Though living but an hour, by rail, from London, General Harding rarely
visited the metropolis more than once a year. Once, however, it was his
custom to go--less to keep up his acquaintance with the great world,
than with his old Indian associates met at the "Oriental." He would
stay at some hotel for a couple of weeks--spending most of his time in
the streets or at the club--and then return to his retirement among the
Chilterns, with _souvenirs_ sufficient to last him for the remainder of
the year. During this annual sojourn in the city, he did not waste his
time in mere gossiping with his ancient comrades in arms. He gave some
portion of it to the management of affairs connected with his estate;
which, of course, included a call upon his solicitors in Lincoln's Inn
Fields. The time of his annual visit to the metropolis was in the
"season," when all London, and a goodly number of its "country cousins"
are in town. The "House" is then sitting, concerts are the rage, and
the "Row" affords its varied attractions. It was not any of these
allurements, however, that called the old Indian officer from his
country seat; but simply because he would then meet, men in London who,
like himself, could not be encountered there at any other period of the
year.
It was on one of the earliest days of the London season, when the
dark-visaged messenger--who declared himself to have come from the
dominions of the Pope--had made his appearance at Beechwood Park; and a
few days later General Harding made his annual trip to London. This
visit to the metropolis had nothing to do with the strange communication
he had received through that very strange individual. It remained in
his mind only from the painful impression it had made. He grieved that
his son could be capable of practising such deception. Otherwise he
thought very little about the matter, or, if so, it was not with a
belief that there was any truth in the story about brigands. He
believed it to be a very skilful concoction; and it was this that gave
him pain--revealing on the part of his son a singular talent for
chicanery.
How Henry had spent his time during the twelve months that had elapsed
he had not the slightest idea. He had not heard a word of him, or from
him. He had written once to his solicitor to make an inquiry; but it
was simply whether the lawyer had seen him. The answer had been "Yes."
Henry Harding had called at the solicitor's office, some twelve months
before. There was nothing said about the payment of the thousand
pounds; for the question had not been asked in the General's letter; and
the formal old lawyer, habituated to laconic exactness, had limited the
terms of his response to such inquiries as had been made.
Henry, in his parting letter, had spoken of going abroad. This would to
some extent account for his not being heard of in London; and there was
no reason why he should not find his way to Rome, or any other
Continental capital. The General had the idea that it would serve him
for a tour of travel, and, perhaps, keep him out of worse company at
home. He would have been satisfied enough to hear of his son being in
Rome, but for the contents of that strange letter that brought the
information. In it there was proof that, if not actually in the hands
of brigands, he had fallen into company almost, if not altogether, as
bad.
Such were the reflections of the General as he meandered through the
streets of the metropolis; reminded of his son's existence only by
knowing that he had been there; but not with any expectation of meeting
him. Henry, he no longer doubted, was in the city of Rome, and not
among the Neapolitan mountains, as the letter alleged. The supposed
falsehood also much embittered his father's remembrance of him.
After having made the rounds of the clubs, the General, as usual, called
on his solicitors--"Lawson and Son," Lincoln's Inn Fields.
"Have you heard anything of my son since I last wrote you?" he asked.
The question was put after his other business had been transacted.
"No," said Lawson the elder, to whom the inquiry was directed, Lawson
the younger having gone out of the way.
"I have had a singular letter from him--there it is--you are at liberty
to read it; you may put it among my papers. It's a document that has a
good deal grieved me. I don't wish it lying in my own desk."
Mr Lawson adjusted his spectacles; and perused the epistle that had
been dictated by the brigand chief.
"This _is_ strange, General! How did it reach you?" he asked on
finishing. "There does not appear to be a postmark."
"That is perhaps the strangest part of it; it came _by hand_, and was
delivered to me in my own house."
"By whom?"
"An odd-looking creature of a Jew, or Italian, or something of the kind.
He proclaimed himself to be one of your own craft, Mr Lawson. A
_procuratore_, he said; which I believe in the Italian lingo means an
attorney, or solicitor."
"What answer did you send your son?"
"I sent no answer at all; I didn't believe a word of what was in the
letter. I saw, and so did my son Nigel, that it was a scheme to extract
money. Nigel, I believe, answered it."
"Ah! your son Nigel answered this letter. What did he write, General?
You will excuse me for asking the question."
"Of course, I'll excuse you. But I can't tell you for all that. I
don't know what was in my eldest son's letter; something, I think, to
the effect, that I saw through his deception, and also a word to
reproach him for the attempt at playing such a trick upon his own
father. Nigel thought this might have some effect on him--perhaps shame
him, if there is any shame left; though I fear, poor fellow, he has
fallen into bad hands, and it will take a more severe lesson to reclaim
him."
"You don't believe, then, that he has fallen into the hands of
brigands?"
"Brigands! Bah! Surely, Mr Lawson, you're not serious in thinking
such a thing possible--with your experience?"
"It's just my experience, General, that suggests not only its
_possibility_, but its _probability_. It is now some years since,
during one of my vacations, I made what is usually called the Italian
tour. I learnt, while in Italy, some strange facts about the bandits of
Naples and Rome. I could not have believed what I heard, but for a
circumstantial testimony almost equal to the evidence of my own eyes.
It was about a gentleman having fallen into their clutches, and who had
to pay ransom to get clear. Indeed, it was by the merest accident I
escaped myself being taken prisoner at the same time. I owed the
immunity to the lucky break-down of a post-chaise, in which I was
travelling over the horrid roads of the Romagna. The trouble caused my
return to Rome; whereas, had I gone five miles farther, the house of
Lawson and Son, Lincoln's Inn Fields, might have had to pay ransom for
my person--just as this that is now demanded for that of your son."
"Demanded for my son! Pooh! pooh! Demanded _by_ my son, you mean!"
"I do not believe it, General. I am sorry to say I have reason to
differ with you."
"But I do believe it. I have not told you how he left home--in a `huff'
about a girl he wanted to get married to. I was determined he
shouldn't, and made use of a trick to prevent it. I shall some day tell
you of this trick. It deceived a very tricky party--a pair of them for
that matter. It was then I wrote to you to give him the _thousand
pounds_. He's spent it, I suppose, upon idle vagabonds like himself,
who have put him up to this thing to get money. It's a cunning scheme,
but it won't succeed."
"Wrote to me to give him a thousand pounds!" exclaimed the old
solicitor, half starting from his chair, and pulling the spectacles from
his nose. "What do you mean, General Harding?"
"What _should_ I mean, Mr Lawson? I mean the thousand pounds I
directed you to draw from the bank, and pay over to my son Henry,
whenever he should call for it."
"When?"
"When! About twelve months ago. Let me see. Yes. Just twelve months
ago. It was only a week or so after I saw you on my last visit to
London. You told me in your letter, that he had been to your office
about that time."
"I did, and so he had--twice, I think, he called--but not to receive a
thousand pounds, or money of any amount. He did not ask for it. If I
remember aright, he only called to inquire if there was any message sent
him by you. I did not see him myself--my head clerk did. He can tell
what passed with your son. Shall I summon him?"
"Do so," said the General, almost beside himself with astonishment.
"Damme! it's very strange--very strange, damme!"
A hand-bell was touched, and in an instant the head clerk came into the
room.
"Jennings," said the solicitor, "do you remember General Harding's son--
his younger son, Henry--you know him, I believe--having called here
about twelve months ago?"
"Oh, yes!" responded the clerk; "I remember it very well. It is just
twelve months ago. I can find the entry if you wish. He called twice--
the second time a day or two after the first. Both visits were entered
in the `call book.'"
"Bring in the call book," commanded Mr Lawson.
The clerk hurried off into the front office, leaving General Harding
once more alone with his solicitor.