Author: George Manville Fenn
Category: Nonfiction
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CHAPTER THREE.
John Garstang stood with his back to the fire in his well furnishedoffice in Bedford Row, tall, upright as a Life Guardsman, but slightlymore prominent about what the fashionable tailor called his client'schest. He was fifty, but looked by artificial aid, forty. Scrupulouslywell-dressed, good-looking, and with a smile which won the confidence ofclients, though his regular white teeth were false, and the highforeheaded look which some people would have called baldness was sobeautifully ivory white and shiny that it helped to make him look whathe was--a carefully polished man of the world.
The clean japanned boxes about the room, all bearing clients' names, themany papers on the table, the waste-paper basket on the rich Turkeycarpet, chock full of white fresh letters and envelopes, all told ofbusiness; and the handsome morocco-covered easy chairs suggestedoccupancy by moneyed clients who came there for long consultations, suchas would tell up in a bill.
John Garstang was a family solicitor, and he looked it; but he wouldhave made a large fortune as a physician, for his presence and urbanemanner would have done anyone good.
The morning papers had been glanced at and tossed aside, and thegentleman in question, while bathing himself in the warm glow of thefire, was carefully scraping and polishing his well-kept nails, pausingfrom time to time to blow off tiny scraps of dust; and at last he tooktwo steps sideways noiselessly and touched the stud of an electric bell.
A spare-looking, highly respectable man answered the summons and stoodwaiting till his principal spoke, which was not until the right handlittle finger nail, which was rather awkward to get at, had beenpolished, when without raising his eyes, John Garstang spoke.
"Mr Harry arrived?"
"No, sir."
"What time did he leave yesterday?"
"Not here yesterday, sir."
"The day before?"
"Not here the day before yesterday, sir."
"What time did he leave on Monday?"
"About five minutes after you left for Brighton, sir."
"Thank you, Barlow; that will do. By the way--"
The clerk who had nearly reached the door, turned, and there was againsilence, while a few specks were blown from where they had fallen insideone of the spotless cuffs.
"Send Mr Harry to me as soon as he arrives."
"Yes, sir," and the man left the room; while after standing for a fewmoments thinking, John Garstang walked to one of the tin boxes in therack and drew down a lid marked, "Wilton, Number 1."
Taking from this a packet of papers carefully folded and tied up withgreen silk, he seated himself at his massive knee-hole table, and was inthe act of untying the ribbon, when the door opened and a short,thick-set young man of five-and-twenty, with a good deal of Frenchwaiter in his aspect, saving his clothes, entered, passing one handquickly over his closely-shaven face, and then taking the other to helpto square the great, dark, purple-fringed, square, Joinville tie,fashionable in the early fifties.
"Want to see me, father?"
"Yes. Shut the baize door."
"Oh, you needn't be so particular. It won't be the first time Barlowhas heard you bully me."
"Shut the baize door, if you please, sir," said Garstang, blandly.
"Oh, very well!" cried the young man, and he unhooked and set free acrimson baize door whose spring sent it to with a thud and a snap.
Then John Garstang's manner changed. An angry frown gathered on hisforehead, and he placed his elbows on the table, joined the tips of hisfingers to form an archway, and looked beneath it at the young man whohad entered.
"You are two hours late this morning."
"Yes, father."
"You did not come here at all yesterday."
"No, father."
"Nor the day before."
"No, father."
"Then will you have the goodness to tell me, sir, how long you expectthis sort of thing to go on? You are not of the slightest use to me inmy professional business."
"No, and never shall be," said the young man coolly.
"That's frank. Then will you tell me why I should keep and supply withmoney such a useless drone?"
"Because you have plenty, and a lot of it ought to be mine by right."
"Why so, sir? You are not my son."
"No, but I'm my mother's."
"Naturally," said Garstang, with a supercilious smile.
"You need not sneer, sir. If you hadnt deluded my poor mother intomarrying you I should have been well off."
"Your mother had a right to do as she pleased, sir. Where have youbeen?"
"Away from the office."
"I know that. Where to?"
"Where I liked," said the young man sulkily, "I'm not a child."
"No, and this conduct has become unbearable. It is time you went awayfor good. What do you say to going to Australia with your passage paidand a hundred pounds to start you?"
"'Tisn't good enough."
"Then you had better execute your old threat and enlist in a cavalryregiment. I promise you that I will not buy you out."
"Thank you, but it isn't good enough."
"What are you going to do then?"
"Never mind."
Garstang looked up at him sharply, this time from outside the fingerarch.
"Don't provoke me, Harry Dasent, for your own sake. What are you goingto do?"
"Get married."
"Indeed? Well, that's sensible. But are there not enough pauperchildren for the parish to keep?"
"Yes, but I am not going to marry a pauper. You have my money and willnot disgorge it, so I must have somebody's else."
"Indeed! Then you are going to look out for a lady with money?"
"No. I have already found one."
"Anyone I know?"
"Oh, yes."
"Who is it, pray?"
"Katherine Wilton."
Garstang's eyes contracted, and he gazed at his stepson for some momentsin silence. Then a contemptuous smile dawned upon his lip.
"I was not aware that you were so ambitious, Harry. But the lady?"
"Oh, that will be all right."
"Indeed! May I ask when you saw her last?"
"Yesterday evening at dinner."
"You have been down to Northwood?"
"Yes; I was there two days."
"Did your Uncle Wilton invite you down?"
"No, but Claud did, for a bit of shooting."
"Humph!" ejaculated Garstang thoughtfully, and the young man stoodgazing at him intently. Then his manner changed, and he took one of theeasy chairs, drew it forward, and seated himself, to sit leaningforward, and began speaking confidentially.
"Look here, step-father," he half-whispered, "I've been down theretwice. I suspected it the first time; yesterday I was certain. They'replaying a deep game there."
"Indeed?"
"Yes. I saw through it at once. They're running Claud for the stakes."
"Please explain yourself, my good fellow; I do not understand racingslang."
"Well, then, they mean Claud to marry Kate, and I'm not going to standby and see that done."
"By the way, I thought Claud was your confidential friend."
"So he is, up to a point; but it's every man for himself in a case likethis. I'm in the race myself, and I mean to marry Kate Wilton myself.It's too good a prize to let slip."
"And does the lady incline to my stepson's addresses?"
"Well, hardly. I've had no chance. They watched me like cats do mice,and she has been so sickly that it would be nonsense to try and talk toher."
"Then your prospects are very mild indeed."
"Oh, no, they're not. This is a case where a man must play trumps, highand at once. I may as well speak out, and you'll help me. There's notime shilly-shallying. If I hesitate my chance would be gone. I shallmake my plans, and take her away."
"With her consent, of course."
"With or without," said the young man, coolly.
"How?"
"But suppose she refuses?"
"She'll be made," said the young man, sharply. "The stakes are worthsome risk."
"But are you aware that the law would call this abduction?"
"I don't care what the law calls it if I get the girl."
"And it would mean possibly penal servitude."
"Well, I'm suffering that now, situated as I am. There, father, nevermind the law. Don't be squeamish; a great fortune is at stake, and itmust come into our family, not into theirs."
"You think they are trying that?"
"Think? I'm sure. Claud owned to as much, but he's rather on somewhereelse. Come, you'll help me? It would be a grand coup."
"Help you? Bah! you foolish young ass! It is impossible. It ismadness. You don't know what you are talking about. The girl couldappeal to the first policeman, and you would be taken into custody. Youand Claud Wilton must have been having a drinking bout, and the liquoris still in your head. There, go to your own room, and when you cantalk sensibly come back to me."
"I can talk sensibly now. Will you help me with a couple of hundredpounds to carry this through? I should want to take her for a couple ofmonths on the Continent, and bring her back my wife."
"Two hundred pounds to get you clapped in a cell at Bow Street."
"No; to marry a hundred and fifty thousand pounds."
"No, no, no. You are a fool, a visionary, a madman. It is impossible,and I shall feel it my duty to write to James Wilton to forbid, you thehouse."
"Once more; will you help me?"
"Once more, no. Now go, and let me get on with my affairs. Someonemust work."
"Then you will not?"
"No."
"Then listen to me: I've made up my mind to it, and do it. I will, atany cost, at any risk. She shan't marry Claud Wilton, and she shallmarry me. Yes, you may smile, but if I die for it I'll have that girland her money."
"But it would cost two hundred pounds to make the venture, sir. Perhapsyou had better get that first. Now please go."
The young man rose and looked at him fiercely for a few minutes, andGarstang met his eyes firmly.
"No," he said, "that would not do, Harry. The law fences us roundagainst robbery and murder, just as it does women against abduction.You are not in your senses. You were drinking last night. Go back homeand have a long sleep. You'll be better then."
The young man glanced at him sharply and left the room.
Ten minutes spent in deep thought were passed by Garstang, who thenrose, replaced the papers in the tin case, and crossed and rang thebell.
"Send Mr Harry here."
"He went out as soon as he left your room, sir."
"Thank you; that will do." Then, as the door closed upon the clerk,Garstang said softly:
"So that's it; then it is quite time to act."