CHAPTER NINETEEN.
DARK PLOTS ARE HATCHED.
Gorman was one of those peculiar characters who, in personal appearance,are totally devoid of peculiarity. He was a middle-sized, thick-set,commonplace, grave, quiet man; very powerful--but not apparently so; onewhom it was impossible to "find out" unless he chose to let himself befound out. Above all, he was a reserved man.
Everybody knew well enough, at least among his intimates, that he wasnamed Gorman; but not one of the number knew what his Christian namewas. A few were aware that he signed himself "D. Gorman"; but whetherthe "D" represented David, dastard, drunkard, or demon, was a matter ofpure speculation to all, a few of his female acquaintance excepted (forhe had no friends), who asserted roundly that it represented them all,and some were even willing to go the length of saying that itrepresented more, and stood for dirty, drivelling, desperate, and a fewother choice words which it is quite unnecessary to mention. Only afew, and these were among the knowing and peculiarly observant ones ofGorman's intimates, said that "D" stood for "deep." But then, many ofthose who thus pronounced their opinion, were comparatively worthlesscharacters, given to scandal and slander; so the reader must not allowhimself to be biassed too much by their report.
Certain it is, however, that when Gorman was asked on one occasion whathis Christian name was, he replied that he had no Christian name;because he didn't believe in Christianity, and that he signed himself"D," to be distinguished from the other Gormans who might chance toexist in the universe.
People were not at all shocked at his bold statement of unbelief;because, in the circle in which he moved, the same disbelief was prettygeneral.
Besides many other traits and qualities, definable and indefinable,Gorman had the power of assuming the appearance either of a burglar ofthe lowest type, or a well-to-do contractor or tradesman. A slightchange in dress and manner were sufficient to metamorphose him beyondrecognition.
Everybody knew, also, that Gorman was the landlord of a smallpublic-house at the corner of a dirty street, not far from LondonBridge; and that he kept a stout, middle-aged man on the premises to dothe duty of host, while he himself went about "other business," whichnobody knew of, and which no one could find out, although many had triedto do so with all their might.
Every day in the year, Gorman might have been seen at the "Golden Swan";but never for longer than a few minutes at a time, when he inspected thebooks, received the cash drawn the day before; and made an impression onall in the premises, that tended to convince them they were well lookedafter.
"Humph!" ejaculated Gorman, as he finished counting the dirty coppersand pieces of silver which his agent had delivered to him, and droppedthem from his dirty fingers into a dirty leather bag: "Business is dull,I think."
"It ain't brisk just now, sir," replied the deputy-landlord of the"Golden Swan."
Gorman received this reply with another "Humph," and then, putting thebag in his coat pocket, prepared to leave.
"No one bin askin' for me?" inquired Gorman.
"No, sir; no one."
"I'll be back to-morrow about this time."
The deputy knew that this was false, for his employer invariably came ata different hour each day, in order to take "the house" by surprise; buthe said, "Very well, sir," as usual.
"And mind," continued Gorman, "that you put the lights out. You'reuncommon careful about that, I hope?"
It is worthy of remark, in reference to Gorman's anxiety about puttingout lights, that he had been burned out of several sets of premises inthe course of a few years. He was quite a martyr, as it were, to fire.Unaccountably worried, pursued, and damaged by it--no, not damaged, bythe way; because Gorman was a prudent man, and always insured to thefull amount. His enemies sometimes said _above_ it; but neither theynor we have any means of proving or disproving that.
The deputy protested that he always exercised the utmost precaution inputting everything out every night--from the last beery lingerer, to thegas--and that he felt quite put out himself at being asked the question,as it implied a doubt of his care and attention to business. HereuponGorman said "Good-night," and the deputy returned to the counter, wherebesotted men and drunken women awaited his attendance.
Three-quarters of an hour sufficed to convey Gorman from the east to thewest end of London. Here he sought the well-known precincts ofPoorthing Lane, and entered the shop of Mr David Boone.
That worthy received him with a look of glad surprise; but with afeeling of the deepest misery.
"Anyone inside?" asked Gorman.
"No," said Boone, "'cept the boy. I'll call him to mind the shop, andthen we can be alone."
As Gorman did not vouchsafe a reply, but walked straight into the littleroom behind the shop, Boone called the boy, and bade him mind the shop,while he held private consultation with his friend.
The shop-boy enjoyed the name of Robert Roddy. He was a soft-faced,washed-out youth, with a disposition to wink both eyes in a meek manner.Rough-spoken people called him an idiot, but Roddy was not quite suchan idiot as they took him for. He obeyed his master's mandate bysitting down on a tall stool near the window, and occupied himself inattempting to carve a human face on the head of a walking-stick.
"Glad to see you, Mr Gorman," said Boone, seating his tall body on alow stool at the side of his friend, who, with his hat on, had thrownhimself into an armchair, and spread out both legs before the fire."Very glad to see you, indeed, in my--little sanctum, my withdrawingroom, if I may venture to use the name, to which I retire during theintervals of business."
Boone said this with an air of pleasantry, and smiled, but his visitordid not encourage him.
"Pretty long intervals, I should suppose," he growled, pulling out hispipe and lighting it.
Boone admitted, with a sigh, that they were, and observed that trade wasextremely dull--astonishingly dull.
"Why, would you believe it, sir, I have not sold twenty shillings' wortho' goods all last week, and only one wax-doll within the month, althoughit's gettin' well on for Christmas-time? One would a'most fancy thechildr'n was about to give up such vanities an' devote themselves toserious business. It's a serious business for the like of us, anyhow."
Again Mr Boone smiled, and again failed to make an agreeable impressionon his visitor, who demanded in a surly tone if he had been thinkingover it, and made up his mind to do it.
Boone's face changed at this indefinite question, and became a shadepaler than it was by nature, as he replied, hesitatingly, that he _had_been thinking over it, and that he had made up his mind _not_ to do it.
"Oh, you have, have you?" said Gorman in a tone of irony. "Very good;then I'll trouble you to pay me the three hundred pounds you owe me bythis day next week, and the rent of this here tenement for last half."
Boone's face became still paler.
"You're a hard landlord," said he.
"You're a soft tenant," retorted Gorman.
"You know what the punishment is by law," continued Boone.
"Yes--death," said the other drily; "but you know as well as I do thatit's never carried out nowadays."
"But penal servitude for ten or twenty years ain't much better."
"Some men think it's worse," replied Gorman, with a savage grin; "butyou've no need to fear. If you only take the right precautions it'simpossible to find it out, an' I'll engage to put ye up to doin' it insuch a way that there won't be a scrap the size of a sixpence left toconvict you. Only put a bold face on it and the thing's done, and yourfortune made as well as mine."
The man's voice and manner softened a little as he said this, for hethought he perceived symptoms of wavering in his tenant, who covered hisface with his large thin hands and sighed deeply.
"Come, don't be hard on me," he said at length; "I really haven't gotcourage to go through with this. Only give me a little more time, andI'll--"
"Very good," interrupted Gorman, with an oath, as he rose and dashed hispipe into fragments on the hearth; "if
you won't burn yourself out o'this scrape."
"Hush! hush, man!" said Boone in a hoarse whisper; "not so loud; my ladwill hear you. Come, I'll think of it."
"Will you _do_ it?" demanded the other fiercely. "You know thealternative if you don't?"
"Ruination?"
"Exactly so; and that without delay."
"Ruination either way," murmured Boone sadly to himself, as though hewere counting the cost.
"Tut, man," said his landlord, becoming more gentle, "it's nothing ofthe sort. If you only take my advice, it'll be a jolly blaze, which,instead of ending in smoke will end in some thousands of pounds andcommencing business again on fresh capital. Come, I've not got time towaste with you. There's no escape for you, so you'd better say yes,else I'll go and have a talk with a legal friend of mine who is used toscrewing gold out of most unpromising mines."
David Boone's face had by this time become so pale that it could notbecome paler, so it turned somewhat green instead. His teeth, too, hada tendency to chatter when he spoke, but by a strong mental effort heprevented this, and said in a subdued voice that he was willing to dowhatever his landlord pleased to command.
"That's all right," said Gorman, resuming his seat in front of the fire;"now you speak like a man. Sit down and I'll go over the matter withyou, and make your mind easy by showing you that it ain't either adifficult or risky piece of work. Bless you, it ain't the first timeI've been up to that sort o' thing."
It did not require the diabolical leer that accompanied this remark toconvince his hearer of its truth.
"Now, then," said Gorman, with a business air, "first of all, how standsthe stock in the shop?"
"Rather low," answered Boone, who had reseated himself on the stool; "infact, I've got little or nothing more than what is visible. I've bin sohard-up of late that I've had to crowd everything into view an' make themost of appearances. All the dressed dolls has got their frocks spreadout, and the undressed ones their arms an' legs throwed about to make'em take up as much room as possible. The lids of all the work boxes isopen, the slates and puzzle boxes stuck up in single rows, with theirbroadsides to the front, and the collapsin' worlds is all inflated.Everything in the front is real, but all behind is sham dummies an'empty boxes."
Gorman opened his eyes a little on hearing this.
"Good," he said, after a pause; "you're a cleverer fellow than I tookyou for. I thought you was well off, and I'm sure the neighbours thinkthe same, for the place looks pretty full an' thrivin'. I suppose, now,if it was all sold off you wouldn't have enough to pay up my loans?"
"Nothink like it," said Boone earnestly. "I've slaved night and day,an' done my best, but luck's again' me."
"Ah, that's 'cause you've bin faint-hearted in time past; you're goin'to be bold in time to come, my good fellow; you'll have to be bold, youwill. Come, I'll explain how. But first, let me ask how much you thinkthe stock is worth."
"Not much above fifty pounds."
"Hum! it looks like more."
"That's true, an' the people about think it's worth two or threehundred, for you see I have a lot o' cheap jewellery, and some of theinquisitive ones have been trying to pump me of late. They all thinkI'm thriving," said Boone, shaking his head sorrowfully.
"So you are, so you are, man," said Gorman jocosely, "and you're goingto make your fortune soon, and so am I, though at present I'm poorenough. However, that don't matter. Here's your course for the future,which you're to steer by. You'll go an' begin chatting with yourneighbours at odd times, and your conversation, curiously enough, willalways be about the times bein' better than usual, an' about theapproach of Christmas, an' the stock you mean to lay in against thatfestive season. After that you'll lay in the stock--fifty pounds'worth; and it won't be sham; it'll be real--"
"But where is the money to come from?" asked Boone.
"Oh, don't you trouble about the money; I'll provide that. I've acurious power of raisin' the wind on easy terms. Fifty pounds' worth ofreal goods will be bought by you, my thriving shopman, and you'll letsome of the neighbours, partiklerly these same inquisitive 'uns, see thegoods and some of the invoices, and you'll tell them that you've laid in150 pounds worth of stock, and that you think of layin' in more. On thestrength of the press o' business you'll get another shop-lad, andyou'll keep 'em employed a good deal goin' messages, so that they won'tget to know much about the state o' things, and I'll take care to sendyou a rare lot o' customers, who'll come pretty often for smallpurchases, and give the shop an uncommon thrivin' look. Oh, we'll makea splendid appearance of doin' business, and we'll have lots ofwitnesses ready to bother these sharp lawyers if need be--won't we,Boone?"
Poor Boone, whose colour had not yet improved much, smiled in a ghastlyway, but said nothing.
"Well, then," resumed Gorman, after a few minutes' meditation, "whenthis thriving trade is in full swing we'll get it insured. You know itwould never do to risk the loss of such valuable stock by fire--eh,Boone? common prudence pints that out! You say what you have is worthfifty, and what you'll lay in is fifty more, makin' a hundred, so we'llinsure for five hundred; there's a clear gain of four hundred per cent,only think of that! Well, the house I have already insured for fivehundred, that makes nine hundred, and we'll insure the furniture andfixings for fifty; that'll look business-like, you know. Then the goodslaid in will be carefully removed in the night at various times beforethe fire, so you had better see that they are small and portableobjects; that'll make another fifty pounds, if not more. So I see myway to a thousand pounds. That's a neat sum, ain't it, Boone?"
Still Boone made no reply, but favoured his visitor with another ghastlysmile.
"Well, then," pursued Gorman, "all you've got to do is, on a certainnight that I will fix, to set the shop alight, and the thing's donequite easy. But that's not all. You've got an old mother, I believe;well, it would be very unnatural in you to run the risk of being burnedto death, an' leaving her penniless; so you'll insure your life for fivehundred pounds, and I'll pay the first premium on it, and then you'lldie--"
"Die!" exclaimed Boone, with a start.
"Ay; why not, if you're to get a small fortune by it."
"But how's that to be managed?" inquired Boone, with a look of doubt.
"Managed? Nothing easier. You'll be so desperately upset by the fire--perhaps singed a little too--that you'll be taken ill and won't getbetter. I'll look carefully after you as your loving friend, and whenyou're about dead you'll get up and clear off in a quiet way. I'll makearrangements to have a corpse as like you as possible put in your bed,and then you'll be buried comfortably, and we'll share the insurance.Of course you'll have to leave this part of the town and disguiseyourself, but that won't be difficult. Why, man, if you were only fondof a joke you might even attend your own funeral! It's not the firsttime that sort of thing has bin done. So, then, you'll have your lifeinsured, but not yet. Your first business is to set about the purchaseof the stock, and, let me tell you, there's no time to lose, so I adviseyou to write out the orders this very night. I'll fetch you fiftypounds in a day or two, and you'll pay up at once. It'll look well, youknow, and after it's all settled we'll divide the plunder. Now then,good-night. I congratulate you on your thriving business."
Gorman opened the door of the inner room as he said the last words, sothat the lad in the shop might hear them. As he passed through the shophe whispered in his friend's ear, "Mind the consequences if you fail,"and then left him with another hearty good-night.
Poor David Boone, having sold himself to the tempter, went about hisduties like an abject slave. He began by ordering goods from variouswholesale dealers in the city, after which he took occasion to stand agood deal at his shop door and accost such of his neighbours as chancedto pass. The conversation at such times invariably began with theinteresting topic of the weather, on which abstruse subject Boone andhis friends displayed a surprising profundity of knowledge, by statingnot only what the weather was at the time being,
and what it had been intime past, but what it was likely to be in time to come. It soondiverged, however, to business, and usually ended in a display of freshgoods and invoices, and in references, on the part of Boone, to thefelicitous state of trade at the time.
Do what he would, however, this thriving tradesman could not act hispart well. In the midst of his prosperity his smiles were ghastly andhis laughter was sardonic. Even when commenting on the prosperity oftrade his sighs were frequent and deep. One of his friends thought andsaid that prosperity was turning the poor man's brain. Others thoughtthat he was becoming quite unnatural and unaccountable in hisdeportment; and a few, acting on the principle of the sailor's parrot,which "could not speak much, but was a tremendous thinker," gave nooutward indication of their thoughts beyond wise looks and grave shakesof the head, by which most people understood them to signify that theyfeared there was a screw loose somewhere.
This latter sentiment, it will be observed, is a very common one amongthe unusually wise ones of the earth, and is conveniently safe, inasmuchas it is more or less true of every person, place, and thing in this sadworld of loose screws.