CHAPTER LXXXI.
MR. COHENLUPE LEAVES LONDON.
Dolly Longestaffe had found himself compelled to go to Fetter Laneimmediately after that meeting in Bruton Street at which he hadconsented to wait two days longer for the payment of his money. Thiswas on a Wednesday, the day appointed for the payment being Friday.He had undertaken that, on his part, Squercum should be made todesist from further immediate proceedings, and he could only carryout his word by visiting Squercum. The trouble to him was verygreat, but he began to feel that he almost liked it. The excitementwas nearly as good as that of loo. Of course it was a "horridbore,"--this having to go about in cabs under the sweltering sun of aLondon July day. Of course it was a "horrid bore,"--this doubt abouthis money. And it went altogether against the grain with him thathe should be engaged in any matter respecting the family propertyin agreement with his father and Mr. Bideawhile. But there was animportance in it that sustained him amidst his troubles. It is saidthat if you were to take a man of moderate parts and make him PrimeMinister out of hand, he might probably do as well as other PrimeMinisters, the greatness of the work elevating the man to its ownlevel. In that way Dolly was elevated to the level of a man ofbusiness, and felt and enjoyed his own capacity. "By George!" Itdepended chiefly upon him whether such a man as Melmotte should orshould not be charged before the Lord Mayor. "Perhaps I oughtn't tohave promised," he said to Squercum, sitting in the lawyer's officeon a high-legged stool with a cigar in his mouth. He preferredSquercum to any other lawyer he had met because Squercum's room wasuntidy and homely, because there was nothing awful about it, andbecause he could sit in what position he pleased, and smoke all thetime.
"Well; I don't think you ought, if you ask me," said Squercum.
"You weren't there to be asked, old fellow."
"Bideawhile shouldn't have asked you to agree to anything in myabsence," said Squercum indignantly. "It was a very unprofessionalthing on his part, and so I shall take an opportunity of tellinghim."
"It was you told me to go."
"Well;--yes. I wanted you to see what they were at in that room; butI told you to look on and say nothing."
"I didn't speak half-a-dozen words."
"You shouldn't have spoken those words. Your father then is quiteclear that you did not sign the letter?"
"Oh, yes;--the governor is pig-headed, you know, but he's honest."
"That's a matter of course," said the lawyer. "All men arehonest; but they are generally specially honest to their own side.Bideawhile's honest; but you've got to fight him deuced close toprevent his getting the better of you. Melmotte has promised to paythe money on Friday, has he?"
"He's to bring it with him to Bruton Street."
"I don't believe a word of it;--and I'm sure Bideawhile doesn't. Inwhat shape will he bring it? He'll give you a cheque dated on Monday,and that'll give him two days more, and then on Monday there'll be anote to say the money can't be lodged till Wednesday. There shouldbe no compromising with such a man. You only get from one mess intoanother. I told you neither to do anything or to say anything."
"I suppose we can't help ourselves now. You're to be there on Friday.I particularly bargained for that. If you're there, there won't beany more compromising."
Squercum made one or two further remarks to his client, not at allflattering to Dolly's vanity,--which might have caused offence hadnot there been such perfectly good feeling between the attorney andthe young man. As it was Dolly replied to everything that was saidwith increased flattery. "If I was a sharp fellow like you, youknow," said Dolly, "of course I should get along better; but I ain't,you know." It was then settled that they should meet each other, andalso meet Mr. Longestaffe senior, Bideawhile, and Melmotte, at twelveo'clock on Friday morning in Bruton Street.
Squercum was by no means satisfied. He had busied himself in thismatter, and had ferreted things out, till he had pretty nearly gotto the bottom of that affair about the houses in the East, and hadmanaged to induce the heirs of the old man who had died to employhim. As to the Pickering property he had not a doubt on the subject.Old Longestaffe had been induced by promises of wonderful aid and bythe bribe of a seat at the Board of the South Central Pacific andMexican Railway to give up the title-deeds of the property,--as faras it was in his power to give them up; and had endeavoured to induceDolly to do so also. As he had failed, Melmotte had supplemented hiswork by ingenuity, with which the reader is acquainted. All this wasperfectly clear to Squercum, who thought that he saw before him amost attractive course of proceeding against the Great Financier. Itwas pure ambition rather than any hope of lucre that urged him on. Heregarded Melmotte as a grand swindler,--perhaps the grandest that theworld had ever known,--and he could conceive no greater honour thanthe detection, successful prosecution, and ultimate destroying ofso great a man. To have hunted down Melmotte would make Squercum asgreat almost as Melmotte himself. But he felt himself to have beenunfairly hampered by his own client. He did not believe that themoney would be paid; but delay might rob him of his Melmotte. He hadheard a good many things in the City, and believed it to be quite outof the question that Melmotte should raise the money,--but there werevarious ways in which a man might escape.
It may be remembered that Croll, the German clerk, preceded Melmotteinto the City on Wednesday after Marie's refusal to sign the deeds.He, too, had his eyes open, and had perceived that things were notlooking as well as they used to look. Croll had for many years beentrue to his patron, having been, upon the whole, very well paid forsuch truth. There had been times when things had gone badly with him,but he had believed in Melmotte, and, when Melmotte rose, had beenrewarded for his faith. Mr. Croll at the present time had littleinvestments of his own, not made under his employer's auspices, whichwould leave him not absolutely without bread for his family shouldthe Melmotte affairs at any time take an awkward turn. Melmotte hadnever required from him service that was actually fraudulent,--hadat any rate never required it by spoken words. Mr. Croll had notbeen over-scrupulous, and had occasionally been very useful to Mr.Melmotte. But there must be a limit to all things; and why should anyman sacrifice himself beneath the ruins of a falling house,--whenconvinced that nothing he can do can prevent the fall? Mr. Crollwould have been of course happy to witness Miss Melmotte's signature;but as for that other kind of witnessing,--this clearly to histhinking was not the time for such good-nature on his part.
"You know what's up now;--don't you?" said one of the junior clerksto Mr. Croll when he entered the office in Abchurch Lane.
"A good deal will be up soon," said the German.
"Cohenlupe has gone!"
"And to vere has Mr. Cohenlupe gone?"
"He hasn't been civil enough to leave his address. I fancy he don'twant his friends to have to trouble themselves by writing to him.Nobody seems to know what's become of him."
"New York," suggested Mr. Croll.
"They seem to think not. They're too hospitable in New York for Mr.Cohenlupe just at present. He's travelling private. He's on thecontinent somewhere,--half across France by this time; but nobodyknows what route he has taken. That'll be a poke in the ribs for theold boy;--eh, Croll?" Croll merely shook his head. "I wonder what hasbecome of Miles Grendall," continued the clerk.
"Ven de rats is going avay it is bad for de house. I like de rats tostay."
"There seems to have been a regular manufactory of Mexican Railwayscrip."
"Our governor knew noding about dat," said Croll.
"He has a hat full of them at any rate. If they could have been keptup another fortnight they say Cohenlupe would have been worth nearlya million of money, and the governor would have been as good as thebank. Is it true they are going to have him before the Lord Mayorabout the Pickering title-deeds?" Croll declared that he knew nothingabout the matter, and settled himself down to his work.
In little more than two hours he was followed by Melmotte, who thusreached the City late in the afternoon. It was he knew too late toraise the money on that day, but he hoped
that he might pave the wayfor getting it on the next day, which would be Thursday. Of coursethe first news which he heard was of the defection of Mr. Cohenlupe.It was Croll who told him. He turned back, and his jaw fell, but atfirst he said nothing. "It's a bad thing," said Mr. Croll.
"Yes;--it is bad. He had a vast amount of my property in his hands.Where has he gone?" Croll shook his head. "It never rains but itpours," said Melmotte. "Well; I'll weather it all yet. I've beenworse than I am now, Croll, as you know, and have had a hundredthousand pounds at my banker's,--loose cash,--before the month wasout."
"Yes, indeed," said Croll.
"But the worst of it is that every one around me is so damnablyjealous. It isn't what I've lost that will crush me, but what menwill say that I've lost. Ever since I began to stand for Westminsterthere has been a dead set against me in the City. The whole of thataffair of the dinner was planned,--planned by G----, that it mightruin me. It was all laid out just as you would lay the foundation ofa building. It is hard for one man to stand against all that when hehas dealings so large as mine."
"Very hard, Mr. Melmotte."
"But they'll find they're mistaken yet. There's too much of the realstuff, Croll, for them to crush me. Property's a kind of thing thatcomes out right at last. It's cut and come again, you know, if thestuff is really there. But I mustn't stop talking here. I suppose Ishall find Brehgert in Cuthbert's Court."
"I should say so, Mr. Melmotte. Mr. Brehgert never leaves much beforesix."
Then Mr. Melmotte took his hat and gloves, and the stick that heusually carried, and went out with his face carefully dressed in itsusually jaunty air. But Croll as he went heard him mutter the name ofCohenlupe between his teeth. The part which he had to act is one verydifficult to any actor. The carrying an external look of indifferencewhen the heart is sinking within,--or has sunk almost to the veryground,--is more than difficult; it is an agonizing task. In allmental suffering the sufferer longs for solitude,--for permission tocast himself loose along the ground, so that every limb and everyfeature of his person may faint in sympathy with his heart. A grandlyurbane deportment over a crushed spirit and ruined hopes is beyondthe physical strength of most men;--but there have been men sostrong. Melmotte very nearly accomplished it. It was only to the eyesof such a one as Herr Croll that the failure was perceptible.
Melmotte did find Mr. Brehgert. At this time Mr. Brehgert hadcompleted his correspondence with Miss Longestaffe, in which hehad mentioned the probability of great losses from the anticipatedcommercial failure in Mr. Melmotte's affairs. He had now heard thatMr. Cohenlupe had gone upon his travels, and was therefore nearlysure that his anticipation would be correct. Nevertheless, hereceived his old friend with a smile. When large sums of money areconcerned there is seldom much of personal indignation between manand man. The loss of fifty pounds or of a few hundreds may createpersonal wrath;--but fifty thousand require equanimity. "So Cohenlupehasn't been seen in the City to-day," said Brehgert.
"He has gone," said Melmotte hoarsely.
"I think I once told you that Cohenlupe was not the man for largedealings."
"Yes, you did," said Melmotte.
"Well;--it can't be helped; can it? And what is it now?" ThenMelmotte explained to Mr. Brehgert what it was that he wanted then,taking the various documents out of the bag which throughout theafternoon he had carried in his hand. Mr. Brehgert understood enoughof his friend's affairs, and enough of affairs in general, tounderstand readily all that was required. He examined the documents,declaring as he did so that he did not know how the thing could bearranged by Friday. Melmotte replied that L50,000 was not a verylarge sum of money, that the security offered was worth twice as muchas that. "You will leave them with me this evening," said Brehgert.Melmotte paused for a moment, and said that he would of course do so.He would have given much, very much, to have been sufficiently masterof himself to have assented without hesitation;--but then the weightwithin was so very heavy!
Having left the papers and the bag with Mr. Brehgert, he walkedwestwards to the House of Commons. He was accustomed to remain in theCity later than this, often not leaving it till seven,--though duringthe last week or ten days he had occasionally gone down to the Housein the afternoon. It was now Wednesday, and there was no eveningsitting;--but his mind was too full of other things to allow him toremember this. As he walked along the Embankment, his thoughts werevery heavy. How would things go with him?--What would be the end ofit? Ruin;--yes, but there were worse things than ruin. And a shorttime since he had been so fortunate;--had made himself so safe! Ashe looked back at it, he could hardly say how it had come to passthat he had been driven out of the track that he had laid down forhimself. He had known that ruin would come, and had made himself socomfortably safe, so brilliantly safe, in spite of ruin. But insaneambition had driven him away from his anchorage. He told himself overand over again that the fault had been not in circumstances,--notin that which men call Fortune,--but in his own incapacity to bearhis position. He saw it now. He felt it now. If he could only beginagain, how different would his conduct be!
But of what avail were such regrets as these? He must take things asthey were now, and see that, in dealing with them, he allowed himselfto be carried away neither by pride nor cowardice. And if the worstshould come to the worst, then let him face it like a man! There wasa certain manliness about him which showed itself perhaps as stronglyin his own self-condemnation as in any other part of his conduct atthis time. Judging of himself, as though he were standing outsidehimself and looking on to another man's work, he pointed out tohimself his own shortcomings. If it were all to be done again hethought that he could avoid this bump against the rocks on one side,and that terribly shattering blow on the other. There was much thathe was ashamed of,--many a little act which recurred to him vividlyin this solitary hour as a thing to be repented of with innersackcloth and ashes. But never once, not for a moment, did it occurto him that he should repent of the fraud in which his whole life hadbeen passed. No idea ever crossed his mind of what might have beenthe result had he lived the life of an honest man. Though he wasinquiring into himself as closely as he could, he never even toldhimself that he had been dishonest. Fraud and dishonesty had been thevery principle of his life, and had so become a part of his blood andbones that even in this extremity of his misery he made no questionwithin himself as to his right judgment in regard to them. Notto cheat, not to be a scoundrel, not to live more luxuriouslythan others by cheating more brilliantly, was a condition ofthings to which his mind had never turned itself. In that respecthe accused himself of no want of judgment. But why had he, sounrighteous himself, not made friends to himself of the Mammon ofunrighteousness? Why had he not conciliated Lord Mayors? Why hadhe trod upon all the corns of all his neighbours? Why had he beeninsolent at the India Office? Why had he trusted any man as he hadtrusted Cohenlupe? Why had he not stuck to Abchurch Lane instead ofgoing into Parliament? Why had he called down unnecessary notice onhis head by entertaining the Emperor of China? It was too late now,and he must bear it; but these were the things that had ruined him.
He walked into Palace Yard and across it, to the door of WestminsterAbbey, before he found out that Parliament was not sitting. "Oh,Wednesday! Of course it is," he said, turning round and directinghis steps towards Grosvenor Square. Then he remembered that in themorning he had declared his purpose of dining at home, and now he didnot know what better use to make of the present evening. His housecould hardly be very comfortable to him. Marie no doubt would keepout of his way, and he did not habitually receive much pleasure fromhis wife's company. But in his own house he could at least be alone.Then, as he walked slowly across the park, thinking so intently onmatters as hardly to observe whether he himself were observed or no,he asked himself whether it still might not be best for him to keepthe money which was settled on his daughter, to tell the Longestaffesthat he could make no payment, and to face the worst that Mr.Squercum could do to him,--for he knew already how busy Mr. Squercumwas in the matter. Th
ough they should put him on his trial forforgery, what of that? He had heard of trials in which the accusedcriminals had been heroes to the multitude while their cases were inprogress,--who had been feted from the beginning to the end thoughno one had doubted their guilt,--and who had come out unscathed atthe last. What evidence had they against him? It might be that theLongestaffes and Bideawhiles and Squercums should know that he wasa forger, but their knowledge would not produce a verdict. He, asmember for Westminster, as the man who had entertained the Emperor,as the owner of one of the most gorgeous houses in London, as thegreat Melmotte, could certainly command the best half of the bar.He already felt what popular support might do for him. Surely thereneed be no despondency while so good a hope remained to him! He didtremble as he remembered Dolly Longestaffe's letter, and the letterof the old man who was dead. And he knew that it was possible thatother things might be adduced; but would it not be better to face itall than surrender his money and become a pauper, seeing, as he didvery clearly, that even by such surrender he could not cleanse hischaracter?
But he had given those forged documents into the hands of Mr.Brehgert! Again he had acted in a hurry,--without giving sufficientthought to the matter in hand. He was angry with himself for thatalso. But how is a man to give sufficient thought to his affairswhen no step that he takes can be other than ruinous? Yes;--he hadcertainly put into Brehgert's hands means of proving him to havebeen absolutely guilty of forgery. He did not think that Marie woulddisclaim the signatures, even though she had refused to sign thedeeds, when she should understand that her father had written hername; nor did he think that his clerk would be urgent against him,as the forgery of Croll's name could not injure Croll. But Brehgert,should he discover what had been done, would certainly not permit himto escape. And now he had put these forgeries without any guard intoBrehgert's hands.
He would tell Brehgert in the morning that he had changed his mind.He would see Brehgert before any action could have been taken on thedocuments, and Brehgert would no doubt restore them to him. Then hewould instruct his daughter to hold the money fast, to sign no paperthat should be put before her, and to draw the income herself. Havingdone that, he would let his foes do their worst. They might drag himto gaol. They probably would do so. He had an idea that he could notbe admitted to bail if accused of forgery. But he would bear allthat. If convicted he would bear the punishment, still hoping thatan end might come. But how great was the chance that they mightfail to convict him! As to the dead man's letter, and as to DollyLongestaffe's letter, he did not think that any sufficient evidencecould be found. The evidence as to the deeds by which Marie was tohave released the property was indeed conclusive; but he believedthat he might still recover those documents. For the present itmust be his duty to do nothing,--when he should have recovered anddestroyed those documents,--and to live before the eyes of men asthough he feared nothing.
He dined at home alone, in the study, and after dinner carefullywent through various bundles of papers, preparing them for the eyesof those ministers of the law who would probably before long havethe privilege of searching them. At dinner, and while he was thusemployed, he drank a bottle of champagne,--feeling himself greatlycomforted by the process. If he could only hold up his head and lookmen in the face, he thought that he might still live through it all.How much had he done by his own unassisted powers! He had once beenimprisoned for fraud at Hamburgh, and had come out of gaol a pauper;friendless, with all his wretched antecedents against him. Now he wasa member of the British House of Parliament, the undoubted owner ofperhaps the most gorgeously furnished house in London, a man with anestablished character for high finance,--a commercial giant whosename was a familiar word on all the exchanges of the two hemispheres.Even though he should be condemned to penal servitude for life, hewould not all die. He rang the bell and desired that Madame Melmottemight be sent to him, and bade the servant bring him brandy.
In ten minutes his poor wife came crawling into the room. Every oneconnected with Melmotte regarded the man with a certain amount ofawe,--every one except Marie, to whom alone he had at times beenhimself almost gentle. The servants all feared him, and his wifeobeyed him implicitly when she could not keep away from him. She camein now and stood opposite to him, while he spoke to her. She neversat in his presence in that room. He asked her where she and Mariekept their jewelry;--for during the last twelvemonths rich trinketshad been supplied to both of them. Of course she answered by anotherquestion. "Is anything going to happen, Melmotte?"
"A good deal is going to happen. Are they here in this house, or inGrosvenor Square?"
"They are here."
"Then have them all packed up,--as small as you can; never mind aboutwool and cases and all that. Have them close to your hand so that ifyou have to move you can take them with you. Do you understand?"
"Yes; I understand."
"Why don't you speak, then?"
"What is going to happen, Melmotte?"
"How can I tell? You ought to know by this time that when a man'swork is such as mine, things will happen. You'll be safe enough.Nothing can hurt you."
"Can they hurt you, Melmotte?"
"Hurt me! I don't know what you call hurting. Whatever there is to beborne, I suppose it is I must bear it. I have not had it very softall my life hitherto, and I don't think it's going to be very softnow."
"Shall we have to move?"
"Very likely. Move! What's the harm of moving? You talk of moving asthough that were the worst thing that could happen. How would youlike to be in some place where they wouldn't let you move?"
"Are they going to send you to prison?"
"Hold your tongue."
"Tell me, Melmotte;--are they going to?" Then the poor woman did sitdown, overcome by her feelings.
"I didn't ask you to come here for a scene," said Melmotte. "Do as Ibid you about your own jewels, and Marie's. The thing is to have themin small compass, and that you should not have it to do at the lastmoment, when you will be flurried and incapable. Now you needn'tstay any longer, and it's no good asking any questions because Ishan't answer them." So dismissed, the poor woman crept out again,and immediately, after her own slow fashion, went to work with herornaments.
Melmotte sat up during the greater part of the night, sometimessipping brandy and water, and sometimes smoking. But he did no work,and hardly touched a paper after his wife left him.