BAFFLED, BUT NOT DISCOURAGED.
The triumphant look on the face of James Grey faded, and was replaced
by one of baffled rage and disappointment.
"It's a lie!" he exclaimed, speaking rather what he wished than what he
believed.
"You are mistaken," said Gilbert, in the same calm tone. "The paper you
have just torn up was in my own handwriting."
"I have no doubt of that. I thought, all the time, that it was an
imposture which you had got up."
"I made a copy of it from the original this morning," said our hero.
"Why did you not bring the original, if there is one?"
"Because I was afraid you might be tempted to destroy it. It seems I
was right," added Gilbert, with a glance at the torn pieces of paper
which littered the carpet at his feet.
James Grey was terribly provoked. He had "shown his hand," so to speak,
and gained nothing by it. If his nephew's story was true, the dreaded
paper was still in existence, and likely to be guarded more carefully
than ever. Gilbert's calmness was a strong indication of the
correctness of his story. Were the real paper destroyed, he could not
help showing agitation.
"Do you mean to say that you have another paper than this?" he
demanded.
"I do," said our hero.
"You must show me that, or I shall not believe you have it."
"I am not quite a fool, Uncle James," said Gilbert. "I know as well as
you how valuable that paper is, and I am not going to risk it."
"You seem to be a remarkably prudent young man," said Mr. Grey, with a
sneer--"quite an old head upon young shoulders."
"I ought to be," said Gilbert. "I was educated to the streets of New
York. There I had to knock about for myself and earn my own living, at
an age when most boys are carefully looked after by their parents. I
learned to look out for my own interests there. I am indebted to you
for that kind of training. You must not complain now if I use it
against you."
Mr. Grey sat a moment in deep and troubled thought. This nephew of his
turned out to be a decidedly formidable opponent. How could he cope
with him?
"Have you told any one in this city about these false claims of yours?"
he asked, after awhile.
"I have not spoken to any one about _false_ claims," said Gilbert,
coldly.
"Call them what you will. Have you spoken of having any claims to my
brother's property to any one here?"
"I have."
"To whom?"
"To Mr. Ferguson."
James Grey frowned. Mr. Ferguson was one of the last men to whom he
would have wished the communication known.
"He must have laughed at your ridiculous story."
"On the contrary, he fully believes it."
"I did not think him so gullible. Have you spoken to him about my being
in the city?"
"I have."
"Did he know you were to call upon me this afternoon?"
"I told him before I came."
Things were evidently getting more serious than Mr. Grey had supposed.
Not only was Gilbert a young man who meant business, but he was backed
by a merchant of standing, whose former connection with the Grey family
made his co-operation and favor of no slight importance. James Grey saw
that he must temporize. Had he followed out his inclination, he would
have sprung upon his obdurate nephew and pounded him to a jelly. But
unfortunately he was in a civilized city, where laws are supposed to
afford some protection from personal assault, and this course,
therefore, was not to be thought of. Since violence, then, was not
practicable, he must have recourse to stratagem, and, to put Gilbert
temporarily off his guard, he must play a part.
"Well, young man," he said, at length, "I am not prepared at present to
pronounce a definite opinion upon your claim. Of course, if really
convinced that you were my nephew, I would acknowledge you to be such."
"I have some doubts as to that," thought Gilbert.
"But it does not seem to me very probable that such is the case. Of
course, I objected to being duped by an impostor. You cannot blame me
for that."
"No."
"At first, your claim appeared to me preposterous, and I pronounced it
to be so. Upon reflection, though I strongly doubt its genuineness, I
am willing to take time to consider it."
"That is fair," said Gilbert.
"I shall consult with a lawyer on the subject, and institute some
inquiries of my own. Then, besides, my time will be partly occupied
with other business, on which I have come hither. You may come again,
say in a week, and I shall perhaps be able to give you a definite
answer."
"Very well," said Gilbert. "Good-morning."
"Good-morning," responded his uncle, following him to the door. "I'd
like to kick you down stairs, you young villain," he added, _sotto
voce_.
James Grey shut the door of his chamber, and sat down to think. It was
certainly an emergency that called for serious thought. Gilbert's claim
would strip him of four-fifths of his fortune, and reduce him from a
rich man to a comparatively poor one.
"I am not safe as long as that paper exists," he concluded. "It must be
stolen from the boy, in some way." But how? He felt that he wanted an
unscrupulous tool through whose agency he might get possession of old
Jacob's confession. That destroyed, he could snap his fingers at
Gilbert, and live undisturbed in the possession of the fortune he
wrongfully withheld from him.
Sometimes the devil sends to evil men precisely what they most want,
and so it turned out in this particular instance.
That evening Mr. Grey was walking thoughtfully in the street,
reflecting upon his difficult situation, when his sharp ears caught the
sound of his nephew's name, pronounced by two boys, or young men, in
front of him. Not to keep the reader in suspense, they were Maurice
Walton and a friend of his, named Isaac Baker.
"I tell you, Baker," said Maurice, warmly, "it's the greatest piece of
injustice my being paid only half the salary of that sneak, Gilbert
Grey."
"I suppose he's a favorite with Ferguson, isn't he?"
"That's just it. I'm as good a clerk as he is, any day, yet he gets
twenty dollars a week, while I only get ten. It's enough to make a
fellow swear."
"Did you ever speak to Ferguson about it?"
"Yes, but that was all the good it did. He seems to think there's
nobody like Grey."
"How did Grey get in with him?"
"I believe he's a nephew of the man Ferguson used to work for. Besides
he's got a way of getting round people. He's a humbug and a hypocrite."
Maurice spoke with bitterness, and evidently felt strongly on the
subject. He had another grievance, which he did not choose to speak of,
of which our readers have already had a glimpse. His cousin, Bessie
Benton, persisted in the bad taste of preferring Gilbert to him. Of
course they were too young for anything serious; but, in the social
gatherings to which all three were invited, Bessie was, of course, the
recipient of attentions from both, and she had, on more than one
occasion, shown unmistakably her preference for Gilbert Grey. Only two
evenings previous, she had danced with Gilbert, but, when Maurice
applied, had told him her card was full. It was not an intentional
slight, and, had he come up earlier, he would have been successful in
securing her. But he chose to regard it as a slight, and this naturally
embittered him still more, partly against his cousin, but most of all
against Gilbert, who, both in business and with the fair sex, seemed to
have eclipsed him.
"I suppose, under the circumstances, you don't like Grey much?" said
his companion.
"Like him!" returned Maurice, with bitter emphasis. "I should think
not. He's a mean grasping fellow, and I hate him. He's got the inside
track now, but my turn may come some time."
James Grey listened to this conversation with increasing interest. It
seemed to open a way for him to success.
"Come," thought he, "here is just the fellow I want. He hates my
dangerous nephew, and can easily be molded to my purposes. I will
follow him, and, as soon as I can speak to him alone, I will see if I
cannot win him to my side."