Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

“What do you mean by all right? Where shall I send for them?”

“Send for them?”

“Send for them – yes. You’ve come to stay?”

“Yes, for an hour or two.”

“Dick,” cried Pratt, bringing his fist down upon the table with a bang, “if you are such a sneak as to go and stay anywhere else, I’ll cut you.”

“My dear Frank, don’t be foolish, I’ve taken lodgings.”

“Then give them up.”

“Nonsense, man! But listen to me. You don’t blame me for giving up?”

“I don’t know, Dick – I don’t know,” said Pratt. “I’ve lain in bed ruminating again and again; and one time I say it’s noble and manly, and the next time I call you a fool.”

Richard laughed.

“You see, old fellow, I’m a lawyer. I’ve been educating myself with cases, and the consequence is that I think cases. Here, then, I say, is a man in possession of a great estate; somebody tells him what may be a cock-and-bull tale – like a melodrama at the Vic, or a story in penny numbers – about a mysterious changeling and the rest of it, and he throws up at once.”

“Yes,” said Richard.

“Speaking still as a man fed upon cases I say, then, give me proofs – papers, documents, something I can tie up with red tape, make abstracts of, or set a solicitor to prepare a brief from. I’m afraid you’ve done wrong, Dick, I am indeed.”

“No, you are not, Franky,” said Richard, quietly. “Now speak as a man who has not been getting up cases – speak as the lad who was always ready to share his tips at school. No, no, Franky; the more I think of it, the more I feel convinced that I have behaved – as I cannot be a gentleman – like a man of honour.”

“Gentleman – cannot be a gentleman!” said Pratt, puffing out his cheeks, and threatening his friend with one finger, as if he were in the witness-box. “What do you mean, sir? Now, be careful. Do you call Vanleigh a gentleman?”

“Oh yes,” said Richard, smiling.

“Then I don’t,” said Pratt, sharply. “I saw the fellow yesterday, and he cut me dead.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, and no wonder. He was talking to a black-looking ruffian who bothers me.”

“Bothers you?”

“Yes, I know I’ve seen him before, and I can’t make out where.”

“Was it at the steeplechase?” said Richard, quietly.

“You’ve hit it, Dick,” cried Pratt. “That’s the man. Why weren’t you called to the bar? But I say, why did you name him? You know something – you’ve seen them together.”

“I have.”

“Um!” said Pratt, looking hard at his friend. “Then what does it mean?”

“Can’t say,” said Richard, quietly – “only that it don’t concern us.”

“I don’t know that,” said Pratt; “it may, and strongly. But tell me this, how long have you been in town?”

“A fortnight.”

“A fortnight, and not been here!”

“I have been three times,” said Richard, “and you were always out.”

“How provoking! But you might have written. The fact is, Dick, I’m busy. All that work that was held back from me for so long is coming now. I was a bit lucky with my first case.”

Which was a fact, for he had carried it through in triumph, and solicitors were sending in briefs.

“I have been busy, too – making up my mind what to do.”

“Then look here, Dick, old fellow. I’m getting a banking account – do you hear? a banking account – and if you don’t come to me whenever you want funds, we are friends no more.”

“Franky,” said Richard, huskily, “I knew you were a friend, or I should not have come to your chambers for the fourth time. But what did you mean about Vanleigh’s affairs concerning us?”

“Well, only that they may. You know they are in town, of course?”

“Why, yes; I met Van the other day. Flick is sure to be near him.”

“Yes, as long as Flicky has any money to spare – afterwards Van will be out. But I mean them.”

“Whom?” said Richard, starting. “Our Tolcarne friends – Russell Square, you know,” said Pratt, reddening slightly.

“No,” said Richard, hoarsely, “I did not know it.”

“Yes, they have been up a week.”

“How did you know it?”

“Well,” said Pratt, reddening a little more, “I – that is – well, there, I walked past the house, and saw them at the window.”

“You’ve watched it, then, Franky?” said Richard, quietly.

“Well, yes, if you like to call it so; and I’ve seen Van and Flick go there twice. How did they know that you had – well, come to grief?”

Richard shook his head.

“I’ll tell you. Depend upon it, that amiable spinster aunt, who loved you like poison, sent them word, and also of their return to town.”

“Possibly,” said Richard, in the same low, husky voice.

“Dick, old fellow, I don’t think you’ve done quite right in giving up all,” said Pratt. “You had some one else to think of besides yourself.”

“For Heaven’s sake, don’t talk to me now,” said Richard, hoarsely. “The task is getting harder than I thought; but if that fellow dares – Oh, it’s absurd!”