Rather a curious state of things prevailed in Mrs. Lamb's residence in Connaught Square. The largest and best regulated establishments are apt to be disorganised when festival has been kept the night before--that is true enough. But in this case the disorganisation was something altogether out of the common. Mr. Lamb, who never attended his wife's receptions, and so pleased himself and the lady, had come home with the milk, just sober enough to wonder why the place was in such a state of singular confusion. The servants seemed to be occupying the reception rooms, enjoying themselves in a fashion in which servants are not supposed to do. He had a vague recollection of having a drink with a footman or some such menial while endeavouring to ascertain what was the meaning of the proceedings, and of pledging a housemaid's health in what he was convinced was a glass of his wife's champagne. But as, later, he was only too glad to be assisted upstairs by any one and every one, his memory of what took place was scarcely to be relied upon.
His wife had shut herself in her room, constraining her guests to take their departure without affording them an opportunity of saying good-bye to their hostess, and offering her their thanks for a very pleasant evening. Exactly what occurred behind that locked door she alone knew. When her senses returned she was still in her splendour of the previous night. She half lay, half sat, upon her boudoir floor, with her head upon a couch. A broken wine-glass was at her side. A decanter which had held ether was overturned on a buhl table. The day streamed through the windows.
It was some seconds before she recognised these facts. Then she rose to her feet and looked about her. The first thing she did was to go to the boudoir door and try if it was locked. When she found that it was, and that the key was nicely adjusted in the keyhole, so as to prevent any one peeping in from without, she strode through another door, which stood ajar, into her bedroom, which adjoined. She tried the outer door of that, to find that it also was locked. She glanced at a silver clock which stood upon the mantelpiece. According to it the time was twenty minutes to one, so that more than half of the day had already gone. Then she went to a cheval glass, which mirrored her from head to foot, and glanced at herself.
What she saw seemed to afford her a grim sort of amusement. Her hair was all in disorder, one long tress trailed down her neck. Her eyes were dull and heavy. Her cheeks were smeared; such "aids to beauty" as she patronised had become misplaced. Her gown was all creased and crumpled; a stain straggled right across the bodice. In a few curt words she recognised the situation so far as the dress was concerned.
"That's done for."
It looked as if it were, it might have been worn twenty times instead of only once. She removed her jewels--her bracelets from her wrists, rings from her fingers, her necklace, ornaments from her hair. When they were all off she took them in her hands and stared at them.
"At any rate, you're worth money. I daresay I could get something on you if I tried, though perhaps not so much as some might think."
She tossed them on to the dressing-table with a mirthless laugh. Disrobing herself, donning her nightdress, she ensconced herself between the sheets. There she tossed and tumbled about in such a fashion that one was almost disposed to suspect her of indulging in some new form of physical exercise. When she had got the bed into a condition which suggested that it had been occupied throughout the entire night by some peculiarly restless person, ceasing to turn and twist, for some minutes she lay quite still, as if she listened.
"Those servants of mine don't seem to be making much noise; there aren't many sounds of their moving about the house. I should like to know where Stephanie is; she ought to have woke me long before this."
Stretching out her arm she pressed the electric button which was by her bedside--once, twice, thrice, indeed half-a-dozen times, on each occasion for an unusual length of time, and with a fair interval between each pressure. Nothing, however, transpired to show that she had rung at all, certainly no one answered her summons. As she began to realise that apparently she was not meeting with attention of any sort or kind, her temper did not improve. She kept up a continuous ringing; still no one answered, nor was there aught to show that there was any that heard. She began to be concerned.
"Has every one taken French leave, and am I alone in the house? What's it mean?"
She kept her finger on the button for another good five minutes, then she decided that the moment had arrived when it would probably be desirable that she should make some inquiries on her own account. Rising, she put on some clothes, over them a dressing-gown. Then, unlocking the bedroom door, she went out on to the landing. Nothing could be heard. She descended to the floor below, on which were the drawing-rooms. No attempt to tidy them had been made since the guests departed; they were in a state of almost picturesque confusion. Not even the electric lights had been turned off; they were blazing away as merrily as if it were still the middle of the night. The apartments contained certain articles which, as refreshments were provided in the dining-room, could scarcely have been there when the guests retired. Bottles and glasses were everywhere--all kinds of bottles and all kinds of glasses, indeed Mrs. Lamb had nearly stumbled over what looked like an empty brandy bottle as she came out of her bedroom door. To Mrs. Lamb the sight of those various empty receptacles was pregnant with meaning.
"The beauties! I suppose they're sleeping it off. They shall smart for this, every one of them."
She turned towards the staircase which led to the servants' quarters, with the intention, no doubt, of making them smart, when she encountered one of them. An unkempt, untidy figure, clad in a nondescript costume, consisting of checked tweed trousers, carpet slippers, dress-coat and waistcoat, crumpled shirt and collar and no necktie, came strolling leisurely down the stairs as Mrs. Lamb was about to ascend them. It was James Cottrell, the butler, in general, so far as appearances went, the most immaculate of beings. His mistress stared at him in not unnatural surprise.
"Cottrell!--you!--in that state!--at this time of day!--why, you're not even dressed."
So far from showing any signs of being ashamed or disconcerted, Mr. Cottrell's manner was not only self-possessed, it was affability itself. Thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets, he tilted himself on his heels, till his legs touched the stair behind, and he smiled.
"No, Mrs. Lamb, I am not dressed--that is, my costume is not in that perfect state of completeness which I prefer. It is not my habit to make personal remarks, but since we are on the subject, I may observe that you're not dressed either. I shouldn't call that dressing-gown full dress--would you? Your hair don't look--to me--as if it had been done for days, and you really must excuse my mentioning that your complexion seems to have got itself all mixed up anyhow."
"Cottrell, you're drunk; how dare you speak to me like that?"
"No, Mrs. Lamb, I am not drunk; I do assure you that I am at least as sober as you are. If you want to know what drink can do for a man, I recommend you to go and look at your husband--there is a drunkard, if you like; he's like a perambulating sponge. Last night it took six of us to get him upstairs; that man ought to be black-listed. As for daring to speak to you, Mrs. Lamb, there may be some folks whom you inspire with awe, but you don't inspire me with any."
"Don't you think I'll let you speak to me like that, although you are a man and I'm a woman. You'll leave my service at once--and without a character."
"As for a character, any character which you might give me, Mrs. Lamb, would, in all human probability, do me more harm than good. It will be my constant endeavour to conceal the fact that I ever occupied a position in your establishment; it might do me a serious injury were it to become known. As to leaving your service, I shall be only too glad to do so inside sixty seconds; only there's a little formality which I should like to have completed before I go. I should like to have my overdue wages, Mrs. Lamb. They are more than three months overdue, and I should like to see the colour of my money, Mrs. Lamb."
"You shall have your wages; you needn't be afraid."
"Thank you; that is good news. Because, to be quite frank, I was beginning to be afraid--in fact, we all were."
"You impertinent brute! Where are those other creatures?"
"Other creatures? You refer to my colleagues, male and female? We are all of us creatures, Mrs. Lamb--including you. I believe that two or three of them have already quitted your service, including the young Frenchwoman who was supposed to be your own particular maid. She said that she never bargained to wait on a woman of your class, so she's gone. I noticed two young women in the kitchen when I was down there just now. They seemed to be in a more or less tearful condition. Poor wretches! perhaps they never expected to find themselves in such a place as this. As for the rest of my colleagues, I fancy they are still in bed. I do not doubt that if you take them their overdue wages they'll get up, and get out of the house also, as quickly as you like. I imagine they'll be only too glad of the chance."
Mrs. Lamb looked at Mr. Cottrell as if she were meditating measures of a distinctly active kind. Although he might not have been conscious of it, for some seconds he stood in imminent peril of realising that, at least physically, his mistress was more than a match for the average man. But, apparently, after thinking things over she changed her mind and postponed hostilities.
"You shall be paid for this, my man--they all shall--just wait a bit." She moved, as if to return to her bedroom, then paused. "There's some one at the door."
There did seem to be some one at the front door, some one who saluted with equal vigour both the bell and the knocker. Mr. Cottrell was philosophical.
"Ah! there's been one or two already this morning. You've perhaps been in such a queer state yourself that you didn't hear them, though they made noise enough; but there have been several visitors. Jones the fishmonger wants his little account, and Franks the butcher wants his, and Murphy the greengrocer, and the baker, and the grocer, and the milkman, and, I think, the laundry, and three or four more besides. They all want their little accounts--good big ones some of them are. I peeped through the dining-room window, but I didn't notice just who was there, and I didn't open to them either. I've had about enough of opening to those kind of people; they won't go round to the side entrance, and it's no use asking them to. But that sounds as if it was the landlord come to put the brokers in for rent. A landlord always thinks himself entitled to make as much noise as he likes at his own front door."
Some one seemed to consider himself at liberty to make as much clatter as he liked.
"Cottrell, go down at once and see who is at the door."
"Wouldn't you like to go and see yourself, Mrs. Lamb?"
"If you don't obey my orders and go at once I'll throw you out of the house with my own hands, and you shall whistle for your wages."
"Like this? Do I look as if I were in a fit state of attire to open the door of even such a lady as yourself, Mrs. Lamb?"
"Are you going?"
The lady mounted two or three steps; there was something so significant in her manner that Mr. Cottrell temporised.
"I shall be only too happy to open the door as I am!--if you will allow me to pass." She allowed him, and he passed, firing a passing shot as he went. "You must understand that I intend to be perfectly frank with whoever's there--perfectly frank, and truthful. I have had more than sufficient of telling lies on your account, Mrs. Lamb." At this point, throwing the hall-door wide open, he addressed some unseen individuals who were without in tones which were perhaps unnecessarily loud. "If any of you people want money--and by the look of you I can see you do--it's no use your asking me, and so I may tell you at once, because I want money too, and from the same person, and that's Mrs. Lamb; and as Mrs. Lamb happens to be standing at this moment at the top of the staircase, in her dressing-gown and with her hair all over the place, perhaps you'll step in right away, and just say to her what you've got to say. Well, sir, and what might you happen to be wanting? Oh, it's Mr. Luker, is it? May I ask, sir, what you mean by pushing me about as if I was a mechanical toy?"
It was indeed Mr. Isaac Luker, who had come into the hall with complete disregard of the fact that Mr. Cottrell was standing in the doorway. Being in, the visitor regarded the voluble butler with characteristic impassivity. Then, stretching out the forefinger of his right hand, he tapped at the centre of Mr. Cottrell's crumpled shirt-front, and he delivered himself thus:--
"My advice to you is to put your head under the pump if there is one, and under the tap if there isn't, and let the water run for a good half-hour, for a complaint like yours it's the best medicine you can possibly have".
It seemed that Mr. Cottrell was so taken aback by the proffer of this very handsome advice that for a moment or two he was at a loss for a retort; before he found one his mistress had interposed.
"Luker, come up here!"
Mr. Luker looked at the lady at the head of the staircase, at Mr. Cottrell, at the invisible persons who still remained without. He seemed to hesitate, as if in doubt whether or not to take a hand in the game just where he was; then, arriving at a sudden resolution, he did as the lady requested: he went upstairs, followed by the retort which Mr. Cottrell had found at last.
"Perhaps if you were to try a little of that medicine you recommend on your own account it mightn't do you any harm."
The observation went unheeded. Mr. Luker was captured by the lady the moment he reached the topmost stair. She pointed to the flight in front.
"Up you go!" Up he went, with her at his heels. On the next landing she called his attention to the open bedroom door. "In you go." Perceiving what the apartment was he favoured her with what he perhaps meant for a whimsical glance, and in he went. "Go straight through into the next room--that's my boudoir." He went straight through, and she also. Closing the door of her bedroom she stood with her back to it, putting to him a question almost as if she were aiming a pistol at his head. "Have you brought that money?"
Mr. Luker did not at once give her the answer she so imperatively demanded. Instead, holding his ancient top-hat in front of him as if it were some precious possession, he ventured on a remark of his own.
"Things seem a little at sixes and sevens; they almost suggest that domestic relations are a trifle strained. That man who calls himself a butler is not behaving as if he were a butler; and I regret to notice something about the establishment which one hardly expects to find in a lady's high-class mansion."
"Cottrell's going--at once. All the servants are going--lot of drunken brutes! I'm only waiting for the money to pay them their wages."
"Oh, I see. And--those other persons on the doorstep, do they want money also?"
"I don't know who's there, and I don't care; but I daresay every one wants money. I do! Did you hear me ask if you've brought that money I told you to bring?"
"To what money are you alluding?"
"You know very well! None of your fooling! Have you brought that ten thousand pounds?"
"Ten thousand pounds!" He held up his hands, with his top-hat between them. "Ten thousand pounds! She speaks of that great sum as if it were a mere nothing!"
"Have you brought it?"
"I certainly have not."
"Then what have you brought?"
"I have brought--nothing."
"Look here, Luker, I'm in an ugly temper. You ought to know the signs of it as well as any man, so I advise you to take care. I told you you were to bring me ten thousand pounds. When I said it I meant it; why haven't you brought it?"
"My dear Isabel----"
"Haven't I told you not to call me that?"
"Very well; it's a matter of utter indifference to me what I call you--utter! I was merely about to remark that I have laid your proposition before my friend, and, as I anticipated, he has decided that he doesn't care to lend money except on adequate security."
"Adequate security! Don't you call a quarter of a million adequate security?"
"Certainly, if you had it, but you haven't. And you have nothing tangible to show that you ever will have, or any part of it."
"There are those Hardwood Company shares--ten thousand of them."
"You tell me that you are in an ugly temper, and I can perceive for myself that you are not so calm as I should wish, otherwise I should ask for permission to be quite frank with you."
"You had better be frank! Never you mind about my temper; it won't be improved by your shuffling. Out with what you've got to say!"
"Remember, it will only be said at your express invitation."
"Do you hear? Out with it!"
"Then briefly and plainly it's this: If you were anybody else it's possible that money--some money--might be got on your expectation of the Hardwood Company's shares, but, as things are, it's out of the question."
"Why? What's the matter with my being me?"
"A good deal, as you're as well aware as I am. In a matter of this sort it's character which tells, and, unfortunately--I say it with deep sorrow!--your character's against you."
"What's my character got to do with a thing of this kind?"
"Everything. Suppose my friend were to advance you money upon your expectation of these shares, from your point of view you'd have him between your finger and thumb, and you'd keep him there."
"How do you make that out?"
"The process of extracting compensation from Messrs. McTavish & Brown would be, at best, both a lengthy and a tiresome one, one, moreover, in which not a step could be taken without your active assistance. You'd find that out, and you'd say, 'If you won't let me have so much more I won't move a finger, then you'll lose all that you've advanced already'. And you'd mould your conduct on those lines to the bitter end--my friend might find it a very bitter end. That would not suit him at all."
"You----! I've half a mind to kill you!"
"Keep it at half a mind; many of my friends and clients have found it wiser to stop right there."
"Then do you mean to tell me that I can't get money out of any one--anyhow?"
"Not at all; money can always be obtained upon security. You have personal property--the furniture of this house, jewels, and so on."
"What I might get out of that sort of thing would be gone before I got it."
"Then you might get money out of Messrs. McTavish & Brown."
"You've told me over and over again that it would take no end of a time to do that. I can't wait; I want money--a lot of it!--now."
"There's such a thing as compromise."
"Compromise? What do you mean?"
"If you insist on receiving the full amount of your demand, no doubt Messrs. McTavish & Brown will keep you waiting as long as they can--if you ever succeed in getting it at all. But, supposing you agree to accept half----"
"Or three-quarters."
"Or three-quarters. The major sum might be mentioned first; but, if time is of importance, I should advise you to allow yourself to be persuaded to accept half, or even a trifle less, and to give a full quittance for all claims, on condition, say, that the amount agreed upon is paid within four-and-twenty hours."
"They shall pay it!--I'll see to that! And then when I've got it I'll go at 'em for the rest."
"Ahem! I cannot allow myself to be associated with any such scheme as that."
"Can't you? We'll see! You stop where you are. I'll dress, and then you shall go with me to Messrs. McTavish & Brown as my legal adviser! and when I leave them I'll be richer than when I started, or they'll be sorry!" Mrs. Lamb passed into her bedroom, through the partially open door of which her voice proceeded: "Don't you go meddling with any of the things in there; I know exactly what there is, so don't you think I don't. If I suspected you of taking so much as a paper-knife, I'd have it out of you if I had to strip every rag of clothing off you to get at it."
Messrs. McTavish & Brown, solicitors, of Southampton Row, London, W.C., had a large, sound and lucrative family connection. They numbered among their clients several people of really excellent position, persons whose names ought to have been in theDoomsday Book, and were in Burke'sLanded Gentry, and in various other places in which one would desire one's name to be found. Among those names was that of Dykes--Lady Julia Dykes, relict of Sir Eastman Dykes, third baronet of Fennington Park, Essex. Sir Eastman had himself been one of the firm's clients, one whom they had every reason to value highly. His testamentary dispositions had been of such a kind that the administration of his estate had practically been left in the hands of Messrs. McTavish & Brown until the coming of age of his eldest son. A handsome income had been left to his well-beloved wife, together with the nominal guardianship of everything which once was his; actually, however, she did nothing of the slightest importance except with the cognisance and approval of the gentlemen in Southampton Row.
Lady Dykes was a lady of a certain age, and of almost more than a certain presence. She was one of those persons who are constitutionally prone to lean--metaphorically!--upon some one or something, and she leaned upon Messrs. McTavish & Brown rather more than they altogether cared for. She consulted them not only every week, but sometimes on each day of the week; often on matters which had no connection with the law, and had nothing to do with them either.
She had been known to ask their advice on the question of the retention or dismissal of a cook. On one memorable occasion she had actually written to them to learn if they thought that it would be becoming for her to attend a drawing-room in a scarlet satin gown. To make the matter worse, that letter was addressed to Mr. McTavish in person. As it was a standing joke with Mr. Brown, who allowed himself an indecorous latitude in matters of real importance, that her ladyship had matrimonial designs upon that well-seasoned bachelor, it was a painful moment to Mr. McTavish when he learned that she requested his advice upon what, to his thinking, was a matter of such singular delicacy.
On the afternoon on which Mrs. Gregory Lamb set out with Mr. Luker to visit Messrs. McTavish & Brown, Lady Dykes was paying one of her very numerous visits to her solicitors. She was closeted with both partners in Mr. McTavish's private room, the senior partner having insisted on summoning the junior to take part in the inevitable conference, he having an almost morbid disinclination to be left alone with her. McTavish had an uncomfortable feeling, however much he might try to hide the fact from Brown, that her ladyship was disposed to show herself much more friendly when he had no one to keep him in countenance. Had they dared, both men would have made it a general rule to put her off on to one of their managing clerks, but they had learned from experience that though the soul of generosity she was quick to take offence, and, therefore, if she would talk nonsense, all they could do was to make her pay for it--which they did.
The time had arrived for her eldest hope, Eastman, to take up his residence at the university. On the present occasion she had called to renew, for the fiftieth time, the interminable discussion as to what was the exact annual amount he was to be allowed while there, and what exactly he was to do with it.
"I am particularly anxious," she explained, as she had done over and over and over again (some ladies think that the more they repeat themselves the more emphatic they become--which is a mistake), "that he should not waste his money, and worse than waste his money, on what I cannot but consider, and every mother would consider--every mother who cares for her child (and how many mothers do!)--extremely undesirable connections. For instance"--she started on a little story which her legal advisers had heard from her lips more than a dozen times--"Mrs. Adams was telling me only a few weeks ago that her second son, Bernard, who is at Cambridge, at Caius College, or Trinity, or Keble, or St. John's--it's one or the other--I'm not sure which, though I know he's in some part of the building"--she always spoke of a university as if it consisted of one large building, though she must have known better--"has been lavishing--positively lavishing!--articles of various kinds, gifts, presents of every description, from bon-bons to gloves, and from shoes to ribbons, and I don't know what else beside--it seems he kept a list of them, I don't know why, and she found it--it made me dizzy to hear her merely read it through, it was that long!--upon, of all creatures in the world--it seems inconceivable, for I've known the boy from a baby, and so did Sir Eastman--but it was a young woman in a tobacconist's shop. Picture what his mother's feelings were; picture what mine would be if I made a similar discovery. If there is one rule to which I have adhered through life it is to allow no one connected with me to have anything to do with females of questionable antecedents. And a tobacconist shop! Am I not right?"
She looked directly at Mr. McTavish, who coughed, and answered--
"Certainly, Lady Dykes; quite right".
Mr. Brown said nothing; he looked the more.
"You yourselves, although of the opposite sex, know perfectly well how necessary it is to have such a rule. You would not have built up this great business were it not universally known that you invariably refuse to accept as clients persons--especially when they are of the feminine gender--who are not of the highest respectability. I myself should not be here at the present moment were I not assured that was the case--of course that you understand. You would no more allow a woman of a certain class to enter your private office, Mr. McTavish, than I should allow a navvy to enter my drawing-room."
It was perhaps a trifle unfortunate that Mrs. Gregory Lamb, attended by Mr. Isaac Luker, should have chosen that particular moment to introduce herself into the premises of Messrs. McTavish & Brown. On the road Mr. Luker had endeavoured to persuade the lady to leave the negotiations as much as possible in his hands, a suggestion which she had repudiated with scorn.
"If any one can play this sort of game better than I can, I've never met them. All you have to do is to chime in when I tell you. If I fail to jockey some coin out of them somehow, then it will be time for you to try your hand."
"I am not so sure of that. It occurs to me as at least possible that if you fail it won't be worth any one's while to take a hand."
It was not in consonance with the lady's plan of campaign to resort, throughout the entire proceedings, to any of the minor civilities of life. For instance she deemed it neither necessary nor advisable to announce her presence by knocking at the outer door. She simply swung it right back on to its hinges, and strode straight in, not with the lightest strides. In the outer office it was customary for visitors to mention who it was they wished to see, possibly, also, the nature of their business, and then wait in patience till it was intimated to them that they were at liberty to penetrate farther. No such formula was likely to suit Mrs. Lamb, for one reason if for no other. She was well aware that if the heads of the firm had their way nothing would induce them to suffer her to enter their presence. Indeed so soon as the clerks in the outer office recognised who it was, one of them, starting up, prepared to rush to his principals to warn them of her coming. But the lady was too quick for him. While he was already half-way through the farther door, the lady, catching him by the shoulder, swung him round in a fashion which was a sufficient testimony to the fact that her arm still retained at least a good deal of its pristine vigour. Before he had a chance to recover she was in the apartment which was reserved as a sanctum for the senior clerks, her appearance causing a sensation among those respectable elderly gentlemen, which was both ludicrous and surprising. The senior engrossing clerk, Mr. Riseley, was the only one among them who retained even a fragment of presence of mind. He endeavoured to interpose his person between the lady and the approach to Mr. McTavish's private sitting-room.
"Mrs. Lamb, what is the meaning of this behaviour? Such conduct is not to be endured; I must ask you to leave this room at once!"
"Get out of the way," was the only answer which Mrs. Lamb vouchsafed.
"I shall do nothing of the kind--certainly not; my duty to my employers forbids it. You can see neither Mr. McTavish nor Mr. Brown, they--they are both of them most particularly engaged."
Mrs. Lamb condescended to waste no more words on him. He was rather larger than the other clerk, so she used both arms, darting them out in front of her as if they were battering-rams, dashing her half-open palms against him with such force as to drive him against a neighbouring table, overturning both it and its proper occupant with a clatter on to the ground. Then she went rushing into the senior partner's holy of holies as if she had been some mad bull, crying "Come along, Luker," as she rushed.
Mr. Luker went along, not quite so demonstratively as she did, still, considering his build and the difference in his methods, he managed pretty well. Yet he did not move fast enough for his energetic client. As he was coming through the door, seizing him by the arm, she gave it a jerk which sent him whirling half across the room and his hat flying into a corner. The instant she was in she slammed the door behind her, snapped the lock, and pocketed the key.
As Lady Dykes had just been dwelling on her consciousness of the fact that under no consideration whatever would Messrs. McTavish & Brown allow doubtful female persons to set foot inside their offices, it was rather an unfortunate moment for her to make her entry. So both the partners decidedly seemed to think. As for Lady Dykes, she started from her chair with as much agility as her figure would permit, and stared at the intruder open-eyed.
"Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "Who is this person? and what does she want?"
Mr. Brown, having his wits about him, made for the second door (most lawyers have at least two entrances to their own particular preserves), observing as he moved--
"Lady Dykes, might I ask you to----"
He got no farther; Mrs. Lamb cut him short. Her wits were even more on the alert than his. Perceiving, on the instant, his objective, dashing after him, pushing him aside as if he were some insignificant thing, she gained the second door, banged it to, locked it, and pocketed that key also. Then, turning, she confronted her victims with a laugh which did not by any means ring pleasantly in their ears.
"It seems as if I had arrived in the very nick of time. I couldn't have bagged the pair of you more neatly if I'd had an appointment with you--could I?"
Lady Dykes, who was the most nervous of her sex, was trembling almost as if she were a species of human jelly-fish.
"Dear! dear!" she gasped. "Who is this person? and what does she want? Make her open the door at once, and let me out! My footman will be wondering what has become of me."
Mrs. Lamb favoured her with an answer--of a kind.
"I'll tell you who I am. I'm one of their clients! I'm one of the helpless, ignorant women whom they've robbed and plundered, but before all's finished they'll find that I'm not so helpless and ignorant as they thought. And I'll tell you what I want: I want back some of the money they've stolen, and before anybody leaves this room I'll have it. I've stood their shuffling long enough, but I won't stand it any longer, as I'm here to show them."
Mr. Brown, who still seemed to have most control over his tongue, addressed himself to Mr. Luker.
"Mr. Luker, I believe you are a fully admitted solicitor. As such I call on you to notice that Mrs. Lamb's words are actionable. And I request you, unless you wish to get yourself and her into serious trouble, to insist on her opening the two doors which she has improperly locked, and on her leaving these premises at once. Surely it is not necessary for me to point out that, otherwise, the consequences to both of you will be of the gravest possible kind."
Mrs. Lamb placed herself in front of the irate Mr. Brown.
"Don't you waste your breath talking to Mr. Luker; he's not on in this scene--not just at present, anyhow. If you've anything to say, you say it to me; it's me you have to deal with, not him."
"Mrs. Lamb, I will have nothing to do with you of any sort or kind; after the monstrous fashion in which you have behaved it is the sheerest absurdity to suppose that we can have any communication with you except through a properly accredited representative."
"So I've behaved in a monstrous fashion, have I? I'll teach you to talk to me like that."
She began the lesson then and there. Gripping him by both shoulders she shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. He was a slightly built man, not physically strong; had he been a rat he could scarcely have seemed more helpless in her hands. When, presumably, she was of opinion that the first lesson had lasted long enough, she honoured him with a few remarks.
"You take from me everything on which you can lay your claws; you strip me of every shilling I possess; and then, when I ask for some of it back, you insult me. You--dirty--thief!" Here there was another bout of shaking. "There are men doing penal servitude who aren't half such mean, sneaking scamps as you are--and plenty of them."
She flung him from her against the wall, leaving him to struggle for breath as best he might. Lady Dykes, in an armchair, was developing what promised to be a very fine attack of hysterics. She was beginning to make as much noise as Mrs. Lamb herself. Mr. McTavish, who, judging from his appearance, had been in imminent peril of a stroke of apoplexy, seemed all at once to regain his power of speech.
"Upon my word, you're--you're--you're the most dangerous woman I ever heard of!"
"And you're the most dangerous thief! Perhaps before I've done with you you'll find that thieving's almost as dangerous to yourself as to those on whom you practise."
There came a smart rapping on one of the doors, and a voice from without.
"Shall we send for a policeman, sir?"
"By all means!--at once! Let him break down the door if he can't get in any other way! This--this woman's--positively dangerous."
"You're right there; I am--you've made me dangerous. And don't you think that a policeman, or ten policemen, will keep me from being even with you if I once get started; not all the policemen in London couldn't do it!"
Mr. Luker, seemingly under the impression that his client was going a little too far, even for her, ventured on an interposition.
"Pardon me, Mrs. Lamb, but, if you will allow me to say so, I think this matter can be settled on a perfectly peaceful basis. If these gentlemen are disposed to be reasonable, and I feel sure they are, everything can be arranged without unpleasantness of any sort or kind. The point is----"
Mrs. Lamb took the words out of his mouth, substituting, that is, words of her own.
"The point is, that, among other things, you've robbed me of ten thousand Hardwood Company's shares."
"It's an infamous falsehood! We've done nothing of the kind!"
"Haven't you? I know you have, and so do you; but you're one of those brazen-faced old sinners who would go to the gallows with a lie on your lips. Those shares are worth fifty thousand pounds, and more; but as you've robbed me of every penny I have in the world, and left me with nothing but starvation staring me in the face----"
"It's--it's incredible how any one should dare to say such things!--incredible!"
"So there's nothing left for me but to try to come to terms with the robbers, and that's what I have come for. If you'll give me a cheque for forty thousand pounds--now!--this minute!--you may keep the other ten, and much good may it do you. So just you move yourself. Sit down at that table and write me a cheque for forty thousand pounds."
"Forty thousand pounds! Do you suppose----"
"I suppose nothing. You do as I tell you, or you'll be sorry."
Again Mr. Luker ventured on an interposition.
"If, once more, you will excuse me, Mrs. Lamb, if you will permit me I will point out to Mr. McTavish how much more than moderate you are disposed to be in your demands. I have Mrs. Lamb's permission to inform you, Mr. McTavish, that she is in absolute want of ready cash; that she is practically in a state of destitution; and that therefore she is willing to waive her lawful claims to such an extent that she is prepared to accept the sum of five-and-twenty thousand pounds; a fair proportion to be paid at once, and the balance on a given date; and to give you in exchange a discharge in full for all her claims against you respecting the Hardwood Company's shares."
Mrs. Lamb's manner, as she acquiesced in her solicitor's modification of her terms, was not precisely gracious.
"If I take twenty-five thousand pounds that will be going halves. If I am to be robbed I suppose I may as well be properly robbed; but I'll have at least ten thousand pounds in cash. So, now, Mr. McTavish, without any more fuss, perhaps you'll let me have a cheque for that ten thousand."
"Ten thousand pounds! I'll not give you a cheque for tenpence."
"You're two men, and I'm only a woman, but you'll find that I'm much more than a match for the pair of you; and if you're not careful I'll thrash you both till within an inch of your lives; I'll leave marks on you which you'll carry to your graves. As for you, you bloated old whisky barrel, I've only got to give you one or two smart ones in the proper place, and you'll be in your grave before you think. So if you want to keep on living, you'll make no more bones about handing me that cheque."
"This--this is worse than highway robbery! In my own office you--you positively threaten----"
"Threaten! I'll do more than threaten! Quick! Are you going to fork up or am I to break every bone in your body?"
"I--I--I will not be bullied----"
"Bullied! I'll show you!" She snatched up a stout malacca cane which stood by Mr. McTavish's table, and which was that gentleman's property. "To start with, I'll splinter this over your bodies, then I'll smash everything else in the place, and you into the bargain. Now is it going to be the coin or----"
The hand holding the stick went up into the air, the gesture rounding off the sentence with sufficient significance.
"You wicked woman! how dare you threaten me with my own stick? Help! Where is that policeman?"
"Policeman! Do you think I care for a policeman? Not that much!"
Down came the stick with a swishing sound through the air. As it descended Mr. Luker caught the lady by the wrist.
"Mrs. Lamb, I do implore you to pause a moment for consideration. I reiterate my conviction that if you will only exercise a little patience this matter can be settled amicably and without violence."
"Luker, if you don't want to let yourself in for a little handling on your own account you'll let go of my wrist."
"On the contrary, Mr. Luker, I beg you will keep a tight hold--the woman must be stark mad."
"Mad!" With a sudden twist Mrs. Lamb wrenched herself loose from Mr. Luker, and that same moment there was a smart rapping at the door, and an authoritative voice was heard without.
"I'm a police constable. What's going on in there? Open this door at once."
"Break it open, constable, break it open. I'm Mr. McTavish, and I authorise you. We're--we're in actual danger of our lives."
There must have been some one on the other side who knew how to deal with a locked door, for in a surprisingly short space of time it was open. A constable was revealed, supported by a considerable body of clerks, of all ages, in the background. The representative of law and order advanced into the room.
"What's taking place in here?"
"I'm Mr. McTavish, officer, the senior partner in this firm. This--this woman has been endeavouring to extract money by means of threats. I must request you to eject her from these premises at once."
"Do you charge her?"
"Not at this moment, though, no doubt, later proceedings will be taken which will bring home to her a sense of her misconduct. At present all I want you to do is to turn her out."
"And this woman also?"
The allusion was to Lady Dykes. Mr. McTavish was shocked.
"Dear me, no; that is Lady Dykes, of Fennington Park, one of our most esteemed clients, who has already been subjected to the most terrible annoyance. The man"--pointing to Mr. Luker--"you will turn out with the woman."
The constable touched Mr. Luker on the arm.
"Now, sir, offer the lady a good example, and show her the way out."
Mr. Luker put his hat on, and, without a word, prepared to act on the officer's advice. Mrs. Lamb caught him by the shoulder.
"You cur! Don't be a fool, Luker, and do as he tells you."
The constable smiled, good-humouredly.
"If you're a wise man, sir, you will do as I tell you, and you'll talk the matter over with the lady afterwards."
Mr. Luker seemed to incline to the opinion that the policeman's was the voice of wisdom. Withdrawing himself from the lady's detaining fingers, still without a word, he left the room. The constable addressed himself to Mrs. Lamb.
"Now, madam, we policemen hate to have to be rude to a lady; might I ask you to oblige me by following your friend's very excellent example? That's the way out."
He jerked his thumb towards the open door. Mrs. Lamb looked at him and at the others. Apparently what she saw forced her to the conclusion that what she called "the game" was "up". She brought Mr. McTavish's malacca cane on to a writing-table with a resounding thwack.
"You couple of thieves! I'll wring your necks for you yet before I've done!"
She dashed the stick upon the floor and went, the clerks treading on each others' toes in their anxiety to give her as much room as she required.