CHAPTER XXIV.
A FATEFUL DECISION.
Nevill paused, latch-key in hand; a cautious impulse checked theadmission of his identity. The individual who had accosted him, seen bythe glow of a distant street-lamp, was thickset and rakish-looking, witha heavy mustache. He repeated his question uneasily.
"If I've made a mistake--" he went on.
"No, you are not mistaken," said Nevill. "But how did you learn my name,and what do you want with me?"
On a natural impulse, fancying he recognized a racing tipster who hadbeen of service to him in the past, he reached for his pocket; thejingling of coin was heard.
"Stow that--I'm not a beggar!" the man said, sharply.
"I beg your pardon! I thought I recalled--"
"We never met before, Mr. Nevill."
"Then it's a queer time of night for a stranger to hunt me up. If youhave business with me, come in the morning; or, better still, write tome."
"I've got to talk to you to-night, sir, and I ain't to be put off. Fortwo blessed hours I've been hanging around this house, watching an'waiting--"
"A sad waste of time! You are an impudent fellow, whoever you are. Irefuse to have anything to do with you."
"I think you'll change your mind, sir. If you don't you'll be sorry tillyour dying day."
"You scoundrel, do you dare to threaten me?" cried Nevill. "There isonly one remedy for ruffians of your kind--" He looked up and down thestreet in search of a policeman.
"You can call an officer if you like," the man said, scornfully; "or, ifyou choose to order me away, I'll go. But in that case," he bent nearerand dropped his voice to a whisper, "I'll take my secret straight to SirLucius Chesney. And I'll warrant _he_ won't refuse to hear it."
Nevill's countenance changed, and he seemed to wilt instantly.
"Your secret?" he muttered. "Are you telling the truth? What is it?"
"Do you suppose I'm going to give that away here in the street? It's aprivate matter, and can only be told under shelter, where there ain't nodanger of eavesdroppers."
"I'll trust you," replied Nevill, after a brief hesitation. "Come, youshall go to my rooms. But I warn you in advance that if you are playinga game of blackmail I'll have no mercy on you."
"I won't ask none. Don't you fear."
Nevill opened the house door, and the two went softly up the dimly litstaircase. The gas-lamps were turned on, revealing the luxuries of thefront apartment, and the visitor looked about him with bewilderedadmiration; he seemed to feel his unfitness for the place, andinstinctively buttoned his coat over his shabby linen. But that was onlyfor a moment. With an insolent smile he took possession of abasket-chair, helped himself to a cigar, and poured some brandy from a_carafe_ into a glass. Meanwhile Nevill had drawn the window curtains,and when he turned around he had hard work to restrain his anger.
"What the devil--," he began, and broke off. "You are the cheekiestfellow I ever came across," he added.
"It ain't often," replied the man, puffing away contentedly, "that I geta chance to try a swell's tobacco and liquor. That's prime stuff, sir. Ifeel more like talking now."
"Then be quick about it. What is your business? And as you have theadvantage of me at present, it would be better if you began by statingyour name."
"My name," the man paused half a second, "is Timmins--Joe Timmins. Itain't likely that you--"
"No; I never heard it," Nevill interrupted. He sat down at the otherside of the table, and endeavored to hide his anxiety and impatience."I can't spare you much time," he added.
"Sure there ain't nobody within earshot?"
"Quite sure. Make your mind easy."
Mr. Joe Timmins--_alias_ Noah Hawker--expressed his satisfaction bya nod. He produced a paper from his pocket, and slowly unfolded it.
"If you will kindly read that," he said.
Nevill took the document curiously. It consisted of half a dozen pagesof writing, well-worded and grammatical, but done by a wretched,scrawling hand, and embellished with numerous blots and smudges. Fromthe first he grasped its import, and as he read on to the end his facegrew pale and his hands shook. With a curse he started to his feet andmade a step toward the grate, where the embers of a coal fire lingered.Then, dropping down again, he laughed bitterly.
"Of course this is only a copy?" he exclaimed.
"That's all, sir," replied Mr. Timmins, with a grim smile. "It ain'tlikely I'd been fool enough to bring the original here. I did the copymyself, an' though I ain't much of a scholar, I do say as it reads forwhat it's meant to be, word for word."
"I want better proof than this, my man."
"Ain't you satisfied? Look at the date of the letter, an' where it waswritten, an' what it says. Could I invent such a thing?"
"No; you couldn't," Nevill admitted. "You have the original letter, yousay?"
"I've had that and other papers for years, hid away in a safe place,which is where they lie now. It's only lately I looked into them deep,so to speak, and saw what they might be worth to me. I studied them,sir, and by putting things together I found there were three personsconcerned--three chances for me to try."
"You are a cunning fellow," said Nevill. "Why did you bring the letterto me?"
"Because it pointed that way. I knew you were the biggest bird, and theone most likely to pay me for my secret. It was quite a different matterwith the others--"
"You haven't seen them?"
"No fear!" Mr. Timmins answered, emphatically. "I spotted you as my manfrom the first, and I'm glad you've got the sense to look at it right.I hope we understand each other."
"I don't think there can be much doubt about that," replied Nevill,whose quick mind had grasped the situation in all its bearings; herealized that there was no alternative--save ruin--but to submit to thescoundrel's terms. But the bargain must be made as easy as possible.
"I must know more than you have told me," he went on. "How did theletter come into your possession? And why have you waited more than fiveyears to make use of it?"
Mr. Timmins was not averse to answering the questions. He pulled hischair closer, and in low tones spoke for some minutes, revealing allthat Nevill wished to know, and much besides that was of interest.
"You'll find me a square-dealing customer," he concluded, "and I expectthe same of a gent like you."
Nevill shrank from him with ill-concealed disgust and repulsion; contactwith the lower depths of crime affected his aristocratic sensibilities.
"You swear that you have all the papers?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And they are in a safe place?"
"If I was to drop over dead, sir, they wouldn't be found in a hundredyears."
"We'll proceed to the next question," Nevill said, abruptly. "To speakwith brutal frankness, Mr. Timmins, what is your price?"
"One thousand pounds in cash, when the papers are handed over," was theprompt reply, "and a signed agreement to pay me as much more when youcome into--"
"Do you take me for a millionaire?" cried Nevill. "It's all right aboutthe agreement, but a thousand pounds is utterly beyond my means. Say twohundred."
Mr. Timmins shook his head, and glanced significantly about the room.
"I can't take a shilling less," he firmly replied. "I know a good thingwhen I have it, sir."
Nevill temporized. He argued and entreated, but without avail. He had aninflexible customer to deal with, who would not be put off with anythingbut his pound of flesh. A decision that night was impossible, andarrangements were made for another meeting within a few days. Then Mr.Timmins filled his pocket with cigars and took his leave.
Nevill let him out into Jermyn street, locked the door, and returnedto his sitting-room. His face was distorted with evil passions, and hespilled the brandy on the table as he poured some into a glass.
"Curse him!" he said, hoarsely. "_He_ again! Is he destined to blast mylife and ruin my prospects?"
* * * * *
The "do" at Joubert
Mansions, Chelsea, by no means fell short of Jack'sforecast; on the contrary, it exceeded it. His memory failed him as towhat transpired after three in the morning; he woke at noon in a strangebed, with a sense of overmastering languor, and a head that felt too bigfor his body. Vance Dickens, with a palette on his thumb, was standingover him. He laughed till the roof threatened to come off.
"I wish you could see yourself," he howled. "It's not exactly theawakening of Venus. You _wouldn't_ be undressed, so we had to tuck youaway as you were--some chaps helped to bring you here."
"You beggar!" growled Jack. "You look as fresh as a new penny."
"Two whiskies is my limit, old boy--I don't go beyond it. And I hada page black-and-white to do to-day. Stir yourself, and we'll havebreakfast. The kettle is boiling. Wait--I'll bring you a pick-me-up."
The pick-me-up, compounded on the principle that like cures like, didnot belie its name. It got Jack to his feet and soothed his head. Thetwo men were about of a size, and Dickens loaned his friend a shirt andcollar and a tweed suit, promising to send his dress clothes home by atrusty messenger.
"No; I'll attend to that," demurred Jack, who did not care to tell wherehe lived.
He nibbled at his breakfast, drank four cups of strong tea, and thensauntered to the window. It was drizzling rain, and the streets betweenthe river and the King's road were wrapped in a white mist.
"This sort of thing won't do," he reflected. "I must pull up short, orI'll be a complete wreck." He remembered the brief, sad note--with morelove than bitterness in it--which he had received from Madge in reply tohis letter of explanation. "I owe something to her," he thought. "Sheforgave me, and begged me to face the future bravely. And, by heavens,I'll do it! I hope she doesn't know the life I've been leading since Icame back. Work is the thing, and I'll buckle down to it again."
Fired by his new resolve, Jack settled himself in a cozy corner andlighted a pipe. With a stimulating interest he watched Dickens, who hadfinished his black-and-white, and was doing a water color from a sketchmade that summer at Walberswick, a quaint fishing village on the Suffolkcoast. He blobbed on the paint, working spasmodically, and occasionallyhe refreshed himself at the piano with a verse of the latest popularsong.
"By Jove, this is Friday!" he said suddenly; "and I'm due at the LondonSketch Club to-night. Will you come there and have supper with me atnine?"
"Sorry, but I can't," Jack replied, remembering his promise to SirLucius Chesney. "I'm off now. I'll drop in to-morrow and get mydress-suit--don't trouble to send it."
Dickens vainly urged a change of mind. Jack was not to be coerced, and,putting on a borrowed cap and overcoat, he left the studio. He walked toSloane square, and took a train to the Temple; but he was so absorbedin a paper that he was carried past his station. He got out atBlackfriars, and lingered doubtfully on the greasy pavement, staring atthe sea of traffic surging in the thick, yellow fog. He had reachedanother turning-point in his life, but he did not know it.
"I'll go to the 'Cheese,'" he decided, "and have some supper."