The Wrong Box Read online

  CHAPTER VI. The Tribulations of Morris: Part the First

  As the hansom span through the streets of London, Morris sought torally the forces of his mind. The water-butt with the dead body hadmiscarried, and it was essential to recover it. So much was clear; andif, by some blest good fortune, it was still at the station, all mightbe well. If it had been sent out, however, if it were already in thehands of some wrong person, matters looked more ominous. People whoreceive unexplained packages are usually keen to have them open; theexample of Miss Hazeltine (whom he cursed again) was there to remind himof the circumstance; and if anyone had opened the water-butt--'O Lord!'cried Morris at the thought, and carried his hand to his damp forehead.The private conception of any breach of law is apt to be inspiriting,for the scheme (while yet inchoate) wears dashing and attractivecolours. Not so in the least that part of the criminal's laterreflections which deal with the police. That useful corps (as Morrisnow began to think) had scarce been kept sufficiently in view whenhe embarked upon his enterprise. 'I must play devilish close,' hereflected, and he was aware of an exquisite thrill of fear in the regionof the spine.

  'Main line or loop?' enquired the cabman, through the scuttle.

  'Main line,' replied Morris, and mentally decided that the man shouldhave his shilling after all. 'It would be madness to attract attention,'thought he. 'But what this thing will cost me, first and last, begins tobe a nightmare!'

  He passed through the booking-office and wandered disconsolately on theplatform. It was a breathing-space in the day's traffic. There werefew people there, and these for the most part quiescent on the benches.Morris seemed to attract no remark, which was a good thing; but, on theother hand, he was making no progress in his quest. Something must bedone, something must be risked. Every passing instant only added to hisdangers. Summoning all his courage, he stopped a porter, and asked himif he remembered receiving a barrel by the morning train. He was anxiousto get information, for the barrel belonged to a friend. 'It is a matterof some moment,' he added, 'for it contains specimens.'

  'I was not here this morning, sir,' responded the porter, somewhatreluctantly, 'but I'll ask Bill. Do you recollect, Bill, to have got abarrel from Bournemouth this morning containing specimens?'

  'I don't know about specimens,' replied Bill; 'but the party as receivedthe barrel I mean raised a sight of trouble.'

  'What's that?' cried Morris, in the agitation of the moment pressing apenny into the man's hand.

  'You see, sir, the barrel arrived at one-thirty. No one claimed it tillabout three, when a small, sickly--looking gentleman (probably a curate)came up, and sez he, "Have you got anything for Pitman?" or "Wili'm BentPitman," if I recollect right. "I don't exactly know," sez I, "but Irather fancy that there barrel bears that name." The little man wentup to the barrel, and seemed regularly all took aback when he saw theaddress, and then he pitched into us for not having brought what hewanted. "I don't care a damn what you want," sez I to him, "but if youare Will'm Bent Pitman, there's your barrel."'

  'Well, and did he take it?' cried the breathless Morris.

  'Well, sir,' returned Bill, 'it appears it was a packing-case he wasafter. The packing-case came; that's sure enough, because it was aboutthe biggest packing-case ever I clapped eyes on. And this Pitman heseemed a good deal cut up, and he had the superintendent out, andthey got hold of the vanman--him as took the packing-case. Well, sir,'continued Bill, with a smile, 'I never see a man in such a state.Everybody about that van was mortal, bar the horses. Some gen'leman (aswell as I could make out) had given the vanman a sov.; and so that waswhere the trouble come in, you see.'

  'But what did he say?' gasped Morris.

  'I don't know as he SAID much, sir,' said Bill. 'But he offered tofight this Pitman for a pot of beer. He had lost his book, too, and thereceipts, and his men were all as mortal as himself. O, they were alllike'--and Bill paused for a simile--'like lords! The superintendentsacked them on the spot.'

  'O, come, but that's not so bad,' said Morris, with a bursting sigh. 'Hecouldn't tell where he took the packing-case, then?'

  'Not he,' said Bill, 'nor yet nothink else.'

  'And what--what did Pitman do?' asked Morris.

  'O, he went off with the barrel in a four-wheeler, very trembling like,'replied Bill. 'I don't believe he's a gentleman as has good health.'

  'Well, so the barrel's gone,' said Morris, half to himself.

  'You may depend on that, sir,' returned the porter. 'But you had bettersee the superintendent.'

  'Not in the least; it's of no account,' said Morris. 'It only containedspecimens.' And he walked hastily away.

  Ensconced once more in a hansom, he proceeded to reconsider hisposition. Suppose (he thought), suppose he should accept defeat anddeclare his uncle's death at once? He should lose the tontine, and withthat the last hope of his seven thousand eight hundred pounds. But onthe other hand, since the shilling to the hansom cabman, he had begun tosee that crime was expensive in its course, and, since the loss of thewater-butt, that it was uncertain in its consequences. Quietly at first,and then with growing heat, he reviewed the advantages of backing out.It involved a loss; but (come to think of it) no such great loss afterall; only that of the tontine, which had been always a toss-up, whichat bottom he had never really expected. He reminded himself of thateagerly; he congratulated himself upon his constant moderation. He hadnever really expected the tontine; he had never even very definitelyhoped to recover his seven thousand eight hundred pounds; he had beenhurried into the whole thing by Michael's obvious dishonesty. Yes, itwould probably be better to draw back from this high-flying venture,settle back on the leather business--

  'Great God!' cried Morris, bounding in the hansom like a Jack-in-a-box.'I have not only not gained the tontine--I have lost the leatherbusiness!'

  Such was the monstrous fact. He had no power to sign; he could not drawa cheque for thirty shillings. Until he could produce legal evidenceof his uncle's death, he was a penniless outcast--and as soon as heproduced it he had lost the tontine! There was no hesitation on the partof Morris; to drop the tontine like a hot chestnut, to concentrateall his forces on the leather business and the rest of his small butlegitimate inheritance, was the decision of a single instant. And thenext, the full extent of his calamity was suddenly disclosed to him.Declare his uncle's death? He couldn't! Since the body was lost Josephhad (in a legal sense) become immortal.

  There was no created vehicle big enough to contain Morris and his woes.He paid the hansom off and walked on he knew not whither.

  'I seem to have gone into this business with too much precipitation,'he reflected, with a deadly sigh. 'I fear it seems too ramified for aperson of my powers of mind.'

  And then a remark of his uncle's flashed into his memory: If you want tothink clearly, put it all down on paper. 'Well, the old boy knew a thingor two,' said Morris. 'I will try; but I don't believe the paper wasever made that will clear my mind.'

  He entered a place of public entertainment, ordered bread and cheese,and writing materials, and sat down before them heavily. He tried thepen. It was an excellent pen, but what was he to write? 'I have it,'cried Morris. 'Robinson Crusoe and the double columns!' He prepared hispaper after that classic model, and began as follows:

  Bad. ---- Good.

  1. I have lost my uncle's body.

  1. But then Pitman has found it.

  'Stop a bit,' said Morris. 'I am letting the spirit of antithesis runaway with me. Let's start again.'

  Bad. ---- Good.

  1. I have lost my uncle's body.

  1. But then I no longer require to bury it.

  2. I have lost the tontine.

  2.But I may still save that if Pitman disposes of the body, and if I can find a physician who will stick at nothing.

  3. I have lost the leather business and the rest of my uncle's succession.

  3. But not if Pitman gives the body up to the police.

  'O
, but in that case I go to gaol; I had forgot that,' thought Morris.'Indeed, I don't know that I had better dwell on that hypothesis at all;it's all very well to talk of facing the worst; but in a case of thiskind a man's first duty is to his own nerve. Is there any answer to No.3? Is there any possible good side to such a beastly bungle? There mustbe, of course, or where would be the use of this double-entry business?And--by George, I have it!' he exclaimed; 'it's exactly the same as thelast!' And he hastily re-wrote the passage:

  Bad. ---- Good.

  3. I have lost the leather business and the rest of my uncle's succession.

  3. But not if I can find a physician who will stick at nothing.

  'This venal doctor seems quite a desideratum,' he reflected. 'I want himfirst to give me a certificate that my uncle is dead, so that I may getthe leather business; and then that he's alive--but here we are again atthe incompatible interests!' And he returned to his tabulation:

  Bad. ---- Good.

  4. I have almost no money.

  4. But there is plenty in the bank.

  5. Yes, but I can't get the money in the bank.

  5. But--well, that seems unhappily to be the case.

  6. I have left the bill for eight hundred pounds in Uncle Joseph's pocket.

  6. But if Pitman is only a dishonest man, the presence of this bill may lead him to keep the whole thing dark and throw the body into the New Cut.

  7. Yes, but if Pitman is dishonest and finds the bill, he will know who Joseph is, and he may blackmail me.

  7. Yes, but if I am right about Uncle Masterman, I can blackmail Michael.

  8. But I can't blackmail Michael (which is, besides, a very dangerous thing to do) until I find out.

  8. Worse luck!

  9. The leather business will soon want money for current expenses, and I have none to give.

  9. But the leather business is a sinking ship.

  10. Yes, but it's all the ship I have.

  10. A fact.

  11. John will soon want money, and I have none to give.

  11.

  12. And the venal doctor will want money down.

  12.

  13. And if Pitman is dishonest and don't send me to gaol, he will want a fortune.

  13.

  'O, this seems to be a very one-sided business,' exclaimed Morris.'There's not so much in this method as I was led to think.' He crumpledthe paper up and threw it down; and then, the next moment, picked itup again and ran it over. 'It seems it's on the financial point thatmy position is weakest,' he reflected. 'Is there positively no way ofraising the wind? In a vast city like this, and surrounded by all theresources of civilization, it seems not to be conceived! Let us haveno more precipitation. Is there nothing I can sell? My collection ofsignet--' But at the thought of scattering these loved treasures theblood leaped into Morris's check. 'I would rather die!' he exclaimed,and, cramming his hat upon his head, strode forth into the streets.

  'I MUST raise funds,' he thought. 'My uncle being dead, the money inthe bank is mine, or would be mine but for the cursed injustice that haspursued me ever since I was an orphan in a commercial academy. I knowwhat any other man would do; any other man in Christendom would forge;although I don't know why I call it forging, either, when Joseph's dead,and the funds are my own. When I think of that, when I think that myuncle is really as dead as mutton, and that I can't prove it, my gorgerises at the injustice of the whole affair. I used to feel bitterlyabout that seven thousand eight hundred pounds; it seems a trifle now!Dear me, why, the day before yesterday I was comparatively happy.'

  And Morris stood on the sidewalk and heaved another sobbing sigh.

  'Then there's another thing,' he resumed; 'can I? Am I able? Why didn'tI practise different handwritings while I was young? How a fellowregrets those lost opportunities when he grows up! But there'sone comfort: it's not morally wrong; I can try it on with aclear conscience, and even if I was found out, I wouldn't greatlycare--morally, I mean. And then, if I succeed, and if Pitman is staunch,there's nothing to do but find a venal doctor; and that ought to besimple enough in a place like London. By all accounts the town'salive with them. It wouldn't do, of course, to advertise for a corruptphysician; that would be impolitic. No, I suppose a fellow has simply tospot along the streets for a red lamp and herbs in the window, andthen you go in and--and--and put it to him plainly; though it seems adelicate step.'

  He was near home now, after many devious wanderings, and turned upJohn Street. As he thrust his latchkey in the lock, another mortifyingreflection struck him to the heart.

  'Not even this house is mine till I can prove him dead,' he snarled, andslammed the door behind him so that the windows in the attic rattled.

  Night had long fallen; long ago the lamps and the shop-fronts had begunto glitter down the endless streets; the lobby was pitch--dark; and, asthe devil would have it, Morris barked his shins and sprawled all hislength over the pedestal of Hercules. The pain was sharp; his temper wasalready thoroughly undermined; by a last misfortune his hand closed onthe hammer as he fell; and, in a spasm of childish irritation, he turnedand struck at the offending statue. There was a splintering crash.

  'O Lord, what have I done next?' wailed Morris; and he groped his wayto find a candle. 'Yes,' he reflected, as he stood with the light inhis hand and looked upon the mutilated leg, from which about a pound ofmuscle was detached. 'Yes, I have destroyed a genuine antique; I may bein for thousands!' And then there sprung up in his bosom a sort of angryhope. 'Let me see,' he thought. 'Julia's got rid of--, there's nothingto connect me with that beast Forsyth; the men were all drunk, and(what's better) they've been all discharged. O, come, I think this isanother case of moral courage! I'll deny all knowledge of the thing.'

  A moment more, and he stood again before the Hercules, his lips sternlycompressed, the coal-axe and the meat-cleaver under his arm. The next,he had fallen upon the packing-case. This had been already seriouslyundermined by the operations of Gideon; a few well-directed blows, andit already quaked and gaped; yet a few more, and it fell about Morris ina shower of boards followed by an avalanche of straw.

  And now the leather-merchant could behold the nature of his task: and atthe first sight his spirit quailed. It was, indeed, no more ambitious atask for De Lesseps, with all his men and horses, to attack the hillsof Panama, than for a single, slim young gentleman, with no previousexperience of labour in a quarry, to measure himself against thatbloated monster on his pedestal. And yet the pair were well encountered:on the one side, bulk--on the other, genuine heroic fire.

  'Down you shall come, you great big, ugly brute!' cried Morris aloud,with something of that passion which swept the Parisian mob against thewalls of the Bastille. 'Down you shall come, this night. I'll have noneof you in my lobby.'

  The face, from its indecent expression, had particularly animated thezeal of our iconoclast; and it was against the face that he began hisoperations. The great height of the demigod--for he stood a fathomand half in his stocking-feet--offered a preliminary obstacle to thisattack. But here, in the first skirmish of the battle, intellect alreadybegan to triumph over matter. By means of a pair of library steps,the injured householder gained a posture of advantage; and, with greatswipes of the coal-axe, proceeded to decapitate the brute.

  Two hours later, what had been the erect image of a gigantic coal-porterturned miraculously white, was now no more than a medley of disjectedmembers; the quadragenarian torso prone against the pedestal; thelascivious countenance leering down the kitchen stair; the legs, thearms, the hands, and even the fingers, scattered broadcast on the lobbyfloor. Half an hour more, and all the debris had been laboriously cartedto the kitchen; and Morris, with a gentle sentiment of triumph, lookedround upon the scene of his achievements. Yes, he could deny allknowledge of it now: the lobby, beyond the fact that it was partlyruinous, betrayed no trace of the pas
sage of Hercules. But it was aweary Morris that crept up to bed; his arms and shoulders ached, thepalms of his hands burned from the rough kisses of the coal-axe, andthere was one smarting finger that stole continually to his mouth. Sleeplong delayed to visit the dilapidated hero, and with the first peep ofday it had again deserted him.

  The morning, as though to accord with his disastrous fortunes, dawnedinclemently. An easterly gale was shouting in the streets; flaws of rainangrily assailed the windows; and as Morris dressed, the draught fromthe fireplace vividly played about his legs.

  'I think,' he could not help observing bitterly, 'that with all I haveto bear, they might have given me decent weather.'

  There was no bread in the house, for Miss Hazeltine (like all women leftto themselves) had subsisted entirely upon cake. But some of this wasfound, and (along with what the poets call a glass of fair, cold water)made up a semblance of a morning meal, and then down he sat undauntedlyto his delicate task.

  Nothing can be more interesting than the study of signatures,written (as they are) before meals and after, during indigestion andintoxication; written when the signer is trembling for the life of hischild or has come from winning the Derby, in his lawyer's office, orunder the bright eyes of his sweetheart. To the vulgar, these seem neverthe same; but to the expert, the bank clerk, or the lithographer, theyare constant quantities, and as recognizable as the North Star to thenight-watch on deck.

  To all this Morris was alive. In the theory of that graceful art inwhich he was now embarking, our spirited leather-merchant was beyondall reproach. But, happily for the investor, forgery is an affairof practice. And as Morris sat surrounded by examples of his uncle'ssignature and of his own incompetence, insidious depression stole uponhis spirits. From time to time the wind wuthered in the chimney at hisback; from time to time there swept over Bloomsbury a squall so darkthat he must rise and light the gas; about him was the chill and themean disorder of a house out of commission--the floor bare, the sofaheaped with books and accounts enveloped in a dirty table-cloth, thepens rusted, the paper glazed with a thick film of dust; and yet thesewere but adminicles of misery, and the true root of his depression layround him on the table in the shape of misbegotten forgeries.

  'It's one of the strangest things I ever heard of,' he complained. 'Italmost seems as if it was a talent that I didn't possess.' He went oncemore minutely through his proofs. 'A clerk would simply gibe at them,'said he. 'Well, there's nothing else but tracing possible.'

  He waited till a squall had passed and there came a blink of scowlingdaylight. Then he went to the window, and in the face of all John Streettraced his uncle's signature. It was a poor thing at the best. 'But itmust do,' said he, as he stood gazing woefully on his handiwork. 'He'sdead, anyway.' And he filled up the cheque for a couple of hundred andsallied forth for the Anglo-Patagonian Bank.

  There, at the desk at which he was accustomed to transact business,and with as much indifference as he could assume, Morris presented theforged cheque to the big, red-bearded Scots teller. The teller seemed toview it with surprise; and as he turned it this way and that, and evenscrutinized the signature with a magnifying-glass, his surprise appearedto warm into disfavour. Begging to be excused for a moment, hepassed away into the rearmost quarters of the bank; whence, after anappreciable interval, he returned again in earnest talk with a superior,an oldish and a baldish, but a very gentlemanly man.

  'Mr Morris Finsbury, I believe,' said the gentlemanly man, fixing Morriswith a pair of double eye-glasses.

  'That is my name,' said Morris, quavering. 'Is there anything wrong.

  'Well, the fact is, Mr Finsbury, you see we are rather surprised atreceiving this,' said the other, flicking at the cheque. 'There are noeffects.'

  'No effects?' cried Morris. 'Why, I know myself there must beeight-and-twenty hundred pounds, if there's a penny.'

  'Two seven six four, I think,' replied the gentlemanly man; 'but it wasdrawn yesterday.'

  'Drawn!' cried Morris.

  'By your uncle himself, sir,' continued the other. 'Not only that, butwe discounted a bill for him for--let me see--how much was it for, MrBell?'

  'Eight hundred, Mr Judkin,' replied the teller.

  'Bent Pitman!' cried Morris, staggering back.

  'I beg your pardon,' said Mr Judkin.

  'It's--it's only an expletive,' said Morris.

  'I hope there's nothing wrong, Mr Finsbury,' said Mr Bell.

  'All I can tell you,' said Morris, with a harsh laugh,' is that thewhole thing's impossible. My uncle is at Bournemouth, unable to move.'

  'Really!' cried Mr Bell, and he recovered the cheque from Mr Judkin.'But this cheque is dated in London, and today,' he observed. 'How d'yeaccount for that, sir?'

  'O, that was a mistake,' said Morris, and a deep tide of colour dyed hisface and neck.

  'No doubt, no doubt,' said Mr Judkin, but he looked at his customerenquiringly.

  'And--and--' resumed Morris, 'even if there were no effects--this is avery trifling sum to overdraw--our firm--the name of Finsbury, is surelygood enough for such a wretched sum as this.'

  'No doubt, Mr Finsbury,' returned Mr Judkin; 'and if you insist I willtake it into consideration; but I hardly think--in short, Mr Finsbury,if there had been nothing else, the signature seems hardly all that wecould wish.'

  'That's of no consequence,' replied Morris nervously. 'I'll get my uncleto sign another. The fact is,' he went on, with a bold stroke, 'my uncleis so far from well at present that he was unable to sign this chequewithout assistance, and I fear that my holding the pen for him may havemade the difference in the signature.'

  Mr Judkin shot a keen glance into Morris's face; and then turned andlooked at Mr Bell.

  'Well,' he said, 'it seems as if we had been victimized by a swindler.Pray tell Mr Finsbury we shall put detectives on at once. As for thischeque of yours, I regret that, owing to the way it was signed, thebank can hardly consider it--what shall I say?--businesslike,' and hereturned the cheque across the counter.

  Morris took it up mechanically; he was thinking of something verydifferent.

  'In a--case of this kind,' he began, 'I believe the loss falls on us; Imean upon my uncle and myself.'

  'It does not, sir,' replied Mr Bell; 'the bank is responsible, andthe bank will either recover the money or refund it, you may depend onthat.'

  Morris's face fell; then it was visited by another gleam of hope.

  'I'll tell you what,' he said, 'you leave this entirely in my hands.I'll sift the matter. I've an idea, at any rate; and detectives,' headded appealingly, 'are so expensive.'

  'The bank would not hear of it,' returned Mr Judkin. 'The bank stands tolose between three and four thousand pounds; it will spend as much moreif necessary. An undiscovered forger is a permanent danger. We shallclear it up to the bottom, Mr Finsbury; set your mind at rest on that.'

  'Then I'll stand the loss,' said Morris boldly. 'I order you to abandonthe search.' He was determined that no enquiry should be made.

  'I beg your pardon,' returned Mr Judkin, 'but we have nothing to do withyou in this matter, which is one between your uncle and ourselves. Ifhe should take this opinion, and will either come here himself or let mesee him in his sick-room--'

  'Quite impossible,' cried Morris.

  'Well, then, you see,' said Mr Judkin, 'how my hands are tied. The wholeaffair must go at once into the hands of the police.'

  Morris mechanically folded the cheque and restored it to hispocket--book.

  'Good--morning,' said he, and scrambled somehow out of the bank.

  'I don't know what they suspect,' he reflected; 'I can't make themout, their whole behaviour is thoroughly unbusinesslike. But it doesn'tmatter; all's up with everything. The money has been paid; the policeare on the scent; in two hours that idiot Pitman will be nabbed--and thewhole story of the dead body in the evening papers.'

  If he could have heard what passed in the bank after his departure hewould have been less alarmed, perhaps more mortified.<
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  'That was a curious affair, Mr Bell,' said Mr Judkin.

  'Yes, sir,' said Mr Bell, 'but I think we have given him a fright.'

  'O, we shall hear no more of Mr Morris Finsbury,' returned the other;'it was a first attempt, and the house have dealt with us so long thatI was anxious to deal gently. But I suppose, Mr Bell, there can be nomistake about yesterday? It was old Mr Finsbury himself?'

  'There could be no possible doubt of that,' said Mr Bell with a chuckle.'He explained to me the principles of banking.'

  'Well, well,' said Mr Judkin. 'The next time he calls ask him to stepinto my room. It is only proper he should be warned.'