Two Men Strike a Bargain
Walter Brooklyn dined alone in his rooms. As a rule, a single Club
waiter would have been deputed to attend upon him; but this evening he
noticed that no less than four found an excuse for coming to help.
Each course was brought to table by a different hand; for the whole
Club staff were curious to get a good look at the member who had been
miraculously delivered from jail and the gallows. That very afternoon,
when they had discussed the case, they had all been taking his guilt
for granted, picturing him in his lonely cell devouring the skilly of
adversity; and now here he was back again amongst them, eating an
excellent dinner as if nothing out of the way had occurred. If Carter
Woodman had been there to express his continued confidence that Walter
Brooklyn was guilty, he would, despite the release, not have lacked
supporters among the Club servants; for Walter Brooklyn was not an
easy man to like, especially for his social inferiors. But this
evening those who were most convinced of his guilt were also anxious
to take part in waiting upon him. There is a thrill to be got by close
personal contact with a real murderer.
Downstairs, Walter Brooklyn had no doubt, the dining-room and the
smoking-rooms, as well as the servants’ quarters, were busy with the
news of his release. Among the Club members, as among the servants,
there would be differences of opinion; and he felt he could name
certain members who would be vigorously affirming their belief that
the police made a mistake, not when they arrested him, but when they
let him go. The spiteful old johnnies, he said to himself, would
gladly see him hanged. Their disappointment added to the pleasure of
being a free man. And this was really a first-rate dinner. The Byron
had its faults; but they did know how to cook.
Indeed, the more Walter thought about the new situation, the better he
was pleased. His two inconvenient nephews were safely out of the way;
and he had an excellent chance of becoming an exceedingly rich man. He
smiled to himself as he counted his chickens. True, there were
immediate troubles to be faced. He must have money now. But he was
sure Woodman couldn’t be fool enough to refuse the terms he was in a
position to offer. Supposing even that he did refuse, there was still
the way of going direct to old Vernon.
By the way, how was old Vernon? That dinner had been so good that the
idea of telephoning to Liskeard House to inquire had gone clean out of
his head. He would do it now. It would be the very devil if the old
chap were to go and alter his will. The chances were he wasn’t well
enough to do it. He would ring up at once and inquire after him. It
would be only decent. After all, the man was his brother.
Winter’s voice over the telephone informed him that Sir Vernon had
taken an alarming turn for the worse. His condition was said to be
critical, but not hopeless. The doctor was with him now. Sir Vernon
had been unconscious for some time. Winter promised to ring up and
give the doctor’s further report later in the evening.
Walter Brooklyn was duly sympathetic; and there was in him indeed some
real feeling for his brother. But the thought uppermost in his mind
was that, if old Vernon would only be obliging enough to die, it would
be from his brother’s point of view a very happy release. If only the
will had not been altered already without his knowing about it. A
horrible thought: not likely, perhaps, but disquieting all the same.
How badly he wanted to see Carter Woodman in order to make sure. Poor
old Vernon would never live to alter his will now. Everything depended
on the terms of the will now in force. It was probably all right; but
he would give something to know for certain. And, if Sir Vernon would
only die now and get it over, there would be no need to bribe Woodman
for an advance. The money would be his then. Should he wait and risk
it? No; old men often took so unconscionably long a-dying. If things
came right, he would never miss what he would have to give Woodman for
the sake of immediate security. The telephone rang. It was Winter. The
doctor had just left. Sir Vernon’s condition was very critical, but
the doctor said it was still not hopeless. He might rally and get
well. But any shock would certainly be fatal. The doctor was coming
again later. Should he ’phone up again? Brooklyn asked him to do so,
and rang off. Yes, he must certainly see Woodman, unless old Vernon
was obliging enough to die in the night.
Turning these things over in his mind, Walter Brooklyn sat, until a
pleasant drowsiness came over him. He woke with a start. It was after
eleven. Was not that a knock at the door? “Come in,” he said.
When he saw who his visitor was, he greeted him warmly. “This is quite
unexpected,” he said, “but I am very glad you have come. Have a
whisky.” Carter Woodman nodded. “I found I could get here after all
this evening,” he said. Then he mixed himself a good stiff whisky,
silently refilled Brooklyn’s glass for him, and sank into a chair.
“What was it you wanted to see me about?” he asked. “Money, as usual,
I suppose.”
Brooklyn nodded. “A man must live, you know,” he said.
“Your idea of living has always been one that runs away with the
money, my dear chap,” said Woodman, with a laugh.
“Never mind that. I want some now.”
“But you know that Sir Vernon, through Prinsep, gave me positive
instructions that I should only give you money on one condition.”
“Isn’t the position a bit different now, Woodman? I mean since what
happened last week.”
Woodman paused a moment. “There is a difference,” he said, “but
clearly I cannot advance you money without authority from Sir Vernon,
and he is far too ill to be troubled about such things at present.”
“I don’t want you to trouble him. But I should have thought that, in
the new circumstances, you would make no difficulty about advancing me
a loan. I want £10,000 to clear off debts, and a few thousands to get
along with for the present.”
“My dear fellow, do you think I carry ten thousand pounds loose in my
pocket?”
“I think you could get me an advance of more than that amount if you
chose.”
“But Sir Vernon may alter his will.”
These words of Woodman’s brought great comfort to Walter Brooklyn’s
heart. They proved at least that, as the will stood, he would come in
for a considerable sum on his brother’s death. He was emboldened to
make a definite proposal.
“Look here, Woodman, you know what is in the will. I want you to
advance me twenty thousand pounds at once on the strength of my
expectations under it. There’s no risk, practically; what there is,
I’m prepared to pay for. If you let me have twenty thousand now, you
shall have thirty thousand when Sir Vernon dies.”
“Good heavens, do you think I’m rolling in money? If I had twenty
thousand to spare I couldn’t risk it on a pure gamble like that. The
odds are that Sir Vernon will alter his will, or you may die before he
does. Where should I be then?”
“I should imagine in that case you would get a big slice of the money
yourself.”
“But, really, that’s no reason why I should give it to you. What you
propose is absurd.”
“You know very well, Woodman, that it is not absurd. But, if you don’t
like my proposal, make one of your own. What I want is twenty thousand
pounds and a regular income assured until old Vernon dies.”
“My word, you don’t want much,” was Woodman’s comment; but his brain
was working actively. He was, in fact, in quite as dire straits for
money as Walter Brooklyn himself. Lately, his position was worse; for
heavy stock exchange speculation had brought him to the point of
certain bankruptcy unless he could raise a considerable sum at once.
His mind went to work on a definite scheme, which indeed he had
conceived before ever he came to visit Walter Brooklyn. While he
perfected his plan, he continued to protest the impossibility of doing
what Walter suggested. Before making his proposal he wanted to be sure
how far the man to whom he was speaking knew what Sir Vernon
Brooklyn’s will contained. Twenty thousand pounds, he suggested, was a
big sum to ask for on the strength of expectations under the will. He
saw at once that this line of argument made Walter Brooklyn anxious,
and before long he had convinced himself that Sir Vernon’s brother had
no certain knowledge of the provisions of the will. Then he was ready
to spring his audacious proposal.
“Look here, Brooklyn, I’ve been thinking it over, and we may be able
to manage something. I’ll try to get you that twenty thousand pounds
on condition that you make over to me one-half of your expectation
under the will.”
“You’re asking me to buy a pig in a poke,” was Walter Brooklyn’s
answer. “You know the details of the will, and I’m willing to tell you
that I don’t. I can’t accept your terms; but I’m willing to pay you
forty thousand pounds when I get the money if you let me have twenty
down. Isn’t that a fair proportion?”
“Considering the risk, certainly not. But I’m willing to make an
alternative suggestion. Under the will, Joan and Mrs. George Brooklyn
are both amply provided for. The inheritance of the rest of Sir
Vernon’s money probably lies between you and me, whether the will is
altered or not. I suggest that we make an agreement to go equal shares
in whatever is left to either of us. I add one condition, that you
should draw up a new will, making me the heir to your estate.”
“You stand to get the lot that way, whatever happens. I can see that
it is very nice indeed from your point of view. And what, may I ask,
do you offer me in exchange?”
“Twenty thousand pounds down, which I can borrow on the strength of
our joint expectations, and I’m willing to add two thousand a year
until Sir Vernon dies. And in addition, I offer you the security that,
even if Sir Vernon cuts you out of his will, you will still get your
share of the money.”
“But, if Sir Vernon dies now—he’s pretty bad, they tell me—the effect
of it will be that I shall be making you a pretty handsome present.”
“And I shall be presenting you with twenty thousand pounds in hard
cash.”
They wrangled for some time longer; but Walter Brooklyn, in ignorance
of the precise terms of the will, was at a serious disadvantage.
Finally, he agreed to Carter Woodman’s terms; and Woodman at once sat
down and drafted out a written agreement putting their compact into
definite terms. He also drew up, in a few lines, a will constituting
himself Walter Brooklyn’s heir.
“Now, we must get these documents signed and witnessed,” he said.
“There will be some one about downstairs,” said Brooklyn heavily. He
had an uneasy feeling that he was being badly swindled; but twenty
thousand pounds down was the main thing. Besides, he might find ways,
though Woodman was a cute lawyer, of repudiating the bargain later, if
it proved to his interest to do so.
There were two documents to be witnessed—the will and the agreement.
The I.O.U., which was Woodman’s further security for the £20,000,
would not, of course, be signed until the money was actually paid
over. The two men went downstairs, found the night-porter and a waiter
who had not yet gone to bed, and completed the two documents in their
presence. Then, taking the will and his copy of the agreement, Woodman
bade Walter Brooklyn good-night, receiving a not very cordial
response. His first business on the morrow would be to use the two
documents and the joint expectation of the two men under Sir Vernon’s
will, as a means of raising at once, not merely the £20,000 for Walter
Brooklyn, but the much larger sum of which he himself stood
immediately in need. He thought he knew a man who would let him have
the money. If he failed, bankruptcy was inevitable. Woodman
congratulated himself on a good night’s work. Already his chestnuts
were half out of the fire.
Walter Brooklyn, when Woodman had gone, sat down again in his chair
with a heavy sigh. He was very conscious that he had been swindled.
Carter Woodman knew the terms of Sir Vernon’s will, and he did not;
and it was certain that, with this knowledge to help him, Woodman had
struck a hard bargain. Moreover, he not only knew the will: he was in
a very strong position, as Sir Vernon’s legal adviser, to prevent the
making of a new one which would be disadvantageous to him. Woodman was
almost safe to score, whatever might happen. But there was solid
comfort in the thought that, under the compact they had just made, it
was to Woodman’s interest that Walter should get the largest possible
slice of Sir Vernon’s money. Whatever came to Walter was to become
Woodman’s in time. Woodman, therefore, would be bound to do his best
to serve Walter’s interests. Yes, there were compensations in being
swindled on such terms. Walter stood a good chance of wealth for as
long as he lived; and what did it matter to him who might get the
money after his death?
“After me, the deluge,” said Walter Brooklyn to himself, summing up
the evening’s transaction.