The Story of Antony Grace Part 43

He took four written slips of stamped blue paper from his pocket, and I saw him write across them, blot them hastily, and refold and place them in a letter, which he carefully sealed. After which, I noticed that he tore off and destroyed the piece of blotting-paper that he had used. I thought no more of it then, but it came up in connection with matters that afterwards occurred.

I hurried upstairs, and told Mr Jabez Rowle that Mr Lister wanted me to go out, Mr Grimstone being still in close conference with him in the gla.s.s case.

"Where are you going, boy?" said the latter.

"To Miss Carr's with a note, sir," I said; and the two old men exchanged glances of intelligence.

"All right, Grace," said Mr Jabez, nodding; "we're not busy. You can go."

I hurried away, thinking no more of them or their conversation; but I was obliged to go into the composing-room below, to hurry up to Mr Hallett's frame, where, stern-looking and half-repellent, he was rapidly setting a piece of ma.n.u.script.

"I'm going to Miss Carr's," I whispered, while my face glowed with pleasure.

"Indeed!" he said, starting; and my bright face might have been reflected in his, such a change pa.s.sed over his speaking countenance.

"I've to take a note from Mr Lister and to wait for an answer," I said; and I felt startled at the rapid change as he heard these last words.

"Are you ill?" I cried anxiously.

"No--no," he said hastily, and his voice sounded hard and harsh. "Go away now, I am very much pressed for time."

I left him, wondering, for I could not read him then, and bounding down the stairs, I was soon in Fleet Street, and soon after in Norfolk Street, Strand.

I quickly found the number and the door, with a large bra.s.s plate thereon bearing the name "Brandsheim," and in small letters in the corner "Ground Floor."

A boy clerk answered my knock, and I was told to sit down in an outer office while the clerk went in with the note and to see if Mr Brandsheim was at home.

Mr Brandsheim was at home, and was ushered into his presence, to find him a dark, yellow-looking man with a wrinkled face and very keen eyes.

He quite startled me for the moment, for, though not in personal appearance in the slightest degree resembling Mr Blakeford, there was a something about him that suggested that worthy and his ways.

He was dressed in the first style of fas.h.i.+on, a little exaggerated. He might have been a slave of the great Plutus himself, for round his neck and las.h.i.+ng his chest was a thick gold chain; diamond rings were on the fingers of each hand; a great opal and diamond pin was in his black satin stock; at his wrists were jewelled sleeve-links that glistened and sparkled when he moved. There was nothing sordid about him, for he sat in an easy-chair at a polished secretary; there was a Turkey carpet beneath his feet, and the furniture of the room was ma.s.sive and good; but, all the same, I had no sooner entered the place than I began to think of Mr Blakeford and Mr Wooster, and I involuntarily wondered whether this man could be in any way connected with my late employer, and whether I had unconsciously walked into a trap.

As my eyes wandered about the room in search of tin boxes containing different people's affairs, of dusty parchments and sale bills, I felt better; for they were all absent. In their place were large oil pictures against the walls, hung, and leaning back, resting on the floor. On a sideboard was a row of little stoppered bottles with labels hanging from their necks in a jaunty fas.h.i.+on, and in the bottles were richly tinted liquids--topaz, ruby, purple, and gold. They might have been medicines, but they looked like wines, and I felt sure they were, as I saw piled upon the floor some dozens of cigar-boxes.

Mr Brandsheim might have been a picture dealer, a wine merchant, or an importer of cigars, for in those days I had yet to learn that he was a bill-discounter who contrived that his clients should have so much in cash for an acceptance, and the rest in old masters, Whitechapel Havanas, and Hambro-Spanish wines.

Mr Brandsheim's words somewhat rea.s.sured me, as he nodded pleasantly to me and smiled.

"Sit down, my man," he said; "sit down, and I'll soon be ready for you.

Let me see--let me see."

He busied himself behind his secretary, rustling papers and making notes, and now and then looking at me and tapping his teeth with a heavy gold pencil-case, while I furtively watched him and wondered how he managed to make his jet black hair so s.h.i.+ny, and why it was he spoke as if he had been poking cottonwool up his nose, till it suddenly occurred to me that he must be a German.

"Ah!" he said, at last; "let me see--let me see--let me see--see--see.

Mr Lister quite well?"

"Yes, sir; quite well, thank you."

"That's right. Let me see--let me--how's business?"

"Oh! we've been very busy, sir. The men have often had to stop up all night to get things finished."

"Have they really, though?" he said, nodding and smiling; "and did you stay up, too?"

"No, sir; I read for Mr Jabez Rowle, and he said he wouldn't sit up all night and upset himself for anybody."

"Mr Jabez Rowle is quite right, my lad."

"He said, sir, his work was so particular that after he had been correcting for twelve hours his eyes and mind were exhausted, and he could not do his work properly."

"Mr Jabez Rowle is a man of business, my lad, evidently. And Mr Lister, is he pretty busy?"

"I think he comes to the office every day."

"Have a gla.s.s of wine, my lad," he said, getting up and taking a decanter, gla.s.s, and a dish of biscuits from a cellaret. "No. Good sherry won't hurt you. Take some biscuits, then."

I took some of the sweet biscuits, and Mr Brandsheim nodded approval.

"I won't keep you long," he said; "but I must compare these papers. You are not going anywhere else, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir; I am going up to Westmouth Street, Cavendish Square."

"Indeed! Hah! that's a good walk for you; or, no, I suppose Mr Lister told you to take a cab?"

"No, sir," I said colouring; "I am going to walk."

"Oh, absurd! Too far. Lawrence," he cried, after touching a bell, and the boy clerk appeared, "have a cab to the door in ten minutes."

"Yes, sir."

"That will pay for the cab, my lad," continued Mr Brandsheim, slipping a couple of s.h.i.+llings into my hand. "I must keep you waiting a little while. Let me see--let me see--you didn't go to the races, I suppose?"

"Oh no, sir."

"Mr Ruddle and Mr Lister did, eh?"

"Mr Lister did, sir, I believe. Mr Ruddle never goes, I think."

"Doesn't he, though? How strange! I always go. Let me see--five hundred and sixty-six is--is--So Mr Lister's going to be married, eh?"

"Yes, sir, I believe so."

"That's right. Everybody should marry when the time comes. You will some day. I hope the lady's young and rich."

"She's beautiful, sir," I said, with animation, feeling sorry, though, the next moment, for I did not like the idea of this man being so interested in her.

"Is she, though?" he said insidiously. "But you've not seen her."

"Oh yes, sir, more than once."