CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.
Michael Rust sat in his office with his arms twined round his knees, and his chin bowed down to them, like a wild beast crouching to spring. His thin cheek was thinner than on the day before; his hair tangled and matted; and, unconsciously, he grated his teeth, and muttered to himself. But he neither moved, nor changed his position; and the black flashing eye, which darted hither and thither, never resting, even for a moment, alone showed that his mind was on the alert.
He was awaiting the return of his messenger, who was exceedingly dilatory. Step after step came and went. Persons ascended and descended the stairs; and as the morning advanced, and the hours of business approached, the sound of out-door bustle increased, until a perfect current of human beings seemed to pour through the street. Still, Rust sat there in silence, watching the return of his clerk. Once, he fancied that he distinguished his voice in the entry. He got up, opened the door, and looked out; a strange man was loitering in the passage, but no one else. He shut it, dragged a chair to the middle of the room, stamped it down heavily, and flung himself into it, gnawing his fist with impatience. Ha! a step slowly ascended the stairs. He was certain this time. It was Kornicker. There was no mistaking that heavy, irregular tread; but, nevertheless, Rust did not stir until the door opened and Kornicker walked in.
'Your answer!' said Rust, looking at him, as if to read his success in his features.
'He'll come.'
'When?'
'He didn't say,' replied his clerk, shutting the door by butting his shoulder against it.
'Did he write?'
'No.'
'Good!' replied Rust, abruptly. 'Any thing else?'
'No. If you're done with me, I'll get my breakfast.'
'Go.'
Kornicker departed, and Rust relapsed into his old attitude, occasionally biting his nails, or passing his fingers through his matted hair, or casting a suspicious glance toward the door.
Half an hour had passed, and Rust was absorbed in his own dreams, when he was startled by a heavy step at his door. He sat up in his chair, and listened attentively, holding his breath. There was something in that step which he did not like. It was calm, slow, and deliberate. He hoped that it would pass on, but it did not. Two hard knocks at the door followed.
'Come in,' said Rust, without rising.
The door opened, and Harson and Holmes entered. Still Rust sat where he was, with his black eyes peering from beneath his heavy brows, and glancing from face to face.
'I'm seeking a Mr. Rust,' said Harson, advancing.
'That's me. My name is Rust,' was the laconic answer.
'And mine is Harson,' replied the other. 'I received this, this morning,' said he, pointing to the letter which he had received from Kornicker, 'and have come to keep the appointment proposed in it.'
Rust moved uneasily on his chair, and turned to the lawyer; for some moments he did not speak; but at last, seeing that no farther efforts at opening a conversation were made by his visitors, he pointed to Holmes, and asked:
'Is that gentleman's name Henry Harson, too?'
'No,' replied Harson.
'Then he wasn't invited here. My note was to Henry Harson, and to no one else. My conversation is to be on private matters, which I don't choose to make known to every body.'
'Perhaps it is as well that I should go,' said Holmes, without any trace of anger. 'I'll leave you, Harry, and will return in half an hour.'
He was leaving the room, when Harson laid his hand on his arm, and said: 'No, no; don't go, Dick; I can't spare you.' Turning to Rust he added: 'There are no secrets between this man and me, and I don't intend that there shall be. So, what you have to say, you must speak out before us both, or keep it to yourself.'
Rust eyed him for a few moments in silence, with his thin lips closely compressed, and then looked on the floor, apparently making up his mind. At length he said, in a slow tone: 'So you will have him here, will you? Well, be it so. Should what I say hit hard, thank yourself that one more knows it than is necessary!'
He went to the table and took up a letter, which he handed to Harson. 'Did you write that?'
Harson opened it, and ran his eye over it. 'I did,' said he. 'How came you by it?'
'No matter. You'll find that out, some day; but not now. I may have borrowed it, I may have found it, or bought it, or begged it, or stolen it. Michael Rust, you know, is not too good to do any thing. I think you hinted something of the kind in it.'
Harson passed the letter to Holmes, who seating himself, deliberately perused it, and turned it over, and examined the back, with a kind of habitual caution. There was a smile upon his lips, as he read it, that puzzled Rust. 'It's not at all improbable that he may have stolen it,' said he, folding it up, and returning it to Harson. 'The language is free, but no doubt it is deserved.'
Rust's eyes fairly shot fire, as they encountered the calm, steady gaze of the old lawyer. But he could not look him down, and he turned away and said:
'I'm not fond of law, or there is that in that letter which, if revenged in a court of justice, would fall heavily upon the writer of it.'
'Perhaps so, perhaps so,' said Holmes, in reply.
'Well, Sir, I'll not waste time about this matter, but will state why I sent for you; which was, not to ask favors, but to warn you against the consequence of your own acts. For weeks, a man whose gray hairs might have brought him prudence, has been at work in the dark, tracking my footsteps, prying into my actions; throwing out insinuations against me; asserting nothing openly, but doing every thing in secret; working with the vilest tools, and frequenting the haunts of the very offscouring of the earth. It was a noble pursuit,' said he, bitterly, 'and it was worthy of the person upon whom I was at last able to fix it. That person was you,' said he, pointing to Harson. 'Stop, Sir!' said he, seeing that Harson was going to speak, 'stop, Sir. Your turn will come. Hear what I yet have to say. I have told you what you have done; I have told you too that I hated law; but if you think that I am the man to be hunted down like a beast, and branded in the eyes of the world, with impunity, you don't know Michael Rust.'
Harson's fingers had gradually closed, until his fist grew into a form not unlike the head of a sledge-hammer; and for a short time it was a matter of no small doubt whether it would not light upon the sharp, fierce face that glared upon him. But a cautioning glance from Holmes called him to himself; and he replied in a manner which, if less to the point, was at least more peaceable: 'What I have done, I will abide by; what I intend to do, you'll find out, and that soon. Take your own course, and I'll take mine. If you are innocent, you'll not be injured; if you are not, you'll get your deserts.'
Rust bit his lips at this quiet answer. 'Perhaps,' said he, in a low, sneering tone, 'since you seem to be so anxious to pry into my conduct, you may obtain more authentic information by applying to me in person; and perhaps you will not object to make my misdeeds, of which you hint so freely, known to me, who certainly am interested in learning what they are.'
Harson drew Holmes to the other end of the room, where they whispered together for some moments; after which, Holmes turned to Rust, and said:
'Your name, I think, is Michael Rust?'
'That is my name,' replied Rust, bowing stiffly.
'And you accuse Mr. Harson of having endeavored to injure your character?'
'I do,' replied Rust.
'Perhaps your memory may lead you astray, and his remarks and allusions may refer to another than yourself.'
Michael Rust turned from him with a contemptuous smile; and then tapping the letter with his finger, said: 'Ink never forgets. Henry Harson and his friend may both vary their story, but this is always the same, and the slanders once uttered against me here, are here still unchanged and unsoftened.'
'Against you?' repeated Holmes. 'Read it again. You are not even mentioned in it.'
Rust glanced at it; and the lawyer thought that for a moment he observed a change in his features. If so, it was but momentary; for he answered in the same low tone, though perhaps with even more of a sneer:
'It was a trap, was it? Pah! a child could see through it! It alludes to one Henry Colton. The charges are made against him. I'll save you the trouble of farther manœuvering to obtain information on that point, by informing you that Henry Colton and Michael Rust are one. I'll inform you too that you knew it before you came here. If you wish it, I'll give you the same admission in writing.'
'I accept your offer,' said Holmes, quietly. 'There's paper,' said he, pointing to the table; 'write it on that.'
Rust cast an angry glance at him, and seemed to hesitate; but he saw that he was watched narrowly, and must not shrink. So he sat down and scrawled something, which he pushed to Holmes.
Holmes read it over slowly: 'Alter that; the wording is not clear,' said he, pointing out a paragraph which did not suit him.
Rust took up the pen and altered the phrase.
'Perhaps that will do?' said he, again handing it to Holmes.
'That's just what I want,' replied the lawyer, running his eye over it, and apparently weighing every word. 'But you are very forgetful. You haven't signed it.'
Rust took the paper and signed his name to it. 'I hope you are satisfied. I suppose you have me now,' said he, with a sneer.
'I think I have,' replied Holmes, folding up the paper, and putting it in his pocket. 'Have you any farther remarks to make to Mr. Harson or myself? What you have done has been of much service, and will save us a great deal of trouble.'
'None,' replied Rust; 'I sent for him,' said he, pointing to Harson, 'to let him know that I was aware of his proceedings, and to warn him that I was prepared to defend myself; and that if he persisted in his attacks upon me, he would do so at his peril.'
'It is well,' said Holmes. 'It's frank in you, and no doubt Mr. Harson feels grateful. And now that you have finished, perhaps you will listen to a strange tale, which I am going to narrate to you. I wish you to pay particular attention, as you may find it interesting. It's quite romantic, but strictly true.'
'Once upon a time,' (that's the way stories begin, I think,) 'there were two brothers living at a place far from this city; the names of whom were George and Henry Colton. The former received a large property from a distant relative; while the means of the latter were limited; so much so, that but for the liberality of his elder brother, he would have found it utterly impossible to live, in the style and manner in which he always did and still is accustomed to live.'
'Well, Sir, does this refer to me?' said Rust; 'and if it does, and is true, what then?'
'I have not finished,' replied Holmes. 'You shall hear the rest. Shortly after the accession of George Colton to this property, he married; but previous to doing so, to secure his brother against want, he settled upon him property sufficient to produce him a handsome income.'
'Well, Sir,' said Rust, 'what then?'
'You shall hear,' replied Holmes. 'By this marriage George Colton had two children, who in the course of law would have inherited his entire property, had they been living at the time of his death. These children had reached the ages of two or three years, when they were lost in a very singular manner. They had been left alone by their nurse, in a room in their father's house; and when she returned, after the lapse of a very few minutes, they were gone; and from that day to this their parents have had no tidings of them. Search was made in every direction; rewards were offered; persons were employed in all parts of the country, and descriptions of the missing children were placarded in every quarter. No one was more earnest and untiring in his efforts to find them than Henry Colton, the younger brother; for he remembered only his brother's past kindness; entirely forgetting, that if these children were dead he would, in all probability, receive his brother's vast property. But he was equally unsuccessful with the others. By degrees, hope grew fainter, and the efforts of all, except this noble younger brother, relaxed; but he travelled, wrote, had agents employed in every direction, and, I am told, is still endeavoring to unravel this mystery. And now,' said he, in a low, stern tone, 'shall I tell you the reason why he failed? It was this. The agents employed by him were put on a false scent; and although a high reward was offered for the discovery of the children, a higher one was paid for keeping the place of their concealment undiscovered. Shall I tell you,' added the lawyer, in the same tone, 'who paid the bribe? That same noble Henry Colton, the younger brother; and what's more, that same man sometimes bore the name of Michael Rust. All this can be proved beyond the shadow of a doubt, and will be, in a court of justice, if we are compelled to do it.'
The lawyer paused, and looked Rust steadily in the face.
'Well, Sir,' said Rust, 'part of what you say is true. I know that the children were lost, I know that I did what I could to find them. As to the rest, it is false, and I care nothing for it. They are dead, I fear.'
'Not quite,' replied Holmes. 'One of them is already rescued; so that Michael Rust's hopes and schemes are thwarted; and his only chance to escape the arm of the law is to give up the other, or to tell where he is.'
Rust turned toward him, and looking him steadily in the face, said: 'Well, Sir, if this be true I'm glad of it; but if some designing scoundrel is desirous of palming off his own brats on an honest man, to swindle him out of his property, let him beware, lest he run his legs into shackles. For my part, I've no doubt that the whole tale is a fabrication of that old man's,' said he, pointing to Harson, 'got up for no honest purpose.'
'That's false!' replied Holmes, sternly. 'Lie as you will; deny as stoutly as you please; I tell you that what I have said is true, and that you are the man.'
Rust grew deadly pale, but said nothing.
'And I tell you again,' said Holmes, in the same stern voice, 'that your only hope of escaping punishment is in giving up the remaining child, or in giving such information as may lead to his discovery. Do that, and we will show you all the favor we can.'
'Nay, more,' added Harson. 'We will never let it be known what you had to do with it. We'll let it be supposed that the children were stolen, and found. We will keep it quiet, won't we, Ned?' said he, walking up to the lawyer, and laying his hand on his shoulder.
'You've said so, and your promise must be kept,' replied Holmes. 'I shouldn't have made it. But you must decide at once.'
Michael Rust had sat as still as a statue, merely turning his eyes from one to the other, as they spoke.
'Have you done?' asked he, in a voice as quiet and composed as if the threats just uttered had no reference to himself.
'You have heard all that we have to offer,' said Holmes.
'You're very kind,' replied Rust; 'you're very kind; but you don't know Michael Rust. He accepts favors from no man. There, there—go! He values your threats and promises alike; and neither the one nor the other will turn him one inch from his own course, to aid you in your dishonest purpose. It's against his conscience. Good morning. Our interview is ended, I think. I'm sorry to see gray hairs so steeped in depravity.'
'Michael Rust,' said Holmes, turning to him, 'you have sealed your own doom. I'm glad you've rejected our offers, and I now withdraw them. You're unworthy of them; and you shall have no other grace than what the law extends to a felon.'
Rust bowed. 'You're kind. I shall not trouble you to repeat the offer. As for the grace extended to felons, I believe there is a law which makes a conspiracy to defraud, a felony likewise. It takes three to make a conspiracy, in law; but I have no doubt you have abettors. Perhaps you had better examine the matter. I wish you good morning, gentlemen; I wish to be alone.'
Rust sat without moving, until the sound of their footsteps descending the stairs was lost, and then he sprang to his feet.
'Now then,' exclaimed he, 'I know where I am! Now I can see where to strike. Ha! ha! We'll see who conquers, Harry Harson or Michael Rust—a desperate man, who has no alternative but to succeed or die. Ho! ho! I know where the mine is to be sprung; and I will countermine!'
Listless, desponding, and irresolute as to his course, as he had been before his interview with Harson, all trace of it had disappeared now. He had decided upon the steps to be taken; and, desperate as they were, he was not the man to hesitate. The anxiety which had borne him down, disappeared as he ascertained the extent of his danger, and was able to nerve himself to cope with it; and his manner was not only cheerful but merry, and his eye shone with a self-confidence not unlike that of a gladiator preparing for a conflict in which he or his adversary must perish.
Lingering in his office only long enough to give his two visitors time to get some distance off, he put on his hat, locked the door, placed the key over it, so that Kornicker might know where to find it, and sallied out into the street.
[A LOVER'S RECOLLECTIONS.]
Could'st thou but know how dark and drear my days, though few, have past
Since o'er my once light heart Despair his gloomy shadow cast;
Without one joy to cheer me here, and not a hope on high,
The only prayer I offer there, to be allowed to die;
Could'st thou but know the anguish which my tortured heart must hide,
While gazing on thee smiling still, in youth and beauty's pride,
While listening to thy thrilling voice until my burning brain
Is maddened with the withering thought that I must love in vain!
Thou would'st forgive me that I dare in hopelessness reveal
The fierce and frenzied agony of soul thou wilt not heal;
Thy gentle breast would pity one whose brimming cup of woe
Has gathered deeper bitterness from passion's scorching glow.
I thought that even charms like thine my sered heart could not move,
That sorrow's strength had steeled it long against the might of love;
That that last pang, of all the worst, could never more be mine,
And beauty's power so long defied, I should not bow to thine.
But oh! that cold sad freedom lost, I would not now regain!
Far dearer to my soul I hold the love thou wilt disdain;
Still on mine ear thy gentle voice in silent music falls,
Bathing my heart as moonlight bathes some donjon's craggy walls;
Still can I gaze in thought into those bright bewildering eyes,
Within whose heavenly depth enshrined Love's mighty shadow lies;
Still hang upon those lips which poured their melody of tone,
And breathed a softness on my heart, until that hour unknown.
W. C. S. B.