“You have not finished, Mr. Barton. Of course you come to me with an object; of course that object is money. Now why do you come to me before you go to them? Why do you suppose I would pay you more?”
“Very good, indeed, sir. I like doing business in a practical way, and that’s what I call practical talk. I can only give you the answer in the words of your own question. I came to you simply because I do believe you would give me more than either Captain Bradshaw or his grandson and also, and mainly, because when you and I have agreed upon the matter, there is no fear of its going any further—it would not suit either of us for it to get abroad. Now, on the other hand, Captain Bradshaw or his grandson might refuse to pay. The relationship once disclosed I lose my hold upon them, and if I were to try to enforce my claim, I should not go into court with clean hands. I was employed by Captain Bradshaw to trace his daughter, and when I told him of her death, I forgot to mention she had left a child. You see the public might take a wrong view of it, and it is even possible that I might lose my suit. Now with you I have none of these inconveniences. I know if you agree to pay me you will do so, because it is your interest. You know I shall keep my part of the bargain, because in the event of my opening my lips, the public would know that I have acted in a rather unprofessional and underhand way, and I should be spoken of in a way I should not like.”
“There is only one other point, Mr. Barton. How am I to know this boy is still alive?”
“Ah,” Mr. Barton said approvingly, “I do like to deal with a man with his head well on his shoulders. Now you have hit upon the only weak point. I cannot prove it. I know the young man. I see him constantly, but without letting him know it. I cannot prove it to you without his having his suspicions awakened. How can I? You must take my word for it. I tell you he is alive. If any sort of oath will satisfy you, I will take it; I can’t say more than that.”
Fred Bingham rose.
“I can give you no answer now upon this. It is all new to me. I must think it over. I will call to-morrow about the same time.” And he went out and got into the cab which had been waiting for him. “Back again to Harley Street, and drive quick.”
Fred Bingham sat for some hours in his study that evening thinking over the new and unexpected impediment to his hopes. “To think of a grandson of the old man being alive just when everything looked so well. Was ever anything so frightfully unlucky?” However of course the question was, was it worth while to buy this man off or not? Fred Bingham had a clear head, and he considered every possible argument which could be urged upon either side. If he refused to treat, and the heir was produced, what then? Captain Bradshaw had, he had heard, bitterly regretted his treatment of the mother, and would no doubt receive the boy with joy, and establish him as his heir. Of course he would leave a considerable sum to himself. He would feel bound to do so. Fred did not deceive himself, his uncle had never liked him as he had Frank; still he would leave him perhaps a third of the whole property. Suppose he bought this man off. The whole property was worth perhaps £150,000; suppose he gave £20,000 for silence, of course it would pay him well. But would that be the end of it? Would he find himself in this man’s power if he did so? Yes, that was the real question. The agreement of course would be, that he would give a bond to pay a certain amount at his uncle’s death, provided his uncle died ignorant of the existence of his grandson. Yes, that would be it. Then he would pay the money in cash, so that no trace of the transaction could be brought against him, and he would receive in exchange the bond. Would Barton have any hold upon him afterwards? He did not think so. He did not see how he could have any. Suppose he produced the grandson, what then? The will would have left the property to him, and the grandson would not have the slightest claim. Could Barton threaten to divulge the compact? He could deny that it ever existed, and Barton would have no proof to adduce. Over and over again he thought it over, and again and again he arrived at the same conclusion; the grandson could have no claim, Barton could hold no threat over his head. It was not so very bad after all. And with this conclusion he went to bed. The next day he called again at Mr. Barton’s office. The interview was brief this time.
“How much do you want to hold your tongue?”
“The estate is worth £150,000 by what I hear. I will charge ten per cent.”
“No,” Fred Bingham said, “if this heir turns up I should get at least a third. I will give you ten per cent. upon the rest.”