Charles Palliser (152 page)

There was a pause, and then the little man answered: “Not for less than fifty thousand pounds.”

So he was no better! Though perhaps he was, for at least he set a high price on the value of his conscience!

“You’re mad!” Clothier shouted. Then more calmly he said: “You must know I don’t possess anything like that amount!”

“You do now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard what passed in the cellar not an hour ago. Now that the boy is dead and the will destroyed, you’re the owner of the Hougham property and that’s worth a tidy sum.”

There was a brief silence, and then the old man said in a silky tone: “Why, you
are
up to the game! But if I’m to claim the estate, you must help me in the cellar.”

“Very well. But none of your tricks.”

They came towards where I was and because there was no other way to go, I quickly retreated back down into the cellar and hid behind a cask.

“Let’s have a look at him,” Clothier said and seized the rope. “What the devil!” I heard him cry a moment later on finding it attached to nothing. “He must have drowned whatever happened,” he said. “For I stood on the trap-door until the tide reached my ancles. The rope must have frayed on a sharp edge. I must have the body to prove to the Court that the Huffam line is extinct. But I don’t want it found with the hands tied. Nor in the vaults, for that’s too close to home, but out in the river. You’re five and twenty years younger than I, Vulliamy. Go down and see if you can find it.”

“Not for the world.”

“Come, don’t be a coward. We need that body. Climb down while I hold the lanthorn.”

“I know a trick worth two of that,” Vulliamy said.

“I’m not trying to kill you, you fool,” Clothier growled. “I’ll do it myself if you won’t, but remember that your receiving the money depends on my remaining alive to inherit!

Hold the lanthorn.”

He began to climb down. I knew the ladder was unsafe and the old man had no rope to save him as I had. Yet if I tried to warn him I would be killed. I recalled the choice I had had to make when Assinder opened the hiding-place. I felt even less compunction now.

Suddenly there was a cry: “It’s giving way! Help me.”

I heard a desperate scrabbling of hands and nails on stone, and then a long scream and the thud of the body landing. Then there was silence. Since the tide was right out now he must have hit the wharf twenty feet below. I looked round the edge of the cask and saw Vulliamy peer down into the trap as he

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stood at its edge holding the lanthorn. After a moment he hurried to the steps and ran up them and out of the cellar.

After leaving time for him to get well clear of the building, I felt my way in the dark out of the counting-house. Towards the top of the lane I heard footsteps and pressed myself back into the shadows. A moment later Vulliamy passed me with the watch behind him.

I ran up one street and then another until I found a quiet place. Then, my teeth chattering and my fingers numbed with cold, I managed to use the knife to free my hands.

As I hurried away from the river-front I reflected that for the second time within twenty-four hours I had no idea where I should go. The first time, I had gone to Henry believing that I could trust him. Had he betrayed me? Someone must have, for how had my assailants known where to find me in the dark lane? And how had Clothier known that I had the will hidden around my neck? I could not avoid the suspicion that Henry had blown me up. But how could he have come to form a combination with my enemy?

And he had put up a fierce struggle against our attackers. Had Barney then somehow traced me? That seemed much more probable. In that case I still dared not go to Joey and his mother. Then I would return to Henry, but I would be very suspicious of him. I crossed fleet-street and hurried up Fetter-lane.

It was still very early when I reached the entrance to Barnards-inn but the gate was unlocked for, as I could see from the dim glow from his window, the porter was awake. I glanced in and saw that he was preoccupied in making his breakfast, so that with the aid of the fog it was not difficult for me to steal past.

I ascended the stair and as I reached the top I noticed that the oaken outer door of Henry’s chambers stood open and I heard voices. After all that I had been through I hope it may be understood — if not excused — that I tip-toed up to the inner door and pressed my ear against its pannel.

Henry was speaking: “I very much fear, Pamplin, that we won’t see our young friend again.”

“What the devil do you mean by that?”

“Well, from what he told me I know he had enemies who wished his death.”

“His death! What have you got me involved in, Bellringer? Do you mean to say that you believe those villains who attacked me intend to murder him?”

“I very much fear so.”

I heard a long, low, and most unclerical whistle and then Mr Pamplin said, in a voice shaking with fright: “What the deuce do we do now?”

“We go to the police-office and lay an information before the beak.”

“But only think of the scandal if our part in this gets abroad.”

“But we have to, Pamplin. It’s the only chance we have of saving the boy.”

“Do you know who those men were and where they’ve taken him?”

“No, I have no idea.”

“Then what purpose is served by going to the authorities? It’ll only get me into the most infernal scrape. My bishop won’t like it. You know how much trouble I’ve already had with him.”

“I’m sorry, Pamplin, I’m afraid you’ll have to take the consequences.”

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“Really, Bellringer. It’s your fault for getting me into this. I agreed to do you a favour because you’ve helped me in the past. If you do have to go to the beak can’t you keep me out of it?”

“I don’t see how. I need someone to vouch for my innocence in all of this.”

“Your innocence! What about me? We’re both innocent, but how is our story going to sound when it’s reported in the papers? There’s always some damned journalist hanging about the police-courts waiting for stories of this kind. And why should the justice believe us, anyway? It all sounds improbable enough to me: a missing heir, a mysterious document of some kind. And a young fellow in the middle of it! You seem to forget my circumstances. This could be the end of my hopes of advancement.”

“Why should you care for that? You have a rich enough living already, haven’t you?

But it’s barely dawn and I’m confoundedly hungry. Before we do anything, let’s have some breakfast.”

“Excellent idea. The Cocoa-tree should be opening about now.”

“Then you go on ahead and I’ll follow when I’ve washed and changed my dress.”

As I heard footsteps approaching I moved away from the door. I had heard enough to have my suspicions allayed.

The door opened and Mr Pamplin stood gazing at me in amazement. I believe that for an instant he thought I had returned from the grave and in the face of a miracle every one of his profoundest beliefs was shaken. He stepped backwards into the room, his mouth drooping speechlessly, and I followed him.

Henry turned and presented to my gaze almost as ghastly a spectacle as I : his face was bruised and since he was in his shirt and trowsers I could see how badly torn his clothes were, and that the shirt was covered in blood.

He looked at me for some moments with the strangest expression: “My dear John!” he exclaimed at length. “It really is you! Thank Heavens you’re safe!”

He moved forward and, dirty and wet as I was, embraced me. In my weakened state I felt tears rising at his obvious pleasure in seeing me again.

“Awfully glad to see you safe, old man,” said Mr Pamplin, having recovered his composure. “Spares me some uneasiness, I can assure you.”

Henry led me tenderly towards a chair before the fire. “What happened?” he asked.

Then he glanced warningly towards his friend who was watching us intently and added in an undertone: “Tell me when he’s gone.”

I saw the danger and though I had much to say and many questions to ask, I kept silent.

“You got away, evidently,” Henry went on in a more natural voice. “Well, don’t tire yourself by telling us now.”

“What happened to you?” I asked.

Henry laughed: “Your friends knocked me to the ground and kicked me. When they had gone, Charles and I spent a comical half-hour blundering about in the fog trying to catch each other.”

“Comical!” the clergyman protested.

“Very comical in retrospect, though hardly so at the time. You see, John, I unwittingly frightened him half to death so that he would run off whenever I came near, taking me for one of our assailants. But in the end we found each other. Then we looked for the watch, but of course it was not abroad. The Charlies are always safe and snug in the watch-house on a night like this. We decided to come back here and clean up before going before the beak.” Then

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with a warning smile at me, Henry said to his friend: “Be a good fellow, Pamplin, and order us over breakfast, will you?”

“Very well,” he answered rather irritably and departed.

As the door closed behind him Henry smiled at me conspiratorially and said : “Tell me quickly what happened before he gets back. And change into some dry things.”

He gave me a dressing-gown and while we talked, I removed my soaking garments and he hung them before the fire.

“The men who abducted me were agents of Silas Clothier, who is the claimant under the codicil if I die. He tried to kill me but I escaped and he died instead.”

“Died?” Henry repeated.

“Yes. But not before he had destroyed the will.”

“You are sure he is dead?” Henry asked.

“Certain,” I answered, rather surprised that he was so much interested in the old man’s fate and so little in that of the will. I told him briefly what had happened. “What do you think I should do now?” I asked. “Should I go to the magistrates?”

“What purpose would that serve?” Henry asked rather distractedly.

“I believe none,” I agreed, “for I am safe at last from that family, for the Clothiers — or, rather, the Porteouses — have no claim on the estate now that I have outlived the old man.”

“Yes,” Henry muttered. “They have no claim.”

There was a silence, and then he said: “If you reveal yourself to be alive, that has far-reaching implications.”

I looked at him in surprise.

“For the suit!” he exclaimed, seeing my puzzlement.

We were both silent for a moment.

“You keep the Mompessons in possession!” Henry exclaimed.

“That is true,” I said. “But I also expose myself to danger.”

“What danger?” he asked quickly.

“Well, with the destruction of the will the codicil remains in force and if I remain concealed until the time-limit expires, it is the heir of George Maliphant who would inherit. So there is still someone in whose interest it is that I should die.”

“You are making an unwarranted assumption there,” Henry said.

“Oh?” I asked.

“Are you sure that there is such an heir in existence? I have never heard of a claimant from that side of the family.”

I was a little nonplussed that he seemed to know so much about the suit and the genealogy of the parties involved.

“You are right,” I said. “The line may have failed and in that case I am safe. But then what would happen to the estate? Would it remain in the possession of the Mompessons?”

“By no means. Only while you are alive do they have any title. Once you were declared dead, if no heir descended from George Maliphant could be found, then the estate would escheat to the Crown.”

So by remaining in hiding or coming forward I could determine the fate of the Mompessons. It was a deeply gratifying reflection and I meditated on it in silence for some time. Henry also seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, so we sat without speaking. I would need time to think about this and to consider how 704 THE

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my decision would affect Henrietta. Certainly, now that the will was destroyed, there was no advantage to anyone in forcing her into marriage. Indeed, her guardians would lose all interest in her. She could surely marry whom she chose.

We were still sitting in this silent state when Mr Pamplin came back, followed by a waiter bearing our breakfast in a tower of silver dishes.

When the servant had set down his burden and departed, Henry said cheerfully:

“You’ll be relieved to learn, Charles, that we’ve decided that nothing is to be gained by going before the magistrates.”

Mr Pamplin brightened visibly, applauded our judgement, and made a good breakfast of the devilled mutton-chops, crumpets, and coffee. He departed shortly afterwards, declaring himself exhausted after the night’s alarms. Henry and I were also so tired that we decided to sleep, although the day was by now far advanced on its foggy, freezing course. He insisted that I take the bed while he made himself comfortable on the sopha.

It hardly mattered to me for within a minute of falling into bed I was fast asleep.

I awoke towards noon and lay thinking about the events of the last two days. I had seen a man risk death — and perhaps die — for the sake of gold. And I had made no attempt to dissuade him from taking a gamble that I knew was more dangerous than he had believed. Yet I felt no responsibility for what had happened to Assinder. And I had seen another man die and had let him go to his death because to save him was to destroy myself. Though hardly guilty, I was at the very least involved. Whatever this madness was, I could not tell myself that I was outside it. Not any longer. And what had old Clothier’s motives been in trying to kill me and in risking his own life? The love of gold again? Or was it something more insidious — the desire for justice? If I could acquit myself of the former, as I believed I could, I had to plead guilty to the latter. And the list of those whose death had come about because of this quest for justice did not end with Assinder and old Clothier. I had led George Digweed to his fate, even though he had gone willingly. And even Miss Lydia might still be alive if I had not come into her life.