WELL MATCHED.
Mr. Barton closed the office immediately after the departure of Arthur
Prescott, and went straight home. Very wrath was his wife when he told
her the events of the day.
“You are a miserable cur, Barton, and I always told you so.” This was
all the comfort he got from Rachel. Presently she continued, “at any
rate, you ought to get a round sum out of that young Bingham for that
paper he gave you.”
Mr. Barton reflected. “Well, yes, Rachel; as you say, something ought to
be done there.”
“Something done!” Rachel said, contemptuously; “you are a poor thing,
Barton. It’s lucky for you you’ve made up your mind to drop the
business; you never had much head, though I was fool enough once to
think you had; you’re getting to be a downright fool—that’s what you
are.”
Mr. Barton uttered a feeble protest.
“Don’t tell me, Robert Barton. I know you, if no one else does, and you
may take my word for it. Do you think this young Bingham could let you
keep that paper? Why, when he sees this new heir, he will know at once
why you went to him to sell the secret, and he will see that he is all
right, for the boy’s life is not worth, you say, a year’s purchase.
Well, what would his chance be worth if you were to go to the old man,
and prove to him that Bingham knew about the boy being alive, and had
paid you to keep it dark? You ought not to give up that paper, Barton,
for a penny under a couple of thousand. That will be something out of
the fire at any rate.”
“You have got a head on your shoulders, Rachel, there’s no mistake about
that.”
“It’s very lucky for you, Barton, I have,” his wife said, mollified;
“it’s lucky we’ve one between the two of us, anyhow.”
Fred Bingham came up to town a few days after James had been installed
in his new home. The evening after his arrival he as usual went to call
upon his uncle. He was astonished upon entering the drawing-room to see
a pale young man, sitting in a sort of invalid chair, with his uncle and
Miss Heathcote.
“How are you, Fred?” Captain Bradshaw said, warmly. “Here is a gentleman
I wish to introduce you to. My grandson James. There, my boy,
congratulate me,”
For a moment Fred Bingham felt as though he would have fallen.
Fortunately Captain Bradshaw, in the exuberance of his feelings, patting
him on the back, shaking his hand, and demanding his congratulations,
gave him time to rally and collect his thoughts before he was called
upon to speak. At any rate, his uncle’s warmth proved that his first
suspicion had been incorrect—Barton had not betrayed the bargain between
them. At last he said,
“Really, uncle, I am so surprised I hardly know what to say. Are you in
earnest—is this gentleman really your grandson? I had no idea you had
one.”
“No more had I, Fred, not the slightest in the world. Can’t tell you all
the story now—found it out quite by accident. Most extraordinary
coincidence. James, this is my nephew Fred, of whom you have often heard
me speak.”
“I am sure, uncle, I am truly glad at the discovery,” Fred Bingham said,
with great warmth; “this is, indeed, a most providential restoration.”
“Isn’t it, Fred? Just what I say myself—just what Alice says.”
Fred now uttered a few words to James, as he shook hands with him,
expressing his great pleasure at meeting with a new relation, who would,
he knew, add so much to the happiness of Captain Bradshaw; and then he
turned to speak to Alice. Between them now it was declared war, and Fred
felt in the sparkle of Alice’s eye, and in the slight sarcastic smile on
her lips, that she had read his first horrified surprise, and appraised
his subsequent phrases at their true value.
“Is not this indeed a strange and unexpected pleasure?” she said; “I
knew you would join so heartily in our delight.”
Confident and secure as Alice was of her own position, and fearless as
she was by nature, she could scarcely repress a little shiver at the
glance of deadly hate which Fred Bingham gave her from under his fair
eyelashes. Then, as his uncle was speaking to the cripple, he answered
in a low tone,
“It is indeed, Miss Heathcote; it is a pity that the one member of the
family is absent whose presence would make your happiness complete.”
Feeling contented in the thought that he was nearly quits in this little
sparring match, Fred turned and sat down by James, and entered into an
animated conversation with him. Cool-headed as he was, however, he could
not sustain this long. He wanted to be away in quiet to think over this
unexpected misfortune. He soon pleaded an engagement, and rose to leave.
Captain Bradshaw, however, insisted on his going down to the library
with him, in order that he might give him a short narrative of the
matters relating to his newly-found grandson. Fred kept up his attention
to the narrative, uttering short ejaculations of wonder or pleasure in
their proper places. When Captain Bradshaw had finished his narrative he
said,—
“Of course this affair, my dear Fred, will to some extent make a
difference in your prospects. I say, frankly, that it was my intention
previously to have left all my property to you. Alice is amply provided
for, and I had no one else whom I should have cared to enrich; but you
need not be afraid, my dear boy, you will have a very handsome slice
yet.”
Frank murmured a few words of deprecatory thanks, and then took his
leave. Very fast he walked down Lowndes Square, swinging his cane
violently, and at times cutting at the air with it. As he turned into
the roar of Knightsbridge his speed slackened, and he began, as was his
wont, to speak to himself through his closed lips.
“So that is the heir. I can understand now why Barton came to me. He did
not think he would live till he came to be of age. He may not. No one
can say. He may live for years—these sort of people always do. If he
outlives the old man, as is likely enough, I shall at most get a third.
I suppose he will leave the boy the estates and me his money, and,
perhaps, some of the farms. Of course I must make myself pleasant to
this imp, in case he should outlive the old one. But I don’t think he
will,” he added, more cheerfully; “Barton evidently did not give him a
year—and he mayn’t even last that. Still this will shake my credit with
the Jews. I shall have difficulty in getting them to wait. Of course my
agreement is at an end with Barton. I agreed to pay him at my uncle’s
death, in the event of no nearer heir appearing. Yes, he will be sold
anyhow. If the boy dies it will, after all, be a lucky thing he has
turned up. Besides, even after paying Barton, he might have been an
annoyance in some sort of way. Yes, it may be for the best after all.
How Barton must have sworn when he heard it. I wish I had been there to
watch his face. The laugh would have been upon my side, I fancy. No
wonder he wouldn’t tell me who the heir was—an old fox. By Jove!” and
here he stopped in his walk in consternation, “he has got that paper of
mine. He was safe enough to keep it dark before, for it was worth twelve
thousand pounds to him; now it’s worth nothing, and if he chooses to
show it to the old man I am ruined. By Gad! I am completely under his
thumb;” and for once, in his despair at this new danger, Fred Bingham
lost his jaunty, elastic walk, and crawled along Piccadilly with the
step of an old man. Presently he hailed a cab, and when he reached home
astonished the servant by taking a candle and going straight up to his
bedroom, without a single unpleasant remark. The next morning he went
down to Mr. Barton’s office. That worthy had by one of his emissaries
learnt that Fred Bingham had returned to town the day before, and had
gone up in the evening to Captain Bradshaw’s. Fred Bingham was paler
than usual, but he was cool and collected, and thoroughly prepared for
the encounter. He began the conversation.
“Of course you have heard that the boy has turned up?”
“Yes, Mr. Bingham; I have heard that, and it is a bad job for both of
us—worse for me though than for you. It will do you no harm in the long
run; he won’t live the year out.”
“It was sharp practice of yours, Barton, coming to me when you found he
was not likely to live to come of age. A deucedly clever stroke though.
But I don’t think he’s as bad as you think. My uncle told me he has
picked up a great deal in the few days since he came there.”
“I tell you he won’t see out the year, sir. I heard him cough every
three minutes the last time I was with him; if he ain’t in a consumption
I never heard anyone. Naturally enough the excitement has brightened him
up for a while; but, take my word, he is not good for a year.”
Fred Bingham felt his hopes revive. “Well, you may be right,” he said.
“By the way,” he added, indifferently, “as he has turned up, you may as
well return me that agreement of mine; of course it is useless now.”
“Well, Mr. Bingham, I have been thinking that little matter over, and I
think, on the whole, I should prefer to keep it,” the detective said,
with a cold smile.
“I do not see that it can be of any use to you now, Barton. It expressly
states the money is only to be paid in the event of no nearer heir
making his appearance, and now this boy has turned up it is of course
worthless.”
“Well, as a legal document it is not of much value, I allow. But it’s as
a sort of keepsake I should wish to preserve it, for a while at least.
It’s all I’ve got, you see, after twenty years waiting.”
“Come, Barton, it’s no use our beating about the bush—what will you take
to give it up?”
“Well, you see, Mr. Bingham, it is not worth much to me, but it’s worth
all Captain Bradshaw’s estates to you. I only have to put that paper
into your uncle’s hand, and explain the little circumstance connected
with it, for you to lose every penny.”
“You are putting the case strongly, Barton, very strongly,” Fred Bingham
said, with a coolness that surprised and alarmed the detective; “yes, if
Captain Bradshaw saw that document and believed it—and believed it—it
would, as you say, cost me the whole of the property, which, if the lad
dies, as I believe he will, no doubt will come to me. But you would not
gain a single penny by it, Barton, and, as you owe me no grudge, there
would be no satisfaction in ruining me. Besides, Captain Bradshaw would
not believe you. If I have not that deed in my possession when I leave
this office—I have a cab with a fast horse at the door—I shall go
straight to my uncle and tell him that a scoundrel named Barton, with
whom I have had a little business once or twice in making inquiries as
to character, has been threatening to ruin me with him by means of a
forged paper, pretending that I knew of the boy’s existence. Captain
Bradshaw already knows you are a scoundrel; he knows you have deceived
him all these years, and believes you capable of any crime. When,
therefore, you appear before him, and show him a document signed with a
signature perfectly unlike mine—perfectly unlike, Mr. Barton—you will
probably find yourself kicked into the street by the footman. So, you
see, the game is not so completely in your hands as you thought.”
Mr. Barton sat completely staggered by his visitor’s coolness. Fred
Bingham followed up his advantage.
“Come, Barton, you are a clever fellow, but you have lost the game. The
signature does not in the slightest degree resemble my own. I did it,
not with any intention of disputing the claim if you acted fair, but as
a precaution in case you did not. Now I don’t want to act hardly on you,
and I don’t want, I say honestly, even a suspicion to arise in my
uncle’s mind. I tell you what I will do in exchange for that deed. I
will give you a bond, stating that in consideration of valuable services
you have rendered me in the exercise of your business as a detective, I
undertake to pay you three thousand pounds upon the death of Captain
Bradshaw, should he carry out his declared intention of making me either
wholly or partially his heir. These are my terms, what do you say?”
“And you will sign that before a witness?”
“Certainly,” Fred Bingham said.
Mr. Barton rose, and gave his clerk directions to go out and get a stamp
of the necessary value. The agreement was then drawn up and signed, the
exchange was effected, and Fred Bingham tore up the former deed into the
smallest possible pieces. Then, greatly satisfied with the result of
this his second encounter with Mr. Barton, he went out into the City to
transact the business which had brought him up to London.
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