Hagar of the Pawn-Shop

by Fergus Hume

  “Stay,” said he, quietly. “I shall see if you will be useful to me — useful and faithful, my girl so, bread and bed shall be yours.”

  “It’s a bargain,” said Hagar, with a sigh of relief. “And now, old man, let me rest in peace, am weary, and have walked many a long mile

  So in this fashion came Hagar to the pawnshop; and it was for this reason that Vark, to his great astonishment, found a woman—and what is more, a young and beautiful woman—established in the house of Jacob Dix. The news affected the neighborhood like a miracle, and new tales were repeated about Dix and his housekeeper, who, report said, was no better than she should be. But Hagar did not mind evil tongues; nor did the old man. Without a spark of love or affection between them, they worked together on a basis of mutual interest; and all the days that Jacob lived Hagar served him faithfully. Whereat Vark wondered.

  It was not an easy life for the girl. Jacob was a hard master, and made her pay dearly for bed and board. Hagar scrubbed walls and floors; she mended such pawned dresses as required attention; and cooked the frugal meals of herself and master. The old pawnbroker taught her how to depreciate articles brought to be pawned, how to haggle with their owners, and how to wring the last sixpence out of miserable wretches who came to redeem their pledges. In a short time Hagar became as clever as Jacob himself, and he was never afraid to trust her with the task of making bargains, or with the care of the shop. She acquired a knowledge of pictures, gems, silverware, china—in fact, all the information about such things necessary to an expert. Without knowing it, the untaught gipsy girl became a connoisseur.

  It required all Hagar’s patience to bear cheerfully the lot which she had chosen voluntarily. Her bed was hard, her food meager; and the old man s sharp tongue was perpetually goading her by its bitterness. Jacob, indeed,—sure of his slave, since she had no other roof save his to cover her,—exercised all the petty arts of a tyrant. He vented on her all the rage he felt against the son who had deserted him. Once he went so far as to attempt a blow; but a single glance from the fierce eyes of Hagar made him change his intention; and, cowed for once in his tyranny, Jacob never lifted his hand again against her. He saw plainly enough that if he once raised the devil in this child of the free gipsy race, there would be no laying it again. But, actual violence apart, Hagar’s life was as miserable as a human being’s well could be.

  Stifled in the narrow shop in the crowded neighborhood, she longed at times for the free life of the road. Her thoughts recalled the green woods, so cool and shady in summer; they dwelt on the brown heath lonely in the starlight, with the red flare of the gipsy fire casting fantastic shadows on caravan and tent. In the darkness of night she would murmur the strange words of the “calo jib,” like some incantation to compel memory. To herself, while arranging the curiosities in the shop window, she would sing fragments of Romany songs set in minor keys. The nostalgia of the wilds, of the encampment and the open road, tortured her in the heats of summer; and when winter descended she longed or the chill breath of country winds sweeping across moors laden with snow, over pools rigid in the cold embrace of smooth and glassy ice. In the pawn-shop she was an exile from her dream paradise of roaming liberty.

  To make bad worse, Vark fell in love with her. For the first time in his narrow, selfish life, a divine passion touched the gross soul of the thieves’ lawyer. Ravished by the dark loveliness of the girl, dominated by her untamed spirit, astonished by her clear mind and unerring judgment, Vark wished to possess this treasure. There was also another reason for the offer of marriage which he made, and this reason he put into words when he asked Hagar to become his wife. It took Vark twelve months to make up his mind to this course; and his wrath may be guessed when Hagar refused him promptly. The miserable wretch could not believe that she was in earnest.

  “Oh, dear, sweet Hagar!” he whined, trying to clasp her hand, “you cannot have heard what your slave said!”

  Hagar, who was mending some lace and minding the shop in the absence of Jacob, looked up with a scornful smile. “What you call yourself in jest,” said she quietly, “I am in reality; I sold myself into bondage for bare existence a year ago. Do you want to marry a slave, Mr. Vark?”

  “Yes, yes! Then you will no longer need to work like a servant.”

  “I would rather be a servant than your wife, Mr. Vark.”

  “The girl’s mad! Why?”

  “Because you are a scoundrel.”

  Vark grinned amiably, in no wise disturbed by this plain-speaking. “My Cleopatra, we are all scoundrels in these parts. Jacob Dix is ——”

  “Is my master!” interrupted Hagar, sharply. “So leave him alone. But this offer of yours, my friend. What benefit do you propose to gain if I accept it? You’re not asking me to be your wife without some motive.”

  “Why, that’s true enough, my beauty!” chuckled Vark. “Lord, how cunning you are to guess! The motive is double: one part love ——”

  “We’ll say nothing about that, man! You don’t know what love is! The other motive?”

  “Money!” said Vark, curtly, and without wasting words.

  “H’m!” replied Hagar, with irony. “Mr. Dix’s money?”

  “What penetration!” said the lawyer, slapping his knee. “My word, here’s intelligence!”

  “We’ll pass over the usual compliments, Mr. Vark. Well, how is Mr. Dix’s money to benefit you through me?”

  “Why,” said Vark, blinking his green eyes, the old man’s got a fancy for you, my dear; and all the liking he had for me he’s given to you. Before you came, he made a will in favor of his lost son, and appointed me executor. Now that he sees what a sharp one you are, he has made a new will ——”

  “Leaving all the money to me, I suppose? That’s a lie!”

  “It is a lie,” retorted Vark, “but one I wasn’t going to tell you. No; the money is still left to the son; but you are the executor under the new will. Now d’ye see?”

  “No,” said Hagar, folding up her work, “I don’t.”

  “Well, if I marry you, I’ll administer the estate in your name ——”

  “For the benefit of the lost heir? Well?”

  “That’s just it,” said Vark, laying a lean finger on her knee— “the lost heir. Don’t you understand? We needn’t look for him, so we can keep the moneys in our own hands, and have some fine pickings out of the estate.”

  Hagar rose, and smiled darkly. “A nice little scheme, and worthy of you,” said she, contemptuously; “but there are two obstacles. I’m not your wife, and I am an honest girl. Try some of your lady clients, Mr. Vark. I’m not for sale!”

  When she walked away Vark scowled. A scoundrel himself, he could not understand this honesty which stood in the way of its own advancement. Biting his fingers, he stared after Hagar, and wondered how he could catch her in his net.

  “If that old miser would only leave her his heiress!” he thought; “she’d have no scruples about taking the money then; and if she had the money, I’d force her to be my wife. But Jacob is set on giving all his wealth to that infernal son of his, who so often wished his father to die. Aha!” sighed Vark, rubbing his hands, “I wish I could prove that he tried to kill the old man. Jacob wouldn’t leave him a penny then, and Hagar should have the money, and I would have her. What a lovely dream! Why can’t it come true?”

  It was such a lovely dream, and offered such opportunities for scoundrelly dealings, that Vark set to work at once to translate it into actual facts. He had many of the letters and bills of the absent Jimmy, who had been accustomed to come to him for the money refused by the paternal Dix. Counting on the old man’s death, Vark had lent the son money for his profligacy at a heavy percentage, and intended to repay himself out of the estate. Now that Hagar was to handle the money instead of himself, he thought that there might be some difficulty over his usury, owing to the girl’s absurd honesty. He therefore determined to give proofs to Jacob that the absent son had designed to rid himself of a troublesome father
by secret murder. Once Dix got such an idea into his head, he might leave his wealth to Hagar. The heiress would then be wooed and won by skilful, scheming Mr. Vark. It was a beautiful idea, and quite simple.

  Among his many shady clients Vark possessed one who was a clever forger, and who occasionally retired to one of Her Majesty’s prisons for too frequently exercising his talents in that direction. At the present moment he was at large. Vark gave him a bundle of Jimmy’s letters, and the draft of a memorandum which he wished to be imitated in the handwriting of the absent heir. When this was ready, Vark watched his opportunity and slipped it into a Chinese jar in the back parlor, in which he knew Jimmy had been accustomed to keep tobacco. This receptacle stood on a high shelf, and had not been touched by Jacob since his son’s departure. Vark, like the clever scoundrel he was, ascertained this fact by the thick and undisturbed dust which coated jar and shelf. The trap being thus prepared, it only remained to lead Jacob into it; and this Mr. Vark arranged to do in the most skilful manner. He quite counted on success, but one necessary element thereto he overlooked, and that was the aid of Hagar. But as he had designed the whole scheme primarily for her benefit, he never thought she would refuse to forward its aim. Which blindness showed that he was incapable of appreciating or even understanding the honesty of the girl’s character.

  According to his custom, he came one evening to converse with Jacob. The room with its solitary candle, the starved fire, and the foggy atmosphere, were the same as on the night when Hagar had arrived, save that now Hagar herself sat sewing by the table. She frowned when Vark came cringing into the room, but beyond greeting him with a slight nod she took no notice of the smiling scoundrel. Vark produced his bottle of gin, and set down near the fire, opposite to Jacob, who on this night looked very old and feeble. The old man was breaking up fast, and was more querulous and crabbed than ever. As usual, he asked Vark if Jimmy had answered the advertisement, and as usual he received a negative reply. Jacob groaned.

  “I’ll die this winter,” said he, with moody face, “and no one will be by to close my eyes.”

  “What is this I hear Mr. Dix say!” cried Vark, smilingly. “He forgets our beautiful Hagar.”

  “Hagar is all very well, but she is not Jimmy.”

  “Perhaps, if our dear friend knew all, he would be pleased that she isn’t.”

  Hagar looked up in surprise at the significant tones of Vark, and Jacob scowled. “What d’ye mean, you shark?” he demanded, a light coming into his faded eyes.

  “Why,” replied the lawyer, luring on the old pawnbroker, “Jimmy was a scoundrel.”

  “I know that, man!” snapped Jacob.

  “He wanted your money.”

  “I know that also.”

  “He wished for your death.”

  “It’s probable he did,” retorted Jacob, nodding; “but he was content to let me take my own time to die.”

  “H’m! I’m not so sure of that!”

  Guessing that Vark had some scheme in his head which he was striving to bring to fulfilment, Hagar dropped her sewing, and looked sharply at him. As Vark spoke she saw him glance at the Chinese jar, and mentally wondered what possible connection that could have with the subject of conversation. On this point she was soon enlightened.

  “Vark,” said Dix, seriously, “are you going to tell me that Jimmy wished to kill me?”

  The lawyer held up his hands in horror. “Oh, dear, that I should be so misunderstood!” he said in a piteous tone. “Jimmy was not so bad as that, my venerable friend. But if some one else had put you out of the way, he would not have been sorry.”

  “Do you mean Hagar?”

  “Let him dare to say so!” cried the girl, leaping to her feet with flaming eyes. “I do not know your son, Mr. Dix.”

  “What!” said Vark, softly; “not red-haired Jimmy!”

  Hagar sat down with a pale face. “Red-haired!” she muttered. “Goliath! No, it is impossible!”

  Vark looked at Hagar, and she stared back at him again. With the approaching senility of old age, Jacob had ceased to take part in the conversation, and was moodily staring at the miserable fire, a trembling and palsied creature. The idea hinted at by Vark—that Hagar had been employed by Jimmy to destroy him—so stupefied his brain that he was incapable of even expressing an opinion. Seeing this, the lawyer glided away from the dangerous topic, to carry out the second part of his scheme.

  “Oh, dear, dear!” he said, hunting in his pockets. “My pipe is empty, and I have no tobacco with me.”

  “Then go without it, Mr. Vark!” said Hagar, sharply. “There’s no tobacco here.”

  “Oh, yes; I think in that jar,” said the lawyer, pointing one lean finger at the high shelf—“Jimmy’s jar.”

  “Leave Jimmy’s jar alone!” mumbled Jacob, savagely.

  “What! will not Mr. Dix spare one tiny pipe of tobacco for his old friend?” whined Vark, going towards the shelf. “Oh, I think so; I am certain,” and with this one of his long arms shot upwards to seize the jar. Jacob rose unsteadily as Vark took down the article, and he scowled fiercely at the daring of his visitor. Indifferent to what was going on, Hagar continued her sewing.

  “Leave that jar of Jimmy’s alone, I tell you!” snarled Dix, seizing the poker. “I’ll break your fox’s head if you don’t!”

  “Violence—and from gentle Mr. Dix!” cried Vark, still gripping the jar. “Oh, no, no, not at all! If he ——”

  At this moment Jacob lost patience, and delivered a swinging blow at the lawyer’s head.

  Ever watchful, Vark threw himself to one side, and the poker crashed down on the jar, which he held in his hands. In a moment it lay in fragments on the floor. A pile of broken china, a loose bit of dried tobacco, and a carelessly folded paper.

  “See what your angry passion has done!” said Vark, pointing reproachfully to the débris. You have broken poor Jimmy’s jar!”

  Jacob threw the poker inside the fender, and bent to pick up the folded paper, which he opened in a mechanical manner. Always methodical, Hagar went out of the room to fetch a dust-pan and broom. Before she could return with them she was recalled by a cry from Vark; and on rushing back she saw Jacob prone on the floor among the broken china. He had fainted, and the paper was still clutched in his hand.

  “Bring water—salts!” cried Vark, his eyes filled with a triumphant light at the success of his plot. “My venerable friend is ill!”

  “What have you been doing to him?” demanded Hagar, as she loosened the scarf round the old man’s neck.

  “I? Nothing! He read that paper which fell out of the jar—Jimmy’s jar,” added Vark, pointedly—“and went down like a ninepin!”

  There was a jug of water on the table, used by Vark for diluting his gin, so Hagar sprinkled the wrinkled face of her master with this fluid, and slapped his hands. Vark looked on rather anxiously. He did not wish the old man to die yet; and Jacob was a long time coming out of his swoon.

  “This paper made him faint,” said Vark, removing it from Jacob’s feeble grasp. “Let us see what it says.” He knew the contents quite well, but nevertheless he read it aloud in a distinct voice for the benefit of Hagar. Thus ran the words: “Memo.: To extract the juice of foxglove—a poison difficult to trace—nothing can be proved after death. Small doses daily in old man’s tea or gruel. He would die in a few weeks without suspicion. Will trust nobody, but will prepare drug myself.”

  Hagar looked steadily at Vark. “Who wrote that,” she said in a low voice—“the old man’s son or—you?”

  “I?” cried Vark, with well-simulated indignation, “why should I write it?—or how could I write it? The penmanship is that of James Dix; it was concealed in his tobacco-jar; the jar was broken by accident; you saw it yourself. Do you dare to —— ”

  “Be silent!” interrupted Hagar, raising Jacob’s head; “he is reviving.”

  The old pawnbroker opened his eyes and looked wildly around. Little by little his senses returned to him, and he sat
up. Then, with the aid of Hagar, he climbed into his chair, and began to talk and sigh.

  “Little Jimmy wants me to die,” he moaned, feebly. “Hagar’s son wants to kill me. Foxglove poison—I know it! Not a trace does it leave after death. Hagar’s son! Hagar’s boy! Parricide! Parricide!” he cried, shaking his two fists in the air.

  “He wanted the money, you know,” hinted Vark, softly.

  “He shall not have the money!” said Jacob with unnatural energy. “I’ll make a new will—I’ll disinherit him! Parricide! Hagar shall have all!”

  “I, Mr. Dix? No, no!”

  “I say yes, you jade! Don’t cross a dying man. I am dying; this is my death-blow. O Jimmy, Jimmy! Wolf’s cub! My will! my will!”

  Pushing back Hagar, who strove to keep him in his chair, he snatched up the candle and staggered towards the safe to get his will. While he was looking within, Vark hastily fumbled in his capacious pockets. When Jacob replaced the candle on the table, Hagar saw thereon a sheet of paper covered with writing; also pen and ink. Jacob, clutching the will, beheld these things also, and anticipated the question on Hagar’s lips.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Your new will, Mr. Dix,” explained Vark, smoothly. “I never did trust your son, and I knew some day that you would find him out. I therefore prepared a will by which you left everything to Hagar. Or,” added the lawyer, taking another document from his pocket, “if you chose to make me your heir ——”

  “You? You? Never!” shrieked Jacob, shaking his fist. “All shall go to Hagar, the namesake of my dead wife. I’m glad you had the sense to see, that failing Jimmy, I’d leave her my money.”

  “Mr. Dix,” interrupted Hagar, firmly, “I do not want your money; and you have no right to rob your son of ——”

  “No right! No right, you jade! The money is mine! mine! It shall be yours. I could have forgiven anything to Jimmy save his wish to poison me.”