The Juden Gasse, in which Beecher was to find out the residence of
Lazarus Stein, was a long, straggling street, beginning in the town and
ending in the suburb, where it seemed as it were to lose itself. It was
not till after a long and patient search that Beecher discovered a small
door in an old ivy-covered wall, on which, in irregular letters, faint
and almost illegible, stood the words, “Stein, Geldwechsler.”
As he rang stoutly at the bell, the door opened, apparently of itself,
and admitted him into a large and handsome garden. The walks were
flanked by fruit-trees in espalier, with broad borders of rich flowers
at either side; and although the centre spaces were given up to the
uses of a kitchen garden, the larger beds, rich in all the colors of the
tulip and ranunculus, showed how predominant was the taste for flowers
over mere utility. Up one alley, and down another, did Beecher saunter
without meeting any one, or seeing what might mean a habitation; when,
at length, in a little copse of palm-trees, he caught sight of a smalt
diamond-paned window, approaching which, he found himself in front of
a cottage whose diminutive size he had never seen equalled, save on
the stage. Indeed, in its wooden framework, gaudily painted, its quaint
carvings, and its bamboo roof, it was the very type of what one sees
in a comic opera. One sash of the little window lay open, and showed
Beecher the figure of a very small old man, who, in a long dressing-gown
of red-brown stuff, and a fez cap, was seated at a table, writing. A
wooden tray in front of him was filled with dollars and gold pieces in
long stately columns, and a heap of bank-notes lay pressed under a heavy
leaden slab at his side. No sooner had Beecher's figure darkened the
window than the old man looked up and came out to meet him, and, taking
off his cap with a deep reverence, invited him to enter. If the size of
the chamber, and its curious walls covered over with cabinet pictures,
might have attracted Beecher's attention at another moment, all his
wonderment, now, was for the little man himself, whose piercing black
eyes, long beard, and hooked nose gave him an air of almost unearthly
meaning.
“I suppose I have the honor to speak to Mr. Stein?” said he, in English,
“and that he can understand me in my own tongue?”
“Yaas,--go on,” said the old man.
“I was told to call upon you by Captain Davis; he gave me your address.”
“Ah, der Davis--der Davis--a vaary goot man--my vaary dear friend. You
are der rich Englander that do travel wit him,--eh?”
“I am travelling with him just now,” said Beecher, laughing slightly;
“but as to being rich,--why, we 'll not dispute about it.”
“Yaas, here is his letter. He says, Milord will call on you hisself, and
so I hold myself--how you say 'bereit?'--ready--hold myself ready to see
you. I have de honor to make you very mush welcome to my poor house.”
Beecher thanked him courteously, and, producing Davis's letter,
mentioned the amount for which he desired to draw.
The old man examined the writing, the signature, and then the seal,
handing the document back when he had finished, muttering to himself,
“Ah, der Davis--der Davis!”
“You know my friend very intimately, I believe?” asked Beecher.
“I belief I do,--I belief I do,” said he, with a low chuckle to himself.
“So he mentioned to me and added one or two little matters on which I
was to ask you for some information. But first this bill,--you can let
me have these two thousand florins?”
“And what do he do now, der Davis?” asked the Jew, not heeding the
question.
“Well, I suppose he rubs on pretty much the same as ever,” said Beecher,
in some confusion.
“Yaas--yaas--he rub on--and he rub off, too, sometimes--ha! ha! ha!”
laughed out the old man, with a fiendish cackle. “Ach, der Davis!”
Without knowing in what sense to take the words, Beecher did not exactly
like them; and as little was he pleased with that singular recurrence
to “der Davis,” and the little sigh that followed. He was growing
impatient, besides, to get his money, and again reverted to the
question.
“He look well? I hope he have de goot gesundheit--what you call it?”
“To be sure he does; nothing ever ails him. I never heard him complain
of as much as a headache.
“Ach, der Davis, der Davis!” said the old man, shaking his head.
Seeing no chance of success by his direct advances, Beecher thought he
'd try a little flank attack by inducing a short conversation, and so he
said, “I am on my way to Davis, now, with his daughter, whom he left in
my charge.”
“Whose daughter?” asked the Jew.
“Davis's,--a young lady that was educated at Brussels.”
“He have no daughter. Der Davis have no daughter.”
“Has n't he, though? Just come over to the 'Four Nations,' and I 'll
show her to you. And such a stunning girl too!”
“No, no, I never belief it--never; he did never speak to me of a
daughter.”
“Whether he did or not--there she is, that's all I know.”
The Jew shook his head, and sought refuge in his former muttering of
“Ach, der Davis!”
“As far as not telling you about his daughter, I can say he never told
me, and I fancy we were about as intimate as most people; but the fact
is as I tell you.”
Another sigh was all his answer, and Beecher was fast reaching the limit
of his patience.
“Daughter, or no daughter, I want a matter of a couple of thousand
florins,--no objection to a trifle more, of course,--and wish to know
how you can let me have them.”
“The Margraf was here two week ago, and he say to me, 'Lazarus,' say
he,--'Lazarus, where is your goot friend Davis?' 'Highness,' say I, 'dat
I know not.' Den he say, 'I will find him, if I go to Jerusalem;' and I
say, 'Go to Jerusalem.'”
“What did he want with him?”
“What he want?--what every one want, and what nobody get, except how he
no like--ha! ha! ha! Ach, der Davis!”
Beecher rose from his seat, uncertain how to take this continued
inattention to his demand. He stood for a moment in hesitation, his eyes
wandering over the walls where the pictures were hanging.
“Ah! if you do care for art, now you suit yourself, and all for a
noting! I sell all dese,--dat Gerard Dow, dese two Potters, de leetle
Cuyp,--a veritable treasure, and de Mieris,--de best he ever painted,
and de rest, wit de land-schaft of Both, for eighty tousand seven
hundred florins. It is a schenk--a gift away--noting else.”
“You forget, my excellent friend Stein,” said Beecher, with more
assurance than he had yet assumed, “that it was to receive and not spend
money I came here this morning.”
“You do a leetle of all de two--a leetle of both, so to say,” replied
the Jew. “What moneys you want?”
“Come, this is speaking reasonably. Davis's letter mentions a couple of
thousand florins; but if you are inclined to stretch the amount to five,
or even four thousand, we 'll not fall out about the terms.”
“How you mean--no fall out about de terms?” said the other, sharply.
“I meant that for a stray figure or so, in the way of discount, we
should n't disagree. You may, in fact, make your own bargain.”
“Make my own bargain, and pay myself too,” muttered the Jew. “Ach, der
Davis, how he would laugh!--ha! ha! ha!”
“Well, I don't see much to laugh at, old gent, except it be at my own
folly, to stand here so long chaffering about these paltry two thousand
florins. And now I say, 'Yea or nay, will you book up, or not?'”
“Will you buy de Cuyp and de Wouvermans and de Ostade?--dat is the
question.”
“Egad, if you furnish the ready, I 'll buy the Cathedral and the
Cursaal. I 'm not particular as to the investment when the cash is
easily come at.”
“De cash is very easy to come at,” said the Jew, with a strange grin.
“You 're a trump, Lazarus!” cried Beecher, in ecstasy at his good
fortune. “If I had known you some ten years ago, I 'd have been
another man to-day. I was always looking out for one really fair,
honester-hearted fellow to deal with, but I never met with him till
now.”
“How you have it,--gold or notes?” said Lazarus.
“Well, a little of both, I think,” said Beecher, his eyes greedily
devouring the glittering little columns of gold before him.
“How your title?--how your name?” asked Stein, taking up a pen.
“My name is Annesley Beecher. You may write me the 'Honorable Annesley
Beecher.'”
“Lord of--”
“I 'm not Lord of anything. I'm next in succession to a peerage, that's
all.”
“He call you de Viscount--I forget de name.”
“Lackington, perhaps?”
“Yaas, dat is de name; and say, give him de moneys for his bill. Now,
here is de acceptance, and here you put your sign, across dis.”
“I 'll write Annesley Beecher, with all my heart; but I 'll not write
myself Lackington.”
“Den you no have de moneys, nor de Cuyp, nor de Ostade,” said the Jew,
replacing the pen in the ink-bottle.
“Just let me ask you, old boy, how would it benefit you that I should
commit a forgery? Is that the way you like to do business?”
“I do know myself how I like my business to do, and no man teach me.”
“What the devil did Davis mean, then, by sending me on this fool's
errand? He gave me a distinct intimation that you 'd cash my
acceptance--”
“Am I not ready? You never go and say to der Davis dat I refuse it! Ah,
der Davis!” and he sighed as if from the very bottom of his heart.
“I'll tell him, frankly, that you made it a condition I was to sign a
name that does not belong to me,--_that_ I 'll tell him.”
“What care he for dat? Der Davis write his own name on it and pay it
hisself.”
“Oh! and Davis was also to indorse this bill, was he?” asked Beecher.
“I should tink he do; oderwise I scarce give you de moneys.”
“That, indeed, makes some difference. Not, in reality, that it would
n't be just as much a forgery; but if the bill come back to Grog's own
hands--”
“Ach, der Grog,--ha! ha! ha! 'Tis so long dat I no hear de name,--Grog
Davis!” and the Jew laughed till his eyes ran over.
“If there's no other way of getting at this money--”
“Dere is no oder way,” said Lazarus, in a tone of firmness..
“Then good-morning, friend Lazarus, for you 'll not catch me spoiling
a stamp at that price. No, no, old fellow. I 'm up to a thing or two,
though you don't suspect it. I only rise to the natural fly, and no
mistake.”
“I make no mistake; I take vaary goot care of dat,” said Lazarus,
rising, and taking off his fez, to say adieu. “I wish you de vaary goot
day.”
Beecher turned away, with a stiff salutation, into the garden. He was
angry with Davis, with himself, and with the whole world. It was a
rare event in his life to see gold so much within his reach and yet not
available, just for a scruple--a mere scruple--for, after all, what was
it else? Writing “Lackington” meant nothing, if Lack-ington were never
to see, much less to pay the bill. Once “taken up,” as it was sure to
be by Grog, what signified it if the words across the acceptance were
Lackington or Annesley Beecher? And yet, what could Davis mean by
passing him off as the Viscount? Surely, for such a paltry sum as a
couple of thousand florins, it was not necessary to assume his brother's
name and title. It was some “dodge,” perhaps, to acquire consequence in
the eyes of his friend Lazarus that he was the travelling-companion of
an English peer; and yet, if so, it was the very first time Beecher had
known him yield to such a weakness. He _had_ a meaning in it, that much
was certain, for Grog made no move in the game of life without a plan!
“It can't be,” muttered Beecher to himself,--“it can't be for the sake
of any menace over me for the forgery, because he has already in his
hands quite enough to push me to the wall on that score, as he takes
care to remind me he might any fine morning have me 'up' on that
charge.” The more Beecher ruminated over what possible intention
Davis might have in view, the more did he grow terrified, lest, by any
short-comings on his own part, he might thwart the great plans of his
deep colleague.
“I never met his equal yet to put a fellow in a cleft stick,” muttered
Beecher, as he walked to and fro in intense agitation, “and he's just
the man also, whenever anything goes wrong, not to listen to a word of
explanation. 'Why didn't you do as I bade you?' or, 'As I ordered you?'
for that's his phrase generally. 'Who told _you_ that you had any option
in the matter? Did _I_ take you into consultation? Play up to _my_
hand!' that's his cry. 'Play up to _my_ hand, and never mind your own!'
Well, I have been doing so some ten or twelve years back, and a nice
game I've made of it! Break with him!--of course I'd break with him,
if any one would tell me how! Egad, sometimes I begin to think that
transportation and the rest of it would not be a bit harder to bear
than old Grog's tyranny! It wears one out,--it positively drains a man's
nature dry!” There are volcanic throes, that, however they may work
and struggle, throw up no lava; so with Beecher. All his passionate
indignation could not rouse him to action, although his actual suffering
might have prompted energy to any amount. He took out Davis's letter and
re-read it. One line which had escaped his attention before, now caught
his eye on the blank leaf. It ran thus: “Take care that you do not delay
at Aix after receipt of this. Benson's fellows are after you.” A cold
shudder came over Beecher as he perused the line. Benson's fellows
meant bailiffs, detectives, or something of the like. Benson was a
money-lender of the most inveterate villany,--a fellow who had pursued
more men of station and condition than any one living. He was the
terror of the “swells.” To be in Benson's hands meant ruin in its most
irretrievable shape; and at the very moment he stood there his minions
were on his track!
Ere he was well aware of it, he was back at the little window of the
cottage.
“I must have this money on your own terms, Stein,” said he. “I find that
Davis has some urgent need of my presence. I can't delay here another
day.”
“How many tousend gulden, milord?” asked the Jew respectfully, as he
dipped his pen in the ink-bottle.
“Davis says two--I should like to say four, or even five.”
“Five if you wish it, milord; to me is it all as one--five, fifteen, or
fifty; whatever sum you want.”
Beecher put his hand on the other's wrist to detain him while he took
a moment's counsel with himself. Never had such a golden opportunity
as this presented itself. Never before had he seen the man who so
generously proffered his services. It was ask and have. Was he to reject
such good fortune?--was he to turn his back on the very first piece of
luck that had ever befallen him? What heartburnings might he be storing
up for future years when he looked back to the time that, with a word,
he might have made his fortune!
“But are you quite sure, friend Lazarus, that if I say eight or ten
thousand,--for I don't want more,--Davis will be as willing to back the
bill?”
“I am quite sure.”
“Well, now, I am not so very certain of that; and as it is Davis will
have to book up, it might be safer, perhaps, that I did n't go beyond
the amount he mentions,--eh?”
“As you will,--as you please yourself. I only say, dere is der Herr
Davis's name; he send it to me and say, 'Milord will do de rest.'”
“So that he sent you a blank acceptance?” cried Beecher, in amazement.
“Yaas, Just as you see,--'Christopher Davis,' and de flourish as usual.
Ach, der Davis!” and he sighed once more.
The man who held Grog's signature on a blank stamp assumed no common
shape in Annesley Beecher's eyes, and he continued to gaze on the old
man with a strange sense of awe and astonishment. If he had not the
document there before him on the table, he would not have believed it.
The trustful courage of Van Amburgh, who used to place his head in the
lion's mouth, seemed poor in comparison with such heroic boldness as
this; and he gazed at the writing in a sort of fascination.
“And Grog actually sent you that over by letter?” asked he again.
“Yaas, as you see,” was the calm answer.
“Well, here goes then, Abraham--Lazarus, I mean; make it out for a
matter of--five--no, eight--hang it, let as say ten thousand florins
when we are about it! Ten thousand, at six months,--eh?”
“Better at tree months,--we can always renew,” said Stein, calmly.
“Of course; and by that time we may want a little more liquor in the
decanter,--eh! old boy?” said Beecher, laughing joyfully.
“To be sure, vaary mush more liquor as you want it.”
“What a brick!” said Beecher, clapping him on the shoulder in all the
ecstasy of delight.
“Dere!” said the Jew, as he finished writing, “all is done; only to say
where it be paid,--what bank at London.”
“Well, that is a bit of a puzzle, I must own!” said Beecher, rubbing his
chin with an air of doubt and hesitation.
“Where do de Lord Lackington keep his account?” asked the Jew; and the
question was so artfully posed that Beecher Answered promptly,--
“Harmer and Gore's, Lombard Street, or Pall Mall, whichever you like.”
“Hanper and Gore. I know dem vaary well,--that will do; you do sign your
name dere.”
“I wish I could persuade you that Annesley Beecher would be
enough,--eh?”
“You write de name as der Davis say, and no oder!”
“Here goes, then! 'In for a penny,' as the proverb says,” muttered he;
and in a bold, dashing hand, wrote “Lackington” across the bill.
[Illustration: 058]
“Ah!” said the Jew, as he examined it with his glass, and scanned every
letter over and over; “and now, vat you say for de Cuyp, and de Mieris,
and de Ostade,--vill you take 'era all, as I say?”
“I 'll think over it,--I 'll reflect a bit first, Master Stein. As for
pictures, they 're rather an encumbrance when a man has n't a house to
hang them in.”
“You have de vaary fine house in town, and an oder vaary fine house in
de country, beside a what you call box--shoot-box--”
“Nothing of the kind, Lazarus. I haven't a thing as big as the crib
we are standing in. Your mind is always running upon my brother; but
there's a wide difference between our fortunes, I assure you. He drew
the first ticket in the lottery of life; and, by the way, that reminds
me of something in Grog's letter that I was to ask you.” And Beecher
took the epistle from his pocket and ran his eye over it. “Ah! here it
is! 'Ask Stein what are the average runs at rouge-et-noir, what are
the signs of an intermitting game, and what are the longest runs he
remembers on one color?' Can you answer me these?”
“Some of dem I have here,” said Stein, taking down from a shelf a small
vellum-bound volume, fastened with a padlock and chain, the key of which
he wore attached to his watch. “Here is de grand 'arcanum,'” said he,
laughing; “here are de calculs made in de experience of forty-one
year! Where is de man in Europe can say as mush as dat? In dis book is
recounted de great game of de Duc de Brancas, where he broke de bank
every night of de week till Saturday,--two million tree hundred tousand
francs! Caumartin, the first croupier, shot hisself, and Nogeot go mad.
He reckon de moneys in de casette, for when he say on Friday night,
'Monseigneur,' say he, 'we have not de full sum here,--there's one
hundred and seventy tousand francs too little,' de Duc reply, 'Never
mind, mon cher Monsieur Nogeot, I am noways pressed,--don't distress
yourself,--only let it be pay before I go home to bed.' Nogeot lose his
reason when he hear it. Ah! here is de whole 'Greschichte,' and here de
table of chances.”
Beecher gazed on the precious volume as Aladdin might have done on the
lamp. It was the mystic key to untold riches. With that marvellous
book a man needed no more in life; there lay all the “cabals,” all the
“martingales,” that years of intense toil and deep study had discovered.
To win that knowledge, too, what hearts had been broken, what
desolation, what death! It was a record of martyrs in his eyes, and he
really regarded it with a sort of rapturous veneration.
Old Lazarus did not fail to detect the expression of wonderment and
admiration. He saw depicted there the glowing ecstasy that all
the triumphs of high art could not call up. The vigorous energy of
Wouvermans, the glowing coloring of Cuyp, the mellow richness of Mieris,
had not touched that nature which now vibrated in every chord to the
appeal of Fortune. It was the submissive worship of a devotee before
some sacred relic! Stein read that gaze, and tracked its every motive;
and with a solemn gesture he clasped the volume and locked it.
“But you are surely going to show me--I mean, you are about to tell me
the answer to these questions?”
Stein shook his head dubiously, as he said: “Dat is my Kleinod, my
idol,--in dat book lie de secret of secrets, and I say to myself,
'Lazarus, be poor, be destitute, be houseless to-morrow, and you know
how to get rich if you will.' De great law of Chances--de rule dat guide
what we call 'Luck'--dere it is written! I have but to say I will have,
and I have! When I die, I will burn it, or have it lay wit me in my
grave.”
“It's not possible you could do this!” cried Beecher, in horror: far
less of indignation had it cost him to hear that any one should carry
out of the world with him the cure of cancer, of cholera, or some such
dread scourge of poor humanity. The black-hearted selfishness of such a
crime seemed without a parallel, and for a second or two, as he
looked at the decrepid object before him, and saw the lonely spot, the
isolation, and the propitious moment, a strange wild thought flashed
across his mind that it might be not only pardonable, but praiseworthy,
to seize upon and carry it off by force.
Whether the old man read what was passing within him is hard to say, but
he returned the other's look as steadily and as fiercely, and Beecher
felt abashed and cowed.
“I' ll tell you what, Stein,” said he, after a pause, “I 'll buy that
same old volume of yours, just for the curiosity of the thing, and I 'll
make you a sporting offer,--I 'll give you ten thousand francs for it!”
A low wailing whistle of utter contempt was all the Jew replied.
“Well, it's a splendid bid, if you come to think of it; for, just
suppose it be everything you say--and I own I can't believe it is,--but
suppose it were, who is to guarantee the continuance of these great
public play-tables? All the Governments of Europe are setting their
faces against them,--not a year passes without one or two being closed.
This very spring there was a talk of suppressing play at Baden. Who can
tell what the first outbreak of fanatic zeal may effect?”
“No, no. So long as men live, dey will do tree tings,--make love, make
war, and gamble. When dey give up dese, de world shut up.”
There was a truthful force about this Beecher felt could not be
gainsaid, and he stood silent and confuted. There was another appeal
that he had not tried, and he resolved to neglect nothing that gave
even the faintest chance of success. He addressed himself to the Jew's
goodness of heart,--to the benevolence that he knew must have its home
in his nature. To what end, therefore, should he carry to the grave, or
destroy, a secret that might be a blessing to thousands? He depicted,
not without knowledge, some of the miseries of the man “forgotten
of Fortune,”--the days of fevered anxiety,--the nights of agonizing
torture, as, half maddened by his losses, he played wildly, recklessly
on,--suicide in all its darkest forms ever present to his aching
faculties, while all this time one glance within that little book would
save him. And he wound up all by a burst of enthusiastic praise of a man
who could thus transmit happiness to generations unborn.
“I never wish to sell dat book. I mean it alway to die wit myself! but
if you will give me one tousand pounds, it is yours. If you delay, I
will say two tousands.”
“Done--I take it. Of course a bill will do--eh?”
“Yaas, I will take a bill,--a bill at tree months. When it is yours, I
will tell you dat you are de luckiest man in all Europe. You have dere,
in dat leetle volume, all man strive for, fight for, cheat for, die
for!”
As he said this, he sat down again at his desk to write the acceptance
Beecher was to sign; while the other, withdrawing into the window
recess, peered eagerly into the pages of the precious book.
“Mind,” said the Jew, “you no let any one see de 'Cabal.' If it be once
get abroad, de bank will change de play. You just carry in your head
de combinations, and you, go in, and win de millions dat you want at de
time.”
“Just so,” said Beecher, in ecstasy, the very thought of the golden
cataract sending a thrill of rapture through him. “I suppose, however, I
may show it to Davis?”
“Ach, der Davis, yaas,--der Davis can see it,” said the Jew, with a
laugh whose significance it were very hard to interpret. “Dere now,”
said Stein, handing him the pen, “write de name dere as on de oder.”
“Still Lackington, I suppose--eh?” asked Beecher.
“Yaas,--just de same,” said Stein, gravely.
“'Just as good for a sheep as a lamb,' as the proverb says,” muttered
Beecher. And he dashed off the name with a reckless flourish. “I 'll
tell you one thing, Master Stein,” said he, as he buttoned up the magic
volume in the breast of his coat, “if this turn out the good dodge
you say it is, I 'll behave handsomely to you. I pledge you my word of
honor, I'll stand to you for double--treble the sum you have got written
there. _You_ don't know the fellow you're dealing with,--very few know
him, for the matter of that,--but though he has got a smart lesson
or two in life, he has good stuff in him still; and _if_--I say _if_,
because, of course, all depends on _that_--_if_ I can give the bank
at Hamburg a spring in the air with the aid of this, I 'll not forget
_you_, old boy.”
“You make dem all spring in de air!--Ems, Wiesbaden, Baden--all go up
togeder!” And the Jew laughed with the glee of a demon.
“Not that I want to hurt any one,--not that I 'd like to squeeze a
fellow too hard,” broke in Beecher, suddenly, for a quick thrill of
superstitious fear--the gambler's innate conscience--shot through him,
and made him tremble to think that by a chance word or thought he might
disgust the Fortune he would propitiate. “No, no; my motto is, 'Live
and let live!' There's room for us all!” And with the utterance of a
sentiment he believed so truly generous, he took leave of the Jew, and
departed.