The Mystery of Lincoln's Inn Part 2

"Morris, I take it," said he, "wishes to make an examination into his affairs--an investigation, one might call it; _that_ is the meaning of his desire to check over the securities, certificates of shares, etc., in our hands."

"Well, it's very natural in the circ.u.mstances," observed Eversleigh.

"Poor Morris! Poor fellow! To have fought all these long years for his fortune--to have won--and now to be robbed of the fruits of the struggle; it must be bitter--bitter! Such a fine fortune, too! Thanks to your financial ability, Cooper," continued Eversleigh, with returning complacency, "his estate is in a highly satisfactory condition; everything is in apple-pie order; he will be delighted with your admirable management. It's a great fortune," he added, meditatively.

"What we hold of it, Cooper, is something like a quarter of a million, is it not?"

"Yes, yes," a.s.sented Silwood, speaking rapidly. "Francis," he went on, his manner for the first time showing a trace of nervousness, his speech a touch of incoherence, "that's what I must talk to you about--there's a very good reason why I am so anxious as to the date of Morris Thornton's arrival--something must be done at once."

"What do you mean, Cooper?" asked Eversleigh, his attention aroused; "I don't understand you."

Silwood had up to this point been standing; he now seated himself and gazed fixedly at his partner, on whose face was to be seen some uneasiness but no great alarm--rather a vague wonder.

"Frank," said Silwood, steadily, and now master of himself, "prepare yourself--I have something to say--I have a confession to make."

As he heard these words, Eversleigh, with a sudden movement, pushed his chair back from the table. Fearful of what was coming, he stared at Silwood, his mild eyes big with surprise and terror.

"What is it?" he stammered, in increasing agitation--"what is it?" And he jumped up to his feet excitedly, exclaiming, "A confession to make!

You! Am I going out of my senses? My G.o.d! What do you mean, Cooper?"

"What I mean is this," said Silwood, keeping his eyes fastened snake-like on Eversleigh as if to magnetize him: "when Morris Thornton comes to look into his affairs and ask for the securities and so forth we are supposed to hold----"

"Supposed to hold!" cried Eversleigh, in tremulous accents.

"When he asks us for his property he will discover----"

"No, no, no--never that, Cooper!" interrupted Eversleigh, at last perceiving the other's drift.

"He will discover that his estate has vanished; it does not exist," said Silwood.

"What!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Eversleigh, staring wildly at his partner, and still only half believing his ears, still only half comprehending the sweep of the calamity in which he was involved.

"The truth is, Frank, that, unknown to you, I've been speculating on the Stock Exchange, and I've lost everything, or practically everything. If we were called upon to-day," Silwood went on in a hard, penetrating tone which forced conviction on the mind of the miserable man to whom he spoke, "to produce our clients' securities, bonds, shares and monies, we should have very little to give them--the bulk has disappeared."

"We are defaulters," moaned Eversleigh, in accents of horror. And as he spoke, realizing and overwhelmed by the disaster that had overtaken him, the big, soft man seemed to shrivel and shrink up. With a pitiful sound, plaintive, appealing, like the cry of a hurt child, he covered his face with his hands and sank into his seat.

"Some years ago," Silwood resumed, "I was tempted to speculate. It appeared to be a certainty, but I lost. To gain back what I had ventured, I speculated again, with no better result. And this happened over and over again. I did not always lose, or I might have become discouraged. So I kept hoping and hoping to right myself, but I only sank deeper and deeper in the mire."

While Silwood was speaking, a dark painful flush overspread Eversleigh's face, then the blood ebbed slowly away from it, and left the cheeks deathly pale.

"I have put off telling you of our position," continued Silwood, in the same measured, monotonous, curiously callous voice that he had spoken in during most of the interview, "but the early coming--he may be here any day--of Morris Thornton compels me to state exactly how we stand. You see now why I am so anxious to know the date of his return to England."

Eversleigh slowly raised his head and looked at Silwood the reproach, anger, and rage he felt but could not express--he was so overcome, so dazed, that his tongue could not find words. He saw with appalling clearness, as in a flash of lightning, all that Silwood's disclosure meant--dishonour, ruin, and the convict's cell for himself, the brand of shame and infamy for his family. He had blindly trusted Silwood all these years, and, though he himself had taken not a penny of the clients' funds, the law would hold him equally guilty with his partner.

"Something must be done," urged Silwood.

"There is only one thing to do," said Eversleigh, finding words at last; "we must make the truth known at once."

"No," said Silwood, emphatically; "that would be sheer folly; it will be soon enough to act in that way when we must. Besides, is there no scheme that we can devise to----"

"What scheme could be devised?"

"I have thought of one," said Silwood, and for several minutes he spoke to Eversleigh in low tones of persuasion, but Eversleigh refused to agree to what he proposed.

"No," said Eversleigh, finally; "I'll never consent to that--never, come what may."

"Think it over, Frank," Silwood pressed him--"think it over calmly; and, in any case, there is no need for precipitancy."

"If I did my duty," said Eversleigh, with a groan, "I should hand you and myself over to the police!"

"That would be madness," replied Silwood. "Think of it, man! You will never be such a fool."

Eversleigh rose to his feet with a sudden pathetic dignity.

"Leave me!" he commanded Silwood; "I can bear no more."

And Cooper Silwood hesitated, then obeyed. When he was gone out of the room, Eversleigh sat staring, staring at the door.

It seemed to him incredible, impossible, that a few brief minutes could work such havoc, such disaster, such irremediable ruin. Only a short time before, that fine young man, that handsome and debonair son of his, of whom he was so proud, had stood in this room, and had gone away smiling and hopeful; and now----

Eversleigh felt like one in a nightmare falling through immeasurable depths.

CHAPTER III

That afternoon Gilbert Eversleigh went over, as he had intended, to Ivydene, his father's residence in Surbiton, a large and commodious villa standing among trees and shrubs in its own grounds on the road from Kingston to Thames Ditton, about three-quarters of a mile from the market-place of the former. From its upper windows there were to be got pleasant glimpses of the river and of the Home Park beyond. The Eversleighs were very fond of their house, and, in an una.s.sertive way, proud of it. Certainly it was the centre of as sweet and well-ordered a home-life as any in England.

Gilbert's telegram to his mother had prepared her for his coming, and when he arrived he was warmly greeted by her and his sister Helen, a fair girl with the family good-looks, who inquired if he was going to spend the rest of the day with them. Gilbert replied that he did not purpose returning to town till the last train, and suggested it would be "very nice on the river."

While he was speaking, Miss Kitty Thornton made her appearance, and as she shook hands with him his eyes sparkled with admiration--and small wonder!

For Miss Kitty was a splendid piece of flesh and blood, full of life and the joy and the spirit of youth. A little over twenty-one, she was old enough to be a woman and young enough to be a girl. She was not too tall nor too slim. She belonged to the dark type. She had black hair and plenty of it, and big black expressive eyes which often spoke her thoughts when her tongue was silent; on each cheek glowed a spot of bright colour as large as a half-opened wild rose, but of a deeper shade; her lips were of a deeper shade still; her skin was of a warm dusky tint.

It was a strikingly brilliant face, but it had a delicacy of feature, a fineness of line not common in dark women. When it was in repose it was beautiful, yet somehow it hinted sorrow, melancholy, unhappy love, tragedy; but it was seldom in repose, and when it was lit up with animation, with feeling or laughter, as it usually was, it was as radiantly lovely as mortal man could wish to see.

There was a great heart in her too, but it had not yet been tried and proved. Hitherto she had moved in a sheltered world; of evil, and the unending struggle and strife of men and women outside, she had only a faint conception; the din of life had never clashed upon her ears.

Her father, on the death of her mother, had brought her over from Canada to Mrs. Eversleigh, begging the wife of his old friend to take care of her for him. And Mrs. Eversleigh, a gracious woman, had gladly a.s.sented to his request. Kitty thus became a member of the family, and was educated along with Helen both in England and on the continent. The girls were like sisters. Kitty was deeply attached to Mrs. Eversleigh, and, in a less degree, to Francis Eversleigh. She was very happy with the Eversleighs.

"Have they told you the good news, Gilbert?" asked Kitty, a note of rejoicing in her voice.

"Not yet," interposed Helen Eversleigh; "there hasn't been time."

"Tell me," said Gilbert, with a smile. "What is it?"

"I got a letter from my father this morning, and he says that he is returning to England very soon," said Kitty, gleefully.

"That is indeed good news for you," Gilbert agreed. "I thought you looked very much pleased about something," he added.