"Dear Armstrong," wrote Roger from London about a week after the tutor's
return to Maxfield, "you will be surprised to hear I am just off to
Paris to look for a Mr Pantalzar. This is how it comes about. Long
Street does not exist, as I told you, nor any trace of the family
Callot. But old Directories are still available, and in one of these I
found that fifteen years ago there was a Long Street, and that Number 2
was then occupied by a person of the uncommon name I have mentioned.
The name seemed too promising a one to be let drop; so I tracked it down
to the year before last, when I found a Pantalzar was proprietor of a
cook-shop in Shoreditch. Of course, when I went to inquire, my
gentleman had vanished. I'm sick of asking the interminable question,
`Does So-and-so live here?' The present cook-man, however, remembered
the queer name as that belonging to his predecessor, and informed me
that, not having made the business pay over here, he had decamped two
years ago without saying good-bye to his creditors, and announced his
intention of starting a _cafe_ in Paris. This, then, is my off-chance.
Unless he has changed his name, I should be able to discover him in
Paris; and if he turns out to be the man who once lived at Number 2 Long
Street, he may be able to tell me something about the Callots; and the
Callots, if by a miracle I can find them, may be able to tell me
something about Rogers, the Ghost in _Hamlet_. I only wish you were
coming to back me up, but, from what you say, I would ever so much
rather you remained on the spot at Maxfield. I hope it will be possible
to help Oliphant out of his fix. Try. You'd better write to the _Poste
Restante_ at Paris. Remember me at home.
"Yours ever,--
"R. Ingleton."
The tutor read this letter with a somewhat troubled countenance. It
proved to him that his ward was desperately in earnest in his uphill
quest, and it filled him with some concern to feel that he himself was
not, where he should have liked to be, at the boy's side.
But to leave Maxfield at present seemed impossible. Rosalind claimed
his help on behalf of her father; and the possibility that any day Mr
Ratman might turn up and court exposure decided the tutor to remain
where he was. Another motive for this step was a haunting perplexity as
to the hallucination under which he had apparently laboured with regard
to the estate accounts. He never flattered himself he was a
particularly good man of business, but it puzzled him to explain why a
few weeks ago there should have appeared to be discrepancies and
irregularities to the tune of several hundred pounds, whereas now
everything was in startling apple-pie order.
Much to Mr Pottinger's annoyance, he took to visiting the honest
lawyer's office every other day, and spent hours in trying to discover
where it was he had made his great mistake. Mr Pottinger was unable to
render him any assistance; and the captain, when once he referred to the
subject, only smiled pityingly and advised him to take a few lessons in
the elements of finance; which advice, to do him justice, the tutor
humbly proceeded to take. The result was to deepen his perplexity and
cause him to regret that he had so compliantly countersigned an account
which, every time he studied it in the light of his new wisdom, appeared
to bristle with problems.
Faithful to her promise, at the end of a week Rosalind presented herself
at Maxfield.
"Well, my child?" said the parent blandly, laying down his newspaper.
"I said I would come and speak again about what you were saying the
other day. Have you heard any more from your creditor?"
"Things remain, as far as he is concerned, in _statu quo_; and I am no
nearer being able to satisfy him to-day than I was a week ago; unless,
indeed--"
"All I have to say," said Rosalind nervously, "is, that I would work
like a slave to help you, if I could."
"Is that all?" asked the captain with falling face.
"You know it is, father. You knew it a week ago. You knew I would even
go to this man and on my knees beg him to be merciful."
Her father laughed dismally.
"In other words," said he, "you can do nothing. I do not complain; I
expected nothing, and I have not been disappointed. I was foolish to
think such a thing possible; Heaven knows I have been punished for my
folly."
She tried hard to keep back the tears, and rose to go.
"Stay!" said he sternly; "I have a question to ask you. A week ago you
seemed to hold a different mind to this. What has changed it?"
"No," said she, "it was out of the question; you said so yourself."
"I ask you," repeated he sternly, and not heeding her protest, "what has
changed it? Have you taken counsel with any one on the subject? Have
you spoken to any one of this wretched business?"
"Yes; I have spoken to Mr Armstrong."
"Exactly. I thought as much. I understand. Leave me, Rosalind."
"Father, you are wrong-- Oh, but you must hear me," she said, as he
raised his hand deprecatingly and took up his newspaper. "You must not
misunderstand. I told Mr Armstrong of your difficulties, and who your
creditor was. I told him no more. My only object was to see if there
was any way to help you."
"You mean to tell me," said he, interrupting in an angry voice, "that
you considered it consistent with your duty as a daughter to gossip
about my private affairs with a scoundrel who--"
"No, father," she said. "Mr Armstrong is a gentleman--"
"Naturally _you_ say so. But enough of this. I forbid you, as I have
already done, to hold any communication with Mr Armstrong. Know that,
of the two men, the man you affect to scorn is infinitely less a villain
than this smug hypocrite. Go!"
She made no reply, but went, choking with misery and a smarting sense of
injustice. No longer was it easy to hug herself into the delusion that
this was all a horrid dream. Her father stood on the brink of ruin, and
she could not help him.
"If only," said she, "it had been anything else! O God, pity my poor
father!"
The captain's thoughts were of a very different kind. He had clung to
the hope that Rosalind would after all solve his difficulties by
undertaking the venture he had set before her. He had already in
imagination soothed his own conscience and smoothed away all the
difficulties which beset the undertaking.
"It might be for her good, after all, dear girl! She will reclaim him.
A fortune lies before them; for Roger will be easily convinced, and will
surrender his claim to them. Ratman is too long-sighted not to see that
I can help him in the matter, and that on my own terms. We shall start
fresh with a clear balance-sheet, and live in comfort." Now, however,
these bright hopes were dashed, and to the captain's mind he owed his
failure, first and last, to Mr Frank Armstrong. Had he not come home,
he said to himself, Rosalind would have yielded.
With him still at Maxfield everything came to a dead lock. Ratman could
not be propitiated, still less satisfied. The accounts would be
restlessly scrutinised.
Rosalind, and in less degree Tom and Jill, would be mutinous. Roger, at
home or abroad, would be beyond reach.
All the grudges of the past months seemed to culminate in this crowning
injury; and if to wish ill to one's fellow is to be a murderer, Captain
Oliphant had already come perilously near to adding one new sin to his
record.
But where, all this while, was the ingenuous Mr Ratman? Why had he
not, true to his word, come to claim his own--if not the Maxfield
estate, at any rate the little balance due to him from his old Indian
crony?
The captain, after a week or two of disappointed dread, was beginning to
recover a little of his ease of mind, and flattering himself that, after
all his creditor's bark was worse than his bite, when the blow abruptly
fell.
Mr Armstrong had gone for the day to visit one of his very few old
college friends on the other side of the county, and Tom, released from
his lessons (the captain's animosity for the tutor, by the way, stopped
short at withdrawing his son from the benefit of the gratuitous
education of which for the last year that youth had been the recipient)
was trundling a "boneshaker" bicycle along the Yeld lanes, when he
perceived the jaunty form of Mr Ratman, bag in hand and cigar in mouth,
strolling leisurely in the direction of Maxfield.
Tom, who was only a beginner in the art of cycling, was so taken aback
by this apparition, that, after one or two furious lurches from one side
of the road to the other, and a frantic effort to keep his balance, he
came ignominiously to the ground at the very feet of the visitor.
"Hullo!" said that worthy; "as full of fun as ever, I see."
"Hullo, Ratty!" said Tom, picking himself up; "got over your kicking?"
This genial reference to the circumstances under which the so-called
lost heir had last quitted Maxfield grated somewhat harshly on the
feelings of the gentleman to whom it was addressed.
"Look here, young fellow," said he, "you'd better keep a civil tongue in
your head, or I shall have to pull your ear."
"Try it," retorted Tom.
Mr Ratman seemed inclined to accept the invitation; but as he was
anxious for information just now, he decided to forego the experiment.
"Is your father at home?" he demanded.
"Rather. You'd better go back the way you came. We know all about you
up there," said Tom.
"That's all right. And how are your pretty sisters, Tommy?"
If any insult more than another could disturb the temper of Master
Oliphant, it was to be called "Tommy," as many of the rustic youths of
the neighbourhood knew to their cost. He therefore replied shortly,
"Find out," and proceeded to address himself to the task of remounting
his machine.
"That's what I'm going to do. Here, let me hold it for you, or you'll
break your neck."
"Look here," said the outraged Tom, thoroughly roused by this crowning
indignity, "I don't want to be seen out here talking to cads. I don't
mind fighting you. If you don't care for that, keep your cheek to
yourself, and go and talk to somebody who's fond of rot. I'm not." And
the young bruiser, who had an uncommonly broad pair of shoulders, looked
so threatening that Mr Ratman began to feel a little concerned.
"Ha, ha!" said he, "how well you do it! I always liked you, Tommy, my
boy. I'll let your tutor know what a credit you are to him."
"I wish to goodness Armstrong was at home," growled Tom; "he'd make you
sit up."
This was just the information Mr Ratman had been anxious to get. The
prospect of encountering Mr Armstrong had interfered considerably with
his pleasure in arranging this visit. But if he was out of the way--
well, so much more the luck of Mr Ratman. Therefore, without wasting
time in further parley with this possible brother-in-law, he proceeded
jauntily on his way.
"You won't fight, then?" said Tom by way of farewell.
"Some day."
"All right. Coward! Good-bye, Mr Roger Ingleton, major!"
Having relieved himself of which appropriate sentiment, Tom felt
decidedly better, and walked his bicycle down the hill, determined to
keep clear of Maxfield till the evening.
Mr Ratman, somewhat ruffled, but on the whole cheerful, swaggered on to
his destination.
The captain was luxuriously smoking a cigar and solacing himself with a
sporting paper, when Raffles sent his heart to his mouth by announcing--
"Mr Ingleton, sir, to see you."
"Ah, Ratman!" said he with a forced air of welcome as his creditor
entered. "I didn't recognise you by your new name. You're keeping it
up, then?"
"What do you mean?" demanded Mr Ratman, taking an easy-chair and
helping himself to a cigar from the captain's box. "It's you who are
keeping it up, I fancy. I'll trouble you to drop the Ratman."
The captain laughed unpleasantly.
"As you like," said he.
"Now to business. Of course, you're ready to make good these little
bills," and he pulled four or five blue slips from his pocket.
"No, I'm not. You may as well know it at once."
"Hum! What do you propose, then? Do you know there's a writ out?"
"I propose nothing. I want to know what you propose."
The two men regarded one another in silence; one insolent and sneering,
the other desperate and scowling.
"What do I propose?" said Ratman, puffing away cheerfully. "Scarcely
anything--only to make a little communication to the War Office, give a
few instructions to the Sheriff, write a paragraph or two to the county
papers, and tell a few interesting anecdotes to your charming
daughters."
Captain Oliphant started to his feet with a smothered exclamation.
"Not the last, Ratman! I'm in your clutches; but for Heaven's sake
don't bring them into it!"
Ratman laughed.
"You _will_ insist on forgetting my name, my dear fellow. Yes, that's
my little programme. I fancy I may as well begin at the end."
"Look here," pleaded the victim; "I know it's no use appealing to your
pity, for you have none; or your honesty, for you've less of that than I
have. But doesn't it occur to you that it would be decidedly against
your interest to ruin me just now?"
"What do you mean?" said Ratman with a yawn.
"Why, you claim a certain name, and you have to prove your claim. Roger
has got the romantic notion into his head that if his elder brother can
be found, that brother shall have the property. He is more than half
inclined to credit your story already. You have to satisfy two other
persons, of whom I am one. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly," said Mr Ratman, who began to be interested. "I anticipate
no difficulty there."
"You forget that at present only a sickly boy stands between myself and
the property. It would surely mean something on my part for me to admit
a second life between."
"What is the use of talking nonsense?" said Ratman. "Even if you did,
for the sake of a little longer credit I might give you, own my right to
my own name, what's the use of that, when this man Armstrong has to be
satisfied too? If you could crack that nut there might be something in
it."
The captain groaned. He knew that every project would be pulled up
short at this sticking-point.
"Come," said Ratman encouragingly, "if you could work things in that
direction, it might be worth my while to give you time."
"I can do nothing. The fellow is immovable. In six months--"
"In six months everything will be too late. And now, what about the
other matter? Is that all right?"
Once more the captain groaned. "I can say nothing about it yet. She
knows my wishes, but as Robert Ratman she will not hear a word of it.
As Roger Ingleton, the elder, you may depend on it the matter will take
another view. All depends on your success there. When that's achieved,
the rest will come if you give her time."
Mr Ratman sneered.
"You are a glib talker, Oliphant. I admire you. Now listen. You want
credit, and you know how to buy it. One way or another, this business
must come to an end. I'll take new bills with interest at three months.
By that time everything must be square and smooth; otherwise you'll be
sorry you and your children were born, my boy. Order dinner. I'm going
back by the six train. Pass me that paper, and don't disturb me any
more by your talking."
As Mr Ratman, very well satisfied with his day's business, strolled
serenely back through the park that afternoon, he was surprised to hear
light footsteps behind him, and, on turning, to discover that his
pursuer, of all people, was Miss Rosalind Oliphant.
"Hullo!" said he, "this is flattering, with a vengeance."
"Mr Ratman, I want to speak to you, please," said Rosalind, very pale
and nervous.
"Excuse me," said he, "that's not my name; my name is Roger Ingleton.
What's the matter?"
"It's about my father. Have you seen him?"
"Just left the dear man."
"He says he owes you money, and that you threaten to ruin him. Is that
so?"
"Upon my word, if you want to know, it is."
"How much is it, please?"
Ratman laughed.
"Nothing. A trifle. Fifteen hundred pounds or thereabouts."
"Fifteen hundred!" faltered she. "Does he owe you all that."
The little she had to offer was a drop in the bucket only.
"Look here," said he; "Miss Rosy, your father's in a fix. I don't want
to be hard on him, but I must have my money or its equivalent. Now, I
should consider it a very fair equivalent to be allowed to call him
father-in-law. I may not be up to your mark in some things, Miss
Rosalind, but I've a good name, and I flatter myself I know beauty when
I see it. Now, think over it. It's the only chance your father's got,
and you might do worse for yourself than become the mistress of
Maxfield. Good-bye. Shake hands."
She drew herself up with an air and a flush of colour which redoubled
his admiration, and without a word, turned away with rapid steps.
Mr Ratman was sorely tempted to follow this beautiful creature, who, in
all his chequered career, had been the only human being to discover the
few last dregs of affection in his nature. As much as it was possible
in such a man, he was in love with this debtor's daughter. The
sensation was novel and exhilarating enough to afford him food for
cheerful reflection as he walked on towards the station.
So engrossed was he in his day-dreams that he forgot that even country
trains are occasionally punctual, and that, at least, he had not much
time left him to catch the one he aimed at. Indeed, it was not till,
within a few minutes of the station, he caught sight of the train
already standing at the platform that it occurred to him to bestir
himself. He ran, shouted, and waved his arm all at the same time, but
to no effect. The whistle blew as he entered the yard, and as he
reached the platform the guard's van was gliding out of the station.
Thoroughly ruffled--for this was the last train to town--Mr Ratman
vented his wrath on the world in general, and the railway officials in
particular, even including in his objurgations an unlucky passenger who
had arrived by the train and shared with him the uninterrupted
possession of the platform.
"Easy, young man," said the latter, a substantial-looking, bony
individual with a wrinkled face, and speaking with a decided American
twang. "You'll hurt yourself, I reckon, if you talk like that. It's
bad for the jaws."
Mr Ratman took a contemptuous survey of the stranger and quitted the
platform.
His first idea was to return to Maxfield and demand entertainment there
for the night. But since he would have to walk all the way, and the
first train in the morning left Yeld at eight, he decided to put up at
the little hotel of the village instead, and with that object threw
himself and his bag into the omnibus of that establishment which waited
on the trains.
Somewhat to his disgust, the stranger, after collecting his baggage,
entered the same vehicle and took a seat opposite him.
"Wal," said he, "you'll have time to cool down before the next train,
young man. Putting up at the hotel?"
"Where else should I put up?" growled Ratman. "What business is it of
yours?"
"I guess it's my business to get all the information I can on this trip.
I came over this side to learn."
"You've come to a queer hole to do it," said Ratman, beginning to feel
he might as well resign himself to circumstances.
"Just so. It's changed a bit since I was here last. We had to drive
from Barbeck then."
"So you know the place, do you?" inquired Ratman.
"That's so," was the laconic rejoinder. "A resident, likely?"
"Well, not at present, or I shouldn't be going to the inn."
"Down here on business, I reckon? I was a bagman myself once."
"You're wrong again. I've been down to see my property, if you want to
know."
"Large estate, no doubt? Anywhere near my friend Ingleton's plot, now?"
Mr Ratman stared at the stranger with something like consternation.
"Ingleton!" he exclaimed. "What do you know of Ingleton?"
Here the omnibus pulled up.
"Wal, I reckon I should know something of my own family," drawled the
stranger as he alighted. "What say?--shall we have a snack of something
in the parlour! Come along."
The landlord led the way into the coffee-room. He knew Mr Ratman by
this time.
"Sorry we can't give you and your friend the private room, sir, but
there's only one other gentleman in the coffee-room, and he's going
directly."
As they entered, the other gentleman, who was drying his boots at the
fire, turned round, and Mr Ratman had the rapture of finding himself
face to face with Mr Armstrong.