Showing How George Vavasor Paid a Visit.
It was nearly seven o'clock in the evening,--a hot, July
evening,--when the woman went from Vavasor's room, and left him there
alone. It was necessary that he should immediately do something.
In the first place he must dine, unless he meant to carry out his
threat, and shoot himself at once. But he had no such intention as
that, although he stood for some minutes with the pistol in his hand.
He was thinking then of shooting some one else. But he resolved that,
if he did so at all, he would not do it on that evening, and he
locked up the pistol again in the standing desk. After that, he took
up some papers, referring to steam packets, which were lying on his
table. They contained the programmes of different companies, and
showed how one vessel went on one day to New York, and another on
another day would take out a load of emigrants for New Zealand and
Australia. "That's a good line," said he, as he read a certain
prospectus. "They generally go to the bottom, and save a man from any
further trouble on his own account." Then he dressed himself, putting
on his boots and coat, and went out to his club for his dinner.
London was still fairly full,--that is to say, the West End was not
deserted, although Parliament had been broken up two months earlier
than usual, in preparation for the new elections. Many men who had
gone down into the country were now back again in town, and the
dining-room at the club was crowded. Men came up to him condoling
with him, telling him that he was well rid of a great nuisance, that
the present Members for the Chelsea Districts would not sit long, or
that there would be another general election in a year or two. To all
these little speeches he made cheerful replies, and was declared by
his acquaintance to bear his disappointment well. Calder Jones came
to him and talked hunting talk, and Vavasor expressed his intention
of being at Roebury in November. "You had better join our club," said
Calder Jones. In answer to which Vavasor said that he thought he
would join the club. He remained in the smoking-room till nearly
eleven; then he took himself home, and remained up half the night
destroying papers. Every written document on which he could lay his
hands he destroyed. All the pigeon-holes of his desk were emptied
out, and their contents thrown into the flames. At first he looked at
the papers before he burned them; but the trouble of doing so soon
tired him, and he condemned them all, as he came to them, without
examination. Then he selected a considerable amount of his clothes,
and packed up two portmanteaus, folding his coats with care, and
inspecting his boots narrowly, so that he might see which, out of
the large number before him, it might be best worth his while to
take with him. When that was done, he took from his desk a bag of
sovereigns, and, pouring them out upon the table, he counted them out
into parcels of twenty-five each, and made them up carefully into
rouleaus with paper. These, when complete, he divided among the two
portmanteaus and a dressing-bag which he also packed and a travelling
desk, which he filled with papers, pens, and the like. But he put
into it no written document. He carefully looked through his linen,
and anything that had been marked with more than his initials he
rejected. Then he took out a bundle of printed cards, and furnished a
card-case with them. On these cards was inscribed the name of Gregory
Vance. When all was finished, he stood for awhile with his back
to the fireplace contemplating his work. "After all," he said to
himself, "I know that I shall never start; and, if I do, nobody can
hinder me, and my own name would be as good as any other. As for a
man with such a face as mine not being known, that is out of the
question." But still he liked the arrangements which he had made, and
when he had looked at them for awhile he went to bed.
He was up early the next morning, and had some coffee brought to him
by the servant of the house, and as he drank it he had an interview
with his landlady. "He was going," he said;--"going that very day."
It might be possible that he would change his mind; but as he would
desire to start without delay, if he did go, he would pay her then
what he owed her, and what would be due for her lodgings under a
week's notice. The woman stared, and curtseyed, and took her money.
Vavasor, though he had lately been much pressed for money, had never
been so foolish as to owe debts where he lived. "There will be some
things left about, Mrs. Bunsby," he said, "and I will get you to keep
them till I call or send." Mrs. Bunsby said that she would, and then
looked her last at him. After that interview she never saw him again.
When he was left alone he put on a rough morning coat, and taking up
the pistol, placed it carefully in his pocket, and sallied forth. It
was manifest enough that he had some decided scheme in his head, for
he turned quickly towards the West when he reached the Strand, went
across Trafalgar Square to Pall Mall East, and then turned up Suffolk
Street. Just as he reached the club-house at the corner he paused and
looked back, facing first one way and then the other. "The chances
are that I shall never see anything of it again," he said to himself.
Then he laughed in his own silent way, shook his head slightly, and
turning again quickly on his heel, walked up the street till he
reached the house of Mr. Jones, the pugilistic tailor. The reader, no
doubt, has forgotten all he ever knew of Mr. Jones, the pugilistic
tailor. It can soon be told again. At Mr. Jones's house John Grey
lodged when he was in London, and he was in London at this moment.
Vavasor rang the bell, and as soon as the servant came he went
quickly into the house, and passed her in the passage. "Mr. Grey is
at home," he said. "I will go up to him." The girl said that Mr. Grey
was at home, but suggested that she had better announce the gentleman.
But Vavasor was already halfway up the stairs, and before the girl
had reached the first landing place, he had entered Mr. Grey's room
and closed the door behind him.
Grey was sitting near the open window, in a dressing-gown, and was
reading. The breakfast things were on the table, but he had not as
yet breakfasted. As soon as he saw George Vavasor, he rose from his
chair quickly, and put down his book. "Mr. Vavasor," he said, "I
hardly expected to see you in my lodgings again!"
"I dare say not," said Vavasor; "but, nevertheless, here I am." He
kept his right hand in the pocket which held the pistol, and held his
left hand under his waistcoat.
"May I ask why you have come?" said Grey.
"I intend to tell you, at any rate, whether you ask me or not. I have
come to declare in your own hearing,--as I am in the habit of doing
occasionally behind your back,--that you are a blackguard,--to spit
in your face, and defy you." As he said this he suited his action to
his words, but without any serious result. "I have come here to see
if you are man enough to resent any insult that I can offer you; but
I doubt whether you are."
"Nothing that you can say to me, Mr. Vavasor, will have any effect
upon me;--except that you can, of course, annoy me."
"And I mean to annoy you, too, before I have done with you. Will you
fight me?"
"Fight a duel with you,--with pistols? Certainly not."
"Then you are a coward, as I supposed."
"I should be a fool if I were to do such a thing as that."
"Look here, Mr. Grey. You managed to worm yourself into an intimacy
with my cousin, Miss Vavasor, and to become engaged to her. When she
found out what you were, how paltry, and mean, and vile, she changed
her mind, and bade you leave her."
"Are you here at her request?"
"I am here as her representative."
"Self-appointed, I think."
"Then, sir, you think wrong. I am at this moment her affianced
husband; and I find that, in spite of all that she has said to
you,--which was enough, I should have thought, to keep any man of
spirit out of her presence,--you still persecute her by going to her
house, and forcing yourself upon her presence. Now, I give you two
alternatives. You shall either give me your written promise never to
go near her again, or you shall fight me."
"I shall do neither one nor the other,--as you know very well
yourself."
"Stop till I have done, sir. If you have courage enough to fight me,
I will meet you in any country. I will fight you here in London, or,
if you are afraid of that, I will go over to France, or to America,
if that will suit you better."
"Nothing of the kind will suit me at all. I don't want to have
anything to do with you."
"Then you are a coward."
"Perhaps I am;--but your saying so will not make me one."
"You are a coward, and a liar, and a blackguard. I have given you the
option of behaving like a gentleman, and you have refused it. Now,
look here. I have come here with arms, and I do not intend to leave
this room without using them, unless you will promise to give me the
meeting that I have proposed." And he took the pistol out of his
pocket.
"Do you mean that you are going to murder me?" Grey asked. There were
two windows in the room, and he had been sitting near to that which
was furthest removed from the fireplace, and consequently furthest
removed from the bell, and his visitor was now standing immediately
between him and the door. He had to think what steps he might best
take, and to act upon his decision instantly. He was by no means
a timid man, and was one, moreover, very little prone to believe
in extravagant action. He did not think, even now, that this
disappointed, ruined man had come there with any intention of killing
him. But he knew that a pistol in the hands of an angry man is
dangerous, and that it behoved him to do his best to rid himself of
the nuisance which now encumbered him. "Do you mean that you are
going to murder me?" he had said.
"I mean that you shall not leave this room alive unless you promise
to meet me, and fight it out." Upon hearing this, Grey turned himself
towards the bell. "If you move a step, I will fire at you," said
Vavasor. Grey paused a moment, and looked him full in the face. "I
will," said Vavasor again.
"That would be murder," said Grey.
"Don't think that you will frighten me by ugly words," said Vavasor.
"I am beyond that."
Grey had stopped for a moment to fix his eyes on the other man's
face; but it was only for a moment, and then he went on to the bell.
He had seen that the pistol was pointed at himself, and had once
thought of rushing across the room at his adversary, calculating that
a shot fired at him as he did so might miss him, and that he would
then have a fair chance of disarming the madman. But his chief object
was to avoid any personal conflict, to escape the indignity of a
scramble for the pistol,--and especially to escape the necessity of
a consequent appearance at some police-office, where he would have
to justify himself, and answer the questions of a lawyer hired to
cross-question him. He made, therefore, towards the bell, trusting
that Vavasor would not fire at him, but having some little thought
also as to the danger of the moment. It might be that everything was
over for him now,--that the fatal hour had come, and that eternity
was close upon him. Something of the spirit of a prayer flashed
across his mind as he moved. Then he heard the click of the pistol's
hammer as it fell, and was aware that his eyes were dazzled, though
he was unconscious of seeing any flame. He felt something in the air,
and knew that the pistol had been fired;--but he did not know whether
the shot had struck him or had missed him. His hand was out for the
bell-handle, and he had pulled it, before he was sure that he was
unhurt.
"D----ation!" exclaimed the murderer. But he did not pull the trigger
again. Though the weapon had of late been so often in his hands, he
forgot, in the agitation of the moment, that his missing once was but
of small matter if he chose to go on with his purpose. Were there not
five other barrels for him, each making itself ready by the discharge
of the other? But he had paused, forgetting, in his excitement, the
use of his weapon, and before he had bethought himself that the man
was still in his power, he heard the sound of the bell. "D----ation!"
he exclaimed. Then he turned round, left the room, hurried down the
stairs, and made his way out into the street, having again passed the
girl on his way.
Grey, when he perceived that his enemy was gone, turned round to look
for the bullet or its mark. He soon found the little hole in the
window-shutter, and probing it with the point of his pencil, came
upon the morsel of lead which might now just as readily have been
within his own brain. There he left it for the time, and then made
some not inaccurate calculation as to the narrowness of his own
escape. He had been standing directly between Vavasor and the
shutter, and he found, from the height of the hole, that the shot
must have passed close beneath his ear. He remembered to have heard
the click of the hammer, but he could not remember the sound of the
report, and when the girl entered the room, he perceived at once from
her manner that she was unaware that firearms had been used.
"Has that gentleman left the house?" Grey asked. The girl said that
he had left the house. "Don't admit him again," said he;--"that
is, if you can avoid it. I believe he is not in his right senses."
Then he asked for Mr. Jones, his landlord, and in a few minutes the
pugilistic tailor was with him.
During those few minutes he had been called upon to resolve what he
would do now. Would he put the police at once upon the track of the
murderer, who was, as he remembered too well, the first cousin of the
woman whom he still desired to make his wife? That cross-examination
which he would have to undergo at the police-office, and again
probably in an assize court, in which all his relations with
the Vavasor family would be made public, was very vivid to his
imagination. That he was called upon by duty to do something he felt
almost assured. The man who had been allowed to make such an attempt
once with impunity, might probably make it again. But he resolved
that he need not now say anything about the pistol to the pugilistic
tailor, unless the tailor said something to him.
"Mr. Jones," he said, "that man whom I had to put out of the room once
before, has been here again."
"Has there been another tussle, sir?"
"No;--nothing of that kind. But we must take some steps to prevent
his getting in again, if we can help it."
Jones promised his aid, and offered to go at once to the police.
To this, however, Mr. Grey demurred, saying that he should himself
seek assistance from some magistrate. Jones promised to be very
vigilant as to watching the door; and then John Grey sat down to
his breakfast. Of course he thought much of what had occurred. It
was impossible that he should not think much of so narrow an escape.
He had probably been as near death as a man may well be without
receiving any injury; and the more he thought of it, the more
strongly he was convinced that he could not allow the thing to pass
by without some notice, or some precaution as to the future.
At eleven o'clock he went to Scotland Yard, and saw some
officer great in power over policemen, and told him all the
circumstances,--confidentially. The powerful officer recommended an
equally confidential reference to a magistrate; and towards evening
a very confidential policeman in plain clothes paid a visit to
Vavasor's lodgings in Cecil Street. But Vavasor lodged there no
longer. Mrs. Bunsby, who was also very confidential,--and at her wits'
end because she could not learn the special business of the stranger
who called,--stated that Mr. George Vavasor left her house in a cab
at ten o'clock that morning, having taken with him such luggage as
he had packed, and having gone, "she was afraid, for good," as Mrs.
Bunsby expressed it.
He had gone for good, and at the moment in which the policeman was
making the inquiry in Cecil Street, was leaning over the side of an
American steamer which had just got up her steam and weighed her
anchor in the Mersey. He was on board at six o'clock, and it was not
till the next day that the cabman was traced who had carried him to
Euston Square Station. Of course, it was soon known that he had gone
to America, but it was not thought worth while to take any further
steps towards arresting him. Mr. Grey himself was decidedly opposed to
any such attempt, declaring his opinion that his own evidence would
be insufficient to obtain a conviction. The big men in Scotland Yard
were loth to let the matter drop. Their mouths watered after the job,
and they had very numerous and very confidential interviews with John
Grey. But it was decided that nothing should be done. "Pity!" said
one enterprising superintendent, in answer to the condolings of a
brother superintendent. "Pity's no name for it. It's the greatest
shame as ever I knew since I joined the force. A man as was a Member
of Parliament only last Session,--as belongs to no end of swell
clubs, a gent as well known in London as any gent about the town! And
I'd have had him back in three months, as sure as my name's Walker."
And that superintendent felt that his profession and his country were
alike disgraced.
And now George Vavasor vanishes from our pages, and will be heard of
no more. Roebury knew him no longer, nor Pall Mall, nor the Chelsea
Districts. His disappearance was a nine days' wonder, but the world
at large knew nothing of the circumstances of that attempt in Suffolk
Street. Mr. Grey himself told the story to no one, till he told it to
Mr. Palliser at Lucerne. Mr. Scruby complained bitterly of the way in
which Vavasor had robbed him; but I doubt whether Scruby, in truth,
lost much by the transaction. To Kate, down in Westmoreland, no
tidings came of her brother, and her sojourn in London with her aunt
had nearly come to an end before she knew that he was gone. Even then
the rumour reached her through Captain Bellfield, and she learned
what few facts she knew from Mrs. Bunsby in Cecil Street.
"He was always mysterious," said Mrs. Greenow, "and now he has
vanished. I hate mysteries, and, as for myself, I think it will be
much better that he should not come back again." Perhaps Kate was of
the same opinion, but, if so, she kept it to herself.