IV

On the morning of the day after his talk with Flint, Samuel Greer

ruminated doubtfully on the advisability of calling on the ship-store

dealer again, or waiting in dignified silence till Flint should

approach him. As he ruminated he rubbed his chin, and so rubbing it

found it very stubbly. He resolved on the luxury of a penny shave,

and, as he walked the street, kept his eyes open for a shop where the

operation was performed at that price. Mr. Flint, at any rate, could

wait till his chin was smooth. Presently, in a turning by Abbey Street,

Bermondsey, he came on just such a barber's shop as he wanted. Within,

two men were being shaved already, and another waiting; and Greer felt

himself especially fortunate in that three more followed at his heels.

He was ahead of their turns, anyhow. So he waited patiently.

[Illustration: "HIS WALK WAS UNSTEADY."]

The man whose turn was immediately before his own did not appear to be

altogether sober. A hiccough shook him from time to time; he grinned

with a dull glance at a comic paper held upside down in his hand, and

when he went to take his turn at a chair his walk was unsteady. The

barber had to use his skill to avoid cutting him, and he opened his

mouth to make remarks at awkward times. Then Greer's turn came at the

other chair, and when his shave was half completed he saw the unsteady

customer rise, pay his penny, and go out.

"Beginnin' early in the mornin'!" observed one customer.

The barber laughed. "Yes," he said. "He wants to get a proper bust on

before he goes to bed, I s'pose."

Samuel Greer's chin being smooth at last, he rose and turned to where

he had hung his hat. His jaw dropped, and his eyes almost sprang out to

meet each other as he saw--a bare peg! The unsteady customer had walked

off with the wrong hat--his hat, and--the paper concealed inside!

"Lor!" cried the dismayed Greer, "he's took my hat!"

All the shopful of men set up a guffaw at this. "Take 'is then," said

one. "It's a blame sight better one than yourn!"

But Greer, without a hat, rushed into the street, and the barber,

without his penny, rushed after him. "Stop 'im!" shouted Greer

distractedly. "Stop thief!"

Thus it was that Dorrington, at this time of a far less well-groomed

appearance than was his later wont, watching outside the barber's,

observed the mad bursting forth of Greer, followed by the barber. After

the barber came the customers, one grinning furiously beneath a coating

of lather.

"Stop 'im!" cried Greer. "'E's got my 'at! Stop 'im!"

"You pay me my money," said the barber, catching his arm. "Never mind

yer 'at--you can 'ave 'is. But just you pay me first."

"Leave go! You're responsible for lettin' 'im take it, I tell you! It's

a special 'at--valuable; leave go!"

Dorrington stayed to hear no more. Three minutes before he had observed

a slightly elevated navvy emerge from the shop and walk solemnly

across the street under a hat manifestly a size or two too small for

him. Now Dorrington darted down the turning which the man had taken.

The hat was a wretched thing, and there must be some special reason

for Greer's wild anxiety to recover it, especially as the navvy must

have left another, probably better, behind him. Already Dorrington had

conjectured that Greer was carrying the codicil about with him, for he

had no place else to hide it, and he would scarcely have offered so

confidently to negotiate over it if it had been in the Bermondsey Wall

house, well in reach of Paul Cater. So he followed the elevated navvy

with all haste. He might never have seen him again were it not that the

unconscious bearer of the fortunes of Flint (and, indeed, Dorrington)

hesitated for a little while whether or not to enter the door of a

public-house near St. Saviour's Dock. In the end he decided to go on,

and it was just as he had started that Dorrington sighted him again.

The navvy walked slowly and gravely on, now and again with a swerve

to the wall or the curb, but generally with a careful and laboured

directness. Presently he arrived at a dock-bridge, with a low iron

rail. An incoming barge attracted his eye, and he stopped and solemnly

inspected it. He leaned on the low rail for this purpose, and as he did

so the hat, all too small, fell off. Had he been standing two yards

nearer the centre of the bridge it would have dropped into the water.

As it was it fell on the quay, a few feet from the edge, and a dockman,

coming toward the steps by the bridge-side, picked it up and brought it

with him.

"Here y'are, mate," said the dockman, offering the hat.

The navvy took it in lofty silence, and inspected it narrowly. Then he

said, "'Ere--wot's this? This ain't my 'at!" And he glared suspiciously

at the dockman.

"Ain't it?" answered the dockman carelessly.

"Aw right then, keep it for the bloke it b'longs to. I don't want it."

"No," returned the navvy with rising indignation, "but I want mine,

though! Wotcher done with it? Eh? It ain't a rotten old 'un like this

'ere. None o' yer 'alf-larks. Jist you 'and it over, come on!"

"'And wot over?" asked the dockman, growing indignant in his turn. "You

drops yer 'at over the bridge like some kid as can't take care of it,

and I brings it up for ye. 'Stead o' sayin' thank ye, 'like a man, y'

asks me for another 'at! Go an' bile yer face!" And he turned on his

heel.

"No, ye don't!" bawled the navvy, dropping the battered hat and making

a complicated rush at the other's retreating form. "Not much! You gimme

my 'at!" And he grabbed the dockman anywhere, with both hands.

[Illustration: "A MINGLED BUNCH OF DOCKMAN AND NAVVY WAS FLOUNDERING

ABOUT THE STREET."]

The dockman was as big as the navvy, and no more patient. He

immediately punched his assailant's nose; and in three seconds a

mingled bunch of dockman and navvy was floundering about the street.

Dorrington saw no more. He had the despised hat in his hand, and,

general attention being directed to the action in progress, he hurried

quietly up the nearest court.

V

Samuel Greer, having got clear of the barber by paying his penny, was

in much perplexity, and this notwithstanding his acquisition of the

navvy's hat, a very decent bowler, which covered his head generously

and rested on his ears. What should be the move now? His hat was clean

gone, and the codicil with it. To find it again would be a hopeless

task, unless by chance the navvy should discover his mistake and return

to the barber's to make a rectification of hats. So Samuel Greer

returned once more to the barber's, and for the rest of the day called

again and again fruitlessly. At first the barber was vastly amused, and

told the story to his customers, who laughed. Then the barber got angry

at the continual worrying, and at the close of the day's barbering he

earned his night's repose by pitching Samuel Greer neck and crop into

the gutter. Samuel Greer gathered himself up disconsolately, surrounded

his head with the navvy's hat, and shuffled off to the "Ship and

Anchor."

At the "Ship and Anchor" he found one Barker, a decayed and sodden

lawyer's clerk out of work. Greer's temporary affluence enabling

him to stand drinks, he was presently able, by putting artfully

hypothetical cases, to extract certain legal information from Barker.

Chiefly he learned that if a will or a codicil were missing, it might

nevertheless be possible to obtain probate of it by satisfying the

court with evidence of its contents and its genuineness. Here, at any

rate, was a certain hope. He alone, apparently, of all persons, knew

the contents of the codicil and the names of the witnesses; and since

it was impossible to sell the codicil, now that it was gone, he might

at least sell his evidence. He resolved to offer his evidence for sale

to Flint at once, and take what he could get. There must be no delay,

for possibly the navvy might find the paper in the hat and carry it to

Flint, seeing that his name was beneficially mentioned in it, and his

address given. Plainly the hat would not go back to the barber's now.

If the drunken navvy had found out his mistake he probably had not the

least notion where he had been nor where the hat had come from, else he

would have returned it during the day, and recovered his own superior

property. So Samuel Greer went at once, late as it was, and knocked up

Mr. Flint.

Flint congratulated himself, feeling sure that Greer had thought better

of his business and had come to give his information for anything he

could get. Greer, on his part, was careful to conceal the fact that the

codicil had been in his possession and had been lost. All he said was

that he had seen the codicil, that its date was nine months later than

that of the will, and that it benefited Jarvis Flint to the extent of

some ten thousand pounds; leaving Flint to suppose, if he pleased, that

Cater, the executor, had the codicil, but would probably suppress it.

Indeed this was the conclusion that Flint immediately jumped at.

And the result of the interview was this: Flint, with much grudging and

reluctance, handed over as a preliminary fee the sum of one pound, the

most he could be screwed up to. Then it was settled that Greer should

come on the morrow and consult with Flint and his solicitor Lugg, the

object of the consultation being the construction of a consistent tale

and a satisfactory _soi-disant_ copy of the codicil, which Greer was

to swear to, if necessary, and armed with which Paul Cater might be

confronted and brought to terms.

It may be wondered why, ere this, Flint had not received the genuine

codicil itself, recovered by Dorrington from Greer's hat. The fact was

that Dorrington, as was his wont, was playing a little game of his own.

Having possessed himself of the codicil, he was now in a position to

make the most from both sides, and in a far more efficient manner than

the clumsy Greer. People of Jarvis Flint's sordid character are apt,

with all their sordid keenness, to be wonderfully short-sighted in

regard to what might seem fairly obvious to a man of honest judgment.

Thus it never occurred to Flint that a man like Dorrington, willing,

for a miserable wage, to apply his exceptional subtlety to the

furtherance of his employer's rascally designs, would be at least as

ready to swindle that master on his own account when the opportunity

offered; would be, in fact, the more ready, in proportion to the

stinginess wherewith his master had treated him.

Having found the codicil, Dorrington's procedure was not to hand it

over forthwith to Flint. It was this: first he made a careful and exact

copy of the codicil; then he procured two men of his acquaintance, men

of good credit, to read over the copy, word for word, and certify it

as being an exact copy of the original by way of a signed declaration

written on the back of the copy. Then he was armed at all points.

He packed the copy carefully away in his pocket-book, and with the

original in his coat pocket, he called at the house in Bermondsey

Wall, where Paul Cater had taken up his quarters to keep guard over

everything till the will should be proved. So it happened that, while

Samuel Greer, Jarvis Flint, and Lugg, the lawyer, were building their

scheme, Dorrington was talking to Paul Cater at Cater's Wharf.

On the assurance that he had business of extreme importance, Cater

took Dorrington into the room in which the old man had died. Cater

was using this room as an office in which to examine and balance his

uncle's books, and the corpse had been carried to a room below to await

the funeral. Dorrington's clothes at this time, as I have hinted,

were not distinguished by the excellence of cut and condition that

was afterwards noticeable; in point of fact, he was seedy. But his

assurance and his presence of mind were fully developed, and it was

this very transaction that was to put the elegant appearance within

his reach.

"Mr. Cater," he said, "I believe you are sole executor of the will

of your uncle, Mr. Jeremiah Cater, who lived in this house." Cater

assented.

"That will is one extremely favourable to yourself. In fact, by it you

become not only sole executor, but practically sole legatee."

"Well?"

"I am here as a man of business and as a man of the world to give you

certain information. There is a codicil to that will."

Cater started. Then he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head as

though he knew better.

"There is a codicil," Dorrington went on, imperturbably, "executed

in strict form, all in the handwriting of the testator, and dated

nine months later than the will. That codicil benefits your cousin,

Mr. Jarvis Flint, to the extent of ten thousand pounds. To put it in

another way, it deprives _you_ of ten thousand pounds."

Cater felt uneasy, but he did his best to maintain a contemptuous

appearance. "You're rushing ahead pretty fast," he said, "talking about

the terms of this codicil, as you call it. What I want to know is,

where is it?"

"That," replied Dorrington, smilingly, "is a question very easily

answered. The codicil is in my pocket." He tapped his coat as he spoke.

Paul Cater started again, and now he was plainly discomposed. "Very

well," he said, with some bravado, "if you've got it you can show it to

me, I suppose."

"Nothing easier," Dorrington responded affably. He stepped to the

fireplace and took the poker. "You won't mind my holding the poker

while you inspect the paper, will you?" he asked politely. "The fact

is, the codicil is of such a nature that I fear a man of your sharp

business instincts might be tempted to destroy it, there being no other

witness present, unless you had the assurance (which I now give you)

that if you as much as touch it I shall stun you with the poker. There

is the codicil, which you may read with your hands behind you." He

spread the paper out on the table, and Cater bent eagerly and read it,

growing paler as his eye travelled down the sheet.

Before raising his eyes, however, he collected himself, and as he stood

up he said, with affected contempt, "I don't care a brass farthing for

this thing! It's a forgery on the face of it."

"Dear me!" answered Dorrington placidly, recovering the paper and

folding it up; "that's very disappointing to hear. I must take it round

to Mr. Flint and see if that is his opinion."

"No, you mustn't!" exclaimed Cater, desperately. "You say that's a

genuine document. Very well. I'm still executor, and you are bound to

give it to me."

"Precisely," Dorrington replied sweetly. "But in the strict interests

of justice I think Mr. Flint, as the person interested, ought to have

a look at it first, _in case_ any accident should happen to it in your

hands. Don't you?"

Cater knew he was in a corner, and his face betrayed it.

"Come," said Dorrington in a more business-like tone. "Here is the

case in a nutshell. It is my business, just as it is yours, to get as

much as I can for nothing. In pursuance of that business I quietly got

hold of this codicil. Nobody but yourself knows I have it, and as to

_how_ I got it you needn't ask, for I sha'n't tell you. Here is the

document, and it is worth ten thousand pounds to either of two people,

yourself and Mr. Flint, your worthy cousin. I am prepared to sell it

at a very great sacrifice--to sell it dirt cheap, in fact, and I give

you the privilege of first refusal, for which you ought to be grateful.

One thousand pounds is the price, and that gives you a profit of nine

thousand pounds when you have destroyed the codicil--a noble profit of

nine hundred per cent. at a stroke! Come, is it a bargain?"

"What?" ejaculated Cater, astounded. "A thousand pounds?"

"One thousand pounds exactly," replied Dorrington complacently, "and a

penny for the receipt stamp--if you want a receipt."

"Oh," said Cater, "you're mad. A thousand pounds! Why, it's absurd!"

"Think so?" remarked Dorrington, reaching for his hat. "Then I must see

if Mr. Flint agrees with you, that's all. He's a man of business, and

I never heard of his refusing a certain nine hundred per cent. profit

yet. Good-day!"

"No, stop!" yelled the desperate Cater. "Don't go. Don't be

unreasonable now--say five hundred and I'll write you a cheque."

"Won't do," answered Dorrington, shaking his head. "A thousand is the

price, and not a penny less. And not by cheque, mind. I understand

all moves of that sort. Notes or gold. I wonder at a smart man like

yourself expecting me to be so green."

"But I haven't the money here."

"Very likely not. Where's your bank? We'll go there and get it."

Cater, between his avarice and his fears, was at his wits' end. "Don't

be so hard on me, Mr. Dorrington," he whined. "I'm not a rich man, I

assure you. You'll ruin me!"

"Ruin you? What _do_ you mean? I give you ten thousand pounds for one

thousand and you say I ruin you! Really, it seems too ridiculously

cheap. If you don't settle quickly, Mr. Cater, I shall raise my terms,

I warn you!"

So it came about that Dorrington and Cater took cab together for a

branch bank in Pimlico, whence Dorrington emerged with one thousand

pounds in notes and gold, stowed carefully about his person, and Cater

with the codicil to his uncle's will, which half an hour later he had

safely burnt.