Vavasor walked round Hanover Square, nursing his hatred against the old Squire. He did not tell himself that he would like to murder his grandfather. But he suggested to himself, that if he desired to do so, he would have courage enough to make his way into the old man’s room, and strangle him; and he explained to himself how he would be able to get down into Westmoreland without the world knowing that he had been there—how he would find an entrance into the house by a window with which he was acquainted—how he could cause the man to die as though, those around him should think, it was apoplexy—he, George Vavasor, having read something on that subject lately. All this he considered very fully, walking rapidly round Hanover Square more than once or twice. If he were to become an active student in the Rush or Palmer school, he would so study the matter that he would not be the one that should be hung. He thought that he could, so far, trust his own ingenuity. But yet he did not meditate murder. “Beastly old idiot!” he said to himself, “he must have his chance as other men have, I suppose,” And then he went across Regent Street to Mr. Scruby’s office in Great Marlborough Street, not having, as yet, come to any positive conclusion as to what he would do in reference to Alice’s money.
But he soon found himself talking to Mr. Scruby as though there were no doubts as to the forthcoming funds for the next elections. And Mr. Scruby talked to him very plainly, as though those funds must be forthcoming before long. “A stitch in time saves nine,” said Mr. Scruby, meaning to insinuate that a pound in time might have the same effect. “And I’ll tell you what, Mr. Vavasor—of course I’ve my outstanding bills for the last affair. That’s no fault of yours, for the things came so sharp one on another that my fellows haven’t had time to make it out. But if you’ll put me in funds for what I must be out of pocket in June—”
“Will it be so soon as June?”
“They are talking of June. Why, then, I’ll lump the two bills together when it’s all over.”
In their discussion respecting money Mr. Scruby injudiciously mentioned the name of Mr. Tombe. No precise caution had been given to him, but he had become aware that the matter was being managed through an agency that was not recognized by his client; and as that agency was simply a vehicle of money which found its way into Mr. Scruby’s pocket, he should have held his tongue. But Mr. Tombe’s name escaped from him, and Vavasor immediately questioned him. Scruby, who did not often make such blunders, readily excused himself, shaking his head, and declaring that the name had fallen from his lips instead of that of another man. Vavasor accepted the excuse without further notice, and nothing more was said about Mr. Tombe while he was in Mr. Scruby’s office. But he had not heard the name in vain, and had unfortunately heard it before. Mr. Tombe was a remarkable man in his way. He wore powder to his hair—was very polite in his bearing—was somewhat asthmatic, and wheezed in his talking—and was, moreover, the most obedient of men, though it was said of him that he managed the whole income of the Ely Chapter just as he pleased. Being in these ways a man of note, John Grey had spoken of him to Alice, and his name had filtered through Alice and her cousin Kate to George Vavasor. George seldom forgot things or names, and when he heard Mr. Tombe’s name mentioned in connection with his own money matters, he remembered that Mr. Tombe was John Grey’s lawyer.
As soon as he could escape out into the street he endeavoured to put all these things together, and after a while resolved that he would go to Mr. Tombe. What if there should be an understanding between John Grey and Alice, and Mr. Tombe should be arranging his money matters for him! Would not anything be better than this—even that little tragedy down in Westmoreland, for which his ingenuity and courage would be required? He could endure to borrow money from Alice. He might even endure it still—though that was very difficult after her treatment of him; but he could not endure to be the recipient of John Grey’s money. By heavens, no! And as he got into a cab, and had himself driven off to the neighbourhood of Doctors’ Commons, he gave himself credit for much fine manly feeling. Mr. Tombe’s chambers were found without difficulty, and, as it happened, Mr. Tombe was there.
The lawyer rose from his chair as Vavasor entered, and bowed his powdered head very meekly as he asked his visitor to sit down. “Mr. Vavasor;—oh, yes. He had heard the name. Yes; he was in the habit of acting for his very old friend Mr. John Grey. He had acted for Mr. John Grey, and for Mr. John Grey’s father—he or his partner—he believed he might say, for about half a century. There could not be a nicer gentleman than Mr. John Grey;—and such a pretty child as he used to be!” At every new sentence Mr. Tombe
