“To tell you the truth,” replied Pippet, “I don’t know much about them. I’ve been used to an active life and I’m not a great reader, so I’ve not done much more than glance over them. But, as I mentioned, my sister has gone through them carefully and she reckons that they as good as prove that Josiah and the Earl were one and the same person. Would you like to have a look at them?”
A mere affirmative would have been inadequate to express Mr. Buffham’s ravenous desire to see whether there was or was not the making of a possible legal case. Nevertheless, he replied in a tone of studied indifference:
“My opinion is not much to the point, but I should certainly like to see what sort of material you will be able to give your lawyer.”
Thereupon Mr. Pippet retired to the bedroom, from which he presently emerged carrying a good-sized deed box. This he placed on the table, and, having gone deliberately through a large bunch of keys, eventually selected one and carefully fitted it into the lock while Buffham watched him hungrily. The box being opened, the two men drew their chairs up to the table and peered into its interior; which was occupied by a collection of bundles of papers, neatly tied up with red tape, each bundle being distinguished by means of a label inscribed in an old-fashioned feminine handwriting. In addition, there were seven small, leather-bound volumes.
Buffham picked out the bundles, one after another, and read the labels. “Letters from J.S. to his wife,” “Letters from various persons to J.S.,” “Copies of letters from J.S. to various persons,” “Various tradesmen’s bills and accounts,” and so on. Having asked his host’s permission, he untied one or two of the bundles and read samples of the letters and tradesmen’s bills with a feeling of stupefaction, mingled with astonished speculations as to the mental peculiarities of his host’s sister.
“Yes,” he said, gloomily replacing the last of them, “I dare say a careful analysis of these letters may yield some relevant information, but it will need the expert eye of the trained lawyer to detect the relevancy of some of them. There is, for instance, a bill for two pounds of pork sausages and a black pudding, which seems rather beside the mark. But you never know. Important legal points may be involved in the most unexpected matter. What are those little books? Are they the diaries that you spoke of?”
Mr. Pippet nodded and handed one of them to him, which proved to be the diary for the year 1833. He turned over the leaves and scanned the entries with more interest but still with a feeling of bewilderment. After examining a few sample pages, he handed the volume back to Pippet, remarking a little wearily:
“The late Josiah didn’t go into much detail. The entries are very dry and brief and seem to be concerned chiefly with the trivial happenings of his life from day to day and with money paid or received.”
“Well, isn’t that what diaries are usually filled with?”
Pippet protested, not unreasonably. “And don’t you think that those simple, commonplace entries are just the ones to give us the information that we want? My sister said that she learned quite a lot about Josiah’s ways of life from those diaries.”
“Did she?” said Buffham. “I am glad to hear it; because it suggests that a trained lawyer, going through those diaries with the legal issues in his mind, noting, collating and analyzing the entries, will probably discover significances in the most unexpected places. Which brings us back to the point that you ought to get competent legal assistance without delay.”
“Yes, I think you are right,” agreed Pippet. “I’ve got to secure a lawyer sooner or later, so I might as well start right away. Now, to come down to brass tacks, what about this lawyer friend of yours? You say that this case of mine would be in his customary line of business; and you think he would be willing to take it on?”
Mr. Buffham had no doubts whatever, but he did not think it expedient to say so. A retreating tendency on the part of the bait is apt to produce a pursuing tendency on the part of the fish.
“Naturally,” said he, “I can’t answer for another man’s views. He is a busy man, and he might not be prepared to give time to what he might regard as a somewhat speculative case. But we can easily find out. If you like, I will call on him and put the case to him in as favourable a light as possible, and, if he doesn’t seem eager to take it up, I might use a little gentle pressure. You see, I know him pretty well. Then, if I am successful, I might arrange for you to have an interview, at which, perhaps, it might be advisable for your sister to be present, as she knows more about the affair than you do. Then he could tell you what he thought of your chances and you could let him know what you are prepared to do. What do you think of that plan?”
Mr. Pippet thought that it seemed to meet the case, provided that it could be carried out without delay.
“You understand,” said he, “that my sister and daughter will be arriving here tomorrow, and they will be red-hot to get the business started, especially my sister.”
“And quite naturally, too,” said Buffham. “I sympathize with her impatience and I promise that there shall be no delay on my part. I will call at Gimbler’s office tomorrow morning the first thing, before he has had time to begin his morning’s work.”
“It’s very good of you,” said Pippet, as his guest rose to take his leave, “to interest yourself in this way in the affairs of a mere stranger.”
“Not at all,” Buffham rejoined cheerily. “You are forgetting the romance and dramatic interest of your case. Anyone would be delighted to lend you a hand in your adventure. You may depend on hearing from me in the course of tomorrow. Good night and good luck!”
Mr. Pippet, having provided his guest with a fresh cigar, accompanied him down to the entrance and watched him with a meditative eye as he walked away down the street. Apparently, the dwindling figure suggested a train of thought, for he continued to stand looking out even after it had disappeared. At length he turned with a faint sigh and thoughtfully retraced his steps to his own domain.
CHAPTER II
Mr. Buffham’s Legal Friend
No amount of native shrewdness can entirely compensate for deficiency of knowledge. If Mr. Christopher Pippet had been intimately acquainted with English social customs, he would have known that the neighbourhood of Kennington in general and Kennington Grove in particular, is hardly the place in which to look for the professional premises of a solicitor engaged in important Chancery practice. He did, indeed, survey the rather suburban surroundings with a certain amount of surprise, noting with intelligent interest the contrast between the ways of New York and those of London. He even ventured to comment on the circumstance as he halted at the iron gate of a small garden and read out the inscription on a well-worn brass plate affixed to the gate aforesaid; which set forth the name and professional vocation of Mr. Horatio Gimbler, Solicitor and Advocate.
“Buffham didn’t tell me that he was an advocate as well as a solicitor,” Mr. Pippet remarked, as he pushed the gate open.
“He wouldn’t,” replied his companion, “but left you to find out for yourself. Of course he knew you would, and then you would give him credit for having understated his friend’s merits. It’s just vanity.”
At the street door, which was closed and bore a duplicate plate, Mr. Pippet pressed an electric bell-push, with the result that there arose from within a sound like the “going off” of an alarm clock and simultaneously the upper half of a face with a pair of beady black eyes appeared for an instant above the wire blind of the adjacent window. Then, after a brief interval, the door opened and revealed an extremely alert youth of undeniably Hebraic aspect.
“Is Mr. Gimbler disengaged?” Mr. Pippet inquired.
“Have you got an appointment?” the youth demanded.
“Yes; eleven o’clock; and it’s two minutes to the hour now. Shall I go in here?”
He turned towards a door opening out of the hall and marked “Waiting Room.”
“No,” the youth replied, hastily, emphatically and almost in a tone of alarm. “That’th for clienth th
at haven’t got an appointment. What name thall I thay?”
“Mr. and Miss Pippet.”
“Oh, yeth, I know. Jutht thtep thith way.”
He opened an inner door leading into a small inner hall, which offered to the visitors a prospect of a flight of shabbily carpeted stairs and a strong odour of fried onions. Here he approached a door marked “Private Office” and knocked softly, eliciting a responsive but inarticulate roar; whereupon he opened the door and announced: “Mr. and Miss Pippet.”
The opened door revealed a large man with a pair of folding pince-nez insecurely balanced on the end of a short, fat nose, apparently writing furiously. As the visitors entered, he looked round with an interrogative frown as if impatient of being interrupted. Then, appearing suddenly to realize who they were, he made a convulsive grimace, which dislodged the eyeglasses and left them dangling free on their broad black ribbon, and was succeeded by a wrinkly but affable smile. Then he rose, and, holding out a large, rather fat hand, exclaimed:
“Delighted to see you. I had no idea that it was so late. One gets so engrossed in these—er—fascinating—”
“Naturally,” said Mr. Pippet, “though I thought it was the documents that got engrossed. However, here we are. Let me introduce you to my sister, Miss Arminella Pippet.”
Mr. Gimbler bowed, and, for a brief space there was a searching mutual inspection. Miss Pippet saw a physically imposing man, large in all dimensions—tall, broad, deep-chested and still more deep in the region immediately below the chest; with a large, massive head, rather bald and very closely cropped, a large, rather fat face, marked with wrinkles suggestive of those on the edge of a pair of bellows, and singularly small pale blue eyes, which tended to become still smaller, even to total disappearance, when he smiled. Through those little blue eyes, Mr. Gimbler saw a woman, shortish in stature but majestic in carriage and conveying an impression of exuberant energy and vivacity. And this impression was reinforced by the strong, mobile face with its firm mouth set above the square, pugnacious chin and below a rather formidable Roman nose, which latter gave to her a certain suggestive resemblance to a bird, a resemblance accentuated by her quick movements. But the bird suggested was not the dove. In short, Miss Arminella Pippet was a somewhat remarkable-looking lady with a most unmistakeable “presence.” She might have been a dame of the old French noblesse; and Mr. Gimbler, looking at her through his little blue eyes and bearing in mind the peerage claim, decided that she looked the part. He also decided—comparing her with her mild-faced brother—that the grey mare was the better horse and must claim his chief attention. He was not the first who had undervalued Mr. Christopher Pippet.
“I suppose,” said the latter, sitting down with some care on a rather infirm cane-bottomed chair (Miss Arminella occupied the only easy chair), “Mr. Buffham has given you some idea of the matter on which we have come to consult you?”
“He has done more than that,” said Mr. Gimbler, “and would have done more still if I had not stopped him. He is thrilled by your romantic story and wildly optimistic. If we could only get a jury of Buffhams you would walk into your inheritance without a breath of opposition.”
“And what do you think of our chances with the kind of jury that we are likely to get?”
Mr. Gimbler pursed up his lips and shook his massive head.
“We mustn’t begin giving opinions at this stage,” said he. “Remember that I have only heard the story at second hand from Mr. Buffham; just a sketch of the nature of the case. Let us begin at the beginning and forget Mr. Buffham. You are claiming, I believe, to be the grandson of the late Earl of Winsborough. Now, I should like to hear an outline of the grounds of your claim before we go into any details.”
As he spoke, he fixed an inquiring eye on Miss Pippet, who promptly responded by opening her handbag and drawing therefrom a folded sheet of foolscap paper.
“This,” said she, “is a concise statement of the nature of the claim and the known facts on which it is based. I thought it would save time if I wrote it out, as I could then leave the paper with you for reference. Will you read it or shall I?”
Mr. Gimbler looked at the document, and, observing that it was covered with closely-spaced writing in a somewhat crabbed and angular hand, elected to listen to the reading in order that he might make a few notes. Accordingly Miss Pippet proceeded to read aloud from the paper with something of the air of a herald reading a royal proclamation, glancing from time to time at the lawyer to see what kind of impression it was making on him. The result of these inspections must have been a little disappointing, as Mr. Gimbler listened attentively with his eyes shut, rousing only at intervals to scribble a few words on a slip of paper.
When she had come to the end of the statement—which repeated substantially, but in a more connected form, the story that her brother had told to Buffham—she laid the paper on the table and regarded the lawyer with an interrogative stare. Mr. Gimbler, having opened his eyes to their normal extent, directed them to his notes.
“This,” said he, “is a very singular and romantic story. Romantic and strange, and yet not really incredible. But the important question is, to what extent is this interesting tradition supported by provable facts? For instance, it is stated that when Josiah Pippet used to disappear from his usual places of resort, the Earl of Winsborough made his appearance at Winsborough Castle. Now, is there any evidence that the disappearance of Josiah coincided in time with the appearance of the Earl at the Castle, and vice versa?”
“There is the diary,” said Miss Pippet.
“Ha!” exclaimed Mr. Gimbler, genuinely surprised. “The diary makes that quite plain, does it?”
“Perfectly,” the lady replied. “Any way, it is quite clear to me. Whenever Josiah was about to make one of his disappearances, he noted in his diary quite unmistakably: ‘Going away tomorrow for a little spell at the old place.’ Sometimes, instead of ‘the old place,’ he says plainly ‘the Castle.’ Then there is a blank space of more than half a page before he records his arrival home at ‘The Fox and Grapes.’”
“H’m, yes,” said Mr. Gimbler, swinging his folded eyeglass on its ribbon like a pendulum. “And you think that by the expression ‘the old place’ or ‘the Castle’ he means Winsborough Castle?”
“I don’t see how there can be any doubt of it. Obviously, ‘the old place’ must have been Winsborough Castle, where he was born.”
“It would seem probable,” Mr. Gimbler admitted. “By the way, is there any evidence that he was born at the castle?”
“Well,” Miss Pippet replied a little sharply, “he said he was; and I suppose he knew.”
“Naturally, naturally,” the lawyer agreed. “And you can prove that he did say so?”
“My brother and I have heard our father repeat the statement over and over again. We can swear to that.”
“And with regard to the Earl? Is there any evidence that, when Josiah returned home to ‘The Fox and Grapes,’ his Lordship disappeared from the Castle?”
“Evidence!” Miss Pippet exclaimed, slapping her handbag impatiently. “What evidence do you want? The man couldn’t be in two places at once!”
“Very true,” said Mr. Gimbler, fixing a slightly perplexed eye on his dangling glasses; “very true. He couldn’t. And with regard to the sham funeral. Naturally there wouldn’t be any reference to it in the diary, but is it possible to support the current rumour by any definite facts?”
“Don’t you think the fact that my father—Josiah’s own son—was convinced of it is definite enough?” Miss Pippet demanded, a trifle acidly.
“It is definite enough,” Gimbler admitted, “but in courts of law there is a slight prejudice against hearsay evidence. Direct, first-hand evidence, if it is possible to produce it, has a good deal more weight.”
“So it may,” retorted Miss Pippet, “but you can’t expect us to give first-hand evidence of a funeral that took place before we were born. I suppose even a court of law has a little common sense
.”
“Still,” her brother interposed, “Mr. Gimbler has put his finger on the really vital spot. The sham funeral is the kernel of the whole business. If we can prove that, we shall have something solid to go on. And we can prove it—or else disprove it, as the case may be. But it need not be left in the condition of what the late President Wilson would have called a peradventure. If that funeral was a sham, there was nothing in the coffin but some lumps of lead. Now, that coffin is still in existence. It is lying in the family vault; and if we can yank it out and open it, the Winsborough Peerage Claim will be as good as settled. If we find Josiah at home to visitors, we can let the claim drop and go for a holiday. But if we find the lumps of lead, according to our program, we shall hang on to the claim until the courts are tired of us and hand over the keys of the Castle. Mr. Gimbler is quite right. That coffin is the point that we have got to concentrate on.”
As Mr. Pippet developed his views, the lawyer’s eyeglasses, dangling from their ribbon, swung more and more violently, and their owner’s eyes opened to an unprecedented width. He had never had the slightest intention of concentrating on the coffin. On the contrary, that obvious means of exploding the delusion and toppling over the house of cards had seemed to be the rock that had got to be safely circumnavigated at all costs. In his view, the coffin was the fly in the ointment; and the discovery that it was the apple of Mr. Pippet’s eye gave him a severe shock. And not this alone. He had assumed that the lady’s invincible optimism represented the state of mind of both his clients. Now he realized that the man whom he had written down an amiable ass, and perhaps a dishonest ass at that, combined in his person two qualities most undesirable in the circumstances—hard common sense and transparent honesty.
It was a serious complication; and as he sat with his eyes fixed on the swinging eyeglasses, he endeavoured rapidly to shape a new course. At length he replied:
“Of course you are quite right, Mr. Pippet. The obvious course would be to examine the coffin as a preliminary measure. But English law does not always take the obvious course. When once a person is consigned to the tomb, the remains pass out of the control of the relatives and into that of the State; and the State views with very jealous disapproval any attempts to disturb those remains. In order to open a tomb or grave, and especially to open a coffin, it is necessary to obtain a faculty from the Home Secretary authorizing an exhumation. Now, before any such faculty is granted, the Home Secretary requires the applicant to show cause for the making of such an order.”
The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack Page 137
