"A CROOKED BIT OF BUSINESS."
Mr. Bernard Graham was sitting in his gloomy office in Devereux Court
one afternoon a few days later.
His elbows rested upon his littered writing-table, his pince-nez poised
upon his thin nose, and he was absorbed in the technicalities of a
document when his lad entered with a card.
"I'll see him in one moment," he exclaimed, glancing at the card, and
the youth withdrew.
Leaning back in his chair his face assumed a heavy, thoughtful
expression.
"It's a crooked bit of business at best," he said, aloud to himself,
"but the money is bequeathed in legal form, duly signed and witnessed;
therefore, as far as I can see, nobody can prove to the contrary. I was
rather apprehensive of the results, but, there--I suppose it was merely
an absurd fancy."
He touched the gong beside him, and almost immediately Victor Berard,
his face wreathed in smiles and wearing a gardenia in his coat, was
ushered in.
"So the preliminaries have been carried out satisfactorily," exclaimed
the solicitor, as he motioned his client to a seat opposite him.
"Yes--so far," he answered in excellent English.
"Ah! I read the account in the papers, and saw at once you had had a
hand in the matter."
"Your shrewdness scarcely astonishes me, _mon copain_," replied Victor,
with a laugh, "especially when you knew that our exchequer was almost at
vanishing point, and that we had decided on repeating the little ruse
that has proved so remunerative formerly. We have worked _a coup
perdu_, and, of course, all in the interest of the grand scheme."
"On this occasion there was no hitch, I suppose?"
"None. There is not even a shadow of suspicion," he replied, dropping
into a whisper. "The body, when discovered upon the rails half an hour
after we had left the train, was scarcely recognisable. The post-mortem
revealed that the dead man had been drinking heavily, and the
intelligent jury have this morning returned a verdict of accidental
death. Here's the _Globe_--just out. Read for yourself."
He spoke between the whiffs of a cigarette, which he held daintily
between his fingers.
"Most satisfactory. His death is believed to have been due to a fall
from the carriage. But the identification? You have not told me,"
asked Graham anxiously.
"He was identified by the papers upon him; therefore now the verdict has
been given, you will wait, say, a week, so as not to appear in too great
a hurry, then proceed to act as before."
The other nodded, and removed his eyeglasses. His face preserved its
keen craftiness.
"Nothing will transpire later? I mean nothing to our detriment."
"Nothing can. It is absolutely impossible for the truth to be known
unless you or I divulge it ourselves, and I think that is not probable,"
he replied, with a mysterious smile.
"Scarcely. It would be an ugly matter for both of us."
The Frenchman affected not to hear the reply. He twirled his
carefully-waxed moustaches, and took a long, steady glance at his
well-dressed figure in the dingy mirror over the mantelshelf.
"Well, Graham," he said, "you know how to carry the business through.
Holt and myself are at your disposal any time you require us, but don't
delay a day longer than necessary, for I tell you candidly we must have
the money."
"I assure you, my dear Berard, I shall get the matter completed as soon
as possible, for despatch will be the best course for all parties
concerned, eh? Besides, as a matter of fact--"
The sentence was interrupted by the entry of the clerk with a second
card.
Mr. Graham pushed the vestige of grey hair from his forehead. He looked
puzzled and perplexed when he read the name of the person who desired an
interview; but, quickly regaining his habitual coolness, he intimated to
the lad that the request should be granted in a few minutes.
"Have you--er--anything more to say to me?" he asked, turning to Berard.
"I can do nothing in the matter for at least a week," he continued,
"but if Mr. Holt and yourself will attend here at noon the day after
to-morrow we can transact the necessary formalities, and take the first
step towards realising."
"That will suit admirably," Berard replied, with satisfaction. "I will
not detain you longer, for I know you are busy;" and, shaking hands with
his legal adviser, he made his exit by the door communicating direct
with the passage.
"My most fervent hope is that our usual good luck will not desert us,"
the old solicitor reflected, when the Frenchman had departed.
Having again touched the gong, the door opening into the clerk's office
admitted another client--Hugh Trethowen.
"Well, Graham, how are you?" he exclaimed, gayly tossing his hat and
stick upon the table, and flinging himself into the chair just vacated
by Victor.
"Thanks, I'm very well, Mr. Hugh. Full of business, you know--full of
business. Now, what is it you wish to consult me upon?"
"A rather delicate matter."
The old man's face grew grave, and much of the hectic flush vanished
from his cheek. Readjusting the inevitable pince-nez, he leaned back
and looked sharply at his visitor.
"A delicate matter," the solicitor repeated slowly. "Any financial
difficulty--eh?"
"No, not at all," he laughed. "It's with regard to a lady."
"Ah," ejaculated the solicitor, heaving an unmistakable sigh of relief.
"What I want to know, Graham, is whether you, as my late brother's
adviser, were aware that he was acquainted with a French lady named
Dedieu?"
So suddenly was the question put that it caused him to start slightly.
Although it was a poser, Bernard Graham was not nonplussed.
"Dedieu?--Dedieu?" he repeated thoughtfully, at the same time nervously
twirling a quill between his fingers. "The name is uncommon, and not at
all familiar to me. I--I'm sure I don't remember ever hearing it
before."
"You don't believe, then, that my brother ever knew such a person?"
asked Hugh.
"Well, really, how is it possible that I should know?" asked Graham,
with suavity. "It was scarcely likely he would make me acquainted with
matters of that description."
Hugh plied him with several well-directed questions, but the old man's
memory was peculiarly vacant at that moment. He shook his head,
reiterating his statement that his mind was perfectly blank upon the
subject, declaring emphatically that he never heard of such a young
person as Mademoiselle Valerie, whoever she was.
Such an element of truth did this statement possess, and so blandly was
it delivered, that Hugh felt perfectly satisfied. For some time past he
had been very much perturbed by the curious discovery of the photograph
and letters, but his misgivings were now set at rest by this
reassurance.
"Well, if you really don't know her, I need not take up any more of your
time," he remarked, rising.
"I assure you, Mr. Hugh, as the trusted adviser of your family, it would
give me the utmost pleasure to assist you if I could, but her existence
is quite unknown to me," protested the old man. "Was she a friend of
yours, may I ask?" he added, with a mischievous twinkle in his dim eye.
"Well, yes, Graham. I have the pleasure of the lady's acquaintance."
"Ah, I thought so. Young men are not so eager about a woman's
antecedents unless they love her."
"Form your own conclusions, Graham. I've an appointment, so good-day."
Laughing gayly, he departed, the old man bowing him out obsequiously.
After he had gone, the occupant of the dingy chamber stood for a long
time before the fire cleaning his pince-nez upon his silk handkerchief,
thinking over the errands of his two clients--so strangely dissimilar,
yet so closely allied.