Life in London Part 10

"When you first heard of my card playing?" asked George. "When did you hear of it?"

"A few days since. My father came up from the country by a late train one night, and stayed at the hotel you patronize. There he saw you, and told me about it."

"Confound it! a fellow can't do a thing, even in this great city, without somebody ferretting it out. But I don't mean to play again. I have made a fool of myself too many times already; and it serves me right that I have lost money."

That evening, while George was making his way to the hotel, a lady was journeying towards the railway station. An hour later, she was at the house of Mrs. Weston, and was shown into the drawing-room.

"I must apologise," said Mrs. Hardy, for it was she, "in calling upon you at this hour: but I am very anxious to have some conversation with you."

"It is strange," said Mrs. Weston, "that as our sons have been intimate so long, we should have continued strangers; but I am very delighted to see you, Mrs. Hardy, for I have heard much of you."

"It is with regard to the intercourse between your son and mine that I have called. I do not wish to alarm you; but I feel it right that you should be in possession of information I have of your son."

Mrs. Hardy then narrated the circ.u.mstances connected with her husband's visit to the hotel on the evening when he found George there card playing.

"This evening," she continued, "my son returned home earlier than usual, and went to his drawer, where I saw him take out some money--two or three sovereigns. I asked him what he was going to do with it, and after some difficulty I ascertained he intended lending it to your son. It occurred to me at once that George Weston was in trouble with those men; and I thought it only right that you should know."

It was kind of Mrs. Hardy to shew this interest, and Mrs. Weston esteemed her for it. But had they stood beside the table at which George was seated while they were talking, or could they have seen the flush of excitement as he threw down the cards, exclaiming, "By Jove! I've lost again!" and have watched the flas.h.i.+ng eye and heaving breast, they would have felt, even more keenly than they did, how futile were words or sympathies to check the evil.

CHAPTER VIII.

A TEST OF FRIENDs.h.i.+P.

We pa.s.s over two years of George Weston's life--years full of strange experiences--and look into the office in Falcon-court one morning in the summer of 18--.

Mr. Compton is away on the Continent for a holiday tour, Mr. Sanders is still the manager, and nearly all the same old faces are in the office.

George, who is now verging on the legal age of manhood, has risen to a good position in the establishment, and is regarded as second only to Mr. Sanders. He is wonderfully altered from when we saw him first in that office. He is still handsome; but the old sparkling l.u.s.tre of his eye has gone, and no trace of boyishness is left.

Hardy is still there. Two years have not made so much difference in him as George. He looks older than he really is; but there is no mistaking him for the quiet, gentlemanly Charles Hardy of former days. Lawson and Williams are there, coa.r.s.e and bloated young men, whose faces tell the history of their lives. Hardy rarely exchanges a word with them. George does more frequently, but not with the air of superiority he once did.

A close observer would have noticed in George that morning a careworn anxious look; would have heard an occasional sigh, and have seen him at one time turning pale, and again flus.h.i.+ng with a crimson red.

"You are not well," said Hardy. "You have not done a stroke of work all this morning; quite an unusual thing for you, George."

"I am not well," he replied; "but it is nothing of importance. I shall get Mr. Sanders to let me off for an hour's stroll when he comes in from the Bank."

Mr. Sanders came in from the Bank, but he was later than usual. His round generally occupied an hour; this morning he had been gone between two and three. George watched him anxiously as he took off his hat, rubbed his nose violently with his pocket handkerchief, and stood gazing into the fire, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. every now and then, as was his custom if anything extraordinary or disagreeable had happened, "Ah! umph!"

"The old boy has found out that the wind has veered to the northeast, or has stepped upon some orange peel," whispered Lawson to Williams, who saw that something had gone wrong with the manager.

"Your proposed stroll will be knocked on the head," said Hardy to George. "Mr. Sanders is evidently in an ill humour."

"I shall not trouble him about it," said George; "s.h.i.+rking work always worries him, and he seems to be worried enough as it is."

When Mr. Sanders had gazed in the fire for half an hour, and had walked once or twice up and down the office, as his manner was on such occasions, he turned to George and said, "I want to speak with you in the next room."

"I wish you a benefit, Weston," said Williams as he pa.s.sed. "Recommend him a day or two in the country, for the good of his health and our happiness."

"Mr. Weston," said the manager, when George had shut the door and seated himself, "I am in great difficulties. This event has happened at a most unfortunate time, Mr. Compton is away, and I don't know how to act for the best. Will you give me your a.s.sistance in the matter?"

"Cannot you make the accounts right, sir?" asked George. "I thought you had satisfactorily arranged them last night."

"No, Weston; I have been through them over and over again, but I cannot get any nearer to a balance. I have been round to the Bank this morning again, and have seen Mr. Smith about it, but he cannot a.s.sist me.

However, inquiries will be made this afternoon, and all our accounts carefully checked and examined; in the meantime, I wish you would have out the books and go through them for me. Hardy can a.s.sist you, if you like."

"I will do all I can for you, to make this matter right," said George; "but I can do it better alone. If you will give Hardy the job I was about, I will check the books here by myself."

All that afternoon George sat alone in Mr. Compton's room surrounded with books and papers. But he did not examine them. Resting his head upon his hands, he looked upon them and sighed. Now the perspiration stood in big drops upon his forehead and his hands trembled. Then he would walk up and down the room, halting to take deep draughts of water from a bottle on the table.

Mr. Sanders occasionally looked in to ask how he was going on, and if he had discovered the error.

"No," said George; "the accounts seem right; but I cannot make them agree with the cash-book. There is still a hundred pounds short; but I will go through them again if you like."

"Perhaps you had better. I expect Mr. Smith here by six o'clock; will you remain with me and see him? He may a.s.sist us."

"Certainly," said George; "I feel as anxious as you do about the matter, for all the bills and cheques have pa.s.sed through my hands as well as yours; and I shall not rest easy until the missing amount is discovered."

Mr. Smith arrived just as the clerks were leaving the office, and Mr.

Sanders and George were alone with him.

"Well," said Mr. Smith, "we have gone carefully over every item to-day, and at last the defalcation is seen. This cheque," he continued, producing the doc.u.ment, "is forged. The signature is unquestionably Mr.

Compton's, but the rest of the writing is counterfeit."

"A forged cheque!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders, aghast; "impossible!"

"There must be some mistake here," said George, "the accounts in our books, if I recollect rightly, correspond with the cheques; but--"

"It is a clumsily arranged affair, although the forgery is a masterpiece of penmans.h.i.+p," said Mr. Smith; "and if it pa.s.ses first through your office, and is entered in your books with the false amount, it is clear that some one in your employ has committed the offence. I leave the matter now with you for the present," he added, to Mr.

Sanders; "of course you will put the case at once into the proper medium and find out the offender."

When Mr. Smith had gone, George sat down again in the seat he had occupied during that long afternoon, pale and exhausted.

"This is a lamentable business," said Mr. Sanders, pacing the room, "a lamentable business, indeed! I confess I am completely baffled. Mr.

Weston, I look to you for a.s.sistance. Can you form any idea how this matter has come about? Have you suspicion of any of the clerks?"

"I am equally at a loss with you how to manage in this case. I have no reason to doubt the integrity of any one in this office. Except one,"

said George, as if a sudden idea had come to his mind. "Yes, I have a suspicion of one; but I cannot tell even you who it is, until I have made inquiries sufficient to warrant the suspicion. Can you let the affair rest over to-night, and in the meantime I will do what I can, and confer with you in the morning."

"That seems the only plan," answered Mr. Sanders. "If I can render any a.s.sistance in making these inquiries, I will."

"No, thank you, you will have trouble enough in the matter as it is; and I can do what I have to do better alone."

Half an hour after this conversation, a cab was travelling at the utmost speed along the Clapham road. It stopped at the house of Harry Ashton, and George alighted.

"Ashton," said he, "I want to speak to you for two minutes. I have got into trouble; don't ask me how, or in what way. Unless I can borrow a hundred pounds to-night, I am ruined. Can you get it for me?"