The next morning, Mr. Crane’s cold was worse, and Kate recommended him to dispatch a note to his man of business, asking him to come to Park Lane; which advice, being good and sensible, was, of course, rejected, and Kate was asked whether, not content with impoverishing him by her extravagance, and by the burden of supporting her pauper relatives, she wished to ruin him quite, by inducing him to neglect the management of his property. Having delivered himself of this kind and judicious remark, so well calculated to call forth and rivet the affection of the wife of his bosom, this noble specimen of “Man, the great master of all,” took ’bus for the city, to clip the wings which, he feared, his riches were about to make for themselves. His man of business was again “in court,” and uncome-at-able; but when he reached the office of the “Overland Route to India Railway Company,” he found there Mr. Bonus Nugget, in as near an approach to a rage as was at all compatible with his high standing and intense respectability; a frame of mind in which Mr. Crane speedily sympathised, when the disastrous intelligence was communicated to him that a sum of nearly £18,000 had been drawn out of their bankers’ hands, in the joint names of Horace D’Almayne and Herr Vondenthaler, the former being abroad, and no trace to be discovered of the latter. Poor Mr. Crane! he loved his money dearly, he could not bear to part with it even to pay a bill; and, as to giving it in charity (“fooling it away” was the term he applied to such senseless squandering), that was an unbusiness-like weakness of which he had never been guilty; and now to have his idol thus rudely torn from him, oh! it was too cruel. If Nugget had not been present, he would have sat down and cried, for his sympathy with, and pity for himself was unbounded; but, as he was not alone, he swore instead, for the sake of appearances; but he did not swear well; for to anathematize, con brio, demands more energy than Mr. Crane possessed. Having sworn, however, to the best of his ability, he and Mr. Nugget went into the affairs of the company together, and really, according to the latter gentleman’s showing, the speculation appeared to be progressing so well, that these ministers of Mammon agreed the defalcation must be made good, and the public be kept in the dark as to aught being “rotten in the state of Denmark.” So, strange and mysterious proceedings were entered upon; bills for large sums of money, drawn by Mr. Nugget and endorsed by Mr. Crane, and cheques bearing that gentleman’s signature, were deposited with the company’s bankers, to replace the £18,000 with which Herr Vondenthaler had eloped; also astute detectives were placed on that gentleman’s track, and desired to look out for Horace D’Almayne, should he venture to set his foot on English soil,—an imprudence which Mr. Crane declared, confidentially, he was sure he never would be fool enough to commit. For once, however, that worthy man’s sagacity was at fault, as he was informed, on his return home, that a gentleman was waiting to see him in his library; and greatly was he astonished, and, if the truth must be told, considerably alarmed also, when the stranger proved to be none other than the unblushing Horace himself. Their interview was long, but it ended much more agreeably than it began; for Horace, first clearing himself from the imputation of having had any hand in the railway company defalcation, by proving that, at the time the cheque was drawn and presented, he was at Ostend, gradually elicited from Mr. Crane the fact of the anonymous letter, which, when it was with much reluctance submitted to him, he at once recognised to be in the handwriting of the perfidious Vondenthaler. Having produced satisfactory evidence of this fact also, he produced something still more satisfactory, viz., certain bills, promising to pay on demand, at an early date, the cash which he had proceeded to Holland to obtain.
This palpable proof of his factotum’s integrity quieted all Mr. Crane’s suspicions, and D’Almayne was from that moment reinstated in his patron’s good opinion. But now, according to his own showing, this excellent young man was himself the victim of circumstances. His name having been the name selected by the forger Vondenthaler, he felt that he ought to withdraw from the railway company altogether; if he remained, he should always be an object of suspicion. He knew the nature of city capitalists well; they had not all such enlightened views, such generous souls, as his excellent friend Mr. Crane; besides, he could not reconcile it with his honour to remain a director without paying, in ready money, his share of the loss they had sustained by the rascality of Vondenthaler—a man who, he blushed to reflect, he had introduced. He would most gladly pay his share that minute, but he honestly confessed he had not the money ready.
He knew what he would do; he would sell his estate in Normandy—England was the country of his adoption; if he could not live there, life would become a burden to him. No! he would go to France, sell his estate, and, with the proceeds, return to redeem his honour. But it would be at a sacrifice; he must part with his shares in the Overland Railway, shares that were certain to become so fine an investment: did Mr. Crane know any one who would like to purchase them? Mr. Crane paused, considered, and then, in what he considered to be an off-hand, indifferent manner, though eager rapacity twinkled in his cunning eye, and quivered on his trembling lip, he replied, “If it will be any accommodation to you, D’Almayne, I don’t know that I should object to take your shares myself; and, in regard to your Normandy estate, it seems a pity you should be forced to sell it, at a time, perhaps, when you may not obtain its proper value. You have the title-deeds in England; suppose we look through them together. I have lent you money on them already, and might perhaps be willing to advance you more on the same terms—six per cent., I think? this would afford you time to look about you, and to sell your estate, if you must part with it, to better advantage.” Horace D’Almayne’s gratitude was quite touching to witness; so was his manner at dinner, which Mr. Crane insisted upon his stopping to partake of. Kate was greatly astonished, and not best pleased, to find him reinstated in his former high position in her husband’s favour; but he treated her with such respectful deference, and his conversation was so clever and interesting, that it was impossible for her not to contrast his social advantages with those of Mr. Crane, which did not gain by the comparison. Kate was nervous and unhappy, a state of mind in which kindness, or its reverse, is felt with a morbid degree of acuteness; and just as much as Mr. Crane’s peevish irritability oppressed and annoyed her, did Horace D’Almayne’s soft voice, polished manner and considerate tact, calm and soothe her, and reinvigorate her drooping spirits. If Kate Crane had a heart to win, now was the time to gain it. Horace D’Almayne was by no means a tyro in such cases; he perceived the situation at a glance, and availed himself of it to the utmost. When he rose to take leave, Kate, knowing to what his departure would expose her, and being, as we have before explained, overwrought and ill, forgot her self-control so far as to observe, “It is very early; are you obliged to go so soon?” The moment she had spoken the words she would have given worlds to have recalled them. Her husband’s fretful observation, “Really, my dear, it’s past ten o’clock,”—and D’Almayne’s look of triumph, ill-concealed under the guise of polite, conventional regret at being obliged to leave such kind friends, showed her the indiscretion of which she had been guilty. But, ere she could sufficiently collect her ideas to attempt to redeem the false step she had made, Horace had bowed himself out. Then Mr. Crane took up his parable, and drew a feeble picture of a vicious young wife, who, possessing a sapient, tender, and judicious husband, in the prime of life, laid herself out to attract the attentions of, if he might be allowed the expression, mere boys, who, fortunately for her, had too strongly innate ideas of—yes, of propriety and morality, to avail themselves of her very reprehensible levity, &c. &c. Poor, proud Kate! she bore it all silently—her will was now as strong for good as it had once been for evil, and duty sealed her lips, though she suffered none the less for her silence. Saint Bartholomew was flayed alive, yet we nowhere read that the good man was garrulous under the operation. When D’Almayne quitted Park Lane he returned to his former lodgings, and, taking pen, ink, and paper, wrote the following note to the waiter at Liverpool:—
“A well-wisher of yours has much pleasure in enclosing for your acceptance a £10 note; should any impertinent inquiries be made in regard to the gentlemen who have visited your hotel lately, he feels sure you know your duty too well, as a faithful servant of the establishment, to reply to them in any way which might injure the interests of your employer or your own! in which case you shall hear again from—
“MORE WHERE THIS COMES FROM.”
Having dispatched this Machiavellian document, Horace the indefatigable sought and obtained interviews with Guillemard, Bonus Nugget, and Captain O’Brien, from all of whom he obtained useful information; then proceeded to the gaminghouse in J———— Street, where he found the Russian Prince Ratrapski, unprofitably sober, and playing for sovereigns only. To him therefore he devoted himself with so much success, that between five and six on the following morning the Russian was taken home in a cab, considerably disguised in liquor, having lost above £20,000 to the bank. It is a laudable practice of some pastors, to exhort the members of their flock to chew the cud of reflection before they retire to rest, and so to strike a balance of the good and evil deeds which, in the course of that day’s transactions, they may have performed. Now, although Horace D’Almayne had either no conscience at all, or one of such an elastic material that its expansive limits were still undiscovered; although, moreover, if he belonged to a flock, it must have been composed of the very blackest sheep known to zoology, he nevertheless conformed to this good habit of self-examination; and on the night, or rather morning in question, his meditations assumed some such shape as the following:—
“Voyons, Horace, mon ami! You have not been slothful, what have you accomplished? the affair of Le Roux safely got over, without the fact of our having encountered each other being suspected; good so far: but the interview might transpire at any moment; I dare not remain here very many days, scarcely hours, longer.—Crane, ha! ha! there is no pleasure in duping him, he is so dense a fool; but if there is no pleasure there is profit, which suits my book equally well—what between the shares and the Normandy mortgage, I shall draw £5000 of him; to-morrow morning I must obtain the money.—Then the Russian; I did that neatly; my share will be £7000; though I shall claim more, for it was all my management—yes, when I turn my back upon this triste and mercenary country, I shall be able to take at least £30,000 with me.” He paused, reflected for some minutes, then continued: “With such a capital as that to start with, in America a man with a head on his shoulders may do and become almost anything, president perhaps, who knows? She is ambitious, I can read it in her haughty glance, her queenly step; such a career might tempt her!” Again he mused, but the working of his features showed how deeply his feelings were excited. Rousing himself with a start, he exclaimed, passionately, “I shall fail with her, I know; I feel it! —she does not love me, nor, excepting at times when I make her feel my power, does she even hate me; I wish she did, for then I should have more hope—why should she be so indifferent to me? I have played my game well and carefully; if I had it to play over again, I do not see how I could mend my hand. That declaration, perhaps, was premature; yet with any other woman, though it failed at the time, it would have told afterwards. I wonder whether she had any attachment before she married Crane? that cousin Arthur Hazlehurst, perhaps; if so, she loves him still; in that case, I need not seek far for revenge, even if she again disdains my passion. Married to Crane and loving her cousin, she must bear about a living hell in her own bosom. Strange the power she has over me; I really and honestly believe I am as completely in love with her as if I were a green boy of eighteen! if I had known her five years sooner, before I became so thoroughly and hopelessly involved, I might have been very different, who can say? that old man Le Roux was right, the life of an adventurer is an unsatisfactory affair, either to look back upon, or worse still, to look forward to; but so it is with every phase of life, when you come to know it well and examine it closely;—for what are we placed here? nay, what are we ourselves? have we lived before? shall we live again? Can spirit exist without matter? who knows? the religionist? bah! a set either of feeble-minded enthusiasts, bigoted to childish superstitions, or canting hypocrites, who assume piety as a cloak beneath which to conceal their vices, as the devil is said to lurk behind the cross. Who then? philosophers, metaphysicians, your men of science? solemn pedants, dreamy mystics, vain fools, who, because they have invented a rushlight, fancy they can illuminate the universe—ah! charlatans all of them; an adventurer’s career is preferable to a life devoted to such dreary mummeries. I may succeed with the fascinating Kate yet; she was singularly amiable last night; and if so, Horace, mon ami, the line you have selected will not prove such an unprofitable one, after all.”