LITMIR.BIZ

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Jack, old fellow, I’m in a terrible fix,” he replied in a gloomy tone unusual to him. “I’ll confide in you because I can trust you. Three months ago I was hard pressed for money, and seeing a dishonest way of obtaining it, I yielded to the temptation of the moment. I imitated a signature, and drew a thousand pounds.”

      “Forgery!” the artist exclaimed, dumbfounded.

      “Call it what you like. The bill is due the day after to-morrow, then the fraud will be detected.”

      He uttered the words mechanically, his head bowed upon his breast.

      Jack Egerton bit his lip. He could scarcely realise the grave importance of his companion’s words.

      “Are there no means by which I can assist you, Hugh?” he asked presently in a sympathetic tone.

      “None. There is room enough in the world for everybody to stretch himself. You understand my departure is inevitable. It is either arrest or exile, and I choose the latter.”

      “I’m afraid it is; but, look here. Have a trifle on loan from me – say a hundred.”

      “Not a penny, Jack. I couldn’t take it from you, indeed,” he replied, his voice trembling with an emotion he was unable to subdue. “With finances at the present low ebb I could never repay you. Perhaps, however, there may be a day when I shall require a good turn, and I feel confident of your firm friendship.”

      “Rely on it,” the artist said, warmly grasping his hand. “You have my most sincere sympathy, Hugh; for bad luck like yours might fall upon any of us. In times gone by you’ve often assisted me and cheered me when I’ve been downcast and dispirited. It is, therefore, my duty to render you in return any service in my power.”

      Hugh Trethowen rose, listless and sad. The lightheartedness and careless gaiety which were his chief characteristics had given place to settled gloom and despair. “Thanks for your kind words, old fellow,” he exclaimed gravely. “I really ought not to trouble you with my miseries, so I’ll wish you farewell.”

      The handsome girl, who had been silent and thoughtful, listening to the conversation, was unable to control her feelings, and burst into tears.

      “Don’t cry, Dolly,” said he in a sorry attempt to comfort her. “Jack and yourself are old friends whom I much regret leaving, but don’t take it to heart in this way.”

      Raising her hand reverently to his lips he kissed it, with a murmured adieu.

      She did not reply, but, burying her face in the rich silk robe she wore, wept bitterly.

      For a moment he stood contemplating her, then, turning to the artist, he said:

      “Good-bye, Jack.”

      “Good-bye, Hugh,” replied Egerton, wringing his hand earnestly. “Remember, whatever happens, I am always your friend – always.”

      A few brief words of thanks, and Hugh Trethowen snatched up his hat and stick, and, drawing aside the heavy plush portière before the door, stumbled blind out.

      Chapter Four

      The Nectar of Death

      Slowly and solemnly the clock of St. James’s, Piccadilly, chimed nine.

      In his comfortable chambers in Jermyn Street, Hugh Trethowen sat alone. The graceful indifference of the Sybarite had vanished, the cloud of apprehension had deepened, and with eyes fixed abstractedly upon the flickering fire, he was oblivious of his surroundings, plunged in painful reverie.

      The silk-shaded lamp shed a soft light upon the objects around, revealing that the owner of the apartment had debarred himself no luxury, and that, although a typical bachelor’s abode, yet the dainty nick-nacks, the cupboard of old china, the choice paintings, and the saddle-bag furniture – all exhibited a taste and refinement that would have done credit to any drawing-room. Upon a table at his elbow was a spirit stand, beside which stood a glass of brandy and soda; but it was flat, having been poured out half an hour before.

      Suddenly he tugged vigorously at his moustache, as if in deep contemplation, and, rising, crossed the room and touched a gong.

      His summons was answered by an aged male servant, the venerable appearance of whose white hair was enhanced by his suit of spotless black and narrow strip of shirt front.

      “Anybody called, Jacob?”

      “No, sir; nobody’s called, sir,” replied the old man in a squeaky voice.

      “You may close the door, Jacob, and sit down. I want to have a word with you.”

      The aged retainer shut the door, and stood near the table, opposite his master, fully prepared to receive a reprimand for having performed his work unsatisfactorily. “Sit down, Jacob; we must have a serious talk.” Surprised at these unusual words, the old man seated himself upon the edge of a chair, waiting for his master to commence.

      “Look here, Jacob,” said Trethowen; “you and I will have to part.”

      “Eh? what? Master Hugh? Have I done anything wrong, sir? If I have, look over it, for I’m an old man, and – ”

      “Hush, you’ve done nothing wrong, Jacob; you’ve been a good servant to me – very good. The fact is, I’m ruined.”

      “Ruined, Master Hugh? How, sir?”

      “Well, do you ever take an interest in racing?”

      “No, sir; I never do, sir.”

      “Ah, I thought not. Fossils such as you do not know a racehorse from a park-hack. The truth is, I’ve chucked away nearly every farthing I possess upon the turf and the card-table; therefore I am compelled to go somewhere out of the reach of those confounded duns. You understand? When I’m gone they’ll sell up this place.”

      “Will the furniture be sold, sir? Oh, don’t say so, Master Hugh!” exclaimed the old servant, casting a long glance around the room.

      “Yes; and, by Jove, they’d sell you, too, Jacob, only I suppose such a bag of bones wouldn’t fetch much.”

      “You – you can’t mean you are going to leave me, sir?” he implored. “For nigh on sixty years, man and boy, I’ve been in the service of your family, and it does seem hard that I should remain here and see the things sold – the pictures and the china that came from the Hall.”

      “Yes, I know, Jacob: but it’s no use worrying,” said Hugh, somewhat impatiently. “It cannot be avoided, so the things from the old place will have to travel and see the world, as I am compelled to.”

      “And you really mean to go, Master Hugh?”

      “Yes; I tell you I must.”

      “And cannot I – cannot I come with you?” faltered the old man.

      “No, Jacob – that’s impossible. I – I shall have no need of a servant. I must discharge you, but here’s fifty pounds to keep you from the workhouse for the present. I’d give you more, Jacob, but, indeed the fact is, I’m deuced hard up.”

      And he took some notes from a drawer in his escritoire, and handed them to his faithful old servant.

      “Thank you very kindly, sir – thank you. But – hadn’t you better keep the money, sir? You might want it.”

      “No,” replied Hugh, with a sad smile. “I insist upon you taking it; and, look here, what’s more, the basket of plate is yours. It is all good stuff, and belonged to the dear old governor; so sell it to-morrow when I’m gone, and put the money into your pocket. Take anything else you like as well, because if you don’t others will. And, by the way, should you ever want to write to me, a letter to the ‘Travellers’ will be forwarded. I – I’m busy now, so good-night, Jacob.” Grasping the venerable servant’s bony hand, he shook it warmly.

      “Good-night, Master Hugh,” murmured the latter in a low, broken voice. “Good-night; may God watch over you, sir.”

      “Ay, Jacob, and may this smash bring me good luck in the future.

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