There was what seemed like a long silence, though in reality it
endured only for a few seconds, whilst General Boswell searched for his
gold-rimmed reading glasses, and balanced them on the bridge of that
high Quixote nose. By and by, he began to read with great slowness and
deliberation, pausing at every other instant to direct a look of calm
inspection from John to James, and back again. ‘William Ford,’ he read,
Ninth Avenue, Freemans Town, Ontario.’ He paused after the name of the
man--he paused after the name of the street--he paused after the name of
the town, and he paused again when he had completed the reading of the
address. The last pause was longer than the others had been, and he
resumed his reading like a man of ice. ‘William Buckle, Lafayetteville,
Pennsylvania, U.S.A. George Lightfoot, late of Melbourne, now in
England.’
He laid the paper down upon the table with a firm hand, and with a
slight shake of the head threw the glasses from their place. ‘Do you
know these men?’ he asked, directing his inquiry to Jervoyce.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I never heard of any one of ‘em.’ His shifty eye tried
in vain to meet his questioner’s, and he began to fumble nervously with
other papers which he had drawn from his pocket in his search for the
first.
‘It needs no penetration to discover that this man is lying,’ said the
General to himself. He addressed his question to John Jervase, who made
shift somehow to meet his look. ‘Do you know these men?’ he asked.
‘No,’ John answered, ‘I never heard of one of them. It’s a conspiracy,’
he cried, suddenly, ‘that’s what it is! It’s a conspiracy! Quit shaking,
you wretched coward! Stand up and fight this infernal libel like a man.
Ain’t there two of us? If this wicked charge is brought against James
Knock Jervoyce, ain’t it brought as well against Jack Jervase, his
cousin and his partner? Look at me! You don’t see me shivering and
shaking like a frightened rabbit with a weasel after him.’
‘Ah! ‘cried James, in a weak exasperation, ‘it all very well for you.
It might mean loss of money to you at the worst; but I’m the man they’re
going for.’
‘Oh,’ said John, ‘you are, are you? And why’s that?’
‘Stubbs told me this afternoon,’ said James, c that he could smash me
dead, but so far he has no particle of evidence against you.’
A light sprang into the burly scoundrel’s eyes. He veiled it in an
instant, but not before two of the quartette there present had read it.
The boy turned away, groaning, and the General looked after him with a
face from which all sternness disappeared for a moment.
‘Poor lad! ‘he said, within doors. ‘Poor lad!’
‘Now, look here,’ said John Jervase, ‘they haven’t got any evidence agen
you any more than they have agen me. The whole thing’s a put-up job. If
it was De Blacquaire’s doing, he’d have gone for me rather than for
you, because he always hated me, and I’ve put him down more than once
or twice at Petty Sessions, and taught him to know his place. But De
Blacquaire’s an officer and a gentleman’--he made a burly bow towards
the General--’ and I don’t suppose for a minute that he’d be guilty even
of dreaming of such a piece of rascality as this. It’s much more likely
to be some pettifogging lawyer’s game--some sneaking rogue that’s got
these fellow-rascals round him, with an idea of doing a little bit of
blackmail. Stubbs is a decent fellow--for a lawyer. I don’t think Stubbs
would have a finger in that sort of pie, any more than his master. But
Stubbs has been got at; that’s how it’ll turn out, you bet. Keep your
pecker up, James,’ he added, in a tone which the patron and the bully
spoke at once. ‘Well take care of you. Just you trust to old Jack
Jervase--that’s your game, my lad. He’ll fight the battle for the pair
of us.’
Between his pretence of having thought the matter out impartially, and
his other pretence of encouraging his timid relative, he had talked
himself back into something like his common aspect, and his common
manner; and there was a little of the nautical swagger in the few
steps he took towards the table, where he applied himself again to the
decanter.
Just then a knock sounded at the door, and the voice of the domestic
from the kitchen was heard saying that Mr. James’s change of clothes was
ready for him in the master’s bedroom.
‘You know your way, James,’ said Jervase. ‘You’d better get into dry
toggery at once. The missus will have a bedroom ready for you in half an
hour. Meanwhile, you go and change; and when you come back we’ll forget
this nonsense over a bowl of punch. We’ve both had a drenching this
wild night, and we shall neither of us be the worse for a good Captain’s
nip.’
James stole furtively away, making himself as small as possible, and the
General’s eye followed him to the door.
‘Jervase,’ said the General, with a suspicion of satire in his voice,
‘your cousin seems to take this ridiculous matter rather seriously.’
‘I don’t know why he should, sir,’ Jervase answered. ‘He’s had an honest
reputation all his life. Now what is there in this,’ he went on, taking
up the scrap of writing the General had laid upon the table, ‘what is
there in this to frighten anybody? Who’s William Ford, of Ontario,
for instance? William Buckle, U.S.A.--who’s he? And what’s this other
fellow’s name--George Lightfoot, late of Melbourne, now in England----’
‘Why!’ cried Polson, suddenly, ‘that’s the very blackguard I----’
He paused suddenly, and turned with a gesture of dismay. He had given
himself no time to calculate the significance of the words he had used,
and they were no sooner spoken than he knew intuitively that he had at
least in part betrayed his father. A lad of a more honest impulse and
conduct could not have been found in all England; but even if his father
were a rogue--and the belief that he was nothing short of that had
already shocked him to the heart--it was not a son’s business to betray
him. It was the son’s concern to suffer his own share of shame, if shame
should come, and to preserve a front of unshaken confidence. Polson was
frozen at his own indiscretion.
‘That is the blackguard,’ said the General, with a certain silky quiet
which had in his time grown to be very terrible to people who had come
to understand its meaning, ‘that is the blackguard, Polson? Be good
enough to enlighten us a little further. You have some acquaintance with
Lightfoot, late of Melbourne, now in England, though your father has no
knowledge of him.’
‘What do you know about any fellow of that name?’ Jervase asked
wrathfully. ‘What bee have you got in your bonnet?’
‘Let us see the bee, Polson, let us see the bee.’
‘Why, sir,’ said Polson, turning with outspread hands of appeal, ‘it
comes to nothing. It happened a week or two ago that I found a hulking
fellow with a digger’s beard and a red shirt--one of those chaps we’ve
seen lately back from Ballarat and Geelong--skulking about outside
the gate. I asked him what he wanted, and he was drunk and abusive,
and--well, I had to give him a hiding.’
‘Yes,’ said the General, ‘you had to give him a hiding. Why?’
‘I’ve told you, sir,’ Polson stammered. ‘The fellow was drunk, and--when
I ordered him away, he got so beastly cheeky that I had to go for him.’
‘Before this happened,’ said the General, somewhat drawling on the
words, ‘you exchanged cards and confidences?’ Polson stretched out
his hands again in appeal, and the General, looking at him with a
countenance impassive as the Sphinx, felt a pang of pity in his heart,
for the lad was a good lad, and the old warrior knew it, and he had
been near to loving him, this past half-dozen years. And the boy was not
merely pale with the suffering of his mind, but his very eyes had lost
their colour, as a man’s eyes do when he has received a shot in battle.
The General knew that look, and had seen it in the eyes of dying
comrades. It touched him nearly, but he gave no sign. ‘Why did the man
tell you his name, and that he came from Melbourne?’
‘He said,’ Polson returned, desperately, ‘that he wanted to see Mr.
Jervase, and that he meant to see him. He said my father would wish
anybody in hell who tried to hide him. That’s all, sir.’
‘And you, Jervase,’ said the General, ‘never heard of this man?’
‘Never in my life,’ Jervase answered bluntly. ‘The world’s gone mad, I
fancy. Everybody’s making a fuss about a thing that’ll be forgotten in a
week’s time. Why didn’t you,’ he continued, turning sternly upon Polson,
‘why didn’t you tell me about this?’
‘A man can’t make a shindy about it every time he has a turn-up with a
tramp,’ Polson answered. ‘I didn’t think it worth while to talk about
it.’
‘Polson,’ said the General, ‘I’ve known you since you were no higher
than my knee, and I’ve never had a shadow of a reason to doubt your
word. I don’t want you to turn informer and I shan’t ask you another
question. You had better leave your father and myself to talk this out
together.’
‘No, sir,’ said Polson, ‘there’s trouble in the house, and I’m going to
stay here, unless I get my father’s orders to go away.’
Now John Jervase was undoubtedly a good deal of a rogue, but no man is
all of a piece, and he had one or two good characteristics. Amongst them
was a true and deep affection for his only son, and if at the beginning
of his career he had had any such hope of honour and credit as his son
had bidden fair to bring him as he neared the close of it, he would
have made a better man. Polson’s quietly expressed resolve pinched him a
little inwardly, and he gave the boy a glance of gratitude.
‘I don’t say go, lad--I say stay. I’ve honoured and respected General
Boswell since we first came to be neighbours, twenty years ago; and now
I should have a very poor eye indeed if I couldn’t see that he’s on the
way to lose his respect for me, if events don’t change his mind. But if
there’s anything to be browt against Jack Jervase, let Jack Jervase’s
lad stand by and hear it, and see how his father takes the ackisation.’
‘Very well, Jervase,’ said the General. ‘We will have it so. I have an
interest in this affair, and I must tell you plainly that your manner
is so very strange that I feel scarcely comfortable under it. You are a
business man, and you must not object to my using business terms. Very
nearly the whole of my fortune is invested in your hands. If your credit
is seriously shaken, and, above all, if it is shaken by such a charge
as is now being brought against the firm, my daughter and I are on the
verge of ruin. It wouldn’t greatly matter about an old campaigner
like myself, for I am not yet so far broken that I can’t still run in
harness. But I have my little girl to think of, and for her sake I am
going to do my duty, as a business man, however unpleasant it may be to
me to do it.’
‘The scandal can’t touch you, sir.’ The General smiled sternly.
‘It can’t touch me in one way, but it may break my fortune. Now answer
me this one question. What is the worth of the brine which has been
pumped up from our workings since the firm of Jervase & Jervoyce began
to prosper in that enterprise?’
‘I can tell you that, sir, roughly, in the turn of a hand. First and
last, two hundred thousand pounds. That may be a thousand wrong on one
side or the other--it may even be five thousand wrong on the one side or
the other--but I’ll guarantee that it’s not more than that.’
‘So that if this claim, whether by fair means or by foul, could be
established, the firm could be made responsible in a Civil Court for
that sum.’
‘Exactly, sir. The case being established, the firm would be responsible
for every penny.’
‘And for how large a share,’ the General asked, ‘am I personally
responsible?’
‘Each member of the firm,’ Jervase answered, ‘is responsible in his own
person for the whole amount. There’s no limitation of liability.’
The conversation was marked by less excitement than it had been on the
one side, and by a more business-like manner on the other.
‘You needn’t fear, sir,’ said Jervase. ‘James and I are good to meet the
whole of the obligations, and, apart from that, these fellows who are
being brought up against us are the very scum of the earth. I don’t
suppose that any Court of Law would listen to them.’
‘No?’ asked the General, with sudden keenness. ‘And why are they the
very scum of the earth? You don’t know the men?’
Jervase was visibly disconcerted. He stammered as he answered:
‘Why, what else but the scum of the earth can they be, to have trumped
up a lying case like this?’
‘’Mph!’ said the General. ‘Be that as it may, as a partner in this
concern, I may conceivably be made liable for two hundred thousand
pounds?’
‘That’s the law, sir.’
‘That being so, I must take this business into my own hands. Until I
am legally advised to a contrary action I shall take no step without
informing you of it. But the thing is too serious to be neglected, and
I have little liking for your way of meeting it, Jervase, though I like
your cousin’s less.’
After this declaration, there was silence for the space of a full
minute, and then James came back, his slight figure absurdly costumed in
his cousin’s clothes, which were too long for him in the arm, too short
in the leg, and too full everywhere.
‘Your cousin and I, Mr. Jervoyce,’ said the General, ‘have arrived at a
partial understanding, and I must make the position clear as between you
and myself. When did you first hear of this accusation?’
‘To-day,’ said James. ‘Never a word until to-day.’
‘When did you hear of this man Light-foot, late of Melbourne, and now in
England?’ James cast a piteously beseeching eye towards Jervase, and
the General held out a hand towards the latter as if to interdict the
speaking of a word. He repeated his question. ‘When did you first hear
of the man Lightfoot, late of Melbourne? Now, come, sir,’ the General
cried, in a voice of command, ‘you are here to answer that question on
your own responsibility. You don’t choose to answer? Now, the story is
that these men have been blackmailing you. Assuming that story to be
true, they have been paid, and it is evident that there must be some
means of discovering the channel through which payments have been made.
Are you prepared to submit to an examination of your books?’
‘I am,’ said John Jervase, ‘willingly, at any moment.’
‘You!’ cried James.
‘And not you?’ said the General. ‘Well, that simplifies matters.’
The wretched James had all but surrendered himself to fate a quarter of
an hour before, and now, seeing that he had betrayed himself, he cast
the case up altogether, and, throwing both arms upon the table, fell
on his knees beside it, dropped his face upon his hands, and began to
whimper.
‘Wait a bit, sir,’ cried John Jervase. ‘Now just wait one minute and
I’ll put the case before you. Here are the facts. I should be obliged
if you would take a seat, sir, and allow me to do the same.’ He moved
a chair towards the table with great deliberation, sat down leisurely,
reached out for the decanter, filled his glass, emptied it and set it
down--all with a certain look of weighty purpose. ‘I’m going to make a
clean breast of it, sir. I should leave James to do it if he was capable
of doing anything but whimper like a kicked charity boy. It’s a bit to
my discredit to speak the plain truth, because I’ve got to admit that I
have certainly made an effort to deceive you. That isn’t creditable, and
it goes again the grain to admit it. I said I didn’t know this fellow
Lightfoot. That was a lie. I know him well. I told the lie to shelter
James.’
James lifted a beslobbered face, stared at the speaker for a single
instant, and then allowed his head to fall upon his hands again.
‘I did it to shelter James,’ Jervase repeated, and as he spoke he dealt
his cousin a sharp kick beneath the table, as if to bespeak that worthy
gentleman’s particular attention. ‘James, to tell the truth about him,
since it must be told, has always had two sides to him. He was a solid
chapel-goer till he was thirty, and he was a deacon or an elder, or
something of that sort; but he always had some little game on on the
sly, and he always succeeded in keeping his Piccadillies pretty quiet.
When he began to make money, he went over to the Church and took the
plate round at collecting time, and got to be a sidesman, and a trustee,
and I don’t know what all. He never married, but he’s never been
without a quiet little home of his own, with a lady at the head of the
table--have ye, James?’
James groaned, but made no verbal answer.
‘Now this loafer of a Lightfoot had a sister, and in respect of her,
there’s no doubt about it that something discreditable might have been
laid to James. For once in his life, he acted like a fool, and he wrote
the girl a pile of letters. This fellow Lightfoot got hold of ‘em, and
he’s made James pay through the nose ever since. Now the girl’s dead,
and the thing’s so old, James has refused to keep this lazy beggar in
his idleness and his dissipations any longer. The fellow’s tried to
frighten him with the letters, and, failing in that, he’s worked up
this lie against the firm, has got two more blackguards to swear to
it, seemingly, and there’s the whole truth about the matter. I suppose
they’ve got up some sort of a case, or Stubbs wouldn’t be looking at it.
But we shall blow it all to smithereens when we get them in the
witness box. Now, that’s the whole of the matter. Speak for yourself,
James--make a clean breast of it. Isn’t that the truth? I haven’t
exaggerated your iniquities, and you may just as well own up to ‘em.’
He kicked his cousin a second time again by way of warning, and James
looked up for a second time, and being fortified by the expression of
his cousin’s face, he spoke.
‘It’s horribly humiliating to have those things said,’ he gasped. ‘But
that is the truth about the whole transaction, General. God forgive
me--it’s many years ago. But that’s the miserable truth.’
‘I think,’ said the General, rising from the seat he had taken at his
host’s invitation, ‘that it is time for me to go home.’
‘You can’t do that, sir,’ cried Polson. ‘It’s impossible. The weather is
worse than ever. Think of Irene going out in such a storm as this! You
were weatherbound here hours ago, and listen to it now. No carriage
could live on the hillside to-night.’
‘That is probably true,’ said the General with great dryness. ‘And since
I am forced to intrude myself upon your hospitalities, I will ask you,
Polson, to be good enough to show me to my room.’
He walked from the apartment without further speech, Polson following
him; and when the sound of footsteps in the passage had died, John
Jervase rose and closed the door.
‘Well, James,’ he said with a grating laugh, ‘that cock didn’t fight
anyhow.’