CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
FURTHER COUNSELS.
"Monsignor Culham, sir," announced a servant, throwing open the librarydoor.
The Squire advanced with outstretched hand. "Ah, my dear old friend, Inever was more glad to see you in my life."
"And how are you, Grantley? Upon my word, in spite of whatever it isthat's bothering you, you are looking younger than ever."
"That'll soon remedy itself, unless we can devise some way out of thisabominable tangle."
"Supposing, now, you let me in behind this same abominable tangle--for,of course, I have as yet no idea as to its nature."
A week had gone by since the visit of the African adventurer, butnothing further had been heard of or from that worthy. Clearly he wasnot going to hurry his victim unduly, but that he had given up hispredatory scheme the said victim could not bring himself to believe.
In a matter involving weighty issues even the most shrewd and secretiveof us may be excused for doubting his own judgment, or, at any rate,desiring to take counsel of another mind. Thus the situation, as laiddown by the would-be blackmailer, had got upon even the cool nerves ofthe old diplomat; and upon whose judgment could he rely as he could uponthat of his old friend?
"But you are only just off a journey," he now replied. "You must restand refresh first."
"Neither, thanks; and the journey wasn't a long one. Now, begin."
"It's a tale soon told. My first wife--Wagram's mother--was marriedbefore. She honestly believed her husband to be dead; in fact, ifcertificates and all that sort of thing count as proof, she wasjustified in believing it. Afterwards he turned up, and triedblackmailing us."
"Was that before Wagram was born?"
"No; after. Not that it made any difference either way, because, ofcourse, the marriage was void."
"You have no doubt whatever that he was her real husband?"
"She had no doubt. Poor thing! it killed her."
"And what became of the man?"
"I made it worth his while to leave the country, and on the way to NewZealand or Australia--I forget which--he was washed overboard, and neverseen again. I was justified in believing him drowned, if only that henever troubled me again, which he would certainly have done otherwise."
"And he wasn't?"
"So he says. Read this," handing him the newspaper cutting narratingthe rescue of the three castaways.
"And is this the man--Develin Hunt?"
The Squire nodded. "Funny, isn't it, that he should reappear in thesame way as he went? Well, he has been here to blackmail me." And hetold of the recent visitor and the proposed terms.
"People change a good deal in a matter of thirty years or so," said theprelate. "And you had no doubt as to this man's identity?"
"Unfortunately, none. I didn't let him know that, though. I treatedhim politely, and as if I thought him a fraud of the first water, but itdidn't seem to disconcert him. He has a trump card to throw down, forit is not merely a case of Wagram going out but--of who do you thinkcoming in? Everard!"
"What?"
"Everard. He professes to know his whereabouts, declares that he hasgone utterly to the bad. The fellow even dwelt upon the utter wreckthat wretched boy would make of everything here in the event ofestablishing his claim."
To listen to the old man telling his tale in his easy, light, cynicaltones you would have thought it concerned him not at all. But hisfriend saw deeper down than that; he knew that if this thing were tobefall Grantley Wagram's days were numbered. Heavens! it was too awful!And Wagram, whose love for his heritage was an obsession, and who wassuch a perfect steward of the great wealth entrusted to him--what wouldbe the effect on him when he learnt that such heritage was reft from himat one blow--that he had no right even to the name he bore, nor his sonafter him? The prelate's face wore as gloomy a look as that of hisfriend.
"Of course, you must insist on this man furnishing you with every proofof his identity," he said. "He can do that, of course?"
"The worst of it is I'm convinced in my heart of hearts as to hisidentity. There was something out of the way about the fellow that eventhe lapse of time hasn't affected. I don't know quite what it is.Perhaps it's his way of talking. Anyway, I'm sure of him."
"You can be sure of nothing in this world, Grantley--nothing that isn'ta matter of faith, which, of course, sounds paradoxical. But in mundanematters such as this it isn't a question of faith but of hard, dryevidence, which for present purposes may be taken to mean: Can this manprove that he was validly and legally married to your first wife beforeyou went through what we will, provisionally, and for the sake ofargument, call the form of marriage with her?"
"And supposing he can't?"
"Then there's an end of the whole affair."
"Even if I am morally certain?" persisted the Squire, smiling sadly tohimself as he remembered how, when they were youths at college together,he had delighted in putting every form of difficult and intricate caseof conscience he could think of to the budding priest, who, for hispart, had never shirked the challenge.
"Everything is to be ruled upon its own merits. Moral certainty in sucha matter as this is nothing, and counts for nothing. We must haveclear, authenticated, documentary proof."
"I have often wondered," went on Grantley Wagram slowly, "how Everardcould really be my son; there was a total absence about him of everysort of seeming relationship or affinity. Well, well, it is too late todwell upon that now. Yet I gave him every chance, and he threw it fromhim. Did I not give him every chance?"
"You did indeed; you have nothing to reproach yourself with under thathead."
"Then, as a matter of conscience, I am justified in resisting the claim_de haut en bas_? And I don't know who could be a better authority inthat department than you, old friend."
"Absolutely and entirely you are. You can't as a juror conscientiouslyhang a man on moral certainty, you must have legal certainty--otherwiseclear evidence. It's the same here. When you consider the enormousstake involved the principle of `the benefit of the doubt' holds goodmore than ever."
"Knowing what I knew," resumed the Squire after a brief pause--"knew, orat any rate was morally certain of--I reckoned it my duty to make asecond marriage, to obviate all possibility of Hilversea passing to adistant and apostate branch of the family, which stands in no sort ofneed of it, by the way, being as well endowed with this world's goods asI am myself. How disadvantageous that second marriage turned out--well,you, old friend, will remember. And the only result spells--Everard.Why, it might even be better for everything to go to the other branchthan to him."
"So far as we have got it doesn't follow that it need go to either. Youwere saying something just now, Grantley, about your first wife being inpossession of certificates proving this man's, Develin Hunt's, death.Now, did you ever see anything of the sort attesting his marriage toher?"
"No; I never thought of it. No; I never saw any such certificate. Thepoor thing admitted that it had taken place; and that was enough for me,for it was a painful business, so I made it worth his while to clearout."
"You committed an error of judgment, Grantley, not only in failing torequire such a certificate and establishing its genuineness, but also inomitting to institute a thorough and searching inquiry into theantecedents of this Develin Hunt prior to the alleged marriage."
"You think, then, that such may not have been valid?"
"I am not in a position to think; I only know--we both know--that suchthings have happened. This man, you say, has led an adventurous life invarious parts of the world. Who knows what experiences it may hold, anyone of which would invalidate this alleged marriage, thereby renderingyours valid?"
"Ah-h!"
Grantley Wagram drew a long breath as he straightened himself up in hischair; his face lightened.
"In that case Wagram would be safe," he said.
"Safe as yourself; but it doesn't do to build too much on such anuncertain foundation. Still,
what I should do in your place would be totake steps immediately to have this man's past traced. Of course, thelapse of years will have added enormously to the difficulties of thesearch, but by sparing no expense, and setting the right people to work,the thing ought to be feasible, I imagine."
"I had thought of some such plan myself; but two heads are better thanone--by Jove, they are! I'll set to work about it directly; butmeanwhile this fellow threatens to call round for his price."
"When?"
"In a few days, he said, whatever that may mean; and it's about a weekago now."
"Wait till he does call, then. But, of course, you won't pay him any`price.' Give him rope instead--and plenty of it."
"Yes; I shall require the certificate of his marriage, and it will beeasy to verify it, unless, of course, it took place out of England--thenit will be more difficult."
"Not necessarily. It will take more time, and I don't know that that'saltogether an unmixed evil--the gaining of time in an important andcritical matter seldom is. By the way--er--I suppose Mrs Wagram neverinformed you where it had taken place?"
"No. You see, the whole thing came as more than something of a shock,and we agreed never to refer to it. Heavens! my working life was spentin defeating the wiles of the potential enemies of my country, and whenit became a question of my own nearest affairs I seem to have acted thepart of a very complete and unsophisticated idiot."
"Not an uncommon thing, my dear Grantley. I seem to remember more thanone instance of an eminent judge or counsel whose will, drawn byhimself, was productive of a fruitful crop of lawsuits. But now youhave not got to let yourself get flurried or out of hand in the matter.This man, from your account of him, seems to be a singularly confidentand level-headed type of adventurer. If his position is as secure as hewould have you believe, why, then, he can afford to play a waiting game,and will be too much of a man of the world to spoil his own play byhurrying yours. If he shows an unwillingness to play the said waitinggame, why, then, I think he will be giving away his own hand, which inthat case is sure to be weak."
"That's sound wisdom," said the Squire, "and I'll act upon it. I'll putit to him straight that, until I've had time to have inquiries made,I'll do nothing for him."
"Meanwhile don't give him a shilling."
"Oh no; certainly not. In any case I should never dream of embarking onthat idiocy over again."
"I suppose you have let drop no hint of that matter to Wagram?"
"No hint. If anything comes of it, why, he'll know soon enough--ifnothing, why disturb him? And--Wagram is so ultra conscientious. He'dnever have done for the Diplomatic Service."
Both laughed, but it was somewhat mirthlessly.
"There is Wagram," went on the Squire as a step and a whistled bar ortwo sounded outside; and then the door opened.
"Ah! how are you, Monsignor? They told me you had arrived."
The old prelate's keen, kindly glance took in the man before him as theyshook hands, and there was sadness in his heart, though sign thereof didnot appear. Yes; he took in the tall, straight form and the refined,thoughtful face, and realised what a blow hung over their owner. Shouldit fall, how would he take it? How? He thought he knew. But--it wouldbe terrible, disastrous, ruinous. Heaven in mercy avert it!
"What do you think, father?" said Wagram as they were seated at lunch."You remember that fellow who escaped from that wreck we were readingabout the other day--the fellow with the quaint name--DevelinSomething--ah, Hunt--that was it? Well, he's staying in Bassingham.Charlie Vance pointed him out to me. Says he's stopping at the GoldenCrown. Funny, isn't it?"
"Very. That's the man at whose expense you perpetrated that infamouspun, isn't it, Wagram?" answered the Squire, with a twinkle of the eyes,and as complete an _insouciance_ as though the man's very existence werenot a matter of life and death to them.
"Well, I wasn't as bad as Haldane. I only fired it off once; butHaldane--you know, Monsignor, Haldane spent the rest of the daysuggesting to everyone within hail that a chap named Develin Hunt musthave had a bad time throughout life in that he would be continually inthe way of being told that he had the Develin him."
"Capital--capital!" said Monsignor Culham, with a hearty laugh. "I readthe case in the papers at the time. And what sort of a fellow did thisshipwrecked mariner strike you as being, Wagram?"
"Oh, he looked a hard-bitten, unscrupulous sort of pirate. They sayhe's been a West African back-country trader--a life, I imagine, likelyto turn a man that way."
The prelate laughed again, so did the Squire. Thus admirably did theykeep their own counsel these two finished old diplomats. But--beneath!