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The Two Lawyers: A Novel

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXIV.

The following day brought to Clara and Frank the joyful tidings that her father was then on his way, and would land at Lyttelton on the following Tuesday. Frank no sooner received this letter than he at once took Louie further into his confidence, and despatched her on the first opportunity to Clara, who received the news with great glee.

"Oh, Louie," she said, "how can I ever repay you for your kindness; oh, how true it is that all one's joy comes together. I know not how to contain myself. My dear father coming to me once more. How I long to ask and obtain his forgiveness, for I feel he will not withhold it from me;" and so she ran on, and Louie, to let her more thoroughly enjoy her happiness, as soon as possible returned home.

Yes, Matthew Grant was on his way, for, after receiving Frank's letter, which told him his daughter would sooner that he should come to her, he at once signified to Tonkin that he should do as she wished and join her. "If, after I see her," he said, "she is willing to return here, I shall do so, but for fear she does not desire this, I must leave you, John, as though I am not to return."

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"Then, Matthew, if you think there is a probability of your not returning, the beat way will be for me to buy your share of the business; and, as I estimate the whole now to be worth £1400. I shall, if you are agreeable, give you the half of that— namely, £700."

"No, John," answered Matthew, "I shall not so far trespass on your generosity, but I will ask simply a fair wage for the six months that I have been with you."

This John would not listen to, as he declared Matthew had been a partner since he had been with him. "Besides," he added, "would you not have lost if I had? for then I could not have paid you."

Argue as he would, however, Matthew would not hear of this, and ultimately he accepted £200, and John declared he considered that £500 was still owing to Grant, and that if he chose to return the share was still his; if not, the money should certainly be sent to him, wherever he was. John spoke honestly when he made his generous offer to Matthew, for he felt grateful to him for being instrumental in saving him from eternal, or rather life-long, misery.

There were honest expressions of regret on both sides when the two friends parted; and so, with promises to write when he had arrived in New Zealand, Matthew set out upon the voyage for Lyttelton, full of joy at the prospect of seeing his long-lost daughter. He thought not now of the past years of misery he had endured; he felt no desire for revenge against those who had so seriously wronged him, of whom only one now lived. Even this he was not aware of, for he had no word from Clara concerning Hobart. Joyfully he went on his way, with but one thought, of spending some few of his last years happily, and also in conducing to the happiness of the only being now alive whom he loved; and so for the present we must leave him, page 241and return to some of the other characters who are now beginning to realise what it is to sail in troubled waters.

"Well, Hobart," said Fixer, some few nights after their last arrangement, "we are like the fox in the fable, we have tried nearly all our tricks but still we are far from getting over our difficulties. What do you think of your suggestion of my going to Dunedin to try a finance there, or do you prefer your own personal scheme, whatever it may be."

The speakers are at Hobart's house, and they have both been helping themselves pretty liberally from a whisky bottle which stands before them, for they now find a little fortification essential.

"Let's try the Dunedin scheme, and, should that fail, I will use my best endeavours to carry out my own arrangements."

"Very good, then; as there is a boat leaving here to-morrow, I will go by that, and should I find any chance of success I will advise you."

"I see," said Hobart, "that the Homeward Bound is still in the roadstead. I thought you told me she was ready for sea some days ago, but she doesn't seem to have started yet."

"No," replied Fixer, reflectively, "I had some idea of putting her to another use, and hence the delay."

"You will give orders for her putting to sea before you go, I suppose, to save expense."

"No, I shall let her remain," was the answer given, with such decision that Hobart said no more about the matter.

For some time they sat in silence, for each seemed to be busy page 242with his own thoughts. At last Fixer said, "I hope Miss Clara is well. I have not seen her for some time now; she never appears when I call. I trust she has not taken a dislike to me."

"You see her nearly as often as I do," replied Hobart. "I don't know what the devil has come to her of late, she seems to studiously avoid me. As to her being well, she is to all appearances in the best of health now, since she recovered from her indisposition of a few weeks back. When I am home without her knowing it, I often hear her singing about the house, as merry as a lark. I know I envy her very often."

"Hobart, things are far worse with us, I fear, than we think. There must be some reason for this exuberance of spirits, and whatever it may be I don't think it likely it bodes any good for either of us. Think you there is anything more between her and Perryman of late?"

"No, for he seldom sees her. His sister and Miss Branscombe call often, but he seldom comes. In fact, I almost think at times he knows more than we think, for he certainly avoids me as much as possible."

"Stormy weather, Hobart, stormy weather is approaching from all quarters. However, I was never a croaker, and do not wish to be one now. I will do my best in Dunedin, and then comes our last chance; and, should that fail, we must look out for fine weather."

"What the devil do you mean by fine weather? You are for ever at your riddles. Speak, and let me know all you infer."

"Well, Hobart, when once a climate begins to disagree with me, I invariably change my quarters. Now, the weather here of late, to say the least of it, has been very sultry, and what is more, the sky overhead indicates more heat. Under these circumstances, I think a sail round the bay, or rather off the coast, would be beneficial to my health. Now, can you understand what I mean by 'fine weather?'"

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"You are surely croaking now. There can be no reason for such a course as that. You seem to forget I promised you my scheme should not fail, nor shall it."

"We shall see," replied Fixer, "but now, as it grows late, I shall be off. I leave in the morning early, so I will wish you adieu."

Fixer had scarcely got fairly away when Hobart, putting on his hat and overcoat, leaves the house by the front door, and, although it is very late, he makes direct for the residence of the New Orleans planter. Parks seemed to expect him, for as soon as they were both seated, he remarked, "You are later than I thought you would be."

"Well, yes, I intended to he sooner, but as Fixer visits Dunedin, or rather leaves for there, to-morrow, to arrange for the purchase of another barque or two, I had money matters to attend to to-night."

"You were quite right, Hobart, to attend to business first. I can't stand seeing a man neglect that. You must have a lot of money in the mercantile concern now."

"Well, yes, a considerable sum; but you see we have been so successful, and the profits have been very large."

"So I should say; but come, try a liquor, and then we will also attend to business. Here are some cigars just over from New Orleans; try them, they are good."

Hobart did as requested, and then, turning to his host, he said, "Well, Parks, what says the fair Amelia to my proposal; does she view it favourably?"

"As I told you, my boy, she always takes her old father's advice in everything. An obedient girl, Hobart, and I am sure she will make you a good wife. Take her, and may you be happy."

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Thus had this worthy pair, who are apparently so well matched, arranged the affairs of Parks' daughter, without consulting her heart at all, although it may be doubtful if she had one, for she certainly seemed to be a fair specimen of what the daughter of such a man would be. Yes, Hobart had that very day (as he knew Fixer must soon leave for Dunedin) proposed to the father for the hand of Amelia Parks, and the old man had accepted him, conditionally of course, as he so far studied appearances as to say, "I will put the matter to her, and you shall in all probability have your answer to-night." Hobart knew the father well enough to have no fear concerning the answer of the daughter; and so matters were now settled.

"You shall have," said Parks, "£20,000 with her now, my boy, and another £30,000 within a year."

At this news Hobart showed more joy than at the mere fact of being accepted by the young lady. "Don't mention it," he replied, "the second amount when you wish. I am not in immediate want of the whole of the money, but the first part I can well find investment for. I have a good speculation in view."

"Then do you, as you proposed," said Parks, "wish the marriage to take place as soon as you suggested?"

"I have so far relied on your word," said Hobart, "as to make my arrangements to leave here for Christchurch to-morrow afternoon, and then we can complete all arrangements for the wedding taking place at 3 o'clock on Tuesday next, in that city."

"You shall not depend on me in vain. Amelia will be ready, Hobart, and I and the wife will go up and see the matter over; and then once more, as you say, to business."

Shortly after this conversation closed, and Hobart returned to his own house. He felt, as he went along, that he had done a master-stroke, for he deemed the firm saved, and, to do him page 245justice, he had tried to keep his word. In any affair of importance, it was perhaps the first time he had ever done so in his life.

Shortly after arriving at his house he was surprised to find Clara had not yet gone to bed.

"I am glad she has not retired, as I wish to tell her I shall be away, and I would sooner tell her now than to-morrow."

The cause of Clara's being up, had he known it, would not have increased his peace of mind, but he was ignorant that she too contemplated starting for Christchurch on the following day. She was about to speak to him on the matter; not that she feared going without an escort, but that she wished her father to arrive safely before Hobart was aware of his coming. She had no wish to extend mercy to him, but Hobart came to her rescue."

"Ah, Clara, you are up too late. You seldom risk your health by keeping out so long in the night air, but I am glad you are up on this occasion, as I wished to tell you that I shall have some business in Christchurch which will keep me there till Tuesday. I start in the morning by steamer at about eleven, for luckily there will be one call here."

At first so much did this surprise her that she was for a minute or two almost thrown off her guard; and no doubt Hobart would have perceived this had he not been so full of his own affairs.

"He going to Christchurch? Does he know," she thought, "that the one he has every cause to fear is coming? No, he cannot;" but still the thought of this news was to Clara rather startling, but she only asked—

"You will return on Tuesday?"

"Yes," he replied, "if possible. I start from there by page 246steamer, and go round to Dunedin. But you are evidently not anxious to know, Clara, why I go. You have of late become so indifferent as to my doings and movements, or I should have spoken to you on the subject before."

As Hobart said this the old passion for Clara was roused within him, and for the moment he reflected, "Would she now marry me and fly. I would even now sacrifice all for her, for I feel that I still love her."

"I have not had any occasion to show or make any display of my feelings on the subject. I see but little of you, and know less of your doings."

"Clara," he replied, "have you any feeling for me? Say that you have, and you may alter my course—aye, even my whole life,—for I love you still. If you say but 'yes' now, will I marry you."

"Speak not of that, for you have already had my final answer. I have but one object in life, and matrimony has nothing to do with it."

"But, Clara, I think still I can trust you, as of old. Yes, I will, even were it my ruin," said Hobart, for his love had got the better of his discretion, and he thought that perhaps some smouldering spark of affection for him still remained with her, and that perhaps were he to tell her all she would accept him. "I go to Christchurch to marry. You start; but I repeat that I am about to marry Amelia Parks; but if your decision is not irrevocable, I will yet lose her and all else for you."

She had, it is true, started when he mentioned that he was going to marry, but she felt no particle of regret, unless it was for the woman who was to become his bride. A loathing for the man who could behave in such a manner took possession of her, and she replied—"You are still a true impersonation of the mean and cowardly being you have always page 247been. Think not that I would divert you from the course you have chosen, unless for the purpose of saving her by acquainting her with the kind of man she is about to espouse. For this, probably, I should get no thanks; so go your way, and speedily will I go mine."

"Clara, you are always heartless to me. You know I love you and have always loved you, and now do I not show how great is my affection when I offer to forsake her for but one word from you. Still you withhold it; aye, even when with her I gain a marriage portion of £50,000."

"Ha! ha! ha! You marry the money you should say, but as a condition you agree to give her in return your very agreeable company. You certainly become more despicable the more one has the misfortune to know you, though I long since thought you had attained the highest standard in that respect. Bat enough, your presence, as I told you before, is pollution. Go and marry her, and when you return you shall find that I shall not be here, lest I should forget myself and tell her then, and prove that I did wrong in not telling her before. I pity her from my heart, so help me heaven;" and as Clara finished speaking she left the room.

"No sooner had she done so than Hobart arose and paced the room. "Fool," he exclaims, "that I have always been where she is concerned. Oh, if it were all to be again, how would I cherish thy love, Clara, for daily do you show you are more than ever worthy." Here he stayed himself, for even he sometimes felt the pangs of conscience, and now he thought how she was worthy of the love of a man ten thousand times better than he was.

Taking now from a sideboard a bottle of his favourite beverage, he sought relief in this. Glass after glass he poured down his throat, but the more he drank the more he became troubled. If Mary Torridge were to arrive, he thought, what page 248then? But she will never come; and now, as he was almost in a drunken state, he reeled rather than walked about the room, muttering, but in an audible voice—

"Poor old MattLew—hic,—I wonder where he is, he might— hic—turn up too. And Fixer, what will he say? He—hic— can't say much, anyhow. Curse my father," he goes on, "this all comes from being the son of a convict, he imbued me with all his villainous notions; but I must do it now, old Parks would shoot me were I—hic—to say I could not marry her."

Thus John Hobart spent the last night before his nuptials. Not a very amiable state to be in, it is true; and it is to be regretted that many before of his kind have done likewise. His villainy no doubt was bred in the bone, and it will come out in the flesh."

The next day saw the bridal party on their way to the Cathedral City. Hobart did not present the best of appearances, for he now feared something would arise in the way of new difficulties. He made all sure the first thing that Fixer was away, for he feared him more than anybody. Frank he could not find early enough without going; to the house, which he somehow feared to do. He left a note at the office, saying that sudden and important business had called him away for a few days, but that before a week he would return. Not a word about his marriage did he say, for he seemed to fear lest the very birds should know and fly with the news elsewhere. Frank received the note, and inwardly wished Hobart would never return, but to no one did he so express himself.

Shortly after Hobart's departure, on the same morning, Clara was on the way to Christchurch. In her case, as it was necessary for her to travel by land, the journey took two days, so that she did not arrive there until the day after Hobart. On arrival she at once went on to Port Lyttelton, for she knew there was some uncertainty about the actual day her father would arrive. She found comfortable quarters in a private page 249boarding-house, and awaited the boat by which Grant was to come.

Hobart, on his arrival, put up at the most fashionable place then in Christchurch, and all the necessary arrangements for the wedding were completed. At last, without any mishap, the day arrived, but on this morning Hobart looked as though he had been fairly scared. He had the previous night, in company with Parks, sat up until a late hour, and their discussions had been too liberally blended with malt whisky, for they were both now what Parks termed, when speaking of others, "good square drinkers." Not that Hobart's appearance on his bridal morn was altogether due to that; but for hours after he retired to bed he had thought incessantly, first of Clara, and then of Mary Torridge; and, do what he would, he could not for the life of him get them from his mind. At last, when, sleep did come, it was not refreshing, for his dreams were very unpleasant ones. When morning came he arose and dressed with anything but bright hopes, for he could not divest himself of the fear that some misfortune would befal him. He regretted what he had told Clara now, but more than all he was sorry that she had not accepted his offer of marriage. So as the time drew on for the ceremony to be performed, he actually looked more as though he were going to be hanged than married.

However, the appointed hour at last arrived, and there assembled at the church the bride and bridegroom, Mr and Mrs Parks, and two witnesses. There were no bridesmaids, no extra costly outfit—all that the bride wore was good and neat, but such as would do for other purposes afterwards. They each took their places, and the officiating minister proceeded to read the marriage service. While this was going on, there entered the church, with many other curiosity seekers, an aged gentleman and an apparent invalid, his daughter; but as the ceremony had so far proceeded they stood in the aisle of the church, and waited to look and hear merely out of curiosity. Several times the minister looked around, his attention being attracted by the page 250occasional noise caused through some thoughtless new-comer; but when the question was asked, "John Hobart, do you take this woman to be your wedded wife?" there was heard a faint scream, and then again all was still.

Mary Torridge, with her father, and at his request, as he thought it would perhaps divert her mind from other matters, was among the lookers-on, and at the mention of the name of him she had so much cause to hate, she started, looked wildly around, and giving a slight scream, fell back in a faint. Her father, ever on the watch, sees and hears all, and, catching her in his arms, supports her to a seat. No sooner has he done so than she rallies, and looks towards the altar, exclaiming feebly, "Justice, oh God, at last," and tearing open her dress she takes out a massive locket which she always wears round her neck. She forces this open just as the minister has completed, and, taking out a paper, she unfolds it with great vehemence, apparently in fear lest it should be the wrong one.

"No, this is it," she exclaims aloud; and before her father dreams of what she does, Mary Torridge has risen to her feet, and advances up the aisle towards the altar. The people who are there stand back in amazement, but she heeds them not, while Mr Torridge, in a state of wonder and fear lest his daughter had lost her reason, follows her. Nobody stops her, and she forces her way right into the midst of the bridal party, who are just about to leave the church, having received the minister's blessing.

The clergyman looks up in astonishment when he sees one who is evidently a lady forcing her way toward him. Without hesitating she places herself full in front of Hobart, who at sight of her turns ghastly pale, for, in spite of the changes wrought in her by illness, he recognises her instantly. Putting up his hand as though to ward off some disagreeable vision, Hobart mutters, "Mary Torridge."

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"No," she replies, in a firm voice, "not Mary Torridge, to my sorrow, but Mary Hobart."

Mr and Mrs Parks look on in wonder, while the bride-elect seems stupified, and old Mr Torridge is evidently perfectly bewildered, and fancies his poor child has gone mad. Going gently up to her, without looking at the others, he says, "Mary, come, my daughter, you are excited."

"No, father," is the reply, given in a clear voice, "I am not, but I will have justice at last. Look you," she says, "here, in the most sacred building of the Lord's, and before God and man, do I denounce John Hobart as a bigamist, and here are the proofs;" and with these words she hands to her father the paper she had so recently taken from the locket that now hangs open on her breast. "Read, let these good people see to whom they give their daughter, and then I will tell you how I married him—for I was an unwilling bride. Refute what I say, John Hobart, if you can."

The man addressed, however, only shrank back abashed, scarcely knowing what he did; while Amelia, to add to the festivities, fainted, and during the next few minutes all were engaged in restoring her to consciousness.

During the bustle, Hobart endeavours to go quietly away, but Mary Torridge sees the movement, and placing herself full in his path, she says, "Not yet, sir, not yet. I told you on the day you married me by stratagem that you should live to regret it—that I would be a very stone around your neck, which you would find cling tighter whenever you should try to cast it off; and now, thank God, I am able to keep my word. Luckily for your innocent victim, I have arrived in time to prevent you committing another sin. Father," she cried, turning to Mr Torridge, who had stood nearly the whole of this time in a half-stupefied state, "now you know why I have pined and fretted nearly my life away—why page 252I would not marry the man we all loved. It was because I would not let others suffer by telling them the secret I carried with me. No, I could even have gone to the grave without betraying myself; but now I feel relieved, for the weight is removed."

While she has been speaking she had addressed herself to her father, and when she turned again to confront Hobart, she found that he was gone.

"Ah," she cries aloud, "you have let him escape;" and then Parks awakes to the actual position of affairs. Turning to Mr Torridge, he says, "Would you allow me to see this document, for if this villain has done all your daughter says, I'll shoot him. Yes, by heaven, I will."

One look at the marriage certificate was sufficient to make him start off out of the church in search of Hobart, but the latter had made such good use of his time that he was nowhere to be seen.

At the last words of her father, Miss Parks, for such we must still call her, again faints, and all is in confusion in the church. Some run one way, some another; the clergyman looks perplexed, and every now and then he murmurs, sotto voce, "I do wish this couple had gone to another church to be married, for this will give me endless trouble." No doubt he was under the belief that no one heard him, as he added aloud, " May the Lord have mercy on the sinful."

All is excitement within the precincts of the sacred building, and the minister steps forward and delivers a short speech on the evil ways of the world and the lusts of the flesh, and then turns his attention to comforting the bereaved ones, saying, "It might have been much worse, but now justice will be done," &c., &c.

Mary Torridge seems now better than for many months, and she, in as few words as possible, tells them of her fatal mar-page 253riage, and how it took place. Mr Torridge declares he will have justice, but observes, with the usual legal acumen, that it will be much trouble, for the parson who performed the ceremony in Hobart Town is dead, and the witnesses will be difficult to find, but that if it is possible they certainly shall be found. So the parties concerned leave the sacred building and seek their respective places of abode; and on that very day information is laid against John Hobart for bigamy, and the officers of the law are on the alert, and have communicated with the other stations throughout the Colony.

In the meanwhile, what has become of Hobart? Immediately on leaving the church he procured a horse, and in less than half an hour he is away across the Canterbury Plains in the direction of Timaru; for invariably such as he fly to the most dangerous places. He thinks not of that, however. All he remembers now is what Fixer has said about "fair weather," and he rides on to be in time, lest he shall be left behind. On, on he rides, over one river and then another, for there are many to cross ere he can reach Timaru. He fears not the water, however, and luckily his horse proves to be a good swimmer, or the rider would have been badly off. On he goes at a reckless speed until the morning begins to dawn, and then he finds that his horse must have rest, and, striking well off the road, he takes off the saddle and lets him feed on the tussock—for there is nought else there—while he throws himself on the ground. Although he is worn out with fatigue he finds it difficult to fall asleep, but at last he succeeds. Presently he awakes with a start, crying, "Unhand me; surely you know well enough where to find me without taking me into custody;" but as he looks round he sees he has only been dreaming. How painful was the memory of that dream, when he fancies he is being pulled off to gaol for his crimes. He sits some time, thinking that now it is too late to regret what he has done—to blame himself for not taking Fixer's advice.

"Repinings are useless," said he at last, rising from the page 254ground, "I must away. It looks as though it were near night-fall. I must reach there before morning if I kill this horse and get another." Then he remembers that he must be careful. The police will be after him long before this, and he must not show himself.

He looks now for his beast, which he thinks he sees some distance off, and, taking up the saddle and bridle, he goes on to see. Yes, fortune favours him, it is the horse, and the faithful animal neighs as he approaches, and makes no effort to elude him, and in a few minutes he is again mounted and on his way.

It turns out, as he had conjectured, that it is near night, for soon the sun goes down, and the moon, in all her brightness, shines on him.

"One more river," he exclaims, after he had travelled some distance, "and then Timaru;" and he pushes on at a reckless speed, passes the Washdyke, and just as he is reaching the town his horse falls, throwing his rider heavily. The faithful animal has been ridden to death.

For some time Hobart lies apparently dead, but presently he moves, and gradually recovers his senses.

"Where am I?" he asks, but receiving no reply, he rises with difficulty, for the exertion of the ride has made him stiff, and he looks around him. "Ah," he mutters, "I am flying from the accursed police as my old father often did, curse him! But I must hurry on; Fixer must be found. Yet stay, I will go first to the office. My house will be watched, so I must not visit there."

It is now necessary for a short space to leave Hobart, and return to Fixer, who has come back from Dunedin, where he has been unsuccessful in raising the required funds. He is much cast down for one of his sort, but he bears up as well as possible, as he has placed some little hope in Hobart's promise, page 255although not much. His trust, however, is soon to be shattered. He goes straight to his own villa on his arrival, and after attending to his inner man, he asks his housekeeper, "Any news of importance, Mrs Bluff?"

"Well, sir, nought but that 'bout Mr 'Obart."

"Mr Hobart, what of him?"

"Why, sir, don't yer know as how he went to Christchurch to get married; but as how when he was agettin' done, a wife of 'is as wasn't dead walked straight in and says, ''E's mine!'"

"Good gracious, Mrs Bluff, are you sure of this?"

"Suttingly I is, sir; the police are a lookin' for 'im. I knows that, for my good man wor here and told me so."

Fixer asks no more questions, but for some time his housekeeper keeps on expatiating on the awful sin, until at last Fixer says impatiently, "That will do, Mrs Bluff, that will do."

As soon as she was gone Felix rises, and starts immediately for his office. It is close on five, and he knows that unless he hurries he cannot reach the place before his clerk goes, and he wants the key to-night more than ever. When he arrives, Pierce is just closing for the day.

"Ah, just in time, Pierce. I want you to go down and learn if Captain Davis is on board the Homeward Bound. If he is not there you must find out where he is, and let him know I wish to see him at once. You need not come back, for I will lock up myself."

As soon as the clerk was gone, Fixer took pen and paper and wrote for some time.

"Now, I wonder," he says to himself when he has finished, "if that fool will be back. Yes, for certain he will, as now he will think of what I said about a sail off the page 256coast. He will also go to his office, but it will be too late. This letter at any rate he shall find, if I am in time."

Fixer leaves his office, and walks as speedily as possible to Hobart's, and finding the last clerk just leaving, he asks him if what he has heard is true.

"About the marriage? Oh yes, sir, it is true enough."

"Ah, indeed," says Fixer; "however, here is a letter for him, if you will kindly put it on his table, so that he may get it as soon as he returns."

"But won't he be arrested, sir?"

"Well, if he is, he will, I presume, be bailed out, and then he will get it. If he don't, it is not my business. I promised to leave it, and there it is."

The clerk took the note, and, as requested, placed it on Hobart's table.

Fixer now returns to his office and waits, and presently Captain Davis arrives.

"Ah, Davis, I am glad you are here," says Felix, "as I want you; but not just now. Let me see; if you will look in to-night about eleven I shall then have finished what I am about, and we can talk over the affair. I would not bother you to come so late, but I shall in all probability want you to go to sea to-morrow, and as I shall perhaps be in the country when you go, I must see you to-night. Let none of your men off the ship to-night, captain, for the glass is falling, and you know how dangerous this coast is in rough weather."

"I shall take care, sir, and also be here at eleven, as you say."

"Yes, captain, at eleven."

When he is once more alone, Fixer opens his book, and for page 257hours he works on till he sees it is close on eleven. Putting out the light, he now leaves the office, but by the back entrance, and makes his way to his own house, which is only some two or three hundred yards off. Mrs Bluff is up awaiting his arrival, and asks if he would like something to eat before bedtime.

"No, thanks," he replies, "nor need you remain up. I shall perhaps call you early, so you had better get to bed.

Mrs Bluff did not require to be told twice, as she was only too willing to go, and in a few minutes she could be heard sending forth sounds which showed she slept soundly.

Fixer now goes to his room, and in less than ten minutes he has packed in a large seaman's bag most of his clothing. Looking around the room for some minute or two, he says, in a low voice, "Good-bye to Timaru. Some pleasant hours have I had here, but they are over now;" and taking up the bag again he leaves the house, and is soon again back in his office. He takes some ceiling wax, and he fastens up the mouth of the bag, and just as he has done so a knock is heard at the office door; and, opening it, he finds himself face to face with the skipper of the Homeward Bound.

"Captain, have you a boat ashore?" is Fixer's first question.

"No, sir, but I can have one in a few minutes."

"Well, just take that bag with you to the beach, call off a boat, and put it on board. Then return, as I wish to see you again. I am sorry to trouble you so much, as it is late, but I cannot prevent it."

"No trouble, sir," answers the captain, and off he goes with the bag.

"Now," says Fixer, "it will take him an hour to go off and back. I must finish and be on the shore when he returns, so that he will not have to come here."

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Again he resumes his work, but this time he is evidently in the greatest possible hurry, and in less than half an hour he has finished.

He had been preparing a balance-sheet of the firm of Fixer and Hobart, and as he cast his eye over it, he mutters, "What a thing it is to have a fool for a partner. Two years only we have been in this together, and our net profit stands at £6958 13s 4d. Had it not been for that infernal land spec., and this last affair, which is worse still, we should have increased our business, and soon been independent. But I must not waste time. That's all right, and in justice to Perryman, who will have enough to pay, I'll leave this, and also a letter. Yes, I have that to do yet;" and again he starts and writes. When he has finished, he encloses the balance-sheet, which is headed, "Balance-sheet of Fixer and Hobart, sole members of the firm of Fixer and Co."

"Now, let me see, where can I put this letter so that they will find it in about three or four days. Ah, I have it; in the room where Pierce is working, at the back of the wool. It will take him some time to work his way that far. Now a note to tell him that I am away for a day or two. Ha! ha! a day or two!"

Fixer has soon written his letter, and, after placing it where he had intended, he says, "Now, his key which I gave him the other day will let him in;" and having put the books back in the safe, and placed the key, which had never before left his possession, in the table drawer, and he wishes the office another good-bye, as though it were animate, and is soon on his way to the beach.

It is twelve o'clock when he reaches the place, and he is just in time, as Davis is about to land.

Fixer, however stops him, and telling the captain that he would like to take a turn on the water, he sprang into the boat, and they were soon away from the shore.

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No sooner were they off than Fixer called Davis on one side, saying, "Captain, take that boat on board, and lift anchor and set sail as soon as possible. We have a fair wind now, and a sea voyage will do me good."

The captain looked up with surprise, but knowing the man who spoke, the orders were obeyed, and long before morn they were right out to sea.

"What course are you making for, captain?" asked Fixer.

"For where you told me, sir, I was to take this cargo."

"Stay," said Fixer, "put on full sail and steer as direct for San Francisco as possible."