The next morning Cuthbert drove to Madame Michaud's.
"You are looking better, Mary," he said, as he entered; "why, you have
got quite a pretty color in your cheeks."
"Don't talk nonsense, please. I am better, a great deal better, but it
is no wonder I have a color, I have been blushing with shame at my own
folly ever since you were here."
"If you never do anything more foolish than that, you will get through
life well enough. Appearances were against me, and you jumped at
conclusions a little too fast. Let us say no more about it."
"You are not looking so well, I think, Cuthbert."
"No. I have been a little bothered."
"Have you seen that man Cumming?" she asked, quickly.
"Yes," he answered, in some surprise, "though what should make you
associate him with my being bothered I don't know."
"You said that you were going to see him, and somehow, I don't know why,
I have been rather worrying over it. Was the interview satisfactory, did
you learn what you wanted?"
"Not altogether," he said, "but it is all a matter of conjecture, Mary,
and I own that it has worried me a bit, and, indeed, I am sorry I went
to him at all. However, as it is business and ladies are not good at
business, suppose we talk of something else."
Mary made no reply, but sat looking at him while she twisted her fingers
nervously before her. "May I ask one question, Cuthbert?"
"Yes, if you like, but I don't promise to answer it?"
"Do you think that there is any blame attached to my father?"
Cuthbert was startled. He had certainly not expected this question.
"What on earth should put that idea into your head, Mary?"
"I don't know," she replied, "but it has always struck me as so strange
that he should not have prevented Mr. Hartington from buying those
shares. I don't know much of business, but I have thought a great deal
about it, and it has always seemed a strange affair to me, and I have
worried a great deal over it since he bought the house. That is one
reason why I hate going there."
"Perhaps your father was not quite so prudent in the matter as he might
have been, Mary," Cuthbert said, trying to speak lightly, though he
found it difficult to do so with the girl's earnest eyes fixed on him,
"but even of that I am not sure. Now, suppose we change the subject
again--it seems that we are to hit on difficult subjects this morning.
The gates will probably be opened, at any rate to the foreigners, in a
day or two. Are you thinking of going home to prepare yourself for
taking up your vocation as a nurse?"
"Not yet," she replied, "there is no hurry for that, and it will be some
time before the country is settled."
"You are sure that you have not changed your mind again?"
"No, why should I?"
"I thought perhaps you might have done so, and might possibly be
inclined towards the vocation you so scornfully repudiated when I
suggested it before. I intended to ask you yesterday, but it would not
have been fair when you were so weak and shaken."
The girl had glanced at him and had then flushed hotly.
"I don't know--I am not sure--what you mean."
"And I am sure that you know very well, Mary, that I mean the vocation
of taking care of me, which you repudiated with scorn--in fact refused
to entertain it seriously at all. Of course there may have been other
grounds, but the one you laid stress on was that I was lazy and
purposeless, and that if you ever did take up such a vocation it would
be to take care of some one you could respect. I don't say for an
instant that I approach to that altitude, but at least I may say I am no
longer an idler, that I have worked hard, and that I have every hope of
success. You see, too, that I want you more than I did then. I am a poor
artist and not the heir to a good estate. But as you are fond of
sacrificing yourself, that may not be altogether an objection. At any
rate, dear, I think I shall be able to keep you comfortably. I am not
sure I should ever have mustered up courage enough to have spoken on
this subject again, had it not been for yesterday. But that gave me a
little hope that you really had come to care about me a little, and that
possibly you might be willing to change your plans again in my favor."
"I did not think you really loved me then," she said. "I thought it was
just a passing fancy."
"You see it was not, dear. All these months that I have worked hard, it
was partly from the love of art and with the hope that I might be a
really great artist, but at the bottom of it all along has been the
thought of you and the determination that in one respect I would become
worthy of you."
"Don't talk like that, Cuthbert. I know now that I was a headstrong,
conceited girl, thinking I was strong when I was as weak as water. You
were right when you said I was not yet a woman, for I had never found
that I had a heart. It is I who am unworthy."
"Well, it is no question of worthiness now. The question is do you love
me as I love you."
"Are you sure you do, Cuthbert? I have thought all these months that you
had taken me at my word, and that it was but as a friend you regarded
me. Are you sure it is not gratitude for what little I did for you in
the hospital! Still more that it is not because I showed my feelings so
plainly the day before yesterday, and that it is from pity as well as
gratitude that you speak now."
"Then you were really a little jealous, Mary?"
"You know I was. It was shameful of me to show it, so shameful that I
have hated myself since. I know that after doing so, I ought to say
no--no a thousand times. I love you, Cuthbert, I love you; but I would
rather never marry you than feel it was out of pity that you took me.
That would be too hard to bear."
They were both standing now.
"You are talking nonsense, child," he said, tenderly, as he took her
hand. "You know I love you truly. Surely my pictures must have told you
that. Honestly now, did you not feel that it was so?"
"I did not know you loved me then, Cuthbert. There were other things,
you know, that made me feel it could not be so, but then that for the
first time I really knew----" and she stopped.
"That you loved me, darling?" and he drew her closer to him. "Now, you
gave me a straightforward answer before--I insist on as straightforward
a one now."
And this time the answer was not, No.
"Mind," he said a few minutes afterwards, "your vocation is definitely
fixed at last, Mary, and there must be no more changing."
"As if you did not know there won't be," she said, saucily. And then
suddenly altering her tone she went on, "Now, Cuthbert, you will surely
tell me what you would not before. What did you find out? It is
something about my father, I am sure."
"Let me think before I answer you," he said, and then sat silent for two
or three minutes. "Well," he said, at last, "I think you have a right to
know. You may be sure that in any case I should before, for your sake,
have done everything in my power towards arranging things amicably with
him. Now, of course, that feeling is vastly stronger, and for my own
sake as well as yours I should abstain from any action against him.
Mind, at present I have only vague suspicions, but if those suspicions
turn out true, it will be evident that your father has been pursuing a
very tortuous policy, to put it no stronger, in order to gain possession
of Fairclose. I cannot say definitely as yet what I shall do, but at
present I incline to the opinion that I shall drop the matter
altogether."
"Not for my sake, Cuthbert," she said, firmly. "I have always felt
uneasy about it. I can scarcely say why, but I am afraid it is so. Of
course I know my father better than people in general do. I have known
that he was not what he seemed to be. It has always been my sorest
trouble, that we have never got on well together. He has never liked me,
and I have not been able to respect him. I know that if he has done
anything absolutely wrong--it seems terrible that I should even think
such a thing possible--but if it has been so--I know you will not expose
him."
"We will not talk any more about it, dear," Cuthbert interrupted; "it is
all the vaguest suspicion, so let us put it aside altogether now. Just
at present I am a great deal too happy to give as much as a thought to
unpleasant matters. We have to attend to the business of the hour, and
you have the two years of love of which I have been deprived to make up
for."
"I am very, very glad, Cuthbert, that I was not in love with you then."
"Why?"
"Because we should have started all wrong. I don't think I should ever
have come to look up to you and honor you as I do now. I should never
have been cured of my silly ideas, and might even have thought that I
had made some sort of sacrifice in giving up my plans. Besides, then you
were what people call a good match, and now no one can think that it is
not for love only."
"Well, at any rate, Mary, we shall have between us enough to keep us out
of the workhouse even if I turn out an absolute failure."
"You know you won't do that."
"I hope not, but at any rate one is liable to illness, to loss of
sight, and all sorts of other things, and as we have between us four
hundred a year we can manage very comfortably, even if I come to an end
of my ardor for work and take to idleness again."
"I am not afraid of that," she smiled, "after painting those two
pictures, you could not stop painting. I don't think when anyone can do
good work of any sort, he can get tired of it, especially when the work
is art. My only fear is that I shan't get my fair share of your time."
"Well, if I see you getting jealous, Mary, I have the means of reducing
you to silence by a word."
"Have you, indeed? Will you please tell me what word is that?"
"I shall just say, Minette!"
Mary's color flamed up instantly.
"If you do, sir; if you do----" and then stopped.
"Something terrible will come of it, eh. Well, it was not fair."
"It was quite fair, Cuthbert. It will always be a painful recollection
to me, and I hope a lesson too."
"It will not be a painful recollection to me," he laughed. "I think I
owe Minette a debt of gratitude. Now, what do you say to taking a drive,
Mary? Horse-flesh has gone down five hundred per cent. in the market in
the last three days, and I was able to get a fiacre on quite reasonable
terms."
"Is it waiting here still? How extravagant, Cuthbert, it must have been
here nearly an hour."
"I should say I have been here over two hours and a quarter according to
that clock."
"Dear me, what will Madame Michaud think? Shall I tell her, Cuthbert?"
"I don't care a snap what she thinks. You can do just as you like about
telling her. Perhaps it will be as well, as I intend to see a good deal
of you in the next few days. But if you write home don't say anything
about it. There are reasons which we can talk over another time, why it
will be best to keep it to ourselves for a time."
Mary nodded. That he wished a thing was quite sufficient for her at the
present moment.
"Do you want me to go out with you?" she asked.
"Just as you like. I believe that as a rule a ring has to be purchased
at the conclusion of an arrangement such as we have just entered into,
and I thought you might just as well chose one yourself."
"Oh, I would much rather not," she exclaimed, "and besides, I think for
to-day I would rather sit quiet and think it all over and realize how
happy I am."
"Well, for to-day you shall have your own way, Mary, but you have been
doing a good deal more thinking than is good for you, and after to-day
we must go out for a good walk regularly. You see we have both to get up
our strength. I had quite forgotten I had anything the matter with me,
and you only wanted rousing, dear. The doctor said as much to me, and
you know, after all, happiness is the best tonic."
"Then I must be perfectly cured already, Cuthbert, but remember you must
take care of yourself. The best of tonics won't set any one up at once
who has had a real illness as you have had. You want something more
substantial. Good strong soups and roast beef are the essentials in your
case. Remember, sir, I have been your nurse and mean to continue so till
your cure is complete. You will come again to-morrow, Cuthbert?"
"Of course, dear. Now about that ring. I have observed you never wear
one. Have you one you can lend me, or must I measure with a piece of
thread?"
"I will get you one, Cuthbert. I am not without such a possession
although I have never worn one. I looked upon it as a female vanity,"
she added, with a laugh, "in the days when I thought myself above such
things. What a little fool you must have thought me, Cuthbert?"
The next morning when Cuthbert came Mary had her things on in readiness
to go out with him, and after a short delay to admire and try on the
ring, they set out together.
"I did not tell you yesterday, Mary," Cuthbert said, after they had
walked a short distance, "that as soon as the arrangements for
foreigners to leave the town are settled, I am going to Brussels with
Cumming. He is going to make an affidavit, and this he cannot do here,
as, if I should have occasion to use the document, it would be the means
of enabling the police to trace him here and to demand his extradition.
After that I shall go on to England to make some inquiries that are
essential. I will give you all particulars if you wish it, but I think
it will be very much better that you shall know nothing about the
matter; it may turn out to be nothing at all; it may on the other hand
be extremely important. It is a painful business anyhow, but in any case
I think it will be much the best that you should know nothing about it.
You can trust me, can you not?"
"Altogether," she said, "and certainly I would rather know nothing about
it. But mind, Cuthbert, you must do what you think is right and best
without any question about me. If you have been wronged you must right
yourself, and I am sure that in doing so you will do it as gently and
kindly as possible."
"I will try to do so," he said. "At present, as I told you, the
suspicions are very vague and rest entirely upon the statement Cumming
has made. If those suspicions should be verified, a great wrong has been
done and that wrong must be righted, but that can no doubt be arranged
without publicity or scandal. The reason why I do not wish you to say a
word about our engagement is, that were it known it would tie my hands
terribly and render it so impossible for me to take any strong ground,
that I should be altogether powerless."
"Do entirely as you think best, Cuthbert. Of course, beyond the fact
that perhaps something wrong may have been done, I have not an idea what
it can be, and I do not want to know, unless it must be told me. How
long are you likely to be away and do you think you are fit to travel?"
"There is no great fatigue in travelling," he said. "I can't say how
long I shall be, not long I hope. You may be sure that I shall not be
longer than I can possibly help."
"I shall miss you dreadfully, but of course if you think it necessary,
you must go. Besides," she said, saucily, "if you are in no hurry about
me I know you will be anxious to get back to finish your pictures. No,
Cuthbert, I really can't have that. There are people in sight."
"I don't care if there are," he laughed.
"I do, very much. Whoever heard of such a thing? What would they think
of me?"
"I did not know that you cared what people thought of you, Mary."
"Not about some things, perhaps, but there are limits, you know."
A week later, duly provided with passes, Cuthbert and Cumming made their
way in a carriage to the Belgian frontier, and then went on by train to
Brussels, where, on the day after their arrival, Cumming drew up and
signed a statement with reference to the details of his transference of
the shares to Mr. Hartington, and swore to its contents before a Belgian
legal official.
"I shall stay here for a few days," he said to Cuthbert, as the latter
started the next morning for England. "I am quite safe for the present,
and after a long course of horse-flesh I really cannot tear myself away
from decent living, until Paris is re-victualled, and one can live there
in comfort again. I wish you every success in your search. The more I
think of it the more convinced I am that we are not far wrong as to the
manner in which Brander has got hold of your estate."
Cuthbert, on arriving in London, took up his quarters at the Charing
Cross Hotel. On the morning after his arrival he wrote a letter to Dr.
Edwardes, at Abchester.
"MY DEAR DOCTOR,--I have just returned from Paris, where I have
been shut up for the last four months. I do not care about coming
down to Abchester at present. I suppose I have not quite got over
my soreness over matters in general, but for reasons which I need
not enter into, I want to know if Brander's clerks, who were with
him when I was last there, are still with him in his office, and,
if not, where they are employed. I do not know anyone else to write
to on the subject, and I am sure you will not mind taking the
trouble in the matter for me."
The answer came back by return of post.
"MY DEAR CUTHBERT--I was very glad to hear of you again. I have
asked Brander from time to time about you, and he always says that
he has not heard from you for months, and though your letter says
nothing beyond the fact that you are alive, I was glad to get it. I
hope next time you write you will give me full details about
yourself, and that ere long you will make up your mind to come
down. I need not say that we shall be delighted to put you up when
you do come. I should imagine you would not care to go to
Fairclose. Now as to your question. Harford, the elder of the two
clerks, left the office here very shortly after you went away.
Levison, the younger, is still here. I put myself in the way of
meeting him as he went to the office this morning. I stopped and
chatted with him for a minute or two, and asked him carelessly how
Mr. Harford was and whether he ever heard from him. He said he
heard occasionally and that he was well. 'By the way, where is he
working now?' I asked, 'I know he went up to a firm in town.' 'Oh,
yes, he is with Barrington and Smiles, of Essex Street. He is
getting on very well there, I believe. He is head of their
conveyancing branch. I wish I could drop into as good a billet,
Doctor. I should be very glad of a change.' So much for that
business. Things are getting on pretty much the same up at the old
place. Brander still comes up to his office for an hour or so every
day. I don't think he cares much for the county gentleman's life. I
fancy Mrs. B. is rather a disappointed woman. The fact is there was
a good deal of feeling in the county as to Brander's connection
with the bank. Almost everyone was let in more or less, you know,
for the depositors have only got eight shillings in the pound so
far, and I don't suppose they will ever get much more. There is an
idea that Brander ought to have found out what was going on, and
indeed that he must have known a good deal about it, and that at
any rate what he did know should have been ample to have rendered
it his duty to warn your father against taking shares so short a
time before the smash. His purchase of Fairclose did not improve
matters, and so far from their taking your father's place in the
county, I may say without being absolutely cut they are much more
out of it than they were before. However, when you come down I will
give you all the local gossip."
It was late in the afternoon when Cuthbert received the letter and he at
once went to Essex Street. Several clerks were writing in the office. A
lad came forward to ask him his business.
"I want to speak for a moment to Mr. Harford."
The lad went up to one of the desks and the clerk came forward.
"I don't know whether you remember me," Cuthbert said, "my name is
Hartington."
"I remember you very well, Mr. Hartington, though you are changed a good
deal."
"I have had a sharp illness, but I am getting over it now. I
particularly wished to speak to you about a matter in connection with my
father's affairs. I am staying at the Charing Cross Hotel and should
feel very much obliged if, when you leave here, you would come round for
a few minutes."
"With pleasure, sir, but I shall not get away till seven."
"That will do very well," Cuthbert said. "I would not have troubled you
had it not been important."
A few minutes past seven the clerk was shown into Cuthbert's room. After
asking him to take a chair Cuthbert said--
"As you are aware, Mr. Harford, my loss of the Fairclose estates arose
from the unfortunate circumstances of my father having taken a few
shares in the Abchester and County Bank. The matter has always been a
puzzle to me. I have been abroad for the last eighteen months, and now,
having returned, am anxious to get to the bottom of the matter if I can.
The transfer of the shares from Cumming, the manager of the bank, to my
father, was signed at Mr. Brander's office, I fancy. At any rate, you
and Mr. Levison were the attesting witnesses to my father's signature.
Have you any memory of the transaction, and would you object to tell
what took place?"
"I remember about the transfer, Mr. Hartington, because, when the crash
came, everything connected with it was talked over. In point of fact, we
did not see Mr. Hartington's signature actually attached. He called at
the office one day, and just after he had left Mr. Brander called us in
and said, 'Please witness Mr. Hartington's signature.' Of course, we
both knew it very well and witnessed it. I did not notice the names on
the body of the transfer, though, of course, I knew from the appearance
of the document what it was, but Mr. Brander just pointed out where we
were to sign and we signed. The only thing I noticed was that as I wrote
my eye fell on the top line, and I saw that it was dated ten days
earlier."
"Was that unusual?"
"No, documents are often dated at the time they are drawn up, although
they may not be signed for some days later. Of course it is not exactly
regular, but it often happens. A form is filled up and one or other of
the parties may be away or unable to sign. I happened to notice it, but
it did not strike me in any way."
"And were you often called upon to attest signatures in this way without
seeing them written?"
"There was nothing unusual in it. As a general rule we were called into
the room when a signature had to be witnessed, but it occasionally
happened, in the case where it was a well-known client and we were
perfectly acquainted with the signature, that we did not sign until he
had left the office."
"Do you remember if such a thing ever happened any other time in the
case of my father!"
"Only once, I think, and that was afterwards. We signed then as
witnesses to his signature to a legal document. I don't know what its
nature was. It was done in the same manner directly Mr. Hartington had
driven away."
"It might have been a mortgage deed."
"It might have been, sir, but as I saw only the last page of it, and as
there were but three or four lines of writing at the top of the page,
followed by the signatures, I have no idea even of the nature of the
document."
"May I ask if you have left the office at Abchester on pleasant terms
with Mr. Brander and his partner, for, of course, you know that he still
takes an interest in the firm."
"Oh, yes, it is still carried on as Brander and Jackson, and Brander
still goes down there for an hour or two every day. Yes, I left on
pleasant terms enough, that is to say, I left of my own free will. I had
for some time wished to come up to London, and hearing through a friend
in this office of a vacancy at Barrington and Smiles, I applied and was
fortunate enough to get it."
Cuthbert sat silent for a time. So far the answers he had received
tallied precisely with Cumming's theory. He did not see how he could
carry the inquiry farther here at present. The clerk, who was watching
him closely, was the first to speak.
"I own, Mr. Hartington, that I do not in the slightest degree understand
the gist of your questions, but I can well imagine that at the present
moment you are wondering whether it would be safe to ask farther. I
will, therefore, tell you at once that one of my reasons for leaving Mr.
Brander's employment was that I did not like his way of doing business,
nor did I like the man himself. The general opinion of him was that he
was a public-spirited and kind-hearted man. I can only say that our
opinion of him in the office was a very different one. He was a hard
man, and frequently when pretending to be most lenient to tenants on the
estates to which he was agent, or to men on whose lands he held
mortgages, he strained the law to its utmost limits. I will not say more
than that, but I could quote cases in which he put on the screw in a way
that was to my mind most absolutely unjustifiable, and I had been for a
very long time trying to get out of his office before the opportunity
came. I may also say, Mr. Hartington, that I had the highest respect for
your father. He always had a kind word when he came into the office, and
regularly at Christmas he handed Levison and myself a check for ten
pounds each, for, as he said, the trouble his business gave us. I tell
you this in order that you may feel you can safely repose any confidence
in me, and that my advice will be wholly at your service if you should
think fit to give me your confidence in this matter, whatever it may
be. But at the same time I must say it would be still better if you put
yourself in the hands of some respectable firm of solicitors. I do not
suggest my own principals more than others, although few men stand
higher in the profession."
"There are reasons against my laying the matter before any firm of
solicitors, and the chief of these is that my hands are tied in a
peculiar manner, and that I am unable to carry it through to its natural
sequence, but I will very thankfully accept your offer and will frankly
tell you the nature of my suspicions, for they are nothing more than
suspicions. I may first say that the news that my father was a
shareholder in the Abchester Bank astounded me. For a time, I put it
down to one of those sudden impulses that are unaccountable, but I may
tell you, and here my confidence begins, that I have come across
Cumming, the bank manager, and from him have obtained some curious
particulars of this transaction--particulars that have excited my
suspicions.
"You wondered why I asked you those questions. I will tell you. You did
not see my father affix his signature to either of those documents. The
one being certainly the transfer of some of Cumming's shares to him. The
other being, as I believe, the mortgage that, as you doubtless heard,
Mr. Brander held over my father's estate. How could you tell those two
signatures were not clever forgeries?"
Mr. Harford gave a start of surprise.
"God bless me, sir," he exclaimed, "such an idea never entered my mind."
"That I can quite understand," Cuthbert said, quietly, "but you must
admit it is possible."
"But in that case," the clerk said, after a pause, "Brander himself must
have been the forger, and surely that is not possible. I fancy I know
Mr. Brander pretty well, but I should never have dreamt him capable of
forgery. Not because I have a high opinion of his honesty, but because I
believe him to be a cautious man, and besides I do not see what possible
interest he could have had in ruining your father by putting his name
on to the register of shareholders. Even if he had an interest in so
doing the risk of detection would be frightful, for not only would the
matter be known to the directors, but, as you are aware, any shareholder
has a right on the payment of a nominal fee to inspect the list of
shareholders."
"Precautions were taken against this," Cuthbert said. "Just glance
through this paper, which has been signed and sworn to by Cumming in
proper form at Brussels."
Mr. Harford ran his eye over the document and then read it through
carefully word by word.
"This is an extraordinary statement," he said, gravely, "do you believe
it, Mr. Hartington?"
"I believe it implicitly. I had the man practically at my mercy. As you
know, there is a warrant out for his arrest and a word from me would
have set the police on his track and led to an application for his
extradition. Therefore he had every motive for telling me the truth, and
I am as certain as I can be, that he did so."
"If so there can be no question that Mr. Brander had some very strong
reason indeed for preventing the knowledge of this transfer having ever
been made from being known; but in any case it must have come out when
the bank failed and of course he must have had a pretty accurate
knowledge of the state of its affairs."
"Yes, but it man be that he had an equally accurate knowledge of the
state of my father's health. That would account for what Cumming says as
to his offer to bolster up the bank for a time, and for a retraction of
that offer within a few days after my father's death."
"But why on earth should he have run all this risk merely to ruin you?
He had no cause of enmity against you, had he, sir?"
"None, so far as I knew but now we come to the other document where you
witnessed the signature without having seen it signed. If the signature
on the transfer was a forgery, why not that on the mortgage, if it was
the mortgage. If so you see the motive of the transfer. The smash of the
bank brought a good many estates into the market and they would
consequently go cheap. Not only would he get it far below its value, but
by reason of this pretended mortgage he would get a further drawback of
£15,000 from the price he would pay as its purchase."
"Good heavens, Mr. Hartington! You take my breath away! Have you any
reason whatever for believing that the mortgage was a bogus one?"
"None, beyond the fact that I was ignorant of its existence. I was so
surprised that I not only wrote to Brander himself but to the official
liquidator. The former said he had advanced the money at the urgent
request of my father, who told him he wished to settle a very long
standing claim upon him, and that he desired that the transaction should
be kept an absolute secret. The official liquidator said he had gone
carefully into the question of the mortgage, that it was of three years,
standing, that the receipts Mr. Brander had given my father for the
half-yearly interest on the money had been found among my father's
papers, and that Brander had moreover produced a document, showing that
he had sold securities to that amount, and had drawn the money from his
bankers in town by a singled check for £15,000. Do you remember whether
such a deed was ever drawn up in the office?"
"Certainly it was not, but you see that proves nothing, for it was to be
kept a secret. Brander might have had it drawn up by some solicitor in
London."
"I see that. Well, then, this deed, whatever it was that you witnessed,
was that drawn up in the office?"
"No. I remember Levison and I talked it over and said it was curious
that a deed between Brander and Mr. Hartington should not have been
given to us as usual to be drawn up."
"You witnessed his signature then as well as that of my father?"
"Yes, I have a particular reason for remembering that, for I had sat
down hurriedly after he had signed it, and dipping my pen too deeply in
the ink, made a blot. It was no doubt a stupid thing to do, but Brander
was so unreasonably angry about it, and blew me up so roughly that I
made up my mind there and then to stand it no longer, and wrote that
very evening to my friend in my present office the letter which led to
my getting the situation there two or three months later."
"That blot may be a most important one," Cuthbert said, "if it occurs on
the mortgage deed on Fairclose, it is clear that document was not, as it
professes on its face, executed three years earlier."
"That would be so indeed," Mr. Harford exclaimed, excitedly; "it would
be a piece of evidence there would be no getting over, and that fact
would account for Brander's anger, which seemed to me was out of all
proportion to the accident. If you could show that the mortgage deed on
which Brander claimed is really that document we witnessed, it would be
all up with him. As to the receipts for the payments of interest they
proved nothing as they were, of course, in Brander's own handwriting and
were found where he put them. If you could find out that Brander had
knowledge of Mr. Hartington's state of health about the time that
transfer was produced you would strengthen your case. It seems to me
that he must have got an inkling of it just before he filled up the
transfer, and that he ante-dated it a week so that it would appear to
have been signed before he learnt about his illness. I can see no other
reason for the ante-dating it."
"That may have been the reason," Cuthbert agreed. "It was one of the
points for which Cumming and I, talking it over, could see no motive.
Certainly he would wish that if anyone said to him you ought to have
prevented Mr. Hartington buying those shares when you knew that he was
in a precarious state of health, to be able to reply that when the
shares were bought he had not the slightest idea of his being in
anything but the best of health."
"At any rate I will see Dr. Edwardes, and ascertain exactly when he did
tell Brander. He is certain to be able by turning back to his visiting
book, to ascertain when he himself became aware of my father's danger,
and is likely to remember whether he told Brander at once."
"But even without that, Mr. Hartington, if you can prove that question
of the date of the deed you have him completely on the hip. Still it
will be a very difficult case to carry through, especially if you cannot
get Cumming to come into court."
"But, as I began by telling you, I cannot carry out the case to a
legitimate conclusion, nor do I want the intervention of lawyers in the
matter. I want the estate back again if I can get it, but rather than
this matter should be made public I would not lift a little finger to
regain the property. It happens," and he smiled dryly, "that Mr.
Brander's reputation is almost as dear to me as it is to him, for I am
going to marry his daughter. We should not feel quite comfortable
together, you see, at the thought that the father was working out a
sentence of penal servitude."
"That is an unfortunate combination indeed, Mr. Hartington," Mr. Harford
said seriously, though he could not repress a smile of amusement at the
unexpected news. "Then it seems to me, sir, that Brander may in fact
snap his fingers at any threat you may hold out, for he would feel
certain that you would never take any steps that would make the matter
public."
"Fortunately," Cuthbert replied. "Mr. Brander is wholly unaware of the
little fact I have mentioned, and is likely to remain so until matters
are finally arranged between us."
"That is indeed fortunate. Then I understand, Mr. Hartington, your
object is to obtain so strong a proof of Brander's share in this affair
as will place you in a position to go down to him, and force him into
some satisfactory arrangement with you."
"That is it, and it is clear the first step will be to see the official
liquidator and to obtain a sight of the mortgage."
"I suppose you know that he is the head of the firm of Cox, Tuke, and
Atkinson, in Coleman Street. I suggest that the best plan will be to see
him to-morrow, and to make an appointment with him for you to inspect
the mortgage. You would wish me, of course, to be with you when you do
so?"
"Think you very much. I will go round there in the morning, and will
call at your office afterwards and let you know if I have arranged the
matter, and the time at which I am to call to inspect the mortgage."