The Lost Heir

  CHAPTER V.

  A GAMBLING DEN.

  In a corner of one of the winding courts that lie behind Fleet Streetstood a dingy-looking house, the lamp over the door bearing the words,"Billiards and Pool." During the daytime no one would be seen to entersave between the hours of twelve and two, when perhaps a dozen youngfellows, after eating a frugal lunch, would resort there to pass theirhour out of office in smoking and a game of billiards. Of an evening,however, there were lights in every window, and the click of balls couldbe heard from the ground floor and that above it. In each of these therewere two tables, and the play continued uninterruptedly from seven untileleven or half-past.

  The lights on the second floor, however, often burned until two or threeo'clock in the morning, and it was here that the proprietor reaped byfar the larger proportion of his profits. While the billiard-roomwindows generally stood open, those of the large room on the secondfloor were never raised, and when the lights below were extinguished,heavy curtains were dropped across the windows to keep both the lightand the sounds within from being seen or heard in the court below. Herewas a large roulette table, while along the sides of the room weresmaller tables for those who preferred other games. Here almost everyevening some thirty or forty men assembled. Of these, perhaps a thirdwere clerks or shop assistants, the remainder foreigners of almost everynationality. Betting lists were exposed at one end of the room.Underneath these a bookmaker had a small table, and carried on histrade.

  In 1851 there were a score of such places in the neighborhood of theStrand and Fleet Street, but few did a larger business than this. It wasgenerally understood that Wilkinson, the proprietor, had been a soldier;but the belief originated rather from his upright carriage and a certainsoldierly walk than from anything he had himself said, and he was notthe sort of man whom even the most regular of the frequenters of hisestablishment cared to question. He was a tall man, some five-and-fortyyears of age, taciturn in speech, but firm in manner while business wasgoing on. He kept admirable order in the place. He was generally to befound in the room on the second floor, but when a whistle blew, and oneof the markers whispered up a speaking-tube that there was a disputegoing on between the players or lookers-on, he was at once upon thespot.

  "Now, gentlemen," he would say, interposing between them, "you know therules of this establishment; the marker's decision on all pointsconnected with the game is final, and must be accepted by both parties.I will have no quarrels or disputes here, and anyone making a row goesstraight out into the street, and never comes in here again."

  In the vast majority of cases this settled the matter; but when the menwere flushed with liquor, and inclined to continue the dispute, theywere seized by the collar by Wilkinson's strong arm and were summarilyejected from the house. In the inner room he preserved order asstrictly, but had much more difficulty in doing so among the foreignelement. Here quarrels were not uncommon, and knives occasionally drawn;but Wilkinson was a powerful man and a good boxer, and a flush hit fromthe shoulder always settled the business.

  But though stern in the management of his establishment, Wilkinson waspopular among its frequenters. He was acquainted with most of theircallings and business. Indeed, none were admitted to the upper roomunless well introduced by _habitues_, or until he had made privateinquiries concerning them. Thus he knew among the foreigners whom hecould trust, and how far, when, after a run of ill luck, they came tohim and asked him for a loan, he could venture to go.

  With the English portion of his customers he was still more liberal. Heknew that he should not be a loser from transactions with them; theymust repay him, for were it known to their employers that they were inthe habit of gambling, it would mean instant dismissal. There were amongthem several lawyers' clerks, some of whom were, in comparison withtheir means, deeply in debt to him. One or other of those he would ofteninvite up to his private room on the floor above, where a bottle of goodwine would be on the table, a box of excellent cigars beside it, andhere they would chat more or less comfortably until the roulette roomopened.

  Mr. Wilkinson made no pretense that these meetings were simply for thepurpose of drinking his wine and smoking his cigars. "I am astraightforward man," he would say, "and business is business. I obligeyou, and I expect you to oblige me. I have always had a fancy that thereis money to be made in connection with lawyers' businesses. There aremissing heirs to be hunted up; there are provisos in deeds, of whoseexistence some one or other would give a good deal to know. Now, I amsure that you are not in a position to pay me the amount I have lentyou, and for which I hold your I. O. U.'s. I have no idea of pressingyou for the money, and shall be content to let it run on so long as youwill let me know what is being done at your office. The arrangement isthat you will tell me anything that you think can be used to advantage,and if money is made out of any information you may give me, I willengage to pay you a third of what it brings in. Now, I call that a fairbargain. What do you say?"

  In some cases the offer was closed with at once; in others it was onlyagreed to after threats that the debt must be at once paid or anapplication would be made forthwith. So far the gambling-house keeper'sexpectations had not met with the success he had looked for. He hadspent a good deal of time in endeavoring to find the descendants ofpersons who stood in the direct line of succession to properties, but ofwhom all clew had been lost. He had indeed obtained an insight intovarious family differences that had enabled him to successfully extortblackmail, but his gains in this way had not, so far, recouped him forthe sums he had, as he considered, invested in the speculation.

  He was, however, a patient man, and felt, no doubt, that sooner or laterhe should be able to make a coup that would set him up for life. Stillhe was disappointed; his idea had been the one held by many ignorantpersons, that lawyers are as a class ready to resort to tricks of allkinds, in the interests of their clients or themselves. He had foundthat he had been altogether wrong, and that although there were a fewfirms which, working in connection with money-lenders, financial agents,and the lowest class of bill discounters, were mixed up in transactionsof a more or less shady character, these were the black sheep of theprofession, and that in the vast majority of cases the businesstransacted was purely technical and connected with the property of theirclients. Nevertheless, he took copious notes of all he learned,contending that there was no saying what might come in useful some day.

  "Well, Dawkins," he said one day to a dark-haired young fellow with ahandsome face that already showed traces of the effect of late hours anddissipation, "I suppose it is the usual thing; the lawsuit as to theright of way at Brownsgrove is still going on, the settlements in Mr.Cochrane's marriage to Lady Gertrude Ivory are being drawn up, and otherbusiness of the same sort. You never give me a scrap of information thatis of the slightest use. I am afraid that your firm is altogether tooeminently respectable to have anything to do with doubtfultransactions."

  "I told you so from the first, Wilkinson; that whatever your game mightbe, there would be nothing in our office that could be of the least useto you, even if you had copies of every deed drawn up in it. Ours iswhat you might call a family business. Our clients have for the mostpart dealt with the firm for the last hundred years; that is to say,their families have. We have drawn their wills, their marriagesettlements, their leases, and done everything relating to theirproperty for years and years. My own work for the last two or three dayshas been drafting and engrossing the will of a General Mathieson, whosefather and grandfather were our clients before him."

  "Mathieson--he is an old Indian officer, isn't he, if it is the man Imean? He was in command at Benares twenty years ago. He was a handsomeman, then, about my height and build."

  "Yes, I have no doubt that is the man--John Le Marchand Mathieson."

  "That is him. He was very popular with the troops. He used to spend agood deal of money in improving their rations and making themcomfortable. Had a first-rate stable, and they used to say he was a richman. Anyhow, he spent a good deal more than
his pay."

  "Yes, he was a second son, but his elder brother died, and he came intothe property; but instead of coming home to enjoy it he stopped out inIndia for years after he came into it."

  "He had a daughter, quite a little girl, in those days; her mother diedout there. I suppose she inherits his property?"

  "Well, no; she married some time back; she and her husband are bothdead, and their son, a boy, six or seven years old, lives with the oldman."

  "How much does he leave?"

  "Something over a hundred thousand pounds. At least I know that that isabout the value of the estates, for we have always acted as his agents,collected the rents, and so on."

  "I should like to see a copy of his will," Wilkinson said, after sittingfor some time silent. "I don't want all the legal jargon, but just thelist of the legacies."

  "I can easily jot those down for you. The property goes to the grandson,and if he dies before coming of age, to a niece, Hilda Covington, who ishis ward and lives with him. He leaves her beside only five hundredpounds, because she is herself an heiress. There are a score of smalllegacies, to old servants, soldiers, widows, and people of that sort."

  "Well, you may as well give me the list entire."

  Dawkins shrugged his shoulders.

  "Just as you like," he said; "the will was signed yesterday, but I havethe note of instructions still by me, and will bring round the listto-morrow evening; though, upon my word, I don't see what interest itcan possibly have for you."

  "I don't know myself," the other said shortly, "but there is never anysaying."

  After talking for a few minutes on other subjects he said, "The room isopen downstairs now, Dawkins, and as we have finished the bottle I willnot keep you any longer. In fact, the name of that old General hascalled up some queer memories of old times, and I should like to thinkthem over."

  When the clerk had left, Wilkinson sat for a long time in thought.

  "It is a great idea," he murmured to himself at last; "it will want atremendous lot of planning to arrange it all, and of course it istremendously risky. Still, it can be done, and the stake is worth tryingfor, even if it would be seven years' transportation if anything wentwrong. In the first place I have to get some proofs of my identity. Iown that I have neglected my family scandalously," and his face, whichhad been stern and hard, softened into a smile. "Then, of course, I mustestablish myself in chambers in the West End, and as I have three orfour thousand pounds in hand I can carry on for two or three years, ifnecessary. At the worst the General is likely to add me to his list oflegatees, but of course that would scarcely be worth playing for alone.The will is the thing. I don't see my way to that, but it is hard if itcan't be managed somehow. The child is, of course, an obstacle, but thatcan certainly be got over, and as I don't suppose the old man is goingto die at present I have time to make my plans. When I see how mattersgo I can put my hand on a man who could be relied on to help me carryout anything I might put in his way. Well, I always thought that Ishould hit on something good through these young scamps who come here,but this is a bigger thing than I ever dreamed of. It will certainly bea difficult game to play, but, knocking about all over the world as Ihave been for fifteen years before I came back and set up this show, Ithink that I have learned enough to pass muster anywhere."

  Somewhat to the surprise of the _habitues_ of the room below it wasnearly eleven o'clock before the proprietor made his appearance there,and even when he did so he took little interest in what was going on,but moved restlessly from one room to another, smoking cigar after cigarwithout intermission, and acknowledging but briefly the greetings ofthose who were the most regular frequenters of his establishment.

  Two days later the following advertisement appeared, not only in theLondon papers, but in a large number of country journals:

  "JOHN SIMCOE: Any relatives of John Simcoe, who left England about the year 1830 or 1831, and is supposed to have been lost at sea in the Bay of Bengal, in the ship _Nepaul_, in December, 1832, are requested to communicate with J. W. Thompson & Co., Newspaper Agents, Fleet Street, when they will hear of something to their advantage."

  Only one reply was received. It was dated "Myrtle Cottage, Stowmarket,"and was as follows:

  "SIR: A friend has shown me the advertisement in the Ipswich paper, which must, I think, refer to my nephew, who left here twenty years ago. I received a letter from him dated December 2, 1832, from Calcutta, saying that he was about to sail for China in the _Nepaul_. I never heard from him again, but the Rector here kindly made some inquiries for me some months afterwards, and learned that the vessel had never been heard of after sailing, but was believed to have foundered with all hands in a great gale that took place a few days after she sailed. So far as I know I am his only relative. Awaiting a further communication from you,

  "I remain, "Your obedient servant, "MARTHA SIMCOE."

  Great was the excitement caused by the advertisement at Myrtle Cottage.Miss Simcoe, who with a tiny servant was the sole inmate of the cottage,had called together all her female acquaintances, and consulted them asto what the advertisement could mean, and as to the way in which sheshould answer it.

  "Do you think it would be safe to reply at all?" she inquired anxiously."You see, my nephew John was a very wild young fellow. I do not mean asto his conduct here; no one could say anything against that. He was aclerk in the bank, you know, and, I believe, was very well thought of;but when his father died, and he came into two thousand pounds, itseemed to turn his head. I know that he never liked the bank; he hadalways wanted to be either a soldier or a sailor, and directly he gotthe money he gave up his situation at the bank, and nothing would do butthat he must travel. Everyone told him that it was madness; his AuntMaria--poor soul, you all knew her--and I cried over it, but nothingwould move him. A fine-looking fellow he was, as some of you willremember, standing six feet high, and, as everyone said, looking morelike a soldier officer than a clerk at a bank.

  "We asked him what he would do when his money was gone, but he laughedit off, and said that there were plenty of things for a man to do with apair of strong arms. He said that he might enter the service of someIndian prince, or marry the daughter of a black king, or discover adiamond mine, and all sorts of nonsense of that sort. He bought such anoutfit as you never did see--guns and pistols and all sorts of things;and as for clothes, why, a prince could not have wanted more. Shirts bythe dozen, my dear; and I should say eight or ten suits of whiteclothes, which I told him would make him look like a cricketer or abaker. Why, it took three big trunks to hold all his things. But I willsay for him that he wrote regular, either to me or to my sister Maria.Last time he wrote he said that he had been attacked by a tiger, but hadgot well again and was going to China, though what he wanted to go therefor I am sure I don't know. He could not want to buy teacups andsaucers; they would only get broken sending home. Well, his death was agreat blow to us."

  "I don't know whether I should answer the advertisement, Miss Simcoe,"one of her friends said. "There is no saying what it might mean. Perhapshe got into debt in India, and the people think that they might get paidif they can find out his relations here."

  The idea came like a douche of cold water upon the little gathering.

  "But the advertisement says, 'will hear of something to theiradvantage,' Mrs. Maberley," Miss Simcoe urged timidly.

  "Oh, that is nothing, my dear. That may be only a lawyer's trick; theyare capable of anything, I have heard."

  "But they could not make Miss Simcoe pay," another urged; "it seems tome much more likely that her nephew may have left some of his money inthe hands of a banker at Calcutta, and now that it has been so manyyears unclaimed they are making inquiries to see who is his heir. Thatseems much more likely."

  A murmur of assent ran round the circle, and after much discussion theanswer was drafted, and Miss Simcoe, in a fever of anxiety, awaited thereply.

  Two days later a
tall, well-dressed man knocked at the door of MyrtleCottage. It was a loud, authoritative knock, such as none of MissSimcoe's usual visitors gave.

  "It must be about the advertisement," she exclaimed.

  The little servant had been enjoined to wear her Sunday clothes in casea visitor should come, and after a hasty glance to see if she was tidy,Miss Simcoe sat down in her little parlor, and tried to assume anappearance of calmness. The front door opened, and a man's voiceinquired, "Is Miss Simcoe in?" Then the parlor door opened and thevisitor entered, pushing past the girl, who had been instructed how toannounce him in proper form, and exclaiming, "My dear Aunt Martha,"fairly lifted the astonished old lady from her seat and kissed her.

  "Dear me! Dear me!" she gasped, as he put her on her feet again, "can itbe that you are my nephew John?"

  "Why, don't you know me, aunt? Twenty years of knocking about havechanged me sadly, I am afraid, but surely you must remember me."

  "Ye--es," she said doubtfully, "yes, I think that I remember you. But,you see, we all thought that you were dead; and I have only got thatlikeness of you that was cut out in black paper by a man who came roundwhen you were only eighteen, and somehow I have always thought of you aslike that."

  "Yes, I remember," he laughed. "Well, aunt, I have changed since then,there is no doubt. So you see I was not drowned, after all. I was pickedup by a passing ship, clinging to a spar, but I lost all my money in thewreck of the _Nepaul_. I shipped before the mast. We traded among theislands for some months, then I had a row with the captain and ran away,and threw in my lot with the natives, and I have been knocking about inthe East ever since, and have come back with enough to live oncomfortably, and to help you, if you need it."

  "Poor Maria died four years ago," she said tearfully. "It would havebeen a happiness to her indeed, poor creature, if you had come backbefore."

  "I am sorry indeed to hear that," he replied. "Then you are living hereall alone, aunt?"

  "Yes, except for my little maid. You see, John, Maria and I laid out themoney our father left us in life annuities, and as long as we livedtogether we did very comfortably. Since then, of course, I have had todraw in a little, but I manage very nicely."

  "Well, well, aunt, there will be no occasion for you to stint yourselfany more. As I said, I have come home with my purse warmly lined, and Ishall make you an allowance of fifty pounds a year. You were always verykind to me as a boy, and I can very well afford it, and I dare say itwill make all the difference to you."

  "My dear John, I could not think of taking such a sum from you."

  "Pooh, pooh, aunt! What is the use of money if one cannot use it to makeone's friends comfortable? So that is settled, and I won't have anythingmore said about it."

  The old lady wiped her eyes. "It is good of you, John, and it willindeed make all the difference to me. It will almost double my income,and I shan't have to look at every halfpenny before I spend it."

  "That is all right, aunt; now let us sit down comfortably to chat aboutold times. You don't mind my smoking, I hope?"

  Miss Simcoe, for almost the first time in her life, told a lie. "Not atall, John; not at all. Now, how was it that you did not come downyourself instead of putting in an advertisement, which I should neverhave seen if my friend Mrs. Maberley had not happened to notice it inthe paper which she takes in regularly, and brought it in to show me?"

  "Well, I could not bring myself to come down, aunt. Twenty years makegreat changes, and it would have been horrible to have come down hereand found that you had all gone, and that I was friendless in the placewhere I had been brought up as a boy. I thought that, by my putting itinto a local paper, someone who had known me would be sure to see it.Now let me hear about all the people that I knew."

  John Simcoe stayed for three days quietly at the cottage. The news ofhis return spread rapidly, and soon many of the friends that had knownhim came to welcome him. His aunt had told her own circle of hernephew's wealth and liberality, and through them the news that JohnSimcoe had returned home a wealthy man was imparted to all theiracquaintances. Some of his old friends declared that they should haveknown him anywhere; others said frankly that now they knew who he wasthey saw the likeness, but that if they had met him anywhere else theydid not think they should have recognized him.

  John Simcoe's memory had been greatly refreshed by his aunt's incessanttalk about his early days and doings, and as his visitors were moreanxious to hear of his adventures abroad than to talk of the days longpast, he had no difficulty whatever in satisfying all as to hisidentity, even had not the question been settled by his liberality tohis aunt, from whom no return whatever could possibly be expected. Whenhe left he handed her fifty pounds in gold.

  "I may as well give you a year's money at once," he said; "I am acareless man, and might forget to send it quarterly."

  "Where can I write to you, John?" she asked.

  "I cannot give you an address at present," he said; "I have only beenstopping at a hotel until I could find chambers to suit me. Directly Ido so I will drop you a line. I shall always be glad to hear of you, andwill run down occasionally to see you and have a chat again with some ofmy old friends."

  The return of John Simcoe served Stowmarket as a subject forconversation for some time. He had spent his money generously whilethere, and had given a dinner at the principal hotel to a score of thosewith whom he had been most intimate when a boy. Champagne had flowed inunstinted abundance, and it was generally voted that he was a capitalfellow, and well deserved the good fortune that had attended him. In thequiet Suffolk town the tales of the adventures that he had gone throughcreated quite a sensation, and when repeated by their fathers set halfthe boys of the place wild with a desire to imitate his example, and toembark in a life which was at once delightful, and ended in acquiringuntold wealth. On leaving he pressed several of them, especially one whohad been a fellow-clerk with him at the bank, and was now its manager,to pay him a visit whenever they came to town.

  "I expect to be in diggings of my own in a week or two," he said, "andshall make a point of having a spare bed, to put up a friend at anytime."

  "YOU DON'T REMEMBER ME, GENERAL?"--_Page 65._]