CHAPTER III.
MR. DUMPHY MEETS AN OLD FRIEND.
Peter Dumphy was true to his client. A few days after he had returned toSan Francisco he dispatched a note to Victor, asking an interview. Hehad reasoned that, although Victor was vanquished and helpless regardingthe late discovery at One Horse Gulch, yet his complicity with Mrs.Conroy's earlier deceit might make it advisable that his recollection ofthat event should be effaced. He was waiting a reply when a card wasbrought to him by a clerk. Mr. Dumphy glanced at it impatiently, andread the name of "Arthur Poinsett." Autocrat as Dumphy was in his owncounting house and business circle, the name was one of such recognisedpower in California that he could not ignore its claims to hisattention. More than that, it represented a certain respectability andsocial elevation which Dumphy, with all his scepticism and democraticassertion, could not with characteristic shrewdness afford toundervalue. He said, "Show him in," without lifting his head from thepapers that lay upon his desk.
The door opened again to an elegant-looking young man, who loungedcarelessly into the awful presence without any of that awe with whichthe habitual business visitors approached Peter Dumphy. Indeed, it waspossible that never before had Mr. Dumphy's door opened to one who wasless affected by the great capitalist's reputation. Nevertheless, withthe natural ease of good breeding, after depositing his hat on thetable, he walked quietly to the fireplace, and stood with his backtoward it with courteous, but perhaps too indifferent patience. Mr.Dumphy was at last obliged to look up.
"Busy, I see," yawned Poinsett, with languid politeness. "Don't let medisturb you. I thought your man said you were disengaged. Must have madea mistake."
Mr. Dumphy was forced to lay aside his pen, and rise, inwardlyprotesting.
"You don't know me by my card. I have the advantage, I think," continuedthe young man with a smile, "even in the mere memory of faces. The lasttime I saw you was--let me see--five years ago. Yes! you were chewing ascrap of buffalo hide to keep yourself from starving."
"Philip Ashley!" said Mr. Dumphy in a low voice, looking hastily around,and drawing nearer the stranger.
"Precisely," returned Poinsett somewhat impatiently, raising his ownvoice. "That was my _nom de guerre_. But Dumphy seems to have been yourreal name after all."
If Dumphy had conceived any idea of embarrassing Poinsett by thesuggestion of an _alias_ in his case, he could have dismissed it afterthis half-contemptuous recognition of his own proper cognomen. But hehad no such idea. In spite of his utmost effort he felt himselfgradually falling into the same relative position--the same humblesubordination he had accepted five years before. It was useless to thinkof his wealth, of his power, of his surroundings. Here in his own bankparlour he was submissively waiting the will and pleasure of thisstranger. He made one more desperate attempt to regain his lostprestige.
"You have some business with me, eh? Poinsett!" He commenced thesentence with a dignity, and ended it with a familiarity equallyinefficacious.
"Of course," said Poinsett carelessly, shifting his legs before thefire. "Shouldn't have called otherwise on a man of such affairs at sucha time. You are interested, I hear, in a mine recently discovered at OneHorse Gulch on the Rancho of the Blessed Innocents. One of my clientsholds a grant, not yet confirmed, to the Rancho."
"Who?" said Mr. Dumphy quickly.
"I believe that is not important nor essential for you to know until wemake a formal claim," returned Arthur quietly, "but I don't mindsatisfying your curiosity. It's Miss Dolores Salvatierra."
Mr. Dumphy felt relieved, and began with gathering courage andbrusqueness, "That don't affect"----
"Your mining claim; not in the least," interrupted Arthur quietly, "I amnot here to press or urge any rights that we may have. We may not evensubmit the grant for patent. But my client would like to know somethingof the present tenants, or, if you will, owners. You represent them, Ithink? A man and wife. The woman appears first as a spinster, assumingto be a Miss Grace Conroy, to whom an alleged transfer of an allegedgrant was given. She next appears as the wife of one Gabriel Conroy, whois, I believe, an alleged brother of the alleged Miss Grace Conroy.You'll admit, I think, it's a pretty mixed business, and would make apretty bad showing in court. But this adjudicature we are not yetprepared to demand. What we want to know is this--and I came to you,Dumphy, as the man most able to tell us. Is the sister or the brotherreal--or are they both impostors? Is there a legal marriage? Of course_your_ legal interest is not jeopardised in any event."
Mr. Dumphy partly regained his audacity.
"_You_ ought to know--_you_ ran away with the real Grace Conroy," hesaid, putting his hands in his pockets.
"Did I? Then this is not she, if I understand you. Thanks! And thebrother"----
"Is Gabriel Conroy, if I know the man," said Dumphy shortly, feelingthat he had been entrapped into a tacit admission. "But why don't yousatisfy yourself?"
"You have been good enough to render it unnecessary," said Arthur, witha smile. "I do not doubt your word. I am, I trust, too much of a lawyerto doubt the witness I myself have summoned. But who is this woman?"
"The widow of Dr. Devarges."
"The _real_ thing?"
"Yes, unless Grace Conroy should lay claim to that title and privilege.The old man seems to have been pretty much divided in his property andaffections."
The shaft did not apparently reach Arthur, for whom it was probablyintended. He only said, "Have you legal evidence that she _is_ thewidow? If it were a fact, and a case of ill-treatment or hardship, whyit might abate the claim of my client, who is a rich woman, and whosesympathies are of course in favour of the real brother and real sister.By the way, there is another sister, isn't there?"
"Yes, a mere child."
"That's all. Thank you. I sha'n't trespass further upon your time.Good-day."
He had taken up his hat and was moving toward the door. Mr. Dumphy, whofelt that whatever might have been Poinsett's motives in this interview,he, Dumphy, had certainly gained nothing, determined to retrievehimself, if possible, by a stroke of audacity.
"One moment," he said, as Poinsett was carefully settling his hat overhis curls. "You know whether this girl is living or not. What has becomeof her?"
"But I don't," returned Poinsett calmly, "or I shouldn't come to _you_."
There was something about Poinsett's manner that prevented Dumphy fromputting him in the category of "all men," that both in his haste and hisdeliberation Mr. Dumphy was apt to say "were liars."
"When and where did you see her last?" he asked less curtly.
"I left her at a hunter's cabin near the North Fork while I went backfor help. I was too late. A relief party from the valley had alreadydiscovered the other dead. When I returned for Grace she wasgone--possibly with the relief party. I always supposed it was theexpedition that succoured you."
There was a pause, in which these two scamps looked at each other. Itwill be remembered that both had deceived the relief party in referenceto their connexions with the unfortunate dead. Neither believed,however, that the other was aware of the fact. But the inferior scampwas afraid to ask another question that might disclose his ownfalsehood; and the question which might have been an embarrassing one toArthur, and have changed his attitude toward Dumphy, remained unasked.Not knowing the reason of Dumphy's hesitation, Arthur was satisfied ofhis ignorance, and was still left the master. He nodded carelessly toDumphy and withdrew.
As he left the room he brushed against a short, thick-set man, who wasentering at the same moment. Some instinct of mutual repulsion causedthe two men to look at each other. Poinsett beheld a sallow face, that,in spite of its belonging to a square figure, seemed to have aconsumptive look; a face whose jaw was narrow and whose lips were alwayshalf-parted over white, large, and protruding teeth; a mouth thatapparently was always breathless--a mouth that Mr. Poinsett rememberedas the distinguishing and unpleasant feature of some one vaguely knownto him professionally. As the mouth gasped and parted further inrecognition, Poins
ett nodded carelessly in return, and attributing hisrepulsion to that extraordinary feature thought no more about it.
Not so the new-comer. He glanced suspiciously after Arthur and then atMr. Dumphy. The latter, who had recovered his presence of mind and hisold audacity, turned them instantly upon him.
"Well! What have you got to propose?" he said, with his usual curtformula.
"It is you have something to say; you sent for _me_," said his visitor.
"Yes. You left me to find out that there was another grant to that mine.What does all this mean, Ramirez?"
Victor raised his eyes and yellow fringes to the ceiling, and said, witha shrug--
"_Quien sabe?_ there are grants and grants!"
"So it seems. But I suppose you know that we have a title now betterthan any grant--a mineral discovery."
Victor bowed and answered with his teeth, "_We_, eh?"
"Yes, I am getting up a company for her husband."
"Her husband--good!"
Dumphy looked at his accomplice keenly. There was something in Victor'smanner that was vaguely suspicious. Dumphy, who was one of those men towhose courage the habit of success in all things was essential, had beena little shaken by his signal defeat in his interview with Poinsett, andnow became irritable.
"Yes--her husband. What have you got to propose about it, eh? Nothing?Well, look here, I sent for you to say that as everything now is legaland square, you might as well dry up in regard to her former relationsor your first scheme. You sabe?" Dumphy became slangy as he lost hisself-control. "You are to know nothing about Miss Grace Conroy."
"And there is no more any sister, eh--only a wife?"
"Exactly."
"So."
"You will of course get something for these preliminary steps of yours,although you understand they have been useless, and that your claim isvirtually dead. You are, in fact, in no way connected with her presentsuccess. Unless--unless," added Dumphy, with a gratuitous malice thatdefeat had engendered, "unless you expect something for having been themeans of making a match between her and Gabriel."
Victor turned a little more yellow in the thin line over his teeth. "Ha!ha! good--a joke," he laughed. "No, I make no charge to you for that;not even to you. No--ha! ha!" At the same moment had Mr. Dumphy knownwhat was passing in his mind he would have probably moved a littlenearer the door of his counting-room.
"There's nothing we can pay you for but silence. We may as wellunderstand each other regarding that. That's your interest; it's oursonly so far as Mrs. Conroy's social standing is concerned, for I warnyou that exposure might seriously compromise you in a business way,while it would not hurt us. I could get the value of Gabriel's claim tothe mine advanced to-morrow, if the whole story were known to-night. Ifyou remember, the only evidence of a previous discovery exists in apaper in our possession. Perhaps we pay you for that. Consider it so, ifyou like. Consider also that any attempt to get hold of it legally orotherwise would end in its destruction. Well, what do you say? Allright. When the stock is issued I'll write you a cheque: or perhapsyou'd take a share of stock?"
"I would prefer the money," said Victor, with a peculiar laugh.
Dumphy affected to take no notice of the sarcasm. "Your head is level,Victor," he said, returning to his papers. "Don't meddle with stocks.Good day!"
Victor moved toward the door. "By the way, Victor," said Dumphy, lookingup, calmly, "if you know the owner of this lately discovered grant, youmight intimate that any litigation wouldn't pay. That's what I toldtheir counsel a moment ago."
"Poinsett?" asked Victor, pausing, with his hand on the door.
"Yes! But as he also happens to be Philip Ashley--the chap who ran offwith Grace Conroy, you had better go and see him. Perhaps he can helpyou better than I. Good day."
And, turning from the petrified Victor, Mr. Dumphy, conscious that hehad fully regained his prestige, rang his bell to admit the nextvisitor.