Blind Policy

The right nail was hit upon the head, for at the time when, some seven or eight years earlier, the Clareborough family were, through their wild expenditure, utterly penniless and hopelessly in debt, this man, after many experiments, so advanced his project that he laid it before James Clareborough, who jumped at the idea; his brother Dennis and cousin Robert, both helplessly aground and forced to enlist in cavalry regiments, eagerly joined, and in a very small way the coining was begun, but they were terribly crippled by the cost of each piece. James Clareborough was for producing something cheap, saying that it was absurd to be making imitation sovereigns the material for each of which cost ten shillings; but his uncle’s theory was that only by the great perfection of the coins could success and immunity from discovery be assured.

The uncle had the support of the two younger men, and after a while the skill begotten from practice enabled them to produce the coins more rapidly; improved machinery was obtained from Belgium; four more impecunious members of the family were sworn in to join in the secret of what they called their private bank; and at the end of three years the mansion in Highcombe Street was taken, fitted up by foreign workmen, and by degrees the machinery brought in through the book-collector’s house, and all done without a suspicion being raised.

The generally-accepted idea in fashionable sporting circles was that the wealth of the Clareboroughs came from their clever gambling transactions, and many a speculator was ruined by trying to imitate them, notably their two servants.

The various difficulties in the Clareboroughs’ way dissolved upon being attacked; wealth rolled in as fast as they liked to make it, working hard under the guidance of their uncle, the professor, who kept the position of captain over them, for in spite of James Clareborough’s overbearing ways, he gave up, as did the others, feeling that everything depended upon their being united. The old man’s occupancy of the adjoining house, where he made his genuine love for collecting old works act as a blind for the receiving of heavy cases of metal, served them well, and the servants never once had a suspicion that there was a communication between the two buildings, or that the stern old housekeeper was the professor’s wife.

Her part was well played, too. She never left the town mansion when all the servants went down to The Towers. And it was at these times that the young men came up frequently, ostensibly to visit Paris or attend meetings, but really to work hard in the well-fitted vaults to replenish the strong-room, whose contents they wasted fast.

Self-interest, as well as clannishness, held the family together. Use had made the labour of production familiar, and they might have gone on for years in their life of luxury unchecked, but for the one weak link in their chain – the strongest and most overbearing man among them. His plainly-displayed passion for his cousin had been the cause or quarrel after quarrel with Robert Clareborough, one of which culminated in blows, the use of the revolver, and Marion rushing off, believing her brother dying, for the aid of the surgeon with whose name a recent case had made her familiar.

Of the further career of the family nothing more was known in England. The police were indefatigable, but they had keen, shrewd men to deal with, and the culprits completely disappeared. Suspicions were entertained that they might have had something to do with the distribution of a great deal of base coin in Germany, but it was never traced home to them, and to all intents and purposes the name of Clareborough soon died out and the mysterious business in Highcombe Street was forgotten.

Chapter Thirty Seven.

Chester Awakens from his Dream

It was not until after many days of wild delirium that Fred Chester unclosed his eyes with the light of reason to make things clear once more. He was in his own room, and he lay wondering why he was unable to raise a hand or turn his head without difficulty.

He lay for some time trying to think out what had happened in an untroubled way, for a restful sensation pervaded his being, and it did not seem to matter much till he became conscious of a peculiar, soft, clicking sound, which he knew at last to be caused by a needle coming in contact with a thimble.

It came from somewhere to his left behind the curtain, which was drawn to keep the sunshine which came through the open window from his face.

This afforded him fresh food for thought, and by degrees he turned his head a little, till he could lie and watch the curtain, and wonder who was beyond.

That was all. He felt no temptation to try and speak, for it seemed, in a pleasant, dreamy way, that sooner or later he would know.

It was sooner. For all at once, as he lay watching, the sewer bent forward a little, so that she could gaze at the face upon the pillow, and their eyes met, those of the nurse turning wild and dilated as she started up and hurried from the room.

“Isabel – you!” he said, in a mere whisper of a voice, but she did not stay, and the next minute, as the sick man still lay wondering, the door was opened again and Laura entered.

“Oh, Fred, Fred, my own brother!” she cried, as she sank upon her knees by the bedside and pressed her lips to the thin white hand lying outside the sheet.

“Laury,” he said, feebly; “you, dear? Wasn’t that Bel?”

“Yes, yes; but you must not talk. Oh, thank God! thank God, you know us once again!”

“Know you?” he said, smiling, “of course. Where’s aunt?”

“Downstairs, dear, asleep. She is so worn-out with watching you.”

“Watching me?” he said, with a little child-like laugh. “Yes, of course, she is always watching.”

He gently raised his hand, to place it upon his sister’s head, and it lay there passive for some time, till Laura realised that her brother was fast asleep; and then she stole away to join Isabel in the next room.

The next day Chester was a little stronger, but it was as if his mind was passing through the early stages once more, he was so child-like and weak; and it was not until the third day of his recovering his senses after the terrible brain fever through which he had passed that he remembered Isabel again, and asked if he had not seen her there.

Laura told him yes, that she had been there, and he asked no more; but as the days went on he learned all. That his sister had returned to town with his aunt and written to the servant from their hotel to pack up the clothes and books they had left behind, and received an answer back that Chester was dying of brain fever.

This brought sister and aunt to his side, to find that Isabel had been with him from the first, watching him night and day. Then they shared the task with her, till the first rays of reason began to shine out of his eyes.

“But where is she now? Why does she not come?” he said rather fretfully.

“She left directly you seemed to be out of danger, Fred.”

“But how unkind. Why should she do that?”

“Why, Fred – why?” said his sister gazing at him wonderingly. “Oh, brother, brother, you do not grasp all yet.”

Laura Chester was wrong; he did grasp it at that moment, for the past came back like a flash, and he uttered a low groan as he recalled the contents of that letter, the words seeming to stand out vividly before his eyes.

From that hour his progress towards recovery was slower than before, and he lay thinking that the words contained in that letter were true – that it was good-bye for ever and that his life was hopelessly wrecked.

The return of health and strength contradicted that, though, as a year passed away, and then another year, in the course of which time he learned that the discoveries in Highcombe Street had been forgotten by the crowd, other social sensations having blurred them out.

His own troubles had grown fainter, too, as the time wore on; but for two years he did not see Isabel again. Then they met one day by accident and another day not by accident, and by slow degrees, while tortured by shame and remorse at having, as he told himself, thrown everything worth living for away, he learned what a weak, foolish creature a woman who has once truly loved a man can be, and said, as many of us say —

“What a miserable desert this world would be if there was no forgiveness for such a sin as mine!”

The End