Produced by James Rusk. HTML version by Al Haines.
[Transcriber's note: Italics are indicated by the
underscore character (_). Accent marks are ignored.]
FOUL PLAY.
by
Charles Reade and Dion Boucicault
CHAPTER I.
THERE are places which appear, at first sight, inaccessible to romance;
and such a place was Mr. Wardlaw's dining-room in Russell Square. It was
very large, had sickly green walls, picked out with aldermen, full
length; heavy maroon curtains; mahogany chairs; a turkey carpet an inch
thick: and was lighted with wax candles only.
In the center, bristling and gleaming with silver and glass, was a round
table, at which fourteen could have dined comfortably; and at opposite
sides of this table sat two gentlemen, who looked as neat, grave,
precise, and unromantic, as the place: Merchant Wardlaw, and his son.
Wardlaw senior was an elderly man, tall, thin, iron-gray, with a round
head, a short, thick neck, a good, brown eye, a square jowl that
betokened resolution, and a complexion so sallow as to be almost
cadaverous. Hard as iron: but a certain stiff dignity and respectability
sat upon him, and became him.
Arthur Wardlaw resembled his father in figure, but his mother in face. He
had, and has, hay-colored hair, a forehead singularly white and delicate,
pale blue eyes, largish ears, finely chiseled features, the under lip
much shorter than the upper; his chin oval and pretty, but somewhat
receding; his complexion beautiful. In short, what nineteen people out of
twenty would call a handsome young man, and think they had described him.
Both the Wardlaws were in full dress, according to the invariable custom
of the house; and sat in a dead silence, that seemed natural to the great
sober room.
This, however, was not for want of a topic; on the contrary, they had a
matter of great importance to discuss, and in fact this was why they
dined _tete-a-tete._ But their tongues were tied for the present; in the
first place, there stood in the middle of the table an epergne, the size
of a Putney laurel-tree; neither Wardlaw could well see the other,
without craning out his neck like a rifleman from behind his tree; and
then there were three live suppressors of confidential intercourse, two
gorgeous footmen and a somber, sublime, and, in one word, episcopal,
butler; all three went about as softly as cats after a robin, and
conjured one plate away, and smoothly insinuated another, and seemed
models of grave discretion: but were known to be all ears, and bound by a
secret oath to carry down each crumb of dialogue to the servants' hall,
for curious dissection and boisterous ridicule.
At last, however, those three smug hypocrites retired, and, by good luck,
transferred their suffocating epergne to the sideboard; so then father
and son looked at one another with that conscious air which naturally
precedes a topic of interest; and Wardlaw senior invited his son to try a
certain decanter of rare old port, by way of preliminary.
While the young man fills his glass, hurl we in his antecedents.
At school till fifteen, and then clerk in his father's office till
twenty-two, and showed an aptitude so remarkable, that John Wardlaw, who
was getting tired, determined, sooner or later, to put the reins of
government into his hands. But he conceived a desire that the future head
of his office should be a university man. So he announced his resolution,
and to Oxford went young Wardlaw, though he had not looked at Greek or
Latin for seven years. He was, however, furnished with a private tutor,
under whom he recovered lost ground rapidly. The Reverend Robert Penfold
was a first-class man, and had the gift of teaching. The house of Wardlaw
had peculiar claims on him, for he was the son of old Michael Penfold,
Wardlaw's cashier; he learned from young Wardlaw the stake he was playing
for, and instead of merely giving him one hour's lecture per day, as he
did to his other pupils, he used to come to his rooms at all hours, and
force him to read, by reading with him. He also stood his friend in a
serious emergency. Young Wardlaw, you must know, was blessed or cursed
with Mimicry; his powers in that way really seemed to have no limit, for
he could imitate any sound you liked with his voice, and any form with
his pen or pencil. Now, we promise you, he was one man under his father's
eye, and another down at Oxford; so, one night, this gentleman, being
warm with wine, opens his window, and, seeing a group of undergraduates
chattering and smoking in the quadrangle, imitates the peculiar grating
tones of Mr. Champion, vice-president of the college, and gives them
various reasons why they ought to disperse to their rooms and study.
"But, perhaps," says he, in conclusion, "you are too blind drunk to read
Bosh in crooked letters by candle-light? In that case----"
And he then gave them some very naughty advice how to pass the evening;
still in the exact tones of Mr. Champion, who was a very, very strict
moralist; and this unexpected sally of wit caused shrieks of laughter,
and mightily tickled all the hearers, except Champion ipse, who was
listening and disapproving at another window. He complained to the
president. Then the ingenious Wardlaw, not having come down to us in a
direct line from Bayard, committed a great mistake--he denied it.
It was brought home to him, and the president, who had laughed in his
sleeve at the practical joke, looked very grave at the falsehood;
Rustication was talked of and even Expulsion. Then Wardlaw came
sorrowfully to Penfold, and said to him, "I must have been awfully cut,
for I don't remember all that; I had been wining at Christchurch. I do
remember slanging the fellows, but how can I tell what I said? I say, old
fellow, it will be a bad job for me if they expel me, or even rusticate
me; my father will never forgive me; I shall be his clerk, but never his
partner; and then he will find out what a lot I owe down here. I'm done
for! I'm done for!"
Penfold uttered not a word, but grasped his hand, and went off to the
president, and said his pupil had wined at Christchurch, and could not be
expected to remember minutely. Mimicry was, unfortunately, a habit with
him. He then pleaded for the milder construction with such zeal and
eloquence that the high-minded scholar he was addressing admitted that
construction was _possible,_ and therefore must be received. So the
affair ended in a written apology to Mr. Champion which had all the
smoothness and neatness of a merchant's letter. Arthur Wardlaw was
already a master in that style.
Six months after this, and one fortnight before the actual commencement
of our tale, Arthur Wardlaw, well crammed by Penfold, went up for his
final examination, throbbing with anxiety. He passed; and was so grateful
to his tutor that, when the advowson of a small living near Oxford came
into the market, he asked Wardlaw senior to lend Robert Penfold a sum of
money, much more than was needed. And Wardlaw senior declined without a
moment's hesitation.
This slight sketch will serve as a key to the dialogue it has postponed,
and to subsequent incidents.
"Well, Arthur, and so you have really taken your degree?"
"No, sir; but I have passed my examination. The degree follows as a
matter of course--that is a mere question of fees."
"Oh! Then now I have something to say to you. Try one more glass of the
'47 port. Stop; you'll excuse me; I am a man of business; I don't doubt
your word; Heaven forbid! but, do you happen to have any document you can
produce, in further confirmation of what you state; namely, that you have
passed your final examination at the University?"
"Certainly, sir;" replied young Wardlaw. "My Testamur."
"What is that?"
The young gentleman put his hand in his pocket and produced his Testamur,
or "We bear witness"; a short printed document in Latin, which may be
thus translated:
"We bear witness that Arthur Wardlaw, of St. Luke's College, has answered
our questions in humane letters.
"GEORGE RICHARDSON,
"ARTHUR SMYTHE,
"EDWARD MERIVALE,
_"Examiners."_
Wardlaw senior took it, laid it beside him on the table, inspected it
with his double eye-glass, and, not knowing a word of Latin, was mightily
impressed, and his respect for his son rose forty or forty-five per cent.
"Very well, sir," said he. "Now listen to me. Perhaps it was an old man's
fancy; but I have often seen in the world what a stamp these universities
put upon a man. To send you back from commerce to Latin and Greek, at
two-and-twenty, was trying you rather hard; it was trying you doubly;
your obedience, and your ability into the bargain. Well, sir, you have
stood the trial, and I am proud of you. And so now it is my turn. From
this day and from this hour look on yourself as my partner in the old
established house of Wardlaw. My balance-sheet shall be prepared
immediately, and the partnership deed drawn. You will enter on a
flourishing concern, sir; and you will virtually conduct it, in written
communication with me; for I have had five-and-forty years of it; and
then my liver, you know! Watson advises me strongly to leave my desk, and
try country air, and rest from business and its cares."
He paused a moment; and the young man drew a long breath, like one who
was in the act of being relieved of some terrible weight.
As for the old gentleman, he was not observing his son just then, but
thinking of his own career; a certain expression of pain and regret came
over his features; but he shook it off with manly dignity. "Come, come,"
said he, "this is the law of Nature, and must be submitted to with a good
grace. Wardlaw junior, fill your glass." At the same time he stood up and
said, stoutly, "The setting sun drinks to the rising sun;" but could not
maintain that artificial style, and ended with, "God bless you, my boy,
and may you stick to business; avoid speculation, as I have done; and so
hand the concern down healthy to your son, as my father there (pointing
to a picture) handed it down to me, and I to you."
His voice wavered slightly in uttering this benediction; but only for a
moment. He then sat quietly down, and sipped his wine composedly.
Not so the other. His color came and went violently all the time his
father was speaking, and, when he ceased, he sank into his chair with
another sigh deeper than the last, and two half-hysterical tears came to
his pale eyes.
But presently, feeling he was expected to say something, he struggled
against all this mysterious emotion, and faltered out that he should not
fear the responsibility, if he might have constant recourse to his father
for advice.
"Why, of course," was the reply. "My country house is but a mile from the
station. You can telegraph for me in any case of importance."
"When would you wish me to commence my new duties?"
"Let me see, it will take six weeks to prepare a balance-sheet, such as I
could be content to submit to an incoming partner. Say two months."
Young Wardlaw's countenance fell.
"Meantime you shall travel on the Continent and enjoy yourself."
"Thank you," said young Wardlaw, mechanically, and fell into a brown
study.
The room now returned to what seemed its natural state. And its silence
continued until it was broken from without.
A sharp knocking was heard at the street door, and resounded across the
marble hall.
The Wardlaws looked at one another in some little surprise.
"I have invited nobody," said the elder. Some time elapsed, and then a
footman made his appearance and brought in a card.
"Mr. Christopher Adams."
Now that Mr. Christopher Adams should call on John Wardlaw, in his
private room, at nine o'clock in the evening, seemed to that merchant
irregular, presumptuous and monstrous. "Tell him he will find me at my
place of business to-morrow, as usual," said he, knitting his brows.
The footman went off with this message; and, soon after, raised voices
were heard in the hall, and the episcopal butler entered the room with an
injured countenance.
"He says he _must_ see you; he is in great anxiety."
"Yes, I am in great anxiety," said a quavering voice at his, elbow; and
Mr. Adams actually pushed by the butler, and stood, hat in hand, in those
sacred precincts. "'Pray excuse me, sir," said he, "but it is very
serious; I can't be easy in my mind till I have put you a question."
"This is very extraordinary conduct, sir," said Mr. Wardlaw. "Do you
think I do business here, and at all hours?"
"Oh, no, sir. It is my own business. I am come to ask you a very serious
question. I couldn't wait till morning with such a doubt on my mind."
"Well, sir, I repeat this is irregular and extraordinary; but as you are
here, pray what is the matter?" He then dismissed the lingering butler
with a look. Mr. Adams cast uneasy glances on young Wardlaw.
"Oh," said the elder, "you can speak before him. This is my partner; that
is to say, he will be as soon as the balance-sheet can be prepared and
the deed drawn. Wardlaw junior, this is Mr. Adams, a very respectable
bill discounter."
The two men bowed to each other, and Arthur Wardlaw sat down motionless.
"Sir, did you draw a note of hand to-day?" inquired Adams of the elder
merchant.
"I dare say I did. Did you discount one signed by me?"
"Yes, sir, we did."
"Well, sir, you have only to present it at maturity. Wardlaw & Son will
provide for it, I dare say." This with the lofty nonchalance of a rich
man who had never broken an engagement in his life.
"Ah, that I know they will if it is all right; but suppose it is not?"
"What d'ye mean?" asked Wardlaw, with some astonishment.
"Oh, nothing, sir! It bears your signature, that is good for twenty times
the amount; and it is indorsed by your cashier. Only what makes me a
little uneasy, your bills used to be always on your own forms, and so I
told my partner; he discounted it. Gentlemen, I wish you would just look
at it."
"Of course we will look at it. Show it Arthur first; his eyes are younger
than mine."
Mr. Adams took out a large bill-book, extracted the note of hand, and
passed it across the table to Wardlaw junior. He took it up with a sort
of shiver, and bent his head very low over it; then handed it back in
silence.
Adams took it to Wardlaw senior and laid it before him by the side of
Arthur's Testamur.
The merchant inspected it with his glasses.
"The writing is mine, apparently."
"I am very glad of it," said the bill-broker, eagerly.
"Stop a bit," said Mr. Wardlaw. "Why, what is this? For two thousand
pounds! and, as you say, not my form. I have signed no note for two
thousand pounds this week. Dated yesterday. You have not cashed it, I
hope?"
"I am sorry to say my partner has."
"Well, sir, not to keep you in suspense, the thing is not worth the stamp
it is written on."
"Mr. Wardlaw!--Sir!--Good heavens! Then it is as I feared. It is a
forgery."
"I should be puzzled to find any other name for it. You need not look so
pale, Arthur. We can't help some clever scoundrel imitating our hands;
and as for you, Adams, you ought to have been more cautious."
"But, sir, your cashier's name is Penfold," faltered the holder, clinging
to a straw. "May he not have drawn--is the indorsement forged as well?"
Mr. Wardlaw examined the back of the bill, and looked puzzled. "No," said
he. "My cashier's name is Michael Penfold, but this is indorsed 'Robert
Penfold.' Do you hear, Arthur? Why, what is the matter with you? You look
like a ghost. I say there is your tutor's name at the back of this forged
note. That is very strange. Just look, and tell me who wrote these two
words 'Robert Penfold'?"
Young Wardlaw took the document and tried to examine it calmly, but it
shook visibly in his hand, and a cold moisture gathered on his brow. His
pale eyes roved to and fro in a very remarkable way; and he was so long
before he said anything that both the other persons present began to eye
him with wonder.
At last he faltered out, "This 'Robert Penfold' seems to me very like his
own handwriting. But then the rest of the writing is equally like yours,
sir. I am sure Robert Penfold never did anything wrong. Mr. Adams, please
oblige _me._ Let this go no further till I have seen him, and asked him
whether he indorsed it."
"Now don't you be in a hurry," said the elder Wardlaw. "The first
question is, who received the money?"
Mr. Adams replied that it was a respectable-looking man, a young
clergyman.
"Ah!" said Wardlaw, with a world of meaning.
"Father!" said young Wardlaw, imploringly, "for my sake, say no more
to-night. Robert Penfold is incapable of a dishonest act."
"It becomes your years to think so, young man. But I have lived long
enough to see what crimes respectable men are betrayed into in the hour
of temptation. And, now I think of it, this Robert Penfold is in want of
money. Did he not ask me for a loan of two thousand pounds? Was not that
the very sum? Can't you answer me? Why, the application came through
you."
Receiving no reply from his son, but a sort of agonized stare, he took
out his pencil and wrote down Robert Penfold's address. This he handed
the bill-broker, and gave him some advice in a whisper, which Mr.
Christopher Adams received with a profusion of thanks, and bustled away,
leaving Wardlaw senior excited and indignant, Wardlaw junior ghastly pale
and almost stupefied.
Scarcely a word was spoken for some minutes, and then the younger man
broke out suddenly: "Robert Penfold is the best friend I ever had; I
should have been expelled but for him, and I should never have earned
that Testamur but for him."
The old merchant interrupted him. "You exaggerate. But, to tell the
truth, I am sorry now I did not lend him the money you asked for. For,
mark my words, in a moment of temptation that miserable young man has
forged my name, and will be convicted of the felony and punished
accordingly."
"No, no. Oh, God forbid!" shrieked young Wardlaw. "I couldn't bear it. If
he did, he must have intended to replace it. I must see him; I will see
him directly." He got up all in a hurry, and was going to Penfold to warn
him, and get him out of the way till the money should be replaced. But
his father started up at the same moment and forbade him, in accents that
he had never yet been able to resist.
"Sit down, sir, this instant," said the old man, with terrible sternness.
"Sit down, I say, or you will never be a partner of mine. Justice must
take its course. What business and what right have we to protect a felon?
I would not take your part if you were one. Indeed it is too late now,
for the detectives will be with him before you could reach him. I gave
Adams his address."
At this last piece of information Wardlaw junior leaned his head on the
table and groaned aloud, and a cold perspiration gathered in beads upon
his white forehead.