He could outrogue a lawyer.
Oldham.
Revealing so freely as we do the hidden wiles of our characters for
the reader's pleasure, it would ill become us to affect any reserve
or mystery regarding their actions. We shall not make, therefore, any
secret of Mr. Linton's absence, nor ask of our patient reader to partake
of the mystification that prevailed among the company at Tubbermore.
It so chanced, that on the evening preceding his departure he saw in
a newspaper paragraph the arrival of a very distinguished lawyer at
Limerick on his way to Dublin, and the thought at once occurred to
him, that the opportunity was most favorable for obtaining an opinion
respecting the “Corrigan Pardon,” without incurring either suspicion or
any lengthened absence.
Another object, inferior, but not devoid of interest, also suggested
itself. It was this: profiting by a secret passage which led from
the theatre to Cashel's bedroom, it was Linton's custom to visit this
chamber every day, ransacking the letters and papers which, in his
careless indolence, Roland left loose upon the tables, and thus
possessing himself of the minutest knowledge of Cashel's affairs. In his
very last visit to this room, he perceived a cumbrous document, of
which the seal of the envelope was broken, but apparently the contents
unlooked at. It was enough that he read the indorsement, “Deed of
conveyance of the Cottage and Lands of Tubber-beg.”
Feeling how far he himself was interested in the paper, and well knowing
the forgetful habits of Cashel, who would never detect its removal, he
coolly folded it up and carried it away.
At first, his intention was simply to peruse the paper at his ease, and,
if need were, to show it in confidence to Cor-rigan, and thus establish
for himself that degree of influence over the old man which the
character of his landlord might convey. But another and a bolder
expedient soon suggested itself to his mind--nor was he one to shrink
from an enterprise merely on account of its hazard--and this was no
less than to forge Cashel's signature to the deed; for, as yet, it was
wanting in that most essential particular.
That Roland would never remember anything of the matter, and that he
would always incline to believe his own memory defective, than suppose
such a falsification possible, Linton was well convinced. There was but
one difficulty; how should he manage for the witnesses, whose names were
to be appended as actually present at the moment of signing. Here was a
stumbling-block--since he could scarcely hope to find others as short of
memory as was Roland Cashel. It was while still canvassing the question
in his mind that he came upon the intelligence in the newspaper of the
lawyer's arrival at Limerick, and suddenly it struck him that he
could easily in that city find out two persons, who, for a sufficient
consideration, would append their signatures to the deed. A little
further reflection devised even an easier plan, which was to take along
with him the Italian sailor Giovanni, and make him represent Cashel,
whose appearance was quite unknown. By Giovanni's personation of Roland,
Linton escaped all the hazard of letting others into his confidence,
while the sailor himself, in a few days more, would leave the
country--never to return.
It was with the calm assurance of a man who could put a price upon
any action required of him, that Giovanni found himself, an hour after
midnight, summoned to Linton's dressing-room.
“I told you some time back, Giovanni, that we might be serviceable to
each other. The hour has come a little earlier than I looked for; and
now the question is, are you of the same mind as you then were?”
“I know nothing of the laws of this country, signor, but if there be
life on the issue--”
“No, no, nothing like that, my worthy fellow. In the present case, all I
ask for is your silence and your secrecy.”
“Oh, that is easily had--go on, signor.”
“Well, I wish to go over to-morrow by daybreak to Limerick. I desire,
too, that you should accompany me--as my companion, however, and my
equal. We are about the same height and size, so take that suit there,
dress yourself, and wait for me at the cross-roads below the village.”
The Italian took the parcel without speaking, and was about to retire,
when Linton said,--
“You can write, I suppose?”
The other nodded.
“I shall want you to sign a document in presence of witnesses--not your
own name, but another, which I'll tell you.”
The Italian's dark eyes flashed with a keen and subtle meaning, and
leaning forward, he said in a low, distinct tone,--
“His Excellency means that I should forge a name?”
“It is scarcely deserving so grave a phrase,” replied Linton, affecting
an easy smile; “but what I ask amounts pretty much to that. Have you
scruples about it?”
“My scruples are not easily alarmed, signor; only let us understand
each other. I'll do _anything_”--and he laid a deep emphasis on the
word--“when I see my way clear before me, nothing when I am blindfolded.”
“A man after my own heart!” cried Linton; “and now, good-night. Be true
to the time and place.” And with this they parted.
The gray mist of a winter morning was just clearing away as Linton,
accompanied by Giovanni, drove up to the principal hotel of Limerick,
where Mr. Hammond, the eminent barrister, was then stopping. Having
ascertained that he was still in the house, Linton at once sent up
his name, with a request to be admitted to an interview with him. The
position he had so long enjoyed among the officials of the Viceroy had
made Linton a person of considerable importance in a city where the
“plated article” so often passes for silver: and no sooner had the
lawyer read the name, than he immediately returned a polite answer,
saying that he was perfectly at Mr. Linton's orders.
The few inquiries which Mr. Linton had meanwhile made at the bar of the
hotel informed him that Mr. Hammond was making all haste to England,
where he was about to appear in a case before the House of Lords; that
horses had been already ordered for him along the whole line of road,
and his presence in London was imperative. Armed with these facts,
Linton entered the room, where, surrounded with deeds, drafts, and acts
of Parliament, the learned counsel was sitting at his breakfast.
“It was but last night late, Mr. Hammond,” said he, advancing with
his very frankest manner, “that we caught sight of your name as having
arrived here, and you see I have lost no time in profiting by the
intelligence. I have come thirty Irish miles this day to catch and carry
you off with me to Mr. Cashel's, at Tubbermore.”
“Most kind, indeed--very flattering--I am really overpowered,” said the
lawyer, actually reddening with pleasure; and he said the exact truth,
he was “overpowered” by a compliment so little expected. For, although
high in his profession, and in considerable repute among his brethren,
he had never been admitted into that peculiar class which calls itself
the first society of the metropolis.
“I assure you,” resumed Linton, “it was by a vote of the whole house I
undertook my mission. The Kilgoffs, the MacFarlines, the Chief Justice,
Meek, and, in fact, all your friends, are there, and we only want _you_
to make the party complete.”
“I cannot express the regret--the very deep regret--I feel at being
obliged to decline such an honor; one which, I am free to confess,
actually takes me by surprise. But, my dear Mr. Linton, you see these
weighty papers--that formidable heap yonder--”
“Meek said so,” said Linton, interrupting, and at the same time assuming
a look of deep despondency. “'Hammond will refuse,' said he. 'There's no
man at the Irish bar has the same amount of business; he cannot give his
friends even one hour from his clients.'”
“I 'm sure I scarcely suspected the Right Honorable Secretary knew of
me,” said Hammond, blushing between pleasure and shame.
“Downie not know of you!--not know Mr. Hammond!--come, come--this may do
for a bit of quiz in those Irish newspapers that are always affecting to
charge English officials with ignorance of the distinguished men here;
but I cannot permit Mr. Hammond himself to throw out the aspersion, nor,
indeed, can I suffer Meek, one of my oldest friends, to lie under the
obloquy. I need not tell one so much more capable of appreciating these
things than myself how every administration comes into office with
a host of followers far more eager for place, and infinitely more
confident of high deservings, than the truly capable men of the party.
These 'locusts' eat up the first harvest, but, happily for humanity,
they rarely live for a second.”
Linton leaned back in his chair, and appeared to be taking counsel with
himself, and at length, as if having formed his resolve, said,--
“Of course frankness with such a man is never a mistaken policy.” And
with this muttered soliloquy again became silent.