“I must back with thee out of hand,” he said to Abigail. “We must look after the good man’s chattels.”
“The man’s there, and he suffers no lookers,” replied Abigail.
“What man?” demanded Craftall.
“Master Bernard Gray,” answered Abigail.
Craftall changed colour. After a brief pause, however, he seemed to recover himself, and resumed his conversation with Abigail. He then learned, to his surprise, that Bernard had claimed all the property of his late partner for some unknown heir, and, in pursuance of that claim, had sealed up the papers of the deceased, and taken possession of his house. His chagrin was unbounded at this unexpected intelligence. Yet what could he do? Bernard, it was to be feared, acted on authority; and even if he did not, how could he, whom Bernard could impeach as a recusant, dare to molest him?
While he was pondering how he should proceed, it suddenly occurred to him, that, though he could not possess himself of Shedlock’s estate, he might secure his share in their mercantile investments, and so increase his wealth even yet more. But would Bernard be blind to such a glaring fraud? As the inquiry struck him, he conceived a scheme of aggrandizement also. He remembered, with a smile, that a ship was about to be despatched from Topsham to the plantations, and in her he could bestow all that he could scrape together, and proceed to a shore beyond Bernard’s reach.
On conceiving this scheme, he briefly dismissed Abigail and Zedekiah, and determined to put it on foot without delay. Several days elapsed, however, before he could make any progress, although, in the mean time, he spared no effort to carry it fully out. He arranged with the captain of the vessel, a man after his own heart, respecting his passage, and secured his aid in removing his chattels. But, though the captain afforded him his cordial support, his project still went on slowly, as it was expedient, he thought, that it should be executed by night, so as not to excite the suspicions of the townspeople. Moreover, the assets of the firm, being invested in various ways, could not be quickly converted into cash, and hence accrued to him another source of delay. For a week, however, all went on smoothly enough, when, one night, as he was sitting in his countinghouse, speculating how he could best dispose of what assets remained, he was startled by a knock at the door.
He hesitated a moment before he answered the summons, but then, whatever had caused his hesitation, he became reassured, and, without inquiring who was without, he drew the door open. A cavalier, little taller than himself, and muffled in a long cloak, appeared in the doorway, and demanded to know if that were the residence of Master Craftall.
“It is,” answered Craftall: “I am he.”