LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 197, 26 January 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

AN UNINVITED GUEST. It was nearly three o’clock on a hot summer’s day ; the long polished counters of our bank, the Royal Domestic Bank, were crowded with customers—money was flowing in and running out in the usual businesslike manner. From a raised desk in my private room, I, the manager of the Royal Domestic Bank, looked out on the busy scene with a certain pride and pleasure. The Royal Domestic is not a long-established institution, and, without vanity, I may say that much of its prosperity and success is attributable to the zeal and experience of its manager. In corroboration of this statement, I might refer to the last printed report of the directors - laid before the shareholders at their annual meeting—in which they are pleased to say But after all, perhaps I may be thought guilty of undue egotism and conceit, if I repeat the flattering terms in which they speak of me, A clerk puts his head inside my door. ‘Mr Thrapstow, sir, to speak, to you. ’ ‘ Send him in, Roberts, I said.

Charles Thrapstow I had known from boyhood ; we had both been reared in the same country town. The fact that his' parents were of considerably higher social status than mine, perhaps made our subsequent intimacy all the pleasanter to me, and caused me to set a value upon his good opinion greater than its intrinsic worth. Thrapstow was a stockbroker, a very clever, pushing fellow, who had the reputation of possessing an excellent judgment and great good luck. At my request, he had brought his account to our bank. It was a good account; he always kept a fair balance, and the cashier had never to look twice at his cheques. Charlie, like everybody else in business, occasionally wanted money. I had let him have advances at various times, of course amply covered by securities, advances which were always promptly repaid, and the securities redeemed. At this time, he had five thousandjjounds of ours, to secure which we heldjCity of Damascus Water-company’s bonds to the nominal value of ten thousand. My directors rather demurred to these bonds, as being somewhat speculative in nature; but as I represented that the company was highly respectable, and its shares well quoted in the market, and that I had full confidence in our customer, our people sanctioned the advance. I had perhaps a little uneasy feeling myself about those bonds, for they were not everybody’s money, and there might have been some little difficulty in finding a customer for them in case of the necessity for a sudden sale.

Thrapstow came in radiant. He was a good-looking fellow, with a fair beard and moustache, bright eyes-'isf bluish gray, a nose tilted upwards, giving him a saucy, resolute air; he was always well dressed, the shiniest of boots, the most delicate shade of colour in his light trousers and gloves, the glossiest of blue frock-coats, a neat light dust-coat over it, a blue bird’s-eye scarf round his throat, in which was thrust a massive pin, containing a fine topaz, full of lustre, and yellow as beaten gold. ‘ Well, I’ve got a customer for those Damascus bonds waiting at my office ; sold ’em well, too—to Billing Brothers, who want them for an Arab firm. One premium, and I bought at one discount. ’ ‘ I’m very glad of it, Charlie,’ I said, and I felt really pleased, not only for Thrapstow’s sake, but because I should be glad to get rid of the bonds, and the directors’ shrugs whenever they were mentioned. ‘ Hand ’em over, old fellow,’ said Charlie, * and I’ll bring you Billing’s cheque up in five minutes. You won’t have closed by then ; or if you have, I’ll come in at the private door.’ I went to the safe, and put my hand upon the bonds. Charlie stood there looking so frank and free, holding out his hand for the bonds, that I hadn’t the heart to say to him, as I ought to have done : Bring your customer here, and let him settle for the bonds, and then I will hand them over. I should have said this to anybody else, but somehow I couldn’t say it to Charlie. There would only be five minutes’ risk, and surely it was no risk at all. The thing was done in a moment; I was carried away by Thrapstow’s irresistible manner. I handed over the bonds, and Charlie went off like a shot. It wanted seven minutes to three, and I sat watching the hands of the clock in a little tremor, despite my full confidence in Thrapstow; but then I had so thorough a knowledge of all the rules of banking that I could’nt help feeling that I had done wrong. A few minutes, however, would set it right. Charlie’s white hat and glittering topaz would soon put in an appearance. Just at a minute to three the cashier brought me three cheques, with a little slip of paper attached. They were Thrapstow’s cheques, for fifteen hundred—twelve hundred and three hundred odd respectively, and his balance was only five hundred odd, I turned white and cold. ‘ t)f course you must refuse them,’ I said to the cashier. When he went out, I sat in my chair quite still for a few moments, bewildered at the sudden misfortune that had happened to me. Charles Thrapstow was clearly a defaulter; but there was this one chance—he might have given the cheques in the confidence of selling those bonds, and placing the balance to his account. In due course, these cheques which were crossed, would have been brought to the clearing-house, and have been presented on the morrow. But it seemed that his creditors had some mistrust of him, and had caused the cheques to be demanded out of due course. The clock struck three. Charles had not come back. The bank doors closed with a clang. I could endure the suspense no longer. Telling the bank porter that if Mr Thrapstow came, he was to be admitted at the private door, and was to be detained in my room till I returned, I went out, and made my way to his office, which was only a few hundred yards distant. He wasn’t there. The clerk, a youth of fifteen, knew nothing about him. He was in Capel Court, perhaps—anywhere, he didn’t know. Had he been in within the last half-hour? Well, no; the clerk did not think that he had. His story then, of the customer waiting, at his office was a lie. With a heavy heart, I went back to the bank, No ; Mr Thrapstow hadn’t been in, the porter said. I took a hansom, and went off to the office of Mr Gedgemount, the solicitor to the bank. 1 told him in confidence what had happened, and asked his advice. ‘ Could I get a warrant against this Thrapstow for stealing the bonds V ‘Upon my word,’ said Gedgemount, ‘I don’t think you can make a criminal matter of it. It isn’t larceny, because you abandoned the possession of the bonds voluntarily. No ; I don’t see how you can touch him. You must make a bankrupt of him, and then you can pursue him, as having fraudulently carried off his assets. ’ But that advice was no good to me. I think I was wrong in taking it. I think I ought to have gone straight off to the police office, and put the affair in the hands of the detectives. Dignified men of law, like Gedgemount, always find a dozen reasons for inaction, except in matters that bring grist to their own mill. I went home completely disheartened and dejected. How could I face my directors with such a story as that I had to tell ? The only excuse that I could urge of private friendship and confidence in the man who had robbed us, would make the matter only the worse. Clearly, at the same time that I told the circumstances to the directors, I should be bound to place my resignation in their hands, to be put into force if they thought fit. And there would be little doubt but that they would accept it. How damaging, too, the story would be _ to me, when I tried to obtain another appointment ! I had promised to take my wife and children for an excursion down the river, as soon as the bank closed, and the youngsters eagerly reminded me of my promise. I replied so savagely and sternly, that the children made off in tears ; my wife, coming to sec what was the matter, fared little better. I must have had a sunstroke or something, she told me, and bought bandages and eau do Cologne. I flung away in a rage, and went out of the house. I must be doing something, I felt, and I hailed a cab and drove to Thrapstow’s lodgings. Mr Thrapstow wasn’t coming home that night, his landlady told me ; she thought he was away for a little jaunt; but she didn’t know. He occupied the gx-ound-lioor of a small house in Ecclesford street, Pimlico—two rooms opening into each other, I told the woman that I would sit down and write a letter. She knew me well enough, as I had frequently visited Thrapstow, and she left me to myself. Then I began to overhaul everything, to try to find out some clue to his whereabouts. A few letters were on the chimney-piece : they were only circulars from tradesmen. In the fireplace was a considerable quantity of charred tinder. He had evidently been burning papers recently, and a quantity of them. I turned the fender carefully over, spreading it out upon a newspaper. I found nothing legible except one little scrap of paper, which the

fire had not altogether reduced to powder. on which I saw the name of Isabel sirring with metallic lustre. Then I went to the bedroom, and searched that.' Here, too, were evident preparations for flight: coats and other garments thrown hastily into cupboards, boxes turned out, an old glove or two lying upon the dressing table. I carefully searched all the pockets for letters or other documents, but I found nothing. The keys were left in all the receptacles ; an instance of Charlie’s thoughtfulness for others, in the midst of his rascality. Lying upon the wash-stand was a card, which was blank upon one side, but on the other had the name of a photographer printed upon, it. The card was wet, as if it had been soaked in water ; and near the upper end of it was a round irregular cut, which had not quite penetrate the card. It had evidently once had a photograph fastened on it: accordingly, the card had been wetted, to facilitate the removal of the photograph, whilst the face of the portrait had evidently been cut out, in order to place it in a locket or something similar. It struck me at once that the photograph, about which a man on the eve of flight would take so much trouble, must be of a person very dear to him ; probably his sweetheart. Although I had been intimate with Thrapstow, he had always been very reserved as to his own friends and associates, and I had no clue to guide me to any of them except the photographer’s card. Re-entering my cab, I drove off to the photographer’s. There was no number or distinguishing mark upon the card, and the chances seemed faint that he would be able to tell me anything about it. Indeed, at first, when the man found that I wasn’t a customer, he seemed little inclined to trouble himself about the matter. The promise of a fee, however, made him more reasonable, and he offered to let me see his books, that I might search for the name I wanted to find. It was unlikely that the photograph had been done for Thrapstow ; if it had, there would probably appear in the books only the useless record of his address, already known to me. Then the man shook his head. If I didn’t know the name, jt was no use looking: the card was nothing, he <said; he sent hundreds out every month. What information could he possibly give me ? Then I tried to describe the personal appearance of Thrapstow. But again he shook his head. If he hadn’t his likeness, he wouldn’t be likely to remember him; hardly even then, so many people passed through his hands. All this time he had been carelessly holding the card in his fingers, glancing at it now and then, and suddenly an idea seemed to strike him. ‘Stop a bit,’ he said, fuid went into his dark chamber, and presently emerged, smelling strongly of chemicals. ‘ Look here,’ he said triumphantly. I looked, and saw a very faint ghostly impression of a photograph. ‘lt’s printed itself through,’ said the man—‘they will sometimes—and I’ve brought it to light. Yes, 1 know the original of that.’ Again he dived into a closet, and brought out a negative with a number and label to it. Then he turned to his book, and wrote down an address for me—Mrs Maidmont,jLarkspurßoad, Netting Hill. Away I went to Larkspur Road. Mrs Maidmont’s house was a small comfortable residence, with bright windows, verandahs, gorgeous window-boxes, and striped sunblinds. Mrs Maidmont was at home, said a very neat, pretty looking maid; and I sent in my card, with a message: *On most important business, ’ The maid came back to say that her mistress did not recognise the name, but would I walk in? I was shown into a pretty drawing-room on the first floor. An elderly lady rose to greet me with a good deal of uneasy curiosity visible in her face. This was not the original of the photograph, who was a young and charming girl, ‘Madam,’ I said rapidly, ‘I believe that my friend, Charles Thrapstow, is well known to you; now, it is of the utmost importance that I should ascertain where he is at this moment.’ ‘Stay!’ said the old lady. ‘You are labouring under a complete mistake; I know nothing whatever of the gentleman whose name you mention; a name I never heard before.’ Was she deceiving me ? I did not think so. ‘ Perhaps Miss •Maidmont may know,’ I said eagerly. ‘ Miss Maidmont is not likely to have formed any acquaintance without her mother’s knowledge,’ said Mrs Maidmont with dignity. There seemed to be no alternative but for me to retreat with apologies. ‘lam very busy, you see,’ went on the old lady, with a wave of the hand; and indeed the room, now I looked about me, I saw to be strewed wi’h preparations for some festive event, a ball perhaps, or, from a wreath of orange blossoms that I saw peeping out of a milliner’s box, more likely a wedding. I was about to take my departure reluctantly, when a young girl, a charming young girl, bounded into the room: she was the original of the photograph. To he continued.