CHAPTER XXXV
It was to Clement's credit that, had his object been to save hisfather's bank, instead of to do that which might deprive it of itslast hope, he could not have struggled onward through the press morestoutly than he did. But though the offices for which he was bound,situate in one of the courts north of Cornhill, were no more than athird of a mile from the point at which he had dismissed his chaise,the city clocks had long struck twelve before, wresting himself fromthe human flood, which panic and greed were driving through thestreets, he turned into this quiet backwater.
He stood for a moment to take breath and adjust his dress, and even inthat brief space he discovered that the calm was but comparative. Manyof the windows which looked on the court were raised, as if thepent-up emotions of their occupants craved air and an outlet even onthat December day; and from these and from the open doors below issueda dropping fire of sounds, the din of raised voices, of doorsrecklessly slammed, of feet thundering on bare stairs, of harshorders. Clerks rushing into the court, hatless and demented, plungedinto clerks rushing out equally demented, yet flew on their coursewithout look or word, as if unconscious of the impact. From a lightedwindow--many were lit up, for the court was small and the day foggy--ahat, even as Clement paused, flew out and bounded on the pavement. Butno one heeded it or followed it, and it was a passing clerk who camehurrying out a little less recklessly than his fellows, whom Clement,after a moment's hesitation, seized by the arm. "Mr. Bourdillon here?"he asked imperatively--for he saw that in no other way could he gainattention.
"Mr. Bourdillon!" the man snapped. "Oh, I don't know! Here, CockySands! Attend to this gentleman! Le' me go! Le' me go. D' you hear?"
He tore himself free, and was gone while he spoke, leaving Clement toclimb the stairs. On the landing he encountered another clerk, whom hesupposed to be "Cocky Sands," and he attacked him. "Mr. Bourdillon? Ishe here?" he asked.
But Mr. Sands eluded him, shouted over his shoulder for "Tom!" andclattered down the stairs. "Can't wait!" he flung behind him. "Findsome one!"
However, Clement lost nothing by this, for the next moment one of thepartners appeared at a door. Clement knew him, and "Is Mr. Bourdillonhere?" he cried for the third time, and he seized the broker by thebutton-hole. He, at any rate, should not escape him.
"Mr. Bourdillon?" The broker stared, unable on the instant to recallhis thoughts, and from the way in which he wiped his bald and steaminghead with a yellow bandanna, it was plain that he had just gotsomething of moment off his mind. "Pheugh! What times!" he ejaculated,fanning himself and breathing hard. "What a morning! You've heard, Isuppose? Everitt's are gone. Gone within the hour, d--n them! Oh,Bourdillon? It was Bourdillon you asked for? To be sure, it's Mr.Ovington, isn't it? I thought so; I never forget a face, but he didn'ttell me that you were here. By Jove!" He raised his hands--he was aportly gentleman, wearing a satin under-vest and pins and chainsinnumerable, all at this moment a little awry. "By Jove, what a findyou have there! Slap, bang, and tip to the mark, and no mistake! Hardand sharp as nails! I take off my hat to him! There's not a firm,"mopping his heated face anew, "within half a mile of us that wouldn'tbe glad to have him! I'll take my Davy there are not ten men incountry practice could have pushed the deal through, and squeezedeleven thousand in cash out of Snell & Higgins on such a day as this!He's a marvel, Mr. Ovington! You can tell your father I said so, and Idon't care who says the contrary."
"But is he here?" Clement cried, dancing with impatience. "Is he here,man?"
"Gone to the India House this--" he looked at his watch--"thishalf-hour, to complete. He had to drop seven per cent. for cash onthe nail--that, of course! But he got six thousand odd in Bank paper,and five thou. in gold, and I'm damned if any one else would have gotthat to-day, though the stuff he had was as good as the ready inordinary times. My partner's gone with him to Leadenhall Street tocomplete--glad to oblige you, for God knows how many clients we shallhave left after this--and they've a hackney coach waiting inBishopsgate and an officer to see them to it. You may catch him at theIndia House, or he may be gone. He's not one to let the grass growunder his feet. In that case----"
"Send a clerk with me to show me the Office!" Clement cried. "It'surgent, man, urgent! And I don't know my way inside the House. I mustcatch him."
"Well, with so much money--here, Nicky!" The broker stepped aside tomake room for a client who came up the stairs three at a time. "Nicky,go with this gentleman! Show him the way to the India House. TransferOffice--Letter G! Sharp's the word. Don't lose time.--Coming! Coming!"to some one in the office. "My compliments to your father. He's one ofthe lucky ones, for I suppose this will see you through. It's Boulogneor this--" he made as if he held a pistol to his head--"for more thanI care to think of!"
But Clement had not waited to hear the last words. He was half-waydown the stairs with his hand on the boy's collar. They plunged intoCornhill, but the lad, a London-bred urchin, did not condescend to thestreet for more than twenty yards or so. Then he dived into a court onthe same side of the way, crossed it, threaded a private passagethrough some offices, and came out in Bishopsgate Street. Stemming thecrowd as best they could they crossed this, and by another alley andmore offices the lad convoyed his charge into Leadenhall Street. Alast rush saw them landed, panting and with their coats wellnigh tornfrom their backs, on the pavement on the south side of the street, infront of the pillared entrance, and beneath the colossal Britanniathat, far above their heads and flanked by figures of Europe and Asia,presided over the fortunes of the greatest trading company that theworld has ever seen. Through the doors of that building--now, alas, nomore--had passed all the creators of an oriental empire, statesmen,soldiers, merchant princes, Clive, Lawrence, Warren Hastings,Cornwallis. Yet to-day, the mention of it calls up as often the humblefigure of a black-coated white-cravated clerk with spindle legs and abig head, who worked within its walls and whom Clement, had he calleda few months earlier, might have met coming from his desk.
Here Clement, had he been without a guide, would have wasted preciousminutes. But the place had no mysteries for the boy, even on this dayof confusion and alarm. Skilled in every twist and turning, he knew nodoubt. "This way," he snapped, hurrying down a long passage whichfaced the entrance, and appeared to penetrate into the bowels of thebuilding. Then, "No! Not that way, stupid! What are you doing?"
But Clement's eyes, as he followed, had caught sight of a party ofthree, who, issuing from a corridor on the right at a considerabledistance before them, had as quickly disappeared down another corridoron the left. The light was not good, but Clement had recognized one ofthem, and "There he is!" he cried. "He has gone down there! Where doesthat lead to?"
"Lime Street entrance!" the lad replied curtly, and galloped after theparty, Clement at his heels. "Hurry!" he threw over his shoulder, "orthey'll be out, and, by gum, you'll lose him! Once out and we're done,sir!"
They reached the turning the others had taken and ran down it. Thedistance was but short, but it was long enough to enable Clement tocollect his wits, and to wonder, while he prepared himself for theencounter that impended, how Arthur would bear himself at the momentof discovery. Fortunately, the party pursued had paused for an instantin the east vestibule before committing themselves to the street, andthat instant was fatal to them. "Bourdillon!" Clement cried, raisinghis voice. "Hi! Bourdillon!"
Arthur turned as if he had been struck, saw him and stared, his mouthagape. "The devil!" he ejaculated.
But to Clement's surprise his face betrayed neither the guilt nor thefear which he had expected to see, but only amazement that the othershould be there--and some annoyance. "You?" he said. "What the devilare you doing here? What joke is this? Did your father think that Icould not be trusted to see things through? Or that you were likely todo better?"
"I want a word with you," said Clement. He was in no mood to mincematters.
"But why are you here?" with rising anger. "Why have you come afterme? What's up?"
> "I'll tell you, if you'll step aside."
"You can tell me on the coach, then, for I have no time to lose now. Imean to catch the three o'clock coach, and----"
"No!" Clement said firmly. "I must speak to you here."
But on that the broker interposed, his watch in his hand, "Anyway, Ican stop," he said. "Who is this gentleman?"
"Mr. Ovington, junior," Arthur said, with something of a sneer. "Idon't know what he has come up for, but----"
"But, at any rate, he'll see you safe to the coach," the otherrejoined. "And I must be off. I give you joy of it, Mr. Bourdillon.Fine work! Fine work, by Jove! And I shall tell Mr. Ovington so when Isee him. You're a marvel! My compliments to your father, younggentleman," addressing Clement. "Glad to have met you, but I can'tstay now. Fifty things to do, and no time to do 'em in. The world'supside down to-day. Good morning! Good morning!" With a wave of thehand, his watch in the other, he turned on his heel and strode backtowards the main entrance.
The two looked at one another and the third, who made up the party, aburly man in a red waistcoat and a curly-brimmed Regency hat, surveyedthem both. "Well, I'm hanged," Arthur exclaimed, reverting sourly tohis first surprise. "Is everybody mad? Must you all come to town? Ishould have thought that you'd have had enough to do at the bankwithout this! But as you must----" then to the officer, who wascarrying a small leather valise, the duplicate of one which Arthurheld in his hand--"wait a minute, will you? And keep an eye on us. Weshall not be a minute. Now," drawing Clement into a corner of thelodge, five or six paces away, where, though a stream of peoplecontinually brushed by them, they could talk with some degree ofprivacy. "What is it, man? What is it? What has bought you up? And howthe deuce have you come to be here--by this time?"
"I posted."
"Posted? From Aldersbury? In heaven's name, why? Why, man?"
Clement pointed to the bag. "To take that over," he said.
"This? Take this over?" Arthur turned a deep red. "What--what thedevil do you mean, man?"
"You ought to know."
"I?"
"Yes, you," Clement retorted, his temper rising. "It's stolenproperty, if you will have it." And he braced himself for the fray.
"Stolen property?"
"Just that. And my father has commissioned me to take charge of it,and to restore it to its owner. Now you know."
For one moment the handsome face, looking into his, lost some of itscolor. But the next, Arthur recovered himself, the blood flowed backto his cheeks, he laughed aloud, laughed in defiance. "Why, you--youfool!" he replied, in bitter contempt, "I don't know what you aretalking about. Your father--your father has sent you?"
"It's no good, Bourdillon," Clement answered. "It's all known.I've seen the Squire. He missed the certificates yesterdayafternoon--almost as soon as you were gone. He sent for you, I wentover, and he knows all."
He thought that that would finish the matter. To his astonishmentArthur only laughed afresh. "Knows all, does he?" he replied. "Well,what of it? And he found out through you, did he? Then a pretty foolyou were to put your oar in! To go to him, or see him, or talk to him!Why, man," with bravado, though Clement fancied that his eyes waveredand that the brag began to ring false, "what have I done? Borrowedhis money for a month, that's all! Taken a loan of it for a month ortwo--and for what? Why, to save your father and you and the whole lotof us. Ay, and half Aldersbury from ruin! I did it and I'd do itagain! And he knows it, does he? Through your d--d interfering folly,who could not keep your mouth shut, eh! Well, if he does, what then?What can he do, simpleton?"
"That's to be seen."
"Nothing! Nothing, I tell you! He signed the transfer, signed it withhis own hand, and he can't deny it. The rest is just his word againstmine."
"No, it's Miss Griffin's, too," Clement said, marvelling at theother's attitude and his audacity--if audacity it could be called.
But Arthur, though he had been far from expecting a speedy discovery,had long ago made up his mind as to the risk he ran. And naturally hehad considered the line he would take in the event of detection. Hewas not unprepared, therefore, even for Clement's rejoinder, and,"Miss Griffin?" he retorted, contemptuously, "Do you think that shewill give evidence against me? Or he--against a Griffin? Why, youbooby, instead of talking and wasting time here, you ought to be downon your knees thanking me--you and your father! Thanking me, byheaven, for saving you and your bank, and taking all the risk myself!It would have been long before you'd have done it, my lad, I'll answerfor that!"
"I hope so," Clement replied with biting emphasis. "And you mayunderstand at once that we don't like your way, and are not going tobe saved your way. We are not going to have any part or share inrobbing your uncle--see! If we are going to be ruined, we are going tobe ruined with clean hands! No, it's no good looking at me like that,Bourdillon. I may be a fool in the bank, and you may call me whatnames you like. But I am your match here, and I am going to takepossession of that money."
"Do you think, then," furiously, "that I am going to run away withit?"
"I don't know," Clement rejoined. "I am not going to give you thechance. I am going to take it over and return it to the owner; it willnot go near our bank. I have my father's authority for acting as I amacting, and I am going to carry out his directions."
"And he's going to fail? To rob hundreds instead of borrowing from onemoney that you know will be returned--returned with interest in amonth? You fool! You fool!" with savage scorn. "That's your virtue, isit? That's your honesty that you brag so much about? Your clean hands?You'll rob Aldersbury right and left, bring half the town to beggary,strip the widow and the orphan, and put on a smug face! 'All honestand above board, my lord!' when you might save all at no risk byborrowing this money for a month. Why, you make me sick! Sick!" Arthurrepeated, with an indignation that went far to prove that this reallywas his opinion, and that he did honestly see the thing in that light."But you are not going to do it. You shall not do it," he continued,defiantly. "I'll see you--somewhere else first! You'll not touch apenny of this money until I choose, and that will not be until I haveseen your father. If I can't persuade you I think I can persuade him!"
"You'll not have the chance!" Clement retorted. He was very angry bynow, for some of the shafts which the other had loosed had found theirmark. "You'll hand it over to me, and now!"
"Not a penny!"
"Then you'll take the consequences," was Clement's reply. "For asheaven sees me, I shall give you in charge, and you will go to BowStreet. The officer is here. I shall tell him the facts, and you knowbest what the result will be. You can choose, Bourdillon, but that ismy last word."
Arthur stared. "You are mad!" he cried. "Mad!" But he was taken abackat last. His voice shook, and the color had left his cheeks.
"No, I am not mad. But we will not be your accomplices. That is all.That is the bed-rock of it," Clement continued. "I give you twominutes to make up your mind." He took out his watch.
Rage and alarm do not better a man's looks, and Arthur's handsomeface was ugly enough now, had Clement looked at it. Two passionscontended in him: rage at the thought that one whom he had oftenout-man[oe]uvred and always despised should dare to threaten andthwart him; and fear--fear of the gulf that he saw gaping suddenly athis feet. For he could not close his eyes, bold and self-confident ashe was, to the danger. He saw that if Clement said the word and madethe thing public, his position would be perilous; and if his uncleproved obdurate, it might be desperate. His lips framed words ofdefiance, and he longed to utter them; but he did not utter them. Hadthey been alone, it had been another matter! But they were not alone;the Bow Street man, idly inquisitive, was watching him, and a streamof people, immersed each in his own perplexities, and unconscious ofthe tragedy at his elbow, was continually brushing by them.
To do him justice, Arthur had hitherto seen the thing only by his ownlights. He had looked on it as a case of all for fortune and the restwell lost, and he had even pictured himself in the guise of a hero,who took the risks and s
hared the benefits. If the act were ill, atleast, he considered, he did it in a good cause; and where, after all,was the harm in assuming a loan of something which would never bemissed, which would be certainly repaid, and which, in his hands,would save a hundred homes from ruin? The argument had soundedconvincing at the time.
Then, for the risk, what was it, when examined? It was most unlikelythat the Squire would discover the trick, and if he did he could not,hard and austere as he was, prosecute his own flesh and blood. Nay,Arthur doubted if he could prosecute, since he had signed the transferwith his own hand--it was no forgery. At the worst, then and ifdiscovery came, it would mean the loss of the Squire's favor andbanishment from the house. Both of these things he had experiencedbefore, and in his blindness he did not despair of reinstating himselfa second time. He had a way with him, he had come to think that fewcould resist him. He was far, very far, from understanding how theSquire would view the act.
But now the mists of self-deception were for the moment blown aside,and he saw the gulf on the edge of which he stood, and into which aword might precipitate him. If the pig-headed fool before him did whathe said he would, and preferred a charge, the India House might takeit up; and, pitiless where its interests were in question, it mightprove as inexorable as the Bank had proved in the case of Fauntleroyonly the year before. In that event, what might not be the end? Hisuncle had signed the transfer, and at the time that had seemed enough;it had seemed to secure him from the worst. But now--now when so muchhung upon it, he doubted. He had not inquired, he had not dared toinquire how the law stood, but he knew that the law's uncertaintieswere proverbial and its ambages beyond telling.
And the India House, like the Bank of England, was a terrible foe.Once launched on the slope, let the cell door once close on him, hemight slip with fatal ease from stage to stage, until the noose hungdark and fearful before him, and all the influence, all the help hecould command, might then prove powerless to save him! It was aterrible machine--the law! The cell, the court, the gallows, with whatswiftness, what inevitableness, what certainty, did they not succeedone another--dark, dismal stages on the downward progress! Howswiftly, how smoothly, how helplessly had that other banker traversedthem! How irresistibly had they borne him to his doom!
He shuddered. The officer of the law, who a few minutes before hadbeen his servant, fee-bound, obsequious, took on another shape. Hegrew stern and menacing, and was even now, it might be, observing him,and conceiving suspicion of him. Arthur's color ebbed at the thoughtand his face betrayed him. The peril might be real or unreal--it mightbe only his imagination that he had to fight. But he could not faceit. He moistened his dry lips, he forced himself to speak. Hesurrendered--sullenly, with averted eyes.
"Have it your own way," he said. "Take it." And with a last attempt atbravado, "I shall appeal to your father!"
"That is as you will," Clement said. He was not comfortable, andsensible of the other's humiliation, his only wish was to bring thescene to an end as quickly as possible. He took up the bag and signedto the officer that they were ready.
"It's some hundreds short. You know that?" Arthur muttered.
"I can't help it."
"He'll be the loser."
"Well--it must be so." Yet Clement hesitated, a little taken aback. Hedid not like the thought, and he paused to consider whether it mightnot be his duty to return to the brokers' and undo the bargain. But itwould be necessary to repeat all the formalities at a cost of timethat he could not measure, and it was improbable that he would be ableto recoup the whole of the loss. Rightly or wrongly, he decided to goon, and he turned to the officer. "I take on the business now," hesaid, sharply. "Where is the hackney-coach? In Bishopsgate? Then leadthe way, will you?" And, the bag in his hand, he moved towards thecrowded street.
But with his foot on the threshold, something spoke in him, and helooked back. Arthur was standing where he had left him, gloom in hisface; and Clement melted. He could not leave him, he could not bear toleave him thus. What might he not do, what might he not have it in hismind to do? Pity awoke in him, he put himself in the other's place,and though there was nothing less to his taste at that moment than acompanionship equally painful and embarrassing, he went back to him."Look here," he said, "come with me. Come down with me and face itout, man, and get it over. It's the only thing to do, and every houryou remain away will tell against you. As it is, what is broken can bemended--if you're there."
Arthur did not thank him. Instead, "What?" he cried. "Come? Come withyou? And be dragged at your chariot wheels, you oaf! Never!"
"Don't be a fool," Clement remonstrated, pity moving him more stronglynow that he had once acted on it. He laid his hand on the other's arm."We'll work together and make the best of it. I will, I swear,Bourdillon, and I'll answer for my father. But if I leave you here andgo home, things will be said and there'll be trouble."
"Trouble the devil!" Arthur retorted, and shook off his hand. "Youhave ruined the bank," he continued, bitterly, but with less violence,"and ruined your father and ruined me. I hope you are content. Youhave been thorough, if it's any satisfaction to you. And some day Ishall know why you've done it. For your honesty and your clean hands,they don't weigh a curse with me. You're playing your own game, and ifI come to know what it is, I'll spoil it yet, d--n you!"
"I don't mind how much you curse me, if you will come," Clementanswered, patiently. "It's the only thing to be done, and when youthink it over in cold blood, you'll see that. Come, man, and put abold face on it. It is the brave game and the only game. Face it outnow."
Arthur looked away, his handsome face sullen. He was striving with hispassions, battling with the maddening sense of defeat. He saw, asplainly as Clement, that the latter's advice was good, but to take itand to go with him, to bear for many hours the sense of his presenceand the consciousness of his scorn, his gorge rose at the thought.Yet, what other course was open to him? What was he going to do? Hehad little money with him, and he saw but two alternatives: to blowout his brains, or to go, hat in hand, and seek employment at thebrokers' where he was known. He had no real thought of the formeralternative--life ran strong in him and he was sanguine; and thelatter meant the overthrow of all his plans, and a severance, finaland complete, from Ovington's. His lot thenceforth would, hesuspected, be that of a man who had "crossed the fight," donesomething dubious, put himself outside the pale.
Whereas if he went with Clement now, humiliation would indeed be his.But he would still be himself, and with his qualities he might live itdown, and in the end lose nothing.
So at last, "Go on," he said, sulkily. "Have it your own way. At anyrate, I may spoil your game!" He shut his eyes to Clement'sgenerosity. If he gave a thought to it at all, he fancied that he hadsome purpose to serve, some axe of his own to grind.
They went out into the babel of the street, and, deafened by thecries of the hawkers, elbowed by panic-stricken men who fancied thatif they were somewhere else they might save their hoards, shoulderedby stout countrymen, adrift in the confusion like hulks in a strangesea, they made their way into Bishopsgate Street. Here they found thehackney-coach awaiting them, and drove by London Wall to the Bull andMouth. A Birmingham coach was due to start at three, and after agloomy wrangle they booked places by it, and, while the officerguarded the money, they sat down in the Coffee Room to a rare sirloinand a foaming tankard. They ate and drank in unfriendly silence, twoempty chairs intervening; and more than once Arthur repented of hisdecision. But already the force of circumstances was driving themtogether, for the thoughts of each had travelled forward toAldersbury--and to Ovington's. What was happening there? What mightnot already have happened there? Hurried feet ran by on the pavement.Ominous words blew in at the windows. Scared men rushed in withpallid, sweating faces, ate standing and went out again. Other men satlistless, staring at the table before them, eating nothing, or hereand there, apart in corners whispered curses over their meat.
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