The Uninhabited House | Page 8

he owed by his
lawyer, and ever after referred to Mr. Elmsdale as "that thief," "that
scoundrel," that "swindling old vagabond," and so forth; but, then, hard
words break no bones, and Mr. Harrison was not very well thought of
himself.
His remarks, therefore, did Mr. Elmsdale very little harm--a
money-lender is not usually spoken of in much pleasanter terms by
those who once have been thankful enough for his cheque; and the
world in general does not attach a vast amount of importance to the
opinions of a former borrower. Mr. Harrison did not, therefore, hurt or
benefit his quondam friend to any appreciable extent; but with Mr.
Harringford the case was different.
He and Elmsdale had been doing business together for years,
"everything he possessed in the world," he stated to an admiring

coroner's jury summoned to sit on Mr. Elmsdale's body and inquire into
the cause of that gentleman's death--"everything he possessed in the
world, he owed to the deceased. Some people spoke hardly of him, but
his experience of Mr. Elmsdale enabled him to say that a
kinder-hearted, juster, honester, or better-principled man never existed.
He charged high interest, certainly, and he expected to be paid his rate;
but, then, there was no deception about the matter: if it was worth a
borrower's while to take money at twenty per cent, why, there was an
end of the matter. Business men are not children," remarked Mr.
Harringford, "and ought not to borrow money at twenty per cent, unless
they can make thirty per cent, out of it." Personally, he had never paid
Mr. Elmsdale more than twelve and a half or fifteen per cent.; but, then,
their transactions were on a large scale. Only the day before Mr.
Elmsdale's death--he hesitated a little over that word, and became, as
the reporters said, "affected"--he had paid him twenty thousand pounds.
The deceased told him he had urgent need of the money, and at
considerable inconvenience he raised the amount. If the question were
pressed as to whether he guessed for what purpose that sum was so
urgently needed, he would answer it, of course; but he suggested that it
should not be pressed, as likely to give pain to those who were already
in terrible affliction.
Hearing which, the jury pricked up their ears, and the coroner's
curiosity became so intense that he experienced some difficulty in
saying, calmly, that, "as the object of his sitting there was to elicit the
truth, however much he should regret causing distress to anyone, he
must request that Mr. Harringford, whose scruples did him honour,
would keep back no fact tending to throw light upon so sad an affair."
Having no alternative after this but to unburden himself of his secret,
Mr. Harringford stated that he feared the deceased had been a heavy
loser at Ascot. Mr. Harringford, having gone to that place with some
friends, met Mr. Elmsdale on the race-course. Expressing astonishment
at meeting him there, Mr. Elmsdale stated he had run down to look
after a client of his who he feared was going wrong. He said he did not
much care to do business with a betting man. In the course of
subsequent conversation, however, he told the witness he had some
money on the favourite.
As frequently proves the case, the favourite failed to come in first: that

was all Mr. Harringford knew about the matter. Mr. Elmsdale never
mentioned how much he had lost--in fact, he never referred again,
except in general terms, to their meeting. He stated, however, that he
must have money, and that immediately; if not the whole amount, half,
at all events. The witness found, however, he could more easily raise
the larger than the smaller sum. There had been a little unpleasantness
between him and Mr. Elmsdale with reference to the demand for
money made so suddenly and so peremptorily, and he bitterly regretted
having even for a moment forgotten what was due to so kind a friend.
He knew of no reason in the world why Mr. Elmsdale should have
committed suicide. He was, in business, eminently a cautious man, and
Mr. Harringford had always supposed him to be wealthy; in fact, he
believed him to be a man of large property. Since the death of his wife,
he had, however, noticed a change in him; but still it never crossed the
witness's mind that his brain was in any way affected.
Miss Blake, who had to this point postponed giving her evidence, on
account of the "way she was upset," was now able to tell a sympathetic
jury and a polite coroner all she knew of the matter.
"Indeed," she began, "Robert Elmsdale had never been the same man
since her poor sister's death; he mooned about, and would