The Ivory Gate, a new edition

'Go on to the next point.'

'Well – it is just this. I'll help you both – Athelstan as well as you – yes – I'll help Athelstan. Hang the fellow! Why couldn't he stay at Camberwell? Who cares about him and his bad company, if he keeps himself out of people's way? Now, then. Let me have back the money. You haven't drawn anything out of the Bank. Give me the papers. Then I'll square it with my brother. I will advance you a hundred or two: you shall go clear out of the country, and never come back again. And then, though it's compounding a felony, we'll just put everything back again, and say nothing more about it.'

'Oh! That is very good of you.'

'Yes, I know. But I want to make things easy. I don't want a beastly row and a scandal. As for Athelstan, I shouldn't know the fellow if I ever saw him. I hardly remember him. But for you I've always had a liking, until these little events happened.'

'Very good, indeed, of you.'

'When the thing came out, I said to Lady Dering. "My dear," I said, "I'm very sorry for your sister, because it will vex her more than a bit. The engagement, of course, will be broken off; but we must not have a scandal. We cannot afford it. We can not" – he smiled – "we are positively not rich enough. Only the very richest people can afford to have such a scandal. I will try and get things squared," I said, "for all our sakes." That is what I said to Lady Dering. Now, be persuaded. Do the right thing. Tell Athelstan what I have told you. The warrant for the arrest of the man Edmund Gray will be issued to-morrow, I suppose, or next day. After that, nothing can save you.'

'Nothing can save me,' George repeated. 'Is that all you came to say, Sir Samuel?'

'That is all. A clean breast is all we ask.'

'Then, Sir Samuel' – George rose and took a bundle of papers from the table – 'let us find my Partner. You shall hear what I have to say.'

'Ah! that's right – that's sensible. I knew that you would be open to reason. Come. He is sure to be alone at this early hour. Come at once.'

They went out together. The clerks noted their faces full of 'business,' as we poetically put it – matters of buying and selling being notoriously of the highest importance conceivable. Evidently something very serious indeed had passed. But the chief personage still held up his head. 'Game, sir, game to the last. But there will be a bolt.'

Mr. Dering was in his usual place, before the letters, which were still unopened. He looked ill, worn, and worried.

'Brother,' said Sir Samuel, 'I bring you a young gentleman who has a communication to make of great importance.'

'Is it about this case? Have you – at last found out something?' The tone, the words, suggested extreme irritability.

'I fear not. You know, I believe, all that we have found out. But now,' said Sir Samuel, rubbing his hands – 'now comes the long-expected – '

George interrupted – 'What I have to say will not take long. I hear from Sir Samuel that he and Checkley between them have got up a case which involves me in these forgeries.'

'Quite right,' said Sir Samuel. 'Involves you inextricably.'

'And that things have gone so far that I am about to be arrested, tried, and convicted. Which he rightly thinks will be a great scandal. So it will – so it certainly will. He therefore proposes that I should make a clean breast of the whole business, and give back the stolen bonds. I am sorry that I cannot do this, for a very simple reason – namely, that there is nothing to confess. But there is one thing that I must do. You placed the case in my hands – '

'I did. I asked you to find out. I have brought no charge against you. Have you found out?'

Mr. Dering spoke like a schoolmaster in one of his least amiable moods.

'It is a very improper thing for a person accused of a crime to be engaged in detecting it. So I resign the case – there are the papers. You had better go to some solicitor accustomed to this kind of work.'

'Stuff and rubbish!' cried Mr. Dering.

'Sir, you have deceived me.' Sir Samuel's face was gradually resuming its normal length. 'You promised to confess, and you have not. You as good as confessed just now. – This man is clearly, unmistakably guilty,' he added, turning to his brother.

'I have not asked you, my Partner,' Mr. Dering added, more softly, 'to give up the case. I have heard what is said. I have observed that the so-called case is built up entirely on conjecture.'

'No – no,' said Sir Samuel. 'It is a sound structure, complete in every part.'

'And there is nothing as yet to connect any man with the thing – not even the man Edmund Gray.'

'Quite wrong – quite wrong,' said Sir Samuel. 'In the City, we may not be lawyers, but we understand evidence.'

'I cannot choose but give up the case,' George replied. 'Consider. Already Mrs. Arundel has requested her daughter to break off her engagement; I am forbidden the house; Elsie has left her mother and gone to her brother. No, sir – take the papers, and give them to some other person.'

Mr. Dering mechanically took the papers, and laid his hand upon them.

'Let me remind you,' George continued, 'how far we have got. We have proved that Edmund Gray is a real person, known to many. We have not proved the connection between him and the robberies committed in his name. He is apparently a most respectable person. The problem before you is still to fix the crime on someone. I shall be glad to hear that it has been successfully solved.'

'Glad?' asked Sir Samuel. 'You will be glad? This is amazing!'

'Eight years ago, Mr. Dering, another man stood here, and was accused of a similar crime. He refused to stay in the house under such a charge. That was foolish. Time has established his innocence. I shall stay. I am your Partner. The Partnership can only be dissolved by mutual consent. I remain.'

Mr. Dering laid his head upon his hand and sighed. 'I believe I shall be driven mad before long with this business,' he said querulously. He had lost something of his decision of speech. 'Well, I will give the case to somebody else. Meantime, look here. Tell me how these things came here.'

The 'things' were two envelopes containing letters. They were addressed to Edmund Gray, and had been opened. One of them was George's own note inviting him to call. The other was the letter from the Manager of the Bank asking for other references.

'How did they get here?' asked Mr. Dering again.

'Had you not better ask Checkley?' George rang the bell.

'I found these on the top of my letters, Checkley,' said Mr. Dering. 'You were the first in the room. You put the letters on the table. I found them on the top of the heap. Nobody had been in the room except you and me. You must have put them there.'

Checkley looked at the envelopes, and began to tremble. 'I don't know,' he said. 'I put the letters on the table. They were not among them. Somebody must have put them there' – he looked at the new Partner – 'some friend of Mr. Edmund Gray, between the time that I left the room and the time when you came.'

'I entered the room,' Mr. Dering replied, 'as you were leaving it.'

'Observe,' said George, 'that in the whole conduct of this business there has been one man engaged who has control of the letters. That man – the only man in the office – is, I believe, the man before us – your clerk – Checkley.'

'How came the letters here?' Mr. Dering repeated angrily.

'I don't know,' answered Checkley. 'He' – indicating George – 'must have put them there.'

'The Devil is in the office, I believe. How do things come here? How do they vanish? Who put the notes in the safe? Who took the certificates out of the safe? All you can do is to stand and accuse each other. What good are you – any of you? Find out. Find out. Yesterday, there was a handbill about Edmund Gray in the safe. The day before there was a handful of Socialist tracts on the letters. Find out, I say.'

'Give the things to detectives,' said George.

'Let me take the case in hand, brother.' Sir Samuel laid hands on the papers. 'I flatter myself that I will very soon have the fellow under lock and key. And then, sir' – he turned to George – 'scandal or no scandal, there shall be no pity – no mercy – none.'

George laughed. 'Well, Sir Samuel, in a fortnight or so I shall call myself your brother-in-law. Till then, farewell.' He left the office and returned to his own room, the ripple of the laughter still upon his lips and in his eyes, so that the clerks marvelled, and the faith of those who believed in him was strengthened.

'Before then, young crowing bantam,' cried Sir Samuel after him, 'I shall have you under lock and key.'

'Ah!' This was Checkley. The little interjection expressed, far more than any words could do, his satisfaction at the prospect. Then he left the room grumbling and muttering.

'I believe that this business will finish me off.' Mr. Dering sighed again, and passed his hand over his forehead. 'Night and day it worries me. It makes my forgetfulness grow upon me. I am as good as gone. This hour I cannot remember the last hour. See – I had breakfast at home as usual. I remember that. I remember setting out. It is ten minutes walk from Bedford Row to here. I have taken an hour and a half. How? I do not know. What did I do last night? I do not know; and I am pursued by this forger – robber – demon. He puts things in my safe – yesterday, a placard that Edmund Gray was going to give a lecture on something or other – the day before, a bundle of tracts by Edmund Gray. What do these things mean? What can I do?'

CHAPTER XX