Honor of Thieves: A Novel

by Charles John Cutcliffe Wright Hyne

It is an unpleasant thing to level such a hint against so good a man; but a fact or so will show solid reason for it. During the two preceding years—partly through depression in trade, partly through his wife’s broadcast extravagance—Theodore Shelf had found himself in desperate straits for money. He had raised funds this way and that by all legitimate means; had plunged, but with evil fortune; and finally had been reduced to making his daily income by less reputable means. For long he had laid covetous eyes on the fortune of his late partner, Marmaduke Rivers, which was held in trust for the daughter by himself and a canon of Winchester; and at last, in a moment of desperation, he determined to have the use of it. The co-trustee was a man who had taken a double-first at Oxford, and apparently spent all his life’s energies over the process. He had settled down into an amiable country parson, who bred prize-bantams, and wrote books on Armenian folk-lore. He was extremely upright, vastly unsuspicious, and on matters of business possessed an ignorance of unusual profundity. He respected Theodore Shelf, and disliked him with an equal intenseness.

When Shelf made up his mind to tamper with the Rivers property, he did not go through the formality of asking this good gentleman’s leave and permission. He simply forged himself a power of attorney, signed it with the excellent canon’s name and set to work. Being a man who never did anything by halves, he did not take two bites at the cherry. He annexed the whole of his ward’s property, lock, stock, and barrel, and paid in the usual interest to her bankers with entire regularity. Humanly speaking, there was not a chance of his being found out; and when fortune smiled on him again he had every intention of repaying to the uttermost farthing what he had taken. As has been said, he liked Amy Rivers extremely, and, if he had not had his worthy self to consider, he would have been the last person in the world to do her an injury.

And now this pestilent fellow Fairfax must need step in, bristling with suspicion, and evidently intending to have money or an inquiry. Of course, the latter was a thing which Mr. Shelf could not stand for one minute. At the first glance it would be shown that the trust property did not exist in its former state, and that the interest had been paid into the bank out of Mr. Shelf’s own pocket. And so there were only two things which could be done; either bolt forthwith, or pay the plundered trust out of some other fund, and hope that the Providence which guards knaves would pull things straight again. Mr. Shelf had chosen to take the latter course, and it was the money subscribed by the wretched shareholders of the Brothers Steamship Company which was alienated by him to make good the property of Miss Amy Rivers.

It required not many strokes of the pen to do this; but, after restitution had been made, Mr. Theodore Shelf commenced coquetting with a more delicate piece of business. He desired to hide his tracks. It was his wish that, even if the worst came, and he had to fly the country as a detected swindler, no one should know that he had tampered with his own ward’s trust money.

It seems almost laughable that the man should have put himself to this piece of pains. In the vast sweep of his other ponderous frauds, this very natural one might well pass without special obloquy from the great shorn public. But it was not for the general ruck of his victims that Shelf was working then. He had sacrificed a thousand (under compulsion) to repay one; and, having made repayment, he wanted to cancel the odium of robbery. Next to himself and his dog, he probably loved Amy Rivers better than anything in all the world; and, if the worst came, and he had to go, it would be pleasanter for him to think that she, at least, would have nothing but kind memories of him. She would know quite well that he might have included her fortune in his other robberies, because Fairfax would tell her that, if she did not guess it for herself; and she would feel a kindness towards him for his forbearance.

Of course, he would be getting this genial sentiment under false pretenses, but that was a trifle which counted as nothing to Mr. Theodore Shelf. Your true hypocrite deludes no one more perfectly and artistically than himself when he sets squarely about it.

The time was long past midnight when he had finished tampering with the last of the papers on his writing-table; and, as he passed the blotting-paper over his final forgery, he heard the clash of the front door in the hall below. Quickly bunching the papers together, he put them into the safe, locked it, threw himself into an easy chair, and picked up a quarto volume of his own published sermons. He was serenely reading these when his wife sailed majestically into the room, with Amy Rivers at her side.

The girl stepped forward, took both of his hands in hers, and shook them warmly. “All congratulations,” she said. “I’ve only just heard. May I call you ‘Sir Theodore’ in advance?”

Shelf let the book slide to the floor, and sat up staring first at one and then the other. “I am much obliged to you, Amy dear,” he said at last; “but, upon my word, I don’t know what you mean.”