CHAPTER CCI.

MR. HEATHCOTE AND HIS CLERK.

It was five o’clock in the morning of the day after the interview described in the last chapter; and Mr. Heathcote was seated at the writing-table in his private office.

He was busily occupied with papers;--for his was a disposition that could not endure idleness. Even when vexed and annoyed--as he was at present--it was impossible for him to remain inactive. Had he been an author, he would have eclipsed Walter Scott or Paul de Koek in the number of his works.

There was a deep gloom upon his brow and a sinister light in his restless eyes, as he bent over the parchment-deeds which he was inspecting; and from time to time he cast an anxious glance towards the door.

At length be rang the bell; and the junior clerk answered the summons.

“Has not Mr. Green made his appearance _yet_?” demanded the lawyer, with an emphasis on the last word.

“No, sir--he has not,” was the reply, given timidly--for the young man beheld both the gloom on the brow and the gleaming in the eye.

“Not yet!” ejaculated Heathcote, fiercely, and frowning in his own peculiar fashion at the same time. “Nor sent either?” he added, interrogatively.

“No, sir,” responded the junior clerk.

“This is strange--very strange,” murmured the lawyer. “He can’t be ill--poor devils like him cannot afford to be unwell. But if he were,--if he _did_ happen to be so indisposed that be couldn’t shut his eyes to the fact,--he would have sent word. You know where he lives? demanded Mr. Heathcote, abruptly addressing himself to the young man.

“Yes, sir,” was the answer.

“Then go to his lodgings directly,” exclaimed the lawyer, in an imperious tone; “and if you find him at home, tell him that I am very angry indeed at his absence. Should he be ill, you must desire him to get out of bed, take a cab, and come to me at once to give an account of his conduct. Two guineas a-week, indeed, to a fellow who takes it into his head to be ill!”

And with this humane reflection Mr. Heathcote was about to resume his work, while the young clerk was turning towards the door, when Mr. Green suddenly made his appearance.

“Oh! you are come at last, sir--are you?” cried the lawyer, glancing up at the clock. “A quarter past five--and the office hours are from nine till six. What the deuce does this mean, sir?”

“I had a little business to transact, sir,” answered the head clerk, closing the door by which the junior functionary had just evaporated.

“A little business!” repeated Mr. Heathcote, staring at the man in unfeigned amazement: for he could not possibly conceive how Mr. Green should have any affairs of his own to attend to.

“Yes, sir--a little business,” returned the head clerk, who, though now feeling comparatively independent of his master could not shake off an obsequiousness of manner, which had become habitual to him. “Is it strange, sir, that for once in a way I should have taken the holiday which was certain to be refused if solicited beforehand?”

“Have you been drinking, Mr. Green--or are you mad--to talk to me in this style?” demanded Heathcote, surveying his clerk with more than usual attention.

“I have had nothing to drink, sir, beyond a single glass of sherry--and I beg to inform you that I am _not_ crazy,” answered the head clerk, growing a trifle bolder.

“A glass of sherry!” repeated Heathcote, again evincing the most unfeigned astonishment. “How is it possible, sir, that you can indulge in such extravagances and pay for them honestly? A few days ago you ventured to appear before me in a new suit of clothes, with the gloss actually on them--whereas your regular office-suit had not been thread-bare more than two years. Let me tell you, sir, that I take note of these things: I observe the most minute symptoms of change in a man’s character or habits; and no one can deceive _me_, Mr. Green--no one can deceive _me_,” repeated the lawyer, looking hard at the individual whom he thus addressed, as much as to say that he had suspected something wrong and was now certain of it.

“Well, sir--and who has attempted to deceive you?” asked Green, in a bolder tone than had ever yet characterised his language when in the presence of his hitherto dreaded master.

“Who has attempted to deceive me!” vociferated Heathcote, his lips becoming white and quivering with rage. “You, sir--_you_ have made the endeavour--you are making it now! But it will not do, Mr. Green--it will not do. Take care of yourself! New suits of clothes--sherry--a day’s absence without leave, and even without the humble apology that should mark your return,--all this is suspicious, sir--very suspicious, let me tell you.”

“Suspicious of what?” demanded the head clerk, approaching Mr. Heathcote’s desk, and looking steadily across it at that gentleman.

“That you were either bribed in my brother’s affair--or that you have robbed me,” was the immediate answer.

“You are a liar, sir--a deliberate liar,” exclaimed Green, now beginning to experience the first feelings of exultation at the independence which he was enabled to assert.

The lawyer could make no reply: he was amazed--bewildered--stupefied!

“Yes, sir,” continued Green, his voice now losing all its obsequiousness and his manner rising completely above servility,--“you are a liar if you say that I robbed you! Where was the chance, even if I had possessed the inclination, of pilfering even a single farthing? You know that you reckon up the office-money to the very last penny--and that if I tell you how a box of lucifers, or a piece of tape, or any other trifling article was required, you were always sure to say we were very extravagant in that front-office. These are truths, sir; and therefore how dare you pretend to believe in the possibility of my robbing you?”

“Mr. Green--Mr. Green,” exclaimed Heathcote, absolutely frightened at his head clerk’s manner: “what is the cause of all this excitement?”

The lawyer was frightened, we say,--because his conscience told him that something had occurred to place Mr. Green upon a more independent footing with regard to him; and the greater became such independence on the part of one who had long been his tool and instrument, the less secure was the lawyer himself in his own position. In fact, when a wretched being who had long grovelled in the dust at his feet, suddenly started up and dared to look him in the face,--it was a sign that the fabric of despotism was shaken and was tottering to its fall. Mr. Heathcote felt all this--and he trembled for a moment,--trembled with a cold and death-like shudder, as he beheld his clerk’s eyes glaring savagely at him; and it was under the influence of this sensation that he uttered the words which, by proving his own weakness, gave Green additional courage.

“You ask what is the cause of all this excitement,” exclaimed the latter: “and yet only a few minutes have elapsed since you dared to accuse me of having robbed you.”

“A man who has committed a forgery, may very well be suspected of theft,” returned Heathcote, who, having recovered his presence of mind, answered with his usual brutality of manner.

“And what may you not be accused of, then?” demanded Green, scarcely able to restrain himself from flying like a tiger-cat at his master: “for what have you not committed?”

“By heaven, Mr. Green, this shall last no longer!” ejaculated Heathcote, starting from his seat: “you are drunk, sir--you have been drinking, I tell you. Come--be reasonable,” he continued, almost in a coaxing tone: “go home quietly--and be here early in the morning to make an apology for your present bad conduct. I promise to forgive you.”

“Forgive me!” repeated Green:--“forgive me!” he exclaimed again, with a chuckling laugh which did Mr. Heathcote harm to hear it: “I have done nothing, sir, that needs forgiveness--and if I was to kick you thrice round this room where you have tyrannised over me for twelve years, it would only be paying back a minute portion of all I owe you.”

“Mr. Green, you will provoke me to do something desperate,” retorted Heathcote, in a low, thick tone, as he approached his head clerk to read in that individual’s countenance the solution of his present enigmatical conduct: “you will provoke me, I say--and then you will be sorry for your rashness. Consider--reflect--in another month’s time the thousand pounds must positively be forthcoming----”

“Will you replace it for me?” demanded Green, abruptly.

“You know what I have always said----”

“Yes--and I now know likewise what you have always _meant_,” interrupted Green, darting a look full of malignant hate and savage spite at the lawyer. “For twelve long years, sir, I have been your slave--your vile and abject slave. I was a criminal, it is true, when I first came to you--for I had committed that forgery which you detected, and which placed me in your power. But I had still the feelings of a man--whereas you soon imbued me with such ideas and reduced me to such a miserable state of servitude, that I have wept bitter, bitter tears at the thought of my own deep degradation. I could have lied for you--I could have committed perjury for you--I could have performed all the meannesses and condescended to do all the vile and low trickery which form part and parcel of your business:--but when I found myself used as a mere tool and instrument and treated like a spaniel, without ever having a single kind word uttered to cheer me beneath a yoke of crushing despotism----”

“You have had two guineas a week, paid with scrupulous regularity,” interposed Heathcote, who, from the tenour of the observations which Green had just made, began to fancy that he was only excited by liquor to make vague and general complaints, but that he was still as much in his power as ever.

“Two guineas a-week!” repeated the man, indignantly: “you are always dinning that fact in my ears. But heaven knows that were my salary six times as much, it would not repay me for all the cruelty I have endured at your hands--nor for all that one is obliged to _see_ and _go through_ while in your employment. I had some tender feelings once: but they have long ago been stifled by the horrible spectacles of woe and misery which have been forced upon my sight, and which have sprung from your detestable covetousness. I have seen children starving--mothers weeping over their dying babes--while the fathers and husbands have been languishing in gaol,--yes, in the debtor’s gaol where you have thrown them, and where some of them have died, cursing the name of James Heathcote! Yes, sir--I have seen all this: and what is more--aye, and worse, too--far worse--I have been an involuntary instrument, as your clerk, in causing much of that awful misery, the mere thought of which almost drives me mad. Talk of the black turpitude of murdering with a dagger or a pistol!--why, it is a mercy to the slow--lingering--piece-meal murders which you and men of your stamp are constantly perpetrating. _For as true as there is a God in heaven, there are more slow and cold-blooded murders committed in one year by a certain class of attorneys, than are recorded in the annals of Newgate for a whole century!_”

Heathcote’s fears had all returned by rapid degrees as his head clerk, turning full upon him, levelled at his head the terrible charges summed up in the preceding speech: but when these last words fell upon his ear, he grew ghastly pale, and, staggering back a few paces, sank into his chair,--_for he knew how sternly true was the appalling accusation!_

“Ah! well may your eyes glare upon me in horror,” resumed Green: “but it is high time that you should hear a few home truths--even though they come from such lips as mine. For you doubtless think that it is all very fine to issue a writ--refuse delay--decline everything in the shape of compromise--and then seize upon the goods of your victim, or clap him into gaol:--but it is we who sit in the outer office--we clerks, who can best penetrate into the effects of such a heartless course. When we see the door open, and the miserable wretch come in with _care_ as legibly written on his countenance as if it were printed in letters on a piece of paper,--and when he comes crawling up to our desk, as if _his_ utter self-abasement would be so pleasing to us clerks as to induce us to say a good word in his behalf to _you_,--then, when he asks in a tone of anguish which is ready to burst forth into a flood of tears, ‘_Do you think it likely that Mr. Heathcote will give me time?_’--it is _then_, I say, that the real feelings of such poor wretches transpire, and the murderous effects of the harsh proceedings adopted by lawyers of _your_ stamp become painfully apparent.”

“To what is all this to lead, Mr. Green?” demanded Heathcote, in a low and subdued tone: for it struck him that such a long address could only be meant to herald some evil tidings, to which his clerk, in the refinement of vindictive cruelty, sought to impart a more vivid poignancy by prefatory delays.

“To what is all this to lead?” repeated Green: “why--to your utter confusion, black-hearted old man that you are! Think of the conversation that took place between us a few days ago: did I not then tell you that there were many deaths to be laid to your door? And I was right! You sent off Thompson to prison--his wife and child perished, and he cut his throat:--_you_ are the murderer of those three human beings! The man Beale, whom you likewise threw into Whitecross Street, died in the infirmary of that gaol--died of a broken heart, sir;--and _you_ were his murderer! Hundreds and hundreds of deaths have you caused in the same way,--_hundreds and hundreds of legal murders!_”

“Green--Mr. Green!” gasped the lawyer, writhing as if he were a dwarf in the grasp of a giant: then, wondering why he should thus put up with the insolence of his clerk, and falling back upon the belief that the man could not possibly conduct himself in such a way unless he were under the influence of liquor, he suddenly started from his seat, exclaiming, “By heaven! sir, you have gone so far that all hope of forgiveness on my part is impossible.”

“I care nothing for your pardon--and shall not even condescend to solicit it,” replied Mr. Green, in a tone of complete and unmistakeable defiance. “I am going to leave you at once----”

“Leave me!” ejaculated Heathcote, who had hitherto believed it to be impossible that his clerk could throw off the chains of servitude and thraldom which had been so firmly rivetted upon him: “leave me!” he repeated: “yes--oh! yes,” he added, his countenance assuming an expression of the most diabolical sardonism;--“yes--you shall indeed leave me--but it will be to change your quarters for a cell in Newgate!”

“Perhaps _you_ will be the first to repair thither,” said Green, with a chuckle that seemed to grate upon the lawyer’s ears like the sound emitted by the process of sharpening the teeth of a saw.

“In less than two hours, Mr. Green, Clarence Villiers shall be made acquainted with the fact that the thousand pounds have long ceased to be in the Bank of England,” exclaimed Heathcote.

“The thousand pounds are there, sir--yes, _there_ at this very minute,” answered Green, in a tone of assurance which convinced Heathcote that the man was speaking the truth. “And what is more, sir, Mr. Villiers knows all--and has forgiven all! This morning did I replace the money; this afternoon did I repair to Brompton to throw myself at the feet of Mr. Villiers--confess everything--and implore his pardon. Oh! sir, he is a generous man--and he forgave me. ‘_You have been guilty of a terrible breach of trust--nay, a heinous crime, Mr. Green_,’ he said; ‘_but you have atoned for your turpitude. It is our duty in this world to forgive where true contrition is manifested; and I will take care to hold you harmless in this case, should it ever transpire that the money had been sold out._’--I wept while I thanked him; and I said, ‘_But I have a bitter enemy who is acquainted with the whole transaction: what can be done to save me from disgrace, should he inform against me?_’--‘_He cannot prove that you forged my name_,’ responded Villiers: ‘_I alone can prove that; and under present circumstances, I would not for worlds inflict an injury upon you._’ I again thanked him, and took my leave. You now perceive, Mr. Heathcote, that so far from being in _your_ power, _you_ are entirely in mine. The other day you told me that you would crush me as if I were a worm--that you would send me to Newgate--that you would abandon me to my fate--and that you would even _help_ to have me shipped for eternal exile. I thank you for all your kind intentions, sir,” added Green, in a tone of bitter satire; “and I mean to show my gratitude by exposing you and your villany to the utmost of my ability.”

“And what injury can _you_ do me, reptile?” exclaimed Heathcote, quivering with rage.

“What injury!” repeated Green: “I can ruin you!” he added, speaking loudly and triumphantly. “Oh! I am acquainted with far more of your dark transactions and nefarious schemes than you can possibly imagine. The deeds that are contained therein,” he added, pointing to the japanned tin-boxes, “are not sealed books to me. I have read them all--yes, _all_--and have gleaned enough information to enable me to bring upon you such a host of ruined and defrauded clients, that you would never dare to face them even for a moment. Ah! you may turn pale as death--and your eyes may glare with rage: but it is not the less true that I hold you in my power. If you destroy those deeds, you then annihilate the only documents which prove your title to the vast property which you have accumulated: if you do not destroy them, you leave in existence the damning evidences of your villany. At this very moment there are old men and old women struggling on in the bitterest penury, and cursing the life from which they have not the moral courage to fly through the medium of suicide,--some of them in the workhouse--others dependent on the bounty of relatives;--and all these have been plunged into this appalling misery by _you_! But every step you took to enmesh and ensnare them--every scheme you devised to get them completely into your power, so that you might wrench from them the last acre of their lands and the last guinea of their fortunes,--all--all has been illegal--fraudulent--extortionate--vile! Oh! it will alone prove a fine harvest for me, when I again take out my certificate to practise as an attorney--which I am about to do,--it will be a splendid commencement, I say, to take up the causes of all those persons and compel you to render an account to your ruined clients. This, sir, is what I am about to do: and now it shall be war between us--war to the very knife,--and ere many months have elapsed, you will bitterly repent your conduct to one who only asked for a little kindness in return for his faithful--far too faithful services.”

Having thus spoken, Mr. Green abruptly quitted the office, leaving James Heathcote in a state of mind not even to be envied by a criminal about to ascend the steps of the scaffold.