Читать книгу The Mystery of Lincoln's Inn - Machray Robert - Страница 4

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"Here is a letter from Morris Thornton," said Silwood, shooting a keen, swift glance at his partner, but it escaped the other's notice.

Francis Eversleigh's thoughts, in fact, played pleasantly around his son Gilbert and Kitty Thornton, or if he had seen that look it might have startled him out of the complacent musings which forecast a fortunate ending only.

"Yes," he said, rather apathetically. For though the mention of the name of Kitty's father chimed in agreeably with his reflections, the firm received communications frequently from Morris Thornton—which was only natural, as he was by far the most important client it possessed, and therefore the arrival of this particular letter excited no special interest in his breast. "Is it more money for investment?" he inquired, tranquilly.

But Silwood did not answer the question. Instead of doing so, he scanned the letter with those little, sharp eyes of his, while his smooth, pallid face was as void of expression as a block of stone.

"What does Morris say?" asked Eversleigh, after a pause.

"Did you see Miss Kitty this morning?" Silwood queried, ignoring the other's words; moreover, he spoke in such a tone as was significant of the relations between the two partners—it suggested the idea that he was accustomed to direct Eversleigh, and not to be directed by him.

"Certainly, I saw her this morning," replied Eversleigh, beginning to wonder a little.

"Did she have nothing to tell you about her father?"

"She did not allude to him at all."

"Do you happen to know if she received a letter from him this morning?"

"I'm pretty sure she did not; if she had, she would doubtless have mentioned it," said Eversleigh, looking blankly at the questioner. "But what are you driving at, Cooper?" he asked.

"Morris Thornton informs us in this letter that he is coming back to England——"

"Indeed!" cried Eversleigh, breaking in; "that's good news. I shall be very glad to see him again."

And there was a pleasant smile on Eversleigh's face.

"Yes, he's coming home," Silwood went on; "but he doesn't state exactly when. I thought he probably would write Miss Kitty about the same time that he wrote us, giving the precise date—say, of his sailing from New York; he generally comes by that route."

"I should think he has written her," said Francis Eversleigh, "but she had not received a letter this morning up to the time of my leaving Surbiton, so far as I know. Did the letter to us come by the first delivery or the second? If it came by the latter, then most likely she would get her letter, if there was one for her, by it also. But that would be after I had left Surbiton."

"That's it, I believe," observed Silwood, who had been examining the postmarks on the envelope in which Thornton's letter had been enclosed; "our letter came by the second delivery. I am convinced that when you return to Surbiton you will find Miss Kitty has heard from her father. He will certainly have told her when to expect him, and we must get to know the exact date he specifies; it is most important."

"It is certainly very odd," remarked Eversleigh, leisurely and without much curiosity, "that so business-like a man as Morris does not give a positive date either for leaving New York or for arriving here; but I don't know, after all, that it is so particularly important. The important thing, of course, is that he is coming back again, and I'm heartily pleased to hear it. He's been away a long time without a holiday at home—seven years, isn't it? Kitty was only fourteen," continued Eversleigh, in a vein of reminiscence, "when he left her in my wife's charge, and now she is twenty-one. How happy the news will make the child! Strange he doesn't mention a date—strange, as you say, Cooper. But can't you make a pretty fair guess at the approximate date from his letter? You haven't yet told me what he says in it. What does he say?"

Cooper Silwood glanced at the letter as if to refresh his memory, yet he knew its contents so perfectly that he could have repeated it word for word.

"He tells us," said Silwood, deliberately, "that the reason for his returning to England is the state of his health, which is now most precarious."

"Dear me!" interrupted Eversleigh, with lively concern.

"He says he is subject to exceedingly serious heart-trouble, and has been warned by his doctor that he may not have long to live."

"Good Heavens!" ejaculated Eversleigh, his face suddenly grown grave. The friendship between him and Morris Thornton had lasted many years; indeed, they had been boys together at Rugby, and the sad tidings pained him greatly. "Poor Morris!" he said, in a low, hushed voice; "how dreadful! I thought I should be so glad to see him once more, but—but this is too terrible—too terrible!"

Silwood had been almost as much of a friend to the doomed man as his partner, but he uttered no words of regret, far less of sorrow. While Eversleigh was speaking, he turned away, with a slight gesture of impatience, and fixed his eyes on some shelves filled with law-books.

There was a short silence, and then Eversleigh, still in that small, hushed voice, asked if there was anything more in Thornton's letter.

"He intends to consult Sir Anthony Mortimer, the great heart specialist, but he has no real hope of recovery," replied Silwood, with another glance at the letter. "Then he goes on to say that he will devote the whole of the time left him to putting all his affairs in thorough order, so that Miss Kitty will have no trouble in the future. He thanks us for the care and judgment we have shown in investing the sums of money he has from time to time remitted us from Canada, and, as a matter of form, he would like to check over the securities, certificates of shares, etc., we hold for him. He concludes by stating that when his agents have realized the remainder of his estate in British Columbia the proceeds will be placed in our hands, and that he will leave instructions to this effect."

Though Eversleigh had asked for the information Silwood thus gave him, his mind was so stunned by the grave news concerning the condition of his friend that he hardly took in what his partner said. Silwood saw that Eversleigh was not following him. He now spoke sharply and abruptly, so that Eversleigh was compelled to listen.

"Morris, I take it," said he, "wishes to make an examination into his affairs—an investigation, one might call it; that is the meaning of his desire to check over the securities, certificates of shares, etc., in our hands."

"Well, it's very natural in the circumstances," observed Eversleigh. "Poor Morris! Poor fellow! To have fought all these long years for his fortune—to have won—and now to be robbed of the fruits of the struggle; it must be bitter—bitter! Such a fine fortune, too! Thanks to your financial ability, Cooper," continued Eversleigh, with returning complacency, "his estate is in a highly satisfactory condition; everything is in apple-pie order; he will be delighted with your admirable management. It's a great fortune," he added, meditatively. "What we hold of it, Cooper, is something like a quarter of a million, is it not?"

"Yes, yes," assented Silwood, speaking rapidly. "Francis," he went on, his manner for the first time showing a trace of nervousness, his speech a touch of incoherence, "that's what I must talk to you about—there's a very good reason why I am so anxious as to the date of Morris Thornton's arrival—something must be done at once."

"What do you mean, Cooper?" asked Eversleigh, his attention aroused; "I don't understand you."

Silwood had up to this point been standing; he now seated himself and gazed fixedly at his partner, on whose face was to be seen some uneasiness but no great alarm—rather a vague wonder.

"Frank," said Silwood, steadily, and now master of himself, "prepare yourself—I have something to say—I have a confession to make."

As he heard these words, Eversleigh, with a sudden movement, pushed his chair back from the table. Fearful of what was coming, he stared at Silwood, his mild eyes big with surprise and terror.

"What is it?" he stammered, in increasing agitation—"what is it?" And he jumped up to his feet excitedly, exclaiming, "A confession to make! You! Am I going out of my senses? My God! What do you mean, Cooper?"

"What I mean is this," said Silwood, keeping his eyes fastened snake-like on Eversleigh as if to magnetize him: "when Morris Thornton comes to look into his affairs and ask for the securities and so forth we are supposed to hold——"

"Supposed to hold!" cried Eversleigh, in tremulous accents.

"When he asks us for his property he will discover——"

"No, no, no—never that, Cooper!" interrupted Eversleigh, at last perceiving the other's drift.

"He will discover that his estate has vanished; it does not exist," said Silwood.

"What!" ejaculated Eversleigh, staring wildly at his partner, and still only half believing his ears, still only half comprehending the sweep of the calamity in which he was involved.

"The truth is, Frank, that, unknown to you, I've been speculating on the Stock Exchange, and I've lost everything, or practically everything. If we were called upon to-day," Silwood went on in a hard, penetrating tone which forced conviction on the mind of the miserable man to whom he spoke, "to produce our clients' securities, bonds, shares and monies, we should have very little to give them—the bulk has disappeared."

"We are defaulters," moaned Eversleigh, in accents of horror. And as he spoke, realizing and overwhelmed by the disaster that had overtaken him, the big, soft man seemed to shrivel and shrink up. With a pitiful sound, plaintive, appealing, like the cry of a hurt child, he covered his face with his hands and sank into his seat.

"Some years ago," Silwood resumed, "I was tempted to speculate. It appeared to be a certainty, but I lost. To gain back what I had ventured, I speculated again, with no better result. And this happened over and over again. I did not always lose, or I might have become discouraged. So I kept hoping and hoping to right myself, but I only sank deeper and deeper in the mire."

While Silwood was speaking, a dark painful flush overspread Eversleigh's face, then the blood ebbed slowly away from it, and left the cheeks deathly pale.

"I have put off telling you of our position," continued Silwood, in the same measured, monotonous, curiously callous voice that he had spoken in during most of the interview, "but the early coming—he may be here any day—of Morris Thornton compels me to state exactly how we stand. You see now why I am so anxious to know the date of his return to England."

Eversleigh slowly raised his head and looked at Silwood the reproach, anger, and rage he felt but could not express—he was so overcome, so dazed, that his tongue could not find words. He saw with appalling clearness, as in a flash of lightning, all that Silwood's disclosure meant—dishonour, ruin, and the convict's cell for himself, the brand of shame and infamy for his family. He had blindly trusted Silwood all these years, and, though he himself had taken not a penny of the clients' funds, the law would hold him equally guilty with his partner.

"Something must be done," urged Silwood.

"There is only one thing to do," said Eversleigh, finding words at last; "we must make the truth known at once."

"No," said Silwood, emphatically; "that would be sheer folly; it will be soon enough to act in that way when we must. Besides, is there no scheme that we can devise to——"

"What scheme could be devised?"

"I have thought of one," said Silwood, and for several minutes he spoke to Eversleigh in low tones of persuasion, but Eversleigh refused to agree to what he proposed.

"No," said Eversleigh, finally; "I'll never consent to that—never, come what may."

"Think it over, Frank," Silwood pressed him—"think it over calmly; and, in any case, there is no need for precipitancy."

"If I did my duty," said Eversleigh, with a groan, "I should hand you and myself over to the police!"

"That would be madness," replied Silwood. "Think of it, man! You will never be such a fool."

Eversleigh rose to his feet with a sudden pathetic dignity.

"Leave me!" he commanded Silwood; "I can bear no more."

And Cooper Silwood hesitated, then obeyed. When he was gone out of the room, Eversleigh sat staring, staring at the door.

It seemed to him incredible, impossible, that a few brief minutes could work such havoc, such disaster, such irremediable ruin. Only a short time before, that fine young man, that handsome and debonair son of his, of whom he was so proud, had stood in this room, and had gone away smiling and hopeful; and now——

Eversleigh felt like one in a nightmare falling through immeasurable depths.