So saying, Mr. Barker, left once more alone in the sitting-room, paced slowly twice round the table, looked at himself in the glass, twisted his heavy moustache into shape, and smoothed his hair. Then he took his hat and went out. There was a cab at the door of the club, and in a minute more he was spinning along Fifth Avenue, in the direction of his father’s house.
The machinery was wound up, and he had nothing more to do. To-morrow morning Claudius would pass a bad quarter of an hour with Mr. Screw, and in the afternoon Barker would call upon him and offer such consolation as was in his power; and when he had called on Claudius, he would call on the Countess Margaret and tell her what sad sceptics these legal people were, everlastingly pestering peaceable citizens in the hope of extracting from them a few miserable dollars. And he would tell her how sorry he was that Claudius should be annoyed, and how he, Barker, would see him through — that is, he hoped so; for, he would add, of course, such men as Mr. Screw and his own father would not make so much trouble if they did not at least think they had some cause for anxiety; and so forth, and so on. And he would leave the Countess with a most decided impression that there was something wrong about Claudius. Oh yes! something not quite clear about his antecedents, you know. Of course it would come right in the end — no doubt of that; oh dear, no.
It was a happy night for Mr. Barker; but Claudius slept ill. He had an evil dream.
CHAPTER XII
WHEN MR. SCREW called at Claudius’s hotel the next day, the Doctor had gone out. Mr. Screw said he would wait, and sat down with a book to pass the time, for he was fond of reading in his leisure moments, few as they were. Claudius had left the house early in the morning, and had gone to find the spot where his uncle had been buried — no easy matter, in the vast cemetery where the dead men lie in hundreds of thousands, in stately avenues and imposing squares, in houses grand and humble, high and low, but all closed and silent with the grandeur of a great waiting. Claudius was not sentimental in this pilgrimage; it was with him a matter of course, a duty which he performed naturally for the satisfaction of his conscience. He could not have told any other reason, though, if he had been called upon to analyse the feeling which impels most men to do the same thing, under the same circumstances, he would have replied that a scientific explanation of the fact could only be found in the ancient practices of “ancestor worship,” of which some trace remains unto this day. But he would have added that it was a proper mark of reverence and respect for the dead, and that man naturally inclines to fulfil such obligations, unless deterred by indolence or the fear of ridicule. At any rate, he went alone; and it was late in the afternoon before he came back.
When at last he returned, he was not surprised to find Mr. Screw awaiting him. He had not found that gentleman on his first visit to Pine Street; and it seemed very natural that his uncle’s executor should call upon him. He was cordial and courteous to his visitor, who took the Doctor’s measure, and looked into his honest eyes, and realised that this claimant to Lindstrand’s money was undoubtedly a very fine fellow indeed. Mr. Screw felt that it would be hard to tell such a man to his face that he was not altogether satisfied of his identity. But then, as the lawyer reflected, swindlers are generally fine fellows; indeed, their imposing appearance is often their whole capital and stock-in-trade. Mr. Screw had a profound knowledge of mankind, and he immediately determined upon his course of action, which should be cautious, but at the same time honest and straightforward. After a preliminary exchange of civilities, he opened fire.
“I have come on very delicate business, Dr. Claudius,” said he; and he hooked one leg behind the other as he sat and ran his hands through his hair. Claudius settled himself in his chair and waited, not having any idea what the business might be.
“You will readily understand,” continued Mr. Screw, “that in my position I feel obliged to take every conceivable precaution in administering the estate of the late Mr. Lindstrand. You will, therefore, not be offended at what I am going to say. My personality has nothing to do with it, nor can any personal impression you produce upon me, no matter how favourable, be considered in the light of evidence. I have never seen you before, and I am bound to say that the little I know of you, although perfectly satisfactory as far as it goes, is not sufficient to prove in a court that you are really the person indicated in Mr. Lindstrand’s will.” Here Mr. Screw paused to see how Claudius would take the hint that more evidence was required.
But Claudius, the embodiment of calm strength, intellectual and physical, was not to be moved by such trifles. He showed not the slightest emotion, nor did he betray any especial interest in what the lawyer was saying. His attitude was that of attention to a matter which it was his duty to understand and to elucidate. But that was all. He wished Mr. Screw would talk a little faster, and say what he required and go; but he was too courteous to hurry him.
“My dear sir,” he answered, “I fully understand your position, and any apology from you would be out of place. Pray proceed.”
“I have nothing more to say,” said Mr. Screw, astonished at so much indifference where a great fortune was concerned. “I like to be brief in such matters. I have nothing more to say, sir, excepting that I would be greatly obliged if you would put into my hands such documents as you may think proper for the full establishing of your rights.”
“Very well,” said Claudius. “If you will tell me what evidence you require I will procure it immediately.” With that he rose, and lighted a cigarette.
“A properly-attested certificate of your birth would be all-sufficient,” said Mr. Screw, who began to feel relieved by the conduct of the Doctor. The latter, however, suddenly stood still with the match in his fingers, and looked at the lawyer with a curious scrutiny.
“I would prefer,” he said, “to give some other evidence of my identity than that, if it is the same to you.”
“If you prefer it, of course,” said the lawyer coldly. His suspicions were immediately roused, for he had named the simplest description of document he could think of, and it seemed odd that the Doctor should be so evidently disinclined to produce it.
“I suppose,” said the Doctor, “that the formal attestation of my identity by the authorities of the University of Heidelberg would be sufficient?”
“Yes, I should think so,” said Screw cautiously. “But will it not take some time to procure that?”
“Well? If it does, what then?”
“Only that — you will understand that until this matter is settled I should not feel justified in authorising you to draw upon the estate.”
Claudius’s sense of logic was offended.
“My dear sir,” he replied, “have I drawn upon the estate for a single dollar yet?”
“No, sir, I am bound to say you have not, although you might have considered it natural to do so, and we should have put no obstacle—” Mr. Screw stopped short. He had betrayed himself, and felt extremely embarrassed. But he said enough to give Claudius an idea of the situation. Something had occurred, some one had spoken, to cast a doubt on his identity; and Mr. Screw was the chosen emissary of that “some one.”
“Then, Mr. Screw,” said the Doctor in measured tones, “I would admonish you to be more careful how you insinuate that I might do anything of the kind. You have inconvenienced me quite enough already. You had better not inconvenience me any more. I consider your conduct a piece of unparalleled clumsiness, and your language little short of impertinent. What you have said now you should have said in the letter which announced my uncle’s death. Or you should have instructed Mr. Barker, who was abroad at the time and found me in Heidelberg, to make the necessary investigations. The evidence shall be forthcoming in proper season, and until then I do not desire the advantage of your company.”
Mr. Screw was so much astonished with this mode of address from a man whom he had foolishly imagined to be good-natured that he stood a moment by the table hesitating what he should say. Claudius took up a book and began to read.
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p; “Well,” said he, perceiving that Mr. Screw was still in the room, “why don’t you go?”
“Really, Dr. Claudius, I am not accustomed—” he began.
“Go,” said Claudius, interrupting him; “it is not of the smallest interest to me to know what you are accustomed to. There is the door.”
“Sir—”
“Do you prefer the window?” asked the Doctor, rising in great wrath and striding towards the unhappy lawyer. Mr. Screw instantly made up his mind that the door was preferable, and disappeared. When he was gone Claudius sat down again. He was very angry; but, in his own view, his anger was just. It was very clear to him, from the words Mr. Screw had inadvertently let fall, that some one had, for reasons unknown, undertaken to cause him a great deal of unpleasantness. What he had said to Screw was not to be denied. If there was any question as to his identity, full proof should have been required from the first. But his autograph letter from Heidelberg, attested by a notary, had been accepted as sufficient; and “Screw and Scratch” had answered the letter, and Claudius had received their answer in Baden. It had never entered his head that anything more would be required. So long as Screw had confined himself to stating his position, merely asking for further evidence, the Doctor had nothing to say. But at the suggestion that Claudius might want to draw money from the estate before his claims were fully established, he lost his temper. It was an imputation on his honour; and, however slight it might seem to Mr. Screw, Claudius was not the man to bear it.
Ten minutes later Mr. Barker walked in unannounced. It was natural enough that he should call, but Claudius did not want him. The Doctor had not had time to think over the situation, but he had, a vague impression that Barker had something to do with this sudden cloud of annoyance that had risen to darken his path. Barker, on his side, was prepared for storms, but he intended to play the part of confidential friend and consoler. Claudius, however, wanted neither friends nor consolation, and he was in the worst of tempers. Nevertheless, he rose and offered his guest a chair, and asked him how he did. Barker took the chair and said he was fairly well, on the way to recovery from the voyage.
“What have you been doing all day, Claudius?” he asked.
“I have been to a place called Greenwood, to see where they had buried my uncle,” answered Claudius, and relapsed into silence.
“No wonder you look so gloomy. Whatever induced you to do such a thing?”
“I was not induced,” said Claudius. “He was my last relation in the world, and I did the only thing I could to honour his memory, which was to go and see his grave.”
“Yes, very proper, I am sure,” replied Barker. “If my relations would begin and die, right away, I would trot around and see their graves fast enough!”
Claudius was silent.
“What on earth is the matter with you, Claudius? Have you got a headache, or are you going to be married?”
Claudius roused himself, and offered Barker a cigar.
“There is nothing the matter,” he said; “I suppose my excursion has made me a little gloomy; but I shall soon get over that. There are matches on the mantelpiece.”
“Thanks. Why did you not come down town to-day? Oh! of course you were away. It was very good fun. We had a regular bear garden.”
“It looked like something of that sort yesterday when I was there.”
“Yesterday? Oh! you had never been there before. Yes, it is always like that. I say, come and take a drive in the park before dinner.”
“No, thanks. I am very sorry, but I have an appointment in a few minutes. I would like to go very much; you are very kind.”
“Business?” asked the inquisitive Mr. Barker.
“Well — yes, if you like, business.”
“Oh!” said Barker. “By the by, have you seen any of your lawyer people to-day?” Barker had expected that Claudius would confide to him the trouble Screw was raising. But as Claudius did not begin, Barker asked the question.
“Yes,” answered the Doctor, “Screw has been here. In fact he is just gone.”
“Anything wrong?” inquired the tormentor.
“No, nothing wrong that I know of,” said Claudius. Then he suddenly turned sharply on Barker, and looked straight at him. “Did you expect to hear that there was anything wrong?” he asked quickly. Claudius had a very unpleasant way of turning upon his antagonist just a minute before the enemy was ready for him. Barker had found this out before, and, being now directly interrogated, he winced perceptibly.
“Oh dear, no,” he hastened to say. “But lawyers are great bores sometimes, especially where wills are concerned. And I thought perhaps Screw might be wearying you with his formalities.”
“No,” said Claudius indifferently, “nothing to—” he was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was the Duke’s servant, a quiet man in gray clothes and gray whiskers. He had a bald head and bright eyes.
“His Grace’s compliments, sir, and can you see him now, sir?”
“Yes, I will come in a moment,” said Claudius.
“I think, sir,” said the man, “that his Grace is coming to your rooms.”
“Very good. My compliments, and I shall be glad to see him.” The gray servant vanished.
Barker rose to go; but Claudius was begging him not to hurry, when there was another knock, and the Duke entered. He shook hands with Claudius, and spoke rather coldly to Barker. The latter was uneasy, and felt that he was in the way. He was. Barker had fallen into a singular error of judgment in regard to the relations existing between the Duke and Claudius. He had imagined it in his power to influence the Duke’s opinion, whereas in trying to effect that object he had roused the Englishman’s animosity. Besides, Mr. Barker was to the Duke a caprice. He found the quick-thinking man of business amusing and even useful, but for steady companionship he did not want him. A passage across the Atlantic was more than enough to satisfy his desire for Mr. Barker’s society, even if Barker had not managed to excite his indignation. But Claudius was different. The honest nobleman could not tell why it was, but it was true, nevertheless. He looked upon the Doctor more as an equal than Barker. The Duke was a very great man in his own country, and it was singular indeed that he should find a man to his liking, a man who seemed of his own caste and calibre, in the simple privat-docent of a German university. Perhaps Barker felt it too. At all events, when the Duke sat himself down in Claudius’s room, after begging permission to ring for lights, and made himself most evidently at home, Mr. Barker felt that he was in the way; and so, promising to call on Claudius again in the morning, he departed. Claudius stood by the mantelpiece while the servant lit the gas.
“I am very glad to see you,” he said, when the man had gone.
“I am glad of that, for I want your society. The Countess Margaret has a headache, and Lady Victoria has gone to dine in her rooms, and to spend the evening with her.”
“I am very sorry to hear that the Countess is not well,” said Claudius, “but I am very glad of anything that brings you here to-night. I am in trouble — that is, I have been very much annoyed.”
“Ah, very sorry,” said the Duke.
“It so happens that you are the only person in America, as far as I know, who can help me.”
“I?” The Duke opened his eyes wide. Then he reflected that it might be something concerning the Countess, and waited.
“You are a gentleman,” said Claudius reflectively, and hardly addressing his visitor as he said it.
“Quite so,” said the Duke. “It’s a very fine word that.”
“And a man of honour,” continued Claudius in a meditative tone.
“The deuce and all, it’s the same thing,” said the Duke, rather puzzled.
“Yes; in some countries it is. Now, what I want to ask you is this. Could you, as a gentleman and a man of honour, swear in a court of law that you know me, and that I am the person I represent myself to be? That is the question.”
The Duke was too much surprised to answer directly. He made
a great fuss over his cigar, and got up and shut the window. Then he sat down in another chair.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said at last, to gain time.
“I mean what I say,” said Claudius. “Could you swear, before the Supreme Court of the United States, for instance, that I am Claudius, sometime student, now Doctor of Philosophy of the University of Heidelberg in Germany? Could you swear that?”
“My dear boy,” said the other, “what in the world are you driving at?” The Duke realised that he could not conscientiously swear to any such statement as that proposed by Claudius; and, liking him as he did, he was much distressed at being put into such a corner.
“I will tell you afterwards what it is about, Duke,” said Claudius. “I am serious, and I would like you to answer the question, though I foresee that you will say you could not swear to anything of the kind.”
“Honestly, Claudius, though there is not the slightest doubt in my mind that you are what you appear to be, I could not conscientiously swear it in evidence. I do not know anything about you. But Barker could.”
“No, he could not. He knows no more about me than you do, saving that he met me two or three days sooner. He met me in Heidelberg, it is true, but he made no inquiries whatever concerning me. It never entered his head that I could be anything but what I professed to be.”
“I should think not, indeed,” said the Duke warmly.
“But now that I am here in the flesh, these lawyers are making trouble. One of them was here a little while since, and he wanted documentary evidence of my identity.”
“Who was the lawyer?”
“A Mr. Screw, one of the executors of the will.”
“Who is the other executor?” asked the Duke quickly.
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 42