"Of course you are not!" Buffham hastened to reply, considerably disconcerted by his host's unexpected attitude; so difficult is it for a radically dishonest man to realize that his is not the usual and normal state of mind. "But neither do you want to find yourself in the position of Mr. 'A.' "
"No," Pippet admitted, "I don't. I just want a square deal, and I always understood that you could get it in an English court."
"So you can," said Buffham. "But you must realize that a court can only decide on the facts and arguments put before it. It is the business of the lawyers to supply those facts and arguments. And I think you are hardly just to my lawyer friend—his name, by the way, is Gimbler—a most honourable and conscientious man. I must point out that a lawyer's duty is to present his client's case in the most forcible and convincing way that he can. He is not concerned with the other man's case. He assumes—and so does the court—that the opposing lawyer will do the same for his client; and then the court will have both cases completely presented. It is the client's business to employ a lawyer who is competent to put his case properly to the court."
Mr. Pippet nodded. "Yes," he said, reflectively, "I see the idea. But the difficulty in the case of a stranger like myself is to find the particular kind of lawyer who has the special knowledge and experience that is required. Now, as to this friend of yours, Gimbler; you say that he specializes in disputed claims to property."
"I didn't say that he specialized in them, but I know that he has had considerable experience of them."
"Well, now, do you suppose that he would be willing to take up this claim of mine?"
Mr. Buffham did not suppose at all. He knew. Nevertheless he replied warily:
"It depends. He wouldn't want to embark on a case that was going to result in a fiasco. He would want to hear all about the claim and what evidence there is to support it. And especially he would want to go very carefully through those documents of yours."
"Yes," said Pippet, "that seems to be the correct line, and that is what I should want him to do. I'd like to have an expert opinion on the whole affair before I begin to get busy. I am not out to exploit a mare's nest and make a public fool of myself. But we didn't finish the story. We only got to the Box and Cox business of Josiah and the Earl. It seems that this went on for a number of years, and nothing seems to have been thought of it at the time. But when Josiah's wife died and his son—my father—was settled, he appears to have wearied of the complications of his double life and made up his mind to put an end to them. And the simplest and most conclusive way to write Finis on the affair seemed to him to be to die and get buried. And that is what he did. According to the story, he faked a last illness and engineered a sham death. I don't know how he managed it. Seems to me pretty difficult. But the rumour had it that he managed to get people to believe that he had died, and he had a funeral with a dummy coffin, properly weighted with lumps of lead, and that this was successfully planted in the family vault. I am bound to admit that this part of the story does sound a trifle thin. But it seems to have been firmly believed in the family."
It would have been a relief to Mr. Buffham to snigger aloud. But sniggering was not his role. Still, he felt called on to make some kind of criticism. Accordingly, he remarked judicially:
"There do certainly seem to be difficulties; the death certificate, for instance. You would hardly expect a doctor to mistake a live, healthy man for a corpse—unless Josiah made it worth his while. It would be simple enough then."
“I understand," said Mr. Pippet, "that doctors often used to give a certificate without viewing the body. But the lawyer will know that. At any rate, it is obvious that someone must have been in the know; and that is probably how the rumour got started."
"And when did the Earl die?"
"That I can't tell you, off hand. But it was some years after Josiah's funeral."
"And who holds the title and estate now?"
"Nobody; at least, so I understand. The last—or present—Earl went away to Africa or some other uncivilized place, big game shooting, and never came back. As there was never any announcement of the Earl's death, things seem to have drifted on as if he was alive. I have never heard of any claimant."
"There couldn't be until the Earl's death was either proved or presumed by the permission of the court. So the first thing that you will have to do will be to take proceedings to have the death of the Earl presumed."
"Not the first thing," said Pippet. "There is one question that will have to be settled before we definitely make the claim. The tradition says that Josiah's death was a fake and that his coffin was a dummy weighted with lead. Now, that is a statement of fact that admits of proof or disproof. The first thing that we have got to do is to get that coffin open. If we find Josiah inside, that will settle the whole business, and I shan't care a hoot whether the Earl is alive or dead."
Once again Mr. Buffham was sensible of a slight feeling of disappointment. In a man who was prepared to consider seriously such a manifestly preposterous cock and bull story as this, he had not looked for so reasonable a state of mind. Of course, Pippet was quite right from his own idiotic point of view. The opening of the coffin was the experimentum crucis. And when it was opened, there, of course, would be the body, and the bubble would be most effectively burst. But Mr. Buffham did not want the bubble burst. The plan which was shaping itself vaguely in his mind was concerned with keeping that bubble in a healthy state of inflation. And again, his crooked mind found it hard to understand Pippet's simple, honest, straightforward outlook. If he had been the claimant, his strongest efforts would have been devoted to seeing that nobody meddled with that coffin. And he had a feeling that his friend Gimbler would take the same view.
"Of course," he conceded, "you are perfectly correct; but there may be difficulties that you don't quite realize. I don't know how it is in America, but in this country you can't just dig up a coffin and open it if you want to know who is inside. There are all sorts of formalities before you can get permission; and I doubt whether faculty would be granted until you had made out some sort of a case in the courts. So the moral is that you must get as impressive a body of evidence together as you can. Have you got any other facts besides what you have told me? For instance, do you know what these two men—Josiah and the Earl—were like? Do they appear to have resembled each other?"
Mr. Pippet grinned. "If Josiah and the Earl," said he, "were one and the same person, they would naturally be a good deal alike. I understand that they were. That is one of the strong points of the story. Both of them were a bit out-size; well over six feet in height. Both were fair, blue-eyed men with a shaved upper lip and long sandy side-whiskers."
"You can prove that, can you?"
"I can swear that I had information to that effect from my father, who knew one and had seen the other. And there is one other point; only a small one, but every little bit of corroboration helps. My father told me on several occasions that his father—Josiah—had often told him that he was born in Winsborough Castle."
"Ha!" exclaimed Buffham, "that's better. That establishes a definite connexion. It's a pity, though, that he was not more explicit. And now, with regard to these documents that you spoke of; what is the nature of them?"
"To tell you the truth," replied Pippet, "I don't know much about them. I've been used to an active life and I'm not a great reader, so I've not done much more than glance over them. But, as I mentioned, my sister has gone through them carefully and she reckons that they as good as prove that Josiah and the Earl were one and the same person. Would you like to have a look at them?"
A mere affirmative would have been inadequate to express Mr. Buffham's ravenous desire to see whether there was or was not the making of a possible legal case. Nevertheless, he replied in a tone of studied indifference:
"My opinion is not much to the point, but I should certainly like to see what sort of material you will be able to give your lawyer."
Thereupon Mr. Pippet retired to the bedroom, from which he
presently emerged carrying a good-sized deed box. This he placed on the table, and, having gone deliberately through a large bunch of keys, eventually selected one and carefully fitted it into the lock while Buffham watched him hungrily. The box being opened, the two men drew their chairs up to the table and peered into its interior; which was occupied by a collection of bundles of papers, neatly tied up with red tape, each bundle being distinguished by means of a label inscribed in an old-fashioned feminine handwriting. In addition, there were seven small, leather-bound volumes.
Buffham picked out the bundles, one after another, and read the labels. "Letters from J.S. to his wife," "Letters from various persons to J.S.," "Copies of letters from J.S. to various persons," "Various tradesmen's bills and accounts," and so on. Having asked his host's permission, he untied one or two of the bundles and read samples of the letters and tradesmen's bills with a feeling of stupefaction, mingled with astonished speculations as to the mental peculiarities of his host's sister.
"Yes," he said, gloomily replacing the last of them, "I dare say a careful analysis of these letters may yield some relevant information, but it will need the expert eye of the trained lawyer to detect the relevancy of some of them. There is, for instance, a bill for two pounds of pork sausages and a black pudding, which seems rather beside the mark. But you never know. Important legal points may be involved in the most unexpected matter. What are those little books? Are they the diaries that you spoke of?"
Mr. Pippet nodded and handed one of them to him, which proved to be the diary for the year 1833. He turned over the leaves and scanned the entries with more interest but still with a feeling of· bewilderment. After examining a few sample pages, he handed the volume back to Pippet, remarking a little wearily:
"The late Josiah didn't go into much detail. The entries are very dry and brief and seem to be concerned chiefly with the trivial happenings of his life from day to day and with money paid or received."
"Well, isn't that what diaries are usually filled with?"
Pippet protested, not unreasonably. "And don't you think that those simple, commonplace entries are just the ones to give us the information that we want? My sister said that she learned quite a lot about Josiah's ways of life from those diaries."
"Did she?" said Buffham. "I am glad to hear it; because it suggests that a trained lawyer, going through those diaries with the legal issues in his mind, noting, collating and analyzing the entries, will probably discover significances in the most unexpected places. Which brings us back to the point that you ought to get competent legal assistance without delay."
"Yes, I think you are right," agreed Pippet. "I've got to secure a lawyer sooner or later, so I might as well start right away. Now, to come down to brass tacks, what about this lawyer friend of yours? You say that this case of mine would be in his customary line of business; and you think he would be willing to take it on?"
Mr. Buffham had no doubts whatever, but he did not think it expedient to say so. A retreating tendency on the part of the bait is apt to produce a pursuing tendency on the part of the fish.
"Naturally," said he, "I can't answer for another man's views. He is a busy man, and he might not be prepared to give time to what he might regard as a somewhat speculative case. But we can easily find out. If you like, I will call on him and put the case to him in as favourable a light as possible, and, if he doesn't seem eager to take it up, I might use a little gentle pressure. You see, I know him pretty well. Then, if I am successful, I might arrange for you to have an interview, at which, perhaps, it might be advisable for your sister to be present, as she knows more about the affair than you do. Then he could tell you what he thought of your chances and you could let him know what you are prepared to do. What do you think of that plan?"
Mr. Pippet thought that it seemed to meet the case, provided that it could be carried out without delay.
"You understand," said he, "that my sister and daughter will be arriving here tomorrow, and they will be red-hot to get the business started, especially my sister."
"And quite naturally, too," said Buffham. "I sympathize with her impatience and I promise that there shall be no delay on my part. I will call at Gimbler's office tomorrow morning the first thing, before he has had time to begin his morning's work."
"It's very good of you," said Pippet, as his guest rose to take his leave, "to interest yourself in this way in the affairs of a mere stranger."
"Not at all," Buffham rejoined cheerily. "You are forgetting the romance and dramatic interest of your case. Anyone would be delighted to lend you a hand in your adventure. You may depend on hearing from me in the course of tomorrow. Good night and good luck!"
Mr. Pippet, having provided his guest with a fresh cigar, accompanied him down to the entrance and watched him with a meditative eye as he walked away down the street. Apparently, the dwindling figure suggested a train of thought, for he continued to stand looking out even after it had disappeared. At length he turned with a faint sigh and thoughtfully retraced his steps to his own domain.
II. MR. BUFFHAM'S LEGAL FRIEND
No amount of native shrewdness can entirely compensate for deficiency of knowledge. If Mr. Christopher Pippet had been intimately acquainted with English social customs, he would have known that the neighbourhood of Kennington in general and Kennington Grove in particular, is hardly the place in which to look for the professional premises of a solicitor engaged in important Chancery practice. He did, indeed, survey the rather suburban surroundings with a certain amount of surprise, noting with intelligent interest the contrast between the ways of New York and those of London. He even ventured to comment on the circumstance as he halted at the iron gate of a small garden and read out the inscription on a well-worn brass plate affixed to the gate aforesaid; which set forth the name and professional vocation of Mr. Horatio Gimbler, Solicitor and Advocate.
"Buffham didn't tell me that he was an advocate as well as a solicitor," Mr. Pippet remarked, as he pushed the gate open.
"He wouldn't," replied his companion, "but left you to find out for yourself. Of course he knew you would, and then you would give him credit for having understated his friend's merits. It's just vanity."
At the street door, which was closed and bore a duplicate plate, Mr. Pippet pressed an electric bell-push, with the result that there arose from within a sound like the "going off" of an alarm clock and simultaneously the upper half of a face with a pair of beady black eyes .appeared for an instant above the wire blind of the adjacent window. Then, after a brief interval, the door opened and revealed an extremely alert youth of undeniably Hebraic aspect.
"Is Mr. Gimbler disengaged?" Mr. Pippet inquired.
"Have you got an appointment?" the youth demanded.
"Yes; eleven o'clock; and it's two minutes to the hour now. Shall I go in here?"
He turned towards a door opening out of the hall and marked "Waiting Room."
"No," the youth replied, hastily, emphatically and almost in a tone of alarm. "That'th for clienth that haven't got an appointment. What name thall I thay?"
"Mr. and Miss Pippet."
"Oh, yeth, I know. Jutht thtep thith way."
He opened an inner door leading into a small inner hall, which offered to the visitors a prospect of a flight of shabbily carpeted stairs and a strong odour of fried onions. Here he approached a door marked "Private Office" and knocked softly, eliciting a responsive but inarticulate roar; whereupon he opened the door and announced: "Mr. and Miss Pippet."
The opened door revealed a large man with a pair of folding pince-nez insecurely balanced on the end of a short, fat nose, apparently writing furiously. As the visitors entered, he looked round with an interrogative frown as if impatient of being interrupted. Then, appearing suddenly to realize who they were, he made a convulsive grimace, which dislodged the eyeglasses and left them dangling free on their broad black ribbon, and was succeeded by a wrinkly but affable smile. Then he rose, and, holding out a large, rather fat hand, exc
laimed:
"Delighted to see you. I had no idea that it was so late. One gets so engrossed in these—er—fascinating—"
"Naturally," said Mr. Pippet, "though I thought it was the documents that got engrossed. However, here we are. Let me introduce you to my sister, Miss Arminella Pippet."
Mr. Gimbler bowed, and, for a brief space there was a searching mutual inspection. Miss Pippet saw a physically imposing man, large in all dimensions—tall, broad, deep-chested and still more deep in the region immediately below the chest; with a large, massive head, rather bald and very closely cropped, a large, rather fat face, marked with wrinkles suggestive of those on the edge of a pair of bellows, and singularly small pale blue eyes, which tended to become still smaller, even to total disappearance, when he smiled. Through those little blue eyes, Mr. Gimbler saw a woman, shortish in stature but majestic in carriage and conveying an impression of exuberant energy and vivacity. And this impression was reinforced by the strong, mobile face with its firm mouth set above the square, pugnacious chin and below a rather formidable Roman nose, which latter gave to her a certain suggestive resemblance to a bird, a resemblance accentuated by her quick movements. But the bird suggested was not the dove. In short, Miss Arminella Pippet was a somewhat remarkable-looking lady with a most unmistakeable "presence." She might have been a dame of the old French noblesse; and Mr. Gimbler, looking at her through his little blue eyes and bearing in mind the peerage claim, decided that she looked the part. He also decided—comparing her with her mild-faced brother—that the grey mare was the better horse and must claim his chief attention. He was not the first who had undervalued Mr. Christopher Pippet.
"I suppose," said the latter, sitting down with some care on a rather infirm cane-bottomed chair (Miss Arminella occupied the only easy chair), "Mr. Buffham has given you some idea of the matter on which we have come to consult you?"
"He has done more than that," said Mr. Gimbler, "and would have done more still if I had not stopped him. He is thrilled by your romantic story and wildly optimistic. If we could only get a jury of Buffhams you would walk into your inheritance without a breath of opposition."
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