"THAT'S THE MAN!"
As already explained, Mr. Piper had a tiny glass-fronted office, or
rather den, all to himself, at the far end of the passage which led
from the main entrance to Matthew Kelvin's premises. In the wall that
divided the sanctum of Mr. Piper from that of his employer, was a
small window of ground glass, which had originally been intended as a
means of communication between one office and the other. Of late
years, however, it had never been so used, Mr. Kelvin having adopted
the modern invention of India-rubber tubes as the readiest and most
convenient method of making known his wishes either to Mr. Piper or to
the clerks in the general office. Since the little window had fallen
into disuse, a thick green curtain had been hung across it, in order
that the privacy of Kelvin's office might be still further secured;
but, as it so happened, the object in view came at last, to be
defeated through this very precaution.
One cold morning, Mr. Piper, while sparring at an imaginary opponent
in order to keep up the circulation of his system, sent his elbow
incautiously through one of the panes of the little window. There was
no great harm done: a shilling or two would pay for the damage; but,
for all that, Pod thought it best not to let Mr. Kelvin know of the
accident. He knew that Kelvin was going out of town in the course of a
few days, and he would take that opportunity of having the window
mended at his own expense. Meanwhile, the curtain would effectually
hide what had happened from his employer's notice.
In thus making his calculations, there was, however, one point which,
to give Pod his due, had altogether escaped his notice. So long as the
broken window remained unmended, the privacy of Kelvin's office was
altogether gone. Pod had only to put his ear to the fractured pane in
order to hear every word that was spoken in the other room. There was
nothing but the curtain between him and the speakers. Pod, as a rule,
would not have thought it worth his while to listen--would not have
condescended to listen; but happening one day accidentally to overhear
a few words of a certain conversation, he was induced to listen more
attentively, and the result was that he quietly reached his pencil and
notebook and took down the whole of the conversation in shorthand.
"If I don't spoil their little game, my name's not Pod Piper!" he said
to himself with an air of energy as he shut up his notebook. "The
pair of cowardly vipers!"
The conversation stenographed by Mr. Piper, and denounced by him in
such emphatic terms, was that which took place between Olive Deane and
Gerald Warburton on the forenoon of the day following the visit of the
latter to Kelvin's house. When Gerald called at eleven o'clock he was
told that the lawyer had been suddenly summoned away, but that Miss
Deane was desirous of speaking to him. Inwardly wondering what Miss
Deane could have to say to him, he sat down, but was not kept long
waiting. Pod went to tell her that Mr. Pomeroy was there, and Olive
came at once.
"My cousin has been called from home quite unexpectedly," she said;
"and he asked me to see you in his stead."
"He could not have chosen a----"
"No compliments, if you please, Mr. Pomeroy. I think that neither you
nor I care greatly for that sort of thing. Besides, I am here to
discuss a matter of business with you. Pray pardon the question, but
are my cousin and I right in assuming that if some situation could be
found for you, the duties of which would not be onerous, which would
bring you into contact with 'good' people, and which might open up for
you a channel to something far better in the future, you would not be
unwilling, after due consideration, to accept it?"
Gerald hesitated. With the knowledge that ten thousand pounds would
fall into his pocket in the course of a few days, he might well pause
before answering such a question.
"Really, Miss Deane, you quite take me by surprise. I have led a
vagabond existence for so many years, that the idea of a situation of
any kind that would at all cramp that freedom of action to which I
have been so long used, and which has become so sweet to me, could not
but be somewhat distasteful. Still, if I ever do intend to settle down
into a respectable member of the community, it is quite time I began
to think of doing so, and the picture just drawn by you is not without
its allurements. You will not therefore, I hope, think me presumptuous
if I ask you to favour me with a few more particulars."
"I will be quite candid in the matter with you," said Olive. "The
situation to which I refer is that of amanuensis and secretary to Sir
Thomas Dudgeon, the newly-elected member for Pembridge. My cousin has
the management of Sir Thomas's affairs, and has been asked to find
some one suitable for the situation in question."
Gerald was at a loss what to say. The mention of Sir Thomas's name at
once brought to his mind what Miss Bellamy had told him--how Eleanor
Lloyd had been taken up by Lady Dudgeon, was now living with the
family, and was to go to London with them when they moved there for
the season. But how would all that be when Miss Lloyd should be proved
to be penniless?
"You hesitate," said Olive, after a few moments. "You hardly know
whether to say Yes or No."
"You are right--I don't," said Gerald, frankly. "At the same time, my
warmest thanks are due to you and Mr. Kelvin for thinking of me in the
way you have."
"Take time to think over what I have said. Don't give me an answer
now. Suppose you either call and see me, or let me have a line from
you by to-morrow morning? Or shall you want a still longer time before
making up your mind?"
"Thanks," said Gerald, with a laugh; "but till to-morrow will be quite
long enough."
"Matthew mentioned something to me of the conversation that passed
between you and him," said Olive, with a smile. "He told me of his
suggestion that you should elevate your fortunes by marrying an
heiress."
"It was very unfair on Kelvin's part to tell tales out of school."
"But seriously, why should you not marry an heiress?"
"Seriously, I know of no reason why I should not, except this--that
all the ladies with whom I have the happiness to be acquainted are
very little better off than myself."
"Should you agree to become Sir Thomas Dudgeon's secretary, you will
have an opportunity, while under his roof, of ingratiating yourself
with a veritable heiress."
"Come, come, the plot is thickening fast," said Gerald, and he hitched
his chair a little nearer Miss Deane.
"Yes, a veritable heiress, young and charming into the bargain, and
one whose affections, I have every reason to believe, are totally
disengaged."
"Pardon me for saying so," said Gerald, "but it seems highly
improbable to me that any relative of Sir Thomas Dudgeon would
condescend to look upon that gentleman's secretary in the light of a
suitor for her hand."
"The lady in question is no relative of Sir Thomas--she is merely a
visitor under his roof; but a visitor who will probably stay there
till a husband shall take her away to a home of her own. Why should
not you be that husband, Mr. Pomeroy?"
"Why not, indeed! But would it be a breach of confidence if you were
to tell me the lady's name?"
"It would be no breach of confidence," said Olive, "although it was
not my intention to reveal to you the lady's name at present. However,
having been frank with you so far, I may as well continue to be so.
The lady to whom I refer is Miss Eleanor Lloyd--of course, a perfect
stranger to you. Her father died a few months ago, and left her a
fortune of twenty thousand pounds."
All Gerald's self-control was needed to keep him from betraying
himself to the pair of keen eyes that were fixed so steadily on him.
He turned his head away, and affected to be deeply considering the
words he had just heard. He wanted time to recover himself.
Up to a few moments ago, not the slightest suspicion had entered his
mind that the offer which Kelvin had made him through Miss Deane had
sprung from anything but a feeling of genuine friendship on the
lawyer's part; and even when Olive had propounded her theory that he
ought to recoup his fortunes by marrying an heiress, he had looked
upon it as so much quiet chaff on her part, never thinking that any
serious meaning was attached to her words.
But the mention of Eleanor Lloyd's name had changed all this. Suddenly
he seemed to see a pitfall at his feet. His mind, ever active in
moments of emergency, at once whispered certain questions to him, not
one of which he could answer to his own satisfaction. What object had
Kelvin in view in offering to procure for a man whom he I knew only as
a nameless adventurer a situation of trust and responsibility in the
house of such a man as Sir Thomas Dudgeon? What object had Olive Deane
in view in trying to persuade this same nameless adventurer to make
love to and win the hand of Eleanor Lloyd? Was it with Kelvin's
knowledge and sanction that Miss Deane was thus trying to persuade
him? or was she doing it merely in furtherance or some hidden scheme
of her own? Was Miss Deane aware, as Kelvin undoubtedly was, that
Eleanor was not the heiress people believed her to be, nor any
relation of Jacob Lloyd; and if so, what could her object possibly be
in trying to bring Jack Pomeroy and Miss Lloyd together? Finally, came
the oft-recurring questions: Why had not Kelvin written to him as
Gerald Warburton, the real heir; and why had he neglected to reveal
the contents of the sealed packet to Eleanor? There seemed to be
something under the surface that at present he could in no wise
fathom. He could not rid his mind of the suspicion that there was some
hidden link of connection between the concealment of the sealed packet
by Kelvin, and the evident desire of Olive Deane that he should win
Eleanor for his wife. And yet how could there be any such link of
connection? In any case, he would meet stratagem with stratagem. It
should be a case of diamond cut diamond.
He would still be Jack Pomeroy to them, and would seem, for a little
while at least, to fall in with all their views and wishes.
"Really, Miss Deane," he said at last, "you have piqued my curiosity
in the strangest possible way. I hardly know in what terms to answer
you, The position of this Miss Lloyd, who is so far above me in the
social scale, would seem to render utterly absurd and Quixotic on my
part any advances that I might make with the view of ultimately
winning her hand."
"Of course, if you are lacking in boldness and audacity," said Miss
Deane, with the faintest possible sneer, "those are qualities which no
one can lend you for the occasion, and the sooner we bring our
interview to an end the better. But if your hesitation arises from
the fact of your being short of funds, you need be under no
apprehension on that score. Pardon me for speaking so plainly, but my
cousin gave me to understand that you were not one of the richest of
individuals--he insinuated, in fact, that you were almost penniless."
"Not for the first time in my life, Miss Deane--in fact, I rather like
being penniless, it keeps the circle of one's friends and
acquaintances so limited and select."
"To begin with--my cousin Matthew must lend you fifty pounds."
"Fifty pounds! I like the first item of your programme vastly."
"The first necessity in your case is that you should have the dress
and appearance of a gentleman."
"I quite agree with you, Miss Deane. We owe much to our tailor--in the
way of gratitude."
"I have said nothing to you respecting your friends and connections. I
have assumed all along that you would be able to satisfy Sir Thomas
on those points, should he ever choose to question you respecting
them--which I don't for one moment think that he will do."
"On the points you speak of, I do not doubt that I could satisfy
either Sir Thomas Dudgeon or any one else."
"Such being the case, and with the manners, dress, and appearance of a
gentleman, it seems to me that you would have the campaign almost
entirely in your own hands. You would be under the same roof with Miss
Lloyd--an inestimable advantage in your case. You would be in the
habit of seeing her daily, and might make yourself agreeable to her in
many ways. Under such circumstances, where would be the harm if, now
and then, you were to hint vaguely at your expectations--at your rich
relations--at your fashionable friends? Neither would you altogether
omit an occasional mention of your undergraduate days at Cambridge,
nor of your travels abroad."
"My dear Miss Deane, you might safely leave all the delicate little
details, all the nuances of the picture, to me."
"I am quite sure of that. Miss Lloyd is nothing but a simple,
country-bred girl: you are a man of the world. _Voilà tout_."
Gerald rose.
"I may just mention this," said Olive: "Miss Lloyd will be of age in a
few months. She will then be entirely her own mistress, and can give
her hand, and her twenty thousand pounds with it, to the man she likes
best, and no one will have the right or power to say her nay."
"Kelvin himself could not have stated the case more clearly."
"You will let me hear from you, Mr. Pomeroy, by to-morrow morning at
the latest?"
"There will be no need for you to wait till to-morrow morning, Miss
Deane."
"Does that mean that you have made up your mind already?"
"It does."
"And the answer is----?"
"The answer is, that if Matthew Kelvin can obtain this situation for
me, I will gladly accept it. To tell the truth, I am somewhat tired
of the nomadic sort of life that I have been leading since I was
quite a lad. I think I am sufficiently tamed to settle quietly down
to work--provided there is not too much of it, and I am allowed to
have pretty much my own way."
"Any person who chooses to assert himself can have his own way with
Sir Thomas Dudgeon. I am glad that you have decided to accept the
position. I feel quite sure that you will have no cause to regret
doing so."
"It is you who have persuaded me. I feel sure that Kelvin would not
have succeeded as you have."
"Don't forget what I have told you about Miss Lloyd."
"I am not at all likely to do so. I am all anxiety to see her."
"When do you go back to town?"
"This afternoon, by the five o'clock express.
"You will leave me an address before you go, by means of which my
cousin can communicate with you. You may expect to hear from me in a
week at the latest."
Gerald pencilled down the address of a London friend, to which any
letters for him might be sent. A few minutes later he took his leave.
This conversation it was that Mr. Piper thought it worth his while to
take down in shorthand.
"My cousin Matthew's revenge shall be worthy of the name," said Olive
to herself; as soon as she was alone. "Let this Eleanor Lloyd but
engage herself to Pomeroy--let her marry him if she will--and on the
day that Matthew tells her the secret of her birth, he can tell her
also that the man to whom she has given her heart is but a sorry
impostor, whose sole object in marrying her was to obtain possession
of that money which is hers no longer. When that day comes, may I be
there to see! Her proud beauty shall be humiliated to the dust."
When Gerald got back to London, he told Miss Bellamy everything that
had happened. She quite concurred with him that it looked very much as
if some strange conspiracy were afoot; but what the nature and objects
of it might be they were altogether at a loss to imagine. In any case,
it could do no harm for Gerald to retain his incognito for a little
while longer.
A few days later, Gerald received by post a bank-note for fifty
pounds, with Miss Deane's compliments. Mr. Kelvin had not yet got back
home, she wrote, but would doubtless communicate with Mr. Pomeroy
immediately after his return. Mr. Pomeroy pinned one note to the
other, and having sealed them up in an envelope, he put them carefully
away in his writing-desk.
A day or two later, Ambrose Murray called upon him at his rooms. "If
you have nothing better to do," he said, "I wish you would give up the
day to me. I want to visit my wife's grave. She lies among some of her
own people in a little country churchyard, about a couple of miles
from Welwyn. To me such a journey seems quite a formidable
undertaking, and I want you, if you will, to go with me."
Gerald at once assented. They took the train from King's Cross to
Welwyn, and then walked the remainder of the distance. When the
churchyard was found, Gerald left Mr. Murray to himself for half an
hour.
It was still broad daylight when they got back to the station. They
were pacing the platform slowly, waiting for their train, when the up
express came rushing past at the rate of forty miles an hour. They
stood for a moment to watch it. Suddenly Ambrose Murray gripped his
companion by the arm.
"Look! look!" he cried. "That's the man! As I live, that's the face of
Max Jacoby!"
Gerald looked, but already the train had gone too far to allow him to
distinguish any particular face.
"But after twenty years?" said Gerald.
"I should know him at the end of a thousand years!" exclaimed Murray,
his whole frame trembling with excitement. "Max Jacoby is still among
the living. The next thing to do is to find him."