“Ay, sir, to you.—Have you forgotten my letter? and have I not apprised you that every action of your life is under the strictest surveillance? With all your movements, from the very night you entered London, I have been acquainted; and it is not wonderful that I should take some interest in ascertaining who were the intimate associates of a man, whose fortunes are to be made or marred by me.”
What a strange gentleman this Mr. Hartley was! He seemed to have selected me as a sort of shuttlecock wherewith to amuse himself at his own discretion, while with my future fortunes he modestly announced a determination, in Yankee parlance, to “go the whole hog.” Strange that I should passively submit to be thus painfully hectored by a stranger; and, with every inclination, want moral courage to rebel! The man was a mystery—he appeared to have a perfect knowledge of my actions, added to the gift of ubiquity. Did I ask an impertinent question, or perpetrate a kiss, he was sure to be close at my elbow. Was it not devilish hard, that a man could not commit his fooleries—as Sir Lucius O’Trigger wished to fight—“in peace and quietness?” and, when he had lost his last guinea, that a gentleman should drop in, to deliver himself of an admonition first, and require the loan of a hundred afterwards? I had got myself into “a regular fix,”—and that seemed the signal for Mr. Hartley to appear at the moment when I wished him “five fathom under the Rialto.”
One thing was indisputable—I had been sadly fooled. Circumstances smooth down misfortunes; and I have heard that men, who would be driven to desperation at being cheated by a thimble-rigger, feel it only an agreeable kind of sorrow in being swindled by a peer.—I wished to find out the real character of my plunderers; and it would be an unspeakable satisfaction to be certain that I had been “cleaned out” by the descendants of some “baron bold” who had tilted on the field of Agincourt, or at Pavia “lost every thing but honour.” Adelaide had described them as low-born swindlers, but she might be mistaken. Timidly, therefore, I hazarded the inquiry, whether “Mr. Hartley knew the exact circle of society which Santonier and his companions appertained to?”
“That question,” replied Mr. Hartley, “is a puzzler; for in every grade, from the highest to the lowest, you will find distinctions. The colonel’s birth may be as noble as he insinuates it to be. He was an enfant trouvé, and in time, the foundling rose to be a valet. In the Revolution, his master lost his head, and Santonier his place; he next became a professional gambler; ‘a master of fence’ afterwards—and lastly, the chevalier d’industrie reached the climax of rascality, and acted as a double spy. The old gentleman, in green spectacles, has been all his life attaché to ‘a hell.’ The lady’s history can only be learned at the Palais Royal—and I doubt whether it would repay the trouble of a research. Although the struggle may be painful, still it is best to prepare you for the trial, a warrant from the Alien Office has directed your amiable acquaintances to withdraw—and before to-morrow’s sun rises, the Santoniers will have departed. An hour since the Colonel and I had a satisfactory conversation. This money he requested me to deliver to you.” (Here Mr. Hartley gave me some bank notes.) “And, as to this security, it is now mine—and may I inquire, are you prepared to discharge it?”
I took the writing,—it was a promissory note bearing my signature, and covenanting to pay “one hundred-and fifty pounds at sight!”
“Are you prepared to discharge this honourable engagement?” he demanded, with affected seriousness.
I shook my head.
“Then we may as well cancel it at once;” and as he spoke he tore the paper to pieces.
“Said I not well, when I told you, that on me the colour of your future life depended? Remember this second deliverance—one, to which a week’s imprisonment in the haunt of drunken outlaws were a mere nothing. But no more of this; we have other matters now to occupy us. I want you for an hour or two.”
He took his hat—desired me to follow him. I felt myself a mere puppet in his hands—bowed assent—and we left the hotel together.