The Red Derelict Part 24

"Was that before Wagram was born?"

"No; after. Not that it made any difference either way, because, of course, the marriage was void."

"You have no doubt whatever that he was her real husband?"

"She had no doubt. Poor thing! it killed her."

"And what became of the man?"

"I made it worth his while to leave the country, and on the way to New Zealand or Australia--I forget which--he was washed overboard, and never seen again. I was justified in believing him drowned, if only that he never troubled me again, which he would certainly have done otherwise."

"And he wasn't?"

"So he says. Read this," handing him the newspaper cutting narrating the rescue of the three castaways.

"And is this the man--Develin Hunt?"

The Squire nodded. "Funny, isn't it, that he should reappear in the same way as he went? Well, he has been here to blackmail me." And he told of the recent visitor and the proposed terms.

"People change a good deal in a matter of thirty years or so," said the prelate. "And you had no doubt as to this man's ident.i.ty?"

"Unfortunately, none. I didn't let him know that, though. I treated him politely, and as if I thought him a fraud of the first water, but it didn't seem to disconcert him. He has a trump card to throw down, for it is not merely a case of Wagram going out but--of who do you think coming in? Everard!"

"What?"

"Everard. He professes to know his whereabouts, declares that he has gone utterly to the bad. The fellow even dwelt upon the utter wreck that wretched boy would make of everything here in the event of establishing his claim."

To listen to the old man telling his tale in his easy, light, cynical tones you would have thought it concerned him not at all. But his friend saw deeper down than that; he knew that if this thing were to befall Grantley Wagram's days were numbered. Heavens! it was too awful!

And Wagram, whose love for his heritage was an obsession, and who was such a perfect steward of the great wealth entrusted to him--what would be the effect on him when he learnt that such heritage was reft from him at one blow--that he had no right even to the name he bore, nor his son after him? The prelate's face wore as gloomy a look as that of his friend.

"Of course, you must insist on this man furnishing you with every proof of his ident.i.ty," he said. "He can do that, of course?"

"The worst of it is I'm convinced in my heart of hearts as to his ident.i.ty. There was something out of the way about the fellow that even the lapse of time hasn't affected. I don't know quite what it is.

Perhaps it's his way of talking. Anyway, I'm sure of him."

"You can be sure of nothing in this world, Grantley--nothing that isn't a matter of faith, which, of course, sounds paradoxical. But in mundane matters such as this it isn't a question of faith but of hard, dry evidence, which for present purposes may be taken to mean: Can this man prove that he was validly and legally married to your first wife before you went through what we will, provisionally, and for the sake of argument, call the form of marriage with her?"

"And supposing he can't?"

"Then there's an end of the whole affair."

"Even if I am morally certain?" persisted the Squire, smiling sadly to himself as he remembered how, when they were youths at college together, he had delighted in putting every form of difficult and intricate case of conscience he could think of to the budding priest, who, for his part, had never shirked the challenge.

"Everything is to be ruled upon its own merits. Moral certainty in such a matter as this is nothing, and counts for nothing. We must have clear, authenticated, doc.u.mentary proof."

"I have often wondered," went on Grantley Wagram slowly, "how Everard could really be my son; there was a total absence about him of every sort of seeming relationship or affinity. Well, well, it is too late to dwell upon that now. Yet I gave him every chance, and he threw it from him. Did I not give him every chance?"

"You did indeed; you have nothing to reproach yourself with under that head."

"Then, as a matter of conscience, I am justified in resisting the claim _de haut en bas_? And I don't know who could be a better authority in that department than you, old friend."

"Absolutely and entirely you are. You can't as a juror conscientiously hang a man on moral certainty, you must have legal certainty--otherwise clear evidence. It's the same here. When you consider the enormous stake involved the principle of 'the benefit of the doubt' holds good more than ever."

"Knowing what I knew," resumed the Squire after a brief pause--"knew, or at any rate was morally certain of--I reckoned it my duty to make a second marriage, to obviate all possibility of Hilversea pa.s.sing to a distant and apostate branch of the family, which stands in no sort of need of it, by the way, being as well endowed with this world's goods as I am myself. How disadvantageous that second marriage turned out--well, you, old friend, will remember. And the only result spells--Everard.

Why, it might even be better for everything to go to the other branch than to him."

"So far as we have got it doesn't follow that it need go to either. You were saying something just now, Grantley, about your first wife being in possession of certificates proving this man's, Develin Hunt's, death.

Now, did you ever see anything of the sort attesting his marriage to her?"

"No; I never thought of it. No; I never saw any such certificate. The poor thing admitted that it had taken place; and that was enough for me, for it was a painful business, so I made it worth his while to clear out."

"You committed an error of judgment, Grantley, not only in failing to require such a certificate and establishing its genuineness, but also in omitting to inst.i.tute a thorough and searching inquiry into the antecedents of this Develin Hunt prior to the alleged marriage."

"You think, then, that such may not have been valid?"

"I am not in a position to think; I only know--we both know--that such things have happened. This man, you say, has led an adventurous life in various parts of the world. Who knows what experiences it may hold, any one of which would invalidate this alleged marriage, thereby rendering yours valid?"

"Ah-h!"

Grantley Wagram drew a long breath as he straightened himself up in his chair; his face lightened.

"In that case Wagram would be safe," he said.

"Safe as yourself; but it doesn't do to build too much on such an uncertain foundation. Still, what I should do in your place would be to take steps immediately to have this man's past traced. Of course, the lapse of years will have added enormously to the difficulties of the search, but by sparing no expense, and setting the right people to work, the thing ought to be feasible, I imagine."

"I had thought of some such plan myself; but two heads are better than one--by Jove, they are! I'll set to work about it directly; but meanwhile this fellow threatens to call round for his price."

"When?"

"In a few days, he said, whatever that may mean; and it's about a week ago now."

"Wait till he does call, then. But, of course, you won't pay him any 'price.' Give him rope instead--and plenty of it."

"Yes; I shall require the certificate of his marriage, and it will be easy to verify it, unless, of course, it took place out of England--then it will be more difficult."

"Not necessarily. It will take more time, and I don't know that that's altogether an unmixed evil--the gaining of time in an important and critical matter seldom is. By the way--er--I suppose Mrs Wagram never informed you where it had taken place?"

"No. You see, the whole thing came as more than something of a shock, and we agreed never to refer to it. Heavens! my working life was spent in defeating the wiles of the potential enemies of my country, and when it became a question of my own nearest affairs I seem to have acted the part of a very complete and unsophisticated idiot."

"Not an uncommon thing, my dear Grantley. I seem to remember more than one instance of an eminent judge or counsel whose will, drawn by himself, was productive of a fruitful crop of lawsuits. But now you have not got to let yourself get flurried or out of hand in the matter.

This man, from your account of him, seems to be a singularly confident and level-headed type of adventurer. If his position is as secure as he would have you believe, why, then, he can afford to play a waiting game, and will be too much of a man of the world to spoil his own play by hurrying yours. If he shows an unwillingness to play the said waiting game, why, then, I think he will be giving away his own hand, which in that case is sure to be weak."

"That's sound wisdom," said the Squire, "and I'll act upon it. I'll put it to him straight that, until I've had time to have inquiries made, I'll do nothing for him."

"Meanwhile don't give him a shilling."

"Oh no; certainly not. In any case I should never dream of embarking on that idiocy over again."

"I suppose you have let drop no hint of that matter to Wagram?"