THE "OLD ST. COLUMBKIL"--A TÊTE-À-TÊTE IN THE "ROYAL RAM"--THE TEMPTER.
The "Old Saint Columbkil" was a sort of low sporting tavern frequented
chiefly by horse-jockeys, cock-fighters, and dog-fanciers; it had its
cock-pits, and its badger-baits, and an unpretending little "hell" of
its own; and, in short, was deficient in none of the attractions most
potent in alluring such company as it was intended to receive.
As Ashwoode, preceded by his agreeable companion, made his way into the
low-roofed and irregular chamber, his senses were assailed by the thick
fumes of tobacco, the reek of spirits, and the heavy steams of the hot
dainties which ministered to the refined palates of the patrons of the
"Old Saint Columbkil;" and through the hazy atmosphere, seated at a
table by himself, and lighted by a solitary tallow candle with a
portentous snuff, and canopied in the clouds of tobacco smoke which he
himself emitted, Gordon Chancey was dimly discernible.
"Ah! dear me, dear me. I'm right glad to see you--I declare to ----, I
am, Mr. Ashwoode," said that eminent barrister, when the young
gentleman had reached his side. "Indeed, I was thinking it was maybe
too late to see you to-night, and that things would have to go on. Oh,
dear me, but it's a regular Providence, so it is. You'd have been up in
lavender to-morrow, as sure as eggs is eggs. I'm gladder than a crown
piece, upon my soul, I am."
"Don't talk of business here; cannot we have some place to ourselves
for five minutes, out of this stifling pig-sty. I can't bear the place;
besides, we shall be overheard," urged Ashwoode.
"Well, and that's very true," assented Chancey, gently, "very true, so
it is; we'll get a small room above. You'll have to pay an extra
sixpenny bit for it though, but what signifies the matter of that?
M'Quirk, ask old Pottles if 'Noah's Ark' is empty--either that or the
'Royal Ram'--run, Bobby."
"I have something else to do, Mr. Chancey," replied Mr. M'Quirk, with
_hauteur_.
"Run, Bobby, run, man," repeated Chancey, tranquilly.
"Run yourself," retorted M'Quirk, rebelliously.
Chancey looked at him for a moment to ascertain by his visible aspect
whether he had actually uttered the audacious suggestion, and reading
in the red face of the little gentleman nothing but the most refractory
dispositions, he said with a low, dogged emphasis which experience had
long taught Mr. M'Quirk to respect,--
"Are you at your tricks again? D---- you, you blackguard, if you stand
prating there another minute, I'll open your head with this pot--be
off, you scoundrel."
The learned counsel enforced his eloquence by knocking the pewter pot
with an emphatic clang upon the table.
All the aristocratic blood of the M'Quirks mounted to the face of the
gentleman thus addressed; he suffered the noble inundation, however, to
subside, and after some hesitation, and one long look of unutterable
contempt, which Chancey bore with wonderful stoicism, he yielded to
prudential considerations, as he had often done before, and proceeded
to execute his orders.
The effect was instantaneous--Pottles himself appeared. A short, stout,
asthmatic man was Pottles, bearing in his thoughtful countenance an
ennobling consciousness that human society would feel it hard to go on
without him, and carrying in his hand a soiled napkin, or rather clout,
with which he wiped everything that came in his way, his own forehead
and nose included.
With pompous step and wheezy respiration did Pottles conduct his
honoured guests up the creaking stairs and into the "Royal Ram." He
raked the embers in the fire-place, threw on a piece of turf, and
planting the candle which he carried upon a table covered with slop and
pipe ashes, he wiped the candlestick, and then his own mouth carefully
with his dingy napkin, and asked the gentlemen whether they desired
anything for supper.
"No, no, we want nothing but to be left to ourselves for ten or fifteen
minutes," said Ashwoode, placing a piece of money upon the table. "Take
this for the use of the room, and leave us."
The landlord bowed and pocketed the coin, wheezed and bowed again, and
then waddled magnificently out of the room. Ashwoode got up and closed
the door after him, and then returning, drew his chair opposite to
Chancey's, and in a low tone asked,--
"Well, what is all this about?"
"All about them notes, nothing else," replied Chancey, calmly.
"Go on--what of them?" urged Ashwoode.
"Can you pay them all to-morrow morning?" inquired Chancey, tranquilly.
"To-morrow!" exclaimed Ashwoode. "Why, hell and death, man, you
promised to hold them over for three months. To-morrow! By ----, you
must be joking," and as he spoke his face turned pale as ashes.
"I told you all along, Mr. Ashwoode," said Chancey drowsily, "that the
money was not my own; I'm nothing more than an agent in the matter, and
the notes are in the desk of that old bed-ridden cripple that lent it.
D----n him, he's as full of fumes and fancies as old cheese is of
maggots. He has taken it into his head that your paper is not safe, and
the devil himself won't beat it out of him; and the long and the short
of it is, Mr. Ashwoode, he's going to arrest you to-morrow."
In vain Ashwoode strove to hide his agitation--he shook like a man in
an ague.
"Good heavens! and is there no way of preventing this? Make him wait
for a week--for a day," said Ashwoode.
"Was not I speaking to him ten times to-day--ay, twenty times," replied
Chancey, "trying to make him wait even for one day? Why, I'm hoarse
talking to him, and I might just as well be speaking to Patrick's
tower; so make your mind up to this. As sure as light, you'll be in
gaol before to-morrow's past, unless you either settle it early some
way or other, or take leg bail for it."
"See, Chancey, I may as well tell you this," said Ashwoode, "before a
fortnight, perhaps before a week, I shall have the means of satisfying
these damned notes beyond the possibility of failure. Won't he hold
them over for so long?"
"I might as well be asking him to cut out his tongue and give it to me
as to allow us even a day; he has heard of different accidents that has
happened to some of your paper lately--and the long and the short of it
is--he won't hear of it, nor hold them over one hour more than he can
help. I declare to ----, Mr. Ashwoode, I am very sorry for your
distress, so I am--but you say you'll have the money in a week?"
"Ay, ay, ay, so I shall, _if_ he don't arrest me," replied Ashwoode;
"but if he does, my perdition's sealed; I shall lie in gaol till I rot;
but, curse it, can't the idiot see this?--if he waits a week or so
he'll get his money--every penny back again--but if he won't have
patience, he loses every sixpence to all eternity."
"You might as well be arguing with an iron box as think to change that
old chap by talk, when he once gets a thing into his head," rejoined
Chancey. Ashwoode walked wildly up and down the dingy, squalid
apartment, exhibiting in his aristocratic form and face, and in the
rich and elegant suit, flashing even in the dim light of that solitary,
unsnuffed candle, with gold lace and jewelled buttons, and with cravat
and ruffles fluttering with rich point lace, a strange and startling
contrast to the slovenly and deserted scene of low debauchery which
surrounded him.
"Chancey," said he, suddenly stopping and grasping the shoulder of the
sleepy barrister with a fierceness and energy which made him
start--"Chancey, rouse yourself, d---- you. Do you hear? Is there _no_
way of averting this awful ruin--_is_ there none?"
As he spoke, Ashwoode held the shoulder of the fellow with a gripe like
that of a vice, and stooping over him, glared in his face with the
aspect of a maniac.
The lawyer, though by no means of a very excitable temperament, was
startled at the horrible expression which encountered his gaze, and
sate silently looking into his victim's face with a kind of
fascination.
"Well," said Chancey, turning away his head with an effort--"there's
but one way I can think of."
"What is it? Do you know anyone that _will_ take my note at a short
date? For God's sake, man, speak out at once, or my brain will turn.
What is it?" said Ashwoode.
"Why, Mr. Ashwoode, to be plain with you," rejoined Chancey, "I do not
know a soul in Dublin that would discount for you to one-fourth of the
amount you require--but there is another way."
"In the fiend's name, out with it, then," said Ashwoode, shaking him
fiercely by the shoulder.
"Well, then, get Mr. Craven to join you in a bond for the amount," said
Chancey, "with a warrant of attorney to confess judgment."
"Craven! Why, he knows as well as you do how I am dipped. He'd just as
readily thrust his hand into the fire," replied Ashwoode. "Is that your
hopeful scheme?"
"Why, Mr. Craven might not do so well, after all," said Chancey,
meditatively, and without appearing to hear what the young baronet
said. "Oh! dear, dear, no, he would not do. Old Money-bags knows
him--no, no, that would not do."
"Can your d----d scheming brain plot no invention to help me? In the
devil's name, where are your wits? Chancey, if you get me out of this
accursed fix, I'll make a man of you."
"I got a whole lot of bills done for you once by the very same old
gentleman," continued Chancey, "and d----n heavy bills they were too,
but they had Mr. Nicholas Blarden's name across them; would not he lend
it again, if you told him how you stand? If you can come by the money
in a month or so, you may be sure he'll do it."
"Better and better! Why, Blarden would ask no better fun than to see me
ruined, dead, and damned," rejoined Ashwoode, bitterly. "Cudgel your
brains for another bright thought."
"Oh! dear me, dear me," said the barrister mildly, "I thought you were
the best of friends. Well, well, it's hard to know. But are you sure he
don't like you?"
"It's odd if he does," said Ashwoode, "seeing it's scarce a month since
I trounced him almost to death in the theatre. Blarden, indeed!"
"Well, Mr. Ashwoode, sit down here for a minute, and I'll say all I
have to say; and if you like it, well and good; and if not, there's no
harm done, and things must only take their course. Are you quite sure
of having the means within a month of taking up the notes?"
"As sure as I am that I see you before me," replied he.
"Well, then, get Mr. Blarden's name along with your own to your joint
and several bond--the old chap won't have anything more to do with
bills--so, do you mind, your joint and several bond, with warrant of
attorney to confess judgment--and I'll stake my life, he'll take it as
ready as so much cash, the instant I show it to him," said the lawyer
quietly.
"Are you dreaming or drunk? Have not I told you twenty times over that
Blarden would cut his throat first?" retorted Ashwoode, passionately.
"Why," said Chancey, fixing his cunning eyes, with a peculiar meaning,
upon the young man, and speaking with a lowered voice and marked
deliberateness, "perhaps if Mr. Blarden knew that his name was wanted
only to satisfy the whim of a fanciful old hunks--if he knew that
judgment should never be entered--if he knew that the bond should never
go outside a strong iron box, under an old bedridden cripple's bed--if
he knew that no questions should be asked as to how he came to write
his name at the foot of it--and if he knew that no mortal should ever
see it until you paid it long before the day it was due--and if he was
quite aware that the whole transaction should be considered so strictly
confidential, that even to _himself_--do you mind--no allusion should
be made to it;--don't you think, in such a case, you could, by some
means or other, manage to get his--_name_?"
They continued to gaze fixedly at one another in silence, until, at
length, Ashwoode's countenance lighted into a strange, unearthly smile.
"I see what you mean, Chancey--is it so?" said he, in a voice so low,
as scarcely to be audible.
"Well, maybe you do," said the barrister, in a tone nearly as low, and
returning the young man's smile with one to the full as sinister. Thus
they remained without speaking for many minutes.
"There's no danger in it," said Chancey, after a long pause; "I would
not take a part in it if there was. You can pay it eleven months before
it's due. It's a thing I have _known_ done a hundred times over,
without risk; here there _can_ be none. I do _all_ his business myself.
I tell you, that for anything that any living mortal but you and me and
the old badger himself will ever hear, or see, or know of the matter,
the bond might as well be burnt to dust in the back of the fire. I
declare to ---- it's the plain truth I'm telling you--Sir Henry--so it
is."
There followed another silence of some minutes. At length Ashwoode
said, "I'd rather use any name but Blarden's, if it _must_ be done."
"What does it matter whose name is on it, if there is no one but
ourselves to read it?" replied Chancey. "I say Blarden's is the best,
because he accepted bills for you before, which were discounted by the
same old codger; and again, because the old fellow knows that the money
was wanted to satisfy gambling debts, and Blarden would seem a very
natural party in a gaming transaction. Blarden's _is_ the name for us.
And, for myself, all I ask is fifty pounds for my share in the
trouble."
"When must you have the bond?" asked Ashwoode.
"Set about it _now_," said Chancey; "or stay, your hand shakes too
much, and for both our sakes it must be done neatly; so say to-morrow
morning, early. I'll see the old gentleman to-night, and have the
overdue notes to hand you in the morning. I think that's doing
business."
"I would not do it--I'd rather blow my brains out--if there was a
single chance of his entering judgment on the bond, or talking of it,"
said Ashwoode, in great agitation.
"A _chance_!" said the barrister. "I tell you there's not a
_possibility_. I manage all his money matters, and I'd burn that bond,
before it should see the outside of his strong box. Why, d----n! do you
think I'd let myself be ruined for fifty pounds? You don't know Gordon
Chancey, indeed you don't, Mr. Ashwoode."
"Well, Chancey, I'll see you early to-morrow morning," said Ashwoode;
"but are you very--_very_ sure--is there no chance--no _possibility_
of--of mischief?"
"I tell you, Mr. Ashwoode," replied Chancey, "unless I chose to betray
_myself_, you can't come by harm. As I told you before, I'm not such a
fool as to ruin myself. Rely on me, Mr. Ashwoode--rely on me. Do you
believe what I say?"
Ashwoode walked slowly up to him, and fixing his eyes upon the
barrister, with a glance which made Chancey's heart turn chill within
him,--
"Yes, Mr. Chancey," he said, "you may be sure I believe you; for if I
did _not_--so help me, God!--you should not quit this room--alive."
He eyed the caitiff for some minutes in silence, and then returning the
sword, which he had partially drawn, to its scabbard, he abruptly
wished him good-night, and left the room.