The firm of Fairbrother went on in the usual way after the loss of its
head. There was some speculation as to who would succeed old Joseph
Fairbrother, and a good deal of surprise when it turned out to be a
daughter, a pleasant young lady of twenty-two or so, who arrived from
Australia just before the funeral. If the old gentleman had timed his
own death he could not have summoned his daughter with more precision.
That the young lady was not steeped in grief at the loss of her parent
must be put down to the fact, as confided to the head clerk, that she
had lived in Australia the greater part of her life, and had scarcely
known her father. More of her family history it is not necessary to
tell here, except that, together with an aunt, she took up her
residence at Brunswick Terrace, her father's comfortable West End
residence.
Miss Ellen Fairbrother assumed command, and occupied the big
office-chair much more frequently than "Old Joe" had done. There were
no alterations in the staff, and no new rules. Miss Fairbrother was as
quiet and inoffensive as her father, and seemed sensible of the fact
that she could not improve on his work. She therefore allowed things to
go as they had been going.
Parrott and the other important members of the firm consulted the new
chief, and jogged along in the same way as before.
Nobody was different, except George Early. He alone had changed with
the change of management. To be sure, three others had changed, but not
in the same way. He was an ambitious young man, was George, and it
seemed as though he had seen in this new state of affairs an
opportunity for the advancement of no less a person than himself. That
a casual observer might have assumed; a keen observer would have
noticed that this change began at the moment when he left the private
office with Parrott's half-crown in his pocket.
What the staff generally began to notice was that George had a great
deal more confidence now than he had in the days of "Old Joe." He was
less familiar with his fellow-clerks, and more chummy with his
superiors. He never said "sir" to the head clerk, and the head clerk
never found fault with anything he did. But as the clerks had a pretty
easy time themselves, they did little more than merely notice these
changes. Among those who were disturbed by George Early's tactics and
who understood them better was Thomas Parrott.
For the first time in his life he had lent a man money without
questioning his _bona fides_. The legacy compelled him to do it, and
he did it. But no sooner had George got out of the office than the head
clerk began to think over things, and to wonder if his nature would be
able to stand the strain that it might be subjected to.
With the arrival of Miss Fairbrother, he withdrew to the small private
office on the ground floor, and ventured out of it only when he was
compelled. George made a note of this move, and on the whole quite
approved of it; as things were about to shape themselves he could not
have wished for anything better.
He walked in one morning, and closed the door carefully behind him.
Parrott looked up with some uneasiness, but made no remark. He waited
for his subordinate to speak; but as George Early seemed in no hurry to
forego his inspection of the almanacks on the wall, he asked if Miss
Fairbrother had arrived.
"Not yet," said George, without turning his head. "She doesn't hurry
herself. No more would I if I had her job."
Parrott coughed sternly in reply to this free remark concerning the
head of the firm.
"Do you want to see me, Early?" he asked, with an attempt at
discipline.
"Oh yes," said George, as if obliged for the reminder; "I was just
going to thank you for that half-crown I borrowed. By the way, I'm a
bit short this week; have you got five shillings you could let me have
a couple of days? Beastly nuisance being short."
Parrott turned white, and nerved himself to bear the shock.
"What do you mean, Early, by coming here to borrow money from me?" he
said.
George put his hand over his mouth and coughed.
"Because I know you're the right sort," he said diplomatically. "I know
you've got a heart, and you wouldn't refuse a man who is hard up."
"It'll get round the office," said Parrott, "and I shall have everybody
borrowing from me."
"Why should they?" asked George, innocently.
"Of course not," said Parrott, seeing the need for caution. "Well, I'll
let you have the money this time, Early. You needn't tell anybody else;
because if others started to borrow money from me, I should have to
refuse everybody. Do you see?"
"I see," said George.
He pocketed the money and went out, leaving the head clerk in a very
disturbed state of mind.
In spite of his impecunious state, George Early did not seek his usual
coffee-shop for lunch that day. He passed it by on the other side, and
stopped to look at the bill of fare outside a City restaurant. Having
examined the menus of other restaurants, he entered one where a man in
uniform stood at the door.
Turning into an alcove, George came face to face with Gray, who was
preparing to begin on a prime rump-steak. Gray started, and seemed
anything but pleased to see George.
"Didn't know you came here," said George--"thought you went to the
Plume of Feathers."
"I've given it up," said Gray.
"Best thing," said George. "It isn't nice to be seen going into a
public-house, is it?"
Gray nearly choked himself with a piece of steak, and looked at his
companion out of the corner of his eye.
"Smell of whisky here," said George, suddenly, eyeing Gray's glass.
"They told me you'd signed the pledge."
Gray reddened, and affected not to notice.
"Better not go near the missis," said Early, referring to Miss
Fairbrother. "Awful stuff to smell, whisky."
Gray was on the point of retorting, but changed his mind, and said--
"What are you going to have?"
"Nothing, thanks," said George, stiffly. "Don't come any of that with
me, please."
"What are you talking about?" said Gray, beginning to bluster.
"All right," said George, darkly; "that'll do. What I know, I know."
"What's the mystery?" asked Gray. "You'd better get it off your chest,
if it's anything important."
"It _is_ important," said George, with a frown. "And what I would
do is to advise a certain party to be careful. I don't want to do any
spying, but duty's duty."
Gray changed colour, and proceeded with his steak; while George buried
himself in the columns of the _Daily Telegraph_, and preserved a
countenance of Spartan-like severity.
Having finished his meal, George coolly took out a notebook and
proceeded to make a few entries. He could see that Gray was watching
him narrowly, and he purposely endeavoured to put more secrecy into the
performance.
When it came to settling up, George had some difficulty in finding the
cash, although it was only in his right-hand pocket.
"Funny thing," he said; "I had a half-sovereign a little while ago."
The waiter stood by stolidly with the bill on a salver.
"Would you care to take this?" said Gray, meekly, pushing forward a
half-sovereign from among his change. "I dare say you'll find it
presently."
"Thanks," said George. "I'll settle up with that, and give it to you as
we go along. I shall find it," he said in a determined voice.
He didn't find it. But Gray said it didn't matter; he could pay him
back any time.
During the afternoon George Early was in excellent spirits, and when he
left the office in the evening his usual fare of tea and toast was
supplanted by a sumptuous meal at a foreign café, after which he
avoided his usual haunts at Walworth, and travelled to the suburban
retreat of Clapham. Here he sought out a quiet, respectable square, and
stationed himself in the shadow of a doorway, opposite a corner house
with railings. He remained patiently for a quarter of an hour, when the
door of the corner house opened, and a man that might be easily
recognized as Busby came out. Without hesitation Busby walked slowly
across the square, turned down one street, up another, and across
another, George Early following. Eventually Busby entered the Free
Library, stayed a few minutes, came out, and walked off briskly in
another direction.
George smiled to himself as he found Busby's destination to be a
well-lighted billiard saloon. Having seen him safely inside, he turned
away and retraced his steps to the corner house in the square. This
time he passed through the front garden, and rang the bell. A
diminutive maid answered him, to be superseded by Mrs. Busby.
George Early inquired politely for her husband. He was not in, Mrs.
Busby said. George knew that, but didn't say so. He simply said that he
was one of Fairbrother's men, who happened to be in the district,
looking for a house that was near the Free Library, and he thought his
old friend might be able to give him some assistance.
"How funny!" cried Mrs. Busby. "Why, he's only just gone round to the
Free Library himself. He spends all his evenings there, he's so fond of
books! He will be sorry he missed you!"
"I'm sure he will," said George.
"What a pity you did not come a little earlier!" said Mrs. Busby.
"I would if I'd known."
"You see," said the little woman, "Albert is so studious. He'll sit for
hours and hours in the library, reading all sorts of books, and he can
tell the most wonderful stories. I don't suppose you'd believe them if
you heard."
"I don't suppose I should," said George.
"Nobody does," said Mrs. Busby, with pride. "They hear his stories, and
they smile, but they don't know where they came from."
"It's a good job they don't," thought George.
Mrs. Busby gave her visitor elaborate directions for finding the
library, and hoped he would come back to supper. George said he would
be delighted, if it was only to hear some of her husband's stories.
Halfway across the square he turned round to take another look at the
house. "Nice little woman that," he said to himself. "I think I'll go
back to supper." He lit a cigarette, and started off to find his old
friend Busby.
The cashier was in the midst of a game of billiards and winning easily,
consequently he was in high spirits. He welcomed George, and wondered
whatever had brought him to that district.
"House-hunting," said George. "I've just been round to the Free
Library, looking up particulars."
At the mention of the Free Library, Busby became more serious, and the
next shot he made was a bad one.
"You're getting on well," said George, looking at the score.
"So I ought," said Busby; "it isn't often I win. These beggars are too
good for me."
"You'll win this time," said George; "that'll be good news for the
missis."
Busby lighted his pipe to avoid a reply, and then made another bad
shot.
"You've brought me bad luck," he growled, turning to George.
"It isn't that," said George, "you played in the wrong way. I was
looking just now at the book on billiards in the Free Library, and----"
"Damn the Free Library," said Busby, savagely, making a miss.
Busby played badly for the rest of the game, and withdrew sulkily into
a corner. George sat by his side, and endeavoured to cheer him up.
"What's wrong, old chap?" he asked. "You don't mean to say Mrs. B. will
be disappointed because you lost?"
Busby gave him a pitying glance, and uttered these amazing words--
"She won't know anything about it."
George looked at him incredulously. "You don't mean to say you'll tell
her you won?"
"Shan't tell her anything," said Busby. "She thinks I'm in the Free
Library."
He was rewarded with a severe look from George, who said, in a serious
tone--
"It isn't right, old chap; no man ought to deceive his wife. Tell the
truth and shame the devil. That's my motto."
"Keep your motto," said Busby, rudely. "I don't want it. I bet you'd do
the same if you were married."
"I wouldn't," said George, decidedly. "No, not for--not for £500 I
wouldn't."
Busby was just raising a glass to his lips, but his hand began to shake
so that he had to put it down. He mopped his brow, pulled out his
watch, and thought it was about time he was getting home.
"Let's see, you're going the station way, I suppose?" he said when they
got outside.
"I'm going your way," said George. "I'm coming home to supper, old man,
to hear some of your stories."
"What?" roared Busby.
"Those you find in the books at the Free Library," said George. "I
shall enjoy them, I'll be bound."
"Look here," said Busby, assuming a threatening attitude, "that's
enough of it."
"No, it isn't, old chap," said George. "I promised the missis I'd come
back with you from the Free Library, so, of course, I must. Besides,"
he added gravely, "I shall have to tell her you were not there."
Busby laughed hilariously. "You are a funny devil!" he said. "Well,
good night."
He turned away, and George followed him closely. They went on in this
way for twenty yards, when Busby turned, and said in low, fierce tones.
"You're following me. Now, I give you warning, Early. I've had enough
of your nonsense lately. Take my tip and clear off while you're safe.
You'll get none of our supper."
George folded his arms, and assumed a theatrical posture.
"Albert Busby," he said firmly, "it can't be done. I don't
want your supper. I'm coming with you, Albert Busby, to see
that--you--tell--the--truth."
Busby collapsed, and had to support himself against a lamp-post.
"What do you mean?" he asked faintly.
"I know all," said George, in sepulchral tones.
"All? All what?"
"You know what. I'm obeying the will of a dead man. Did you ever hear
of Old Joe Fairbrother?"
That was enough for Busby. He turned away his head and gave vent to a
groan.
"You don't mean to say he put you on my track?" gasped Busby.
George waved his hand. "The secrets of the dead must be kept," he said.
"Ask me no more."
The next hundred yards were traversed in silence. They passed the Free
Library just as the doors were closing, and turned off towards the
square where stood the corner house with railings. Suddenly Busby
stopped in the middle of the pavement and put one hand on the arm of
his friend.
"Early," he said, "you're not going to give me away, are you?"
George drew himself up. "The commands of a dead man----" he began.
"Stop that bosh," said Busby, irritably. "I don't want Fanny to know
all about this; what are you going to tell her,--that's the question?"
"It isn't," said George; "the question is, what are you going to tell
her?"
"She doesn't know all the facts of this business," said Busby,
addressing a lamp-post on the other side of the road.
"She soon will," said George.
"She doesn't know it's five hundred," said the unhappy man; "she thinks
it's fifty."
"Don't worry," said George; "I'll tell her everything."
"She thinks," he mumbled with a foolish laugh, "that Old Joe left me
fifty pounds a year to improve my education, because I'm so studious!"
George laughed now. "I wonder what she'll say," he cried, "when I tell
her the truth!"
Busby seized his wrist with dramatic savagery. "She must never know!"
he hissed.
"Let go my wrist, you silly fool!" cried George; "you're pinching me.
And don't breathe in my ear."
"She must never know," repeated Busby, folding his arms; "it would
break up the home, and part us for ever. She couldn't bear to think I'd
deceived her, and I dare say she'd waste away and break her heart. I
should, too; and you'd be responsible for two deaths. Promise me,
Early, that you'll keep your mouth shut, at least for to-night."
George covered his eyes with one hand and endeavoured to brace himself
up for the effort.
"I'll try," he said nobly; "but I may break down in the morning; I
can't be sure of myself."
"That won't matter," said Busby, "you won't be here then."
"I'm afraid I shall," said George; "you see, I unfortunately came out
without any money to take me home, so I shall have to ask you to put me
up for the night."
Busby viewed this prospect with cold disapproval, and after some
discussion prevailed upon George Early to accept the loan of a
half-sovereign to take a cab home. Having arrived at this satisfactory
stage they entered the little front gate of the Busby cottage, George
having insisted on keeping his appointment at supper.
Two hours later he left, accompanied to the front gate by his friend,
whose hand he shook repeatedly, finally waving him farewell across the
square.
"What a nice man!" cried Mrs. Busby; "and how fond he is of you,
Albert!"
Albert's answer was not distinguishable.