He had scarcely whispered to himself these reflections, when the object of them was announced.
“Bring him hither,” said Learmont, and in a few moments Jacob Gray was introduced. The moment the servant had left the room, and closed the door behind him, Gray seated himself with an air of insolent familiarity, which, under any other circumstances, would have produced a storm of passion in Learmont; but he felt the necessity of temporising; and, severe as was the struggle to him, he nevertheless succeeded in keeping down his passion sufficiently to address Gray calmly.
“You reached London in safety, of course?”
“Even so,” replied Gray. “Permit me to congratulate you upon your house. It really is—”
“Yes, yes,” cried Learmont, impatiently. “Let us to business, Master Gray. You found the papers your extreme prudence had left in London, when you favoured me with a visit, quite safe, I trust?”
“Perfectly safe, and untouched,“ said Gray; “and—and—permit me to add, that I have placed them again under such circumstances as must ensure their delivery to one who has power and will to use them, should anything sudden—you understand—happen to your humble servant, Jacob Gray.”
“May I ask whose hands you consider so peculiarly adapted for those papers?”
“Oh, certainly; a neighbour of yours, Sir Francis Hartleton.”
“Sir Francis Hartleton?” exclaimed Learmont.
“Yes,” replied Gray; “one of the most acute lawyers and active justices in London.”
“As you please,” said Learmont. “Now, with regard to the—the—child?”
“He is quite well, squire, and likely to continue so.”
“Humph! Is he tall?”
“Not over tall, but slim and active.”
“Enough of him at present. I wish to speak to you of another matter. The sums demanded of me by Britton are large.”
“Doubtless, squire; ’tis an extravagant knave.”
“Now those sums, Gray, added to what you yourself receive, would make a goodly income.”
“In faith you speak, truly, squire.”
“Now, Gray, I will deal frankly with you,” continued Learmont. “This Britton is fond of wine, and in his cups some day he may hint or say enough to—to hang you, Master Gray.”
“Eh?” cried Gray. “Hang me?”
“Even so.”
“Oh, I understand, along with your worship, of course.”
“I don’t know that, Jacob Gray,” remarked Learmont, calmly and firmly. “I have a long purse, you see, which you have not.”
“There—is—something in that,” muttered Gray.
“A man of your acuteness must perceive that there is a great deal in that,” continued Learmont.
“Yes, truly; but still there would be danger, most imminent danger, squire.”
“That I grant you, but yours, Jacob Gray, would far exceed mine. Be that, however, as it may, you must see how very desirable a consummation it would be if this swilling drunken knave, Britton, were some day to choke himself.”
“Or be choked by Jacob Gray?” added Gray, with a smile of dark meaning.
“Exactly,” said Learmont. “It may be done easily. Invite him to your house; feast with him, plan and plot with him; give him wine; and then, some day, when time and circumstances are fitting, I will give you a drug of such potency, that, if ever so slightly used in his wine-cup, will seize upon the springs of life, and at once, you will see, Master Gray, you are rid of this dangerous man.”
“And rid you likewise of him,” interposed Gray.
“Of course; but I gain little—you everything—by his death—safety and wealth!”
“It might be done,” murmured Gray, “if it could be done safely.”
“With your caution,” suggested Learmont, “with but a little of the admirable cunning you have as yet displayed in this business, methinks it might be possible, Master Gray, for you to overreach in some way so dull-witted a villain as this Britton, who, you see, stands so much in the way of your fortunes.”
“If,” muttered Gray, “it can be done at all by me, that poison draught you mentioned is, to my mind, the most ready, and—and—”
“Safe,” added Learmont.
“Well, safe be it,” said Gray. “There is no occasion for a greater risk than necessary.”
“None in the least,” sneered Learmont: “you will then do your best, Master Gray, to rid yourself of this sot, this incubus upon you, this villain, whom I hate as—as—”
“As you hate me!” said Gray, twinkling his small eyes, and peering in the face of Learmont.
“No,” said Learmont; “you are not so dangerous because you are more cautious; but, Jacob Gray, is it not possible that, should you succeed in ridding yourself of this Britton, you may think it worth your while to name some price for the only thing I dread?”
“The child?”
“Yes: think of my words.”
“I will think,” said Gray; “but now I must be gone.”
Learmont placed in his hands a purse of gold, and with a shifting, low-cunning glance of his little grey eyes, the wily villain left the place muttering—
“Humph!—He wants to kill my goose, to get all the golden eggs at once. Indeed!—we shall see!”
CHAPTER XV.
Chase.—A Long Race, And its Results.
When Gray left the splendid mansion of Learmont, he stood for a few moments in the street, turning round him cautiously to see if he was watched, for his suspicions had been awakened by Learmont, once during this interview, ringing for an attendant, and giving some order outside the door in a very low whisper.
Now Jacob was extremely cunning. He refined upon ordinary duplicity, and now, as he stood in the street casting cautious glances up and down its silent extent, he muttered to himself—
“Humph! My way is westward. Now, your ordinary clever fellow would go westward, for fear of being watched; but I—I, Jacob Gray, have got beyond such cunning. Learmont knows well I am a careful man. Should he have set a spy upon me, it will be with the certainty that I will not go directly to my home; and to defeat that I will go—not directly home, but in the direction of home. Ho! Ho! Squire Learmont, you are not yet a match for Jacob Gray!”
Continuing muttering to himself, and peeping into every doorway that he passed, Gray then betook himself to the river side, and, ordering a boat, he desired the waterman to take him across the stream.
Well did Jacob Gray’s cunning teach him that the difficulty of following a person crossing the river was immeasurably greater than on shore, for, if followed by a boat, concealment of the person pursuing would be nearly out of the question, and to make a palpable detour for the sake of crossing a bridge would most