The Lost Heir

  CHAPTER VII.

  JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIEND.

  There was a great sensation among the frequenters of the house inElephant Court when they were told that Wilkinson had sold the business,and the new proprietor would come in at once. The feeling among thosewho were in his debt was one of absolute dismay, for it seemed to themcertain the amounts would be at once called in. To their surprise andrelief Wilkinson went round among the foreigners, whose debts in no caseexceeded five pounds, and handed to them their notes of hand.

  "I am going out of the business," he said, "and shall be leaving forabroad in a day or so. I might, of course, have arranged with the newman for him to take over these papers, but he might not be as easy as Ihave been, and I should not like any of you to get into trouble. I havenever pressed anyone since I have been here, still less taken anyoneinto court, and I should like to leave on friendly terms with all. Sohere are your papers; tear them up, and don't be fools enough to borrowagain."

  Towards his English clients, whose debts were generally from ten totwenty pounds, he took the same course, adding a little good advice asto dropping billiards and play altogether and making a fresh start.

  "You have had a sharp lesson," he said, "and I know that you have beenon thorns for the last year. I wanted to show you what folly it was toplace yourself in the power of anyone to ruin you, and I fancy I havesucceeded very well. There is no harm in a game of billiards now andthen, but if you cannot play without betting you had better cut italtogether. As for the tables, it is simply madness. You must lose inthe long run, and I am quite sure that I have got out of you severaltimes the amount of the I. O. U.'s that I hold."

  Never were men more surprised and more relieved. They could hardlybelieve that they were once more free men, and until a fresh set ofplayers had succeeded them the billiard rooms were frequently almostdeserted. To Dawkins Wilkinson was somewhat more explicit.

  "You know," he said, "the interest I took in that will of GeneralMathieson. It was not the will so much as the man that I was sointerested in. It showed me that he was most liberally disposed to thosewho had done him a service. Now, it happens that years ago, when he wasat Benares, I saved his life from a tiger, and got mauled myself indoing so. I had not thought of the matter for many years, but yourmention of his name recalled it to me. I had another name in thosedays--men often change their names when they knock about in queerplaces, as I have done. However, I called upon him, and he expressedhimself most grateful. I need not say that I did not mention thebilliard room to him. He naturally supposed that I had just arrived fromabroad, and he has offered to introduce me to many of his friends; and Ithink that I have a good chance of being put down in his will for adecent sum. I brought money home with me from abroad and have made agoodish sum here, so I shall resume my proper name and go West, and dropthis affair altogether. I am not likely to come against any of the crewhere, and, as you see," and he removed a false beard and whiskers fromhis face, "I have shaved, though I got this hair to wear until I hadfinally cut the court. So you see you have unintentionally done me aconsiderable service, and in return I shall say nothing about that fiftypounds you owe me. Now, lad, try and keep yourself straight in future.You may not get out of another scrape as you have out of this. All I askis that you will not mention what I have told you to anyone else. Thereis no fear of my being recognized, with a clean-shaven face anddifferent toggery altogether, but at any rate it is as well thateveryone but yourself should believe that, as I have given out, I havegone abroad again. I shall keep your I. O. U.'s, but I promise you thatyou shall hear no more of them as long as you hold your tongue as towhat I have just told you. Possibly I may some day need your assistance,and in that case shall know where to write to you."

  It was not until after a great deal of thought that John Simcoe haddetermined thus far to take Dawkins into his confidence, but heconcluded at last that it was the safest thing to do. He was, as heknew, often sent by the firm with any communications that they mighthave to make to their clients, and should he meet him at the General'she might recognize him and give him some trouble. He had made no secretthat he had turned his hand to many callings, and that his doings in thesouthern seas would not always bear close investigation, and the factthat he had once kept a billiard room could do him no special harm. Asto the will, Dawkins certainly would not venture to own that he hadrepeated outside what had been done in the office. The man might beuseful to him in the future. It was more than probable he would againinvolve himself in debt, and was just the weak and empty-headed youngfellow who might be made a convenient tool should he require one.

  So Elephant Court knew Mr. Wilkinson no more, and certainly none of the_habitues_ could have recognized him in the smooth-shaven andfaultlessly dressed man whom they might meet coming out of a West Endclub. Dawkins often turned the matter over in his mind, after his firstrelief had passed at finding the debt that had weighed so heavily uponhim perfectly wiped out.

  "There ought to be money in it," he said to himself, "but I don't seewhere it comes in. In the first place I could not say he had kept agambling place without acknowledging that I had often been there, and Icould not say that it was a conversation of mine about the General'swill that put it into his head to call upon him, and lastly, he has meon the hip with those I. O. U.'s. Possibly if the General does leave himmoney, I may manage to get some out of him, though I am by no meanssure of that. He is not a safe man to meddle with, and he mightcertainly do me more harm than I could do him."

  * * * * *

  The matter had dropped somewhat from his mind when, three months later,General Mathieson came into the office to have an interview with hisprincipals.

  After he had left the managing clerk was called in. On returning, hehanded Dawkins a sheet of paper.

  "You will prepare a fresh will for General Mathieson; it is to runexactly as at present, but this legacy is to be inserted after that toMiss Covington. It might just as well have been put in a codicil, butthe General preferred to have it in the body of the will."

  Dawkins looked at the instruction. It contained the words: "To JohnSimcoe, at present residing at 132 Jermyn Street, I bequeath the sum often thousand pounds, as a token of my gratitude for his heroic conductin saving my life at the cost of great personal injury to himself fromthe grip of a tiger, in the year 1831."

  "By Jove, he has done well for himself!" Dawkins muttered, as he satdown to his desk after the managing clerk had handed him the General'swill from the iron box containing papers and documents relating to hisaffairs. "Ten thousand pounds! I wish I could light upon a general in afix of some sort, though I don't know that I should care about a tiger.It is wonderful what luck some men have. I ought to get something out ofthis, if I could but see my way to it. Fancy the keeper of a billiardroom and gaming house coming in for such a haul as this! It isdisgusting!"

  He set about preparing a draft of the will, but he found it difficult tokeep his attention fixed upon his work, and when the chief clerk ran hiseye over it he looked up in indignant surprise.

  "What on earth is the matter with you, Mr. Dawkins? The thing is full ofthe most disgraceful blunders. In several cases it is not even sense.During all the time that I have been in this office I have never hadsuch a disgraceful piece of work come into my hands before. Why, if theoffice boy had been told to make a copy of the will, he would have doneit vastly better. What does it mean?"

  "I am very sorry, sir," Dawkins said, "but I don't feel very wellto-day, and I have got such a headache that I can scarcely see what I amwriting."

  "Well, well," his superior said, somewhat mollified, "that will accountfor it. I thought at first that you must have been drinking. You hadbetter take your hat and be off. Go to the nearest chemist and take adose, and then go home and lie down. You are worse than of no use in thestate that you are. I hope that you will be all right in the morning,for we are, as you know, very busy at present, and cannot spare a hand.Tear up that draft and hand the will and instructio
ns to Mr. Macleod.The General will be down here at ten o'clock to-morrow to see it; he islike most military men, sharp and prompt, and when he wants a thing donehe expects to have it done at once."

  * * * * *

  "You are feeling better, I hope, this morning?" he said, when Dawkinscame into the office at the usual hour next day, "though I must say thatyou look far from well. Do you think that you are capable of work?"

  "I think so, sir; at any rate my head is better."

  It was true that the clerk did not look well, for he had had no sleepall night, but had tossed restlessly in bed, endeavoring, but in vain,to hit on some manner of extracting a portion of the legacy from theex-proprietor of the gambling house. The more he thought, the morehopeless seemed the prospect. John Simcoe was eminently a man whom itwould be unsafe to anger. The promptness and decision of his methods hadgained him at least the respect of all the frequenters of hisestablishment, and just as he had sternly kept order there, so he woulddeal with any individual who crossed his path. He held the best cards,too; and while a disclosure of the past could hardly injure himseriously, he had the means of causing the ruin and disgrace of Dawkinshimself, if he ventured to attack him.

  The clerk was himself shrewd in his own way, but he had the sense tofeel that he was no match for John Simcoe, and the conclusion that hefinally came to was that he must wait and watch events, and that, so faras he could see, his only chance of obtaining a penny of the legacy wasto follow implicitly the instructions Simcoe had given him, in whichcase possibly he might receive a present when the money was paid.

  * * * * *

  About a fortnight after he knew the will had been signed by GeneralMathieson, Simcoe went down to a small house on Pentonville Hill, whereone of the ablest criminals in London resided, passing unsuspected underthe eyes of the police in the character of a man engaged in business inthe City. A peculiar knock brought him to the door.

  "Ah, is it you, Simcoe?" he said; "why, I have not seen you for months.I did not know you for the moment, for you have taken all the hair offyour face."

  "I have made a change, Harrison. I have given up the billiard rooms, andam now a swell with lodgings in Jermyn Street."

  "That is a change! I thought you said the billiards and cards paid well;but I suppose you have got something better in view?"

  "They did pay well, but I have a very big thing in hand."

  "That is the right line to take up," the other said. "You were sure toget into trouble with the police about the card-playing before long, andthen the place would have been shut up, and you might have got threemonths; and when you got out the peelers would have kept their eyes uponyou, and your chances would have been at an end. No, I have never hadanything to do with small affairs; I go in, as you know, for big things.They take time to work out, it is true; and after all one's trouble,something may go wrong at the last moment, and the thing has to begiven up. Some girl who has been got at makes a fool of herself, andgets discharged a week before it comes off; or a lady takes it into herhead to send her jewels to a banker's, and go on to the Continent a weekearlier than she intended to do. Then there is a great loss in gettingrid of the stuff. Those sharps at Amsterdam don't give more than a fifthof the value for diamonds. It is a heart-rending game, on the whole; butthere is such excitement about the life that when one has once taken itup it is seldom indeed that one changes it, though one knows that,sooner or later, one is sure to make a slip and get caught. Now, whatwill you take? Champagne or brandy?"

  "I know that your brandy is first-rate, Harrison, and I will sample itagain."

  "I have often thought," went on the other, after the glasses had beenfilled and cigars lighted, "what a rum thing it was that you should comeacross my brother Bill out among the islands. He had not written to mefor a long time, and I had never expected to hear of him again. Ithought that he had gone down somehow, and had either been eaten bysharks or killed by the natives, or shot in some row with his mates. Hewas two years older than I was, and, as I have told you, we were sons ofa well-to-do auctioneer in the country; but he was a hard man, and wecould not stand it after a time, so we made a bolt for it. We weredecently dressed when we got to London. As we had been at a good schoolat home, and were both pretty sharp, we thought that we should have nodifficulty in getting work of some sort.

  "We had a hard time of it. No one would take us without a character, sowe got lower and lower, till we got to know some boys who took us towhat was called a thieves' kitchen--a place where boys were trained aspick-pockets. The old fellow who kept it saw that we were fit for highergame than was usual, and instead of being sent out to pick up what wecould get in the streets we were dressed as we had been before, and sentto picture-galleries and museums and cricket matches, and we soonbecame first-rate hands, and did well. In a short time we didn't see whywe should work for another man, and we left him without saying good-by.

  "It was not long before he paid us out. He knew that we should go on atthe same work, and dressed up two or three of his boys and sent them tothese places, and one day when Bill was just pocketing a watch at Lord'sone of these boys shouted out, 'Thief! thief! That boy has stolen yourwatch, sir,' and Bill got three months, though the boy could not appearagainst him, for I followed him after they had nabbed Bill, and prettynearly killed him.

  "Then I went on my travels, and was away two or three years from London.Bill had been out and in again twice; he was too rash altogether. I tookhim away with me, but I soon found that it would not do, and that itwould soon end in our both being shut up. So I put it fairly to him.

  "'We are good friends, you know, Bill,' I said, 'but it is plain to methat we can't work together with advantage. You are twenty and I ameighteen, but, as you have often said yourself, I have got the best headof the two. I am tired of this sort of work. When we get a gold ticker,worth perhaps twenty pounds, we can't get above two for it, and it isthe same with everything else. It is not good enough. We have been awayfrom London so long that old Isaacs must have forgotten all about us. Ihave not been copped yet, and as I have got about twenty pounds in mypocket I can take lodgings as a young chap who has come up to walk thehospitals, or something of that sort. If you like to live with me,quiet, we will work together; if not, it is best that we should each goour own way--always being friends, you know.'

  "Bill said that was fair enough, but that he liked a little life and tospend his money freely when he got it. So we separated. Bill got twomore convictions, and the last time it was a case of transportation. Wehad agreed between ourselves that if either of us got into trouble theother should call once a month at the house of a woman we knew to askfor letters, and I did that regularly after he was sent out. I got afew letters from him. The first was written after he had made hisescape. He told me that he intended to stay out there--it was a jollylife, and a free one, I expect. Pens and paper were not common where hewas; anyhow he only wrote once a year or so, and it was two years sinceI had heard from him when you wrote and said you had brought me amessage from Bill.

  "Ever since we parted I have gone on the same line, only I have workedcarefully. I was not a bad-looking chap, and hadn't much difficulty ingetting over servant girls and finding out where things were to be had,so I gradually got on. For years now I have only carried on big affairs,working the thing up and always employing other hands to carry the jobout. None of them know me here. I meet them at quiet pubs and arrangethings there, and I need hardly say that I am so disguised that none ofthe fellows who follow my orders would know me again if they met me inthe street. I could retire if I liked, and live in a villa and keep mycarriage. Why, I made five thousand pounds as my share of that bullionrobbery between London and Brussels. But I know that I should bemiserable without anything to do; as it is, I unite amusement withbusiness. I sometimes take a stall at the Opera, and occasionally I finda diamond necklace in my pocket when I get home. I know well enough thatit is foolish, but when I see a thing that I need only put
out my handto have, my old habit is too strong for me. Then I often walk into swellentertainments. You have only to be well got up, and to go rather late,so that the hostess has given up expecting arrivals and is occupied withher guests, and the flunky takes your hat without question, and you goupstairs and mix with the people. In that way you get to know as to thewomen who have the finest jewels, and have no difficulty in finding outtheir names. I have got hold of some very good things that way, butthough there would have been no difficulty in taking some of them at thetime, I never yielded to that temptation. In a crowded room one nevercan say whose eyes may happen to be looking in your direction.

  "I wonder that you never turned your thoughts that way. From what youhave told me of your doings abroad, I know that you are not squeamish inyour ideas, and with your appearance you ought to be able to go anywherewithout suspicion."

  "I am certainly not squeamish," Simcoe said, "but I have not had thetraining. One wants a little practice and to begin young, as you did, totry that game on. However, just at present I have a matter in hand thatwill set me up for life if it turns out well, but I shall want a littleassistance. In the first place I want to get hold of a man who couldmake one up well, and who, if I gave him a portrait, could turn me outso like the original that anyone who had only seen him casually wouldtake me for him."

  "There is a man down in Whitechapel who is the best hand in London atthat sort of thing. He is a downright artist. Several times when I havehad particular jobs in hand, inquiries I could not trust anyone else tomake, I have been to him, and when he has done with me and I have lookedin the glass there was not the slightest resemblance to my own face init. I suppose the man you want to represent is somewhere about your ownheight?"

  "Yes, I should say that he is as nearly as may be the same. He is anolder man than I am."

  "Oh, that is nothing! He could make you look eighty if you wanted it.Here is the man's address; his usual fee is a guinea, but, as you wantto be got up to resemble someone else, he might charge you double."

  "The fee is nothing," Simcoe said. "Then again, I may want to get holdof a man who is a good hand at imitating handwriting."

  "That is easy enough. Here is the address of a man who does little jobsfor me sometimes, and is, I think, the best hand at it in England. Yousee, sometimes there is in a house where you intend to operate someconfoundedly active and officious fellow--a butler or a footman--whomight interrupt proceedings. His master is in London, and he receives anote from him ordering him to come up to town with a dressing case,portmanteau, guns, or something of that kind, as may be suitable to thecase. I got a countess out of the way once by a messenger arriving onhorseback with a line from her husband, saying that he had met with anaccident in the hunting-field, and begging her to come to him. Of courseI have always previously managed to get specimens of handwriting, and myman imitates them so well that they have never once failed in theiraction. I will give you a line to him, saying that you are a friend ofmine. He knows me under the name of Sinclair. As a stranger you wouldhardly get him to act."

  "Of course, he is thoroughly trustworthy?" Simcoe asked.

  "I should not employ him if he were not," the other said. "He was awriting-master at one time, but took to drink, and went altogether tothe bad. He is always more or less drunk now, and you had better go tohim before ten o'clock in the morning. I don't say that he will be quitesober, but he will be less drunk than he will be later. As soon as hebegins to write he pulls himself together. He puts a watchmaker's glassin his eye and closely examines the writing that he has to imitate,writes a few lines to accustom himself to it, and then writes what he istold to do as quickly and as easily as if it were his own handwriting.He hands it over, takes his fee, which is two guineas, and then goes outto a public-house, and I don't believe that the next day he has theslightest remembrance of what he has written."

  "Thank you very much, Harrison; I think that, with the assistance ofthese two men, I shall be able to work the matter I have in hand withoutfear of a hitch."

  "Anything else I can do for you? You know that you can rely upon me,Simcoe. You were with poor Bill for six years, and you stood by him tothe last, when the natives rose and massacred the whites, and you gotBill off, and if he did die afterwards of his wounds, anyhow you didyour best to save him. So if I can help you I will do it, whatever itis, short of murder, and there is my hand on it. You know in any case Icould not round on you."

  "I will tell you the whole business, Harrison. I have thought the matterpretty well out, but I shall be very glad to have your opinion on it,and with your head you are like to see the thing in a clearer light thanI can, and may suggest a way out of some difficulties."

  He then unfolded the details of his scheme.

  "Very good!" the other said admiringly, when he had finished. "It doescredit to you, Simcoe. You risked your life, and, as you say, verynearly lost it to save the General's, and have some sort of a right tohave his money when he has done with it. Your plan of impersonating theGeneral and getting another lawyer to draw out a fresh will is a capitalone; and as you have a list of the bequests he made in his old one, youwill not only be able to strengthen the last will, but will disarm theopposition of those who would have benefited by the first, as no onewill suffer by the change. But how about the boy?"

  "The boy must be got out of the way somehow."

  "Not by foul play, I hope, Simcoe. I could not go with you there."

  "Certainly not. That idea never entered my mind; but surely there can beno difficulty in carrying off a child of that age. It only wants two todo that: one to engage the nurse in talk, the other to entice the childaway, pop him into a cab waiting hard by, and drive off with him."

  "I doubt whether the courts would hand over the property unless they hadsome absolute proof that the child was dead."

  "They would not do so for some time, no doubt, but evidence might bemanufactured. At any rate I could wait. They would probably carry outall the other provisions of the will, and with the ten thousand poundsand the three or four thousand I have saved I could hold on for a goodmany years."

  "How about the signature to the will?"

  "I can manage that much," Simcoe said. "I had some work in that wayyears ago, and I have been for the last three months practicing theGeneral's, and I think now that I can defy any expert to detect thedifference. Of course, it is a very different thing learning to imitatea signature and writing a long letter."

  The other agreed, and added, "I should be careful to employ a firm oflawyers of long standing. If you were to go to shady people it would initself cause suspicion."

  "Yes, I quite feel that, and I want, if possible, to get hold of peoplewho just know the General by sight, so as to have a fairly good idea ofhis face without knowing him too well. I think I know of one. At theclub the other day Colonel Bulstrode, a friend of the General's, said tohim, 'I wish you would drive round with me to my lawyers'; their placeis in the Temple. I want someone to sign as a witness to a deed, and asit is rather important, I would rather have it witnessed by a friendthan by one of the clerks. It won't take you a minute.'"

  "I should think that would do very well; they would not be likely tonotice him very particularly, and probably the General would not havespoken at all. He would just have seen his friend sign the deed, andthen have affixed his own signature as a witness. Well, everything seemsin your favor, and should you need any help you can rely upon me."