whom I employed for the purpose; and it produced a
wonderful effect. It was really quite touching to see how the
ladies—poor dear creatures!—wept tears of the most refreshing
philanthropy, when I enumerated the blessings which this Society had
conferred upon vast numbers of individuals. Nine thousand six hundred
and sixty-seven Corn-Plasters and eleven thousand two hundred and
fourteen Blisters had been distributed gratuitously, during the year, to
as many poor suffering creatures, who had all been thereby cured of
corns previously deemed inveterate, and of chest-complaints that until
then had received no medical attention. The _Report_ dwelt upon the
gratitude of thousands of poor families for the relief thus dispensed,
and congratulated the members of the Society on the claims they
possessed to the applause of the whole Christian world. Subscriptions
rained in upon me in perfect torrents; and there was not a tearless eye
throughout that vast hall."
"How was it that so excellent an institution became extinct?" asked
Tomlinson, awaking from his reverie when the Alderman paused.
"I really can scarce tell you," was the reply. "Whether it was that the
public thought there could not possibly be any more corns to cure or
pulmonary complaints to heal,—or whether it was in consequence of a
proposition which I made, in an unlucky hour, to extend the benefits of
the Society to the poor savages in the islands of the Pacific,—I can't
say: it is, however, certain that the subscribers were very 'backward in
coming forward' at the third annual meeting; and so the institution
dwindled into nothing. I had, nevertheless, saved some little money; and
I was not long idle. My next spec. was '_The Metropolitan Poor Family's
Sunday-Dinner Gratuitous Baking Association_.' You perceive that I am
fond of dealing in humane and philanthropic enterprises. My idea was to
establish numerous baking-houses all over London, and to cook the poor
man's Sunday joint and potatoes for him, the Society reserving to itself
the dripping, which being sold, and the profits added to the voluntary
subscriptions received from the charitable, would support these most
useful institutions. At the end of a year, however, I was compelled to
dissolve the Association, after having gone to the expense of building
no less than sixty enormous ovens in as many different parts of London."
"How came that project to fail," asked Tomlinson, "when it was
calculated to benefit so many poor families?"
"Simply because so few of those poor families ever had any Sunday
dinners to cook at all," replied Alderman Sniff. "Nevertheless, the
subscriptions which were received paid all the outlay, and remunerated
me for my trouble. I therefore met with some little encouragement in all
I did for the benefit of my fellow-creatures; and, more than _that_,"
added the philanthropist, slapping his left breast," I enjoyed the
approval, Mr. Tomlinson, of my conscience."
The stock-broker sighed:—not that he envied any inward feelings which
Mr. Alderman Sniff could have experienced as the results of the
speculations referred to; but the thoughts occasioned by the mere
mention of the word "Conscience" aroused painful emotions in the breast
of James Tomlinson.
"While I was thus engaged in the behoof of the poorer classes of the
community," continued Alderman Sniff, "I was gaining influence with my
fellow citizens. I became the Treasurer of no end of charitable
institutions, was elected Churchwarden of my parish, and soon became
Deputy of the Ward. Fortunately my parish, as you well know, is governed
by a Select Vestry—properly consisting of three individuals; but as two
of the last-elected trio have died, and as I have ever stedfastly and
successfully opposed the nomination of other parishioners to replace the
deceased, we have now a Select Vestry of _One_. This gentleman is my
most intimate friend; and it would do your heart good to see the
parochial solemnity and official dignity with which he annually proposes
me to himself as a candidate for the place of Churchwarden, and then
proceeds to second the nomination, put the question, lift up his hand,
and declare me duly elected _without a dissentient voice_. In due time I
was chosen Alderman of the Ward; and every thing has gone well with me.
I have been eminently successful. My '_British Marble Company_' was a
glorious hit, as you well know."
"Yes—a glorious hit for you," said Tomlinson, with a faint smile. "You
yourself were Managing Director, and you sold your quarry—or rather your
supposed quarry—_to_ yourself;—you were Auditor and Secretary, and
consequently examined and passed your own accounts;—you were also the
Treasurer, and paid yourself. You had the best of it in every way."
"Come, Mr. Tomlinson," exclaimed Sniff, chuckling audibly, "I allowed
you to reap a decent profit on the shares which you sold; so you need
not complain."
"Oh! I do not complain," observed the stock-broker. "But how do you get
on with the accounts of your parish?"
"Mr. Tomlinson," said the Alderman, almost sternly, "I never will give
any accounts at all to those refractory parishioners of mine. The Select
Vestry of One has met regularly every year, and resolved himself into a
Committee to investigate my accounts—and that is sufficient. And, after
all," added the civic functionary, sinking his voice to a mysterious
whisper, "even if the accounts _were_ produced,—although they run over
such a long period of years, you might put them all into your
waistcoat-pocket without finding it stick out more than it now does with
your small French watch."[34]
With these words, Mr. Alderman Sniff, who had merely looked in to have a
chat and talk of himself to one with whom there was no necessity to
maintain any secrecy in respect to his antecedents,—Mr. Alderman Sniff
retired.
A few minutes afterwards Mr. Greenwood was introduced.
"My dear Tomlinson," he said, "I am quite delighted to find you within.
I have made a hit, and shall retrieve myself with ease. The ten thousand
pounds which Holmesford lent me are now twenty thousand."
"You are a lucky fellow," observed Tomlinson, with a sigh. "Adversity
has no effect upon you; whereas with me——"
"Why—what is the matter now?" interrupted Greenwood. "Always
complaining?"
"I have good cause for annoyance," returned the stock-broker. "That
precious acquaintance of yours——"
"Who?" demanded Greenwood, sharply.
"The lunatic-asylum keeper, as your friend Chichester supposed him to
be—but the resurrectionist, thief, extortioner, villain, and perhaps
murderer, as I take him to be," said Tomlinson,—"that scoundrel Tidkins,
in a word, has discovered poor old Michael's address, and menaces me."
"Ah!" said Greenwood, coolly; "it is your own fault: you should have got
Martin out of the way—even if you had painted him black, shipped him to
the United States, and sold him as a slave."
"Ridiculous!" cried Tomlinson, sternly. "I never will cease to be a
friend—a grateful friend—to that poor old man."
"Well," observed Greenwood, after a pause, "I can do you a service in
this respect. I was at Rottenborough yesterday—amongst my intelligent
and independent constituents; and I learnt that the situation of porter
to the workhouse in that truly enlightened town is vacant. Now, if——"
"Enough of this, Greenwood!" exclaimed Tomlinson. "I was wrong to
mention the old man's name to _you_.—What can I do for you this morning?
Have you made up your mind to take the loan which my friend consented to
advance to you about a month ago, and which you——"
"Which I declined then, and decline now," said Greenwood, hastily—as if
the allusion awoke unpleasant reminiscences in his mind.
"I never could understand your conduct on that evening," observed
Tomlinson, in his quiet manner: "you came at the appointed hour to
terminate the business: the money was ready—the deed was prepared—my
friend was here,—and when you put your hand into your pocket for the
securities, you turned on your heel and bolted off like a shot."
"Yes—yes," said Greenwood, with increased impatience; "I had lost my
pocket-book. But——"
"And have you found it since?" asked the stock-broker.
"I have. But I do not require the loan," returned Greenwood, shortly.
"So far from that, I wish you to lay out these seven thousand pounds for
me in a particular speculation which I will explain to you. I have
prepared the way for certain success, but cannot appear in it myself."
Greenwood then counted the Bank notes upon the table for the sum named,
and gave Tomlinson the necessary instructions for the disposal of the
amount.
"Any news to-day?" he asked, when this business was concluded.
"Here is a second edition of _The Times_ with another Telegraphic
Despatch from Castelcicala," said Tomlinson. "I know you are interested
in the affairs of that country, by the way you have lately spoken to me
on the subject."
"Yes:—I am—I am indeed," exclaimed Greenwood, earnestly, as he seized
the paper, in which the following article appeared in a bold type:—
"CASTELCICALA.
"PROCLAMATION OF ALBERTO I.—FORMATION OF
THE NEW MINISTRY.
"The French Government have received the following Telegraphic
Despatch from Toulon:—
"'_The_ Alessandro _steamer has just arrived from Montoni_. THE
MARQUIS OF ESTELLA _proclaimed the_ GRAND DUKE ALBERTO I. _in the
evening of the 24th, instead of in the morning of that day, which
was his original intention. This was merely occasioned by the delay
of the Marquis in entering the capital. The Marquis has formed the
following Ministry_:—
"_Prime Minister, and Minister of Foreign Affairs_, SIGNOR
GAËTANO.
_Minister of the Interior_, SIGNOR TERLIZZI.
_Minister of War_, COLONEL COSSARIO.
_Minister of Marine_, ADMIRAL CONTARINO.
_Minister of Finance_, SIGNOR VIVIANI.
_Minister of Justice_, BARON MANZONI.
_Minister of Commerce_, CHEVALIER GRACHIA.'"
_The Times_ newspaper, commenting upon this Administration, reminded its
readers that Signors Gaëtano and Terlizzi were the Chiefs of the
Provisional Committee of Government during the Revolution in
Castelcicala; that Colonel Cossario was the second in command of the
glorious army that had achieved Castelcicalan freedom; that Signor
Viviani was the well-known banker of Pinalla; and that the Chevalier
Grachia was the nephew of the deceased general of that name.
"Thus is it that Richard can now make a Ministry in a powerful State!"
murmured Greenwood to himself. "Oh! what a sudden elevation—what a
signal rise! And I——"
"What are you muttering about to yourself, Greenwood?" asked Tomlinson.
"Ah!" cried the Member of Parliament, suddenly, and without heeding the
stock-broker's question,—for his eyes, wandering mechanically over the
surface of the paper which he held in his hand, had settled upon a
paragraph that excited the liveliest emotions of surprise:—who could
have believed it? Oh! now I recall to mind a thousand circumstances
which should have made me suspect the truth!"
"The truth of what?" demanded Tomlinson.
"That Count Alteroni and Prince Alberto were one and the same person,"
exclaimed Greenwood; "and he is now the Grand Duke of Castelcicala!"
"Then you have had the pleasure of including a sovereign-prince amongst
the number of your victims," observed the stock-broker, coolly.
Greenwood made no reply, but remained plunged in a deep reverie, the
subject of which was the brilliant destiny that appeared to await
Richard Markham.
As soon as he had taken his leave, Tomlinson also began musing; but it
was upon a far different topic!
"Oh! what a hollow-hearted wretch is that Greenwood!" he said within
himself: "and how would he have treated Michael Martin, had the poor old
man been dependent upon him! Greenwood would indeed be capable of
sending him to the United States as a slave, were such a course
practicable. Ah!—the United States!" cried Tomlinson, aloud, as a sudden
idea was created in his mind by the mention of the name of that glorious
Republic:—"and why should _not_ Michael Martin visit the States—and with
me too? Yes! I am wearied of London,—wearied of this city where all
hearts seem to be eaten up with selfishness,—wearied of supporting the
weight of that secret which the merest accident may reveal, and which
places me at the mercy of that ferocious extortioner! Oh! if that secret
were discovered—if it were ascertained that Michael Martin was really in
London,—he would be dragged before the tribunals—and I must either
appear against him as a witness, or proclaim his innocence and thereby
sacrifice myself! No—no—I could not do either:—never—never! I know that
I am weak—vacillating—timid! But God also knows how unwillingly I have
departed from the ways of rectitude—how many bitter tears have marked
the paths of my duplicity! And now I will be firm—yes, firm to commit
one last crime! Oh! I will prove myself a worthy pupil of my great
master Greenwood! He shall be amply repaid," continued the stock-broker,
bitterly, "for all the kind lessons he has given me in the school of
dishonour—yes, and repaid, too, in his own coin. Seven thousand
pounds—added to my own little stock,—this will be a sufficient fund
wherewith to begin an honourable avocation in another clime. Yes—America
is the country for me! There I can begin the world again as a new
man—and perhaps I may retrieve myself even in my own estimation!"
Tomlinson's resolution was now irrevocably fixed.
He would emigrate to the United States, accompanied by his faithful old
clerk!
Greenwood's money should constitute the principal resource to which he
must trust as the basis whereon to establish a fortune in the place of
the one he had lost.
Nor did he hesitate a moment—weak, timid, and vacillating as he was in
ordinary circumstances—to self-appropriate those funds thus entrusted to
him.
He had no sympathy for Greenwood;—and, moreover, he had many an act of
insolence on the part of that individual—many an instance of oppression,
to avenge. Ere the failure of the bank, Greenwood had taken advantage of
his necessities to wring from him enormous interest for loans advanced,
and had, moreover, made him his instrument in defrauding the Italian
prince. Since the establishment of the office in Tokenhouse Yard,
Greenwood had continued to use Tomlinson as a tool so long as his own
fortunes had remained prosperous;—and even latterly—since the condition
of Greenwood's finances had levelled some of those barriers which the
necessities of the one and the wealth of the other had originally raised
between them,—even latterly, the manner of the Member of Parliament
towards the fallen banker had been that of patronage and superiority.
Then the frequent and heartless allusions which Greenwood made to the
poor old clerk, rankled deeply in the mind of Tomlinson; and all these
circumstances armed that naturally weak and timid man with a giant
strength of mind when he contemplated the possibility of at length
punishing Greenwood for a thousand insults.
Tomlinson was not naturally a vindictive man:—persons of his quiet and
timid disposition seldom are. But there are certain affronts which, when
oft repeated and dwelt upon in their aggregate, form a motive power that
will arouse the most enduring and the weakest mind to action—especially,
too, when accident throws a special opportunity of vengeance in the way.
James Tomlinson was a strange compound of good and bad qualities—the
latter arising from his constitutional want of nerve, and his deficiency
in moral energy. Had he been mentally resolute, he would have proved a
good and great man. The conflicting elements of his character were
signally demonstrated on this occasion, when he had determined to fly
from the country.
Having given his clerks positive orders that he was not to be
interrupted for some hours, he sealed up in different parcels the small
sums of money which his various clients had placed in his hands to
purchase scrip or other securities, and addressed the packets to those
to whom the sums respectively belonged,—omitting, however, Greenwood in
this category. He next computed the salaries due to his clerks, and set
apart the amount required to liquidate those obligations also. These
duties being accomplished, he locked all the parcels up in one of the
drawers of his writing-table, and placed the key in his pocket.
Greenwood's deposit he secured about his person.
When it grew dusk in the evening, he repaired to the lodging which
Michael Martin occupied in Bethnal Green.
As soon as Tomlinson had made known his scheme to the old man—(but, of
course, without betraying the fact of his intention to self-appropriate
Greenwood's money)—Michael took a huge pinch of snuff, and reflected
profoundly for some minutes.
"And what's the meaning of this all of a sudden?" demanded the
ex-cashier at length.
Tomlinson explained, with great frankness, that the Resurrection Man had
by some means discovered the secret of Michael's abode, and was again
playing the part of an extortioner. He, moreover, expressed his
invincible dislike for a city where he had experienced such painful
reverses; and declared his resolution of no longer living in such a
state of suspense and anxiety as he was kept in by the constant dread of
an exposure in respect to his faithful old clerk.
"You need not leave London on that account," said Martin, gruffly: "I
have long made up my mind how to act in case of detection."
"How?" asked Tomlinson, with a foreboding shudder.
"I should put an end to my life," returned the old man, filling his nose
with snuff. "I am well aware that you would not have the courage to
appear against me in a court of justice and boldly accuse me of having
embezzled your funds——"
"The courage!" exclaimed Tomlinson, wiping away a tear: "no—nor the
heart! My good—faithful old friend——"
"Well—well: don't be childish, now," said Michael, who was obliged to
take several pinches of snuff to conceal his own emotions: "if you are
really desirous to leave England and go to America, I will accompany
you. Of course I will—you know I will," he added, more hastily than he
was accustomed to speak.
"There is no time for delay," said Tomlinson, rejoiced at this assent
which he had wrung from his faithful servitor. "We will repair to Dover
this very night, and thence proceed to France. The distance from Calais
to Havre is not very great: and from the latter port ships are
constantly sailing for America."
"Let me proceed alone to Havre," said old Martin; "and you can follow me
openly and at your leisure."
"No," replied Tomlinson; "that would only be to compromise _your_
safety, perhaps. We will part no more."
The advice of the stock-broker was acted upon; and the fugitives
succeeded in leaving the kingdom in safety.
But that night the Resurrection Man vainly awaited the arrival of James
Tomlinson.
And on the following day, Mr. Greenwood discovered, to his cost, that
the effects of those lessons of duplicity and dishonour which he had
inculcated in respect to the stock-broker, practically redounded upon
himself!
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Footnote 34:
The readers must not for a moment suppose that we intend Mr. Sniff to
be a type of _all_ the city aldermen. Far from it. There are some
excellent, honourable, and talented men amongst the civic body. Mr.
Sniff is as different from what Sir Peter Laurie _is_, or Mr. Harmer
_was_, as light differs from darkness. There are, however, some
individuals wearing civic gowns, who are a disgrace to the great city
of which they have the unaccountable effrontery to remain magistrates.