THE DIABOLIC WHISPER.
Gordon Chancey sauntered in his usual lazy, lounging way, with his
hands in his pockets, down the street. After a listless walk of
half-an-hour he found himself at the door of a handsome house, in the
immediate neighbourhood of the Castle. He knocked, and was admitted by
a servant in full livery.
"Is he in the same room?" inquired Chancey.
"Yes, sir," replied the man; and without further parley, the learned
counsel proceeded upstairs, and knocked at the drawing-room door,
which, without waiting for any answer, he forthwith opened.
Nicholas Blarden--with two ugly black plaisters across his face, his
arm in a sling, and his countenance bearing in abundance the livid
marks of his late rencounter--stood with his back to the fire-place; a
table, blazing with wax-lights, and stored with glittering wine-flasks
and other matters, was placed at a little distance before him. As the
man of law entered the room, the countenance of the invalid relaxed
into an ugly grin of welcome.
"Well, Gordy, boy, how goes the game? Out with your news, old
rat-catcher," said Blarden, in high good humour.
"Dear me, dear me! but the night is mighty chill, Mr. Blarden,"
observed Chancey, filling a glass of wine to the brim, and sipping it
uninvited. "News," he continued, letting himself drop into a
chair--"news; well, there's not much stirring worth telling you."
"Come, what _is_ it? You're not come here for nothing, old fox,"
rejoined Blarden, "I know by the ---- twinkle in the corner of your
eye."
"Well, _he_ has been with me, just now," drawled Chancey.
"Ashwoode?"
"Yes."
"Well! what does he want--what does he want, eh?" asked Blarden, with
intense excitement.
"He says he'll want time for the notes," replied Chancey.
"God be thanked!" ejaculated Blarden, and followed this ejaculation
with a ferocious burst of laughter. "We'll have him, Chancey, boy, if
only we know how to play him--by ----, we'll have him, as sure as
there's heat in hell."
"Well, maybe we will," rejoined Chancey.
"Does he say he can't pay them on the day?" asked Blarden, exultingly.
"No; he says _maybe_ he can't," replied the jackal.
"That's all one," cried Blarden. "What do you think? Do you think he
can?"
"I think maybe he can, if we _squeeze_ him," replied Chancey.
"Then _don't_ squeeze him--he must not get out of our books on any
terms--we'll lose him if he does," said Nicholas.
"We'll not renew the notes, but hold them over," said Chancey. "He must
not feel them till he _can't_ pay them. We'll make them sit light on
him till then--give him plenty of line for a while--rope enough and a
little patience--and the devil himself can't keep him out of the
noose."
"You're right--you _are_, Gordy, boy," rejoined Blarden. "Let him get
through the ready money first--eh?--and then into the stone jug with
him--we'll just choose our own time for striking."
"I tell you what it is, if you are just said and led by me, you'll have
a _quare_ hold on him before three months are past and gone," said
Chancey, lazily--"mind I tell you, you will."
"Well, Gordy, boy, fill again--fill again--here's success to you."
Chancey filled, and quaffed his bumper, with, a matter-of-fact,
business-like air.
"And do you mind me, boy," continued Blarden, "spare _nothing_ in this
business--bring Ashwoode entirely under my knuckle--and, by ----, I'll
make it a great job for you."
"Indeed--indeed but I will, Mr. Blarden, if I can," rejoined Chancey;
"and I _think_ I can--I think I know a way, so I do, to get a _halter_
round his neck--do you mind?--and leave the rope's end in your hand, to
hang him or not, as you like."
"To _hang_ him!" echoed Blarden, like one who hears something too good
to be true.
"Yes, to hang him by the neck till he's dead--dead--dead," repeated
Chancey, imperturbably.
"How the blazes will you do it?" demanded the wretch, anxiously. "Pish,
it's all prate and vapour."
Gordon Chancey stole a suspicious glance round the room from the corner
of his eye, and then suffering his gaze to rest sleepily upon the fire
once more, he stretched out one of his lank arms, and after a little
uncertain groping, succeeding in grasping the collar of his companion's
coat, and drawing his head down toward him. Blarden knew Mr. Chancey's
way, and without a word, lowered his ear to that gentleman's mouth, who
forthwith whispered something into it which produced a marked effect
upon Mr. Blarden.
"If you do _that_," replied he with ferocious exultation, "by ----,
I'll make your fortune for you at a slap."
And so saving, he struck his hand with heavy emphasis upon the
barrister's shoulder, like a man who clenches a bargain.
"Well, Mr. Blarden," replied Chancey, in the same drowsy tone, "as I
said before, I declare it's my opinion I can, so it is--I think I can."
"And so do _I_ think you can--by ----, I'm _sure_ of it," exclaimed
Blarden triumphantly; "but take some more--more wine, won't you? take
some more, and stay a bit, can't you?"
Chancey had made his way to the door with his usual drowsy gait; and,
passing out without deigning any answer or word of farewell, stumbled
lazily downstairs. There was nothing odd, however, in this
leave-taking; it was Chancey's way.
"We'll do it, and easily too," muttered Blarden with a grin of
exultation. "I never knew him fail--that fellow is worth a mine. Ho!
ho! Sir Henry, beware--beware. Egad, you had better keep a bright
look-out. It's rather late for green goslings to look to their necks,
when the fox claps his nose in the poultry-yard."