strode along with an air that made more than one peaceable citizen give
him the footway all to himself. As they entered Lincoln’s Inn Square,
this became still more marked, and in front of one of the finest houses,
he stopped and looked round with an insolent swagger that greatly
impressed a group of men loitering under a tree near by.
Double could not quite conceal his dissatisfaction, and pulling his
client by the sleeve, whispered that the men looked like constables in
plain clothes, and that they could hardly fail to recognize him when he
came out, if, as seemed probable, they were waiting there for him.
"Let them stare their fill," said Robin. "I wish them to become
thoroughly acquainted with Robin Freemantle’s appearance." And he
walked slowly up the steps into the house.
In an up-stairs room, Lord Beachcombe and his lawyer awaited them.
Robin left his swashbuckling manners in the anteroom, where Samuel was
relieved of his bag and left to the congenial society of two or three
clerks.
Lord Beachcombe returned Robin’s courteous greeting with a haughty
movement that was scarcely a salute, the two lawyers met with friendly
formality, tape-tied papers were produced, and the conference began.
"I understood," said the earl, addressing his attorney, "that the person
who calls himself Robert Gregory de Cliffe would be present to-day."
"Have patience, my Lord, he will be here in good time," interposed Mr.
Double. "Have you examined the attested copies, Mr. Perry?"
"I have, and to avoid waste of time, I am prepared to admit that they
appear to contain interesting family matters, highly interesting. Not
that they would be of much legal value if you brought the case before
the courts, but enough to cause some annoyance to my client. We have
shown that we consider it worth examining into the affair, by obtaining
the pardon of this"—he glanced at Robin—"this gentleman."
"And also by taking the precaution of having a warrant ready for my
arrest on another charge," said Robin, quietly but incisively.
Mr. Perry glanced at Lord Beachcombe, and their eyes met with the same
inquiry, "How can he know?"
"Had you kept faith with me," said Robin, bending his stern gaze upon
Beachcombe, "this matter could have been settled in a few minutes. As
it is, I have decided not to put the two most important documents in
your hands until I am in a place of safety."
"Traitor!" exclaimed Beachcombe, striking the table with his clenched
fist. "I knew he would devise some means to balk me!"
"If you talk of traitors, did you not purpose to get everything you
wanted from me, and then put my head back in the noose?" demanded Robin.
"Such a cat-and-mouse game is not so easy to play with a man who has
carried his life in his hand through every kind of danger—even to the
gallows’-foot—even through treachery, though that is less common among
gentlemen of the road than some other kinds of gentlemen. In exchange
for my life, I will give you, as I promised, the original letters that
passed between your father and his first wife, the original documents
proving the identity of both parties, and the _copies_ of the marriage
certificate and the death certificate that prove _your_ mother’s
marriage a fraud."
"Oh! this villain will drive me mad!" screamed Lord Beachcombe. "Let me
go, Perry; must I kill you to get at him?"
"Be calm, my Lord, I beg you," urged the lawyer, very red in the face
from his efforts to restrain his client; "this matter can be arranged
without violence, if you will leave it to me.
Mr.—a—Captain—a—Freebooter, pray address any remarks to me. You will
only impede the negotiation by provoking Lord Beachcombe."
"Here are the original letters and documents," said Mr. Double,
advancing to the table, "we will go over them together." The lawyers
went to work together, comparing, arguing and quibbling, as though the
whole matter had not been settled in advance.
Robin, meantime, strolled to the window, where he observed one of the
loitering men in conversation with a furtive man in black, with a pen
stuck in his rusty wig. He stealthily pointed Robin out when he
appeared at the window, and then darted back to the house like a rat
into its hole.
"These letters appear genuine," said Mr. Perry finally, "but they are
valueless to us without the two certificates."
"They are worth as much to you as your pledge of safety is to me,"
returned Robin. "Why should you expect to feel safe from me, while I am
still in danger from you? That was not the compact. The hour that I set
my foot on a foreign shore in safety, I will cut the last thread that
binds me to the past, but those two papers will never be yours, Lord
Beachcombe, until it is out of your power to injure me. I have given my
word, and I will keep it. My title in exchange for my life; your
legitimacy in exchange for my safety."
"I knew it—I felt it!" cried Beachcombe. "This fellow himself is the
arch-impostor."
"Impostor!" said Robin, with a contemptuous laugh, as he stood up and
pointed to the earl. "Nature has cast us in the same mold; God be
praised that her work is only skin-deep. Double, you have the late
earl’s picture in that bag; pull it out, and let us see on which of his
sons he printed off the best likeness of himself."
Mr. Double drew forth a roll of canvas, that bore evidence of having
been hastily cut from the frame.
"My father’s picture!" cried Beachcombe, recognizing it with amazement.
"How came it in your possession?"
"It fell into my hands," said Robin dryly, "when I was lately in the
North Country. I thought it might be useful, so I brought it away with
me."
"You mean, I suppose, that you stole it from Beachcombe Castle," snapped
the earl.
"How could I steal my own? Beachcombe Castle is entailed upon the
eldest son, and I inherited it from my father, as the son just born to
you will doubtless inherit it from you if nothing untoward happens to
me. You ought to pray heartily for my welfare, my Lord, until I am
safely landed in—America. Still, I am not dependent upon the picture of
a dead man for proofs of identity. I can bring twenty living witnesses
to prove that I am the son of Mrs. Vincent, whose marriage to Captain
Gregory de Cliffe I can prove by documents and other valuable evidence."
"You will give up the two certificates if Lord Beachcombe pledges his
word that you will be allowed to leave England unmolested, will you
not?" inquired Mr. Perry insinuatingly.
"I will not," replied Robin firmly.
"Well, then—I urge this matter because my lord will have a long period
of suspense to endure before he receives those documents, and without
impugning your good faith, it is possible they might fall into the wrong
hands after all—will you give them up if Lord Beachcombe gives you a
written guarantee that you will be safe, so far as he can protect you?"
"I do not value his written guarantee one farthing," said Robin
contemptuously. "Given an hour’s start, I am ready to take my chance of
escape from any lawyer or traitor of you all. But I’ve a reason for
wishing to remain in London for the next few days, and I’ll not give up
the one thing that enables me to do it in safety."
Beachcombe sprang to his feet. "I have stood this insolence long
enough!" he exclaimed. "You—an outlaw, a convicted robber, dare to spurn
my word!—refuse to accept _my_ written promise! Pray, what will satisfy
you?"
"Oh! if you wish to offer me satisfaction, ’tis quickly settled," cried
Robin. "To cross swords with your lordship will give me the utmost
pleasure, and let him who draws the first blood dictate the terms of
truce."
Beachcombe sneered, but he was not a coward, and his fingers almost
involuntarily wandered to his sword-hilt.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" cried the lawyer. "This is no time or place for
fighting; besides, if there is anything in your story,
Captain—Freebooter—the curse of Cain would be on the one who shed the
other’s blood."
"Will the one who hires somebody else to shed the other’s blood, escape
the curse of Cain?" sternly inquired Robin. "If we can not settle this
business like gentlemen, let us get it over as quickly as possible. It
will not be difficult, I dare say, to find some better occasion for a
meeting."
In a great hurry, Mr. Perry read over a legal document, renouncing on
the part of "the person claiming to be Robert Gregory de Cliffe and his
descendants for ever," all titles, estates entailed or otherwise, and
other belongings appertaining to the Beachcombe family in all its
ramifications, in consideration of one thousand pounds over and above
all expenses of his transportation to a foreign land, or any place
outside of the British Isles, that he might select for his future abode.
The above to be paid to him on signing this deed, and to constitute a
full satisfaction for every claim, past, present and future.
Robin listened with scant patience to the monotonous repetition of legal
terms by which every contingency was forestalled and provided for. Then
he requested Mr. Double to peruse it, in case there might be snares or
hidden meanings in it. Two clerks were called in to witness the bold
signature of Robert Gregory de Cliffe, and finally, Mr. Perry counted
out one thousand pounds in Bank of England notes, as compensation for
Robin’s claim to an inheritance worth twenty thousand a year, two
hundred more for his expenses in leaving the country, and certain sums
to Mr. Double for his services. Lord Beachcombe showed very little
interest in this part of the transaction, but sat biting his nails and
fingering his sword-hilt.
Mr. Perry drew Mr. Double aside, and made one last attempt to convince
him that it would be greatly to the interest of all parties if he could
persuade his client to surrender the two documents of whose value he
held so exaggerated an estimate. Meantime, Robin strolled up to the
window, arranging his beaver with great nonchalance, and throwing the
end of the cloak over his shoulder, so as to display the red lining.
He observed that the loitering men had drawn together, and numbered
about half-a-score, armed with stout bludgeons and still more deadly
weapons. Near them, under the trees, a ragged urchin walked Lord
Beachcombe’s horse slowly up and down, hopeful of a bounteous douceur
from the noble patron who had kept him so long waiting.
"Now, Captain," said Mr. Double, "I am at your service."
Robin walked to the door, and removing his beaver, swept so low a bow,
that he dropped it on the floor.
"Farewell, Mr. Perry,—you will hear from me—from foreign parts. My Lord
Beachcombe—adieu."
The lawyer, who had already assumed an air of preoccupation with other
matters, returned the bow with ceremonious frostiness. Lord Beachcombe
did not even turn his head. Consequently, neither of them saw Robin
kick his own hat out of the way and help himself to one that lay on a
chair near the door.
"Give me five minutes start," he whispered to Double, as he quickly
disengaged himself from the green cloak and threw it into a dark corner
of the stairway. When he emerged from the front door, a dignified
gentleman in a plum-colored riding-coat and black velvet cavalier hat
with a long, drooping ostrich feather, he looked as little as possible
like the roystering blade who had been seen a few minutes before at the
upper window. He signed to the boy with the horse, and mounting without
haste, threw him a shilling and beckoned to the chief of the posse of
constables.
"You had better bring your men on this side of the street," he said
imperiously; "don’t give the fellow time to get away or you will never
catch him again. And, mind—dead or alive!"
The man knuckled his hat obsequiously. "Yes, m’ Lud," he said, with
something the air of one bulldog being egged on to attack another.
"Them’s my orders."
Robin gave him a curt word, and rode out through the gateway leading
into Chancery Lane. When he was out of sight, he gave rein to his horse,
and taking to the network of narrow lanes that lay between the Strand
and the river, made off with the utmost speed toward Westminster.
*CHAPTER XIII*
*THE SEALED PACKET*
Mr. Double did not hurry after his client, but gave him a good ten
minutes’ start, while he made Samuel search the blue-bag for some
imaginary papers, and then, bidding him shoulder his hated burden, went
forth, much reassured by the absence of commotion in the Square.
The posse had collected outside the house, and eyed the lawyer and his
clerk suspiciously. There was a moment of expectation as they
recognized the companions of their quarry, but Double and his satellite
were not molested, and at a short distance they separated, and Samuel
pursued his westward way alone. He did not go far, but leaving his bag
in charge of a friendly law-stationer, scurried back to Lincoln’s Inn,
and slipping through the constables, ran up-stairs and knocked timidly
at the door of Mr. Perry’s private sanctum.
"What do you want here, fellow?" demanded Perry, opening the door and
discovering the little, cringing, shabby figure shrinking into the
shadow. "This is not the clerk’s office."
"Could I—can I—speak a word with the—the lord?" stammered Samuel.
Mr. Perry looked very searchingly at him for a minute or so. Then he
relaxed a little and made room for him to pass into the room, which he
did, smoothing his flaxen wig over his forehead with his moist palm, and
evidently in a desperately uneasy frame of mind.
"Do you want to speak to Me?" demanded Lord Beachcombe, in a haughty
voice, that sounded so terrible to the clerk, that he could hardly
stammer out, "Y—yes."
"And what have you to say?" inquired Mr. Perry, in a more encouraging
tone. "Speak out, man, don’t be frightened; nobody will hurt you."
"Ah! but he would, if he knew," quavered Samuel, jerking his thumb over
his shoulder.
"You mean Mr. Double? I suppose you want to tell us something he is
concealing from us, eh? Well, we will protect you from him," said Mr.
Perry magnanimously.
"’Tis not so much him I’m afraid of as the captain," whispered Samuel,
glancing from side to side, as though he expected to see him lurking
somewhere about. Then he approached Lord Beachcombe on tiptoe. "What
will you give me if I get you those certificates?"
"Damnation!" cried Beachcombe, starting up, black with fury; "are my
private affairs known to every quill-driver in the town?"
Samuel turned livid with terror. "I only know where they are," he
whimpered; "I don’t know anything about them."
"Well, where are they?" demanded Beachcombe threateningly.
A glint of cunning sparkled in Samuel’s eye. "It wouldn’t be any use for
me to tell your lordship where they are. No one can get at them but me,
and as I shall be suspected, it’s worth a good deal for the risk I
run—if the certificates are any use to your lordship."
"How do you know what certificates these are, if you say you don’t know
anything about them?" interposed Mr. Perry.
"Because I heard the captain tell Mr. Double that he could afford to let
Lord Beachcombe have everything else, so long as he kept the two
certificates back. So he put them where nobody knows but himself and
Double and me. And he’ll have them out if I don’t hurry and get there
first."
"You need not be uneasy about that," said Beachcombe, with a grin of
malicious joy. "Captain Freemantle is on his way to Newgate Prison by
now, and if those—papers—find their way into my possession, I think it
is safe to say that he will never come out except to make the journey to
Tyburn."
"On his way to Newgate?" cried the little clerk, rubbing his hands with
glee. "Then, if we can agree on the price, your lordship can have them
in an hour."
"If you bring them to me—without reading them—in an hour, I will give
you ten guineas," said Lord Beachcombe magnificently.
"Ten guineas!" echoed Samuel, with a falling countenance. "They can not
be so very important, after all, if that’s all they’re worth."
"How much did you expect?" demanded Beachcombe, who hated parting with
his money, and was still writhing under the agony of having had to
disburse so considerable a sum already over this affair.
"Considering the risk, I think I ought to have a hundred pounds,"
pleaded Samuel, trembling at his own audacity.
"A hundred devils!" growled Beachcombe; "do you think I am made of
money?"
"It’s well worth it, my Lord," urged Samuel. "You don’t know the risk I
run, even if the captain is in jail. And why wouldn’t he get out? He’s
been there before and cheated the hangman; he’s as artful as a fox, and
has more friends than you and I know of."
Beachcombe reflected a while. "Well, bring the documents to my house
and you shall have the hundred pounds. But if you ever betray the
slightest knowledge of them, it will be worse for you than if the
captain, as you call him, escaped from prison and came after you with
all his friends."
"They’re in a sealed packet, my Lord, and if I break the seal you can
keep your money," said Samuel, growing bolder, as a confederacy in
dishonor brought the haughty peer nearer to his level. Beachcombe
signified his acceptance of the compact and walked over to the window,
while Mr. Perry gave Samuel instructions how to make sure of the packet
falling into no other than the right hands.
"God’s death!" Beachcombe suddenly exclaimed, in so strange a voice,
that the others hurried to the window and looked anxiously out to see
what had befallen. The street was perfectly quiet. A couple of
barristers, with their gowns tucked up, stood talking and laughing, a
street vendor shouted the praises of his wares, a slatternly woman, with
a baby in her arms and another clinging to her skirt, lounged under the
trees opposite, and the group of constables, still expectant, chewed
straws and spat them out in the gutter, with the utter absence of hurry
so frequently observed in men whose time is owned and paid for by the
government. Nothing else was in sight.
"What are those men waiting for?" roared Beachcombe. "Is that scoundrel
hiding in this house? Call them in, Perry, and make them search every
corner. By Heaven! if you have let him slip through your fingers—"
"Do you mean the captain?" asked the trembling clerk. "He went out half
an hour ago, just before me and Mr. Double."
"And no one stopped him? He passed through the constables unchallenged?
It is collusion; they shall hang for it. Give me my hat, Perry—"
Samuel flew to obey, and after a brief search, emerged from beneath a
table with a somewhat weather-beaten beaver, turned up with a silver
buckle.
Beachcombe dashed it from his hand. "That is not mine!" he shouted;
"that is the one that fellow wore when he came in. He has left it
behind and taken mine; he has used it as a disguise, and those idiots
have been taken in by it—" He flung out of the room, and the next
minute was heard furiously cursing and berating the crestfallen
constables, who, taking him for their long-awaited prey, sprang upon him
as soon as he appeared, and but for the speedy interference of Mr.
Perry, would have handled him roughly.
The men fell back in confusion as the situation dawned upon them. This
the real lord? Then who was the haughty and self-important personage
who had ridden away from them so coolly after issuing orders with such
an air of authority?
"You shall sweat for this!" cried Beachcombe. "Where is my horse?"
No one seemed able to answer this question. The men glanced from one to
another, and the mysterious crowd that springs up from the roadside when
there is any excitement, began to collect. Some one suggested that a
gentleman in a black hat and feather had been seen riding out of the
Square, on a fine chestnut horse, and a murmur from the crowd confirmed
the statement.
By this time, Lord Beachcombe had become speechless with rage. He
signed to a passing chair, and getting in bareheaded, pulled the
curtains close, and departed without a valedictory greeting.
After a visit to Bow Street which gave promise of a warm quarter of an
hour to the constables on their return, Beachcombe hurried to his house,
overlooking St. James’ Park, to await Samuel’s visit, and concoct plans
by which Robin should not only be arrested, but brought to an
ignominious and lingering death. Torture was supposed to have been
abolished in those days, but treason was still punishable by drawing and
quartering, and while the country was still astir with Jacobite plots,
the charge of treason might easily be fastened on any man who could not
readily account for his comings and goings.
The day passed slowly, for Lord Beachcombe, shut up in his study, gave
orders that no visitor should be admitted except the lawyer’s clerk.
Once possessor of the proofs—if proofs they were—of the shadow upon his
birth, he could set his heel without fear upon the throat of this
miscreant who claimed to be his brother. His brother—! his _elder_
brother—! The shrill cry of the baby-heir smote upon his ear, and
goaded him to such a madness of impotent fury that if Samuel could have
seen him then and known the cause of the furrow on his brow and the
blood upon his bitten lip, he might have made his own terms and become
rich for life.
In the afternoon, a groom came to say that his lordship’s horse had been
brought to the stable by a ragged boy, who had made off before he could
be questioned.
"What condition was he in? Had he been ridden fast or far?" Lord
Beachcombe inquired eagerly.
"Hadn’t turned a hair, my Lord," was the reply; "might ’a’ been for a
canter round the Park."
Beachcombe went to the stable himself to make inspection, but could
discover no mark or sign to enlighten the most sharpsighted. "Oh! if
you could speak!" he muttered, as he caressed the glossy coat and
deer-like head of his favorite. "If you could tell me where you have
been these three hours!"
But there was nothing to be learned; not so much as could be shown by a
muddy fetlock. If the horse had been out of town, he had been carefully
groomed on his return and every trace of travel removed. His master
returned to the house, more morose and vengeful than ever, to while away
the hours that slowly passed until it was time to dress for the great
entertainment at Marlborough House.
When he descended from his wife’s apartments, where he had gone to
display himself in his masquerade dress, he was certainly a magnificent
and picturesque figure. His costume, of the period of Charles II., was
of white satin, profusely trimmed with exquisite lace, and adorned with
dazzling orders and jewels. A wig of long curls softened the harsh
outline of his face, and a skilful touch of rouge relieved his swarthy
pallor and lent a brilliancy to his dark eyes. His resemblance to Robin
was remarkable enough then to have struck the most unobservant.
Over his arm he carried a voluminous domino of scarlet silk, and a mask
to match dangled from his jeweled fingers.
He was stepping into his carriage, when a little black figure darted in
front of him, and Samuel, bowing to the very ground before this gorgeous
apparition, besought a word with him.
"Leave him alone," cried Beachcombe, as two or three serving-men stepped
forward to sweep this insect from their master’s path. "Have you
anything important to say to me?" he eagerly inquired.
"Most important, your worship—I mean your Lordship," replied Samuel.
"I’ve got it; only just now, though, and I’ve run every step of the
way," and he showed a corner of the letter hidden in his breast.
"Give it to me," said Beachcombe, in a low, concentrated voice, and held
out his hand for it. But Samuel hung back.
"My Lord—my Lord—" he stammered, clutching the packet like a drowning
man grasping a straw, "will you give me my hundred pounds?"
"What, now; before I see the papers? Besides, I’ve not so much about
me," exclaimed Beachcombe. "Why, you imp of the devil, are you afraid to
trust me? Here, take my purse and give me that packet. I must have it
_now_, do you hear? And come to me to-morrow for your hundred guineas."
And before Samuel could make up his mind what to do, he found himself
standing alone with a silken purse, full of golden guineas, in his hand,
and the precious packet being whirled away from him in the earl’s
chariot.