“It is—I am: but, my dear sir, do not let us fly off at a tangent to morality or philosophy; these have nothing to do with the present purpose. You have before you all the papers relative to this transaction. Now, will you do me the favour, the service, to look them over, and try whether you can make out le mot d’énigme? I shall not disturb you.”
Lord Oldborough sat down at a small table by the fire, with a packet of letters and memorials beside him, and in a few minutes was completely absorbed in these, for he had acquired the power of turning his attention suddenly and entirely from one subject to another.
Without reading the mass of Commissioner Falconer’s explanations and conjectures, or encumbering his understanding with all that Cunningham had collected, as if purposely to puzzle the cause, Mr. Percy examined first very carefully the original documents—then Lord Oldborough’s notes on the views and characters of the suspected persons, and the reasons of their several enmities or dissatisfaction. From the scale of probabilities, which he found had been with great skill calculated on these notes, he selected the principal names, and then tried with these, whether he could make out an idea that had struck him the moment he had heard of the Gassoc. He recollected the famous word Cabal, in the reign of Charles the Second, and he thought it possible that the cabalistical word Gassoc might be formed by a similar combination. But Gassoc was no English word, was no word of any language. Upon close examination of the Tourville papers, he perceived that the commissioner had been right in one of his suggestions, that the G had been written instead of a C: in some places it had been a c turned into a g, and the writer seemed to be in doubt whether the word should be Gassoc or Cassoc. Assuming, therefore, that it was Cassock, Mr. Percy found the initials of six persons, who stood high in Lord Oldborough’s scale of probabilities: Chelsea—Arnold—Skreene—Skipworth—Oldfield—Coleman; and the last k, for which he hunted in vain a considerable time, was supplied by Kensington (one of the Duke of Greenwich’s titles), whose name had been scratched out of the list, since his reconciliation and connexion by marriage with Lord Oldborough, but who had certainly at one time been of the league of his lordship’s enemies. Every circumstance and date in the Tourville papers exactly agree with this explanation: the Cassock thus composed cleared up all difficulties; and passages, that were before dark and mysterious, were rendered by this reading perfectly intelligible. The interpretation, when once given, appeared so simple, that Lord Oldborough wondered how it was possible that it had not before occurred to his mind. His satisfaction was great—he was at this moment relieved from all danger of mistaking friend for foe; he felt that his enemies were in his power, and his triumph secure.
“My dear sir,” cried he, “you do not know, you cannot estimate, the extent of the service you have done me: far from wishing to lessen it in your eyes, I wish you to know at this moment its full importance. By Lady Oldborough’s death, and by circumstances with which I need not trouble you, I lost the support of her connexions. The Duke of Greenwich, though my relation, is a weak man, and a weak man can never be a good friend. I was encompassed, undermined, the ground hollow under me—I knew it, but I could not put my finger upon one of the traitors. Now I have them all at one blow, and I thank you for it. I have the character, I believe, of being what is called proud, but you see that I am not too proud to be assisted and obliged by one who will never allow me to oblige or assist him or any of his family. But why should this be? Look over the list of these men. In some one of these places of trust, give me a person in whom I can confide, a friend to me, and to your country. Look over that list, now in your hand, and put your finger upon any thing that will suit you.”
“I thank you, my lord,” said Mr. Percy; “I feel the full value of your good opinion, and true gratitude for the warmth of your friendship, but I cannot accept of any office under your administration. Our political principles differ as much as our private sentiments of honour agree; and these sentiments will, I trust, make you approve of what I now say—and do.”
“But there are places, there are situations which you might accept, where your political opinions and mine could never clash. It is an extraordinary thing for a minister to press a gentleman to accept of a place, unless he expects more in return than what he gives. But come—I must have Mr. Percy one of us. You have never tried ambition yet,” added Lord Oldborough, with a smile: “trust me, you will find ambition has its pleasures, its proud moments, when a man feels that he has his foot on the neck of his enemies.”
Lord Oldborough stood, as if he felt this pride at the instant. “You do not know the charms of ambition, Mr. Percy.”
“It may be delightful to feel one’s foot on the neck of one’s enemies, but, for my part, I rather prefer having no enemies.”
“No enemies!” said Lord Oldborough: “every man that has character enough to make friends has character enough to make enemies—and must have enemies, if not of his power or place, of his talents and property—the sphere lower, the passion’s the same. No enemies!—What is he, who has been at law with you, and has robbed you of your estate?”
“I forgot him—upon my word, I forgot him,” said Mr. Percy. “You see, my lord, if he robbed me of my estate, he did not rob me of my peace of mind. Does your lordship think,” said Mr. Percy, smiling, “that any ambitious man, deprived of his place, could say as much?”