"I NETTED the fish! what fish?"
"The man who forged the promissory note."
"Oh, Mr. Burt!"
"The same man that forged the newspaper extracts to deceive you forged
the promissory note years ago, and the man who is setting spies on you is
the man who forged those extracts; so we are sure to nail him. He is in
the net; and very much to your credit. Leave the rest to me. I'll tell
you more about it to-morrow. You must order your carriage at one o'clock
tomorrow and drive down to Scotland Yard; go into the Yard, and you will
see me; follow me without a word. When you go back, the other spies will
be so frightened they will go off to their employer, and so we shall nail
him."
Helen complied with these instructions strictly, and then returned home,
leaving Mr. Burt to work. She had been home about half an hour, when the
servant brought her up a message saying that a man wanted to speak to
her. "Admit him," said Helen.
"He is dressed very poor, miss."
"Never mind; send him to me."
She was afraid to reject anybody now, lest she might turn her back on
information.
A man presented himself in well-worn clothes, with a wash-leather face
and close-shaven chin; a little of his forehead was also shaven.
"Madam, my name is Hand." Helen started. "I have already had the honor of
writing to you."
"Yes, sir," said Helen, eying him with fear and aversion.
"Madam, I am come"--(he hesitated)--"I am an unfortunate man. Weighed
down by remorse for a thoughtless act that has ruined an innocent man,
and nearly cost my worthy employer his life, I come to expiate as far as
in me lies. But let me be brief and hurry over the tale of shame. I was a
clerk at Wardlaw's office. A bill-broker called Adams was talking to me
and my fellow-clerks, and boasting that nobody could take him in with a
feigned signature. Bets were laid; our vanity was irritated by his
pretension. It was my fortune to overhear my young master and his friend
Robert Penfold speak about a loan of two thousand pounds. In an evil hour
I listened to the tempter and wrote a forged note for that amount. I took
it to Mr. Penfold; he presented it to Adams, and it was cashed. I
intended, of course, to call next day, and tell Mr. Penfold, and take him
to Adams, and restore the money and get back the note. It was not due for
three months. Alas! that very day it fell under suspicion. Mr. Penfold
was arrested. My young master was struck down with illness at his
friend's guilt, though he never could be quite got to believe it; and
I--miserable coward!--dared not tell the truth. Ever since that day I
have been a miserable man. The other day I came into money, and left
Wardlaw's service. But I carry my remorse with me. Madam, I am come to
tell the truth. I dare not tell it to Mr. Wardlaw; I think he would kill
me. But I will tell it to you, and you can tell it to him; ay, tell it to
all the world. Let my shame be as public as his whom I have injured so
deeply, but, Heaven knows, unintentionally. I--I--I--"
Mr. Hand sank all in a heap where he sat, and could say no more.
Helen's flesh crawled at this confession, and at the sight of this
reptile who owned that he had destroyed Robert Penfold in fear and
cowardice. For a long time her wrath so overpowered all sense of pity
that she sat trembling; and, if eyes could kill, Mr. Hand would not have
outlived his confession.
At last she contrived to speak. She turned her head away not to see the
wretch and said, sternly:
"Are you prepared to make this statement on paper, if called on?"
Mr. Hand hesitated, but said, "Yes."
"Then write down that Robert Penfold was innocent, and you are ready to
prove it whenever you may be called upon."
"Write that down?" said Hand.
"Unless your penitence is feigned, you will."
"Sooner than that should be added to my crime I will avow all." He wrote
the few lines she required.
"Now your address, that I may know where to find you at a moment's
notice." He wrote, "J. Hand, 11 Warwick Street, Pimlico."
Helen then dismissed him, and wept bitterly. In that condition she was
found by Arthur Wardlaw, who comforted her, and, on hearing her report of
Hand's confession, burst out into triumph, and reminded her he had always
said Robert Penfold was innocent. "My father," said he, "must yield to
this evidence, and we will lay it before the Secretary of State and get
his pardon."
"His pardon! when he is innocent!"
"Oh, that is the form--the only form. The rest must be done by the warm
reception of his friends. I, for one, who all these years have maintained
his innocence, will be the first to welcome him to my house an honored
guest. What am I saying? Can I? dare I? ought I? when my wife-- Ah! I am
more to be pitied than my poor friend is; my friend, my rival. Well, I
leave it to you whether he can come into your husband's house."
"Never."
"But, at least, I can send the _Springbok_ out, and bring him home; and
that I will do without one day's delay."
"Oh, Arthur!" cried Helen, "you set me an example of unselfishness."
"I do what I can," said Arthur. "I am no saint. I hope for a reward."
Helen sighed. "What shall I do?"
"Have pity on _me!_ your faithful lover, and to whom your faith was
plighted before ever you saw or knew my unhappy friend. What can I do or
suffer more than I have done and suffered for you? My sweet Helen, have
pity on me, and be my wife."
"I will, some day."
"Bless you. Bless you. One effort more. What day?"
"I can't. I can't. My heart is dead."
"This day fortnight. Let me speak to your father. Let him name the day."
As she made no reply, he kissed her hand devotedly, and did speak to her
father. Sir Edward, meaning all for the best, said, "This day fortnight."