Other creditors rang at the front door, and failed to gain admission, and when their suspicions were aroused they kept a watch on the house, but they never caught a glimpse of their debtor. Yet Parsons was actually living there. He used to enter and leave by a small door in the stable-yard, and he seldom went out unprovided with a piece of plate or some other portable article which was destined to find its way into a pawnbroker's shop.
The comedy was brought to a sudden termination by the impatience of the landlord, who was desirous of seeing his rent. The law, which kept the other creditors at bay, permitted him to force an entrance, but when he did he discovered that he was too late. Parsons had disposed of the furniture, leaving only the heavy curtains to act—in every sense of the word—as a blind. The creditors never received a single penny.
By now Parsons had a friend, a certain man named Wilson, who had been a footman until dishonesty led to his dismissal. Wilson had served for some years in a family of position, and he had managed to pick up some of their mannerisms, which he imagined justified him in thinking that he could pose as a gentleman himself. He was tall and good-looking, and could talk glibly of several well-known personages as though they were personal friends, whereas the truth was that he had only waited on them.
In conjunction with this scoundrel, Parsons devised a scheme whereby he would be able to recover some of the twenty-five thousand pounds which he had lost by the forgery of his aunt's name. The money was now bound to come to his sister, who was generally referred to as the "wealthy Miss Parsons," and, as at the time we are speaking of marriage gave the husband instant possession of his wife's fortune, Parsons suggested that Wilson should carry off his sister, forcibly marry her, and then pay over ten thousand pounds of his wife's fortune to him.
It was a pretty idea, and the ex-footman entered into it with enthusiasm. He knew that Miss Parsons' entire fortune was considerably more than twenty-five thousand pounds, and he would have paid double William Parsons' commission if the latter had insisted on more generous terms.
The preliminary plans were settled in an old public-house in the Haymarket, not far from the lodgings occupied by the girl, who did not suspect that her own brother wished to sell her to a debased ruffian. Elopements were common enough in those days, and the forcible abduction of an heiress was considered legitimate sport in certain circles. William knew his sister's movements, and there seemed no reason to fear failure when he bought over Miss Parsons' maid with a promise to pay her five hundred pounds when the marriage had taken place. The sum offered was an immense fortune to a lady's maid, and she eagerly accepted the bribe.
All that remained now was to hire the coach and the swiftest horses, arrange for the unscrupulous clergyman to be ready at an out-of-the-way spot, and then to take the unsuspecting girl to her doom.
From first to last Parsons exhibited much cunning in this affair, and had it not been for the carelessness of his confederate his plan might have succeeded.
But Wilson lost his head when Parsons persuaded him to believe that marriage to his wealthy sister was certain. The ex-footman could not keep his mouth closed, and he drew attention to himself by his extravagant purchases for the great event. He was buying half a dozen expensive "ruffled shirts" in a West End shop one day when, in the presence of several customers, he boasted of his forthcoming marriage to "the great heiress, Miss Parsons."
The small audience stared when they heard this, and envied the well-dressed "gentleman" his good fortune, but, unhappily for him, just as he was speaking a lady had entered who knew him. She overheard his reference to Miss Parsons, and she glanced at him with more than ordinary interest. Great was her astonishment when she recognized her ex-footman, Wilson, the man she had discharged for dishonesty.