Helen Ford

He drew the lamp nearer and began to pore earnestly over the manuscript, occasionally scrawling with the pen which he held in his hand an imitation of some of the characters. It was a study for an artist,—those two men,—each determined upon a wrong deed for the sake of personal advantage. Lewis, with his cool, self-possessed manner, and the copyist, with his ignoble features and nervous eagerness, divided between the desire of gain and the fear of detection.

All this time a woman’s eye might have been seen peering through a slightly open door, and regarding with a careful glance all that was passing. The two men were so intent upon the work before them that she escaped their notice.

“Oho,” said she to herself, “there shall be a third in the secret which you fancy confined to yourselves. Who knows but it may turn out to my advantage, some day? I will stay and see the whole.”

She drew back silently, and took her position just behind the door, where nothing that was said could escape her.

Meanwhile Jacob, having satisfied himself that he could imitate the handwriting of the will, commenced the task of copying. Half an hour elapsed during which both parties preserved strict silence. At the end of that time the copyist, with a satisfied air, handed Lewis the manuscript he had completed. The latter compared the two with a critical eye. Everything, including the names of the witnesses, was wonderfully like. It was extremely difficult from the external appearance, to distinguish the original from the copy.

“You have done your work faithfully and well,” said Lewis, with evident satisfaction, “and deserve great credit. You are wonderfully skilful with the pen.”

The copyist rubbed his hands complacently.

“With this I think we need not fear detection. Here are the two hundred dollars which I promised you. The remainder is contingent on my getting the estate. I shall be faithful, in that event, to my part of the compact.”

Jacob bowed.

“It must be very late,” said Lewis, drawing out his watch. “I am sorry to have kept you up so late; but no doubt you feel paid. I must hasten back.”

He buttoned his coat, and went out into the street. A smile lighted up his dark features as he speculated upon the probable success of his plans. He felt not even a momentary compunction as he thought of the means he had employed or the object he had in view.

Meanwhile those whom he was conspiring to defraud were sleeping tranquilly.

CHAPTER V.

THE PETTIFOGGER

The legal profession numbers among its disciples a large class of honorable and high-minded men; and it also includes some needy adventurers well versed in the arts of pettifogging and chicanery, and willing, for a consideration, to throw over the most discreditable proceedings the mantle of the law, thus perverting, to the injury of the public, that which was intended for its principal safeguard.

Of this latter class was Richard Sharp, Banister, whose name might have been read on the door of an exceedingly dirty little office not far from Wall Street. Being under the necessity of introducing my reader to some acquaintances and localities not altogether desirable I must trouble him to enter Mr. Sharp’s office.

In the centre of the office stands a table covered with green baize. Scattered over it are diverse bundles tied with red tape, evidently intended to give the unsophisticated visitor the impression that Mr. Sharp’s business is in a most flourishing condition. Nevertheless, since the novelist is permitted to see farther into the shams which he describes than is accorded to others less privileged, it may be remarked that these identical bundles have lain upon the table with no other alteration than an occasional change of arrangement, ever since the office was opened.

The enterprising proprietor of the bundles aforesaid is smoking a cigar, while reading the Morning Herald, and occasionally glancing out of the window near by. His features would hardly justify the description of “beauty in repose,” being deeply pitted with smallpox, which is not usually thought to improve the appearance. His nose is large and spreading at the base. His hair is deeply, darkly, beautifully red, bristling like a cat’s fur when accidentally rubbed the wrong way. Add to these a long, scraggy neck, and the reader has a tolerable idea of Mr. Sharp as he sat in his office on the first day of October, 18—.

How long he would have sat thus, if uninterrupted, is uncertain. His meditations were broken in upon by a quick, imperative knock at the door. The effect upon Mr. Sharp was electrical. He sprang from his seat, tossed his cigar away, wheeled his chair round to the table, and drawing a blank legal form towards him, knit his brows and began to write as if life and death depended upon his haste. Meanwhile the visitor became impatient and rapped again, this time more imperatively.

“Come in,” called Mr. Sharp, in a deep bass voice, not raising his eyes from the paper on which his pen was now scratching furiously. “Take a seat; shall be at leisure in a moment,—full of business, you know,—can’t get a moment’s rest.”

When at length he found time to look up, he met the gaze of our recent acquaintance, Lewis Rand. The latter, who had penetration enough to see through the lawyer’s artifice, smiled a little derisively.

“It must be a satisfaction to you,” he said, rather dryly, “to find your services in such request.”

“Why, yes, ahem! yes,” said the lawyer, passing his fingers through his bristling locks. “It is a satisfaction as you say, though I confess,” he continued, with a dashing effrontery quite refreshing to contemplate, “that sometimes when my labors are protracted far into the night, I feel that business has its pains as well as pleasures, and cannot help wishing that–”

“That you had a partner to relieve you of a portion of your toils, you doubtless mean to say,” interrupted Lewis, with a quizzical smile; for he was quite aware that Mr. Sharp meant no such thing. “In that case I know the very man for you; a young man just entered at the bar, very promising, and bidding fair to distinguish himself in his profession. I should be happy to serve both you and him. When shall I introduce him?”

“Why,” said Sharp, in some embarrassment, for he knew to his cost that his business was quite too limited to support himself, much less a partner. “Why, you see, although my business is, as I said, very driving, I do not at present think of taking a partner. The fact is, I never enjoy myself more than when I am hard at work. It is an idiosyncrasy of mine, if I may so express myself.”

And Mr. Sharp looked up, thinking he had made a very clever evasion.

“When I do conclude to take a partner, which the increase of my business may at some time render absolutely necessary,” he added, graciously inclining his head, “I will certainly think of your friend. Your recommendation will be a sufficient guarantee of his ability.”

“I feel deeply indebted to you for the confidence you express in my judgment,” said Lewis, bowing, “particularly as I am a perfect stranger to you. Such instances are rarely met with in a world like ours.”

Mr. Sharp was not quite sure whether his visitor was not secretly bantering him. He thought it best, however, to construe his meaning literally.

“I am not usually hasty in bestowing my confidence, Mr.—your name escaped me.”

“I think I have not mentioned it.”

“O ho, ahem! perhaps not,” continued Mr. Sharp, finding his little artifice to obtain his visitor’s name ineffectual, “but as I was about to say, I seldom give my confidence without good reason. I am—I may say—somewhat skilled in physiognomy, and a cursory examination of the features is sufficient, in ordinary cases, to enable me to form an opinion of a person.”

Mr. Sharp was fertile in expedients, and had an abundant share of self-possession.

“Perhaps we had better proceed to business,” said Lewis, abruptly.

“Oh, by all means, sir, by all means?” returned Mr. Sharp, assuming a brisk tone at the prospect of a client. “As I before remarked, I never feel more completely in my element than when immersed in business. It is an–”

“If you will give me your attention for a few minutes,” pursued Lewis, unceremoniously interrupting him, “I will endeavor to explain the nature of the service I require.”

Mr. Sharp bent forward, and assumed an attitude of the most earnest attention. He nodded slightly, and screwed up his eyes, as if to intimate that he was about to concentrate all his mental energies upon the matter in hand.

“You must know,” said Lewis, slowly, “that there are two persons living in this city whose presence, in what way it is needless to specify, conflict very seriously with my interests. It is my wish to bring some motive to bear upon them which shall lead to their departure from the city.”

“I understand,” nodded Mr. Sharp, with an air of profound wisdom. “Go on, my good sir.”

“One difficulty, however, meets me at the outset,” continued Lewis; “I do not know in what part of the city the two persons–”

“Aforesaid,” prompted Mr. Sharp, nodding sagaciously.

“Live,” concluded Lewis, not heeding the interpolation; “nor have I any definite clew by which to find them.”

“Can you describe these persons to me so that I may be able to identify them?”

“That is not easy, since one of them I have never seen but once, and the other but once in fifteen years.”

Mr. Sharp looked a little puzzled.

“I can, however, tell you this much. One is a man of about forty, who appears somewhat older. The other, his daughter, is a girl of fourteen, or thereabouts. The former is a little absent in manner, or was formerly so; the little girl, I should judge, is attractive in her personal appearance.”

“When did you last meet them?” inquired the lawyer.

“One evening last week.”

“And where?”

“They were then leaning against the railing on the west side of the Park.”