EZRA LYNN, THE MONEY-LENDER.
At Charing Cross Dr. Vinsen alighted, and Gracie descended from the
roof in the manner generally adopted by females, with her back instead
of her face to the horses, which is by far the more dangerous way of
the two to climb down from an omnibus. But, Gracie being a girl of
unusual sharpness and penetration, it may be that she got down that
way for the purpose of keeping her eye upon Dr. Vinsen, and if this
were so she was quite successful, for she did not lose sight of him
for a single moment, despite the busy throng of people hurrying in all
directions, and the bewildering entanglement of vehicles of every
description, which render this part of London at mid-day one of the
most marvellous demonstrations of the civilised life of a great city
that can be met with all the world over.
It was now one o'clock, and the newsboys were shouting out the early
editions of the evening newspapers, for if there is one thing upon
which modern journalism especially prides itself, it is that it can
take time by the forelock and can hurry the rising and the setting of
the sun. In these shouts and cries Dr. Vinsen--still lingering with
the uncertain air upon him by which his previous movements had been
distinguished--appeared to take great interest, listening to them
intently and scanning such portions of the contents-bills carried by
the boys as were visible in the midst of the hurly-burly. The familiar
cry of "The Great Catchpole Square Mystery!" was as potent a bait as
ever to purchasers, among whom Dr. Vinsen was not the least eager.
Gracie saw on the contents-bills such headlines as "Emphatic Statement
of Mr. Reginald Boyd," "The Coroner's Reproof to the Juryman," and
"Mrs. Abel Death under examination," and she herself expended a
halfpenny in literature, but did not stop to read the paper, her whole
attention being required to watch her game and to elude detection.
At the corner of Parliament Street Dr. Vinsen entered a bus that
crossed Westminster Bridge. There was no room on the roof for Gracie,
and she dared not get inside, so she ran along the pavement, her
breath coming thick and fast; there was plenty of space in this wide
thoroughfare for the vehicle to put on a spurt, and the horses
galloped smartly on. Luckily for Gracie there was a stoppage at the
top of Parliament Street to enable passengers to get in and out, and
she could recover her breath; and when the omnibus started again the
traffic on the bridge was crowded, so that she trotted along quite
comfortably, and had no difficulty in keeping her game in view. At the
end of the bridge Dr. Vinsen got out and sauntered on past St.
George's Hospital and the shabby old site of Astley's Theatre, haunted
by memories of Ducrow and Ada Menken--names strange to the rising
generation, though once upon a time they made all London ring--and
past a medley of mean shops, till, on the opposite side of the road,
he called a halt before a warehouse where portmanteaus and travelling
trunks were manufactured.
Under a verandah in front of this warehouse were a number of trunks, a
few of which bore on their lids the names or initials, newly painted
in white, of the customers for whom they had been made. Two bore the
same name, Signor Corsi, and it was these which had the greatest
attraction for Dr. Vinsen. They were of large size and special make,
far superior to the ordinary travelling trunk. Entering the warehouse,
he came out presently accompanied by a man, either the proprietor or
one of his salesmen, who opened one of the trunks and pointed out its
exceptional features. It was of peculiar construction; the interior
was padded, and there were receptacles lined with soft material, in
which articles could be deposited with little fear of breakage. The
interest which Dr. Vinsen took in the trunks and the long conversation
between him and the salesman, whetted Gracie's curiosity, and she
burned to know the why and the wherefore; but being compelled to keep
at a safe distance, she could not hear a word that was spoken.
Finally, Dr. Vinsen entered the warehouse again, and did not make his
reappearance for twelve minutes by a clock in the shop near which she
was lingering. He and the salesman stood chattering at the door for
another minute or two, and it seemed to Gracie as if he had given an
order, for he made an entry in his pocketbook; then he turned his face
Kennington way and hailed a tramcar. Gracie scrambled up to the roof,
where she opened her paper and read the report of the inquest up to
the time of going to press. Folding the paper carefully, she put it in
the bosom of her frock.
Dr. Vinsen did not leave the tram till it had reached its terminus.
This part of London was new to Gracie, and they were now some miles
from Draper's Mews. "If he lives here," she thought, "it's a long way
for him to come to us." That he did live there was proved by his
stopping before a house of decent pretensions and opening the door
with his own private latchkey. There was a little brass plate attached
to the side of the door, and creeping past it Gracie read on it the
name, "Ezra Lynn," and beneath it in smaller letters the announcement,
"Sums of from £5 to £15,000 advanced at a low rate of interest on
promissory note alone, without any sureties or security whatever, and
without any beforehand charges. The strictest privacy and secrecy
observed." Gracie's eyes dilated at the magnitude of the sum, £15,000,
and for a moment her idea was that Dr. Vinsen had gone into the house
to borrow that amount; the next moment she fell to speculating upon
the strange circumstance that Dr. Vinsen should possess a private
latchkey to such an Aladdin's Cave. "I wonder!" she said to herself.
It was sufficiently expressive for her understanding, but it went no
farther in speech.
She felt hungry, it being now past three o'clock, and she went into a
baker's shop nearly opposite the house of Ezra Lynn and asked for a
penny loaf. Behind the counter was a motherly woman with a baby in her
arms. She gazed kindly at Gracie, and passed the crummiest penny loaf
in her stock across the counter.
"You seem tired, child," she said, stopping in the middle of a little
nursery song she was singing to her baby.
"Oh, no, ma'am," said Gracie, digging a piece out of the loaf and
smiling at the baby. Gracie was fond of babies.
"And hungry," said the woman.
"Yes, I _am_ hungry."
"Wouldn't you like a bun better?"
"This is more filling," said practical Gracie.
"Dear heart, what a sensible little mite! And how dusty! You don't
look very strong."
"Ah, but I am; you mustn't go by looks," said Gracie, and encouraged
by the woman's kind voice, she asked if she could have a glass of
water.
"You shall have a glass of milk," said the woman, going to an inner
room and returning with it.
"It's good of you," said Gracie, simply, "I'm ever so much obliged to
you. May I eat my loaf here?"
"Certainly, child, and sit down and rest."
The chair she pointed to had its back to the window from which Ezra
Lynn's house was visible; Gracie turned it round, so that she faced
it. There she sat awhile, munching her bread and drinking her milk. A
man came into the shop, poorly dressed, haggard, with distress in his
face, and yet with a certain defiant independence in his manner.
"Will you trust me half-a-quartern, missis?" he said, abruptly.
The woman shook her head. "You're deep enough in my books already, Mr.
Mildew, and I can't afford to let you get deeper. Charity begins at
home."
"And stops there," said the man. "All right. I thought I'd try. My
heart's fairly broke trying to get work. It doesn't much matter. The
kiddies must starve!" He turned to leave the shop.
This touched Gracie's heart. She knew what poverty was; she knew what
it was to want bread. "The kiddies must starve" fell upon her like a
blow.
Of the money which Dick had given to her she had only spent twopence
in fares and a halfpenny for a paper, and she had more than
half-a-crown left. "The kiddies must starve!" Not if she could help it.
The price of bread was marked up in the shop window, "Fivepence per
quartern, full weight." She put twopence halfpenny on the counter.
"Please let him have the bread, ma'am."
The man stared at her; the woman's face flushed.
"Take your money back, child," she said. "You shall have the bread,
Mr. Mildew: it won't break me."
She weighed the loaf, which was short of two pounds; it needed a piece
for make-weight, and, the fount of kindness open, she was not
particular to an ounce.
"Thank you, missis," said the man, "I'll pay you the first money I
earn, though God knows where I'm to get work. And thank _you_, little
'un; you don't live on the fat of the land, from the looks of you.
I've got a girl about your size and weight at home." He repeated the
word with savage emphasis. "Home! There'll be none to-morrow. Rent
owing, money owing. Out into the streets we go. That's the law."
"It's got to be obeyed, Mr. Mildew," said the woman. "It's hard lines,
I own, but it's got to be obeyed. What does Mr. Lynn say? Won't he
give you time?"
"Not an hour, not a minute. He's sucked me dry, and sucked the last
drop out of me. Him give time!--with the law on his side! I'd like to
grind my heel into his face!"
"You're not the only one," said the woman.
"That's no comfort. Look here, missis, just cast your eye over
this"--he pulled out a tattered penny account book--"it's all set down
in plain figures. Twelve months ago--here's the date--he lent me four
pounds, and took a bill of sale on my bits of sticks. I didn't get the
four pounds--it was eighteen shillings short, for expenses and
inquiries and interest in advance. Three pound two, that's as much as
I got, and I had to pay half-a-crown a week for fifty-two weeks. If I
was a week behindhand there was a fine of sixpence, which kept on
being charged and put down against me till that week was paid up. It
was all a muddle, and I don't pretend to understand it, but a mate of
mine that's quick at reckoning has figured it out, and he says it
comes to more than six hundred per cent, interest. All I know is that
I've paid five pound ten for that three pound two I got from him, and
now he makes out I owe him twice as much again. And the law gives him
right. What I say is, damn the law, and them that made it, and them
that fatten on it!"
It was pitiable to witness the passion and the helplessness of the
man.
Gracie, listening to this tale of wrong-doing, and never losing sight
of Ezra Lynn's door, saw it opened, and saw a man come from the house,
a thin, slinking, sly-faced man in rusty black, whom she supposed to
be Ezra Lynn; but she was presently undeceived.
"There's his jackal," said the man in the baker's shop, "that collects
for him, and grinds the poor chaps down that's drawn into his mill.
Grinds 'em down, blood, bones, heart, and soul. Mr. Lynn's too grand
now to do the small dirty work himself. It was different once I've
been told, missis."
"Yes," said the woman, "I remember when Mr. Lynn first set up as a
money-lender in the neighbourhood; they say he started with a hundred
pounds, but a man like that, who wouldn't step aside to save a human
creature's life, soon grows rich."
"He's worse than the lowest pickpocket," said the man "I've heard he
could set up his carriage, if he liked. He's got big fish to look
after now; he leaves his jackal to look after the sprats."
"I warned you, you know," said the woman, "when you told me you were
getting a loan from him."
"I know you did, but I had a child to bury, and I couldn't get the
money anywhere else. Then my missis fell ill----"
He broke off suddenly. "I've had my share of trouble, I think."
"That you have, and I'm sorry for you. You're not the first by many a
score that that man's ruined. And to talk to him you wouldn't believe
that he'd pull a leg off a fly."
"If it wasn't for the law," said the man, morosely, "I'd have his
blood!"
The door on the opposite side of the road opened again, and Dr. Vinsen
appeared on the threshold, buttoning his glove; a look of hate and
fear darkened the man's features.
"You'd hardly believe there was so much wickedness under that smooth
face of his," said the woman.
"Smooth face, black heart," muttered the man, leaving the shop
hurriedly, and crossing over to Dr. Vinsen.
Gracie rose and made a step towards the door; she dared not leave the
shop, for Dr. Vinsen stood immediately facing it. Her heart was
beating violently, but her face was quite composed.
"Who is that gentleman, ma'am?" she asked.
"That's the man we've been speaking of," the woman replied, "Mr. Ezra
Lynn. I don't call him a gentleman myself."
"Would you mind telling me," continued Gracie, "if you know Dr.
Vinsen?"
"Vinsen--Vinsen," said the woman, considering. "I never heard the
name. I don't think he lives in this neighbourhood. Bless my soul!
What's the child after?"
Gracie had dashed out of the shop. She had seen Mr. Mildew approach
Dr. Vinsen and accost him; she had seen Dr. Vinsen smile and shake his
head; she had seen the man raise his fist, as if he were about to
strike, and then, afraid that his passion might carry him too far,
turn quickly upon his heel and walk away; she had seen Dr. Vinsen hail
a hansom cab and get into it; and it was then that she ran out of the
shop. Off rattled the cab, and Gracie after it. A couple of hundred
yards, and her breath was gone, and the cab out of sight.
"It's a good job I didn't catch up to it," said Gracie, panting on the
kerb. "He might have seen me, and all the fat would be in the fire.
I've got something to tell Dick. We'll make Scotland Yard sit up. But
what does it all mean--what does it all mean?"