The Crime and the Criminal. Marsh Richard
seen him last. He had expended a portion of my hundred pounds to advantage in a tailor's shop. He was newly clad from top to toe. The overcoat which he had on was new, and so also was the astrachan which made it glorious. Thrown wide open, it revealed the fact that the gloss of newness was still upon the garments which it covered. A gold watch-chain ran from pocket to pocket of his waistcoat. Beautiful kid gloves encased his hands. Spats adorned his brand-new polished boots. His silk hat shone like a mirror. Even the dye upon his hair and whiskers had been renewed; it gleamed a beautiful blue-black. In his new splendour his resemblance to Mr. Townsend was more pronounced than ever. Even in the state of agitation which, ill as I was, his sudden appearance caused me, I could not but be struck by that.
He showed not the slightest sign of discomposure at the manner in which I greeted him. He stood grinning like a mountebank, not only as if he was sure of a hearty welcome, but as if the whole house belonged to him.
"Sorry, Mr. Tennant, to hear you are unwell-really grieved. I can only hope that it is nothing serious."
His impudence was a little more than even I could stand. I let him see it.
"What the dickens do you mean, sir, by entering my bedroom?"
In reply, he only smiled the more.
"My dear sir, I am here out of pure consideration for you. When I heard of your ill-health, I could not bear the thought of subjecting you to the inconvenience of coming down to me. So, instead, I came to you."
"Then, having come, perhaps you would be so good as, at once, to go again."
He turned towards me with a movement of his eyebrows, as if to express surprise.
"Gently, sir! Surely you presume upon the presence of a lady. Is that the way in which you should speak to me? I have no desire to keep you. My business with you ought not to detain me more than half a minute."
He seated himself on a chair, which he drew up towards the fire. Placing his hat upon his knee, he began to smooth the nap with his gloved hand. Unbearable though I felt his insolence to be, I saw that, unless I employed actual violence, I should not be able to induce him to budge. I looked at my wife. I should not have minded so much if she had not been there. I had borne with the fellow's insolence before; I might have borne with it again. But I was conscious that Lucy's eye was upon me, and that, unreasonably enough, she was expecting me to show the sort of stuff of which I was made. I say that this attitude of hers was an unreasonable attitude, because, what could she expect of a man who was recovering from a severe attack of illness, and whose nervous system was a shattered wreck. I temporised.
"What do you want with me?"
I fixed my gaze upon him. Avoiding it, he flicked his gloved fingers in the direction of my wife.
"At your service! Pray do not let me inconvenience the lady."
"You do inconvenience the lady greatly."
Both my tone and my manner were severe-as severe, that is, as they could be-considering that I was in my night-shirt sitting up in bed.
"I trust not. I would not wish her to leave the room one moment sooner on our account."
Then I saw what he was at. He wanted to get me alone and without the aid of my wife's moral support to back me. I looked at Lucy. She was standing very straight, looking alternately at both of us, as if she were making up her mind which she ought to admire most-or least. I caught a gleam from the corner of her eye. It was the one I sought.
"I have no secrets from my wife. What you wish to say to me you may say in her presence, and be so good as to say it quickly, sir."
Leaning back in his chair, thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, the fellow looked at Lucy with a smile upon his impudent face for which I could have struck him-and no doubt I should have struck him, had my health permitted it.
"No secrets from your wife? What a model husband you must be! Permit me, madam, to tender you my most sincere congratulations-you have secured a prize."
My wife said nothing. But I saw her lips curl.
"Do not address yourself to my wife, sir; address yourself to me."
Still lolling back in the chair, the fellow turned, with the same impudent smile, to me.
"To you? Certainly I will address myself to you. I am here to address myself to you, though my address will not occupy more than half a dozen words. I want from you a hundred pounds. That is the only remark which I wish to address to you."
"What!"
I was reduced to gasping.
"Surely what I say is plain enough. And don't I say it plainly? I want from you a hundred pounds."
"This is Friday, and you only had a hundred pounds from me on Monday."
"Yes, and this, as you say, is Friday. A hundred pounds are but a hundred pounds. In the hands of a gentleman they fly. Especially when he has to provide for what may be called preliminary expenses of a certain kind, which, in themselves, make a hole in a century."
I knew to what he referred. He meant that he had replenished his wardrobe. As though that had anything to do with me.
"Do you imagine that I am a bank at which you have a large current account on which you can draw at sight."
He laughed-or pretended to.
"That is precisely what I not only imagine, but fervently believe."
"Then your belief is a very foolish one. I assure you that you were never more in error in your life."
He glanced at a gold watch which he took out of his waistcoat pocket.
"Why should we waste time over these small quibbles? Are we children, you and I? I have an engagement shortly. If you have not the sum in the house in gold I will take what you have in cash, and the balance in an open cheque to bearer."
"You will have neither cash nor cheque from me. I will not give you one single penny."
"Do you mean it?"
He replaced his watch in his pocket. He rose from his chair. There was, in his bearing a return to the manner of "the Villain at the Vic." The fellow was theatrical all through. All his moods were equally unreal. At the same time there was something about the change which I did not altogether relish.
"Of course I mean it. You don't suppose that I am going to be robbed and plundered with impunity by you."
"You prefer to hang?"
"You know that I am as innocent of crime as you are, and probably much more so."
"Don't lie to me, you hound!" He turned with a sweeping gesture towards my wife. "You must excuse me, madam, but you will do me the justice to remember that I suggested your departure from the room. I cannot allow your presence to debar me from plain speaking." Directing his attention again towards me, he began to button up his brand-new overcoat, with a deliberation which was, doubtless, intended to impress me. "As you have been lying in your bed, like a cur hiding in its kennel-because pray don't suppose that you can make me believe that you have been sick with anything else but terror-I don't know, my man, if you are aware that all England is on tiptoe, watching for your capture. If I were to point you out, at this moment, in any street in England, the people would tear you limb from limb. The whole country is thirsting, righteously thirsting, for your blood."
"It is false!"
"Is it? Refuse to give me what I ask, and I will prove to you if it is false."
"I won't be robbed by you."
"Then you'll be hung by me instead." He raised his hat, as if he was about to put it on his head. "Once more, and for the last time, which is it to be-the gallows or the hundred pounds?"
"You'll get no hundred pounds from me. I swear it."
"Then it will be the gallows. In ten minutes the news will be flashing through the land that justice has its hands about the murderer's neck."
He clapped his hat upon his head. He moved towards the door. I went all hot and cold-anybody would have gone all hot and cold with such a prospect as the scoundrel pictured in front of him.