The Last Call: A Romance (Vol. 2 of 3)

CHAPTER XXIX

Nothing could have been quieter than the marriage at Rathclare. There was no display of any kind, no wedding-breakfast, no rejoicings. The men employed by Mr. O'Donnell had proposed subscribing and giving the bride a present, until they were told that anything of the kind would be inopportune. The presents which private friends sent were, out of respect to the few people who called, set forth in the dining-room. But, upon the whole, neither before nor after the marriage, was there anything connected with it which could give the people of Rathclare the least pretence for uncharitableness. The bride and bridegroom drove away from the house early in the afternoon, with the intention of spending a short time on the Continent, and then returning to Rathclare. When they had gone, not more than half-a-dozen guests remained at O'Donnell's. Among these was Lavirotte, who had promised to stay with the old folk that night. There was a very quiet dinner, and before one o'clock the old man and Lavirotte found themselves alone in the dining-room. "I have been waiting for this opportunity, sir," said the Frenchman, "when we should be quiet and alone, with no chance of interruption, in order that I might speak to you about the matter which is nearest my heart." The old man looked at Lavirotte gratefully, and said: "You are alluding to the property you spoke to me of?" "Yes," said Lavirotte. "I am still in no position to talk freely of the matter; but this much I can tell you, that since I saw you last I have made it my business to ascertain as closely as possible our chances of success." "And they are?" said O'Donnell, leaning forward and looking at his guest eagerly. "Excellent, most excellent. Nothing could be better. Ever since I left Glengowra I have devoted all my time to their furtherance, and I have come to the conclusion that, although I cannot now say with certainty the exact amount, no more than a few months need pass before you shall be in command of any sum of money you may require." "Thank God!" cried the old man, throwing himself back in his chair, clasping his hands, and looking upwards. "You do not know what a blessed relief your words are to me; for no longer ago than this morning I had news from Dublin to the effect that there is to be another and an immediate call, and that this will be at least double the former one." "How soon is this likely to come upon you? How soon shall you want the money for this call?" "Within a few weeks. What distresses me most of all is other news which accompanies what I have already told you, to the effect that although the first demand had been very freely met, the general impression, the conviction, was that the second demand would be met by very few indeed in full, and that all of those who met it in part, and many of those who met it in full, would be absolutely ruined." "I do not exactly know the full meaning of what you tell me," said Lavirotte. "Will you explain?" "Nothing is simpler. Let us say a man held one one-hundred pound share. When the bank stopped, having lost all its capital and a vast quantity of the money lent to it and deposited in it, this man's hundred pounds was then not only gone, but the rest of his fortune also (the bank being unlimited) if the whole of his fortune was necessary to pay the last penny to the lenders and depositors." "That's very hard," said Lavirotte. "Very hard-cruel. Now, the first call, let us say of fifty pounds, means that the man who held the one-hundred pound share is called upon to pay fifty pounds towards indemnifying the depositors and lenders." "So that if the man pays the fifty he loses a hundred and fifty?" "Exactly. Now, if the second call is double the first, he will, when he has paid that-" "He will have lost two hundred and fifty pounds on his original hundred pound speculation." "Quite so. You see that. Let us say nine out of ten can pay the fifty pounds, but not more than six out of ten can pay the hundred. Now, my correspondent in Dublin gives me to understand that nothing like six out of ten will be able to meet the second call, and that, in fact, the solvent shareholders after the second call will be only rich men; so that there will be no need for proceeding further gradually, and, in all likelihood, the third call will be for a very large sum indeed per share, two hundred and fifty, five hundred, or a thousand pounds perhaps." "Mr. O'Donnell, you will not consider me impertinent if I ask you, in strict confidence, whether you think you will be able to pay this second call?" "Yes, I think I shall be able to pay the second call, but as far as I can see it will drain me to the utmost. My credit is now, of course, gone, and I am obliged to pay cash, so that after paying the hundred pound call I shall have barely sufficient capital to keep the business going. The business consists, of course, of the good-will, the plant, the stock, and the debts. All this put together would not go nearly meeting a third call of any such magnitude as I have spoken of." "And the result of that would be to you?" "That I should be a bankrupt and a pauper." "Well," said Lavirotte, going over and taking the old man by the hand, "meet the second at all hazards." He drew himself up then to his full height, raised his right hand to heaven, saying: "And I swear to you, Mr. O'Donnell, that I will answer for the third." The merchant rose from his chair and took his hand. "There is no use in attempting to thank a man for a service such as you promise. I will not try to say anything; I could not if I would." "Be seated, sir, I beg you, be seated. Think no more of the matter. Rely on me. Leave the rest to me. And now that we have settled the matter" (both men had sat down) "I wish you to answer me a question which affects a friend of mine, and is connected with Vernon's bank. My friend is a minor. Her affairs were in the hands of trustees. Her trustees-or, I believe, trustee, more accurately-invested the money in Vernon's bank, shares I presume. Now, my friend has heard nothing from the bank about these calls. How is that?" "She has nothing to do with the matter. She has lost all her money." "Yes; but what about the calls?" "The trustee has to pay those." "Out of his own pocket?" "Yes, out of his own pocket." "Supposing him to be an honest man, and that he did everything for the best?" "Supposing him to be an honest man, and that he did everything for the best." "What an infamous injustice! What an infamous injustice to a well-meaning, honest man!" "An infamous injustice you may say, supposing the man to be honest. He gets your friend's money on trust to invest. Here is a highly respectable banking firm which will pay him, according to the market value of its shares, six or seven per cent. He is anxious his ward should have the most interest he can safely get for her money. He invests, and is ruined." Lavirotte started to his feet, threw his arms above his head wildly, and, walking up and down the room, excitedly cried: "By heavens, Mr. O'Donnell, he shall not be ruined, I will see that he shall not be ruined. He did me a bad turn once, or rather he refused to do me a good one when he could; but I shall protect him against this execrable injustice, this infamous law." Mr. O'Donnell did not feel himself justified in asking any questions, and there was no further conversation of any interest that night. Next morning Lavirotte set off for London, arrived in due time, called upon Dora first, and related to her all the interesting particulars of the marriage. She had but a reflected interest in the bride and bridegroom, and, therefore, the subject was soon exhausted. Before this he had, of course, told her of the large fortune into which he hoped to come soon. They had, upon one or two occasions, talked over the loss of her money; but he had always tossed the matter to the winds as of no consequence when confronted with the mighty results he was expecting. Now he had a matter of another kind to speak about. He asked her pointedly, elaborately, how upon the whole Kempston had behaved towards her. She said that no one could have been more kind and considerate, and that the only occasion upon which she had any reason to complain of him, was when he refused to let Lavirotte have the money or her to marry him. Then Lavirotte informed her that not only was her money swallowed up in the Vernon whirlpool, but that Kempston, her trustee, would inevitably be ruined owing to his connection with her and it. The girl was horrified. Then Lavirotte told her that he had sworn this man should not be ruined, and that he meant to keep his oath. She clung to him and kissed him, and praised him with all the dearest words of her heart, for his noble, his sublime generosity, and after some time he left her to see Crawford. He found the old man more busy, more energetic, more enthusiastic, more hopeful than ever. Lavirotte told him that since he had seen him last additional reason had arisen for haste. He did not go into detail. He merely said that business called him hence for a few hours; but that on his return he would throw into the work twice the energy he had previously displayed. "Then," said the old man, "you are digging at once to find a treasure and a grave." "But in what a glorious cause!" cried Lavirotte, in an excited voice. "The cause of honour, of justice, of reparation. When I have secured my dear friends from the disaster which now threatens them, and when I have paid back the prudent parsimony of this attorney a thousandfold, why should I not die! I shall never do a better thing in all my life, and when a man has done his best he ought to go, lest, peradventure, he live to do his worst, and die in doing it." "And Dora?" The look of exaltation faded from the face of Lavirotte. "And Dora, my darling Dora! My own sweet, trusting girl!" he cried, tenderly. "I do not understand myself; I am two beings; I have two natures. To myself I would be merciless to gain this final glory of assuaging the wrong I have done my friends, and in act forgiving the injury this man Kempston has done to me. But Dora! Dora! Then something else comes in, my other self, my weaker self, my better self, perhaps. Any weakness is better than the tyranny of glory, than the lust of applause." He was silent for a while. The old man had listened to him without a word. "Now, I must go and see that attorney, and show him that I am not the interested adventurer he took me for, and that if a little time ago I was willing to borrow a few paltry pounds, which in a year or two should in any case be my own, I am now willing to throw down thousands for him who never did me personally a service, simply because he was kind and good to the woman whom I love." Lavirotte left the tower.

CHAPTER XXX

After the marriage and the going back of Lavirotte to London, all things went on regularly in their old course. Before the return of the bride and bridegroom from their Continental tour, Mr. O'Donnell paid the second call. He had done so with extreme difficulty. It had taken every penny he could lay his hand upon; and, indeed, the way in which he was obliged to draw in money from those who owed it to him threatened to be of serious injury to his business. Still he fought on bravely. The heart of the old man was stirred within him. His dogged nature was aroused to activity such as it had never known, even in his younger days. James O'Donnell was at bay, and he would show the world what James O'Donnell could do when his case seemed desperate. Day and night he worked. His energy appeared inextinguishable. His resources seemed to increase with the demands upon them. His vision was clear, his judgment infallible, his instincts true, his premonitions verified. Rathclare stood still and watched this miracle of new-born strength in the old man. People knew well enough that he had called in his last farthing, and that now, outside the four walls of his business place, he had not a hundred pounds in the world, beyond the book debts, which to claim hastily would be finally to destroy the business. When his son came back from abroad, he was more amazed than anyone else. The slow, plodding manner of late years had completely disappeared from his father, and instead he encountered the indomitable energy, the insatiable thirst for activity, and a judgment clearer and sounder than he had ever found in any other man. The newly-married couple took a small house in Glengowra. Every day Eugene went in to business, and every day returned to Glengowra in time for dinner. While Eugene was away his father had written to him, saying he had paid the second call, and that, with the help of Lavirotte, he would be able to pay the third, which would, he assumed, be the last. In Dublin the opinion was that the third call would certainly be the last. The determination was to wind the whole thing up with the greatest possible despatch, and hide its infamy away for ever. It was possible for accountants, who had charge of the affair, to go over the share book, and place opposite every name, which had hitherto proved solvent, a very close approximation of the resources at the disposal of each; and it gradually oozed out that there would be no use in having a call of anything less than five hundred pounds, for if they had two hundred and fifty now, and another two hundred and fifty later on, they would simply have the same names recurring, since the men who could meet the two hundred and fifty could meet the five. In Rathclare, at last, people began to believe that someone must have promised to sustain O'Donnell at the final moment, for all agreed that unless the old man had lost his reason, there could be now no doubt he was certain to tide over the affair. He had made arrangements one, two, three years in advance. He was in treaty for purchasing adjoining buildings with a view to incorporating them in his vast store. He had ordered new lighters to be laid down for him in the dockyard. Up to this he had always refused the mayoralty of the town, although he had for many years been a member of the corporation. Now he allowed himself to be put forward as a candidate for next year. No bankrupt could be mayor. From first to last he had never once sought any communication with the Vernons. Now he seemed to think his old friend not so great a criminal as at one time he appeared. Although he could not entirely forgive him, he spoke less harshly of him than of old, and was heard even to say once: "Poor devil, how do we know how he was dragged into it?" Meanwhile, Lionel Crawford and Dominique Lavirotte wrought with the energy of desperate men in the basement of St. Prisca's Tower. By day they dug and delved, Lavirotte, being younger, carrying the fruit of their labour to the top of the tower. The slow and cautious mode of procedure adopted by the old man was too tedious for the fiery-hearted Frenchman. "I'll risk the lofts," cried Lavirotte, "if I were to perish beneath them. You may stick to your old plan if you like, but it is too slow for me. It would kill me. It would drive me mad, when I think of my friends over there, when I think of the approaching ruin which we may avert." Mr. Kempston was a bachelor, easy-going and somewhat indolent, when the first news reached him that Vernon and Son had closed their doors. Hour after hour, and day after day, brought him nothing but a tedious aggravation of the worst reports, and gradually it dawned upon him that now, when he was no longer young, he was a ruined man. Harrington, the father of Dora, and he had been friends in youth. Hence his trusteeship to the will. Hence his guardianship of Dora. He had always been a man of excellent business capacity; but outside his business he was inclined to be lazy, self-indulgent, extravagant. When younger, he was greatly devoted to what is called fun. Now he liked rich living, good company, good clubs, and, if the truth might be told, a great deal more rather high whist than was good for his pocket. He paid the first "call" of the Vernon bank with a groan. "When I have paid the second," he said, "I shall still have my profession-that is," he said bitterly, "if they don't make a bankrupt of me." Then Lavirotte came with his amazing promise of indemnity, and his still more amazing forgiveness. The elderly attorney groaned, smiled, shook his head, swore, thanked Lavirotte profusely, said he'd take the help if it came, grasped Lavirotte by the hand, swore again, gave Lavirotte an excellent luncheon at his club, shook hands and said good-bye to Lavirotte, and then swore mutely the whole way from his club back to his office. When the time for paying the second instalment arrived, he paid it without a murmur, and then swore no more. He had nothing to swear by. Day by day Lionel Crawford and Dominique Lavirotte tore at the earth and clay and stones at the base of St. Prisca's Tower. Day by day they grew nearer and nearer to the goal. Crawford had told Lavirotte what that goal would be like. He knew every stone of that tower from his old readings. They were to keep now to the centre, as near as possible, driving the pick down as far as ever they could. "If it meets anything hard," said the old man, "strike again with the pick a few inches all round, and if it meets anything hard all round, that's it-that's the conical roof of the vault. In that vault the chests have now lain buried more than two hundred years." At last, the accountants who had charge of the affairs of Vernon and Son issued the last call. It was for five hundred pounds per share. Eugene wrote to Lavirotte, and asked him, for God's sake, to be quick. Lavirotte scarcely ate or slept. For days now he did not go near Dora, even. He was wasted, haggard, thin. He had long ago given up living at his rooms off the Strand. He and Lionel Crawford spent all their time now in the tower. Once in two or three days he went to his lodgings to see if there were letters. The morning he went and found Eugene's there he felt faint, and he had no sooner sat down in a chair than the fact that he had at last worn out all his energies came upon him. If death threatened him there he could not have arisen. For two nights he had not slept, and he had eaten little for the two days. The lofts had already shown unmistakable signs of impatience at the weight they bore. Any moment they might come crushing down upon the two workers, burying Crawford and himself and the stupendous treasure for ever, since outside that tower no living being knew what they sought. The sight of Eugene's letter, and the sense that not only were his labours not completed, but that they must be redoubled, overcame him. He called for wine. They brought him some. He drank a little, and felt stronger. He thought if he drank a little more he might be able to get back to the tower before his drowsiness overcame him. He drank a little more wine, and, before he found himself sufficiently invigorated to move, he fell asleep in the chair. He did not awake for some hours. Then he felt refreshed and stronger. "It was a shame for me," he said, "to fall asleep, but the sleep has done me good. Now to work once more." He drove to within a hundred yards of St. Prisca's Tower, and there alighted. He walked up to the massive oak door, opened it with his key, and entered the tower. The darkness was Cimmerian. He could see absolutely nothing. "Crawford must be aloft." He looked down. His eye detected something unusual below. In the middle of the impenetrable gloom there was what seemed to him a phosphorescent glow, covering about two square feet of the bottom of the pit. The lantern by which they worked was not to be seen. What could this glow of light be? The lantern, when below, looked like a distinct yellow patch surrounded by circles of light, decreasing in brightness as they receded from the lantern. But the light below was perfectly equal. It was not more intense at the centre than at the edges, and, contrary to the case of the lantern, there was no dark patch in the centre. Lavirotte descended the ladder in uneasy amazement, and approached the glowing space. It was not until within a few feet of it he discovered what it was. A hole! At the bottom, twelve feet below, an uneven floor. Through the hole dangled a rope. On the floor below, the lantern by which Crawford and he worked. Close to the lamp, the prostrate form of a man. Lavirotte seized the rope and descended. This was the vault in which they had hidden the treasure, unmistakably. He stooped and raised the lantern, casting the light slowly all round him, so that when he had finished his inspection nothing that was in that vault could be unknown to him. Then he knelt down beside the prostrate form of the man, and turned the face upward. Lionel Crawford! There was no other way of getting out of that vault but by climbing up that rope. He tried to climb that rope and failed. His strength was gone. He sat down on the floor of the vault, and covered his face with his hands. With the exception of himself, the lantern, and the corpse of Lionel Crawford, the vault was empty!

Part II