LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2374, 11 November 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

OUEIOUB CIRCUMSTANTIAL PUZZLE. A lawyer's story. (“London Society.”) ( Continued .) The speech was inconsistent enough. But one thing was plain from it—John Bailer waa determined to disbelieve the clear evidence of his own reason. * Then,’ I asked again, a little hypocritically ; ‘yon are convinced in your own mind, from your previous knowledge of his character, that Adam Brown la not the man V

* I’m just aa certain he's not as that I stand here. And, more for bis sake than my own, I mean to know who Is the man.’

• Have yon spoken about it to Adam Brown.’

* Not I. I’d aa soon speak to yon, Mr Stan dish, on the supposition that .It | might havo been you,’ ‘ Very pood. If Adam Brown— ’ "If. air ?’ * Since Adam. Brown is innocent, we can very soon put him beyond the reach of any sort of suspicion, and without bringing the people at the bank into the affair—at least, not in any way that would make them think anything was seriously wrong in any particular direction. In the first place, arrange with them, both here and at Redport, not to cash any cheque of yours not bearing a certain private mark (which you will keep secret from all your employes) without forthwith advertising you of the person by whom it was presented. • This will have the effect of narrowing matters very considerably. What had better be done farther I think we will wait and see.!

* Von quite understand, Mr Standish, that whatever you do will fiad out who was the real man—not young Adam Brown ? I—l doubt if I quite like to do that about the private mark after all 5 it seems a bit meanlike to my mind.’ ‘ It’s the beat way of clearing Adam Brown if—since he’s innocant, it seems to me,’ said I. Of course I had not the faintest doubt in my own mind about the identity of this ingenious and systematic forger with Mr Adam Brown. I knew the man pretty well by sight, and a little by reputation. He was a good-looking plea?aut young fellow, certainly too young for his over-responsible place in John Bull’s service, but well up to his work, and very popular with the young men of his own class in Oarc’ater. His father had been an unsuocesssul commission agent, and, as I had to-day learned for the first time, the successful rival in love of John Bnller. I must leave it to others wholly to understand why the beaten suitor, whom nobody suspected of having a grain of sentiment in his composition, should have made himself a second father to this young man—in a reserved and wholly undemonstrative way, that is: for I feel certain now that Adam Brown looked upon himself simply as an ordinary servant. So I was really rather sorry that circumstances pointed so clearly to Adam Brown as the guilty man, though of course I felt also that John Bailor’s eyes ought to be opened, and that such ungrateful crime ought to be punished as openly and richly as it deserved. I had not the least intention of helping my client to persuade himself of the innocence of a guilty man. On the contrary, I fully meant to expose the young rascal before he oonld do worse harm; and for that purpose the plan of privately marked cheques seemed the best that, upon the spur of the moment, 1 conld hit on It would satisfy John Buffer by avoiding immediate scandal, and no doubt convict the forger just as well as any more open way. But the explosion was to come more sharply and swiftly than I bad planned. On the following Saturday morning the spirit moved me to take John Buffer’s house on my way to my own office. I thought it advisable to see something of that curious weekly despatch of cheques and bills to Bedport. As 1 have said, he was young and good-looking; and he had a good face too, like a lad’s who comes of good people and has been brought up well. And, what was better, it was not a weak one, nor a stupid one; but, at the same time, it wasn’t a happy one, and gloomy rather than merely grave ; his eyes, instead of looking bright or open, as a young man’s should always be in the morning, were dull and red, as if he had either slept but little or were in the habit of taking something stronger than tea or coffee for breakfast when at home in his Bedport lodgings. In such cases the eye and the hand are one ; and his hand was not quite so steady as he held out his hand for the leather cheque case, so 1 thought at least, as It ought to have been. ‘l’ve only dropped in to see if you’ve made your arrangements about marking today’s cheques,’ said I, as soon as Adam Brown had closed the street door ; * you’ve found nothing now, I suppose ?’ 1 .No ; I wish to heaven the thing was over ; it worries me more than I try to say. There’s nothing so horrible aa having somebody about that you can’t trust, and you don’t know who. And you’re a married man, Standish ; you don’t know what it means to swallow all your own worries yourself, with nobody to give the least bit of ’em to. But—halloa 1 Hi, Adam!’ he called out, throwup the window and calling down the street. ‘Just to show you how things bother me,’ hejsaid.to me, ‘l’ve left out of the case just the very cheque from Aroher and Company that I wanted to have paid in at Bedport this very day. Hi, Adam! Ah. hero you aro. I was afraid you were out of earshot; but you’re in lots of time for the train ; there’s something I wanted to say to you, and Mr Standish coming in just now— ’ There was nothing In the sudden recall, however nnusnal, to frighten an honest man. But I could not mistake my eyes—there are some oases in which we can’t help reading faces, ay. and in believing what we read ; if ever fright turned a man’s face red and pale, it turned Adam Brown’s now.

* Here’s a cheque of Archer’s,’ said John Bnller, noticing nothing, ‘ that I want paid in at Bedport this morning, and I forgot it when Mr Standiah came in ; put it in the case with the others ; here it is; three hundred and eighty pounds nine.’ Adam Brown held out his hand for the cheque; but a sudden inspiration, prompted by tho young man’s unmistakable confusion, made mesay — ‘Yes; there’s plenty of time for the train, bnt not for me. There’s something I must say to you, Mr Bailer, before I go on to the office, and I’ve only allowed myeolf a minute to spare. Would you mind leaving us alone for one minnte, Mr Brown ? You can leave the case here; Mr Bailer can put in the cheque while he’s listening to me to save time.’

I watohed the'young man while I spoke, and what I saw made me feel more sure than ever. 1 held oat my hand for the case, to pass it to John Buller, and felt Adam’s fingers tremble us they touched mine. * Wait a bit,’ 1 said to John Bailer, as soon as Adam left the room ; ' before patting in that cheque, just see if the others are as they ought to be, * 4 The others ? Of course they are. What do yon mean ?’ | Why, as you made one mistake, you

might by chance have made another, you know. Well, while you’re overhauling, I only just wanted to say— ’ There was nothing I wanted to .pay, hot I had no need to think of a pretext. I iad my eye on John Buller, and before ‘say’vas off my lips—‘Good God!’ cried he; ‘look lure, Brown !’ ho shouted, ‘ Adam Brown — 1 ‘Don’t frighten him,’ said T, rising and opening the door, knowing what John Buller had found in the case as well as if I hid seen it—

‘ Mr Brown, yon may come in now.’ He came in, as a detected criminal comes before a judge, trembling and pale, I vrotdered he had been able to remain in the hall all atone for that terrible moment, during which, as he must have known, he was being tried, found guilty, and condemned. To ray surprise, John Buller, whom I had though', in the first stage of a passion, sat still, in front of his detected clerk, without a word. Bat I should not like to have been in Adam Brown’s shoes daring that silent pause. There was no sign or thought of anger in the look of mingled sorrow and scorn —more of sorrow than of scorn —with which John Buller regarded the young man to whom he had tried to be a second father. I had done my duty, I suppose ; but I oonld not help pitying both, and I know whom I pitied the most of the two. It was not the younger man. , , I looked steadfastly at the fifth ferged cheque for fiftv pounds which John Bailer had found in the leather case, and the preparation of which was quite enough to account for the sleepless look of the young man’s eyes. ‘ Adam Brown,’ said John Buller at last, in a voice full of sadness; • Adam Brovn, I know well enough that yon see your deceit discovered, and I won’t add to your wrongdoing by tempting you to tell a lie. I knew your mother—long ago—and for her sate I first gave you work, and bread to work for. But it was for your own sake I trusted yon, even as she might have trusted me; and the end is that I shall never be able to trust man, woman, or child again. Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to have you—your mother’s son—put in the dock as a felon. Bat there’s nothing I can do for a man—a boy—that—that— Go; and never cross my path again.’ The culprit tried to lift his eyes, but failed. ‘Sir,’ he began, ‘I do not defend—l do not excuse—l never intended— ’ ‘I am sorry for myself. Do not make me despise you. A man- does as he Intends. I’m wrong not to prosecute you j it’s what I should do to any other man who did as—as you have done. Go ; I give yon the chance to redeem yourself, if you can ; but not with me. Go.’

Without one attempt to defend or excuse his guilt, far less to deny it, the young man was gone. < ‘ I do not thank yon for this, Mr Blandish, said John Buller. The tears came into his eyes as he turned away, (To he continued,')