doubleline
singleline
Grayappeared at his desk the next morning at his usual hour. The office learned in due course that he had had some trouble and had taken a day off. The loss of an annuity of five hundred pounds a year did not appear to weigh on him so heavily as might have been supposed. At half-past ten he went upstairs, in response to a request for his presence.
George Early was occupying his accustomed place, perhaps a little paler than usual, but very intent on business.
"You sent for me," said Gray.
"I did," said his master. "I should like you to explain your strange absence from business yesterday."
Gray grinned. "I was burying my grandmother," he said.
He received a look of severe reproof. "I believe I am right in assuming that you were out making a beast of yourself," said George.
"I was out with Flora," replied Gray.
George coughed and became interested in a letter.
"As you did not turn up yesterday," he explained, "I felt it my duty to inquire about you. In the interests of yourself and your wife I endeavoured to do you a good turn."
"Thanks," said Gray. "I'll do the same for you when the time comes."
"Go back to your work," ordered his master, "and don't let it occur again."
"It's no good asking you to have a drink, I suppose?" said Gray.
George Early turned pale and swore softly. "I suppose you know all," he said.
"Everything," Gray confessed. "You're not the only artful one in the firm."
"I'll sack you if you're not careful," cried George.
Gray laughed. He opened the door to go out, but paused on the threshold.
"Keep your eye on the other two," he said significantly.
George rested awhile from his labours, in order to curse for the hundredth time the imbecility of the late venerable head of the firm. The worst of a legacy such as he was blessed with was that nobody but himself realized the hardships of it. When he grumbled his wife soothed him with soft words; but he knew that in her heart she believed it was good for him to be a teetotaler.
What troubled him more than this was the terrible probability of receiving fifteen hundred pounds a year instead of five hundred. If Parrott and Busby should fail as Gray had done, and the three legacies came to him, life would not be worth living. He must make his plans at once, without a moment's delay.
The rest of the morning was devoted to a straight talk with Busby, in which George pointed out that having taken the place of the late venerable head of the firm, he was prepared to adhere to his principles. He exhorted Busby to shun the ways of the untruthful as he would a fiery furnace, and to walk henceforth among those who were honest. He promised to forward without delay a life-sized portrait of George Washington, which Busby might hang in his bedroom.
Parrott was treated to a similar discourse, and urged to respond with alacrity to all requests for pecuniary assistance.
"Generosity," said George, sagely, "is its own reward. It is sinful to have money and to keep it to ourselves. Let us give it to those who are poor, especially when they ask for it."
For the better safety of their master's interests the two legatees were informed that the lawyers had at last woke up, and had terrible sleuth-hounds on their track, under whose deadly eyes Gray had fallen a victim.
The next morning the office staff, on taking up their duties, were electrified to see the walls of the building adorned with the newest of religious texts, including such good counsel as "Honesty is the best policy," "Tell the truth and shame the devil," "It is more blessed to give than to receive."
"Seems to me," observed Cacklin, "that the boss is going to start a Sunday School, and he wants us all to join his class."
"Perhaps they're put up to give the new chap a good start," said William Budd.
"What new chap?"
"Chap in Matthews' place."
"Matthews gone?"
"Got a new job," explained Billy; "asked the boss if his cousin could take his place here. There's the new feller. See?"
"He's a nice piece of pie-crust," said Cacklin, critically. "Here!" He called to the youth, who stood awkwardly near the doorway. "What name?"
"Bailey, sir," replied the youth.
"Any relation to Old Bailey?" inquired Cacklin.
Billy grinned.
"No, sir," said the youth.
"All right," said Cacklin; "wait over there. Decent sort of chap," he remarked, flattered by the youth's respectful attitude.
This opinion was echoed throughout the office during the three following days. On the fourth, Busby received a blue envelope from Dibbs and Dubbs. On the fifth, Bailey met a friend outside the office at closing time, and pointed out to him the form of Parrott wending his way to Blackfriars, whereupon the friend immediately left Bailey and went also to Blackfriars. Three days after this incident, Parrott himself received a blue letter from the lawyers.
Energetic as was George Early, these incidents passed without his notice, illustrating the truth of the adage about the best laid schemes of mice and men going "aft agley." Not that he was negligent, the personal attention he gave to the head clerk and the cashier was quite pathetic. They lunched with him, had tea in his private office, and frequently went to Brunswick Terrace to dinner. Sometimes the master would even accompany them home.
Busby was promoted to the post of private secretary at an increased salary, and a great deal of Parrott's time was spent upstairs in the big office. At intervals, Mr. George Early sent them little gifts of books, wherein the value of truth on the one hand, and generosity on the other, were set forth.
If George Early had only known the qualities of the new head of Dibbs and Dubbs, things might have been different. That energetic young man, intent upon earning the fees due to him, and with a keen eye to future business, shadowed the legatees everywhere. George found it a comparatively easy matter to keep to temperance with so much at stake, but Busby, conscious of his own defects and the pernicious results of habit, hardly dared to open his mouth. Parrott, too, was sorely tried by the constant demands on his purse, and the mind-raking trials of sorting out spies from "hard-ups."
Arriving early one morning at the office, the principal discovered among the letters two of the fatal blue envelopes. They were addressed to Busby and Parrott. With feverish haste he awaited the two subordinates, and then learned with indignation that these were the second warnings of each.
"To think," said George, addressing his crestfallen secretary, "that after all the trouble I've taken you couldn't keep an honest tongue in your head. Of course, it's of no consequence to me, except that I shall be sorry to see you lose the money."
"It's easy to make a mistake," faltered Busby.
"Easy be hanged!" replied his master. "You should have been careful. Come in!" as a knock sounded.
A boy entered, and said, "Gentleman to see you, sir."
"Can't see any one now," said George, irritably. "You go, Busby, and see who it is, Say I'll see him later."
Busby went gloomily down the stairs. The warning had cast a black cloud over his prospects, and his nerves, never under perfect control, were in an unsatisfactory condition. Only those who experience a sudden accession to wealth can adequately realize the sensation of feeling that it is going to be as suddenly snatched away. At the present moment he would have welcomed a snug log cabin in an uninhabited island, where the absence of people would preclude the necessity of lying. A tall stranger came forward as he reached the lower office.
"Are you Mr. Early?" he asked.
"No," said Busby, "you——"
"I wanted to see him," said the stranger.
"Fact is," replied the cashier, "he's not here. Can you call again about eleven?"
The stranger smiled, and pulled out a card-case.
"Yes," said Busby, taking the card absently. "I'll make an appointment for you at eleven."
The stranger departed, and Busby carried the piece of cardboard upstairs.
"What's this?" said George, glancing at the card. "Dibbs and Dubbs."
Busby let fall the inkstand he was lifting, and grasped the desk with both hands. The two men stared at each other.
"I've done it," said Busby, feebly, dropping back in a chair; "it's all over." He laughed hysterically and wiped away some moisture from one eye. "It's all over," he repeated in a silly, stupid way.
"Speak out," said George, hoarsely, trying to shake off a numbness that was creeping over him. "What have you done? What have you done? Out with it!"
"Told him—told him you were not here."
It is safe to say that the flow of profanity delivered by the new master of Fairbrothers' on receiving this intelligence was such as had never before resounded in the chief office during the firm's existence. Busby was too intent on his own loss to take much heed of it, or to wonder why the loss of five hundred pounds a year to his secretary should have such an effect on George Early, master of thousands. He lay back in a limp heap, feebly repeating at intervals, "I've done it; it's all over."
Animated by a faint hope that all was not lost, George summoned the office-boy. That youth, with quick intelligence and some pride, confessed that he had "told the gentleman Mr. Early was upstairs." As a reward Mr. Early swore at him, and sacked him on the spot.
An hour later the worried ironmonger sat alone in the big room. He had dispensed with his secretary's services for the rest of the day, and had given strict orders that no one was to be admitted to his presence. The appalling significance of his position was beginning to dawn upon him. Already he had two of the legacies, and the third was obviously a mere matter of time.
"You can't knock sense into the heads of these brutes," he reflected bitterly; "they don't understand generosity. Parrott'll go down as sure as my name's George."
He sat upright and tried to review the situation. A stiff glass of brandy would have been a help, but that was out of the question. This second legacy, of which he would probably receive notice in the morning, was ten times worse than the first. All his life George had been accustomed to equivocation, and to bind himself to speaking the whole truth and nothing but the truth was like asking him to keep his eyes shut for the rest of his life. He regretted the afternoons he had stayed away from Sunday School. He was positive that he would fail. And the third legacy would be even more appalling than the other two, for there was no doubt that the secret would get out. Gray, Busby, and Parrott would be sure to get news of all three, and Heaven knows how many more people besides, and then he would be simply besieged for money. It would be an impossible situation, and most unjust. He could see a most disastrous end to all his schemes. Himself brought to poverty, and with him a wife who had been reared in luxury.
The representative of Dibbs and Dubbs did not appear at eleven o'clock, so George decided to leave the stuffy atmosphere of Upper Thames Street and cool his brow on a Thames steamboat. Before leaving he confided to Parrott in the strictest confidence the calamity that had befallen his colleague, and urged him, while there was yet time, to reform.
"Give," said George, strenuously, "with a free hand. I know it's hard for you to do it, but do it. And look here"—as a brilliant thought struck him—"I'll stand half the debts, just to help you to get over the habit of refusing."
He went away more pleased than he had hoped to be. It really was a good idea that, and he could well afford it. Parrott did not look very hopeful in spite of the generous offer; probably he had less faith in himself, knowing himself better.
"Maybe," thought George, as he wended his way along Upper Thames Street, "I shall be able to think of some scheme to dodge all this. I used to have a few ideas at one time. I suppose there's some one on my track from the infernal lawyers now."
He turned round sharply, and observed a young man stop and bend a searching gaze on a bill announcing property for sale.
"That's the man. I must be careful to do the George Washington act, and stick hard to temperance principles." As he proceeded on his way, the young man, who was no other than the relentless Mole, carefully followed him.
It was late in the afternoon when he returned to Brunswick Terrace. During his wanderings he had not been able to shake off his pursuer, who tarried on the opposite side of the road as he entered the house. As he expected, a legal document awaited him, announcing the reversion of the second legacy.
"What a shame!" cried Mrs. Early, hotly, when she heard the news. "I do think papa might have shown a little more feeling."
"More feeling, my dear?" Aunt Phœbe bristled up. "Really, I'm surprised at you. For my part, I rejoice, and I can't understand why your husband doesn't do so. Surely it is a blessing to know that one is always telling the truth."
"Oh, I'm overwhelmed with joy," groaned George—"never felt happier in my life."
"We shall all be pleased, I think, to feel that we can rely on every word you say," said Aunt Phœbe, quietly.
"Ah," said George, "it's different here. Of course, at home it doesn't count. It isn't like——"
His aunt held up her hands. "I beg your pardon," she said; "I must differ. I give you warning; I must differ. It would be far from my wish to have to say a word that would injure either of you, but in the interests of truth and justice——"
"Truth and justice be hanged!"
"In the interests of truth and justice," persisted Aunt Phœbe, "I should be compelled—compelled to speak."
Mrs. Early burst into tears and cried, "Oh, Aunt Phœbe, how can you be so horrid!"
George protested in most vehement language, but Aunt Phœbe was firm.
"I couldn't sleep at night," she said, "for feeling that I had acted wrongfully. No, I couldn't do it."
"Well, I'd sooner you kept awake," said George, unfeelingly, "if you can't trust yourself."
Aunt Phœbe prepared to serve tea, and said curiously—
"I wonder that the habit of truth was not grounded in you when you were a Sunday School teacher. May I ask how many scholars you had?"
"You may not," replied her nephew, irritably. Why the devil did she want to remind him of that bit of polite fiction!
Aunt Phœbe looked meaningly at her niece. "Were you ever a Sunday School teacher?" she said, boldly continuing the attack.
"No!" blurted out George.
"There!" She folded her arms and looked again at her niece, whose sobs began afresh.
"Did you ever——"
"Oh, give me some tea," cried the wretched man. "I'm not going to sit here and be catechized like this."
"In the interests of my niece I demand it," continued his relentless aunt; "how many lives did you save before that affair in Regent Street?"
"I can't remember," said George, sullenly. "My memory's bad."
Aunt Phœbe smiled triumphantly. George proceeded to drink his tea in silence.
"I suppose," continued the old lady, "you never fell in love with any young ladies before you met my niece? Never took them up the river, and——"
George groaned and clapped his hand to his head.
"It's coming on," he said hoarsely.
Mrs. Early ran to him at once. "What is it, darling?" she cried.
"Let me get to the couch," said George in a low voice; "take my arm."
"Is it your poor head?" asked his wife, anxiously.
George groaned again. "I think it's a fit coming on."
"Oh, let me get the doctor. Aunt, send for the doctor—quick!"
"I don't think the doctor is needed," said Aunt Phœbe, pursing her lips. "If it gets worse we can throw some cold water over him."
"It isn't so bad as that," said George, hastily. "It's—it's my head."
"Poor, poor head!" said Mrs. Early, smoothing his hair.
"The truth's been too much for him," said Aunt Phœbe.
"Aunt, how can you!" cried Mrs. Early, tearfully. "I'm sure George is very, very unwell."
He managed to squeeze out another groan.
"Perhaps he'd better have some more tea," said Aunt Phœbe. "What is it?" to a maid who had entered.
"Letter for the master, ma'am."
"Another blue envelope," said Aunt Phœbe, taking the letter.
George looked up and stifled a curse. "Don't open it," he said. "I know what it is."
What could it be but the third and final legacy? He burst into a profuse perspiration, and smothered his wrath in the cushions of the sofa.
"Is oo better now, dearie?" asked his wife.
George raised himself into a sitting position. "It's gone off a bit," he said. "I think I'll go out and walk it off." A new idea had come into his head, and he wanted solitude to think it over.
"I shouldn't go out, dearie," advised Mrs. Early, anxiously. "Your poor head might get bad again."
George kissed her and summoned up a feeble smile.
"It's better now, pet," he said; "a walk will just put me right."
He took the blue letter into the hall and opened it. It was as he suspected. Parrott had evidently had the third warning that morning, and not the second.
Outside George found the patient figure of Mole taking careful observation. He appeared not to notice him, but turned away in the direction of Hyde Park. The cool air revived him, and he sat listening to the band for half an hour. Finding in its music no solution to the problems confronting him, he turned out of the gate and strolled along Piccadilly.
"It was in this neighbourhood that I did the heroic act and let myself in for this," thought George. "I only wish I could find a way out of it here."
Food was necessary to keep up his strength, so he entered the Café Royal and ordered a sumptuous dinner. The indefatigable sleuth-hound did likewise at a respectful distance.
"Now," thought George, as he emerged with the satisfied feeling that only a good dinner can give, "now I must try to think it out. I had luck in this spot before—if you can call it luck. Perhaps I'll get the same again."
But the goddess of fortune failed to appear, nor did George succeed in meeting her during his subsequent two hours' stroll. All his own ideas went down before the ingenious complications conceived by the late head of the Fairbrother firm.
He sighed deeply as he stood on the doorstep at Brunswick Terrace searching for his latch-key. The sigh was succeeded by a smile. Before inserting the key in the lock George turned and looked thoughtfully at a ghostly figure on the other side of the road.
"Well," he said with a valiant attempt at hilarity, "I'll try being good for a time, and see how that works."
doubleline
singleline
Atbreakfast next morning Mr. George Early was a model of politeness and urbanity. His courteousness obtruded itself so much that Aunt Phœbe could scarcely refrain from remarking upon it. After watching him closely, she decided that the night had effected one of those great changes sometimes observable in men after a crisis. He had turned over a new leaf.
Without delay she put this to the test. "I suppose," she remarked, smiling pleasantly at her nephew, "that I may rely upon you for a ten-pound subscription to the 'Friendly Friday Evenings for Mothers Society?'"
George was all attention at once. "Most certainly," he said. "I'm very glad you mentioned it. A noble institution."
"I'm pleased to hear you say that," said his aunt. "You were not always on the Society's side, and I'm glad to find that your views have changed."
George shook his head sorrowfully. "I'm afraid that I have not been altogether free from error," he faltered.
"Darling!" cried Mrs. Early, who foresaw a display of feeling, and was apprehensive of trouble.
"No," said her husband, gravely, raising his right hand; "I have not. In the light of certain events—by the wisdom of a certain person no longer with us, I see it. I have been wrong. I admit it."
"You have not been wrong, darling!" cried Mrs. Early, impulsively.
"Ellen," said Aunt Phœbe, in remonstrance, "I'm surprised at you. I admire the spirit that prompts your husband to make these confessions. Please do not interrupt."
"I have told lies," said George, penitently.
Mrs. Early frowned and sighed.
"I have drunk whisky, and acquired habits that made my presence obnoxious to the fair creatures, both youthful and aged—I mean experienced—with whom good fortune placed me."
Aunt Phœbe coughed.
"There are many things," said George, looking at the ceiling, "that I would not have done had I known all I know now." Observing that Aunt Phœbe's eyes were on the tablecloth, he winked at the fireplace. "But I hope that it is not too late to make amends."
"There is still time," said his aunt, fervently, "to repent and lead a better life."
"It is that which makes me glad," said George.
Having generously paid the ten-pound subscription and left behind him an impression of wholesome righteousness, Mr. Early stepped into a hansom cab and drove to Upper Thames Street.
Here his calm demeanour and amiability, contrasted with the feverishness of the last few days, caused a general raising of eyebrows. To the head clerk, who humbly apologized for his stupidity George was gentleness itself. Instead of rating him he sympathized; so that Parrott, who imagined that he had at last got a fair inkling of George Early's character, went away more mystified than ever.
The other ex-legatees received the news with surprise and some apprehension. Doubtless they had stored away in their minds various plans for enriching themselves at their master's expense, intending to profit by their own experience. Gray certainly had, and the rumours did not prevent his putting one into execution very promptly. He appeared in the chief's office an hour after that gentleman arrived.
He received a cheerful welcome, to which he responded.
"I suppose you know my errand," he said, smiling maliciously, and rubbing his hands together.
His master looked up, thought a moment, and regretted that he could not call to mind anything important concerning himself and Gray. But whatever it was, he promised that it should receive his attention.
"It's a question of money," said Gray. "A little loan of five pounds to begin with. I suppose I need not use any arguments in favour of my case; you already understand the business well."
"Dear me!" said George; "I hope no misfortune has befallen you, Gray, that you need this money. You did quite right to come to me. You shall certainly have it."
"Thanks," said Gray.
"I always prefer to have my men come straight to me. Some people may think me hard, but I tell you, Gray, I can't bear to feel that any of my employés are uncomfortable or in want."
"Glad to hear it."
"Yes, Gray, you shall certainly have the loan. It is not convenient to give it you at once, but you shall have it."
"Oh," said Gray, rubbing his chin; "I'd prefer to have it now."
"That's very unfortunate," said George; "I hate to inconvenience anybody. It quite grieves me."
"I dare say it does," Gray said sarcastically. "Perhaps you can tell me when I'll get it."
"That I can," replied his master, cheerfully; "the moment I have the money here for you I'll ring the bell and give it you."
Gray drew himself up and folded his arms. "I take that to be a refusal," he said bluntly. "And I must point out to you the consequences to yourself if I mention it in the right quarter. Now, what's it to be?"
"It's to be five pounds when I ring the bell."
"And suppose I refuse to wait your pleasure?—as I don't see why I should."
"You must do it or go without," replied his master. "I may as well mention, Gray, that I have decided to get rid of those men whom I find to have bad habits. Recognizing myself the principles of truth and temperance, I could not keep men with so little respect for themselves and the good name of a firm like this as to be addicted to the vices."
"I don't see how that will help you," Gray pointed out. "If I am not receiving wages here, I shall be more in need of money than ever, and I should have to make my demands greater. So by sacking me you won't be doing yourself any good."
George waved his hand. "The interview is now closed," he said.
Gray departed, but reminded his chief that he should expect to hear the bell ring before the day was out.
No other incident occurred, and George Early began to persuade himself that his new plans would act admirably. His ingenious handling of Gray must have acted as a damper on the others. Elated with this success, his behaviour at home that evening was even more commendable than in the morning, and he fell to eulogizing Old Fairbrother with an emphasis that seemed a little unwarranted, even to Aunt Phœbe.
Gray made another application the next morning for his loan, and repeated it before midday, each time being quietly but firmly put off by his master.
"All I hope is," said Gray, on the last occasion, "that you won't force me to do anything unpleasant. I'm not sure that this delay doesn't amount to a refusal. Perhaps I ought to consult the solicitors."
But he didn't do so, and George Early began to make his way about the iron warehouse with more confidence than he had done since the legacies first began to threaten him.
As he stepped out of the showrooms into the warehouse that afternoon, a man who had been hovering mysteriously about a gas stove turned towards him.
"Anybody about?" he said, inquiringly.
"What can I do for you?" asked George, in his best salesman style.
"Want a gas stove," said the man. "I've heard a lot about your 'Little Wonder,' and I'd like to have one, if it's up to the mark."
"That's the very stove," said George, pointing to the one the man had been handling.
"So I see, and if all you say of it is true, that's just the stove for me. But is it?"
"Is what?"
"Is that true?" said the man, holding up a Fairbrother pamphlet, in which the merits of the particular stove were described in glowing terms.
George suddenly realized that he was in a difficult situation, but, with the Fairbrother legacy fresh upon him, he stuck to his principles.
"All lies," he said.
"What?" cried the man; "it won't cook a chicken and a joint of beef, two vegetables and a pudding, and air the clothes at the same time, all at the cost of a farthing?"
"No," said George.
"All bunkum, eh?"
"Not a word of truth in it."
"I'm glad you told me that," said the man. "I like people to be straightforward. Perhaps the 'Little Midget' that's made by Oldboys up the street, is a better stove, eh?"
"Much better," said the unfortunate salesman.
"Well, now," said the man, "I wanted a few other things, but I'm not sure about dealing here, after what you've said. See that set of broken stove bars; how soon would you promise to get me a new set like it?"
"In four days," said George.
"Four days, eh? And when should I get 'em if I ordered them to-day?"
"In about two weeks."
"Oh, that's the sort of promise you make, is it? Can't be trusted?"
"Never," said George.
Then the man, who seemed to have suddenly developed an insatiable curiosity, led George Early into discussing all sorts of affairs concerning the firm, and obtained from him the most startling admissions.
He was an insinuating little man, and he resisted every effort that his victim made to end the conversation, until the head of Fairbrothers found himself uttering the most alarming truths, and being led like a monkey on a string.
Eventually the man left, and George Early found himself sitting on a portable copper by one of the warehouse doors overlooking the river, gazing blankly at the rising mists. Gradually he came back to a realization of affairs, and began to discover that he had made a fool of himself. With the same discovery came the sounds of cautious footsteps; a voice that he recognized as belonging to Gray said, "It's all right," and asked, "Where's Polly?"
The head of the firm left his position on the copper, and stood in the shadow of one of the iron fireproof doors. Any conspiracy taking place in the building was his affair without doubt.
Another person having joined the conspirators, George listened with interest.
"Any luck?" asked Busby.
"None," answered Gray. "He's put me off so far, and I thought it best to let it go at that for the present. I don't know how to force his hand. We must come to some decision about what we are going to do while there's the chance."
"Not so loud," cautioned Busby, lowering his voice; "you don't know who may be about."
"There's nobody up here," said Gray, irritably, but the two lowered their voices, so that George Early could only catch a word here and there.
The caution was relaxed after a while, when Gray said—
"Then that's fixed up. I'll tackle him tomorrow, and let him see that we mean business. Won't little Georgie swear! We'll have a hundred each down to begin with; no paltry fivers."
George shivered.
"Two hundred," said Parrott, greedily.
"One'll do to start," said Gray. "That'll be only a mite to what we'll get later."
"Will he pay up, d'you think?" asked Busby.
"Pay?" said Gray. "He can't help it. Look what he's got to lose if he don't pay; he's had his turn, and now we'll have ours."
Judging by Gray's tone, George felt convinced that he meant all he said. He was not sure now that he had been quite wise in having laughed so much at Gray's expense.
"Suppose he dodges us, and doesn't turn up at the office?"
Gray laughed. "We'll go to his house," he said; "that'll be tit for tat. We'll get a bit of our own back."
George listened to the retreating footsteps, and a fierce indignation sprang up within him. So violent was it that he daren't come out from the shadow of the iron door until it had abated somewhat. Then he cautiously made his way back to his own room, put on his hat, and went home.
doubleline
singleline
Theconspirators turned up at the office in a hopeful spirit next morning. Early as the hour was, Gray had evidently been assisting his courage with some beverage that cheers and yet inebriates.
"Who's going up first?" he asked in a confidential whisper. "I'd sooner steady my nerves a bit; I'm better in the afternoon."
"Let Polly go, then," said Busby. "I'm a bit shaky myself in the mornings; must be the train journey."
Parrott, when consulted, did not seem to relish the idea much, and suggested that they should go together. Union would be strength.
"Perhaps it would be better," agreed Busby.
"Anyhow," said the head clerk, "there's all the day yet. We don't want to rush it. Let us give him time to get here and settle down to work."
This was agreed upon, and the matter was left until the morning's work was well under way, when it was taken in hand again.
"Now," said Gray, "this is the best time to begin. He'll be in the middle of the correspondence, and there's no fear of interruption."
At that moment Master Cacklin slapped a bundle of letters down on Busby's desk, and set Gray's nerves all on edge again.
"Pardon, sir," he said impudently, "hope I didn't disturb you. S'pose you've heard the new rule, gents."
"You cut along," said Busby.
"Grand idea," said Cacklin; "every one's got to come up chaperoned by his grandmother. If he ain't got a grandmother he gets the lady lodger instead. What do you think of it, eh?"
"Now, clear out," said Gray, threateningly.
"Excepting the guvnor," added Cacklin; "and he brings his aunt. Darling little bit o' sugar-stuff she is, too, I give yer my word."
And the genial youth affected to put his lower jaw into a position from which it would not return to the normal.
"What's all that rot?" asked Gray, who scented some truth in the nonsense.
Mr. Cacklin obligingly informed his hearers that their respected chief had been accompanied to the office that morning by his aunt, who was now settled in the biggest armchair upstairs with her hat and jacket off, as if she meant to stay.
Gray and Busby exchanged glances.
"That settles it, for the present," said Busby, as Cacklin disappeared; "we can't go while she's there."
"She'll be off after lunch," said Gray. "On the whole I think it's better to tackle him after lunch."
But Aunt Phœbe did not go after lunch; she returned to the office with her nephew, and never left it till the two of them departed together at the close of business.
"It was bad luck," said Gray; "but we'll get him to-morrow safe enough."
On the morrow, however, fortune was equally unkind to the blackmailers, for this time Mrs. Early herself accompanied her husband to the office, and settled comfortably in the big armchair, as her aunt had done on the previous day. At lunch they went out together and returned together.
"We must bide our time," Gray said comfortingly to his co-conspirators. "We'll have him right enough presently."
When, however, the morrow brought Aunt Phœbe again, and lunch-time saw her return with George Early, Gray could scarcely contain himself for rage.
"It's a plant," he said fiercely; "a put-up job. He's doing it on purpose, so as we shan't get him alone."
And there seemed to be some truth in what he said, for whenever George Early left his office to enter the showrooms, or tour the warehouse, his aunt always accompanied him. Together they interviewed customers, inspected the barges at the wharf, pulled stoves about, and went over the numerous incidents of an ironmonger's day.
Once Gray plucked up courage, and boldly entered the upstairs office. Aunt Phœbe was seated at George's desk writing, while George himself lolled in an armchair, reading a paper.
The lady looked up inquiringly as Gray advanced.
"It's a little matter I'd like to see Mr. Early about," he said, with a cough.
"I think you may tell me," said the lady. "I understand most of Mr. Early's business."
"You can tell my aunt, Gray," called out George, from behind the paper.
"If I could see Mr. Early alone——"
"Mr. Early has no secrets from his family," said Aunt Phœbe, at which George coughed and Gray frowned.
After two or three futile attempts to attain his object, Gray was forced to retire with the feeble excuse of having forgotten something.
Aunt Phœbe looked meaningly at George, who nodded.
The chaperon game continued, and the three men were reduced to such straits as tracking the cab home to Kensington, and taking turns to keep watch on the house, all without avail.
Perhaps not entirely without avail, for towards the end of a fortnight George Early's bright looks gave way to a peevishness he could ill conceal. Aunt Phœbe's temper was affected too, and frequent bickerings were reported by those who came in their way. Whenever Master Cacklin happened to be the person, he gave to those below stairs a description that was most graphic and inspiring.
"She's wearing him out," said Busby, who clutched at these fragments in an endeavour to cheer his fellows.
Gray shook his head. "No fear of that," he said; "he's one of those men that would keep it up just for the pleasure of annoying us. I know him."
George Early did keep it up, and succeeded in completely outwitting his trackers, until Gray, tired of waiting for his revenge and a sight of the firm's money, called a council to discuss some change of plans.
Neither Busby nor Parrott had any suggestion to make, so Gray unfolded his own idea. Not a bad plan either, the others agreed. Gray proposed that the three should make a bargain with the lawyers, by which they were to receive a certain fixed sum, say five hundred pounds, for information of George Early's lapses from grace. Having got this promise, they could, if they felt disposed, hold it threateningly over the chief's head, and demand a higher sum to keep silence. Of course the lawyers, not having the detective facilities of the three, would gladly accept their services; of this they felt assured.
It was arranged that Gray should take the next morning off with a bad cold, and pay a visit to Dibbs and Dubbs, to arrange matters.
This new scheme so occupied the thoughts of the precious trio that they missed the news of a breezy outburst between George and his beloved aunt, resulting in the lady bouncing off and leaving her nephew to himself.
All unconscious of this missed opportunity, Gray made his way the next morning to St. Paul's Passage, passed the resplendent brass plate of the lawyers' office, and climbed the dark staircase. The new head of the firm, who had now sufficient confidence to print his own name of Dawkins as successor to the departed, received the informer with some interest, which, being a lawyer, he was not foolish enough to disclose.
"You know my name, I dare say," said Gray, with a cough.
The lawyer coughed in sympathy, and warmed his hands by the fire.
"I remember it well, Mr. Gray. I'm afraid we were a little sharp on you some time ago, but all a matter of business, you know. Quite a matter of business. If we can be as energetic on your behalf, we shall be delighted, my dear sir; delighted, I assure you."
He coughed again, sat down, and looked inquiringly at Gray.
"Of course," said Gray, throwing one hand languidly over the back of his chair, "I hold a position of some importance at Fairbrothers, as you doubtless know."
Mr. Dawkins bowed.
"And I am constantly, I may say continually, with the head of the firm."
Mr. Dawkins bowed again.
"Now, it struck me," said Gray, leaning forward and gazing shrewdly at the young lawyer, "that I might be of some service to you over this legacy business. Of service to you and myself at the same time."
Mr. Dawkins raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
"For reasons of my own," he went on, realizing for the first time that his proposal was a blackguardly one, "I am disposed to assist you towards the end for which you are working. In this, my two friends, who enjoyed the legacies at the same time as myself, are willing to help. The three of us, in fact, to cut the matter short, will work together. And I can assure you that we shall work in earnest."
At Gray's vehement tones the lawyer stuck a thumb in the armhole of his waistcoat, and laughed.
"Getting a bit of your own back, eh?"
Gray nodded. "We have exceptional opportunities," he added. "Opportunities which you, as a man of business, will understand are not open to the ordinary detective, nor for that matter to an extraordinary one. One or other of us can be always at his elbow."
"His very shadow, in fact," said the lawyer.
"Exactly," said Gray. "What is more," he added, with a look intended to convey a volume of sinister meaning, "we know his weaknesses."
The lawyer rose, and adopted a more negligent attitude against the mantelpiece.
"You offer yourselves to me as amateur detectives, in fact, Mr. Gray; and purpose informing me of any lapse on the part of Mr. Early respecting the matter concerned in the late Mr. Fairbrother's will?"
Gray leaned back, and bowed to indicate that Mr. Dawkins had summed up the matter perfectly.
"And for which," said Mr. Dawkins, "you naturally expect some recompense."
"That could be arranged," said Gray.
The lawyer toyed playfully with the seal on his watch-chain, and studied in turn his visitor's hat, coat, and boots.
"Mr. Early has risen considerably in the firm, I believe," he said presently.
"Yes," said Gray, shortly.
"But you still enjoy his confidence, of course?" Gray nursed his knee with all the nonchalance he could comfortably affect.
"If anybody has the chance to drop upon an error of judgment on his part," he said, "I think I know who it is."
Mr. Dawkins smiled. "You have a good deal of confidence, Mr. Gray. Now, from what I have heard of Mr. George Early, he can, if he is so disposed, set himself a task, and dare some of the boldest to turn him from it. When a young man makes up his mind on temperance, and has a good deal at stake, I'm inclined to think he won't easily run risks."
Gray tapped the crown of his hat impatiently. "He may keep off whisky for a bit," said he, "but the others are not so easy. Where we come in promptly is on the borrowing score, and the little departures from truth. They'll be our first bull's-eyes, Mr. Dawkins."
The lawyer's eyes lit up suddenly. He left the mantelshelf, and sat down.
"May I ask, Mr. Gray, if you saw Mr. George Early yesterday?"
"I think so," said Gray; "yes, of course, many times."
"But not this morning?"
"Not yet; why?"
"Then you do not know," said the lawyer, in slow, even tones, "that Mr. Early has already forfeited two of the three legacies. It is now only the temperance legacy that he holds."
This news almost bereft Gray of speech. He murmured something unintelligible, and sat staring at the lawyer with open mouth.
"Yes," went on Mr. Dawkins. "Mr. Early threw them over voluntarily, and already has our notices.
"Of course he does not need the money, and he is doubtless very sure that the temperance legacy is alone sufficient for his purpose. On the whole, I must admit, although I am working against him, that it is a devilishly smart move. I tell you candidly, Mr. Gray, that I think it an infernally smart move."
Gray roused himself slowly, and got up from the chair.
"As to the temperance business, Mr. Gray," said the lawyer, with a laugh, "I'm afraid that'll be a hard nut to crack, eh? For my part, I assure you, I think it pretty tough."
But Gray was not in the mood for further discussion. He drifted out of the office, and walked unsteadily down the stairs.