The Malefactor | Page 7

a hand in the game. He was once my friend; I was in
court when he was tried; I was intimately acquainted with the lawyer's

clerk who had the arrangement of his papers. I know what no one else
breathing knows. He is a man who never forgives; a man who was
brutally deceived, and who for years has had no other occupation than
to brood upon his wrongs. He is very wealthy indeed, still young, he
has marvelous tenacity of purpose, and he has brains. Tomorrow he
will be free!"
Aynesworth drew a little breath.
"I wonder," he murmured, "if anything will happen."
Lovell shrugged his shoulders.
"Where I go," he said, "the cruder passions may rage, and life and death
be reckoned things of little account. But you who remain--who can
tell?--you may look into the face of mightier things."

OUTSIDE THE PALE
Three men were together in a large and handsomely furnished sitting
room of the Clarence Hotel, in Piccadilly. One, pale, quiet, and
unobtrusive, dressed in sober black, the typical lawyer's clerk, was busy
gathering up a collection of papers and documents from the table, over
which they had been strewn. His employer, who had more the
appearance of a country gentleman than the junior partner in the
well-known firm of Rocke and Son, solicitors, had risen to his feet, and
was drawing on his gloves. At the head of the table was the client.
"I trust, Sir Wingrave, that you are satisfied with this account of our
stewardship," the solicitor said, as his clerk left the room. "We have felt
it a great responsibility at times, but everything seems to have turned
out very well. The investments, of course, are all above suspicion."
"Perfectly satisfied, I thank you," was the quiet reply. "You seem to
have studied my interests in a very satisfactory manner."
Mr. Rocke had other things to say, but his client's manner seemed
designed to create a barrier of formality between them. He hesitated,
unwilling to leave, yet finding it exceedingly difficult to say the things
which were in his mind. He temporized by referring back to matters

already discussed, solely for the purpose of prolonging the interview.
"You have quite made up your mind, then, to put the Tredowen
property on the market," he remarked. "You will excuse my reminding
you of the fact that you have large accumulated funds in hand, and
nearly a hundred thousand pounds worth of easily realizable securities.
Tredowen has been in your mother's family for a good many years, and
I should doubt whether it will be easily disposed of."
The man at the head of the table raised his head. He looked steadily at
the lawyer, who began to wish that he had left the room with his clerk.
Decidedly, Sir Wingrave Seton was not an easy man to get on with.
"My mind is quite made up, thank you, on this and all other matters
concerning which I have given you instructions," was the calm reply. "I
have had plenty of time for consideration," he added drily.
The lawyer had his opening at last, and he plunged.
"Sir Wingrave," he said, "we were at college together, and our
connection is an old one. You must forgive me if I say how glad I am
to see you here, and to know that your bad time is over. I can assure
you that you have had my deepest sympathy. Nothing ever upset me so
much as that unfortunate affair. I sincerely trust that you will do your
best now to make up for lost time. You are still young, and you are rich.
Let us leave business alone now, for the moment. What can I do for
you as a friend, if you will allow me to call you so?"
Wingrave turned slightly in his chair. In his altered position, a ray of
sunshine fell for the first time upon his gaunt but striking face. Lined
and hardened, as though by exposure and want of personal care, there
was also a lack of sensibility, an almost animal callousness, on the
coldly lit eyes and unflinching mouth, which readily suggested some
terrible and recent experience--something potent enough to have dried
up the human nature out of the man and left him soulless. His clothes
had the impress of the ready-made, although he wore them with a
distinction which was obviously inherent; and notwithstanding the fact
that he seemed to have been writing, he wore gloves.
"I am much obliged to you, Rocke," he said. "Let me repeat your
question. What is there that you can do for me?"
Mr. Rocke was apparently a little nonplussed. The absolute
imperturbability of the man who had once been his friend was
disconcerting.

"Well," he said, "the governor sent me instead