The Firm of Girdlestone written by Arthur Conan Doyle

A >> Arthur Conan Doyle >> The Firm of Girdlestone

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31

THE FIRM OF GIRDLESTONE.

A. CONAN DOYLE

TO MY OLD FRIEND

PROFESSOR WILLIAM K. BURTON,

OF THE IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY, TOKYO,

WHO FIRST ENCOURAGED ME, YEARS AGO, TO PROCEED WITH

THIS LITTLE STORY,

I DESIRE AFFECTIONATELY TO

DEDICATE IT.

THE AUTHOR.

PREFACE

I cannot let this small romance go to press without prefacing it with a
word of cordial thanks to Mr. P. G. Houlgrave, of 28, Millman Street,
Bedford Row. To this gentleman I owe the accuracy of my African
chapters, and I am much indebted to him for the copious details with
which he furnished me.

A. CONAN DOYLE.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER.

I. MR. JOHN HARSTON KEEPS AN APPOINTMENT.

II. CHARITY A LA MODE.

III. THOMAS GILRAY MAKES AN INVESTMENT.

IV. CAPTAIN HAMILTON MIGGS OF THE "BLACK EAGLE".

V. MODERN ATHENIANS.

VI. A RECTORIAL ELECTION.

VII. ENGLAND VERSUS SCOTLAND.

VIII. A FIRST PROFESSIONAL.

IX. A NASTY CROPPER.

X. DWELLERS IN BOHEMIA.

XI. SENIOR AND JUNIOR.

XII. A CORNER IN DIAMONDS.

XIII. SHADOW AND LIGHT.

XIV. A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING

XV. AN ADDITION TO THE HOUSE.

XVI. THE FIRST STEP.

XVII. THE LAND OF DIAMONDS.

XVIII. MAJOR TOBIAS CLUTTERBUCK COMES IN FOR A THOUSAND POUNDS.

XIX. NEWS FROM THE URALS.

XX. MR. HECTOR O'FLAHERTY FINDS SOMETHING IN THE PAPER.

XXI. AN UNEXPECTED BLOW.

XXII. ROBBERS AND ROBBED.

XXIII. A MOMENTOUS RESOLUTION.

XXIV. A DANGEROUS PROMISE.

XXV. A CHANGE OF FRONT.

XXVI. BREAKING GROUND.

XXVII. MRS. SCULLY OF MORRISON'S.

XXVIII. BACK IN BOHEMIA.

XXIX. THE GREAT DANCE AT MORRISON'S.

XXX. AT THE "COCK AND COWSLIP".

XXXI. A CRISIS AT ECCLESTON SQUARE.

XXXII. A CONVERSATION IN THE ECCLESTON SQUARE LIBRARY.

XXXIII. THE JOURNEY TO THE PRIORY.

XXXIV. THE MAN WITH THE CAMP-STOOL.

XXXV. A TALK ON THE LAWN.

XXXVI. THE INCIDENT OF THE CORRIDOR.

XXXVII. A CHASE AND A BRAWL.

XXXVIII. GIRDLESTONE SENDS FOR THE DOCTOR.

XXXIX. A GLEAM OF LIGHT.

XL. THE MAJOR HAS A LETTER.

XLI. THE CLOUDS GROW DARKER.

XLII. THE THREE FACES AT THE WINDOW.

XLIII. THE BAIT ON THE HOOK.

XLIV. THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

XLV THE INVASION OF HAMPSHIRE.

XLVI. A MIDNIGHT CRUISE.

XLVII LAW AND ORDER.

XLVIII. CAPTAIN HAMILTON MIGGS SEES A VISION.

XLIX. A VOYAGE IN A COFFIN SHIP.

L. WINDS UP THE THREAD AND TIES TWO KNOTS AT THE END.

THE FIRM OF GIRDLESTONE.

CHAPTER I.

MR. JOHN HARSTON KEEPS AN APPOINTMENT.

The approach to the offices of Girdlestone and Co. was not a very
dignified one, nor would the uninitiated who traversed it form any
conception of the commercial prosperity of the firm in question.
Close to the corner of a broad and busy street, within a couple of
hundred yards of Fenchurch Street Station, a narrow doorway opens into a
long whitewashed passage. On one side of this is a brass plate with the
inscription "Girdlestone and Co., African Merchants," and above it a
curious hieroglyphic supposed to represent a human hand in the act of
pointing. Following the guidance of this somewhat ghostly emblem, the
wayfarer finds himself in a small square yard surrounded by doors, upon
one of which the name of the firm reappears in large white letters, with
the word "Push" printed beneath it. If he follows this laconic
invitation he will make his way into a long, low apartment, which is the
counting-house of the African traders.

On the afternoon of which we speak things were quiet at the offices.
The line of pigeon-holes in the wire curtain was deserted by the public,
though the linoleum-covered floor bore abundant traces of a busy
morning. Misty London light shone hazily through the glazed windows and
cast dark shadows in the corners. On a high perch in the background a
weary-faced, elderly man, with muttering lips and tapping fingers, cast
up endless lines of figures. Beneath him, in front of two long shining
mahogany desks, half a score of young men, with bent heads and stooping
shoulders, appeared to be riding furiously, neck and neck, in the race
of life. Any _habitue_ of a London office might have deduced from their
relentless energy and incorruptible diligence that they were under the
eyes of some member of the firm.

The member in question was a broad-shouldered, bull-necked young man,
who leaned against the marble mantel-piece, turning over the pages of an
almanac, and taking from time to time a stealthy peep over the top of it
at the toilers around him. Command was imprinted in every line of his
strong, square-set face and erect, powerful frame. Above the medium
size, with a vast spread of shoulder, a broad aggressive jaw, and bright
bold glance, his whole pose and expression spoke of resolution pushed to
the verge of obstinacy. There was something classical in the regular
olive-tinted features and black, crisp, curling hair fitting tightly to
the well-rounded head. Yet, though classical, there was an absence of
spirituality. It was rather the profile of one of those Roman emperors,
splendid in its animal strength, but lacking those subtle softnesses of
eye and mouth which speak of an inner life. The heavy gold chain across
the waistcoat and the bright stone which blazed upon the finger were the
natural complement of the sensuous lip and curving chin. Such was Ezra,
only child of John Girdlestone, and heir to the whole of his vast
business. Little wonder that those who had an eye to the future bent
over their ledgers and worked with a vigour calculated to attract the
attention of the junior partner, and to impress him with a due sense of
their enthusiastic regard for the interests of the firm.

It was speedily apparent, however, that the young gentleman's estimate
of their services was not entirely based upon their present performance.
With his eyes still fixed upon the almanac and a sardonic smile upon his
dark face, he uttered a single word--

"Parker!"

A flaxen-haired clerk, perched at the further end of the high glistening
desk, gave a violent start, and looked up with a scared face.

"Well, Parker, who won?" asked the junior partner.

"Won, sir!" the youth stammered.

"Yes, who won?" repeated his employer.

"I hardly understand you, sir," the clerk said, growing very red and
confused.

"Oh yes, you do, Parker," young Girdlestone remarked, tapping his
almanac sharply with the paper-knife. "You were playing odd man out
with Robson and Perkins when I came in from lunch. As I presume you
were at it all the time I was away, I have a natural curiosity to know
who won."

The three unhappy clerks fixed their eyes upon their ledgers to avoid
the sarcastic gaze of their employer. He went on in the same quiet
tones--

"You gentlemen draw about thirty shillings a week from the firm.
I believe I am right in my figures, Mr. Gilray?" addressing the senior
clerk seated at the high solitary desk apart from the others. "Yes, I
thought so. Now, odd man out is, no doubt, a very harmless and
fascinating game, but you can hardly expect us to encourage it so far as
to pay so much an hour for the privilege of having it played in our
counting-house. I shall therefore recommend my father to deduct five
shillings from the sum which each of you will receive upon Saturday.
That will cover the time which you have devoted to your own amusements
during the week."

He paused, and the three culprits were beginning to cool down and
congratulate themselves, when he began again.

"You will see, Mr. Gilray, that this deduction is made," he said,
"and at the same time I beg that you will deduct ten shillings from your
own salary, since, as senior clerk, the responsibility of keeping order
in this room in the absence of your employers rests with you, and you
appear to have neglected it. I trust you will look to this, Mr.
Gilray."

"Yes, sir," the senior clerk answered meekly. He was an elderly man
with a large family, and the lost ten shillings would make a difference
to the Sunday dinner. There was nothing for it but to bow to the
inevitable, and his little pinched face assumed an expression of gentle
resignation. How to keep his ten young subordinates in order, however,
was a problem which vexed him sorely.

The junior partner was silent, and the remaining clerks were working
uneasily, not exactly knowing whether they might not presently be
included in the indictment. Their fears were terminated, however, by
the sharp sound of a table-gong and the appearance of a boy with the
announcement that Mr. Girdlestone would like a moment's conversation
with Mr. Ezra. The latter gave a keen glance at his subjects and
withdrew into the back office, a disappearance which was hailed by ten
pens being thrown into the air and deftly caught again, while as many
derisive and triumphant young men mocked at the imploring efforts of old
Gilray in the interests of law and order.

The sanctum of Mr. John Girdlestone was approached by two doors, one of
oak with ground-glass panels, and the other covered with green baize.
The room itself was small, but lofty, and the walls were ornamented by
numerous sections of ships stuck upon long flat boards, very much as the
remains of fossil fish are exhibited in museums, together with maps,
charts, photographs, and lists of sailings innumerable. Above the
fire-place was a large water-colour painting of the barque _Belinda_ as
she appeared when on a reef to the north of Cape Palmas. An inscription
beneath this work of art announced that it had been painted by the
second officer and presented by him to the head of the firm. It was
generally rumoured that the merchants had lost heavily over this
disaster, and there were some who quoted it as an instance of
Girdlestone's habitual strength of mind that he should decorate his wall
with so melancholy a souvenir. This view of the matter did not appear
to commend itself to a flippant member of Lloyd's agency, who contrived
to intimate, by a dexterous use of his left eyelid and right forefinger,
that the vessel may not have been so much under-insured, nor the loss to
the firm so enormous as was commonly reported.

John Girdlestone, as he sat at his square office-table waiting for his
son, was undeniably a remarkable-looking man. For good or for evil no
weak character lay beneath that hard angular face, with the strongly
marked features and deep-set eyes. He was clean shaven, save for an
iron-grey fringe of ragged whisker under each ear, which blended with
the grizzled hair above. So self-contained, hard-set, and immutable was
his expression that it was impossible to read anything from it except
sternness and resolution, qualities which are as likely to be associated
with the highest natures as with the most dangerous. It may have been
on account of this ambiguity of expression that the world's estimate of
the old merchant was a very varying one. He was known to be a fanatic
in religion, a purist in morals, and a man of the strictest commercial
integrity. Yet there were some few who looked askance at him, and none,
save one, who could apply the word "friend" to him.

He rose and stood with his back to the fire-place as his son entered.
He was so tall that he towered above the younger man, but the latter's
square and compact frame made him, apart from the difference of age, the
stronger man.

The young man had dropped the air of sarcasm which he found was most
effective with the clerks, and had resumed his natural manner, which was
harsh and brusque.

"What's up!" he asked, dropping back into a chair, and jingling the
loose coins in his trouser pockets.

"I have had news of the _Black Eagle_," his father answered. "She is
reported from Madeira."

"Ah!" cried the junior partner eagerly. "What luck?"

"She is full, or nearly so, according to Captain Hamilton Miggs'
report."

"I wonder Miggs was able to send a report at all, and I wonder still
more that you should put any faith in it," his son said impatiently.
"The fellow is never sober."

"Miggs is a good seaman, and popular on the coast. He may indulge at
times, but we all have our failings. Here is the list as vouched for by
our agent. 'Six hundred barrels of palm oil'--"

"Oil is down to-day," the other interrupted.

"It will rise before the _Black Eagle_ arrives," the merchant rejoined
confidently. "Then he has palm nuts in bulk, gum, ebony, skins,
cochineal, and ivory."

The young man gave a whistle of satisfaction. "Not bad for old Miggs!"
he said. "Ivory is at a fancy figure."

"We are sorely in need of a few good voyages," Girdlestone remarked,
"for things have been very slack of late. There is one very sad piece
of intelligence here which takes away the satisfaction which we might
otherwise feel. Three of the crew have died of fever. He does not
mention the names."

"The devil!" said Ezra. "We know very well what that means.
Three women, each with an armful of brats, besieging the office and
clamouring for a pension. Why are seamen such improvident dogs?"

His father held up his white hand deprecatingly. "I wish," he said,
"that you would treat these subjects with more reverence. What could be
sadder than that the bread-winner of a family should be cut off? It has
grieved me more than I can tell."

"Then you intend to pension the wives?" Ezra said, with a sly smile.

"By no means," his father returned with decision. "Girdlestone and Co.
are not an insurance office. The labourer is worthy of his hire, but
when his work in this world is over, his family must fall back upon what
has been saved by his industry and thrift. It would be a dangerous
precedent for us to allow pensions to the wives of these sailors, for it
would deprive the others of all motive for laying their money by, and
would indirectly encourage vice and dissipation."

Ezra laughed, and continued to rattle his silver and keys.

"It is not upon this matter that I desired to speak to you," Girdlestone
continued. "It has, however, always been my practice to prefer matters
of business to private affairs, however pressing. John Harston is said
to be dying, and he has sent a message to me saying that he wishes to
see me. It is inconvenient for me to leave the office, but I feel that
it is my Christian duty to obey such a summons. I wish you, therefore,
to look after things until I return."

"I can hardly believe that the news is true," Ezra said, in
astonishment. "There must be some mistake. Why, I spoke to him on
'Change last Monday."

"It is very sudden," his father answered, taking his broad-brimmed hat
from a peg. "There is no doubt about the fact, however. The doctor
says that there is very little hope that he will survive until evening.
It is a case of malignant typhoid."

"You are very old friends?" Ezra remarked, looking thoughtfully at his
father.

"I have known him since we were boys together," the other replied, with
a slight dry cough, which was the highest note of his limited emotional
gamut. "Your mother, Ezra, died upon the very day that Harston's wife
gave birth to this daughter of his, seventeen years ago. Mrs. Harston
only survived a few days. I have heard him say that, perhaps, we should
also go together. We are in the hands of a higher Power, however, and
it seems that one shall be taken and another left."

"How will the money go if the doctors are right?" Ezra asked keenly.

"Every penny to the girl. She will be an heiress. There are no other
relations that I know of, except the Dimsdales, and they have a fair
fortune of their own. But I must go."

"By the way, malignant typhoid is very catching, is it not?"

"So they say," the merchant said quietly, and strode off through the
counting-house.

Ezra Girdlestone remained behind, stretching his legs In front of the
empty grate. "The governor is a hard nail," he soliloquized, as he
stared down at the shining steel bars. "Depend upon it, though, he
feels this more than he shows. Why, it's the only friend he ever had in
the world--or ever will have, in all probability. However, it's no
business of mine," with which comforting reflection he began to whistle
as he turned over the pages of the private day-book of the firm.

It is possible that his son's surmise was right, and that the gaunt,
unemotional African merchant felt an unwonted heartache as he hailed a
hansom and drove out to his friend's house at Fulham. He and Harston
had been charity schoolboys together, had roughed it together, risen
together, and prospered together. When John Girdlestone was a raw-boned
lad and Harston a chubby-faced urchin, the latter had come to look upon
the other as his champion and guide. There are some minds which are
parasitic in their nature. Alone they have little vitality, but they
love to settle upon some stronger intellect, from which they may borrow
their emotions and conclusions at second-hand. A strong, vigorous brain
collects around it in time many others, whose mental processes are a
feeble imitation of its own. Thus it came to pass that, as the years
rolled on, Harston learned to lean more and more upon his old
school-fellow, grafting many of his stern peculiarities upon his own
simple vacuous nature, until he became a strange parody of the original.
To him Girdlestone was the ideal man, Girdlestone's ways the correct
ways, and Girdlestone's opinions the weightiest of all opinions.
Forty years of this undeviating fidelity must, however he might conceal
it, have made an impression upon the feelings of the elder man.

Harston, by incessant attention to business and extreme parsimony, had
succeeded in founding an export trading concern. In this he had
followed the example of his friend. There was no fear of their
interests ever coming into collision, as his operations were confined to
the Mediterranean. The firm grew and prospered, until Harston began to
be looked upon as a warm man in the City circles. His only child was
Kate, a girl of seventeen. There were no other near relatives, save Dr.
Dimsdale, a prosperous West-end physician. No wonder that Ezra
Girdlestone's active business mind, and perhaps that of his father too,
should speculate as to the disposal of the fortune of the dying man.

Girdlestone pushed open the iron gate and strode down the gravel walk
which led to his friend's house. A bright autumn sun shining out of a
cloudless heaven bathed the green lawn and the many-coloured flower-beds
in its golden light. The air, the leaves, the birds, all spoke of life.
It was hard to think that death was closing its grip upon him who owned
them all. A plump little gentleman in black was just descending the
steps.

"Well, doctor," the merchant asked, "how is your patient?"

"You've not come with the intention of seeing him, have you?" the doctor
asked, glancing up with some curiosity at the grey face and overhanging
eyebrows of the merchant.

"Yes, I am going up to him now."

"It is a most virulent case of typhoid. He may die in an hour or he may
live until nightfall, but nothing can save him. He will hardly
recognize you, I fear, and you can do him no good. It is most
infectious, and you are incurring a needless danger. I should strongly
recommend you not to go."

"Why, you've only just come down from him yourself, doctor."

"Ah, I'm there in the way of duty."

"So am I," said the visitor decisively, and passing up the stone steps
of the entrance strode into the hall. There was a large sitting-room
upon the ground floor, through the open door of which the visitor saw a
sight which arrested him for a moment. A young girl was sitting in a
recess near the window, with her lithe, supple figure bent forward, and
her hands clasped at the back of her head, while her elbows rested upon
a small table in front of her. Her superb brown hair fell in a thick
wave on either side over her white round arms, and the graceful curve of
her beautiful neck might have furnished a sculptor with a study for a
mourning Madonna. The doctor had just broken his sad tidings to her,
and she was still in the first paroxysm of her grief--a grief too acute,
as was evident even to the unsentimental mind of the merchant, to allow
of any attempt at consolation. A greyhound appeared to think
differently, for he had placed his fore-paws upon his young mistress's
lap, and was attempting to thrust his lean muzzle between her arms and
to lick her face in token of canine sympathy. The merchant paused
irresolutely for a moment, and then ascending the broad staircase he
pushed open the door of Harston's room and entered.

The blinds were drawn down and the chamber was very dark. A pungent
whiff of disinfectants issued from it, mingled with the dank, heavy
smell of disease. The bed was in a far corner. Without seeing him,
Girdlestone could hear the fast laboured breathing of the invalid.
A trimly dressed nurse who had been sitting by the bedside rose, and,
recognizing the visitor, whispered a few words to him and left the room.
He pulled the cord of the Venetian blind so as to admit a few rays of
daylight. The great chamber looked dreary and bare, as carpet and
hangings had been removed to lessen the chance of future infection.
John Girdlestone stepped softly across to the bedside and sat down by
his dying friend.

The sufferer was lying on his back, apparently unconscious of all around
him. His glazed eyes were turned upwards towards the ceiling, and his
parched lips were parted, while the breath came in quick, spasmodic
gasps. Even the unskilled eye of the merchant could tell that the angel
of death was hovering very near him. With an ungainly attempt at
tenderness, which had something pathetic in it, he moistened a sponge
and passed it over the sick man's feverish brow. The latter turned his
restless head round, and a gleam of recognition and gratitude came into
his eyes.

"I knew that you would come," he said.

"Yes. I came the moment that I got your message."

"I am glad that you are here," the sufferer continued with a sigh of
relief. From the brightened expression upon his pinched face, it seemed
as if, even now in the jaws of death, he leaned upon his old
schoolfellow and looked to him for assistance. He put a wasted hand
above the counterpane and laid it upon Girdlestone's.

"I wish to speak to you, John," he said. "I am very weak. Can you hear
what I say?"

"Yes, I hear you."

"Give me a spoonful from that bottle. It clears my mind for a time.
I have been making my will, John."

"Yes," said the merchant, replacing the medicine bottle.

"The lawyer made it this morning. Stoop your head and you will hear me
better. I have less than fifty thousand. I should have done better had
I retired years ago."

"I told you so," the other broke in gruffly.

"You did--you did. But I acted for the best. Forty thousand I leave to
my dear daughter Kate."

A look of interest came over Girdlestone's face. "And the balance?" he
asked.

"I leave that to be equally divided among the various London
institutions for educating the poor. We were both poor boys ourselves,
John, and we know the value of such schools."

Girdlestone looked perhaps a trifle disappointed. The sick man went on
very slowly and painfully--

"My daughter will have forty thousand pounds. But it is so tied up that
she can neither touch it herself nor enable any one else to do so until
she is of age. She has no friends, John, and no relations, save only my
cousin, Dr. George Dimsdale. Never was a girl left more lonely and
unprotected. Take her, I beg of you, and bring her up under your own
eye. Treat her as though she were your child. Guard her above all from
those who would wreck her young life in order to share her fortune.
Do this, old friend, and make me happy on my deathbed."

The merchant made no answer. His heavy eyebrows were drawn down, and
his forehead all puckered with thought.

"You are the one man," continued the sufferer, "whom I know to be just
and upright. Give me the water, for my mouth is dry. Should, which God
forbid, my dear girl perish before she marries, then--" His breath
failed him for a moment, and he paused to recover it.

"Well, what then?"

"Then, old friend, her fortune reverts to you, for there is none who
will use it so well. Those are the terms of the will. But you will
guard her and care for her, as I would myself. She is a tender plant,
John, too weak to grow alone. Promise me that you will do right by
her--promise it?"

"I do promise it," John Girdlestone answered in a deep voice. He was
standing up now, and leaning over to catch the words of the dying man.

Harston was sinking rapidly. With a feeble motion he pointed to a
brown-backed volume upon the table.

"Take up the book," he said.

The merchant picked it up.

"Now, repeat after me, I swear and solemnly pledge myself--"

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31