Josiah Barclay sat at his writing-table, looking about the most
uncompromising specimen of humanity possible, when the door was softly
opened, and his man-servant came in.
"And nine's seventy-three," muttered Barclay, making an entry. "Hang
the woman! I wish she'd come down and go on with these accounts. Well,
Joseph?"
"Lady Drelincourt, sir."
"Humph! Bless her! Let her wait. Seen that monkey again, Joseph?"
"Isaac, sir? Denville's Isaac?"
"Yes, him. Dropped any more hints?"
"Saw him last night, sir, at the Blue Posts."
"Well?"
"Went on dropping hints again, sir, as soon as he had had a glass or
two. 'Fraid he's a fool, sir."
"Nothing to be afraid of in a fool, Joseph, so long as you keep him at a
distance. So he chatters, eh?"
"Yes, sir. Professes to have a mystery. He could speak if he liked,
and there's a deal he could say if he pleased, and lays his finger on
the side of his nose, and all that sort of thing, sir. That's been
going on for months, and it's what he calls confiding in me; but it
never goes any further."
"And what do you think of it, Joseph?"
"Nothing, sir," said Barclay's confidential man drily. "I believe it's
all to make him seem important. Lived a long while in an artificial
soil, sir, and goes in for shams."
Barclay chuckled.
"Don't give him up, Joseph. I think he does know something, and it may
be worth hearing. I find we can't know too much. Does he confide in
anyone else?"
"No, sir, I think not."
"Well, don't give him up. Now you can show Lady Drelincourt in: and
while she is here run on to Moggridge's. He has sent me a hint that a
chaise or two are ordered for to-night. Find out who are going."
Joseph nodded and went out, while Barclay was muttering to himself that
he liked to make sure none of his sheep were going astray, when Lady
Drelincourt was shown in.
"Humph! I must send for my wife," said Barclay to himself. "It is
dangerous when Venus invades one's home;" and he looked gravely at the
overdressed, painted-up old woman, with his thoughts dwelling upon her
likeness to Lady Teigne--the murder, the missing jewels--and Isaac's
mysterious communications to his servant when they met at the Blue Posts
to smoke a pipe.
"Ah, doctor," cried her ladyship playfully, "I've come to let you feel
my pulse."
"Your pulse, Lady Drelincourt?" said Barclay. "Surely your ladyship's
circulation is not low?"
"Horribly, Barclay. I am fainting for want of the circulating medium."
"But your ladyship's lawyers?"
"Oh, I can't go to them again, and be bothered about deeds."
"Your ladyship wants acts, eh?"
"To be sure, and at once, Barclay. I want five hundred pounds."
"A large sum, my lady," said Barclay warily.
"Stuff! A trifle. Just enough to take me on the Continent and back."
"Humph!" said Barclay aloud; and to himself: "One of the post-chaises."
"Now, no nonsense, Barclay, or I shall be compelled to whip you severely
with my fan."
"That ought to be a pleasure, madam," said Barclay politely. "But what
security do you offer for five hundred pounds?"
"Security! and from me, you wicked ogre!" said her ladyship playfully.
"Why, you ought to feel honoured."
"I do, my lady, greatly; but--"
"There, I don't want to waste my time listening to stuff. I know what a
close-fisted, miserly old wretch you are, and so I came prepared."
"Prepared, Lady Drelincourt?"
"Of course. I only want a temporary loan, and here are my diamonds."
She drew a morocco case from the large reticule hanging on her arm, and
passed it across the table.
Barclay opened the case, took out a glittering necklet, breathed upon
it, glanced at the rest of the contents of the case, replaced the
necklet, and closed it.
"Well, monster," said her ladyship playfully, "will that do?"
"Admirably, my lady," said Barclay, taking a cash-box from a drawer, and
counting out, with deft fingers, a number of notes. "Four fifty-five,"
he muttered, as he passed the rustling bundle across to his visitor, and
slipped the case and cash-box back.
"I must have no nonsense about those diamonds, Barclay," said her
ladyship, "when I want them back."
"Your ladyship has only to sign this paper," replied Barclay, "and hand
me 600 pounds, and the gems come back to their owner."
"Ah, Barclay, you are a dreadful ogre," she sighed, as she slipped the
notes into her reticule. "You are quite as bad as a highwayman."
"Only more useful, my lady," chuckled Barclay. "Well, Joseph?"
The servant bent down and whispered:
"Lord Carboro'."
"Humph!" ejaculated Barclay. "Would your ladyship object to meet Lord
Carboro'?"
"Yes. Horrors!" exclaimed her ladyship. "Or no, never mind; let him
come up. I have called to inspect some of your china--these Sevres
jars."
Barclay nodded to his man, who left the room; and, in support of her
ladyship's suggestion, the money-lender was saying: "It's an
opportunity, my dear madam, that does not often occur; the workmanship
is unique," when Lord Carboro' was shown in, and his keen eyes glittered
as he took in the situation at a glance.
"Ah, Lady Drelincourt, you here!"
"Yes, I'm here," she said, "but I've not come to borrow money; have
you?"
"Yes," said his lordship sharply. "Barclay, a word with you."
The money-lender bowed.
"Don't change countenance," said his lordship, "and talk about money.
Get out your cash-box, and make believe to give me some."
Lady Drelincourt walked to the window with a small vase, and took out
her great, square, gold-rimmed eye-glass.
"Money's very tight just now, my lord," said Barclay aloud.
"That's right," said his lordship, in a low tone. "Look here, Barclay.
I'd have waited till that old cat had gone, but time's precious. Look
here. I've had a nasty hint that hits me very hard. You'll call me an
old fool. Well, I am; but never mind. I shall never have her, but I
love that girl of Denville's, and, damme, sir, I can't see her go to the
bad without stretching out a hand."
"What have you heard, my lord?" said Barclay, rattling his keys and
opening his cash-box.
"There's some cursed plan afloat--elopement, or that sort of thing--
to-night, I think; and we must stop it."
"We, my lord!" said Barclay, jingling some coin.
"Yes, we. You're an old friend of Denville's. I can't go to him."
"Who's the man?" said Barclay.
"Rockley, I think; curse him! Curse all these young, handsome men!
Damme, sir, if I were forty years younger I'd be proud to marry her, for
she's a good girl--yes, sir, a good girl."
Barclay nodded.
"But of course I can't expect her to take to a toothless, gouty old
imbecile like me, poor child."
"What do you know, my lord?"
"Oh, only a garbled set-out. I'm not quite sure how things are; and
sometimes it seems that it's Sir Harry Payne, sometimes it seems to be
Rockley. Now, look here, Barclay. Will you try with me to stop it? I
couldn't bear it to come off. If the girl were going to the church with
some true-hearted fellow, I should feel a twinge, but I'd settle a
thousand or two on her, and say, `God bless her!' like a man; but I
can't see her go to the bad without making an effort to save her.
Barclay, you old scoundrel, you're laughing at me, and calling me an
idiot for taking you into my confidence like this."
"You don't think so, my lord," said Barclay sternly; "and you give me
credit for being an honest man, or you would not talk to me in this
way."
"Honest?"
"Yes," said Barclay sharply. "Am I dishonest for making all the profit
I can out of a set of profligates and fools?"
"Barclay," said his lordship, "if that old cat were not here I'd shake
hands with you; as it is, that kick under the table means it. Yes, I do
trust you, and your good-hearted wife, too. Will you help me?"
"In every way I can," said Barclay. "Between ourselves, Lord Carboro',
I've had a hint or two of an elopement to-night, and I'm going to see
what it means."
"You have had a hint?" said Lord Carboro' eagerly.
"Yes, my lord. I must have twenty-five per cent. The risk is too
great," added Barclay aloud. "Drelincourt's looking," he said in a low
tone. "I'm not sure who it is yet, or what it means; but there's
something on the way, and I'll help your lordship all I can."
"That's right, Barclay. I know you have wires all over the place, and
can pull them. You started Moggridge, and I suppose, if the truth's
known, you could arrange for a post-chaise to break down anywhere you
pleased."
"Your lordship gives me credit for being quite a magician," said Barclay
drily. "However, I'll promise you this: Claire Denville shan't come to
harm if Josiah Barclay can save her."
"Thank you, Barclay," said Lord Carboro' softly. "I've not forgotten
how she refused those pearls."
"And cheated me out of a score of good jewel transactions with your
lordship," said Barclay, handing him a slip of paper and a pen, which
the old nobleman took and signed in Lady Drelincourt's full view. "You
trust to me, my lord. I'll make all the inquiries necessary, and
communicate with you to-night."
There was a little mock exchange of papers, and then, pocket-book in
hand, Lord Carboro' turned to Lady Drelincourt.
"I have finished my business," he said. "Shall I attend you down to
your chair?"
As the couple went out of the room with her ladyship mincing and
simpering, and giving herself airs, Barclay uttered a low growl.
"I believe that old woman would make love to a mummy or a stone statue
if she couldn't meet with a man. How I do hate the old wretch to be
sure!"
"Now look here, Jo-si-ah," exclaimed Mrs Barclay, entering the room.
"I won't have it, though I don't believe it's true."
"Don't believe what's true?"
"That when anyone is by himself and talking aloud, he is holding a
conversation with--there I won't say whom."
"Pish!" ejaculated Barclay angrily. "There, sit down, woman, and make
an entry about Lady Drelincourt's diamonds and the money I've lent on
them. Set 'em down in the jewel book and then lock them up in the case.
It wouldn't do to lose them."
"Like her sister's were lost," said Mrs Barclay. "I wonder what became
of them, Jo-si-ah."
She opened the case, examined the jewels, and then opened a cabinet and
an iron safe within, where she deposited the valuables, afterwards
making an entry in a book kept for the purpose, and another in the big
ledger.
"That's done," she said with a sigh of content. "Why, Jo-si-ah, what a
rich man you are getting."
"Stuff! Don't talk nonsense."
"I say, dear," she said, "I wonder how it is that Claire Denville hasn't
been here for so long. It seems strange. Here's somebody else."
The visitors proved to be Sir Harry Payne with Sir Matthew Bray, Mrs
Barclay hurrying out to leave them with her husband.
"Well, gentlemen?" said Barclay drily.
"No, Barclay, it isn't well," cried Sir Harry, "nor will it be till I've
got a couple of hundred pounds out of you."
"And I one hundred," said Sir Matthew pompously.
"My turn first," said Sir Harry, laughing. "Now, Barclay, two hundred,
and no nonsense."
Barclay shook his head, but his money was safe with Sir Harry, for he
already held certain deeds that would cover principal and his large
interest.
"Now, Matt," said Sir Harry, "your turn."
He thrust a sheaf of notes into his pocket laughingly, and Sir Matthew
rolled up.
"Now, Mr Barclay," he said, taking his friend's seat, while that
gentleman began inspecting china and bronzes, "I want only a hundred."
"Which you can't have, Sir Matthew," said Barclay shortly. "You've got
to the end of your tether, and I shall have to put you in my lawyer's
hands."
"What, just now, when I have only to go on to be a rich man?"
"My dear Sir Matthew, for two years past I've supplied your wants, and
you've been for ever dangling before my eyes the bait of a rich
marriage, when you would pay me back. No more money, sir, from me."
"Barclay, my dear fellow, don't be a fool."
"I've just told you that I do not mean to be," said Barclay shortly.
"No hundred from me, Sir Matthew."
"What, not if the matter were settled, and it was a case of post-horses,
Dover, Continent, and a wedding abroad?"
"With some penniless girl," growled Barclay.
"With a lady of property and title, sir. Hush! be quiet--On my soul,
Barclay. It's all right and settled. A rich marriage."
"Stuff, sir! If it were a rich marriage you would not need money."
"Preliminary expenses, dear boy. I can't ask her to pay the postboys."
Barclay looked at him keenly.
"Is this a fact?"
"Yes; to-night, sir. Honour bright. Don't spoil sport, Barclay."
The money-lender pursed up his lips and twisted a pen in his fingers for
a few moments.
"Well, Sir Matthew," he said at last, "I'll give you this chance. If it
does not come off your commission is mine. You'll have to sell out."
"And I will, Barclay. But there's no fear. The game's won, sir. After
a long siege the lady has at last surrendered."
"A young and pretty woman, eh, Sir Matthew?"
"Well--er--not too young," said the great dragoon. "I don't care for
bread-and-butter misses."
"Drelincourt, sure enough," said Barclay to himself, as he wrote out the
customary form on a bill stamp. "Well, let the old fool marry him.
He'll make her pay for it pretty sharply, I'll be bound. I shall get my
money back, and he'll save his commission, which will go for future
loans."
"There, Sir Matthew, sign that, please," he said aloud.
"Barclay, you're a gentleman. I'm a made man, and you shall have all
the other bills taken up."
He scratched his name across the bill, passed it back, and Barclay
counted out some notes and gave them in exchange.
"That's your sort," cried Sir Matthew, counting the notes. "Why,
Barclay, the bill was for a hundred. Here are only notes for sixty."
"Quite right, Sir Matthew: the other is for the discount."
"Oh, but--"
"My dear Sir Matthew, if you are dissatisfied, pray give me the notes,
and I'll tear up the bill. You forget the risk. Those are my terms."
"Oh, but, Barclay."
"What's he making you smart, Matt?" cried Sir Harry, joining them.
"Just his way."
"I've offered to cancel the bill, if Sir Matthew likes," said Barclay.
"Have you got any money at all, Matt?"
"Yes, some, but--"
"Hang it! Come along then, man; we've no time to lose. Come on and
chance it."
Sir Harry took his friend's arm, and hurried him out, and Barclay was
nodding his head thoughtfully as the door closed, but only for another
to open, and Mrs Barclay to enter and sit down, making the entries of
his two transactions as a matter of course.
"Old woman," said Barclay quietly.
"Jo-si-ah!" she said, turning to him quickly, and laying her hand upon
his.
"I try to think Claire Denville a good girl."
"I'm sure she is," cried Mrs Barclay. "Oh, Josiah, why do you talk
like that?"
"Because things look ugly, old lady, and I shall be very sorry if you've
been deceived."
"Oh, but, my dear," panted Mrs Barclay, "I'm sure."
"One can't be sure of anything with a pretty well-flattered woman. You
know what you said about that row at Denville's, when Sir Harry Payne
was found with Claire that night."
"Yes: I said it was May, and I'm sure of it."
"You're not sure, old lady--you can't be. Suppose it was Claire after
all."
"I say it was May. Claire Denville couldn't do such a thing."
"I don't know. I hope not," said Barclay. "I want to believe in her.
Well, Joseph?"
"Two chaises to-night, sir, Moggridge says. Sir Harry Payne and Sir
Matthew Bray."
"That will do. Well, old lady?"
"It can't be for Claire, Jo-si-ah, I'm sure," cried Mrs Barclay. "She
wouldn't look at that miserable fop."
"Suppose he is jackal for Rockley, old lady?"
"Oh, Jo-si-ah, don't. It must be for her sister May."
"No, I think not. She and Burnett have got on all right lately, and
Payne hasn't been near her, that I know. Look here, old woman, I won't
believe it if I can help it, but it looks very much as if Claire is
really going off to-night."
"Then she shan't," cried Mrs Barclay, beginning to cry. "If the poor
girl has been worked upon just when she was poor and miserable, and has
been weak enough to consent, she shall find she has got a friend who
will stand by her, and give her good advice, and stop her. Jo-si-ah, I
love that girl as if she was my own child--and--"
"Well?"
"I shall go down to their house and see her and talk to her, and I shall
stop with her till I know she's safe. That is, mind, if it's true. But
it ain't."
"Well," said Barclay, "you shall do so, for I don't want her to go
wrong. Only mind this, it is suspicious that she has not been near you
lately."
"Not it," said Mrs Barclay, "bless her! She's had some reason, and--
there, that's her knock, I'll swear."
She ran out of the room, and came back directly with Claire, looking
more pale and troubled than ever, leaning upon her arm.
Mrs Barclay darted a triumphant look at her husband, and Barclay took
Claire's hand in a grave distant manner that made the visitor wince.
Volume Three, Chapter IV.