Kitabı oku: «Blind Policy», sayfa 10
Chapter Twenty.
Strangely Mysterious Proceedings
The Clareboroughs’ carriage was at the door, and the well-matched, handsome pair of horses were impatiently pawing the ground, in spite of sundry admonitions from the plump coachman of the faultless turn-out to be “steady there!” “hold still!” and the like.
Mr Roach, the butler, had appeared for a minute on the step, looking very pompous and important, exchanged nods with the coachman, and gone in again to wait for the descent of their people, bound for one of Lord Gale’s dinner-parties in Grosvenor Place.
All was still in the hall as the door was closed, and the marble statues and bodiless busts did not move upon their pedestals, nor their blank faces display the slightest wonder at the proceedings which followed, even though they were enough to startle them out of their equanimity.
For all at once the pompous, stolid butler and the stiff, military-looking footman, in his good, refined livery, suddenly seemed to have been stricken with a kind of delirious attack. The expression upon their faces changed from its customary social diplomatic calm to one of wild delight, and they both broke into a spasmodic dance, a combination of the wildest step of the can-can and the mad angulations of a nigger breakdown, with the accompaniment of snapping of fingers at each other and the final kick-up and flop of the right foot upon the floor.
Then they rushed at each other and embraced – the solemn, middle-aged butler and the tall young footman – theatrically, after which they seemed to come to their normal senses, and quietly shook hands.
“’Bliged to let some of the steam off, old man?” whispered the footman.
“Yes, Orthur, my boy, had to open the safety valve,” replied the butler. “We’re made men, eh?”
“Not quite,” said the footman, grinning, “but getting into shape. Three hundred a-piece. I say, ain’t it grand?”
“Splendid,” said the butler, with a broad smile. “But steady now.”
“I say; wasn’t the idea right?”
“Right as right, my boy.”
“Ah,” said the footman, with a knowing wink, “who’d be without a good only uncle to tip you when you want a few pounds to invest? I say, though, you’ll go and pay the old boy as soon as we’re gone?”
“Won’t be time.”
“Oh yes; you’ll be all right. Get it done. Make it easy if we want to do it again, eh?”
“All right; I’ll go. I say, Orthur, ain’t I like a father to you?”
“Dear old man!” whispered the gentleman addressed, with a grin. “Me long-lost forther!”
“Steady!” said the butler, sternly, and their masks of servitude were on their faces again, with the elder stern and pompous, the younger respectful and steady as a rock. “Yes; I’ll go and put that right. Must take a cab. You’ll pay half?”
“Of course; that’s all right, sir. Fair shares in everything. I say, Bob’s got something else on. Hadn’t a chance to tell you before.”
“Eh? What is that?”
“Goodwood. He’s had a letter. I say, shall we be on there? Oh no, not at all.”
“Pst! coming down,” whispered the butler; and the footman opened the door and went out to the carriage, which soon after dashed off, while the butler, after the regular glance up street and down, closed the door. He descended to his pantry, where he drew a glossy hat from a box, took an empty Gladstone bag from a cupboard and went out to hail the first hansom round the corner. This rattled him away in the direction of Bloomsbury, where he descended close to the great grim portico of the church, and told the man to wait.
The driver gave a glance at him, but the butler looked too respectable for a bilker, and he settled down for a quiet smoke, muttering, “Grapes or pears.”
But cabby was wrong. Mr Roach was not the class of domestic to lower his dignity by engaging in a kind of commerce which could be properly carried on by the fruiterer. He made for a quiet street, turned up a narrow court, and passed in through a glazed swing door upon whose embossed pane appeared the blazon of the Medici family – the three golden pills – the crest of the generous relative – “mine uncle” of the borrower high and low, and the minute after he stood in darkness in a narrow box.
A sharp-faced young man with a pen behind his ear came from the right and stretched out his hand across the broad counter.
“Send the guv’nor,” said Roach, importantly.
A sharp look was the answer, the shopman went away, and his place was taken directly by a keen, dark man, with a gaslight complexion, and to him Roach handed a little white ticket.
“Hullo! So soon!” said the man, showing his teeth, which matched his skin.
“Well, didn’t I tell you so?” said Roach, importantly.
“Yes, but I don’t quite believe everything my clients say.”
“No, and you were precious uppish and hold-offish the other day,” said Roach, shortly.
“Obliged to be careful, Mr Smith, in my profession,” said the pawnbroker, with a peculiar smile. “There’s a law against receiving stolen goods, and one don’t want to get into trouble.”
“Well, you needn’t begin to suspect everybody who wants money, if there is. Do you suppose gentry don’t run short of money sometimes?”
“Oh no. I know they do, Mr Smith. I could show you some jewellery that would open your eyes.”
“And I dessay I could show you something that would open yours. May have to bring it to you some day. Who knows?”
“Glad to do business on the square any time, Mr Smith,” said the pawnbroker.
“Of course you are; so’s lots more. People thinks there’s no card-playing going on now, and gents and ladies running short.”
“We don’t think so, Mr Smith.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Roach. “I did make up my mind I wouldn’t come here again after what passed.”
“Only business caution, Mr Smith.”
“Oh, well, if that’s all, perhaps I may. This was a commission; hundred pound wanted on the nail, and security worth five offered. Money’s come in again, and my people want the security. Here’s the cash and interest, and the sooner I’m off the better.”
“Soon done, Mr Smith,” said the pawnbroker, “and I shall be happy to do business with you again any time.” The man made some memoranda on the card, and went into a back room to a safe, from which he brought a carefully-done-up packet.
“Rather I hadn’t fetched it, eh?” said Roach, after having the packet opened and satisfied himself that the gold contents were intact.
“Don’t you make that mistake, Mr Smith,” said the pawnbroker. “We don’t want unredeemed pledges to sell, but to have them taken out and receive our interest. That’s the way money is made, sir.”
“I dessay,” said the butler, paying over the sum needed in notes and gold, and then packing the security in the Gladstone bag; “but it’s a free country, and people have a right to believe what they like.”
“Of course, my dear sir, of course.”
“Now look here,” whispered Roach; “if there happens to be an emergency, mister, and I’m disposed to come here again with something for an advance, is it to be prompt business, or a lot of humbugging questions?”
“Prompt business, Mr Smith, with approved customers, and to any amount.”
“That will do then. I’ll come. Private and confidential, eh?”
“Private and confidential, sir. Good-evening. – Jobson, shut up.”
“Yes, and I shut him up,” muttered Roach, as he went out with his Gladstone bag feeling weighty, and sought his cab, but not without looking back once or twice and choosing another way for his return.
But he saw nothing to excite his suspicions of being followed, for it was not likely that the homely-looking woman with a thickish umbrella had come from the pawnbroker’s. But somehow she had.
An hour later, Roach’s carefully-done-up parcel was denuded of its wrappings, and its golden glories were hidden in the iron plate-closet at the back of his pantry. And then he came upon Arthur, not long returned from setting down their people at Grosvenor Place.
“Hullo! Didn’t know you’d come back. Got it?” said the footman.
The butler nodded.
“Shut the door,” he said; and as soon as they were alone in the pantry, Roach unlocked the iron closet which contained the plate under his charge, and pointed to a handsome centre-piece standing on the shelf.
Then it was that the younger man so far forgot the respect due to his elder as to slap him on the back, an act not in the least resented, but responded to by a playful dig in the ribs.
“But I say, my boy,” whispered the butler, “it won’t do, you know. I’ve funked horribly for fear that they should ask for it.”
“Likely!” said the footman, scornfully. “It’s never been used but once.”
“More likely to be asked for to be put away with the rest in the vault. Jemmy’s safe to remember it some day.”
The footman was thoughtful as the butler locked up the iron closet.
“We ought to put away something not likely to be asked for, eh?”
“Yes,” said the butler, shaking his head sagely; “but what is there? We may have a dinner-party any day, and everything have to be shown.”
“Must be lots of things in the vault.”
“Course there is.”
“I say, ain’t it rum that they don’t send the things to their bankers?”
“Not a bit, when they’ve got a strong closet of their own, Orthur, my boy. I heard ’em talking about it one day at dinner, and Jemmy said something about their old bank breaking, and a lot of the family plate and jewels being lost. The rogues had been hard up for long enough and sold it.”
“Ah! there’s a sight o’ rogues in the world,” said Arthur, quietly.
“We’ve got some capital now.”
“Yes, but let’s think of a rainy day. Now, look here, there must be no end of things in the vault as they’re never like to ask for.”
“No end,” said the butler.
“Never been in it?”
“Never.”
“Well, couldn’t we have a look in, and pick out something small and handy? – say jools. They do lock them there when they go down to The Towers. I do know that.”
“Yes, my lad, they do; and I believe there’s a lot of old gold, family plate and diamonds as they never do want.”
“That’s the stuff for us – in case we want it, of course. Don’t hurt them to borrow it, and it finds us the capital to do us good.”
“Yes, but how are we to get at it?”
“Keys.”
“Where are they kept?”
“Oh, we could soon find out that.”
“Well, I can’t. I’ve been on the look-out this two years, and I believe Jemmy keeps ’em somewhere, but I never could find out where.”
“Then you had thought of that plan, old man?”
“Of course I had. Where you ain’t trusted it sets you thinking. They’re well-bred, but somehow the Clareboroughs ain’t real gentlemen. They trust me with some of the plate, and I’m supposed to be butler, but what about the wine? Do they ever let me have the key of the cellar?”
“No, that’s Bob’s job,” said the footman, thoughtfully.
“Yes, and a couple of paltry dozen at a time. How am I to know if the wine’s keeping sound or not? But there are ways, Orthur,” continued Roach, with a wink, and he rose slowly, went to a chest of drawers, unlocked it, took out a box, unlocked that, and drew forth a couple of new-looking keys.
“Hullo!” said the footman in a whisper; “cellar?”
“That one is,” replied the butler, as his companion turned over the big bright key he had taken up.
“Good. And what’s this?”
“One I got made to try the vault.”
“Phe-ew!” whistled Arthur, excitedly. “Then you have been in?”
“No, my lad; that only opens the wooden door at the end of the passage. Then you’re in a bit of a lobby, with a big iron door on one side.”
“Well, didn’t you get a key made for that?”
“No, my lad. I couldn’t. It’s a rum one. I don’t believe you could get one made by anybody but them as sold the safe.”
“Don’t believe it,” cried the footman, contemptuously, “Let me have a look.”
“Nay, nay, you’d better not.”
“Gammon. Where’s the old woman?”
“In her room, up atop.”
“Who’s in the kitchen?”
“Only the scullery-maid. T’others are all gone out.”
“Then let’s go and have a look,” cried Arthur. “I want to be a man. I’m sick of being a mouse.”
The butler seemed disposed to sit still, but the energy of his young companion stirred him to action, and he placed the keys in his pocket and stood hesitating.
“Go and see first what that gal’s doing,” he whispered, “while I make sure the old woman’s up in her room.”
The footman nodded, and both went their ways, to meet again with a nod indicating that all was right, and then the butler led on along one of the passages of the extensive basement to where another struck off at right angles, ending in an ordinary stout oak-grained door. This readily yielded to the key the butler brought, and after lighting a bit of candle the pair stepped into a little stone-walled room of about ten feet square, with a closely-fitting drab-painted door on their right, standing flush with the iron frame which filled up the centre.
“That’s a tight one, Orthur, lad,” said the butler.
“Yes, to them as has no key,” said the footman, quietly, after going down on one knee and examining the key-hole by holding the loose cover on one side. “I’m a-going to have a key to fit that lock, old man, afore long.”
“You are, my boy?”
“I am, guv’nor. You and I’s got together and we’ve got to stick together and make our fortunes. There’s horses and carriages and plate chests and cellars o’ wine for them as likes to be enterprising, and we’re enterprising now.”
“But we mustn’t do anything shady, Orthur.”
“Shady, guv’nor!” cried the footman, contemptuously; “not us. It’s to be sunshiny. Don’t you be afraid o’ that. We sha’n’t do nothing to make us afraid to look a bobby in the face. Only a bit of speckylation – a bit o’ borrowing now and then to raise the wind, and paying of it back. Give us your hand on it, old man. We sticks together through thick and thin.”
There were vinous tears in the butler’s eyes as he extended his plump white hand to be grasped hard, and the two speculators looked each in the other’s face, seeing a gilded future before them, the glare of which hid everything else.
“That’ll do for the present, guv’nor,” said Arthur.
He drew open the door, and was about to pass out, when a short cough came echoing along the passage, and he pushed the door close again.
“Hist!” he whispered, as he blew out the light; “the old woman’s coming down.”
“Quick! take out the key, and lock it from inside,” whispered the butler. “She’s always coming along here to see if this place is all right and try the door.”
The footman obeyed, making a faint rattle with the key, after which he closed the door, leaving them in darkness.
“Have you locked it?”
“No, there ain’t no key-hole on this side. Hist! she’s coming straight here.”
The next moment the footman’s shoulder was placed against the door to keep it fast.
The men stood holding their breath and feeling the perspiration gather upon their faces like a heavy dew, as they waited, hearing nothing now but the throbbing of their own hearts for what seemed to be an interminable time, before there came the sound as of something soft being dabbed against the door, followed by a sudden heavy push which, in spite of his strength, sent a jarring thrill through every nerve of the footman’s body.
Chapter Twenty One.
Going Shares
Mr Roach confessed to being an admirer of the fair sex; and consequent upon his position, not from any special attraction of mind or person, the butler’s advances were in more than one instance favourably received; but he also confessed, in the strictest personal confidence, to a feeling of jealousy against Arthur.
“He’s big, and he’s not bad-looking, but he’s very weak and young, and there’s a want of manly tone about him. I can’t see why they should make so much fuss over the fellow.”
“They” embraced the lady members of the Clareborough household staff; and in spite of what the butler might say, Arthur was distinctly high in favour and enjoyed his popularity.
There were reasons, of course, more than the great display of affability, and one day Mr Roach took his fellow-servant seriously to task.
“Look here, Orthur, my lad,” he said confidentially; “you’re having a fine old time of it just now, but recollect this: the sex is soft, and smooth, and pleasant, and as you may say sweet, but don’t you make a mistake and think that girls are fools.”
“I don’t,” said Arthur, complacently – “Old boy’s a bit jealous,” he added to himself.
“Then don’t act as if you did. They’re sharp enough, and before long they’ll begin talking. One of ’em ’ll be jealous of you taking out another, and then out’ll come the claw from the soft paws, and there’ll be a row.”
“Well, they must settle it among themselves if there is.”
“But don’t you see that the disappointed one that you’ve made an enemy ’ll begin to talk nasty-like and she’ll know what your wages are.”
“Eh?”
“That’s it, my boy; she’ll be wanting to know how you can be treating some of ’em to music-halls, and paying for cabs and railway fares, and supper afterwards, on five pound a quarter.”
“Dash it!” cried Arthur.
“Yes, that’s it, my lad. You and me’s doing very nicely just now; don’t spoil a good thing. See what I mean?”
“Yes, I see what you mean, old chap,” said Arthur, who had suddenly become sobered.
“That’s right. You see, you gave Maria Blay a gold watch.”
“Only a second-’and ’un, and I bought the pawn-ticket cheap.”
“Maybe, but there’s a big sound about a gold watch. Then you gave cook a brooch, and Betsy Dellow a gold ring, and it ain’t wise, my lad, it ain’t wise. We’re on the road to fortune, so don’t you get looking back for the sake of a bit of nonsense, or you and me may have to part. Don’t do foolish things.”
“No, Mr Roach, I won’t, sir. I’m very sorry, and I’ll be a bit more careful.”
“That’s right, Orthur,” said the butler, importantly. “I shouldn’t like for anything to come between us two.”
“Of course not, sir. It wouldn’t do,” cried the footman, eagerly.
“Got anything new?”
“Well, no, Mr Roach, sir. I haven’t seen the chance of a tip lately.”
The butler smiled triumphantly.
“You don’t mean to say you have, sir?”
“But I do, Orthur,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “It isn’t Mr Rob’s or Mr Paddy’s this time, but a put-up thing of the guv’nor’s.”
Arthur whistled in his excitement.
“It means a big stroke, Orthur. I’ve got the tip, and if you and me’s got the pluck to do it we’re made men.”
“Oh, we’ve got the pluck,” said the footman, huskily. “What’s the ’orse?”
“Not a horse at all, my lad. It’s a company. They’re working it to rights, and I’ve found out all about it, Orthur. I’ve seen the letters. They’re going to blow the thing up full of wind, and buy up all the shares they can. Then when the thing’s at the height, they sell, and make thousands.”
“Phew!” whistled the footman.
“S’pose we make a couple o’ thou, a-piece; that’s better than backing horses.”
“Yes; but could we?”
“Don’t they, my lad? Isn’t all this place run that way? Why shouldn’t we do it as well as them? They ain’t so precious clever after all.”
“Not as I see,” said the younger man, contemptuously.
“Then what do you say? Shall we venture?”
“I’m on,” said Arthur, eagerly. “How much does it want?”
“Two hundred a-piece. How much have you got?”
The footman gave him a curious look, and then said drily —
“Nothing at all.”
“Why, you don’t mean to say you’ve spent all we’ve made, Arthur?”
“Every penny. Haven’t you?”
The butler was silent, and frowned; but his companion followed up his question.
“Well, why don’t you answer a fellow?”
“I haven’t exactly spent it, Orthur,” said the butler at last, coughing to clear his voice.
“Well, what have you done with it?”
“’Orses.”
“Without saying a word to me?”
“Well, I didn’t know I was bound to tell you everything, Orthur.”
“Well, I did; and it serves you right. If you’d gone by my advice and taken my tips you’d ha’ won.”
“Yes, it was a mistake,” said the butler, humbly. “I was tempted to have just one little flutter on my own account, Orthur.”
“Well, don’t you do it again. That’s worse than giving the gals presents, old man. Then I suppose it will have to be your uncle again?”
“Yes, Orthur; but it’s a pity we couldn’t manage about a key for that door.”
“Ah! it is; but it ain’t to be done, only with a big hammer and wedges, I’m afraid. I’m trying still, though, to get a key made, and it may turn up trumps. Never mind; raise something on what you can take.”
“But it won’t be enough, my boy.”
“Never mind; let’s do what we can. A little’s more than none. Half a loaf’s better than no bread, old man.”
“Very well, my boy; I’ll take what I can to-night.”
“I say, you’re sure this’ll turn out all right?”
“Certain. It’s as safe as safe. I’ll make him let me have a little more – put something else up – and then we’ll take all the shares we can get.”
“And about selling out at the right time?”
“You leave that to me,” said the butler, smiling confidently. “Look here.”
He took out a letter and held it to his companion, who read it with his face lighting up, and clapped it back in the butler’s hands.
“That’s right, isn’t it?” said Roach.
“Splendid, old man. But stop; why, that’s your writing.”
“Of course it is; I copied it.”
“Oh, I see. Well, then, that’s all right. Go on ahead.”
“But I wish it wasn’t that centre-piece again. I’m always afraid of its being wanted.”
“Oh, it won’t be wanted,” said the footman, impatiently.
“If you could only have managed about that key.”
“Well, give me time. I say, that was a narrow squeak, when the old woman nearly caught us.”
“Yes, it was horrible,” said the butler, wiping his forehead. “Fancy her telling Jemmy, and him sending for us to come up in the lib’ry afore the lot of them!”
“Easy enough for him to send,” said the footman, with a grin, “but it would have taken a lot of pulling to get us there.”
“Yes, Orthur, my boy, the game would have been up.”
“And before we’d made our pile, old man. There, you want a glass of wine to pull you together. You mustn’t go and see our dear old relative looking like that.”
“No,” said Roach, brightening up; “that would not do, Orthur. The old woman did not find us out.”
“I held the door too fast for her, and a miss is as good as a mile, eh, guv’nor? I say, old man, don’t you think we might wet it?”
The butler smiled blandly.
“Well, just one glass wouldn’t be amiss, my boy. What shall it be?”
“Can’t beat a glass o’ port, old man. What do you say?”
“I say ditto, my dear boy,” and the butler, smiling, drew out his keys, unlocked a cupboard, lifted out a cobwebby bottle with a dab of whitewash on its end, and with a great deal of ceremony drew the cork, while Arthur fetched and gave a finishing touch to a couple of glasses as the cork was presented to him.
But it was only to smell, and Arthur inhaled the fragrance and sighed. Then the rich wine came gurgling out into the glasses, and these latter were raised.
“Well, old man, here’s success to speculation,” said Arthur.
“Suck-cess to speculation,” said the butler, and the glasses were slowly drained. Lips were smacked and the glasses refilled. “A very fine wine, Orthur.”
“Tip-top. How much is there of it?”
“Over six hundred dozen, my lad.”
“Well, we’ll help ’em drink it, old man. It’s fine. Sets a fellow thinking. Now, look here. We’re not going to stand still, eh?”
“Not a bit of it, dear boy. We’ll make our hay while the sun shines.”
“Ah, yes,” said the butler, filling another glass of the port; “and some people shoot a long time before folks get hit, eh, Orthur?”
“That’s so, guv’nor; you’ve only to keep going, and the chances are that they can’t hit you at all.”
The result of the emptying of that bottle of wine was that the gold epergne and several other pieces of plate went into the charge of the none too particular descendant of the Medici, a gentleman who, having been exceedingly unfortunate in carrying on what he called a square trade, had of late gone in for the risky and round, with the result that he was making money fast, and calming his conscience by chuckling to himself and saying —
“What harm is there, so long as you’re not found out?”
That evening Mr Roach returned with a sufficient amount to dip slightly into the new speculation in which the Clareboroughs were engaged, but he did not sleep any better for that. He dreamed about brokers who dealt in stock, and by a steady descent of thought he went on to brokers who put executions into houses. They suggested debtors’ prisons – debtors’ prisons brought up Holloway, and Holloway the criminal side – the criminal side, penal Portland, with irons, and costumes ornamented with broad arrows, shortcut hair, chain-gangs, and an awakening in a violent perspiration.
Mr Roach had no appetite next morning, but on behalf of footman Arthur and himself, a couple of hundred pounds were invested in the shares of the gaseous company which had nothing whatever to do with gas.
