CHAPTER III.

NEGOTIATIONS.

Whether Mr. Fildew ever wrote that particular letter respecting which he spoke to Mr. Nipper is more than doubtful. Like many other men, he hated letter-writing, and it is possible that the incident in connection with Lord Loughton, to which he had seemed to attach so much importance when he first heard of it, may have assumed a different aspect when recalled to mind in the cool light of morning. In any case, there was no observable difference in his appearance or mode of life. He came and went, and smoked and drank, as heretofore only it might be that he was a little more particular in scanning the newspapers than he had previously been. At the end of a week his friend Nipper said to him, "I see that poor young fellow was buried yesterday."

"You mean Lord Loughton? Yes, I saw the account in this morning's paper."

"Written to your friend yet?"

"No. On second thoughts it seemed to me that it would be better to wait a few weeks before troubling him. He'll have enough to do and plenty to think of for a little while."

"Well, I wouldn't lose sight of him if I were you. It must be rather nice to be on nodding terms with an earl. Not that I should care about that sort of thing, you know," added Nipper, hastily. He had forgotten for the moment that he was in the habit of posing as a democrat. "And then"--with a glance at Fildew's threadbare coat and patched boots--"he might do something for you, you know: some snug little government sinecure, or something of that kind. There's lots of 'em knocking about."

Mr. Fildew laughed a little bitterly. "It may be all very well for me not to forget him, but he may not choose to remember me."

"Well, that's the way of the world and no mistake," said the auctioneer, with a shrug. "But, for all that, I shouldn't forget to jog his memory. Where's the use of having swell friends if you can't make use of 'em?"

A few evenings later Mr. Fildew called for pen, ink, and paper, and, seating himself at a little table, apart from the rest of the company, he wrote the following letter, which George the potman afterwards took for him to the nearest post:

"The Brown Bear Tavern, Chalcot Street, W. C.

"_February 25th_, 18--.

"Messrs. Flicker & Tapp, Bedford Row:

"Gentlemen,--In common with a great number of other people, I have heard with extreme regret of the untimely demise of the late Earl of Loughton. That a life so abounding in promise should be thus suddenly nipped in the bud must be almost enough to cause those near and dear to him to arraign the decrees of Providence.

"I know not whether it may be a matter of any moment either to the Dowager Countess of Loughton or to yourselves, as business agents for the family, to be made acquainted with the whereabouts of the present earl; but should it be so, I think I may safely say that I am the only person in England who can furnish you with his address. You may probably be aware that Mr. Lorrimore, as we may still call him, has resided abroad for several years but as I happen to have had a communication from him only a fortnight ago, I am fully competent to supply you with the information stated above. Should you think it worth your while to take any notice of this communication, I am to be found here any evening from 8.30 till 11.30 P.M.

"I am, gentlemen, faithfully yours,

"John Fildew."

Two evenings passed away without any response, but on the third evening a dapper little man, with a very shiny hat and a pair of whiskers several sizes too large for him, walked into the bar of the Brown Bear, and asked for Mr. Fildew. Our friend, being called, came lounging out of the coffee-room, his glass in his eye and a thumb in each waistcoat pocket.

"Are you Mr. John Fildew?" asked the little stranger, taking in the whole of John's shabby toggery at a glance.

"I am--unfortunately. I often think it would be a good thing if I could be somebody else."

"My name is Perkins. I have called respecting a certain letter addressed by you to Messrs. Flicker & Tapp. Our senior partner would like to know--"

"Pardon me," interrupted Fildew, blandly, "but if I have not the pleasure of addressing either Mr. Flicker or Mr. Tapp, we need not proceed further with the matter."

"Why, sir--how, sir--I don't understand you!" spluttered Mr. Perkins, becoming as red as a turkey-cock.

"I am sorry for that. I will put my meaning as plainly as possible. I never transact business except with principals."

"But I tell you, sir, I have been sent here specially to--to--"

"I am sorry that you should have your trouble for nothing, but unless Mr. Flicker or Mr. Tapp choose to come and consult me in person the matter must end here. And, really, I shall not be sorry for it to do so."

"Mr. Flicker or Mr. Tapp come to a place like this!"

"Why not, my dear Mr. Perkins? If the place is good enough for me, surely it is good enough for them."

"Why, you impertinent, shabby--"

"Gently, my dear Mr. Perkins, gently. I've rather a partiality for little men, so long as they behave themselves; but when little men become impertinent I've a nasty trick of caning them (_verbum sap_.). But have a drop of something hot before you go. This house has a name for its old Jamaica, and I've an odd sixpence somewhere in a corner of my pocket."

"To the devil with your Jamaica and your sixpence too!" ejaculated Mr. Perkins. "It's my opinion that you're nothing better than a common swindler;" and, jamming his hat over his brows, the little man turned abruptly on his heel and left the bar. Mr. Fildew, after a grim, silent laugh, went back to his pipe in the coffee-room.

Three days later Mr. Fildew found a note awaiting his arrival at the Brown Bear. It ran as follows:

"No. 429 Bedford Row.

"Messrs. Flicker & Tapp will be at liberty to see Mr. John Fildew any morning between half-past ten and two, if he will favor them with a call as above."

To this the following answer was sent:

"The Brown Bear Tavern.

"Mr. Fildew is sorry to say that his numerous engagements preclude him from having the pleasure of waiting on Messrs. Flicker & Tapp, as suggested in their note of yesterday. As previously stated, Mr. Fildew may be found at the above address any evening prior to 11.30 P.M."

"They shall wait upon me, not I upon them," said Mr. Fildew to himself, with an emphatic bang of his fist upon the unoffending postage-stamp.

And so it came to pass for one evening the great Mr. Flicker himself put in an appearance at the Brown Bear, having left his brougham at the corner of the street. He was a tall, thin, melancholy-looking man, like an attenuated life-guardsman who had turned mute for a livelihood. He stood among the bar-frequenters for a moment or two while Mr. Fildew was summoned, looking as grim, cold, and uncompromising as if he had been carved out of monumental marble.

"I am Mr. Flicker."

"I am Mr. Fildew."

Then the latter said a few words to the landlord, and the two gentlemen were ushered up-stairs into a private room. As soon as the door was shut, said the lawyer: "We received rather a singular communication from you a few days ago, Mr. Fildew."

"In what did the singularity of my communication consist, Mr. Flicker?"

"I will be frank with you, and I trust you will be equally frank with me."

Mr. Fildew bowed, but said nothing.

"May I be permitted to ask by what reasons you were influenced in your assumption that a knowledge of the address of--of--"

"Of the present Earl of Loughton," suggested Mr. Fildew, blandly.

"That a knowledge of the address of the person named in your letter," said Mr. Flicker, loftily, "could be of any possible interest either to the Dowager Lady Loughton or to myself or partner?"

"Were I so minded, I might content myself by replying that the fact of your presence here this evening is a proof that the information proffered by me has a certain measure of interest for you, and possibly for her ladyship also. But you have asked me to deal frankly with you, and I will endeavor to do so. Since writing my first letter to you, I have had a communication from his lordship containing certain instructions, and giving me full power to act in his behalf in this matter."

Mr. Flicker's eyebrows went up perceptibly, but he simply bowed and waited to hear more.

"Before proceeding further," resumed Mr. Fildew, "it may be as well if I give you our view of the case as it now stands. Of course we are all aware that the title, as it comes to the present earl, is what may be called a barren honor, there being no entail. Not one golden guinea, not one acre of moorland, comes with it. The father of the late earl, when he drew up his will, might have foreseen the contingency which the strange irony of events all unlikely as it then seemed--has now brought about. He took every possible precaution that his scapegrace cousin the man who on account of his evil doings, had been compelled to expatriate himself long years before, should not inherit a single rood of the property, and he would doubtless have willed the title away also had it been in his power to do so. The greater share of the property comes to Miss Collumpton, and a lesser share to Mr. Slingsby Boscombe, both of whom are half-cousins to the late earl, and I believe it has long been considered a desirable thing in the Lorrimore family that the two young people in question should unite their fortunes in wedlock. Should this consummation be brought about, one thing and one only would be needed to make such a union a matter for rejoicing among gods and men. The one thing needful would be that the title should accompany the estates." Mr. Fildew paused for a moment to relight the pipe he had brought with him from the coffee-room. "Which is your favorite tobacco, Mr. Flicker?" he asked, as he blew a cloud of smoke from his lips. "For my part, give me bird's-eye for choice."

"I never use tobacco in any shape, sir," said Mr. Flicker, with a sort of lofty scorn.

"Then let me tell you, sir, that you lose one of the pleasures of existence. But to return to our muttons. As you and I are well aware, Mr. Flicker, under present circumstances the title cannot go with the estates but it may follow them, and that at no distant date. The life of one elderly gentleman--of a gentleman who has been in infirm health for years--is all that now stands between Mr. Slingsby Boscombe and an earldom. But supposing this same elderly gentleman were to marry and have issue, where would Mr. Boscombe's chance be in that case?" Mr. Fildew put up his glass and stared across at his companion as if awaiting a reply but Mr. Flicker merely blew his nose with a melancholy air, and said nothing.

"However, as I am instructed," resumed Mr. Fildew, "matrimony is the last thought in his lordship's mind. At the same time, he does not relish the idea of succeeding to the title without any income to support it with. What, therefore, I am empowered to suggest is a compromise. Provided his lordship will enter into an engagement not to contract a matrimonial alliance, the question is what amount per annum the dowager countess, or Miss Collumpton, or Mr. Slingsby Boscombe, or all three of them together, will be prepared, after due consideration, to allow him out of the estate."

Mr. Fildew let his eyeglass drop and resumed smoking.

Mr. Flicker sat and stared at him across the table. His respect for the strange, shabby, tobacco-flavored man before him had gone up thirty per cent. during the last few minutes.

"Well, Mr. Fildew, really I am at a loss to know in what light to regard the strange proposition you have put before me. I have no instructions to--to--"

"I can't quite understand that," broke in Fildew, "and I am not such an ass as to expect an answer from you off-hand. Take my proposition away with you, and you and the dowager can consider it at your leisure. You know by this time where I am to be found."

Mr. Flicker rose. His sluggish blood was beginning to simmer. He felt that he had been quietly put down all through the interview. The strange being before him had actually had the presumption to address him in the same tone that he himself might have made use of when speaking to one of his clerks.

"By-the-bye, there is one point that I must press specially on your attention," resumed Fildew, as he too rose. "His lordship informs me that the first step in the negotiations, should your side agree to negotiate at all, must be a distinct understanding that the debts, on account of which he left England so many years ago, shall be discharged in full. His lordship makes that a _sine quâ non_."

"If his lordship may be judged by the tone of his mouthpiece," said Mr. Flicker, dryly, "it seems pretty evident that he looks upon himself as master of the situation."

"It is quite possible that such may be the earl's own opinion. But, in any case, Mr. Flicker, I think that you and I understand each other by this time."

Mr. Flicker muttered something that was inaudible and opened the door. "One moment, if you please," said Mr. Fildew. Then he rang the bell. "James, be good enough to light this gentleman downstairs and conduct him through the bar."

Four days later the following letter was put into Mr. Fildew's hands: "If Mr. Fildew will call at No. 287 Harley Street, at noon to-morrow (Tuesday), the Dowager Countess of Loughton will be at home."

Never had John Fildew looked more uncompromisingly and audaciously shabby than when he knocked at 287 Harley Street. His hat and coat might not have been brushed for days. His boots seemed to lack something of their usual polish. He wore a frayed black satin stock with long ends, which completely hid whatever portion of his shirt-front might otherwise have been visible, but which, at the same time, gave one the idea that perhaps there was nothing to hide. A faint, a very faint, aroma of stale tobacco floated round him as he moved.

The bleak March winds had made the ridge of his nose look more purple than usual, and when he put a dingy piece of pasteboard into the hand of the tall footman who answered his knock, that functionary was evidently disposed to look upon him as a member of the great fraternity of shabby-genteel beggars.

"Take that to the Countess of Loughton, and be quick about it," said Mr. Fildew, in the sharp military way he sometimes affected, for the man was turning the card over and hesitating.

Three minutes later Mr. Fildew found himself in the presence of the countess and Mr. Flicker.

The Dowager Lady Loughton was nearly eighty years old, but was still a wonderfully active and bright-eyed little woman. The tradition ran that she had been accounted a great beauty in her youth, but her nose and chin nearly touched each other now, and when she grew very earnest in conversation her head began to nod as if to add emphasis to her words, but that was simply because she could not keep it still at such times. All her life she had borne the reputation of being a good hater, and it was said that her tongue grew more venomous each year that she lived. The sudden death of her grandson had doubtless been a great blow to her, but she bore the loss with a stoicism which would not let any signs of grief be witnessed by those about her. Some of the countess's dearest friends averred that her grief at the fact of the title having to lapse into another branch of the family was quite as poignant as that which she felt for the loss of the young earl; but then we all know what strange things our dearest friends will say about us.

The countess examined Mr. Fildew through her double eyeglass--even at seventy-eight she would not take to spectacles--as he crossed the room after the servant had shut the door behind him. Mr. Flicker's description of the man had made her slightly curious respecting him. In that elegantly furnished room John Fildew's shabbiness looked shabbier by contrast. Had he been dressed as an ordinary working man he would not have looked nearly so much out of place as he did in the worn and rusty garments of a broken-down man about town. The only change in his attire that he had made in honor of the occasion consisted of a pair of very ancient black-kid gloves, which had been stitched and restitched so often that nothing more could be done for them, and a narrow mourning band round his hat.

"You are Mr. Fildew?" asked the countess, with a sort of sweet condescension in her tones.

"And you are the Dowager Lady Loughton."

Her ladyship looked at Mr. Flicker as much as to say, "You were quite right a strange being, truly." Then she said aloud, "Pray take a chair, Mr. Fildew."

This Mr. Fildew did, planting himself close to the little table near which the countess and the lawyer were seated. Then he stared mildly through his glass at one and the other of them, as waiting to hear more.

"Mr. Flicker has confided to me the purport of his interview with you a few evenings ago," began the countess.

"And the decision which her ladyship has arrived at," croaked Mr. Flicker, "is that the suggestion then put forward by you is totally inadmissible, and cannot be entertained for a moment."

"Then may I ask," said Mr. Fildew, with a sort of grave surprise, "why I have been summoned to Harley Street this morning? All this might surely have been told me under cover of a penny postage-stamp."

"Although I cannot at present see my way to entertain the proposition which Mr. Lorrimore has thought fit to make through you," said the countess, "it may still be conceded that I am not without a little natural curiosity to learn some particulars concerning the man himself, and what he has been doing these many years since he left England."

"I have no authority to gratify your ladyship's curiosity. I am here simply to negotiate a certain business transaction. As there seems no probability of our coming to terms I may as well take my leave at once. When Lord Loughton arrives in England he will no doubt be able to satisfy your ladyship's affectionate inquiries: whether he will care to do so is another matter." Mr. Fildew rose and pushed back his chair.

"Sit down, sir," said her ladyship, with an imperious gesture. "If you were Lord Loughton himself you could not treat me more cavalierly." Her head began to nod portentously.

"Suppose I am Lord Loughton?" said Mr. Fildew, quietly, as he resumed his seat.

"Eh!" said her ladyship, with a sudden scared look.

"I say--suppose I am Lord Loughton?"

She stuck her double eyeglass across her nose and stared at him for a moment or two. "You Lord Loughton--you!" she said, with a little derisive cackle. "Tchut! tchut! that would be a farce indeed."

"A farce that, like many others in real life, may involve a most serious meaning. But whether it be a farce or a masquerade, it is high time it were ended. Permit me, therefore, to introduce myself to your ladyship as John Marmaduke Lorrimore, ninth Earl of Loughton."