Mr. Barker's urgent engagement up town that evening must have been to
meet some one; but considering that the individual he might be supposed
to be awaiting did not come, he showed a remarkable degree of patience.
He went to a certain quiet club and ordered, with the utmost care, a
meal after his own heart--for one; and though several members hailed him
and greeted him on his return, he did not seem particularly interested
in what they had to say, but sat solitary at his small square table with
its exquisite service; and when he had eaten, and had finished his
modest pint of Pommery Sec, he drank his coffee and smoked his own
cigars in undisturbed contemplation of the soft-tinted wall-paper, and
in calm, though apparently melancholy, enjoyment of the gentle light
that pervaded the room, and of the sweet evening breeze that blew in
from the trees of Madison Square, so restful after the dust and
discomfort of the hot September day.
Whoever it was that he awaited did not come, and yet Mr. Barker
exhibited no sign of annoyance. He went to another room, and sat in a
deep arm-chair with a newspaper which he did not read, and once he took
a scrap of paper from his pocket and made a short note upon it with a
patent gold pencil. It was a very quiet club, and Mr. Barker seemed to
be its quietest member. And well he might be, for he had made up his
mind on a grave point. He had determined to marry.
He had long known it must come, and had said to himself more than once
that "to every man upon this earth death cometh, soon or late;" but
being human, he had put off the evil day, having always thought that it
must, of necessity, be evil. But now it was different. What he had said
to the Duke, and what the Duke had said to him, that evening on the
yacht when they were talking about marriage, was exactly what he had
always expected to occur. The day, he said, must come when the
enterprising mamma will get the better of Silas B. Barker junior. The
girl of the season, with her cartload of bouquets slung all over her,
her neat figure, her pink-and-white complexion and her matchless staying
powers in a ballroom, will descend upon the devoted victim Barker, beak
and talons, like the fish-hawk on the poor, simple minnow innocently
disporting itself in the crystal waters of happiness. There will be
wedding presents, and a breakfast, and a journey, and a prospect of
everlasting misery. All these things, thought he, must come to every man
in time, unless he is a saint, or an author, or has no money, and
therefore they must come to me; but now it was different. If there is to
be any fishing, he thought, I will be the hawk, and the minnow may take
its chance of happiness. Why should the minnow not be happy? I am a
hawk; well--but I am a very good hawk.
But these reflections were not what occupied his mind as he sat with his
second cigar in the reading-room of his quiet club. These things he had
elaborated in his brain at least three days ago, and they had now taken
the form of a decision, against which there could be no appeal, because
it was pleasant to the _ego_ of Mr Barker. Judgments of that sort he
never reversed. He had fully determined to be the hawk, he had picked
out his minnow, and he was meditating the capture of his prey. A great
many people do as much as that, and discover too late that what they
have taken for a minnow is an alligator, or a tartar, or a salamander,
or some evil beast that is too much for their powers. This was what Mr.
Barker was afraid of, and this was what he wished to guard against.
Unfortunately he was a little late in the selection of his victim, and
he knew it. He had determined to marry the Countess Margaret.
He knew perfectly well that Claudius had determined upon the very same
thing, and he knew that Claudius was intimate, to say the least of it,
with the woman he loved. But Barker had made up his mind that Claudius
had been refused, and had accepted the Platonic position offered him by
the Countess, merely because he had not the strength to leave her. "Just
like the vanity of a fellow like that," he argued, "not to be willing to
believe himself beaten." He had drawn the whole situation in his mind
entirely to his own satisfaction. If Claudius could only be removed, any
other man would have as good a chance. The other man is
Barker--therefore, remove Claudius at once. Remove him! Away with him!
Let his place know him no more!
Mr. Barker sat unmoved in his chair; but he contemplated the nail on the
middle finger of his left hand with absorbed interest, even bringing it
nearer the light in order to obtain a better view.
He was one of those men who are seldom altogether unprepared. His mind
was of the Napoleonic order, on a very small scale; with him to think of
the end was to plan the means, and in the days that had followed the
memorable night wherein the idea had struck him that he might marry the
Countess in the teeth of Dr. Claudius, a project had grown up in his
mind whereby he hoped now to effect his purpose. Perhaps the scheme had
developed unconsciously, as often happens with persons whose lives are
spent in planning. Perhaps he fondly hoped--for he was not without
vanity--that he might yet win the Countess fairly, and had only
contemplated his plot as a possibility. Be that as it may, from the
moment he realised that a plan of action was necessary he also realised
that the plan was ready, and he determined to put it into execution. It
was an unfair plan he meditated, bad from the root up, and he knew it;
but he did not hesitate on that account. Silas B. Barker junior had not
enough conscience to make it an object for him to deceive himself as to
the morality of his actions. A year or two since he would perhaps have
defended himself in a general way by saying it was arrogance for a man
to set himself up as any better than his surroundings. But between a
year or two ago and this September evening there was set a gulf,
represented by a couple of transactions in the "street," over which
there was small joy in heaven and very little on earth.
Fair or unfair, it would be so much easier if Claudius were out of the
way. It would simplify Mr. Barker's campaign so much; and, besides, it
was so easy a matter to remove him, for a time at least. How? Why,
simply by asserting that Claudius was not Claudius, that he was not the
late Mr. Lindstrand's nephew, that he had no right to the fortune, and
that if he wished to save himself trouble he had better return
immediately to Heidelberg and resume his duties as a private lecturer in
the University. It was easy enough! Who was there to show that Claudius
was Claudius? There was nothing but the attestation of a wretched
Heidelberg notary, who might easily have been persuaded to swear a
little in consideration of a large bribe.
Besides, reflected Mr. Barker, the real Dr. Claudius was dead. He died
about eight months ago; no doubt it was in the newspapers at the time,
and a newspaper could certainly be found which should contain a notice
of his death. Therefore, if the real Dr. Claudius were dead this Dr.
Claudius was a sham, an impostor, a man obtaining money by personating
the dead--in short, a criminal. However, it might not be necessary to
proceed with all the rigour of the law, and he might be quietly sent
back to Germany.
Of course Mr. Barker was responsible in some measure for having
introduced this villain to the Countess and to the Duke. But how could
Mr. Barker, a creature of sunny, lamb-like innocence, be expected to
know an impostor at first sight? Claudius had acted his part so very
well, you know, and Barker had been deceived by his apparent frankness;
he had not even made any inquiries in Heidelberg, but had simply gone to
the address his father had given him. Of course, also, the pretender had
adopted the obvious expedient of taking the dead man's lodgings; had
installed himself there, and called himself "Dr. Claudius." Nobody in
America had ever seen the real Dr. Claudius; none of the yachting party
had any means of knowing whether he were what he pretended to be or
not; the only person who vouched for him was Silas B. Barker junior. And
if Silas B. Barker junior would not vouch for him any longer, who would,
pray? Obviously, no one.
"Dukes are very pretty things," said Mr. Barker; "and to know them
intimately is a special grace. But they cannot swear to what they do not
know anything about, any more than other people." And he lit another
cigar, and looked at the clock, an old-fashioned black-marble timepiece
with gilded hands. It wanted half an hour of midnight, and Mr. Barker's
solitude had lasted since seven or thereabouts. Some one entered the
room, bidding good-night to some one else at the door. Mr. Barker turned
his eyes, and, recognising a friend, he smiled a wrinkled smile.
"Well, Mr. Screw, how goes it?" he said. "It is some time since we met."
"Happy to meet you, sir; glad to see you," replied the lawyer, putting
out a long hand towards the part of the room where Mr. Barker was
standing.
Mr. Screw was Mr. Scratch's partner. Mr. Screw was very tall, very thin,
and exceedingly yellow. He had thick yellow hair, streaked with gray.
His face seemed bound in old parchment, and his eyes were like brass
nails driven very deep, but bright and fixed when he spoke. He had a
great abundance of teeth of all sizes and shapes; his face was clean
shaven; and he wore a stand-up collar, with a narrow black tie neatly
adjusted in a bow. His feet and hands were of immense size. He was in
evening-dress. He doubled up a few of his joints and deposited himself
in a deep arm-chair--the twin of Barker's--on the other side of the
fireplace.
"I thought very likely you would be here before the evening was out,"
said Mr. Barker. "Yes," he continued after a pause, "that is the reason
I came here. I wanted to see you on business, and I missed you to-day
down town."
"Oh! business, did you say?" inquired the other, rubbing his bony nose
and looking at the empty grate.
"Yes, rather important to you--more than to myself, though it concerns
me too. You have a new client, I believe; the nephew of our old partner
Mr. Lindstrand."
"Dr. Claudius?" asked the lawyer, looking up.
"He calls himself so, at any rate," said Barker.
"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Screw quickly, shifting his position.
"Do you think you have taken all the necessary steps towards
ascertaining that he is the heir--the right man--the real Dr. Claudius?"
"Great heavens!" exclaimed the lawyer, surprised and terribly frightened
by Barker's insinuation, "you don't mean to say there is any doubt about
it, do you?"
"I am inclined to think there is doubt--yes, decidedly. It is a very
serious matter, and I thought it best to speak to you about it before
talking to my father. You see, though the loss might fall on us,
indirectly, the moral responsibility is yours, since you are the lawyers
in the case."
"But your father is one of the executors, Mr. Barker," said Mr. Screw,
who felt obliged to say something, and wanted to gain time.
"My father--yes," and Barker smiled disagreeably. "Yes, he is one of the
executors. But you yourself are the other, Mr. Screw. And as far as any
intelligence in the matter is concerned, you might be alone." Barker
was willing to flatter the lawyer at the expense of his fond parent.
Screw would be of more use to him than many fathers in this matter. Mr.
Screw relapsed into silence, and sat for some minutes, hooking one leg
behind the other, and thrusting as much of his hands into his pockets as
those receptacles would contain. After a time he changed his position,
heaved a species of sigh that sounded like the sudden collapse of a set
of organ-bellows, and ran his fingers through his thick hair.
Barker thought he was going to speak. But he was mistaken; Mr. Screw was
too much taken aback to speak yet. Then Barker spoke for him.
"Well," said he, caressing his foot and looking at the ceiling, "what
are you going to do about it?"
"I shall do what is proper in such cases. I will stop his drawing any
more money, and investigate the matter. If this is not the real
Claudius, the real Claudius must be somewhere, and can be found."
"Perhaps he is dead," suggested Barker.
"It is about as easy to find a dead man as a live man," said Screw. "It
is a surer thing, on the whole. A dead man can't change his clothes, and
get his beard shaved off, and cavoort around the corner."
"Not generally speaking," said the other, "no well-regulated corpse
would do it, anyhow. Besides, if he is dead, there must have been some
notice of it in the Heidelberg papers. He belonged to the University,
and they always put those things in the local sheet in Germany."
"That's so," said the lawyer. "Do you know anybody in Heidelberg who
would look the matter up, Mr. Barker?"
Mr. Barker did know some one in Heidelberg--the very man, in fact. He
would write immediately, and set the inquiry on foot. Meanwhile there
were other things to be settled. After the first shock the lawyer was
not inclined to let Barker off so easily for having indorsed a man he
suspected of being a humbug. Barker retorted that he had found Claudius
in possession of the documents transmitted by Messrs. Screw and Scratch,
and that it was not his fault if he supposed that those astute gentlemen
had taken proper precautions to ascertain the identity of their client.
He went into many details, explaining how his suspicions had been
aroused by degrees in the course of many conversations. He was expecting
a question from Mr. Screw. At last it came.
"Mr. Barker," said Screw, fixing his brass-headed eyes intently on his
companion--for Mr. Screw was no fool--"Mr. Barker, you brought this man
over here, and you know him better than any one else. Now, what I want
to know is this. He may be the right man, after all. What we are going
to do is entirely precautionary. Do you want to appear or not?" Barker
had not expected the question to be put so directly, but he was
perfectly prepared for it.
"I am sure I do not care," he said, with a fine indifference. "I have no
objection. It is a mere question of expediency; do not consider me in
the matter. Do what you think is right," he added, emphasising the last
word, and meeting Screw's glance boldly enough. Screw looked at him for
a moment or two in silence, and then turned his eyes away. There was the
faintest reflection of a smile on his yellow face, and the expression
became him well. Screw was astute, sharp as a ferret, relentless as a
steel-corkscrew, crushing its cruel way through the creaking cork; but
Screw was an honest man, as the times go. That was the difference
between him and Barker. Screw's smile was his best expression, Barker's
smile was of the devil, and very wily. Screw smiled because he was
amused. Barker smiled when he was successful.
"I think for the present," said Mr. Screw, "that unless you positively
wish to appear, it would be as well that you should not. If we are
mistaken, and the Doctor is really what he pretends to be, it will be
very unpleasant for you afterwards to have been concerned in an inquiry
into the validity of his rights."
"Do you think so?" asked Barker, looking languidly across at Mr. Screw.
"Very well, in that case you may conduct the inquiry, and I will not
appear. I shall meet him just as if nothing had happened, and let him
tell me what you have done. Of course he will tell me, the first thing.
Besides, as you say, he may be the right man, after all."
"Exactly," said Mr. Screw. He knew perfectly well that Barker would not
want Claudius to know the part he had played, in case all turned out to
be right, though he did not know that Barker was deceiving him. He
supposed that Barker really had serious doubts about Claudius, and as
there was no one else to vouch for the latter, he was very honestly
frightened. He reviewed the situation in his own mind, and he came to
the conclusion that he had really been remiss in the performance of his
duties as executor. It had not seemed in the least probable that any
deception could be practised, and yet, when all was said, there was only
the Heidelberg notary's attestation of the signature to support the
claimant of Mr. Lindstrand's fortune. This reflection comforted Mr.
Screw a little. At all events, he would be perfectly justified in
calling on Claudius and stating his difficulty, requesting him to give
what assistance was in his power towards a speedy identification of
himself. In the meantime he set himself to cross-examine Mr. Barker,
endeavouring to extract all the information he could. But extracting
information from Mr. Barker was no easy task, as he very soon found, and
as the hands of the clock pointed to one, he rose slowly, as by stages,
from the depths of his arm-chair, and made up his mind that Barker did
not know very much about the matter, though he knew more than any one
else, and that the only thing to be done was to go straight to Claudius
and state the case. No honest man ever had much difficulty in proving
who he was, thought Mr. Screw, and if he is an impostor, he will very
likely not show fight at all, but make off to parts unknown, where he
can very easily be caught.
Barker rose from his seat too, and took leave of the lawyer, well
pleased with the result of his evening's work. It was very satisfactory.
He had produced exactly the impression on Mr. Screw's mind which he had
intended to produce; and having set that engine of the law in motion, he
knew that he could fold his hands and proceed to enjoy himself after his
manner. He knew that everything would be done which could contribute to
annoy and mortify Claudius, and that it would be done in such a way,
with such paraphernalia of legal courtesy and mercantile formality, that
the unhappy Doctor could not complain. Barker had shrewdly calculated
the difficulties Claudius would have to surmount in identifying himself
in a strange country, without friends, and against the prejudices of Mr.
Screw, his uncle's executor. Moreover, if, after countless efforts and
endless trouble, Claudius succeeded, as he probably would, in obtaining
his fortune, Barker would be no worse off than before. He would have
done nothing assailable, and he would have gained all the advantages of
the time Claudius lost, not to mention the cloud of suspicion which must
inevitably rest on the Doctor, until he should succeed in clearing
himself before the world. With skill, courage, and money, there was no
telling what progress Barker might make in his suit for the Countess,
before Claudius was himself again. With such an advantage, if he could
not outdo the Swede, he did not deserve to.
So saying, Mr. Barker, left once more alone in the sitting-room, paced
slowly twice round the table, looked at himself in the glass, twisted
his heavy moustache into shape, and smoothed his hair. Then he took his
hat and went out. There was a cab at the door of the club, and in a
minute more he was spinning along Fifth Avenue, in the direction of his
father's house.
The machinery was wound up, and he had nothing more to do. To-morrow
morning Claudius would pass a bad quarter of an hour with Mr. Screw, and
in the afternoon Barker would call upon him and offer such consolation
as was in his power; and when he had called on Claudius, he would call
on the Countess Margaret and tell her what sad sceptics these legal
people were, everlastingly pestering peaceable citizens in the hope of
extracting from them a few miserable dollars. And he would tell her how
sorry he was that Claudius should be annoyed, and how he, Barker, would
see him through--that is, he hoped so; for, he would add, of course,
such men as Mr. Screw and his own father would not make so much trouble
if they did not at least think they had some cause for anxiety; and so
forth, and so on. And he would leave the Countess with a most decided
impression that there was something wrong about Claudius. Oh yes!
something not _quite_ clear about his antecedents, you know. Of course
it would come right in the end--no doubt of that; oh dear, no.
It was a happy night for Mr. Barker; but Claudius slept ill. He had an
evil dream.