"I'm sure I can," rejoined Chancey. "The bills belong to the old cripple that lent the money; and _he_ does whatever I bid him. He trusts it all to me. He gives me the trouble, and takes the profit himself. Oh! he _does_ confide in me. I have only to say the word, and it's done. They shall be renewed or held over as often as you wish.

Indeed, I can answer for it. Dear me, it would be very hard if I could not."

"Well, then, Mr. Chancey," replied Ashwoode, "I may require it, or I may not. Craven has the promise of a large sum of money, within two or three days--part of the loan he has already gotten. Will you favour me with a call on to-morrow afternoon at Morley Court. I will then have heard definitely from Craven, and can tell you whether I require time or not."

"Very good, sir--very fair, indeed, Mr. Ashwoode. Nothing fairer,"

rejoined the lawyer. "But don't give yourself any uneasiness. Oh, dear, on no account; for I declare to ---- I would hold them over as long as you like. Oh, dear me--indeed but I would. Well, then, I'll call out at about four o'clock."

"Very good, Mr. Chancey," replied Ashwoode. "I shall expect you.

Meanwhile, good-night." So they separated.

The young baronet reached his ancestral dwelling without adventure of any kind, and Mr. Gordon Chancey poured out the last drops of beer from the inverted can into his pewter cup, and draining it calmly, anon b.u.t.toned his waistcoat, shook the wet from his cravat, and tied it on, thrust his feet into his shoes, and flinging his c.o.c.ked hat carelessly upon his head, walked forth in deep thought into the street, whistling a concerto of his own invention.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

THE DIABOLIC WHISPER.

Gordon Chancey sauntered in his usual lazy, lounging way, with his hands in his pockets, down the street. After a listless walk of half-an-hour he found himself at the door of a handsome house, in the immediate neighbourhood of the Castle. He knocked, and was admitted by a servant in full livery.

"Is he in the same room?" inquired Chancey.

"Yes, sir," replied the man; and without further parley, the learned counsel proceeded upstairs, and knocked at the drawing-room door, which, without waiting for any answer, he forthwith opened.

Nicholas Blarden--with two ugly black plaisters across his face, his arm in a sling, and his countenance bearing in abundance the livid marks of his late rencounter--stood with his back to the fire-place; a table, blazing with wax-lights, and stored with glittering wine-flasks and other matters, was placed at a little distance before him. As the man of law entered the room, the countenance of the invalid relaxed into an ugly grin of welcome.

"Well, Gordy, boy, how goes the game? Out with your news, old rat-catcher," said Blarden, in high good humour.

"Dear me, dear me! but the night is mighty chill, Mr. Blarden,"

observed Chancey, filling a gla.s.s of wine to the brim, and sipping it uninvited. "News," he continued, letting himself drop into a chair--"news; well, there's not much stirring worth telling you."

"Come, what _is_ it? You're not come here for nothing, old fox,"

rejoined Blarden, "I know by the ---- twinkle in the corner of your eye."

"Well, _he_ has been with me, just now," drawled Chancey.

"Ashwoode?"

"Yes."

"Well! what does he want--what does he want, eh?" asked Blarden, with intense excitement.

"He says he'll want time for the notes," replied Chancey.

"G.o.d be thanked!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Blarden, and followed this e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n with a ferocious burst of laughter. "We'll have him, Chancey, boy, if only we know how to play him--by ----, we'll have him, as sure as there's heat in h.e.l.l."

"Well, maybe we will," rejoined Chancey.

"Does he say he can't pay them on the day?" asked Blarden, exultingly.

"No; he says _maybe_ he can't," replied the jackal.

"That's all one," cried Blarden. "What do you think? Do you think he can?"

"I think maybe he can, if we _squeeze_ him," replied Chancey.

"Then _don't_ squeeze him--he must not get out of our books on any terms--we'll lose him if he does," said Nicholas.

"We'll not renew the notes, but hold them over," said Chancey. "He must not feel them till he _can't_ pay them. We'll make them sit light on him till then--give him plenty of line for a while--rope enough and a little patience--and the devil himself can't keep him out of the noose."

"You're right--you _are_, Gordy, boy," rejoined Blarden. "Let him get through the ready money first--eh?--and then into the stone jug with him--we'll just choose our own time for striking."

"I tell you what it is, if you are just said and led by me, you'll have a _quare_ hold on him before three months are past and gone," said Chancey, lazily--"mind I tell you, you will."

"Well, Gordy, boy, fill again--fill again--here's success to you."

Chancey filled, and quaffed his b.u.mper, with, a matter-of-fact, business-like air.

"And do you mind me, boy," continued Blarden, "spare _nothing_ in this business--bring Ashwoode entirely under my knuckle--and, by ----, I'll make it a great job for you."

"Indeed--indeed but I will, Mr. Blarden, if I can," rejoined Chancey; "and I _think_ I can--I think I know a way, so I do, to get a _halter_ round his neck--do you mind?--and leave the rope's end in your hand, to hang him or not, as you like."

"To _hang_ him!" echoed Blarden, like one who hears something too good to be true.

"Yes, to hang him by the neck till he's dead--dead--dead," repeated Chancey, imperturbably.

"How the blazes will you do it?" demanded the wretch, anxiously. "Pish, it's all prate and vapour."

Gordon Chancey stole a suspicious glance round the room from the corner of his eye, and then suffering his gaze to rest sleepily upon the fire once more, he stretched out one of his lank arms, and after a little uncertain groping, succeeding in grasping the collar of his companion's coat, and drawing his head down toward him. Blarden knew Mr. Chancey's way, and without a word, lowered his ear to that gentleman's mouth, who forthwith whispered something into it which produced a marked effect upon Mr. Blarden.

"If you do _that_," replied he with ferocious exultation, "by ----, I'll make your fortune for you at a slap."

And so saving, he struck his hand with heavy emphasis upon the barrister's shoulder, like a man who clenches a bargain.

"Well, Mr. Blarden," replied Chancey, in the same drowsy tone, "as I said before, I declare it's my opinion I can, so it is--I think I can."

"And so do _I_ think you can--by ----, I'm _sure_ of it," exclaimed Blarden triumphantly; "but take some more--more wine, won't you? take some more, and stay a bit, can't you?"

Chancey had made his way to the door with his usual drowsy gait; and, pa.s.sing out without deigning any answer or word of farewell, stumbled lazily downstairs. There was nothing odd, however, in this leave-taking; it was Chancey's way.

"We'll do it, and easily too," muttered Blarden with a grin of exultation. "I never knew him fail--that fellow is worth a mine. Ho!

ho! Sir Henry, beware--beware. Egad, you had better keep a bright look-out. It's rather late for green goslings to look to their necks, when the fox claps his nose in the poultry-yard."

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.