CHAPTER LVIII.

MR. SQUERCUM IS EMPLOYED.

While these things were being done in Bruton Street and Grosvenor

Square horrid rumours were prevailing in the City and spreading from

the City westwards to the House of Commons, which was sitting this

Monday afternoon with a prospect of an adjournment at seven o'clock

in consequence of the banquet to be given to the Emperor. It is

difficult to explain the exact nature of this rumour, as it was not

thoroughly understood by those who propagated it. But it is certainly

the case that the word forgery was whispered by more than one pair of

lips.

Many of Melmotte's staunchest supporters thought that he was very

wrong not to show himself that day in the City. What good could he do

pottering about among the chairs and benches in the banqueting room?

There were people to manage that kind of thing. In such an affair it

was his business to do simply as he was told, and to pay the bill. It

was not as though he were giving a little dinner to a friend, and had

to see himself that the wine was brought up in good order. His work

was in the City; and at such a time as this and in such a crisis

as this, he should have been in the City. Men will whisper forgery

behind a man's back who would not dare even to think it before his

face.

Of this particular rumour our young friend Dolly Longestaffe was the

parent. With unhesitating resolution, nothing awed by his father,

Dolly had gone to his attorney, Mr. Squercum, immediately after that

Friday on which Mr. Longestaffe first took his seat at the Railway

Board. Dolly was possessed of fine qualities, but it must be owned

that veneration was not one of them. "I don't know why Mr. Melmotte

is to be different from anybody else," he had said to his father.

"When I buy a thing and don't pay for it, it is because I haven't got

the tin, and I suppose it's about the same with him. It's all right,

no doubt, but I don't see why he should have got hold of the place

till the money was paid down."

"Of course it's all right," said the father. "You think you

understand everything, when you really understand nothing at all."

"Of course I'm slow," said Dolly. "I don't comprehend these things.

But then Squercum does. When a fellow is stupid himself, he ought to

have a sharp fellow to look after his business."

"You'll ruin me and yourself too, if you go to such a man as that.

Why can't you trust Mr. Bideawhile? Slow and Bideawhile have been

the family lawyers for a century." Dolly made some remark as to the

old family advisers which was by no means pleasing to the father's

ears, and went his way. The father knew his boy, and knew that his

boy would go to Squercum. All he could himself do was to press Mr.

Melmotte for the money with what importunity he could assume. He

wrote a timid letter to Mr. Melmotte, which had no result; and then,

on the next Friday, again went into the City and there encountered

perturbation of spirit and sheer loss of time,--as the reader has

already learned.

Squercum was a thorn in the side of all the Bideawhiles. Mr. Slow had

been gathered to his fathers, but of the Bideawhiles there were three

in the business, a father and two sons, to whom Squercum was a pest

and a musquito, a running sore and a skeleton in the cupboard. It

was not only in reference to Mr. Longestaffe's affairs that they

knew Squercum. The Bideawhiles piqued themselves on the decorous and

orderly transaction of their business. It had grown to be a rule in

the house that anything done quickly must be done badly. They never

were in a hurry for money, and they expected their clients never to

be in a hurry for work. Squercum was the very opposite to this. He

had established himself, without predecessors and without a partner,

and we may add without capital, at a little office in Fetter Lane,

and had there made a character for getting things done after a

marvellous and new fashion. And it was said of him that he was fairly

honest, though it must be owned that among the Bideawhiles of the

profession this was not the character which he bore. He did sharp

things no doubt, and had no hesitation in supporting the interests

of sons against those of their fathers. In more than one case he had

computed for a young heir the exact value of his share in a property

as compared to that of his father, and had come into hostile contact

with many family Bideawhiles. He had been closely watched. There were

some who, no doubt, would have liked to crush a man who was at once

so clever, and so pestilential. But he had not as yet been crushed,

and had become quite in vogue with elder sons. Some three years since

his name had been mentioned to Dolly by a friend who had for years

been at war with his father, and Squercum had been quite a comfort to

Dolly.

He was a mean-looking little man, not yet above forty, who always

wore a stiff light-coloured cotton cravat, an old dress coat, a

coloured dingy waistcoat, and light trousers of some hue different

from his waistcoat. He generally had on dirty shoes and gaiters. He

was light haired, with light whiskers, with putty-formed features, a

squat nose, a large mouth, and very bright blue eyes. He looked as

unlike the normal Bideawhile of the profession as a man could be; and

it must be owned, though an attorney, would hardly have been taken

for a gentleman from his personal appearance. He was very quick,

and active in his motions, absolutely doing his law work himself,

and trusting to his three or four juvenile clerks for little more

than scrivener's labour. He seldom or never came to his office on a

Saturday, and many among his enemies said that he was a Jew. What

evil will not a rival say to stop the flow of grist to the mill of

the hated one? But this report Squercum rather liked, and assisted.

They who knew the inner life of the little man declared that he

kept a horse and hunted down in Essex on Saturday, doing a bit of

gardening in the summer months;--and they said also that he made up

for this by working hard all Sunday. Such was Mr. Squercum,--a sign,

in his way, that the old things are being changed.

Squercum sat at a desk, covered with papers in chaotic confusion, on

a chair which moved on a pivot. His desk was against the wall, and

when clients came to him, he turned himself sharp round, sticking out

his dirty shoes, throwing himself back till his body was an inclined

plane, with his hands thrust into his pockets. In this attitude he

would listen to his client's story, and would himself speak as little

as possible. It was by his instructions that Dolly had insisted on

getting his share of the purchase money for Pickering into his own

hands, so that the incumbrance on his own property might be paid

off. He now listened as Dolly told him of the delay in the payment.

"Melmotte's at Pickering?" asked the attorney. Then Dolly informed

him how the tradesmen of the great financier had already half knocked

down the house. Squercum still listened, and promised to look to it.

He did ask what authority Dolly had given for the surrender of the

title-deeds. Dolly declared that he had given authority for the sale,

but none for the surrender. His father, some time since, had put

before him, for his signature, a letter, prepared in Mr. Bideawhile's

office, which Dolly said that he had refused even to read, and

certainly had not signed. Squercum again said that he'd look to it,

and bowed Dolly out of his room. "They've got him to sign something

when he was tight," said Squercum to himself, knowing something of

the habits of his client. "I wonder whether his father did it, or old

Bideawhile, or Melmotte himself?" Mr. Squercum was inclined to think

that Bideawhile would not have done it, that Melmotte could have had

no opportunity, and that the father must have been the practitioner.

"It's not the trick of a pompous old fool either," said Mr. Squercum,

in his soliloquy. He went to work, however, making himself detestably

odious among the very respectable clerks in Mr. Bideawhile's

office,--men who considered themselves to be altogether superior to

Squercum himself in professional standing.

[Illustration: Mr. Squercum in his office.]

And now there came this rumour which was so far particular in

its details that it inferred the forgery, of which it accused Mr.

Melmotte, to his mode of acquiring the Pickering property. The

nature of the forgery was of course described in various ways,--as

was also the signature said to have been forged. But there were

many who believed, or almost believed, that something wrong had

been done,--that some great fraud had been committed; and in

connection with this it was ascertained,--by some as a matter of

certainty,--that the Pickering estate had been already mortgaged

by Melmotte to its full value at an assurance office. In such a

transaction there would be nothing dishonest; but as this place

had been bought for the great man's own family use, and not as a

speculation, even this report of the mortgage tended to injure his

credit. And then, as the day went on, other tidings were told as to

other properties. Houses in the East-end of London were said to have

been bought and sold, without payment of the purchase money as to the

buying, and with receipt of the purchase money as to the selling.

It was certainly true that Squercum himself had seen the letter in

Mr. Bideawhile's office which conveyed to the father's lawyer the

son's sanction for the surrender of the title-deeds, and that that

letter, prepared in Mr. Bideawhile's office, purported to have

Dolly's signature. Squercum said but little, remembering that his

client was not always clear in the morning as to anything he had done

on the preceding evening. But the signature, though it was scrawled

as Dolly always scrawled it, was not like the scrawl of a drunken

man.

The letter was said to have been sent to Mr. Bideawhile's office with

other letters and papers, direct from old Mr. Longestaffe. Such was

the statement made at first to Mr. Squercum by the Bideawhile party,

who at that moment had no doubt of the genuineness of the letter or

of the accuracy of their statement. Then Squercum saw his client

again, and returned to the charge at Bideawhile's office, with the

positive assurance that the signature was a forgery. Dolly, when

questioned by Squercum, quite admitted his propensity to be "tight."

He had no reticence, no feeling of disgrace on such matters. But he

had signed no letter when he was tight. "Never did such a thing in my

life, and nothing could make me," said Dolly. "I'm never tight except

at the club, and the letter couldn't have been there. I'll be drawn

and quartered if I ever signed it. That's flat." Dolly was intent on

going to his father at once, on going to Melmotte at once, on going

to Bideawhile's at once, and making there "no end of a row,"--but

Squercum stopped him. "We'll just ferret this thing out quietly,"

said Squercum, who perhaps thought that there would be high honour

in discovering the peccadillos of so great a man as Mr. Melmotte. Mr.

Longestaffe, the father, had heard nothing of the matter till the

Saturday after his last interview with Melmotte in the City. He had

then called at Bideawhile's office in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and had

been shown the letter. He declared at once that he had never sent

the letter to Mr. Bideawhile. He had begged his son to sign the

letter and his son had refused. He did not at that moment distinctly

remember what he had done with the letter unsigned. He believed he

had left it with the other papers; but it was possible that his son

might have taken it away. He acknowledged that at the time he had

been both angry and unhappy. He didn't think that he could have sent

the letter back unsigned,--but he was not sure. He had more than

once been in his own study in Bruton Street since Mr. Melmotte had

occupied the house,--by that gentleman's leave,--having left various

papers there under his own lock and key. Indeed it had been matter

of agreement that he should have access to his own study when he let

the house. He thought it probable that he would have kept back the

unsigned letter, and have kept it under lock and key, when he sent

away the other papers. Then reference was made to Mr. Longestaffe's

own letter to the lawyer, and it was found that he had not even

alluded to that which his son had been asked to sign; but that he had

said, in his own usually pompous style, that Mr. Longestaffe, junior,

was still prone to create unsubstantial difficulties. Mr. Bideawhile

was obliged to confess that there had been a want of caution among

his own people. This allusion to the creation of difficulties by

Dolly, accompanied, as it was supposed to have been, by Dolly's

letter doing away with all difficulties, should have attracted

notice. Dolly's letter must have come in a separate envelope; but

such envelope could not be found, and the circumstance was not

remembered by the clerk. The clerk who had prepared the letter for

Dolly's signature represented himself as having been quite satisfied

when the letter came again beneath his notice with Dolly's well-known

signature.

Such were the facts as far as they were known at Messrs. Slow and

Bideawhile's office,--from whom no slightest rumour emanated; and as

they had been in part collected by Squercum, who was probably less

prudent. The Bideawhiles were still perfectly sure that Dolly had

signed the letter, believing the young man to be quite incapable of

knowing on any day what he had done on the day before.

Squercum was quite sure that his client had not signed it. And it

must be owned on Dolly's behalf that his manner on this occasion was

qualified to convince. "Yes," he said to Squercum; "it's easy saying

that I'm lack-a-daisical. But I know when I'm lack-a-daisical and

when I'm not. Awake or asleep, drunk or sober, I never signed that

letter." And Mr. Squercum believed him.

It would be hard to say how the rumour first got into the City on

this Monday morning. Though the elder Longestaffe had first heard

of the matter only on the previous Saturday, Mr. Squercum had been

at work for above a week. Mr. Squercum's little matter alone might

hardly have attracted the attention which certainly was given on this

day to Mr. Melmotte's private affairs;--but other facts coming to

light assisted Squercum's views. A great many shares of the South

Central Pacific and Mexican Railway had been thrown upon the market,

all of which had passed through the hands of Mr. Cohenlupe;--and Mr.

Cohenlupe in the City had been all to Mr. Melmotte as Lord Alfred had

been at the West End. Then there was the mortgage of this Pickering

property, for which the money certainly had not been paid; and there

was the traffic with half a street of houses near the Commercial

Road, by which a large sum of money had come into Mr. Melmotte's

hands. It might, no doubt, all be right. There were many who thought

that it would all be right. There were not a few who expressed the

most thorough contempt for these rumours. But it was felt to be a

pity that Mr. Melmotte was not in the City.

This was the day of the dinner. The Lord Mayor had even made up his

mind that he would not go to the dinner. What one of his brother

aldermen said to him about leaving others in the lurch might be quite

true; but, as his lordship remarked, Melmotte was a commercial man,

and as these were commercial transactions it behoved the Lord Mayor

of London to be more careful than other men. He had always had his

doubts, and he would not go. Others of the chosen few of the City

who had been honoured with commands to meet the Emperor resolved

upon absenting themselves unless the Lord Mayor went. The affair was

very much discussed, and there were no less than six declared City

defaulters. At the last moment a seventh was taken ill and sent a

note to Miles Grendall excusing himself, which was thrust into the

secretary's hands just as the Emperor arrived.

But a reverse worse than this took place;--a defalcation more

injurious to the Melmotte interests generally even than that which

was caused either by the prudence or by the cowardice of the City

Magnates. The House of Commons, at its meeting, had heard the tidings

in an exaggerated form. It was whispered about that Melmotte had

been detected in forging the deed of conveyance of a large property,

and that he had already been visited by policemen. By some it was

believed that the Great Financier would lie in the hands of the

Philistines while the Emperor of China was being fed at his house.

In the third edition of the "Evening Pulpit" came out a mysterious

paragraph which nobody could understand but they who had known all

about it before. "A rumour is prevalent that frauds to an enormous

extent have been committed by a gentleman whose name we are

particularly unwilling to mention. If it be so it is indeed

remarkable that they should have come to light at the present moment.

We cannot trust ourselves to say more than this." No one wishes

to dine with a swindler. No one likes even to have dined with a

swindler,--especially to have dined with him at a time when his

swindling was known or suspected. The Emperor of China no doubt was

going to dine with this man. The motions of Emperors are managed with

such ponderous care that it was held to be impossible now to save

the country from what would doubtless be felt to be a disgrace if

it should hereafter turn out that a forger had been solicited to

entertain the imperial guest of the country. Nor was the thing as yet

so far certain as to justify such a charge, were it possible. But

many men were unhappy in their minds. How would the story be told

hereafter if Melmotte should be allowed to play out his game of host

to the Emperor, and be arrested for forgery as soon as the Eastern

Monarch should have left his house? How would the brother of the Sun

like the remembrance of the banquet which he had been instructed

to honour with his presence? How would it tell in all the foreign

newspapers, in New York, in Paris, and Vienna, that this man who

had been cast forth from the United States, from France, and from

Austria had been selected as the great and honourable type of British

Commerce? There were those in the House who thought that the absolute

consummation of the disgrace might yet be avoided, and who were of

opinion that the dinner should be "postponed." The leader of the

Opposition had a few words on the subject with the Prime Minister.

"It is the merest rumour," said the Prime Minister. "I have inquired,

and there is nothing to justify me in thinking that the charges can

be substantiated."

"They say that the story is believed in the City."

"I should not feel myself justified in acting upon such a report. The

Prince might probably find it impossible not to go. Where should we

be if Mr. Melmotte to-morrow were able to prove the whole to be a

calumny, and to show that the thing had been got up with a view of

influencing the election at Westminster? The dinner must certainly go

on."

"And you will go yourself?"

"Most assuredly," said the Prime Minister. "And I hope that you will

keep me in countenance." His political antagonist declared with

a smile that at such a crisis he would not desert his honourable

friend;--but he could not answer for his followers. There was, he

admitted, a strong feeling among the leaders of the Conservative

party of distrust in Melmotte. He considered it probable that among

his friends who had been invited there would be some who would be

unwilling to meet even the Emperor of China on the existing terms.

"They should remember," said the Prime Minister, "that they are also

to meet their own Prince, and that empty seats on such an occasion

will be a dishonour to him."

"Just at present I can only answer for myself," said the leader of

the Opposition.--At that moment even the Prime Minister was much

disturbed in his mind; but in such emergencies a Prime Minister can

only choose the least of two evils. To have taken the Emperor to dine

with a swindler would be very bad; but to desert him, and to stop the

coming of the Emperor and all the Princes on a false rumour, would be

worse.