M. Varbarriere's Plans.
Varbarriere solemnly lighted a cigar, and squinted at its glowing point
with his great dark eyes, in which the mild attorney saw the lurid
reflection. When it was well lighted he went on--
"You may suppose how this confirmed my theory. I set about my inquiries
quietly, and was convinced that Sir Jekyl knew all about it, by his
disquietude whenever I evinced an interest in that portion of the
building. But I managed matters very slyly, and collected proof very
nearly demonstrative; and at this moment he has not a notion who I am."
"No. It will be a surprise when he does learn," answered the attorney,
sadly.
"A fine natural hair-dye is the air of the East Indies: first it turns
light to black, and then black to grey. Then, my faith!--a bronzed face
with plenty of furrows, a double chin, and a great beard to cover it,
and eleven stone weight expanded to seventeen stone--_Corpo di
Bacco!_--and six pounds!"
And Monsieur Varbarriere laughed like the clang and roar of a chime of
cathedral bells.
"It will be a smart blow," said the attorney, almost dreamily.
"Smash him," said Varbarriere. "The Deverell estate is something over
five thousand a-year; and the mesne rates, with four per cent. interest,
amount to 213,000_l._"
"He'll defend it," said the knight of the sorrowful countenance, who was
now gathering in his papers.
"I hope he will," growled Varbarriere, with a chuckle. "He has not a leg
to stand on--all the better for _you_, at all events; and then I'll
bring down that other hammer on his head."
"The criminal proceedings?" murmured the sad attorney.
"Ay. I can prove that case myself--he fired before his time, and killed
him, I'm certain simply to get the estate. I was the only person
present--poor Guy! Jekyl had me in his pocket then. The rascal wanted to
thrust me down and destroy me afterwards. He employed that Jew house,
Röbenzahl and Isaacs--the villain! Luck turned, and I am a rich fellow
now, and his turn is coming. Vive la justice éternelle! Vive la
bagatelle! Bravo! Bah!"
Monsieur Varbarriere had another pleasant roar of laughter here, and
threw his hat at the solemn attorney's head.
"You'll lunch with me," said Varbarriere.
"Thanks," murmured the attorney.
"And now the war--the campaign--what next?"
"You'll make an exact note," the attorney musingly replied, "of what
that woman Wynn or Gwynn can prove; also what the Lord Bishop of
what's-his-name can prove; and it strikes me we shall have to serve
some notice to intimidate Sir Jekyl about that red-leather box, to
prevent his making away with the deed, and show him we know it is there;
or perhaps apply for an order to make him lodge the deed in court; but
Tom Weavel--he's always in town--will advise us. You don't think that
woman will leave us in the lurch?"
"No," said Varbarriere, as if he was thinking of something else. "That
Donica Gwynn, you mean. She had that green chamber to herself, you see,
for a matter of three years."
"Yes."
"And she's one of those old domestic Dianas who are sensitive about
scandal--you understand--and she knows what ill-natured people would
say; so I quieted her all I could, and I don't think she'll venture to
recede. No; she certainly won't."
"How soon can you let me have the notes, sir?"
"To-morrow, when I return. I've an appointment to keep by rail to-night,
and I'll make a full memorandum from my notes as I go along."
"Thanks--and what are your instructions?"
"Send back the cases with copies of the new evidence."
"And assuming a favourable opinion, sir, are my instructions to
proceed?"
"Certainly, my son, forthwith--the grass it must not grow under our
feet."
"Of course subject to counsel's opinion?" said the attorney, sadly.
"To be sure."
"And which first--the action or the indictment? or both together?" asked
Mr. Rumsey.
"_That_ for counsel too. Only my general direction is, let the onset be
as sudden, violent, and determined as possible. You see?"
The attorney nodded gently, tying up his last bundle of papers as softly
as a lady might knot her ribbon round the neck of her lap-dog.
"You see?"
"Yes, sir; your object is destruction. Delenda est Carthago--that's the
word," murmured Mr. Rumsey, plaintively.
"Yes--ha, ha!--what you call double him up!" clanged out Varbarriere,
with an exulting oath and a chuckle.
The attorney had locked up his despatch-box now, and putting the little
bunch of keys deep into his trowsers pocket, he said, "Yes, that's the
word; but I suppose you have considered--"
"_What?_ I'm tired considering."
"I was going to say whether some more certain result might not be
obtainable by negotiation; that is, if you thought it a case for
negotiation."
"_What_ negotiation? What do you mean?"
"Well, you see there are materials--there's something to yield at both
sides," said the attorney, very slowly, in a diplomatic reverie.
"But why should you think of a compromise?--the worst thing I fancy
could happen to _you_."
There was a general truth in this. It is not the ferryman's interest to
build a bridge, nor was it Mr. Rumsey's that his client should walk
high and dry over those troubled waters through which it was his
privilege and profit to pilot him. But he had not quite so much faith in
this case as Monsieur Varbarriere had, and he knew that his wealthy and
resolute client could grow savage enough in defeat, and had once or
twice had stormy interviews with him after failures.
"If the young gentleman and young lady liked one another, for instance,
the conflicting claims might be reconciled, and a marriage would in that
case arrange the difference."
"There's nothing very deep in that," snarled Varbarriere, "but there is
everything impracticable. Do you think Guy Deverell, whose father that
_lache_ murdered before my eyes, could ever endure to call _him_ father?
Bah! If I thought so I would drive him from my presence and never behold
him more. No, no, no! There is more than an estate in all this--there is
justice, there is _punishment_."
Monsieur Varbarriere, with his hands in his pockets, took a turn up and
down the room, and his solemn steps shook the floor, and his countenance
was agitated by violence and hatred.
The pale, thin attorney eyed him with a gentle and careworn observation.
His respected client was heaving with a great toppling swagger as he
to-ed and fro-ed in his thunderstorm, looking as black as the Spirit of
Evil.
This old-maidish attorney was meek and wise, but by no means timid. He
was accustomed to hear strong language, and sometimes even oaths,
without any strange emotion. He looked on this sort of volcanic
demonstration scientifically, as a policeman does on drunkenness--knew
its stages, and when it was best left to itself.
Mr. Rumsey, therefore, poked the fire a little, and then looked out of
the window.
"You don't go to town to-night?"
"Not if you require me here, sir."
"Yes, I shall have those memoranda to give you--and tell me now, I think
you know your business. Do you think, as we now stand, success is
_certain_?"
"Well, sir, it certainly is very strong--very; but I need not tell you a
case will sometimes take a queer turn, and I never like to tell a client
that anything is absolutely certain--a case is sometimes carried out of
its legitimate course, you see; the judges may go wrong, or the jury
bolt, or a witness may break down, or else a bit of evidence may start
up--it's a responsibility we never take on ourselves to say that of any
case; and you know there has been a good deal of time--and that
sometimes raises a feeling with a jury."
"Ay, a quarter of a century, but it can't be helped. For ten years of
that time I could not show, I owed money to everybody. Then, when _I_
was for striking on the criminal charge for _murder_, or _manslaughter_,
or whatever you agreed it was to be, you all said I must begin with the
civil action, and first oust him from Guy Deverell's estate. Well,
_there_ you told me I could not move till he was twenty-five, and now
you talk of the good deal of time--_ma foi!_--as if it was I who
delayed, and not _you_, messieurs. But enough, past is past. We have the
present, and I'll use it."
"We are to go on, then?"
"Yes, we've had to wait too long. Stop for nothing, drive right on, you
see, at the fastest pace counsel can manage. If I saw the Deverell
estate where it should be, and a judgment for the mesne rates, and Sir
Jekyl Marlowe in the dock for his crime, I don't say I should sing _nunc
dimittis_; but, _parbleu_, sir, it would be very agreeable--ha! ha!
ha!"