CHAPTER V.
A COUNCIL OF THREE.
MESSRS. GOLDSHED and LEVI have a neat office in Scroop Street. Asstockbrokers, strictly, they don't, I am told, do anything like so largea business as many of their brethren. Those brethren, for the most part,are not proud of them. Their business is of a somewhat contraband sort.They have been examined once or twice uncomfortably before ParliamentaryCommittees. They have been savagely handled by the great Mr. Hackle, theParliamentary counsel. In the great insurance case of "The executors ofShakerly _v._ The Philanthropic Union Company," they were hideouslymangled and eviscerated by Sergeant Bilhooke, whose powers are wellknown. They have been called "harpies," "ghouls," "Madagascar bats,""vermin," "wolves," and "mousing owls," and are nothing the worse of it.Some people think, on the contrary, rather the better, as it has helpedto advertise them in their particular line, which is in a puffing,rigging, fishy, speculative, "queerish" business, at which moralstockbrokers turn up their eyes and noses, to the amusement of Messrs.Goldshed and Levi, who have--although the sober office in Scroop Streetlooks sometimes a little neglected--no end of valuable clients, of theparticular kind whom they covet, and who frequent the other office, inWormwood Court, which looks so dirty, mean, and neglected, and yet isthe real seat of power.
The "office" in Wormwood Court is an old-fashioned, narrow-fronted,dingy house. It stands apart, and keeps its own secrets, having anuninhabited warehouse on one side, and a shabby timber-yard at theother. In front is a flagged court-yard, with dingy grass sprouting hereand there, and lines of slimy moss, grimed with soot.
The gate is, I believe, never opened--I don't know that its hinges wouldwork now. If you have private business with the firm on a wet day, youmust jump out of your cab in the street, and run up through the sidedoor, through the rain, over the puddled flags, and by the famous log ofmahogany which the Messrs. Goldshed and Levi and their predecessors havesold, in bill transactions, nearly six thousand distinct times, withoutever losing sight of it.
In the street this day there stood a cab, at that door. Mr. Jos. Larkin,the Gylingden attorney, was in consultation with the firm. They weresitting in "the office," the front room which you enter at your rightfrom the hall. A high, old-fashioned chimney-piece cuts off the farangle of the room, obliquely. It is wainscoted in wood, in tiny squarepanels, except over the fireplace, where one great panel runs across,and up to the ceiling, with somebody's coat of arms carved in reliefupon it. This woodwork has been painted white, long ago, but the tinthas degenerated to a cream or buff colour, and a good washing would doit no harm. Mr. Levi and others have pencilled little sums in addition,subtraction, and multiplication on it. You can see the original oakwhere the hat-rack was removed, near the window, as also in those placeswhere gentlemen have cut their names or initials.
The window is covered with dust and dirt, beaten by the rain into allsorts of patterns. A chastened light enters through this screen, and youcan't see from without who is in the room.
People wonder why Messrs. Goldshed and Levi, with so well-appointed anoffice in Scroop Street, will keep this private office in so beggarly astate; without a carpet, only a strip of nearly-obliterated oil-clothon its dirty floor. Along the centre of the room extends a great old,battered, oblong mahogany quadrangle, full of drawers, with dingy brasshandles, and having midway a sort of archway, like a bridge under arailway embankment, covered with oil-cloth of an undistinguishablepattern, blotched with old stains of red ink and black, and dribblingsof sealing-wax, curling up here and there dustily, where office-knives,in fiddling fingers, have scarred its skin. On top of this are twoclumsy desks. Behind one sits the junior partner, on a high woodenstool, and behind the other, the senior, on a battered office chair,with one of its haircloth angles protruding, like the corner of a cockedhat, in front, dividing the short, thick legs of Mr. Goldshed, whoseheels were planted on the rungs, bending his clumsy knees, and remindingone of the attitude in which an indifferent rider tries to keep his seaton a restive horse.
Goldshed is the senior in every sense. He is bald, he is fat, he isshort. He has gems on his stumpy fingers, and golden chains, in loopsand curves, cross the old black velvet waistcoat, which is alwayswrinkled upward by the habit he has of thrusting his broad, short handsinto his trousers pockets.
At the other side, leaning back in his chair, and offering, he flattershimself, a distinguished contrast to the vulgar person opposite, sat Mr.Jos. Larkin, of the Lodge, Gylingden. His tall, bald head was thrown alittle back; one arm, in its glossy black sleeve, hung over the back ofhis chair, with his large red knuckles near the floor. His pink eyeswore their meek and dove-like expression; his mouth a little open, inrepose; an air of resignation and beatitude, which, together with hiswell-known elegance, his long, lavender tinted trousers, and ribbed silkwaistcoat of the same favourite hue, presented a very perfect picture,in this vulgar Jewish setting, of a perfect Christian gentleman.
"If everything favours, Mr. Goldshed, Mr. Dingwell may be in townto-morrow evening. He sends for me immediately on his arrival, to myquarters, you understand, and I will send him on to you, and you to Mrs.Sarah Rumble's lodgings."
"_Mish_ Rumble," drawled Goldshed; "not married--_a girl, Mish_."
"Yes, _Mrs._ Rumble," continued Larkin, gently, "there's no harm insaying Mrs.; many ladies in a position of responsibility, prefer thatstyle to _Miss_, for obvious reasons."
Here Goldshed, who was smiling lazily, winked at his junior, whoreturned that signal in safety, for Mr. Larkin, whose countenance wasraised toward the ceiling, had closed his eyes. The chaste attorney'sdiscretion amused them, for Miss Sarah Rumble was an industrious,careworn girl of two-and-fifty, taciturn, and with a brown pug face, andtresses somewhat silvery.
"We are told by the apostle," continued Mr. Larkin, musingly, "not onlyto avoid evil, but the appearance of evil. I forgot, however, ourreligions differ."
"Yes--ay--our religions differ, he says; they differ, Levi, don't they?"
"Yes, they do," drawled that theologian.
"Yes, they do; we see our way to that," concluded Goldshed.
Larkin sighed.
There was a short silence here. Mr. Larkin opened his pink eyelids, andshowing his small, light blue eyes, while he maintained his easy andgentlemanlike attitude.
The senior member of the firm looked down on his desk, thoughtfully, andpicked at an old drop of sealing wax with his office knife, and whistleda few slow bars, and Mr. Levi, looking down also, scribbled the cipherof the firm thirteen times, with flourishes, on a piece of paper.
Mr. Goldshed worked his short thick knees and his heels a littleuneasily; the office chair was growing a little bit frisky, it seemed.
"Nishe shailing, Mr. Larkin, and oh, dear! a great lot of delicashy!What do you think?" said Mr. Goldshed, lifting up the office knife, withthe edge toward the attorney, and letting it fall back two or threetimes, between his finger and thumb, dubiously. "The parties beingswells, makesh it more delicate--ticklish--ticklish; do you shinsherelythink it's all quite straight?"
"Of course, it's straight. I should hope, Mr. Goldshed, I have neveradvised any course that was not so," said Mr. Larkin, loftily.
"I don't mean religious--law blesh you--I mean _safe_," said Mr.Goldshed, soothingly.
A light pink flush touched the bald forehead of the attorney.
"Whatever is right, sir, is safe; and that, I think, can hardly bewrong--I _hope_ not--by which all parties are benefited," said theattorney.
"All parties be diddled--except our shelves. I'm thinking of myshelf--and Mr. Levi, here--and, of courshe, of _you_. Very much of you,"he added, courteously.
Mr. Larkin acknowledged his care by a faint meek bow.
"They're swells," repeated Mr. Goldshed.
"He saysh they're swelsh," repeated Mr. Levi, whose grave look hadsomething of the air of a bully in it, fixing his dark prominent eyes onMr. Larkin, and turning his cheek that way a little, also. "There's adanger in handling a swell--in them matters specially.
"
"Suppose theresh a contempt?" said Mr. Goldshed, whose chair grewrestive, and required management as he spoke.
"He saysh a _contempt_," repeated Mr. Levi, "or shomething worse," andhe heightened the emphasis with an oath.
"I'll guarantee you for twopence, Mr. Levi; and pray consider me, and do_not_ swear," urged Mr. Larkin.
"If you guarantee us, with a penalty," began Mr. Levi, who chose to takehim literally.
"I said _that_, of _course_, Mr. Levi, by way of illustration, only; noone, of _course_, dreams of guaranteeing another without a properconsideration. I should have hoped you _could_ not have misunderstoodme. I don't understand guarantees, it is a business I have nevertouched. I'm content, I hope, with the emoluments of my profession, andwhat my landed property gives me. I only mean this--that there _is_ norisk. What do _we_ know of Mr. Dingwell, that is not perfectly aboveboard--perfectly? I challenge the world upon _that_. If anything shouldhappen to fall through, _we_, surely, are not to blame. At the same timeif you--looking at it with your experience--apprehend any risk, ofcourse, I couldn't think of allowing you to go on. I can arrange, thisevening, and not very far from this house, either."
As Mr. Larkin concluded, he made a feint of rising.
"Ba-ah!" exclaimed Levi. "You don't think we want to back out of thishtranshaction, Mr. Larkin? _no_-o-oh! That's not the trick of thishoffishe--is it, gov'nor? He saysh _no_."
"No," echoed Goldshed.
"No, never--noways! you hear him?" reiterated Mr. Levi. "In for a penny,in for a pound--in for a shilling, in for a thousand. Ba-ah!--No,never."
"No, noways--never!" reverberated Goldshed, in deep, metallic tones."But, Levi, there, must look an inch or two before his noshe--and shomust I--and sho, my very good friend, Mr. Larkin, must _you_--a bitbefore your noshe. I don't see no great danger. We all know, theHonourable Arthur Verney is _dead_. We are _sure_ of _that_--and all therest is not worth the odd ha'pensh in that book," and he touched themighty ledger lying by him, in which millions were entered. "The _rest_is Dingwell's affair."
"Just so, Mr. Goldshed," acquiesced Mr. Larkin. "We go together in thatview."
"Dingwell be blowed!--what need _we_ care for Dingwell?" tolled out Mr.Goldshed, with his ringing bass.
"Ba-ah!--drat him!" echoed the junior.
"Yes--a--quite as you say--but where's the good of imprecation? With_that_ exception, I quite go with you. It's Dingwell's affair--not_ours_. _We_, of course, go straight--and _I_ certainly have no reasonto suspect Dingwell of anything crooked or unworthy."
"Oh, no--ba-ah!--_nothing_!" said Levi.
"Nor I," added Goldshed.
"It'sh delicate--it _izh_ delicate--but very promishing," said Mr.Goldshed, who was moistening a cigar in his great lips. "Very--and_no_-thing crooked about it."
"No-thing crooked--_no_!" repeated Mr. Levi, shaking his glossy curlsslowly. "But very delicate."
"Then, gentlemen, it's understood--I'm at liberty to assume--that Mr.Dingwell finds one or other of you here whenever he calls after dark,and you'll arrange at once about the little payments."
To which the firm having promptly assented, Mr. Larkin took his leave,and, being a client of consideration, was accompanied to the shabbydoorstep by Mr. Levi, who, standing at the hall-door, with his hands inhis pockets, nodded slily to him across the flagged court-yard, into thecab window, in a way which Mr. Jos. Larkin of the Lodge thought by manydegrees too familiar.
"Well--_there's_ a cove!" said Mr. Levi, laughing lazily, and showinghis long rows of ivory fangs, as he pointed over his shoulder, with thepoint of his thumb, towards the street.
"Rum un!" said Mr. Goldshed, laughing likewise, as he held his lightedcigar between his fingers.
And they laughed together tranquilly for a little, till, with a suddenaccess of gravity, Mr. Goldshed observed, with a little wag of hishead--
"He's da-a-am clever!"
"Ay--yes--da-a-am clever!" echoed Levi.
"Not as much green as you'd put your finger on--I tell you--nomuff--devilish good lay, as _you_ shall see," continued Goldshed.
"Devilish good--no, no muff--nothing green," repeated Mr. Levi, lightinghis cigar. "Good head for speculation--might be a bit too clever, I'mthinking," and he winked gently at his governor.
"Believe you, my son, if we'd let him--but we won't--will we?" drawledMr. Goldshed, jocosely.
"Not if I knows it," said Mr. Levi, sitting on the table, with his feeton the stool, and smoking towards the wall.