Ovington's Bank Part 53

"Gone to the India House this--" he looked at his watch--"this half-hour, to complete. He had to drop seven per cent. for cash on the nail--that, of course! But he got six thousand odd in Bank paper, and five thou. in gold, and I'm d.a.m.ned if any one else would have got that to-day, though the stuff he had was as good as the ready in ordinary times. My partner's gone with him to Leadenhall Street to complete--glad to oblige you, for G.o.d knows how many clients we shall have left after this--and they've a hackney coach waiting in Bishopsgate and an officer to see them to it. You may catch him at the India House, or he may be gone. He's not one to let the gra.s.s grow under his feet. In that case----"

"Send a clerk with me to show me the Office!" Clement cried. "It's urgent, man, urgent! And I don't know my way inside the House. I must catch him."

"Well, with so much money--here, Nicky!" The broker stepped aside to make room for a client who came up the stairs three at a time. "Nicky, go with this gentleman! Show him the way to the India House. Transfer Office--Letter G! Sharp's the word. Don't lose time.--Coming! Coming!"

to some one in the office. "My compliments to your father. He's one of the lucky ones, for I suppose this will see you through. It's Boulogne or this--" he made as if he held a pistol to his head--"for more than I care to think of!"

But Clement had not waited to hear the last words. He was half-way down the stairs with his hand on the boy's collar. They plunged into Cornhill, but the lad, a London-bred urchin, did not condescend to the street for more than twenty yards or so. Then he dived into a court on the same side of the way, crossed it, threaded a private pa.s.sage through some offices, and came out in Bishopsgate Street. Stemming the crowd as best they could they crossed this, and by another alley and more offices the lad convoyed his charge into Leadenhall Street. A last rush saw them landed, panting and with their coats wellnigh torn from their backs, on the pavement on the south side of the street, in front of the pillared entrance, and beneath the colossal Britannia that, far above their heads and flanked by figures of Europe and Asia, presided over the fortunes of the greatest trading company that the world has ever seen. Through the doors of that building--now, alas, no more--had pa.s.sed all the creators of an oriental empire, statesmen, soldiers, merchant princes, Clive, Lawrence, Warren Hastings, Cornwallis. Yet to-day, the mention of it calls up as often the humble figure of a black-coated white-cravated clerk with spindle legs and a big head, who worked within its walls and whom Clement, had he called a few months earlier, might have met coming from his desk.

Here Clement, had he been without a guide, would have wasted precious minutes. But the place had no mysteries for the boy, even on this day of confusion and alarm. Skilled in every twist and turning, he knew no doubt. "This way," he snapped, hurrying down a long pa.s.sage which faced the entrance, and appeared to penetrate into the bowels of the building. Then, "No! Not that way, stupid! What are you doing?"

But Clement's eyes, as he followed, had caught sight of a party of three, who, issuing from a corridor on the right at a considerable distance before them, had as quickly disappeared down another corridor on the left. The light was not good, but Clement had recognized one of them, and "There he is!" he cried. "He has gone down there! Where does that lead to?"

"Lime Street entrance!" the lad replied curtly, and galloped after the party, Clement at his heels. "Hurry!" he threw over his shoulder, "or they'll be out, and, by gum, you'll lose him! Once out and we're done, sir!"

They reached the turning the others had taken and ran down it. The distance was but short, but it was long enough to enable Clement to collect his wits, and to wonder, while he prepared himself for the encounter that impended, how Arthur would bear himself at the moment of discovery. Fortunately, the party pursued had paused for an instant in the east vestibule before committing themselves to the street, and that instant was fatal to them. "Bourdillon!" Clement cried, raising his voice. "Hi! Bourdillon!"

Arthur turned as if he had been struck, saw him and stared, his mouth agape. "The devil!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

But to Clement's surprise his face betrayed neither the guilt nor the fear which he had expected to see, but only amazement that the other should be there--and some annoyance. "You?" he said. "What the devil are you doing here? What joke is this? Did your father think that I could not be trusted to see things through? Or that you were likely to do better?"

"I want a word with you," said Clement. He was in no mood to mince matters.

"But why are you here?" with rising anger. "Why have you come after me? What's up?"

"I'll tell you, if you'll step aside."

"You can tell me on the coach, then, for I have no time to lose now. I mean to catch the three o'clock coach, and----"

"No!" Clement said firmly. "I must speak to you here."

But on that the broker interposed, his watch in his hand, "Anyway, I can stop," he said. "Who is this gentleman?"

"Mr. Ovington, junior," Arthur said, with something of a sneer. "I don't know what he has come up for, but----"

"But, at any rate, he'll see you safe to the coach," the other rejoined. "And I must be off. I give you joy of it, Mr. Bourdillon.

Fine work! Fine work, by Jove! And I shall tell Mr. Ovington so when I see him. You're a marvel! My compliments to your father, young gentleman," addressing Clement. "Glad to have met you, but I can't stay now. Fifty things to do, and no time to do 'em in. The world's upside down to-day. Good morning! Good morning!" With a wave of the hand, his watch in the other, he turned on his heel and strode back towards the main entrance.

The two looked at one another and the third, who made up the party, a burly man in a red waistcoat and a curly-brimmed Regency hat, surveyed them both. "Well, I'm hanged," Arthur exclaimed, reverting sourly to his first surprise. "Is everybody mad? Must you all come to town? I should have thought that you'd have had enough to do at the bank without this! But as you must----" then to the officer, who was carrying a small leather valise, the duplicate of one which Arthur held in his hand--"wait a minute, will you? And keep an eye on us. We shall not be a minute. Now," drawing Clement into a corner of the lodge, five or six paces away, where, though a stream of people continually brushed by them, they could talk with some degree of privacy. "What is it, man? What is it? What has bought you up? And how the deuce have you come to be here--by this time?"

"I posted."

"Posted? From Aldersbury? In heaven's name, why? Why, man?"

Clement pointed to the bag. "To take that over," he said.

"This? Take this over?" Arthur turned a deep red. "What--what the devil do you mean, man?"

"You ought to know."

"I?"

"Yes, you," Clement retorted, his temper rising. "It's stolen property, if you will have it." And he braced himself for the fray.

"Stolen property?"

"Just that. And my father has commissioned me to take charge of it, and to restore it to its owner. Now you know."

For one moment the handsome face, looking into his, lost some of its color. But the next, Arthur recovered himself, the blood flowed back to his cheeks, he laughed aloud, laughed in defiance. "Why, you--you fool!" he replied, in bitter contempt, "I don't know what you are talking about. Your father--your father has sent you?"

"It's no good, Bourdillon," Clement answered. "It's all known.

I've seen the Squire. He missed the certificates yesterday afternoon--almost as soon as you were gone. He sent for you, I went over, and he knows all."

He thought that that would finish the matter. To his astonishment Arthur only laughed afresh. "Knows all, does he?" he replied. "Well, what of it? And he found out through you, did he? Then a pretty fool you were to put your oar in! To go to him, or see him, or talk to him!

Why, man," with bravado, though Clement fancied that his eyes wavered and that the brag began to ring false, "what have I done? Borrowed his money for a month, that's all! Taken a loan of it for a month or two--and for what? Why, to save your father and you and the whole lot of us. Ay, and half Aldersbury from ruin! I did it and I'd do it again! And he knows it, does he? Through your d--d interfering folly, who could not keep your mouth shut, eh! Well, if he does, what then?

What can he do, simpleton?"

"That's to be seen."

"Nothing! Nothing, I tell you! He signed the transfer, signed it with his own hand, and he can't deny it. The rest is just his word against mine."

"No, it's Miss Griffin's, too," Clement said, marvelling at the other's att.i.tude and his audacity--if audacity it could be called.

But Arthur, though he had been far from expecting a speedy discovery, had long ago made up his mind as to the risk he ran. And naturally he had considered the line he would take in the event of detection. He was not unprepared, therefore, even for Clement's rejoinder, and, "Miss Griffin?" he retorted, contemptuously, "Do you think that she will give evidence against me? Or he--against a Griffin? Why, you b.o.o.by, instead of talking and wasting time here, you ought to be down on your knees thanking me--you and your father! Thanking me, by heaven, for saving you and your bank, and taking all the risk myself!

It would have been long before you'd have done it, my lad, I'll answer for that!"

"I hope so," Clement replied with biting emphasis. "And you may understand at once that we don't like your way, and are not going to be saved your way. We are not going to have any part or share in robbing your uncle--see! If we are going to be ruined, we are going to be ruined with clean hands! No, it's no good looking at me like that, Bourdillon. I may be a fool in the bank, and you may call me what names you like. But I am your match here, and I am going to take possession of that money."

"Do you think, then," furiously, "that I am going to run away with it?"

"I don't know," Clement rejoined. "I am not going to give you the chance. I am going to take it over and return it to the owner; it will not go near our bank. I have my father's authority for acting as I am acting, and I am going to carry out his directions."

"And he's going to fail? To rob hundreds instead of borrowing from one money that you know will be returned--returned with interest in a month? You fool! You fool!" with savage scorn. "That's your virtue, is it? That's your honesty that you brag so much about? Your clean hands?

You'll rob Aldersbury right and left, bring half the town to beggary, strip the widow and the orphan, and put on a smug face! 'All honest and above board, my lord!' when you might save all at no risk by borrowing this money for a month. Why, you make me sick! Sick!" Arthur repeated, with an indignation that went far to prove that this really was his opinion, and that he did honestly see the thing in that light.

"But you are not going to do it. You shall not do it," he continued, defiantly. "I'll see you--somewhere else first! You'll not touch a penny of this money until I choose, and that will not be until I have seen your father. If I can't persuade you I think I can persuade him!"

"You'll not have the chance!" Clement retorted. He was very angry by now, for some of the shafts which the other had loosed had found their mark. "You'll hand it over to me, and now!"

"Not a penny!"

"Then you'll take the consequences," was Clement's reply. "For as heaven sees me, I shall give you in charge, and you will go to Bow Street. The officer is here. I shall tell him the facts, and you know best what the result will be. You can choose, Bourdillon, but that is my last word."

Arthur stared. "You are mad!" he cried. "Mad!" But he was taken aback at last. His voice shook, and the color had left his cheeks.

"No, I am not mad. But we will not be your accomplices. That is all.

That is the bed-rock of it," Clement continued. "I give you two minutes to make up your mind." He took out his watch.

Rage and alarm do not better a man's looks, and Arthur's handsome face was ugly enough now, had Clement looked at it. Two pa.s.sions contended in him: rage at the thought that one whom he had often out-man[oe]uvred and always despised should dare to threaten and thwart him; and fear--fear of the gulf that he saw gaping suddenly at his feet. For he could not close his eyes, bold and self-confident as he was, to the danger. He saw that if Clement said the word and made the thing public, his position would be perilous; and if his uncle proved obdurate, it might be desperate. His lips framed words of defiance, and he longed to utter them; but he did not utter them. Had they been alone, it had been another matter! But they were not alone; the Bow Street man, idly inquisitive, was watching him, and a stream of people, immersed each in his own perplexities, and unconscious of the tragedy at his elbow, was continually brushing by them.