HOW BARNABAS MET JASPER GAUNT, AND WHAT CAME OF IT
Barnabas followed the Captain along a somewhat gloomy hall, up a
narrow and winding staircase, and here, halfway up, was a small
landing with an alcove where stood a tall, wizen-faced clock with
skeleton hands and a loud, insistent, very deliberate tick; so, up
more stairs to another hall, also somewhat gloomy, and a door which
the pale-eyed, smiling person obligingly opened, and, having ushered
them into a handsomely furnished chamber, disappeared. The Captain
crossed to the hearth, and standing before the empty grate, put up
his hand and loosened his high stock with suddenly petulant fingers,
rather as though he found some difficulty in breathing; and, looking
at him, Barnabas saw that the debonair Slingsby had vanished quite;
in his place was another--a much older man, haggard of eye, with a
face peaked, and gray, and careworn beneath the brim of the jaunty
hat.
"My dear Beverley," said he, staring down into the empty grate,
"if you 're ever in need--if you're ever reduced to--destitution,
then, in heaven's name, go quietly away and--starve! Deuced
unpleasant, of course, but it's--sooner over, b'gad!"
At this moment the smiling person reappeared at a different door,
and uttered the words:
"Captain Slingsby,--if _you_ please." Hereupon the Captain visibly
braced himself, squared his shoulders, took off his hat, crossed the
room in a couple of strides, and Barnabas was alone.
Now as he sat there waiting, he gradually became aware of a sound
that stole upon the quiet, a soft, low sound, exactly what he could
not define, nevertheless it greatly perturbed him. Therefore he rose,
and approaching that part of the room whence it proceeded, he saw
another door. And then, all at once, as he stood before this door,
he knew what the sound was, and why it had so distressed him; and,
even as the knowledge came, he opened the door and stepped into the
room beyond.
And this is what he saw:
A bare little room, or office; the pale, smiling gentleman, who
lounged in a cushioned chair, a comb in one hand, and in the other a
small pocket mirror, by the aid of which he was attending to a
diminutive tuft of flaxen whisker; and a woman, in threadbare
garments, who crouched upon a bench beside the opposite wall, her
face bowed upon her hands, her whole frame shaken by great,
heart-broken, gasping sobs,--a sound full of misery, and of
desolation unutterable.
At the opening of the door, the pale gentleman started and turned,
and the woman looked up with eyes swollen and inflamed by weeping.
"Sir," said the pale gentleman, speaking softly, yet in the tone of
one used to command, "may I ask what this intrusion means?" Now as
he looked into the speaker's pallid eyes, Barnabas saw that he was
much older than he had thought. He had laid aside the comb and mirror,
and now rose in a leisurely manner, and his smile was more
unpleasant than ever as he faced Barnabas.
"This place is private, sir--you understand, private, sir. May I
suggest that you--go, that you--leave us?" As he uttered the last
two words, he thrust out his head and jaw in a very ugly manner,
therefore Barnabas turned and addressed himself to the woman.
"Pray, madam," said he, "tell me your trouble; what is the matter?"
But the woman only wrung her hands together, and stared with great,
frightened eyes at the colorless man, who now advanced, smiling still,
and tapped Barnabas smartly on the shoulder.
"The trouble is her own, sir, the matter is--entirely a private one,"
said he, fixing Barnabas with his pale stare, "I repeat, sir,--a
private one. May I, therefore, suggest that you withdraw--at once?"
"As often as you please, sir," retorted Barnabas,
bowing.
"Ah!" sighed the man, thrusting out his head again, "and what do you
want--here?"
"First, is your name Jasper Gaunt?"
"No; but it is as well known as his--better to a great many."
"And your name is--?"
"Quigly."
"Then, Mr. Quigly, pray be seated while I learn this poor creature's
sorrow."
"I think--yes, I think you'd better go," said Mr. Quigly,--"ah,
yes--and at once, or--"
"Or?" said Barnabas, smiling and clenching his fists.
"Or it will be the worse--for you--"
"Yes?"
"And for your friend the Captain."
"Yes?"
"And you will give this woman more reason for her tears!"
Then, looking from the pale, threatening eyes, and smiling lips of
the man, to the trembling fear of the weeping woman, and remembering
Slingsby's deathly cheek and shaking hand, a sudden, great anger
came upon Barnabas; his long arm shot out and, pinning Mr. Quigly by
the cravat, he shook him to and fro in a paroxysm of fury. Twice he
raised his cane to strike, twice he lowered it, and finally loosing
his grip, Mr. Quigly staggered back to the opposite wall, and leaned
there, panting.
Hereupon Barnabas, somewhat shocked at his own loss of self-restraint,
re-settled his cuff, straightened his cravat, and, when he spoke,
was more polite than ever.
"Mr. Quigly, pray sit down," said he; "I have no wish to thrash you,--it
would be a pity to spoil my cane, so--oblige me by sitting down."
Mr. Quigly opened his mouth as if to speak, but, glancing at Barnabas,
thought better of it; yet his eyes grew so pale that they seemed all
whites as he sank into the chair.
"And now," said Barnabas, turning to the crouching woman, "I don't
think Mr. Quigly will interrupt us again, you may freely tell your
trouble--if you will."
"Oh, sir,--it's my husband! He's been in prison a whole year, and
now--now he's dying--they've killed him. It was fifty pounds a year
ago. I saved, and scraped, and worked day and night, and a month
ago--I brought the fifty pounds. But then--Oh, my God!--then they
told me I must find twenty more--interest, they called it. Twenty
pounds! why, it would take me months and months to earn so much,
--and my husband was dying!--dying! But, sir, I went away despairing.
Then I grew wild,--desperate--yes, desperate--oh, believe it, sir,
and I,--I--Ah, sir--what won't a desperate woman do for one she loves?
And so I--trod shameful ways! To-day I brought the twenty pounds,
and now--dear God! now they say it must be twenty-three. Three
pounds more, and I have no more--and I can't--Oh, I--can't go back
to it again--the shame and horror--I--can't, sir!" So she covered
her face again, and shook with the bitter passion of her woe.
And, after a while, Barnabas found voice, though his voice was very
hoarse and uneven.
"I think," said he slowly, "yes, I think my cane could not have a
worthier end than splintering on your villain's back, Mr. Quigly."
But, even as Barnabas advanced with very evident purpose, a tall
figure stood framed in the open doorway.
"Ah, Quigly,--pray what is all this?" a chill, incisive voice
demanded. Barnabas turned, and lowering the cane, stood looking
curiously at the speaker. A tall, slender man he was, with a face
that might have been any age,--a mask-like face, smooth and long,
and devoid of hair as it was of wrinkles; an arresting face, with
its curving nostrils, thin-lipped, close-shut mouth, high, prominent
brow, and small, piercingly-bright eyes; quick eyes, that glinted
between their red-rimmed, hairless lids, old in their experience of
men and the ways of men. For the rest, he was clad in a rich yet
sober habit, unrelieved by any color save for the gleaming seals at
his fob, and the snowy lace at throat and wrist; his hair--evidently
a wig--curled low on either cheek, and his hands were well cared for,
with long, prehensile fingers.
"You are Jasper Gaunt, I think?" said Barnabas at last.
"At your service, sir, and you, I know, are Mr. Barnabas Beverley."
So they stood, fronting each other, the Youth, unconquered as yet,
and therefore indomitable, and the Man, with glittering eyes old in
their experience of men and the ways of men.
"You wished to see me on a matter of business, Mr. Beverley?"
"Yes."
"Then pray step this way."
"No," said Barnabas, "first I require your signature to this lady's
papers."
Jasper Gaunt smiled, and shrugged his shoulders slightly.
"Such clients as this, sir,--I leave entirely to Mr. Quigly."
"Then, in this instance, sir, you will perhaps favor me by giving
the matter your personal attention!"
Jasper Gaunt hesitated, observed the glowing eye, flushed cheek,
and firm-set lips of the speaker, and being wise in men and their
ways,--bowed.
"To oblige you, Mr. Beverley, with pleasure. Though I understand
from Mr. Quigly that she is unable to meet--"
"Seventy-eight pounds, sir! She can pay it all--every blood-stained,
tear-soaked farthing. She should meet it were it double--treble the
sum!" said Barnabas, opening his purse.
"Ah, indeed, I see! I see!" nodded Jasper Gaunt. "Take the money,
Quigly, I will make out the receipt. If you desire, you shall see me
sign it, Mr. Beverley." So saying, he crossed to the desk, wrote the
document, and handed it to Barnabas, with a bow that was almost
ironical.
Then Barnabas gave the precious paper into the woman's eager fingers,
and looked down into the woman's shining eyes.
"Sir," said she between trembling lips, "I cannot thank you,--I--I
cannot. But God sees, and He will surely repay."
"Indeed," stammered Barnabas, "I--it was only three pounds, after all,
and--there,--go,--hurry away to your husband, and--ah! that reminds
me,--he will want help, perhaps!" Here Barnabas took out his card,
and thrust it into her hand. "Take that to my house, ask to see my
Steward, Mr. Peterby,--stay, I'll write the name for you, he will
look after you, and--good-by!"
"It is a truly pleasant thing to meet with heartfelt gratitude, sir,"
said Jasper Gaunt, as the door closed behind the woman. "And now I
am entirely at your service,--this way, sir."
Forthwith Barnabas followed him into another room, where sat the
Captain, his long legs stretched out before him, his chin on his
breast, staring away at vacancy.
"Sir," said Jasper Gaunt, glancing from Barnabas to the Captain and
back again, "he will not trouble us, I think, but if you wish him to
withdraw--?"
"Thank you--no," answered Barnabas, "Captain Slingsby is my friend!"
Jasper Gaunt bowed, and seated himself at his desk opposite Barnabas.
His face was in shadow, for the blind had been half-drawn to exclude
the glare of the afternoon sun, and he sat, or rather lolled, in a
low, deeply cushioned chair, studying Barnabas with his eyes that
were so bright and so very knowing in the ways of mankind; very
still he sat, and very quiet, waiting for Barnabas to begin. Now on
the wall, immediately behind him, was a long, keen-bladed dagger,
that glittered evilly where the light caught it; and as he sat there
so very quiet and still, with his face in the shadow, it seemed to
Barnabas as though he lolled there dead, with the dagger smitten
sideways through his throat, and in that moment Barnabas fancied he
could hear the deliberate tick-tock of the wizen-faced clock upon
the stairs.
"I have come," began Barnabas at last, withdrawing his eyes from the
glittering steel with an effort, "I am here on behalf of one--in
whom I take an interest--a great interest."
"Yes, Mr. Beverley?"
"I have undertaken to--liquidate his debts."
"Yes, Mr. Beverley."
"To pay--whatever he may owe, both principal and interest."
"Indeed, Mr. Beverley! And--his name?"
"His name is Ronald Barrymaine."
"Ronald--Barrymaine!" There was a pause between the words, and the
smooth, soft voice had suddenly grown so harsh, so deep and vibrant,
that it seemed incredible the words could have proceeded from the
lips of the motionless figure lolling in the chair with his face in
the shadow and the knife glittering behind him.
"I have made out to you a draft for more than enough, as I judge, to
cover Mr. Barrymaine's liabilities."
"For how much, sir?"
"Twenty-two thousand pounds."
Then Jasper Gaunt stirred, sighed, and leaned forward in his chair.
"A handsome sum, sir,--a very handsome sum, but--" and he smiled and
shook his head.
"Pray what do you mean by 'but'?" demanded Barnabas.
"That the sum is--inadequate, sir."
"Twenty-two thousand pounds is not enough then?"
"It is--not enough, Mr. Beverley."
"Then, if you will tell me the precise amount, I will make up the
deficiency." But, here again, Jasper Gaunt smiled his slow smile and
shook his head.
"That, I grieve to say, is quite impossible, Mr. Beverley."
"Why?"
"Because I make it a rule never to divulge my clients' affairs to a
third party; and, sir,--I never break my rules."
"Then--you refuse to tell me?"
"It is--quite impossible."
So there fell a silence while the wide, fearless eyes of Youth
looked into the narrow, watchful eyes of Experience. Then Barnabas
rose, and began to pace to and fro across the luxurious carpet; he
walked with his head bent, and the hands behind his back were
tightly clenched. Suddenly he stopped, and throwing up his head faced
Jasper Gaunt, who sat lolling back in his chair again.
"I have heard," said he, "that this sum was twenty thousand pounds,
but, as you say, it may be more,--a few pounds more, or a few
hundreds more."
"Precisely, Mr. Beverley."
"I am, therefore, going to make you an offer--"
"Which I must--refuse."
"And my offer is this: instead of twenty thousand pounds I will
double the sum."
Jasper Gaunt's lolling figure grew slowly rigid, and leaning across
the desk, he stared up at Barnabas under his hairless brows. Even
Captain Slingsby stirred and lifted his heavy head.
"Forty thousand pounds!" said Jasper Gaunt, speaking almost in a
whisper.
"Yes," said Barnabas, and sitting down, he folded his arms a little
ostentatiously. Jasper Gaunt's head drooped, and he stared down at
the papers on the desk before him, nor did he move, only his long,
white fingers began to tap softly upon his chair-arms, one after the
other.
"I will pay you forty thousand pounds," said Barnabas. Then, all in
one movement as it seemed, Gaunt had risen and turned to the window,
and stood there awhile with his back to the room.
"Well?" inquired Barnabas at last.
"I--cannot, sir."
"You mean--will not!" said Barnabas, clenching his fists.
"Cannot, sir." As Gaunt turned, Barnabas rose and approached him
until barely a yard separated them, until he could look into the
eyes that glittered between their hairless lids, very like the
cruel-looking dagger on the wall.
"Very well," said Barnabas, "then I'll treble it. I'll pay you sixty
thousand pounds! What do you say? Come--speak!" But now, the eyes so
keen and sharp to read men and the ways of men wavered and fell
before the indomitable steadfastness of unconquered Youth; the long,
white hands beneath their ruffles seemed to writhe with griping,
contorted fingers, while upon his temple was something that
glittered a moment, rolled down his cheek, and so was gone.
"Speak!" said Barnabas.
Yet still no answer came, only Jasper Gaunt sank down in his chair
with his elbows on the desk, his long, white face clasped between
his long, white hands, staring into vacancy; but now his smooth brow
was furrowed, his narrow eyes were narrower yet, and his thin lips
moved as though he had whispered to himself "sixty thousand pounds!"
"Sir,--for the last time--do you accept?" demanded Barnabas.
Without glancing up, or even altering the direction of his vacant
stare, and with his face still framed between his hands, Jasper
Gaunt shook his head from side to side, once, twice, and thrice; a
gesture there was no mistaking.
Then Barnabas fell back a step, with clenched fist upraised, but in
that moment the Captain was before him and had caught his arm.
"By Gad, Beverley!" he exclaimed in a shaken voice, "are you mad?"
"No," said Barnabas, "but I came here to buy those bills, and buy
them I will! If trebling it isn't enough, then--"
"Ah!" cried Slingsby, pointing to the usurer's distorted face,
"can't you see? Don't you guess? He can't sell! No money-lender of
'em all could resist such an offer. I tell you he daren't sell, the
bills aren't his! Come away--"
"Not his!" cried Barnabas, "then whose?"
"God knows! But it's true,--look at him!"
"Tell me," cried Barnabas, striving to see Gaunt's averted eyes,
"tell me who holds these bills,--if you have one spark of
generosity--tell me!"
But Jasper Gaunt gave no sign, only the writhing fingers crept
across his face, over staring eyes and twitching lips.
So, presently, Barnabas suffered Captain Slingsby to lead him from
the room, and down the somewhat dark and winding stair, past the
wizen-faced clock, out into the street already full of the glow of
evening.
"It's a wonder to me," said the Captain, "yes, it's a great wonder
to me, that nobody has happened to kill Gaunt before now."
So the Captain frowned, sighed, and climbed up to his seat. But,
when Barnabas would have followed, Billy Button touched him on the
arm.
"Oh, Barnaby!" said he, "oh, Barnaby Bright, look--the day is dying,
the shadows are coming,--in a little while it will be night. But, oh
Youth, alas! alas! I can see the shadows have touched you already!"
And so, with a quick upflung glance at the dismal house, he turned,
waved his hand, and sped away on noiseless feet, and so was gone.