One Of Them

“‘I can’t spare him, Mr. Stocmar,’ said he, ‘so I entreat you don’t carry him off from me.’

“‘Oh!’ cried I, ‘it was mere curiosity prompted the question. The man is well enough here, but he would n’t do for us. We have got Giomelli, and Clari – ’

“‘Not fit to light a squib for him,’ said he, warming up in his enthusiasm for his man. ‘I tell you, sir, that fellow would teach Giomelli, and every Italian of them all. He’s a great man, sir, – a genius. He was, once on a time, the great Professor of a University; one of the very first scientific men of the kingdom, and if it was n’t for ‘ – here he made a sign of drinking – ‘he ‘d perhaps be this day sought by the best in the land.’

“Though interested by all this, I only gave a sort of incredulous laugh in return, when he went on: —

“‘If I was quite sure you ‘d not take him away – if you ‘d give me your word of honor for it – I’d just show him to you, and you ‘d see – even tipsy as he’s sure to be – if I’m exaggerating.’

“‘What is he worth to you, Barry?’ said I.

“‘He ‘s worth – not to reckon private engagements for fireworks in gentlemen’s grounds, and the like, – he ‘s worth from seven to eight pounds a week.’

“‘And you give him – ’

“‘Well, I don’t give him much. It would n’t do to give him much; he has no self-control, – no restraint He’d kill himself, – actually kill himself.’

“‘So that you only give him – ’

“‘Fourteen shillings a week. Not but that I am making a little fund for him, and occasionally remitted his wife – he had a wife – a pound or so, without his knowledge.’

“‘Well, he’s not too dear at that,’ said I. ‘Now let me see and speak with him, Barry, and if I like him, you shall have a fifty-pound note for him. You know well enough that I needn’t pay a sixpence. I have fellows in my employment would track him out if you were to hide him in one of his rocket-canisters; so just be reasonable, and take a good offer.’

“He was not very willing at first, but he yielded after a while, and so I became the owner of the Professor, for such they called him.”

“Had he no other name?”

“Yes; an old parrot, that he had as a pet, called him Tom, and so we accepted that name; and as Tom, or Professor Tom, he is now known amongst us.”

“Did you find, after all, that you made a good bargain?”

“I never concluded a better, though it has its difficulties; for, as the Professor is almost an idiot when perfectly sober, and totally insensible when downright drunk, there is just a short twilight interval between the two, when his faculties are in good order.”

“What can he do at this favorable juncture?”

“What can he not? is the question. Why, it was he arranged all the scores for the orchestra after the fire, when we had not a scrap left of the music of the ‘Maid of Cashmere.’ It was he invented that sunrise, in the last scene of all, with the clouds rolling down the mountains, and all the rivulets glittering as the first rays touch them. It was he wrote the third act of Linton’s new comedy; the catastrophe and all were his. It was he dashed off that splendid critique on Ristori, that set the town in a blaze; and then he went home and wrote the parody on ‘Myrra’ for the Strand, all the same night, for I had watered the brandy, and kept him in the second stage of delirium till morning.”

“What a chance! By Jove! Stocmar, you are the only fellow ever picks up a gem of this water!”

“It’s not every man can tell the stone that will pay for the cutting, Paten, remember that. I ‘ve had to buy this experience of mine dearly enough.”

“Are you not afraid that the others will hear of him, and seduce him by some tempting offer?”

“I have, in a measure, provided against that contingency. He lives here, in a small crib, where we once kept a brown bear; and he never ventures abroad, so that the chances are he will not be discovered.”

“How I should like to have a look at him!”

“Nothing easier. Let us see, what o’clock is it? Near five. Well, this is not an unfavorable moment; he has just finished his dinner, and not yet begun the evening.” Ringing the bell, as he spoke, he gave orders to a supernumerary to send the Professor to him.

While they waited for his coming, Stocmar continued to give some further account of his life and habits, the total estrangement from all companionship in which he lived, his dislike to be addressed, and the seeming misanthropy that animated him. At last the manager, getting impatient, rang once more, to ask if he were about to appear.

“Well, sir,” said the man, with a sort of unwillingness in his manner, “he said as much as that he was n’t coming; that he had just dined, and meant to enjoy himself without business for a while.”

“Go back and tell him that Mr. Stocmar has something very important to tell him; that five minutes will be enough. – You see the stuff he’s made of?” said the manager, as the man left the room.

Another, and nearly as long a delay ensued, and at last the dragging sound of heavy slipshod feet was heard approaching; the door was rudely opened, and a tall old man, of haggard appearance and in the meanest rags, entered, and, drawing himself proudly up, stared steadfastly at Stocmar, without even for an instant noticing the presence of the other.

“I wanted a word, – just one word with you, Professor,” began the manager, in an easy, familiar tone.

“Men do not whistle even for a dog, when he ‘s at his meals,” said the old man, insolently. “They told you I was at my dinner, did n’t they?”

“Sorry to disturb you, Tom; but as two minutes would suffice for all I had to say – ”

“Reason the more to keep it for another occasion,” was the stubborn reply.

“We are too late this time,” whispered Stocmar across towards Paten; “the fellow has been at the whiskey-bottle already.”

With that marvellous acuteness of hearing that a brain in its initial state of excitement is occasionally gifted with, the old man caught the words, and, as suddenly rendered aware of the presence of a third party, turned his eyes on Paten. At first the look was a mere stare, but gradually the expression grew more fixed, and the bleared eyes dilated, while his whole features became intensely eager. With a shuffling but hurried step he then moved across the floor, and, coming close up to where Paten stood, he laid his hands upon his shoulders, and wheeled him rudely round, till the light of the window fell full upon him.

“Well, old gent,” said Paten, laughing, “if we are not old friends, you treat me very much as though we were.”

A strange convulsion, half smile, half grin, passed over the old man’s face, but he never uttered a word, but stood gazing steadily on the other.

“You are forgetting yourself, Tom,” said Stocmar, angrily. “That gentleman is not an acquaintance of yours.”

“And who told you that?” said the old man, insolently. “Ask himself if we are not.”

“I’m afraid I must give it against you, old boy,” said Paten, good-humoredly. “This is the first time I have had the honor to meet you.”

“It is not!” said the old man, with a solemn and even haughty emphasis.

“I could scarcely have forgotten a man of such impressive manners,” said Paten. “Will you kindly remind me of the where and how you imagine us to have met?”

“I will,” said the other, sternly. “You shall hear the where and the how. The where was in the High Court, at Jersey, on the 18th of January, in the year 18 – ; the how, was my being called on to prove the death, by corrosive sublimate, of Godfrey Hawke. Now, sir, what say you to my memory, – is it accurate, or not?”

Had not Paten caught hold of a heavy chair, he would have fallen; even as it was, he swayed forward and backward like a drunken man.

“And you – you were a doctor in those days, it seems,” said he, with an affected laugh, that made his ghastly features appear almost horrible.

“Yes; they accused me of curing folk, just as they charged you with killing them. Calumnious world that it is, – lets no man escape!”

“After all, my worthy friend,” said Paten, as he drew himself haughtily up, and assumed, though by a great effort, his wonted ease of manner, “you are deceived by some chance resemblance, for I know nothing about Jersey, and just as little of that interesting little incident you have alluded to.”

“This is even more than you attempted on the trial. You never dreamed of so bold a stroke as that, there. No, no, Paul Hunt, I know you well: that’s a gift of mine, – drunk or sober, it has stuck to me through life, – I never forget a face, – never!”

“Come, come, old Tom,” said Stocmar, as he drew forth a sherry decanter and a large glass from a small recess in the wall, “this is not the kindliest way to welcome an old friend or make a new one. Taste this sherry, and take the bottle back with you, if you like the flavor.” Stocmar’s keen glance met Paten’s eyes, and as quickly the other understood his tactique.

“Good wine, rare wine, if it was n’t so cold on the stomach,” said the old man, as he tossed off the second goblet. Already his eyes grew wild and bloodshot, and his watery lip trembled. “To your good health, gentlemen both,” said he, as he finished the decanter. “I’m proud you liked that last scene. It will be finer before I ‘ve done with it; for I intend to make the lava course down the mountain, and be seen fitfully as the red glow of the eruption lights up the picture.”

“With the bay and the fleet all seen in the distance, Tom,” broke in Stocmar.

“Just so, sir; the lurid glare – as the newspaper fellows will call it – over all. Nothing like Bengal-lights and Roman-candles; they are the poetry of the modern drama. Ah! sir, no sentiment without nitrate of potash; no poetry if you have n’t phosphorus.” And with a drunken laugh, and a leer of utter vacancy, the old man reeled from the room and sought his den again.

“Good Heavens, Stocmar! what a misfortune!” cried Paten, as, sick with terror, he dropped down into a chair.

“Never fret about it, Paul. That fellow will know nothing of what has passed when he wakes to-morrow. His next drunken bout – and I ‘ll take care it shall be a deep one – will let such a flood of Lethe over his brain that not one single recollection will survive the deluge. You saw why I produced the decanter?”

“Yes; it was cleverly done, and it worked like magic. But only think, Stocmar, if any one had chanced to be here – it was pure chance that there was not – and then – ”

“Egad! it might have been as you say,” said Stocmar; “there would have been no stopping the old fellow; and had he but got the very slightest encouragement, he had been off at score.”

CHAPTER XXVI. A DARK REMEMBRANCE

On a sea like glass, and with a faint moonlight streaking the calm water, the “Vivid,” her Majesty’s mail-packet, steamed away for Ostend. There were very few passengers aboard, so that it was clearly from choice two tall men, wrapped well up in comfortable travelling-cloaks, continued to walk the deck, till the sandy headlands of Belgium could be dimly descried through the pinkish gray of the morning. They smoked and conversed as they paced up and down, talking in low, cautious tones, and even entirely ceasing to speak when by any chance a passing sailor came within earshot.

“It is, almost day for day, nine years since I crossed over here,” said one, “and certainly a bleaker future never lay before any man than on that morning!”

“Was she with you, Ludlow?” asked the other, whose deep voice recalled the great Mr. Stocmar. “Was she with you?”

“No; she refused to come. There was nothing I did n’t do, or threaten to do, but in vain. I menaced her with every sort of publicity and exposure. I swore I ‘d write the whole story, – giving a likeness of her from the miniature in my possession; that I ‘d give her letters to the world in fac-simile of her own hand; and that, while the town rang with the tragedy as the newspapers called it, they should have a dash of melodrama, or high comedy too, to heighten the interest. All in vain; she braved everything – defied everything.”

“There are women with that sort of masculine temperament – ”

“Masculine you call it!” cried the other, scoffingly; “you never made such a blunder in your life. They are entirely and essentially womanly. You ‘d break twenty men down, smash them like rotten twigs, before you ‘d succeed in turning one woman of this stamp from her fixed will. I ‘ll tell you another thing, too, Stocmar,” added he, in a lower voice: “they do not fear the world the way men do. Would you believe it? Collins and myself left the island in a fishing-boat, and she – the woman – went coolly on board the mail-packet with her maid and child, and sat down to breakfast with the passengers, one of whom had actually served on the jury.”

“What pluck! I call that pluck.”

“It’s more like madness than real courage,” said the other, peevishly; and for some minutes they walked on side by side without a word.

“If I remember rightly,” said Stocmar, “she was not put on her trial?”

“No; there was a great discussion about it, and many blamed the Crown lawyers for not including her; but, in truth, there was not a shadow of evidence to be brought against her. His treatment of her might have suggested the possibility of any vengeance.”

“Was it so cruel?”

“Cruel is no word for it. There was not an insult nor an outrage spared her. She passed one night in the deep snow in the garden, and was carried senseless into the house at morning, and only rallied after days of treatment. He fired at her another time.”

“Shot her!”

“Yes, shot her through the shoulder, – sent the bullet through here, – because she would not write to Ogden a begging letter, entreating him to assist her with a couple of hundred pounds.”

“Oh, that was too gross!” exclaimed Stocmar.

“He told her, ‘You ‘ve cost me fifteen hundred in damages, and you may tell Ogden he shall have you back again for fifty.’”

“And she bore all this?”

“I don’t know what you mean by bearing it. She did not stab him. Some say that Hawke was mad, but I never thought so. He had boastful fits at times, in which he would vaunt all his villanies, and tell you of the infamies he had done with this man and that; but they were purely the emanations of an intense vanity, which left him unable to conceal anything. Imagine, for instance, his boasting how he had done the ‘Globe’ office out of ten thousand, insured on his first wife’s life, – drowned when bathing. I heard the story from his own lips, and I ‘ll never forget his laugh as he said, ‘I ‘d have been in a hole if Mary had n’t.’”

“That was madness, depend on ‘t.”

“No; I think not. It was partly vanity, for he delighted above all things to create an effect, and partly a studied plan to exercise an influence by actual terror, in which he had a considerable success. I could tell you of a score of men who would not have dared to thwart him; and it was at last downright desperation drove Tom Towers and Wake to” – he hesitated, faltered, and, in a weak voice, added, – “to do it!”

“How was it brought about?” whispered Stocmar, cautiously.

Paten took out his cigar-case, selected a cigar with much care, lighted it, and, after smoking for some seconds, began: “It all happened this way: we met one night at that singing-place in the Haymarket. Towers, Wake, Collins, and myself were eating an oyster supper, when Hawke came in. He had been dining at the ‘Rag,’ and had won largely at whist from some young cavalry swells, who had just joined. He was flushed and excited, but not from drinking, for he said he had not tasted anything but claret-cup at dinner. ‘You’re a mangy-looking lot,’ said he, ‘with your stewed oysters and stout,’ as he came up. ‘Why, frozen-out gardeners are fine gentlemen in comparison. Are there no robberies going on at the Ottoman, – nothing doing down at Grimshaw’s?’

“‘You ‘re very bumptious about belonging to the “Rag,” Hawke.’ said Towers; ‘but they ‘ll serve you the same trick they did me one of these days.’

“‘No, sir, they ‘ll never turn me out,’ said Hawke, insolently.

“‘More fools they, then,’ said the other; ‘for you can do ten things for one that I can; and, what’s more, you have done them.’

“‘And will again, old boy, if that’s any comfort to you,’ cried Hawke, finishing off the other’s malt. ‘Waiter, fetch me some cold oysters, and score them to these gentlemen,’ said he, gayly, taking his place amongst us. And so we chaffed away, about one thing or another, each one contributing some lucky or unlucky hit that had befallen him; but Hawke always bringing up how he had succeeded here, and what he had won there, and only vexed if any one reminded him that he had been ever ‘let in’ in his life.

“‘Look here,’ cried he, at last; ‘ye’re an uncommon seedy lot, very much out at elbows, and so I ‘ll do you a generous turn. I ‘ll take ye all over to my cottage at Jersey for a week, house and grub you, and then turn you loose on the island, to do your wicked will with it.’

“‘We take your offer – we say, Done!’ cried Collins.

“‘I should think you do! You’ve been sleeping under the colonnade of the Haymarket these last three nights,’ said he to Collins, ‘for want of a lodging. There’s Towers chuckling over the thought of having false keys to all my locks; and Master Paul, yonder,’ said he, grinning at me, ‘is in love with my wife. Don’t deny it, man; I broke open her writing-desk t’ other day, and read all your letters to her; but I’m a generous dog; and, what’s better,’ added he, with an insolent laugh, ‘one as bites, too – eh, Paul? – don’t forget that.’

“‘Do you mean the invitation to be real and bonâ fide?’ growled out Towers; ‘for I ‘m in no jesting humor.’

“‘I do,’ said Hawke, flourishing out a handful of banknotes; ‘there’s enough here to feed five times as many blacklegs; and more costly guests a man can’t have.’

“‘You’ll go, won’t you?’ said Collins, to me, as we walked home together afterwards.

“‘Well,’ said I, doubtingly, ‘I don’t exactly see my way.’

“‘By Jove!’ cried he, ‘you are afraid of him.’

“‘Not a bit,’ said I, impatiently. ‘I ‘m well acquainted with his boastful habit: he’s not so dangerous as he ‘d have us to believe.’

“‘But will you go? – that’s the question,’ said he, more eagerly.

“‘Why are you so anxious to know?’ asked I, again.

“‘I ‘ll be frank with you,’ said he, in a low, confidential tone. ‘Towers wants to be certain of one thing. Mind, now,’ added be, ‘I ‘m sworn to secrecy, and I ‘m telling you now what I solemnly swore never to reveal; so don’t betray me, Paul. Give me your hand on it.’ And I gave him my hand.

“Even after I had given him this pledge, he seemed to have become timorous, and for a few minutes he faltered and hesitated, totally unable to proceed. At last he said, half inquiringly, —

“‘At all events, Paul, you cannot like Hawke?’

“‘Like him! there is not the man on earth I hate as I hate him!’

“‘That’s exactly what Towers said: “Paul detests him more than we do.”’

“The moment Collins said these words the whole thing flashed full upon me. They were plotting to do for Hawke, and wanted to know how far I might be trusted in the scheme.

“‘Look here, Tom,’ said I, confidentially; ‘don’t tell me anything. I don’t want to be charged with other men’s secrets; and, in return, I’ll promise not to pry after them. “Make your little game,” as they say at Ascot, and don’t ask whether I’m in the ring or not. Do you understand me?’

“‘I do, perfectly,’ said he. ‘The only point Towers really wanted to be sure of is, what of her? What he says is, there’s no telling what a woman will do.’

“’ If I were merely to give an opinion,’ said I, carelessly, ‘I ‘d say, no danger from that quarter; but, mind, it’s only an opinion.’

“‘Wake says you’d marry her,’ said he, bluntly, and with an abruptness that showed he had at length got courage to say what he wanted.

“‘Tom Collins,’ said I, seriously, ‘let us play fair; don’t question me, and I ‘ll not question you.’

“‘But you ‘ll come along with us?’ asked he, eagerly.

“‘I ‘m not so sure of that, now,’ said I; ‘but if I do, it’s on one only condition.’

“‘And that is – ’

“‘That I ‘m to know nothing, or hear nothing, of whatever you ‘re about. I tell you distinctly that I ‘ll not pry anywhere, but, in return, treat me as a stranger in whose discretion you cannot trust.’

“‘You like sure profits and a safe venture, in fact,’ said he, sneeringly.

“‘Say one half of that again, Collins,’ said I, ‘and I’ll cut with the whole lot of you. I ask no share. I ‘d accept no share in your gains here.’

“‘But you ‘ll not peach on us, Paul?’ said he, catching my hand.

“‘Never,’ said I, ‘as long as you are on the square with me.’

“After this, he broke out into the wildest abuse of Hawke, making him out – as it was not hard to do – the greatest villain alive, mingling the attack with a variety of details of the vast sums he had latterly been receiving. ‘There are,’ he said, ‘more than two thousand in hard cash in his hands at this moment, and a number of railway shares and some Peruvian bonds, part of his first wife’s fortune, which he has just recovered by a lawsuit.’ So close and accurate were all these details, so circumstantial every part of the story, that I perceived the plan must have been long prepared, and only waiting for a favorable moment for execution. With this talk he occupied the whole way, till I reached my lodgings.

“‘And now, Paul,’ said he, ‘before we part, give me your word of honor once more.’

“‘There ‘s my pledge,’ said I, ‘and there ‘s my hand. So long as I hear nothing, and see nothing, I know nothing.’ And we said good-night, and separated.

“So long as I was talking with Collins,” continued Paten, – “so long, in fact, as I was taking my own side in the discussion, – I did not see any difficulty in thus holding myself aloof from the scheme, and not taking any part whatever in the game played out before me; but when I found myself alone in my room, and began to conjure up an inquest and a trial, and all the searching details of a cross-examination, I trembled from head to foot. I remember to this hour how I walked to and fro in my room, putting questions to myself aloud, and in the tone of an examining counsel, till my heart sickened with fear; and when at last I lay down, wearied but not sleepy, on my bed, it was to swear a solemn vow that nothing on earth should induce me to go over to Jersey.

“The next day I was ill and tired, and I kept my bed, telling my servant to let no one disturb me on any pretext. Towers called, but was not admitted. Collins came twice, and tried hard to see me, but my man was firm, so that Tom was fain to write a few words on a card, in pencil: ‘H. is ill at Limmer’s; but it is only del. tremens, and he will be all right by Saturday. The boat leaves Blackwall at eleven. Don’t fail to be in time.’ This was Thursday. There was no time to lose, if I only knew what was best to be done. I ‘ll not weary you with the terrible tale of that day’s tortures; how I thought over every expedient in turn, and in turn rejected it; now I would go to Hawke, and tell him everything; now to the Secretary of State at the Home Office; now to Scotland Yard, to inform the police; then I bethought me of trying to dissuade Towers and the others from the project; and at last I resolved to make a ‘bolt’ of it, and set out for Ireland by the night mail, and lie hid in some secluded spot till all was over. About four o’clock I got up, and, throwing on my dressing-gown, I walked to the window. It was a dark, dull day, with a thin rain falling, and few persons about; but just as I was turning away from the window I saw a tall, coarse-looking fellow pass into the oyster-shop opposite, giving a glance up towards me as he went; the next minute a man in a long camlet cloak left the shop, and walked down the street; and, muffled though he was from head to foot, I knew it was Towers.

“I suppose my conscience wasn’t all right, for I sank down into a chair as sick as if I ‘d been a month in a fever. I saw they had set a watch on me, and I knew well the men I had to deal with. If Towers or Wake so much as suspected me, they ‘d make all safe before they ventured further. I looked out again, and there was the big man, with a dark blue woollen comforter round his throat, reading the advertisements on a closed shutter, and then strolling negligently along the street. Though his hat was pressed down over his eyes, I saw them watching me as he went; and such was my terror that I fancied they were still gazing at me after he turned the corner.