‘Oh, certainly not; on the contrary,’ returned Willoughby, with a courteous bow. ‘But last night they mentioned your name in a most unpleasant way. “He went to the wrong man when he went to Blackford.” That was what one of them said. And another answered: “Yes, Blackford is altogether on our side. He’ll spend all his money on Blackford, and get no good whatever.” And they said—they said—— I can’t remember everything; but it was all to the same effect. Of course that kind of thing makes a man uneasy—naturally. Isn’t it disgraceful that the law can do nothing to protect one from such persecution?’
Mr Blackford thought it best to laugh the matter off. ‘Well,’ said he jocularly, ‘if we can but catch sight of them, I’ll soon disabuse them of any such idea.—Don’t you pay any attention to their nonsense. Of course they would like to put you off the scent. The rascals! I’d give a good deal to get fairly at them. It won’t be long, now, before I do so. We are well on their track; and once we have them before the magistrate, we’ll pay them out for all the trouble they’ve given us.’
Willoughby rose to go. ‘I hope, as you say, that it will not be long now,’ said he, with a doubtful and dissatisfied air. ‘You see, it is wearing me out, and I have spent a good deal of money over it, besides. One of them threatened to kill me last night. If anything of that kind is to be attempted, they won’t find me an easy victim, Mr Blackford! I shall try to be beforehand with them, at anyrate. I’m not a man to be played with too long.’
And there was a look in the madman’s eyes as he spoke, and a kind of quiver through his brawny muscles, which seemed to say that the moment was fast approaching when playing with him would be a very risky amusement indeed.
‘By George!’ said the solicitor to himself, wiping his forehead, when he was once more alone, ‘this is getting rather too warm. The fellow gave me quite a turn. If he takes that notion into his head, things may become awkward.’ And Mr Blackford decided that the time had arrived for communicating with Willoughby’s friends in Cape Town. He would have tried to induce the police to move in the matter at once; but this remedy, as he knew, was difficult and uncertain, and should it fail, would but add to the danger. He wrote off then and there, representing in feeling language the condition of his unfortunate client, which he stated he had only just discovered, and urging that some one should come to England immediately, with a view to putting the lunatic’s person and property under proper control. Of course he said nothing about the money he had extorted for his phantom services. Fortunately, it was against his principles to give receipts unless they were demanded, which in this case they had not been, and all the payments had been made in cash; so he left it to be inferred that his exertions had been gratuitously rendered entirely from a sense of duty, and delicately hinted at their continuance on a different footing. Practice ‘In Lunacy’ is very lucrative; and Mr Blackford was not the man to neglect such chances as came in his way.
After this, owing to certain instructions which Mr Blackford gave to his staff, Willoughby found it surprisingly difficult to obtain a satisfactory interview with his solicitor. If he made an appointment by letter, Mr Blackford had always been unavoidably called out, and the time of his return was certain only in that it would be very late. If the client called unexpectedly, he always found the lawyer putting on his hat and gloves in a violent hurry, to attend some important appointment; and the interview was restricted to a short conversation as they walked through the streets, with ready assistance at hand on all sides. Willoughby’s manner under this treatment grew more and more unsatisfactory. Jobson, the clerk, who knew nothing of the business in hand, never suspected the visitor’s peculiar condition, and cheerfully assured him, according to orders, that all was going on well. But this did not satisfy him; and on the few occasions of his seeing the lawyer in person, he made that gentleman extremely uncomfortable by the growing gloom and wildness of his looks, and by persistent references to the hints of treachery which his mysterious foes continued to throw out.
Suddenly, he discontinued his visits. A fortnight went by, during which he made no sign; and then something happened which drove him entirely out of Mr Blackford’s mind. This was the receipt of a letter written by Lucy Wedlake, at the request of her uncle, who wished to see his solicitor at once on important business. It was added that Mr Franklin had been seriously ill, but was now much better, and it was hoped that with care he would soon recover.
Mr Blackford found his client in his bedroom, propped up with pillows in a chair by the fireside. It was evident at the first glance that he had received a heavy blow. His face was anxious and watchful, like that of one who expects from hour to hour the advent of a dreaded enemy, and fears to be taken unprepared. It was with little trace of his ordinary rough irritability, and with a tremulous and feeble voice, that he bade the solicitor sit down, for there was a deal to talk about. He had had ‘an attack,’ he said; the doctors told him it was the heart, and he must be very careful. They had to say something for their money, of course; still, it might be true. We must all go some time; and his time might be short. He had committed an injustice, which must be put right at once. His niece had done her duty by him, and he had broken his promise to her. It was his wish to make a fresh will at once, leaving her the whole of his property, according to his original intention.
‘I’ve planned it all in my mind,’ said he. ‘It is to be for her alone, mind you; her husband shall never touch a penny that I can keep from him. He’s an impudent upstart. He spoke to me as no man ever ventured to speak before; and I doubt he’s brought me to my grave, through being upset the way I was. Take that pen and paper, Blackford, and set it down just as I tell you. The money is to be invested, and the income to be paid to my niece Lucy Wedlake as long as she lives; after her death, the capital is to be divided equally among the children. If she has no children, it’s all to go to the Vintners’ Company. That cuts out Thomas Wedlake, doesn’t it? That’s all right.—Now about yourself. I suppose you consider that you’re an injured man, don’t you—hey?’
To this question, put with some approach to Uncle Franklin’s usual manner and tone, Mr Blackford found it difficult, in the then state of his emotions, to make any reply whatever. He managed to stammer out, with a ghastly attempt at a smile, that he was aware that he had no right to expect——