“Done with you, certainly,” said Stocmar, moving towards the bell.
“That you have not. You have not even begun with me yet. I perceive you do not remember me.”
“Remember you! I never saw you before, and I trust most sincerely I may never have that pleasure again. Anything wrong with the old party here?” whispered he, as he turned to Alfred, and touched his finger significantly to his forehead.
“Be quiet, boy!” cried Layton, fiercely, as his son started up to resent the insolence; “he shall soon learn whether there be or not. Our time, sir, if not so profitable as yours, has its value for ourselves, so that I will briefly tell you what I came for. I want the addresses of two persons of your acquaintance.”
“This is beyond endurance. Am I to be the victim of every twaddling old bore that requires an address? Are you aware, sir, that I don't keep an agency office?”
With a calm self-possession which amazed his son, the old man quietly said, “I want this address,—and this.” And he handed Stocmar a card with two names written in pencil.
“Clara Hawke'—and who is Clara Hawke? I never heard of her till now; and 'Mrs. Hawke' too? My good friend, this is some self-delusion of yours. Take him away quietly, young gentleman, or my patience will not stand this any longer. I 'll send for a policeman.”
“There is one already in waiting, sir,” said old Layton, fiercely, “and with a warrant for the apprehension of Mr. Hyman Stocmar. Ay, sir, our laws give many a wide margin to rascality, but slave-dealing is not legalized on our soil. Keep your laughter for the end, and see whether it will be so mirthful. Of that crime I mean to accuse you in an open court, the victim being myself. So, then, I have refreshed your memory a little; you begin to recognize me now. Ay, sir, it is the professor, your old slave, stands before you, whom, after having starved and cheated, you put drunk on board a sailing-ship, and packed off to America; sold, too, deliberately sold, for a sum of money. Every detail of this transaction is known to me, and shall be attested by competent witnesses. My memory is a better one than you suspect. I forget nothing, even to the day and the hour I last stood in this room. Yes,” cried he, turning to his son and addressing him, “I was summoned here to be exhibited as a spectacle to a visitor, and who, think you, was the distinguished friend to whose scrutiny I was to be subjected? He was one who himself had enjoyed his share of such homage,—he was no less a man than the famous Paul Hunt, tried at Jersey for the murder of Godfrey Hawke, and how acquitted the world well knows; and he it was who sat here, the dear friend of the immaculate Mr. Stocmar,—Mr. Stocmar, the chosen associate of lords and ladies, the favored guest of half the great houses in London. Oh, what a scandal and a disgrace is here! You 'd rather face the other charge, with all its consequences, than this one. Where is your laughter now, Stocmar? Where that jocose humor you indulged in ten minutes ago?”
“Look here, my good friend,” cried Stocmar, suddenly starting up from his chair, while the great drops of sweat hung on his forehead and trickled along his pale cheeks; “don't fancy that you can pit yourself against me before the public. I have station, friends, and patrons in the highest ranks in England.”
“My name of Herbert Layton will suffice for all that I shall ask of it. When the true history of our connection shall be written and laid before the world, we shall see which of us comes best out of the ordeal.”