Young Mr. Barter's Repentance Part 8

Patty of course was clinging to him without disguise by this time, anxious only to atone for having given an ear to any word against him, even for a moment. Phil put his arm about her waist and kissed her. He had never to his knowledge performed this act in the presence of a third person until now, but he got through it without embarra.s.sment.

'You think you can clear your father's character?' asked his sweetheart's father. There was a tinge of scepticism in his voice, though he tried to hide it.

'Yes, sir,' said Phil, his head thrown back a little, and his eyes gleaming. n.o.body had ever looked so handsome to Patty's fancy as he did at that moment 'I know already that there was no real stain upon his honour, and I'm surprised myself for thinking that there ever could have been, bad as things looked. My father never took wrongful possession of your money. He was robbed of it, and I think I can lay my hand upon the thief.'

There was a prodigious excitement at this declaration, and the young man was overwhelmed with questions. He could name no names, of course, and give no clue, but he sketched the story. He contented himself by describing young Barter as Thief Number One, and he was satisfied to describe Steinberg as Probable Thief Number Two. He had learned, it appeared, that Thief Number One had succeeded on his father's death to a carefully limited partners.h.i.+p in a business affair in the city. The guiding spirit in the concerns of Thief Number One had been his father's managing clerk. The income of Thief Number One was strictly limited, and his actual control over the affairs of the firm was non-existent.

Notwithstanding these facts, the young man was guilty of countless extravagances, and was a reckless gambler. Within the last twelve months he could hardly have paid away at the club less than a thousand pounds.

He had been extremely hard up before the loss of the money, and it was in his offices that the roll of banknotes had been lost. As for Probable Thief Number Two, he played rook to Number One's pigeon. He had a visible hold upon him; Number One trembled before him, and did what he was bidden to do. Number Two had plenty of money, and as shady a reputation as any man in London who was not among the known criminal cla.s.ses. Phil's belief was that Number Two was disposing of the notes for Number One, and that this simple fact accounted for his power over him.

'And I'm going to follow their track,' said Phil, tapping the clenched knuckles of his right hand upon the open palm of his left with a quiet vehemence, 'until I find out everything, if I follow it until I am gray.'

VIII

It would appear that a spider may be among the most daring, skilful, and predatory of his species, that he may be gifted with the most constant watchfulness and appet.i.te, and yet, whether by the intrusion of an accidental walking-stick or broom (which would a.s.suredly seem providential to the fly), or by stress of weather, or the desperate activity of a victim, may have his best laid schemes brought to nought, and his most mathematically laid web rent to tatters. In the entomological world a solitary interview between fly and spider is usually fatal to the one, and satisfactory to the other. But we of the higher developments, who model ourselves, or are modelled, upon the lines of myriads of remote ancestors, and far-away relatives, have refined upon their primitive proceedings, and have made their simple activities complex by development.

In an absolutely primitive condition the Steinberg spider would have drained the Barter fly at a single orgie, and would have left him to wither on the lines. As things were, he came back to him with a constant gusto of appet.i.te, tasting him on Monday, despatching him to buzz among his fellows until Sat.u.r.day, and then tasting him again, the Barter fly seeming for a while--for quite a considerable time in fact--l.u.s.ty and active and able-bodied, and looking as though this kind of thing might go on for ever without much damage to him, and the spider himself giving no sign of overtaxed digestive powers.

Not to run this striking and original simile out of breath, the Barter fly endured for a round twelve months, without showing signs of anaemia so p.r.o.nounced as to look dangerous to his const.i.tution. At the end of that time, however, all the surplus blood had been drawn from his body, and the spider had grown so keen by the habit of constant recurrence to him that any prolonged connection between them began to look desperate.

In plain English, the eight thousand pounds which had once so lightly pa.s.sed from the hands of Mr. Brown to the hands of Mr. Bommaney had now pa.s.sed, with just as little profit to the man who parted with them, from the hands of young Barter to the hands of Steinberg.

It was just about the time when this lingering but inevitable transaction was completed that chance led young Barter to his encounter with the son of the man whose belongings he had appropriated. Everybody knows how apt newly-made acquaintances sometimes are to renew themselves again and again. You meet a man whom you have never seen before, see him just long enough to take a pa.s.sing interest in him, and to know generally who and what he is, and you run against him on the morrow, and again on the morrow, and so on, until in a week he has grown as familiar to your thoughts as any other mere acquaintance of whose ident.i.ty you may have been aware for years. This happened in the case of Philip Bommaney and younger Mr. Barter. They entered the Inn together, or left it together, or Philip ran upstairs or downstairs as Barter was in the very act of leaving or entering his chambers. Putting together a certain family resemblance which he thought he noticed, the ident.i.ty of a rather uncommon name, and the curious frequency of these chance encounters, Barter found it hard to avoid the belief that his new-made acquaintance had a rather careful eye upon him. His nerve was a good deal shaken, and he was by no means the man he had been. To the un.o.bservant stranger the frank gaiety of his laugh was as spontaneous as ever, but then that had never had much to do with Barter's inward sensations. Perhaps he got the laugh in some remote fas.h.i.+on from an ancestor who really ought to have had it, and who may have been as dull and as little laughter-loving to look at as his successor was within. Philip rather took to the fellow at first sight, and was slow to suspect him, even when James Hornett had told his story. But the young Barter was not satisfied, as he should have been, with playing the part of one insect at a time. It was unwholesome enough, one might have thought, for him to play fly to Steinberg's spider, and yet he must needs take to playing moth to Philip Bommaney's candle, a light of danger to him, as he recognised almost from the first He was always polite to Phil, and always stopped him for a moment's conversation at their chance encounters. Phil, having been inspired at least with a suspicion that this engaging young man was responsible for the actual disgrace which had fallen upon Bommaney senior, always bent a grave scrutiny upon him. Barter sometimes wondered whether his new-found acquaintance's way of looking at him were habitual or particular, but he could never solve that problem. To Barter's nerves the glance of dispa.s.sionate a.n.a.lysis always seemed to ask--Did you steal those notes? and whether his mind and nerves were at accord or no made but little difference to him. His mind rejected the idea of suspicion, but his nerves accepted it with trembling. He knew perfectly well that he could not endure the certainty of Phil Bommaney's knowledge, but none the less he found the uncertainty tantalising and painful. This is perhaps one of the hardest things an undetected criminal has to endure, that he lives in a world of suspicion of his own making, where every imagination is real and as dreadful as the fact. In his own mind young Barter credited himself with courage when he made overtures for Philip's companions.h.i.+p. In reality he made the overtures because he was a coward, and a braver scoundrel would have disdained them.

Philip felt himself impelled to watch this young man, and was not altogether displeased that he found the opportunity thrust upon him.

Almost facing the gateway of the old Inn there is an old-fas.h.i.+oned restaurant, deserted from its hour of opening until noon, and from then crowded inconveniently till two o'clock, deserted again till five, and once more inconveniently crowded till seven. Philip, having the power to choose his own time for meals, and frequenting this old house, sometimes met Barter in the act of coming away from it with the dregs of the stream of the late lunchers or diners. He fell into the habit of going a little earlier, and Barter would signal him to the table at which he sat, if by rare chance there happened to be a vacant seat at it. The young rascal's tendency lay towards monologue, and since it was his cue to be open-hearted, and very unsuspicious of being suspected, he talked with much freedom of himself, his pursuits, and his affairs. The question which Barter's nerves were always finding in Philip's eyes was, as a matter of fact, not often absent from his mind. 'Now, how did you steal those notes?' was the one active query of his intelligence as he listened to Barter's candid prattle.

It was in the course of these confidences that Philip learned of the existence of that Pigeon Trap of which Mr. Barter was so proud to be an inhabitant. It was at Barter's solicitation that he visited the place, and it was Barter who proposed him as a member.

Being a member it was not long before he discovered the fact of Steinberg's influence over the young solicitor. He noticed a terrified deference in Barter's manner towards the other, a frightened alacrity of obedience to his suggestions. He noticed also that Steinberg and Barter played a good deal by themselves, and that Barter always lost.

The men of Hawks' Boost talked pretty freely about each other in the absence of such of their fellow clubmen as were under discussion. Barter was spoken of as Steinberg's Mug, Berg's Juggins, Stein's Spoofmarker.

It was generally admitted that Stein made a good thing out of him, and the wonder was where Barter got his money. There was a pretty general apprehension that the young man, at no very far future date, would come to grief. The contemplation of this probability affected the Boosters but little in an emotional way, but it made them keen to see that Mr. Barter paid up punctually, and though they were very shy of paper acceptances from their comrades as a general thing, they were shyer of his than of most men's.

These things Philip Bommaney junior attentively noted. At first the clubmen rather wondered at him. He was in their precincts often, and would smoke his pipe and watch whatever game might be going with tranquil interest, but he never played, and could not be induced to bet.

_Que diable faisant-il dans cette gaiere?_ the clubmen wanted to know.

He never told them, and in a while they grew accustomed to him and his ways. He continued his quiet watch upon Mr. Barter, and included Steinberg in his field of observation. One evening, dining at the old restaurant, he marked Barter, melancholy and alone. He was sitting in an att.i.tude of apparent dejection, tapping upon the table with a fork, and deep sunk in what seemed to be an uncomfortable contemplation. But when the moth saw his candle he brightened, and fluttered over to it.

'You might come over,' said Barter, when they had sat together until the latest of the dining guests had gone away. 'You might come over to my chambers and smoke a cigar if you've nothing else to do. I don't care about going down to the club tonight.'

The Steinberg spider was supposed to be waiting there, coldly patient and insatiable, and Barter dreaded him. Philip had never entered the rooms, but they had an attraction for him. He accepted his companion's invitation, and they entered the chambers together. A fire lingered in the grate, and Barter replenished it, and, having produced a box of cigars and a bottle of cognac, proffered refreshment to his guest. The honest man began somewhat to recoil from himself and from his companion.

What was he there for? The answer was pretty evident. There was nothing between this loud-babbling youth and himself which could have drawn them into even a momentary comrades.h.i.+p, if it had not been for the suspicion his father's story had inspired in him. Frankly, he was there because he suspected the man, because he desired to watch him, because, if he found the chance, he was willing to set him in the dock. To smoke his tobacco and drink his liquor in those circ.u.mstances had undoubtedly an air of treachery. In a while he hardened himself, and closed his ears to all casuist pleadings, whether for or against the course he had adopted. He would clear his father if he could, and if there were any mere hope of doing it, he would watch this fellow as a cat watches a mouse, and would go on doing it until both of them were gray.

'By the way,' said Barter innocently, 'do you never take a hand at----'

His supple fingers supplied the hiatus, dealing out an imaginary pack of cards with the flouris.h.i.+ng dexterity native to them.

'That's what I'm here for, is it?' thought Philip in his own mind. 'We shall see.' He said aloud, 'Sometimes,' in an indifferent tone.

'There's nothing worth seeing anywhere to-night,' said young Barter.

'Suppose we try a hand. What do you say to a game at Napoleon?'

Philip consented, and his host produced two packs of cards from the business safe.

They fixed upon the points and they began to play. The points were not those for which Mr. Barter really cared to play; for he was one of those people who find no joy in cards unless they risk more than they can afford to lose. But little fish are sweet, and he thought he had secured a greenhorn. As it happened, the greenhorn, though he was but eight-and-twenty, had travelled the world all over, and had found himself compelled to survey mankind from China to Peru. He was, moreover, one of those men who like to know things, and those quietly-observant eyes of his had taken note of the proceedings of a hundred scoundrels in whose hands the redoubtable Steinberg himself would have had but poor chances. The Greek had been Philip's standing joy, the dish best spiced to suit his intellectual palate. He had delighted over him aboard s.h.i.+p, on the monstrous dreary railway journey between Atlantic and Pacific, in the little towns which form the centre of scores of Texan ranches, in h.e.l.ls at the Cape and in California, in the free ports of China, and on the borders of the Bosphorus. In point of fact he was by experience as little fitted to be played upon by a gentleman of young Mr. Barter's limited accomplishments as almost any man alive.

Phil's interest in the game had grown grimly observant in the first ten minutes. Young Mr. Barter had a knack, when he shuffled the cards, of slily inclining the painted sides upwards. He had another knack of leaving an honour at the bottom. He made a false cut with fair dexterity for an amateur. He could, when occasion seemed to make it profitable, discard with a fair air of unconsciousness. An ace dropped out of sight a hand or two earlier, was followed by a valueless card dropped openly.

The ace was taken to supply its place with a perfect smiling effrontery.

But Mr. Barter's favourite trick came out when he had a weak hand. Then he smiled across at his opponent, breathed softly the words 'six cards,'

and dropped the worthless hand on the top of the pack, calling for a new deal All this Philip Bommaney watched with a complete seeming innocence and good temper. He lost his sixpences handsomely, made no protest, and looked unruffled.

'You play false for sixpences, do you?' he said inwardly. 'I suppose a scoundrel is a scoundrel all through, and that if you'll sell your soul for so little, you could hardly object to driving a bargain for a larger sum.'

He was often tempted in the course of a quarter of an hour to try Mr.

Barter with a sudden challenge, and see what would come of it. Surveying his companion with that placid inquiry which Barter felt to be so excessively uncomfortable, he came to have but a poor opinion of his courage. He was one of those men who, even without knowing it, take profound observations of their fellow-creatures. The true observer of human nature is by no means a personage who is always on the strain after insight into character. He is, on the contrary, pretty generally an inward-looking man, who seems to notice little, and takes in his surroundings as the immortal Joey Ladle did his wine. Philip judged Barter to be a nervous man, and supposed him, even when strung to his bent, to have no great tenacity or continuance of courage. He had learned more and more to believe his father's story, though he had perhaps too carefully guarded himself from his own eager desire to accept it Barter's every action with the cards offered confirmation of the belief that he had taken possession of the lost notes. He was certainly a petty rascal, and there was obviously nothing but opportunity needed to make him bloom into a rascal on a larger scale. So the temptation to drop the cards upon the table, to look his companion in the face, and to ask simply, 'How about that eight thousand pounds?'

grew more and more upon him, and had to be more and more strenuously resisted. It seemed worth while to resist it To begin with, if young Barter should be innocent, the querist could evidently expect nothing else than to be taken for a madman. To continue, if his name and the likeness to his father had already set the thief upon his guard, and had prepared him for accusation, the question would only reveal his own suspicion, and thereby weaken the chances of discovery.

Philip combated his inward desire, but could not quell it. There seemed a kind of intuition in it, a lurking certainty lay hidden behind all the doubts he saw, and pushed him forward.

By and by young Mr. Barter tripped on the false cut, which he had hitherto executed with a fair amateur dexterity.

'Excuse me,' said Phil, as he gathered the spilt cards together. 'You should make the three separate motions look like one. Do the trick so.'

He performed the trick slowly, looking Barter in the face, and then went through it swiftly.

'That is how the thing ought to be done, Mr. Barter,' he said, with a placidity which his companion found singularly disquieting.

And now, that same unhappy want of self-command which had given Steinberg so clear an insight into his young friend's mind, fell once more upon Barter. He tried to look wondering, he tried to laugh. The result of that frightened contortion of the features was nothing less than ghastly. Unhappily for himself he knew it, and so he grew ghastlier yet, and for the life of him could not tell where to set his eyes.

'So you're a sharper in a small way, are you, Mr. Barter?' Philip inquired suavely.

'How dare you talk to me like that?' the detected rascal stammered. 'You come into a gentleman's rooms, and lose an odd half-crown or two----'

When he had got as far as this he ventured to look his companion in the face, and seeing there a very marked and readable prophecy of unpleasant things, he backed, and in the act of doing so, tripped, and fell into a chair. The intention in Phil's mind became simply unconquerable. He cast rapidly about him for an instant, saw all the consequences of failure which might follow if he denounced the trembling wretch at once, and set him on his guard. And yet he could not help doing what he did, and could not restrain the words which rose to his lips. He took Barter by the collar, and lifted him to his feet with an unsuspected strength, and put the question to him quietly.

'How many of those stolen notes has Steinberg changed for you?'

It was a bold thing to do, it was perhaps a foolish thing to do, and yet it was the game. Barter stared at him speechlessly. His lips moved, but he said nothing. Then his jaw fell as a dead man's jaw falls, and being released at that instant, he dropped into the chair like a sack.

'Now the best thing for you to do,' said Phil, sternly regarding him, 'will be to make a clean breast of it. I have been tracking you since the second day of our acquaintance.'

Barter groaned, with a tremulous and hollow sound, but made no other answer.

'How many of those notes are in Steinberg's hands?' Phil asked.

The rascal's wits had begun to work again, if only a little, and he could by this time have answered if he would. But he knew that his own cowardice, if nothing else, had given away the game. After such a confession as his own terror had made, what was the use of bl.u.s.ter or pretence? He could not guess how much was known. He was completely cornered, and must fight or yield. His native instinct at any moment was ready to teach him how much discretion was the better part of valour, and now to fight seemed mere madness. In the very terror of the night which thus suddenly enveloped him he saw one gleam of hope. There was one stroke to be made which might save him, in part at least, from the consequences of his own misdeed.