“Well my good man, what figure would you consider appropriate?”
“Fifteen.”
“Good heavens!” exclaims the attorney. “You have a grossly inflated idea of the value of that piece of information. You don’t imagine that anyone else will offer you anything at all for it, do you?”
The other man drains his tankard and rises from his seat: “Mebbe not, but if it ain’t worth fifteen to you then no more shan’t you have it neither.”
“Stay!” As he sits down again Mr Sancious takes out his pocket-book and removes some of the bank-notes he received from Mr Barbellion. He hands them across the table while the letter is passed to him.
The man holds each of them up to the light of the oil-lamp hanging on a nail nearby and then, apparently satisfied, puts them in his pocket: “Well, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
Mr Sancious glances up from the letter: “Stay a while. I may have further need of you.”
The man seats himself agreeably and watches Mr Sancious’s features while he reads. The letter bears the heading “No. 27 Golden-square, 23rd. July”, and is signed “Martin Fortisquince”. The final paragraph reads:
“To conclude, you should soon receive the play-things and books which I have asked Mr Sancious to purchase. Speaking of whom, you will see that I enclose another letter under cover from that gentleman. I must warn you that he has been endeavouring once again, in very indirect ways, to find out from me your whereabouts and I believe he would give a great deal to know. I regret to tell you that my condition is no better and once again my beloved wife is having to write this letter at my dictation. I fear that the house is being watched and that your enemy has somehow discovered that I know your whereabouts.”
Mr Sancious turns the paper over and sees on the cover: “Mrs Mellamphy The Cottage, Mortsey-manor-farm, Melthorpe, ——shire”.
“Mellamphy!” he repeats softly: “So that is her real name.” He glances at the other man who is watching him curiously: “I may have need of you. Will you help me?”
“For more of this,” he replies, patting his pocket and smiling, “I’ll do anything you arst me, guv’nor.”
“Then how may I find you when I want you?”
“Leave word here.”
“What is your name?”
“ ‘Barney’ will find me.”
“Very well,” says Mr Sancious, rising to his feet and pulling his great-coat about him. “But never come to my house or my office. Do you understand?”
“Oh, I understand,” says Barney and briefly rises to bow as, with a curt nod, Mr Sancious goes out. He looks after him and repeats: “I understand, all right.”
CHAPTER 14
Though I shall, of course, not speculate on his motives, it seems that Mr Sancious now believed that his mysterious client’s real name was Mrs Mellamphy and was intrigued by the fact that there was such interest in her and in her whereabouts. He now had the advantage that he knew her address and so, armed with this piece of knowledge, he went to the one person who (he believed) could tell him what he wished to know.
And so a few days after the incident recounted above, Mr Sancious knocks on the door of a house in Golden-square and it is opened to him by a timid servant-girl who, when he utters his name, answers: “My mistress got your letter and is a-waitin’ for you, sir.” She takes his hat and great-coat and leads him to the morning-room where a lady is seated upon an elegant ottoman.
He enters with a gracious smile upon his lips but when he sees her he stops in apparent surprise. Then he smiles again and says: “I am Mr Sancious. I believe it must be your mother that I have business with.”
“I think that unlikely, Mr Sancious,” the lady says with a faint smile. “My poor mother has been dead for twenty years. I am Mrs Fortisquince.”
“Forgive my blunder. May I say in my defence that it was entirely natural?”
Mrs Fortisquince smiles and indicates a chair near the ottoman.
“Please accept my sincerest condolences, dear lady, on the decease of your husband who was highly respected by his humbler confrères amongst whom I number myself.” The attorney sighs as he seats himself.
“You are very kind, Mr Sancious. Very kind. But may I ask to what I owe the honour of this visit?”
“I have come on the subject we have in common.”
“I had assumed so. You mean Mrs Clothier?”
As Mr Sancious speaks he watches her face closely: “Yes, or Mrs Mary Mellamphy.” The widow inclines her head in recognition of the name and slightly raises one eyebrow. “I see you are surprised that I know that name,” the attorney continues, “but Mrs Mellamphy has very recently done me the honour to take me into her confidence.”
“Indeed?”
“And so,” Mr Sancious continues, “I now know that she lives in retirement with her son in a village called Melthorpe. I also now know about her difficulties with …” He hesitates and looks at her knowingly as if waiting for her to speak. She does not, so he goes on: “Well, shall we call them ‘a certain distinguished family’?”
He may call them what he likes for all the widow appears to care: “Mr Sancious, I confess to being a little surprised since I had believed that Mrs Clothier was resolved to confide her whereabouts to nobody apart from my late husband and myself. But I still cannot perceive the purpose of your visit to me.”
“It is a delicate matter, ma’am. I am seeking certain information about Mrs Mellamphy.”
“You surprise me again, Mr Sancious. Since she has, as you say, taken you fully into her confidence, I wonder what I can help you with that she cannot tell you herself?”
The attorney wriggles rather uncomfortably on his chair: “Well now, Mrs Fortisquince, it is sometimes the case that an attorney might wish to keep his client in ignorance of enquiries he is making on that client’s behalf.”
“You intrigue me, Mr Sancious. My late husband having been an attorney, I have acquired more than a merely superficial knowledge of legal practice, and yet I have never heard of such a thing. Under what circumstances might this be so?”
Mr Sancious looks very knowing: “Well, ma’am, where for example the attorney becomes aware that there are remote possibilities of eventualities occurring to affect his client’s interests either for good or for ill, and does not wish either to alarm his client or to raise hopes that may be unfulfilled.”
“And of course you have Mrs Clothier’s interests at heart,” the widow remarks.
“Indeed I do, ma’am,” he answers earnestly.
“You promise me that absolutely?”
“I do unreservedly. I should be grossly betraying my honourable profession if I confessed to any other motive.”
Mrs Fortisquince appears to reflect for some moments before saying: “If I were to agree to help you, what would you like me to tell you?”
“I need to know her unmarried name and something of her family connexions.”
“Mr Sancious, I am again at a loss to understand you. You know the name of the family into which she married, and since it is one that is known — not to say, notorious — in the commercial world, you should, with very little trouble, be able to learn what you wish by that means.”
“Mellamphy? Notorious?” he begins in surprise, then breaks off. “I beg your pardon. Her real name. Of course. Clothier. I was becoming confused.”
“I was saying that I greatly regret that I am unable to tell you anything more. My late husband involved himself in Mrs Clothier’s affairs as an act of simple kindness, and I therefore feel that her interests are really no business of mine.”
“Thank you, Mrs Fortisquince,” the attorney says, accepting his dismissal and rising with a smile. “I am most grateful to you.”
As Mrs Fortisquince speaks she rises and pulls the bell-rope beside her: “But I have told you nothing that you did not already know.”
“And in doing so have been most helpful.”
As the door opens Mr Sancious bows and withdr
aws, while his hostess sits frowning slightly on the ottoman.
CHAPTER 15
Let us imagine that it is near shutting-up time on a cold wet winter’s evening and that we are following Mr Sancious once again a day or two after we last encountered him. He descends Ludgate-hill, making for the river through a labyrinth of back ways until, a little to the west of Upper-Thames-street, he finds himself at the top of a dark narrow alley which declines by a cobbled lane towards one of the old Thameside stairs. He cautiously descends and, reaching the river’s edge, peers about him. The only light is coming from a window in the ground-floor of one of the tall houses whose backs line the alley. It appears that the premises are being employed as a counting-house, and when Mr Sancious peeps through the filthy window-panes he sees that the gas is burning low and that, although it is very cold, the coal-fire is banked up.
As Mr Sancious walks into the outer office a figure rises from a high desk and comes towards him. He is about fifty, of middling height but stoutly-built, with a balding head and a rather round puffy countenance that is very red about the eyes and nose. He is clad in a snuff-coloured coat with large brass buttons, a canary-yellow waistcoat, and velveteen breeches. “Good evening, sir. Have I the honour of addressing Mr Sancious?” he asks, dabbing at his watering eyes with a large handkerchief.
“That is my name,” the attorney replies with a smile.
“Then my Guv’nor is expecting you, sir. Will you be so good as to come this way?”
The clerk is about to turn away when the lawyer arrests him with a movement of his hand: “One moment, if you please. It is now six o’clock. When my business here is finished I will be close upon my usual hour for dining. I have another engagement hereabouts and since I am unfamiliar with this neighbourhood, I wonder if you could be so good as to direct me to a nearby eating-house?”
“Nothing easier, sir. There’s Millichamp’s just at the corner of the alley. You may have remarked it as you came in.”
“And can you give it a personal recommendation?”
“Oh yes, sir. I usually take my dinner there. In fact, I’ll be going there very soon myself.”
“Then I may have the pleasure of seeing you there,” says Mr Sancious with a little bow.
“It would be an honour, sir,” replies the clerk with a corresponding bow.
“What the devil is keeping you, Vulliamy!” a voice suddenly shouts from the inner office. “I don’t pay you to gossip, you infernal rattle!”
“No indeed, sir, just coming,” says the clerk pushing open the door and showing Mr Sancious the way.
The private closet is small and pervaded by a bitter smell that puts Mr Sancious strangely in mind of dead flies. It is so dark that it is with difficulty that the lawyer makes out a figure lurking in a dusty corner at the opposite end. He hears a rustling of papers and then a high thin voice: “What do you want of me, Mr Sancious?”
Mr Vulliamy turns up the gas-jet projecting from the wall by the door and then withdraws. There is just enough light for Mr Sancious to make out that the old gentleman who is Mr Vulliamy’s Guv’nor — now blinking at the light and shielding his eyes — is small and thin with a pale face. His features are sharp, his pale grey eyes flickering restlessly and his thin mouth frequently opening slightly as he runs his tongue suspiciously along his upper lip. He is wearing a small wig that sits on his scull like a rotted cauliflower, a yellowed stock, a long green coat of old-fashioned style which is patched and dirty, a waistcoat whose faded stripes are still visible, and tight nankeen breeches.
“I have come to enquire about the placing of a sum of money on behalf of a client of mine,” the attorney answers.
At these words the old man’s face is lit up by an almost innocent expression of delight.
“Have you indeed?” he exclaims and scuttles out of his corner towards his visiter, his skinny legs seeming to carry him along almost independently of his body and his will. Now Mr Sancious sees that although he is so thin he has an incongruously bulging belly. As the old gentleman reaches out one of his long arms the attorney takes his hand and flinches slightly at its clamminess. “Then I’m very pleased to see you, Mr Sancious. I thought you were here on quite another matter. Please sit down and make yourself comfortable.” Mr Sancious does so as the old man smiles and rubs his hands together: “Will you take something?”
“You’re very kind, sir.”
“Brandy and water?”
“Thank you.”
“Very good,” says the old gentleman as if his guest had said something very witty. But suddenly he screeches, “Brandy and water, Vulliamy, and double-quick.”
The door opens and Mr Vulliamy hurries in carrying a bottle, glasses, and a flask of water in a small tray. He bangs the tray down on a table and quickly retires.
“Now, sir,” says the old gentleman when he and his guest have each a glass in their hand. “Did you mention a figure? I believe not.”
“Shall we say, about one thousand pounds?”
“Why not? Why not?” says the elderly gentleman, his hands beginning to tremble.
“And perhaps a further sum later,” adds the attorney.
“A further sum,” the old man repeats. “Very good. Now, sir, I have a number of interests at the moment, but an excellent spec that I can particularly recommend is the Consolidated Metropolitan Building Company. I will tell you frankly, sir, that I am a promoter of the company for I believe in being absolutely truthful.”
“I expected no less a declaration from your reputation,” the attorney replies.
The old gentleman stares at him for a moment before going on: “Quite, quite. Now your client is in luck for it happens that not all the share-issue has yet been subscribed. Yes, I think I can find you a thousand pounds’ worth, though I might not be able to promise as much in a week or two.” He begins to rummage through the piles of papers on the desk and shelves, smiling at intervals at the lawyer. After a moment he glances towards the door and scowls: “Vulliamy!” he suddenly screams.
The door opens and the senior clerk shambles in, wiping his mouth on his handkerchief.
“The Consolidated Metropolitan Building Company,” the old gentleman snaps. “Find me a prospectus.”
“The Consolidated Metropolitan Building Company,” Mr Vulliamy repeats, glancing at the attorney who sits with an appearance of utter calm watching the other two. “Are you sure, sir? Are you absolutely sure?”
“Of course I am sure, you fool! Get out of here and find them!”
Mr Vulliamy turns and shuffles out. The old man smiles at the lawyer: “A sad case, sir.” He glances meaningfully at the glass before him: “A lushington. I only retain him in my service from reasons of sentiment. He has an invalid wife and a crippled child. Perhaps it’s reprehensible of me, but it is, I hope, pardonable. You see, he has been with me from a boy.”
The old gentleman sighs heavily, while the attorney replies: “Your feelings do you credit, sir.”
“Oh do you say that, sir? Most reassuring. Of course, he is only entrusted with the most menial tasks. Nothing of a confidential nature, I do assure you. He knows very little of my business.”
At this moment the door opens and Mr Vulliamy returns with a printed document which he lays on the desk before his employer and then goes out.
The old gentleman seats himself behind the desk, dips a pen into the inkstand, and looks up: “Now, sir, I need some information, if you will be so good. The gentleman’s name is …”
“It is a lady.”
“A lady?” he says in surprise.
Mr Sancious nods slowly, watching his interlocutor’s face very closely: “Living in the country.” Another pause. “With a small child.” Another pause, but the old gentleman’s face registers no change of expression. “A boy,” Mr Sancious concludes.
“Very good. And the name?”
The attorney hesitates for a moment before pronouncing “Mellamphy”.
The old gentleman’s face undergoes no change a
s he bends over his paper and begins to write.
“Mrs Mellamphy,” Mr Sancious says. And he spells it out.
“Yes, yes, so I assumed, Mr Sancious,” he says impatiently and then looks up and smiles. “And the direction?”
“To be reached under cover to myself.”
“Very well.” He puts the paper on one side and picks up the prospectus. “Now, my dear sir, as I say, I am one of the agents for the Company which is undertaking the speculation. It has been so fortunate as to acquire the head-lease of a plot of land extending to four and a quarter acres and sited in a most desirable part of the metropolis as yet unbuilt upon, between Pimlico and Westminster. May I refer you to the second page?” He opens out the document and points to a portion of a map which is engraved thereupon.
“Not perhaps the most fashionable part of the city?” suggests the attorney. “Or the most salubrious?”
“Not at present, sir, the most fashionable, perhaps, but a very salubrious district (once the Bason and the marshes are drained) and adjacent to the Grosvenor estate which is being built upon and which families of the highest respectability are increasingly favouring.” He clears his throat and continues: “The price the Company has agreed to pay is forty-five thousand pounds which is a remarkably advantageous one. And as is customary, it has mortgaged the lease, though, of course, this will be redeemed as soon as enough shares have been sold.”