Mr. Grahame looked after Nathan as he moved rapidly but noiselessly down the stairs, and returned into the library, feeling that the interview had been of a very unsatisfactory character. He experienced an uneasy impression with respect to the inquiries made by Nathan Gomer respecting Wilton. He cursed the name of the old gold-chaser; but for him he might be in secure possession of the wealth he coveted, and which—there was no disguising it—he imperatively needed. The man’s obstinacy, while it did not benefit himself, was very likely to send him, Grahame, headlong to ruin for want of—what? Only a signature—a simple signature.
Ah! Chewkle’s suggestion flashed through his brain. It was but to attach a name to a bond: who would know that he had done it but Chewkle? and would not money buy any man’s tongue? With Chewkle’s aid it might be done.
Who else could know it?
Wilton, starving, dying, in prison, shattered by grief, want, and toil; his children outcasts in the streets, driven, perhaps, into dens of infamy, how could they prosecute a claim against him? If they did, should he not have the wealth to defeat every such attempt? could he not buy off or suborn all witnesses against him? The possessions and the money he should acquire by that single signature would enable him to cope with the most greedy demands for bearing false witness. Shallow reasoning enough, but conclusive in his eyes.
His train of thought having conducted him to this point, the fact that he had Chewkle locked up in the small ante-chamber overlooking the park, presented itself. Had the man overheard what had transpired between him and Nathan Gomer? A flush of heat crossed his brow at the supposition. For the moment he forgot all the dictates of his pride, lost utterly his austere bearing, and crept on tip-toe to the door of the little chamber. He softly removed the key, and peered through the keyhole, but without catching sight of Mr. Chewkle.
He replaced the key without a sound, and turning the well-oiled lock noiselessly, he flung the door open suddenly.
Mr. Chewkle, with his arms folded, was standing in a contemplative attitude, gazing out of the window, and watching the sportive movements of some wild fowl upon the lake.
“Hem! a—Mr. Chewkle, I am at liberty now!” exclaimed Mr. Grahame, recovering his pompous manner, and feeling convinced that his conference with Nathan Gomer had not been overheard by the commission agent.
Mr. Chewkle professed himself to be quite ready to proceed to business, and begged Mr. Grahame, when he made apologies for detaining him while he transacted important matters, not to mention it. Indeed, there was no necessity, as Chewkle’s quick ear, applied in the right place, had heard every word that passed.
“And so the poor old fool, Wilton, continues obstinate, does he?” exclaimed Grahame to Chewkle, when they were both seated.“’Ard as hadamant,” returned Mr. Chewkle.