DR. PETERSSEN BRINGS M. FELIX TO BOOK.
When Dr. Peterssen entered M. Felix's sitting-room he sank into a
chair, and gazed around upon the luxurious furnishings with an air of
scornful approval. A cigar-case was on the table, and without
invitation the unwelcome visitor helped himself to a cigar, which he
lighted and smoked in silence for two or three minutes. Meanwhile M.
Felix looked on and said nothing.
"You are comfortably lodged here," said Dr. Peterssen, at length, "and
your cigars are very fine; but you were ever a man of taste in the
matter of your own enjoyments; the best were always good enough for
you. By the by, the friends you were entertaining? Where are they?" M.
Felix smiled sourly, and Dr. Peterssen laughed aloud. The next moment,
however, he became grave. "Let us proceed to business."
"With all my heart," said M. Felix. "I shall be rid of you all the
sooner."
"You will never be rid of me, dear comrade. I am curious to learn for
what reason Mr. Leonard Paget has transformed himself into M. Felix."
"You are curious to learn nothing of the sort; you are acquainted with
the reason. It was to escape from your rapacity, which in another year
or two would have beggared me."
"A good reason, from a purely selfish point of view, but you lost
sight of a most important element. You and I are one, sweet boy; our
fortunes are one; if I swim, you swim; if I sink, you sink. I am not
at all sure, as to the latter, whether I could not save myself and
bring you to destruction at the same time. Why did you cut and run
from the tender-hearted individual upon whom your safety depends? I
asked you now and then for a trifle of money to help me through
difficulties; you always objected, I always insisted. I put the matter
before you plainly. If I did not discharge certain obligations----"
"Brought about by your mad gambling," interrupted M. Felix.
"Granted, dear boy, but men with minds are never free from weaknesses
of one kind or other, and I freely admit I like a little flutter
occasionally."
"You would have bled me," said M. Felix, with a dark frown, "till I
had lost every shilling of my fortune."
"Of _our_ fortune, comrade, of _our_ fortune. It is in my power to
strip you of it at any moment, therefore, in common equity, the money
is as much mine as yours."
"We made a bargain, and I adhered to it--have adhered to it up to this
day."
"Quite correct. Every quarter-day I find paid into my bank the sum of
one hundred and fifty pounds. Woe to you if there had been a single
omission. I might have advertised for you, in terms which would have
drawn unpleasant notice upon you; I would have left no stone unturned
to unearth you. I think it is five years ago since we last met. It was
not an amicable meeting; angry words passed between us. You gave me
the money I asked for and insisted upon having, but you declined to
accept the view I presented for your consideration, that you were but
the treasurer of a common fund. We parted, not the best of friends,
and the next thing I heard of you was conveyed in a letter you wrote
to me from Brindisi--it was actually posted from there--informing me
that you had left England never to return, and that the six hundred a
year would be paid regularly into my bankers in quarterly instalments,
as usual. My dear friend, that letter naturally did not please me, and
I did not propose to submit patiently to the desertion. I was working
for you, for your ease, for your safety; I had an establishment to
keep up. My little private asylum in the country, with its patients
and keepers, entails upon me a great expense. I am getting tired of
it; it chains me down; I have to be very watchful and careful; I have
to wheedle and bribe, and, besides, I have to live. I knew that you
lied when you wrote that you had left England never to return; I knew
that it was the only country in the world you cared to live in, and I
set to work to discover your hiding place. For five years I have been
hunting for you; I have been in London a dozen times; I have searched
everywhere. Oh, the money you have cost me, every shilling of which
you shall refund. You shall; I have kept an account, and you shall pay
me not only what I am out of pocket, but so much a day for my personal
labor. But you are extraordinarily cunning, and it is only now I have
succeeded in tracking you down. And being tracked, I mean to keep my
hold upon you; I mean to have my due; I mean to share equally with
you. It was by the merest chance that I obtained a clue, and I
followed it up, until, behold, in the person of M. Felix, who passes
as a foreigner, I discover my dearest friend, Mr. Leonard Paget, a
partner with me in a conspiracy which, if it were made public, would
insure, for you, certainly, for me probably, penal servitude for life.
Now, what is it you propose to do?"
"What do you want?" demanded M. Felix.
"I have already stated--an equal share of the fortune for which we
both conspired."
"What if I told you that it was pretty well squandered, and there was
but little left?"
"I should not believe you."
"It is a fact."
"It is a lie."
"Do you think I should be living in such seclusion as this if it were
not the truth?"
"I think what I please. What more can a man desire than what I see
around me? You must be enjoying your days, Leonard."
"I repeat," said M. Felix, "that I have lost the greater part of the
money. You can prove it for yourself if you like. I have speculated
unluckily; I have lost large sums at Monaco. You can't get blood out
of stone."
"If you are the stone I will have either blood or money. Understand
me; I am quite resolved. You see, dear friend, you have unfortunately
roused a feeling of animosity in me by your bad treatment. I was to
have all the kicks, you all the ha'pence. Unfair, monstrously unfair.
Whose was the immediate risk in the conspiracy? Mine. Over whose head
has hung, at any chance moment, the peril of discovery? Over mine. Who
has done all the work? I. And you, living your life of ease and
pleasure, laughed in your sleeve all the time, and thought what an
easy tool it was who was doing all the dirty work for you, while you
posed as a gentleman of immaculate virtue. Leonard, do not mistake me
you will have to do as I command; I am not your slave; you are mine. I
hold you in the hollow of my hand. You have escaped me once, you shall
not escape me again."
"You speak bravely," said M. Felix, with an attempt at bravado. "What
would you do if I defy you?"
"What would I do if you defy me?" repeated Dr. Peterssen, musingly. "I
would have my revenge, most certainly. I would bring destruction upon
you, most certainly. I would make a felon of you, most certainly."
"You forget that you would be implicated in these unpleasant
consequences."
"I forget nothing; but you are mistaken, friend of my soul. There are
roads open to me which are closed to you. I could turn Queen's
evidence. I could do better than that. I could hunt up your brother
Gerald's wife, who deems herself a dishonored woman. I could say to
her that I was a tool in your hands, that you bribed me and played
upon my poverty. I could say that the tale you told her of a mock
marriage was false, and that she was truly Gerald's wife. I could
inform her that her husband was at this moment alive, and was to be
found at----"
"Hush!" cried M. Felix.
"Why? I am not afraid. Having revealed the plot to her I should
disappear. She would come to England, if she were not here already;
she would lose not a moment in ascertaining whether I spoke the truth;
and then, my very cunning and clever friend, where would you be, I
should like to know? Not only would you be brought to the bar of
justice, but you would have to make restitution. You would be beggared
and irretrievably disgraced; your life of ease and pleasure would be
at an end. As I am a living man, I would bring you to this pass; and I
have little doubt, when I wrote to Gerald's wife from my chosen place
of exile, that she would listen to the tale of pity I should relate,
and would reward me for restoring her husband to her arms, and for
restoring the good name which you filched from her by the basest of
tricks."
"Enough of this," said M. Felix, "I capitulate. Nothing can be done
to-night. Come to me to-morrow, and we will make terms. I can say no
more."
"Perhaps not," said Dr. Peterssen. "You will be here to-morrow?"
"I will be here."
"At noon?"
"At noon."
"Then we will go into accounts."
"As you will."
"Attend to me, dear friend. By my blood, by my life, if you deceive
me, if you attempt to evade me, if you try once again to escape, I
will make the story public through Gerald's wife! Then you may say
your prayers--which will be a novel thing for you to do." He raised
his hand and swore a frightful oath that he would do as he threatened
if he did not find M. Felix at home at the time he had named.
"You will find me at home," said M. Felix, sullenly.
"What noise is that?" asked Dr. Peterssen, as the sound of the
shutting of the street-door came to his ears.
"It is the housekeeper going out for liquor. She does so every night."
"She must have a passion for liquor to go out on such a night. An
obliging housekeeper, no doubt, dear friend."
"She does as she is directed."
"You have a commanding way with you which goes down with the weak. Are
there other lodgers in this house?"
"I am the only one."
"As I have heard."
"You have been making inquiries of me?"
"I have. So, we two are alone. Not a soul on the premises but
ourselves. One of us might murder the other, and have time to escape
before discovery was made."
"It would not pay either of us to proceed to such an extremity."
"It would not. You are not an affectionate brother, Leonard. You have
never inquired after Gerald."
"He is still alive, then?
"He is still alive."
"You might be deceiving me. He may have died years ago."
"That might have been, but it is not so. Would you care to convince
yourself? Come down and see him. He might recognize you."
"No," said M. Felix, with a shudder. "I will take your word."
"Do you not wish to know how he is?"
"How is he?"
"In bodily health, better than you would suppose; but his mind"--Dr.
Peterssen did not complete the sentence, but watched with some
curiosity the effect of his words upon his companion.
"He is really mad?" exclaimed M. Felix, eagerly.
"By no means. It is merely that he is plunged into a chronic
melancholy. He passes days in silence, speaking not a word. I give him
books, and sometimes he reads, but I am not sure whether he
understands what he reads."
"No one sees him?"
"No one but myself and those about me, who know him, as you are aware,
as George Street, possessed with an insane idea that he is somebody
else."
"Street's father--does he not come to see his son?"
"He does not. Long ago he took the advice I gave him, that it would be
best and most merciful for him not to attempt to see his son. Had he
not agreed with me, it might have been awkward. Once he came; and I
fortunately happened to have in the house a patient absolutely mad,
one given to loud raving. It was curious, was it not, that at the time
of Mr. Street's visit this patient was in one of his strongest
paroxysms? Mr. Street turned pale when he heard the shouts. 'Is that
my poor son?' he asked. 'That is your poor son,' I answered. 'I will
not answer for the consequences if his eyes fell upon you.' The father
went away, with sighs, saying before he went, 'Nothing better can be
done for him than you are doing?' 'Nothing better,' I answered. 'He is
receiving every kindness here. In another establishment he would be
worse off than he is with me.' He came no more, but I send him regular
reports, and occasionally go to see him."
"He pays you regularly?"
"Yes; he is a prosperous man." Dr. Peterssen rose. "Good-night. I will
be here at noon. I must make my way through this awful storm as well
as I can."
"May you perish in it!" thought M. Felix.
"It occurs to me," continued Dr. Peterssen, "that I ought to have some
guarantee with me. You have some money about you?"
"Not much."
"Give me what you have."
M. Felix took his pocketbook from his pocket, which Dr. Peterssen
seized before he could open it.
"You shall have it back to-morrow, minus the cash."
He caught sight of the desk of sandal-wood which Emilia would have
remembered so well. It was open, and by its side lay the dagger with
its handle representing a twisted snake and its ruby eye. With a swift
motion Dr. Peterssen closed the desk and lifted it from the table. "I
will take this with me as a guarantee."
"I will not allow you," cried M. Felix.
"It is not for you to allow," said Dr. Peterssen, coolly. "With me it
goes, and to-morrow shall be returned. It contains private papers
perhaps; all the better." The key being in it, he turned it in the
lock, and threw it to M. Felix. "You cannot object now, and it would
make no difference if you did. My locking it proves that I do not
intend to pry into your secrets unless you force me. Good-night."
He spoke with an air of fierce determination, and M. Felix felt
himself powerless. Sitting almost helpless in his chair, he saw the
man who held his fate in his hands pass out of the door, and heard his
steps descending the stairs.