"Alive and well," continued Andrews. "Listen! when the cholera began to
spread so rapidly, I bethought me of insuring the boy's life in case of
the worst befalling, but not, as I hope for mercy, with the slightest
thought of harming a hair of his head. This was done. Very soon the
terrific disease approached our neighborhood, and my wife took Archy to a
country lodging, returning herself the same evening. The next day our
only servant was attacked and died. A few hours after that our
first-floor lodger, a widow of the name of Mason, who had been with us
but a very short time, was attacked. She suffered dreadfully; and her
son, a boy about the age of Archy, and with just his hair and
complexion, took ill also. The woman was delirious with pain; and before
effective medical aid could be obtained--she was seized in the middle of
the night--she expired. Her son who had been removed into another room,
became rapidly worse, and we sent for Dr. Parkinson; the poor fellow was
partially delirious with pain, and clung piteously round my wife's neck,
calling her mother, and imploring her to relieve him. Dr. Parkinson
arrived, and at first sight of the boy, said, 'Your son is very ill,
Mrs. Andrews--I fear, past recovery; but we will see what can be done.' I
swear to you, Mr. Sharp, that it was not till this moment the device
which has ruined us, flashed across my brain. I cautioned my wife in a
whisper not to undeceive the doctor, who prescribed the most active
remedies, and was in the room, when the lad died. You know the rest. And
now, sir, tell me, can anything be done--any device suggested to retrieve
this miserable blunder, this terrible mistake?"
"This infamous crime, you should say, Mr. Andrews," I replied; "for the
commission of which you are liable to be transported for life."
"Yes, crime; no doubt that is the true word! But must the innocent child
suffer for his father's offence?"
"That is the only consideration that could induce me to wag a finger in
the business. Like many other clever rogues, you are caught in the trap
you limed for others. Come to me tomorrow; I will think over the matter
between this and then; but at present I can say nothing. Stay," I added,
as his hand was on the door; "the identity of your son can be proved, I
suppose, by better evidence than your own?"
"Certainly, certainly."
"That, will do, then; I will see you in the morning."
If it should cross the mind of any reader that I ought to have given
this self-confessed felon into custody, I beg to remind him that, for the
reasons previously stated, such a course on my part was out of the
question--impossible; and that, had it not been impossible I should do
so, Mr. Jesse Andrews would not have intrusted me with his criminal
secret. The only question now therefore was, how, without compromising
this guilty client, the godfather's legacy could be secured for the
innocent son.
A conference the next morning with Mr. Flint resulted in our sending for
Mr. Jesse Andrews, and advising him, for fear of accidents or
miscarriage in our plans, to betake himself to the kingdom of France for
a short time. We had then no treaty of extradition with that country. As
soon as I knew he was safely out of the realm, I waited upon the
insurance people.
"The money ought not to have been received by Jesse Andrews, you say, Mr.
Sharp?" observed the managing-gentleman, looking keenly in my face.
"Precisely. It ought not to have been received by him."
"And _why_ not, Mr. Sharp?"
"That is quite an unnecessary question, and one that, you know, I should
not answer, if I could. That which chiefly concerns you is, that I am
ready to return the four thousand pounds at once, here on the spot, and
that delays are dangerous. If you refuse, why, of course--and I rose from
my chair--I must take back the money."
"Stay--stay! I will just consult with one or two gentlemen, and be with
you again almost immediately."
In about five minutes he returned. "Well, Mr. Sharp," he said, "we had,
I suppose; better take the money--obtained, as you say, by mistake."
"Not at all; I said nothing about mistake. I told you it ought not to
have been received by Andrews!"
"Well--well. I understand. I must, I suppose, give you a receipt?"
"Undoubtedly; and, if you please, precisely in this form."
I handed him a copy on a slip of paper. He ran it over, smiled,
transcribed it on a stamp, signed it, and, as I handed him a check for
the amount, placed it in my hands. We mutually bowed, and I went my way.
Notwithstanding Mr. Newton's opposition, who was naturally furious at the
unexpected turn the affair had taken, the identity of the boy--whom that
gentleman persisted in asserting to be dead and buried--was clearly
established; and Mr. Archibald Andrews, on the day he became of age,
received possession of his fortune. The four thousand pounds had of
course been repaid out of Jesse Andrews's legacy. That person has, so to
speak, since skulked through life, a mark for the covert scorn of every
person acquainted with the very black transaction here recorded. This was
doubtless a much better fate than he deserved; and in strict, or poetical
justice, his punishment ought unquestionably to have been much
greater--more apparent also, than it was, for example's sake. But I am a
man not of fiction, but of fact, and consequently relate events, not as
they precisely ought, but as they do, occasionally occur in lawyers'
offices, and other unpoetical nooks and corners of this prosaic,
matter-of-fact, working-day world.