The Story of Antony Grace Part 91

"Any good?--Trust him?" said Mr Peter quickly.

"Yes, he is very clever in his profession," I said wonderingly.

"Call him back, then," said Mr Peter. "I've got something for him to hear."

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.

PETER ROWLE'S BARGAIN.

I was just in time to call Tom Girtley back as he reached the corner of the street, and he came up into my room, wondering, for the hour was getting late; but he took a chair quietly, and waited for what Mr Peter had to say.

"Well, it ain't much," said the latter; "but it may mean a good deal.

S'pose, sir, you just cast your eye over them there?" He took a packet of papers, tied with red tape, and docketed, out of his pocket, and pa.s.sed them over to Tom Girtley, who immediately opened them in a very business-like way, and proceeded rapidly to mentally summarise their contents.

This took him some little time, during which we all sat very still, Mr Peter giving me a very knowing look or two in the interval.

"These are very important doc.u.ments, sir," said Tom Girtley quietly. "I must, of course, warn you that I am only a young member of my profession, and wanting in experience; but, as far as I can judge, these are the private memoranda and certain deeds and doc.u.ments of Mr Edward Grace, of--"

"My father!" I exclaimed excitedly. "How did you get these papers, Mr Rowle?"

"Bought 'em," said the old gentleman quietly.

"You bought them?"

"To be sure I did. Old Blakeford thought he'd taken possession of all your father's papers, my boy, after his death, but he didn't."

"How did you get them, then?" said Mr Jabez sharply.

"Bought 'em, I tell you. It was like this: old Blakeford put me in possession at the house of a man who had borrowed money of him, and he was going to sell him up--you know his ways, young 'un--I mean Mr Grace. Well, I went there one night, and very wild the poor fellow was, and he went straight to a bureau, that I seemed to have seen before, and began to go over his papers, tying up some and burning others, and going on and calling old Blakeford names all the while. 'Ah,' he says, all at once, 'I bought this writing-table and drawers at Grace's sale, when Blakeford sold the furniture. Look here,' he said, 'this lot of papers was in one of the back drawers. They belonged to old Grace, I suppose,'

and he was about to pitch them into the fire with his own letters and things, of which there was quite a heap.

"'Don't do that,' I says; 'they may be of value.'

"'Not they,' he says; 'if they'd been worth anything old Blakeford wouldn't have left them. They aren't worth tuppence!'

"'I'll give you tuppence for them,' I says.

"'Pay up,' he says, and I handed him the twopence, and took the papers.

I've read 'em, and think they're worth the money."

"Worth the money!" cried Tom Girtley; "why, they may be worth ten thousand pounds; but I can say nothing till I have gone into the case; and I daresay it would be necessary to make Mr Blakeford supply some of the connecting links."

"Which he won't do," said Mr Peter quietly.

"Unless he's obliged," said Tom Girtley. "There are means of making even a solicitor speak, Mr Rowle," he continued. "Will you take these papers?"

"No," said Mr Peter; "give 'em to Mr Grace there. They were his father's. Blakeford's pitched me over, because I got old and useless, so I shan't try to screen him in the least."

Tom Girtley folded and tied up the papers, and handed them to me but I refused to take them.

"Keep them and study them," I said; "perhaps they will not prove to be so valuable when you have given them a fresh perusal."

He nodded and placed the packet in his breast-pocket, all three then rising to go, for it was past twelve, and as Tom Girtley and I stood at the door, we saw the two old men go down the street, arm-in-arm, till they pa.s.sed by the lamp-post and disappeared. Then, after a hearty good-night, Tom Girtley took his departure, and I went up to bed, to lie for hours thinking about my life with Mr Blakeford, and wondering whether he had defrauded me over the question of my father's property.

I had always felt that I was in his debt, and meant some day to repay him all he said that my father owed; in fact, Miss Carr had been so liberal to me in the way of pocket-money, that I had forty pounds saved up for that purpose; but now this came like a revelation, and there was a delightful feeling of triumph in the idea that I might perhaps bring a thorough scoundrel to book. Then all at once I began to think about Hetty--pretty, gentle little Hetty, who had been so kind to me when I was a miserable unhappy boy, and the hours when I saw her seemed like gleams of light, amongst so much darkness.

What would Hetty be like after all these years, I wondered; and then I began to blame myself for not asking Mr Rowle more about her, and at last, with the memory of the bright affectionate child filling my thoughts, I dropped off to sleep, to dream once more about Mr Blakeford, and that I was on the road, with him in full chase.

It was quite a treat to get out of bed and away from the nightmare-like dreams of the past, and after a sharp walk and breakfast, I made my way round by Mr Jabez Rowle's lodgings, to have a few words with Mr Peter, before going to Lambeth.

I found the old man alone, smoking a long pipe with his hat on, and his brother gone.

His face lit up as he saw me, and after a little conversation about the past--

"When are you going back to Rowford?" I said.

"Want to get rid of me?" he replied.

"No, no, of course not."

"Don't know that I'm going back at all," he said. "Jabez and I haven't seen much of each other lately. Think I shall stay."

"Did--have--did you ever see much of Miss Blakeford?" I said, feeling conscious as I spoke that I was growing hot.

"Often," said the old man, looking at me intently. "She often asked about you."

"About me?" I said.

"Yes: how you got on, and whether you were coming back."

"What is she like now?" I said. "Of course she is not a little girl now."

"Little girl? No: I should think not. Grow'd into an angel, that's what she is."

I could not ask any more, but promising to go in and see him in the evening, I hurried off to the works, thinking that I should very much like to see Hetty Blakeford again, and wondering whether she would see much change in me.

In another hour Rowford was forgotten, and I was deep in the preparations for Hallett's machine, which was rapidly approaching completion; while a fortnight later I was dining with Miss Carr, and bearing her the news of the successful point to which Hallett had climbed, making her flush with pleasure, as I told her that the machine was to be set up at Mr Ruddle's place of business, and be tried there.

"Send me word the day and hour of the trial, Antony," she said, in a low voice.

"Will you come?" I said eagerly.

"No, Antony, no," she said softly. "I could not come, but I shall pray for a triumphant success."

She spoke warmly, for she seemed off her guard, and then hurriedly changed the conversation.