Loyalties, John Galsworthy [superbooks4u .txt] 📗

that he may be ready with his explanation, in case it comes out?

TWISDEN. [Pouring some tea into the saucer] Without knowing, I can’t tell you.

WINSOR and MARGARET exchange looks, and TWISDEN drinks from the saucer. MARGARET. Tell him, Charles.

WINSOR. Well! It rained that evening at Meldon. The General happened to put his hand on Dancy’s shoulder, and it was damp.

TWISDEN puts the saucer down and replaces the cup in it. They both look intently at him.

TWISDEN. I take it that General Canynge won’t say anything he’s not compelled to say.

MARGARET. No, of course; but, Mr Jacob, they might ask; they know it rained. And he is such a George Washington.

TWISDEN. [Toying with a pair of tortoise-shell glasses] They didn’t ask either of you. Still-no harm in your telling Dancy.

WINSOR. I’d rather you did it, Margaret.

MARGARET. I daresay. [She mechanically takes out her cigarette-case, catches the lift of TWISDEN’S eyebrows, and puts it back].

WINSOR. Well, we’ll go together. I don’t want Mrs Dancy to hear.

MARGARET. Do tell me, Mr Jacob; is he going to win?

TWISDEN. I think so, Margaret; I think so.

MARGARET. It’ll be too—frightful if he doesn’t get a verdict, after all this. But I don’t know what we shall do when it’s over. I’ve been sitting in that Court all these three days, watching, and it’s made me feel there’s nothing we like better than seeing people skinned. Well, bye-bye, bless you!

TWISDEN rises and pats her hand.

WINSOR. Half a second, Margaret. Wait for me. She nods and goes out. Mr Twisden, what do you really think?

TWISDEN. I am Dancy’s lawyer, my dear Charles, as well as yours.

WINSOR. Well, can I go and see Canynge?

TWISDEN. Better not.

WINSOR. If they get that out of him, and recall me, am I to say he told me of it at the time?

TWISDEN. You didn’t feel the coat yourself? And Dancy wasn’t present? Then what Canynge told you is not evidence—he’ll stop your being asked.

WINSOR. Thank goodness. Good-bye!

WINSOR goes out.

TWISDEN, behind his table, motionless, taps his teeth with the eyeglasses in his narrow, well-kept hand. After a long shake of his head and a shrug of his rather high shoulders he snips, goes to the window and opens it. Then crossing to the door, Left Back, he throws it open and says

TWISDEN. At your service, sir.

GILMAN comes forth, nursing his pot hat.

Be seated.

TWISDEN closes the window behind him, and takes his seat.

GILMAN. [Taking the client’s chair, to the left of the table] Mr Twisden, I believe? My name’s Gilman, head of Gilman’s Department Stores. You have my card.

TWISDEN. [Looking at the card] Yes. What can we do for you?

GILMAN. Well, I’ve come to you from a sense of duty, sir, and also a feelin’ of embarrassment. [He takes from his breast pocket an evening paper] You see, I’ve been followin’ this Dancy case—it’s a good deal talked of in Putney—and I read this at half-past two this afternoon. To be precise, at 2.25. [He rises and hands the paper to TWISDEN, and with a thick gloved forefinger indicates a passage] When I read these numbers, I ‘appened to remember givin’ change for a fifty-pound note—don’t often ‘ave one in, you know—so I went to the cash-box out of curiosity, to see that I ‘adn’t got it. Well, I ‘ad; and here it is. [He draws out from his breast pocket and lays before TWISDEN a fifty-pound banknote] It was brought in to change by a customer of mine three days ago, and he got value for it. Now, that’s a stolen note, it seems, and you’d like to know what I did. Mind you, that customer of mine I’ve known ‘im—well— eight or nine years; an Italian he is—wine salesman, and so far’s I know, a respectable man-foreign-lookin’, but nothin’ more. Now, this was at ‘alf-past two, and I was at my head branch at Putney, where I live. I want you to mark the time, so as you’ll see I ‘aven’t wasted a minute. I took a cab and I drove straight to my customer’s private residence in Putney, where he lives with his daughter—Ricardos his name is, Paolio Ricardos. They tell me there that he’s at his business shop in the City. So off I go in the cab again, and there I find him. Well, sir, I showed this paper to him and I produced the note. “Here,” I said, “you brought this to me and you got value for it.” Well, that man was taken aback. If I’m a judge, Mr Twisden, he was taken aback, not to speak in a guilty way, but he was, as you might say, flummoxed. “Now,” I said to him, “where did you get it—that’s the point?” He took his time to answer, and then he said: “Well, Mr Gilman,” he said, “you know me; I am an honourable man. I can’t tell you offhand, but I am above the board.” He’s foreign, you know, in his expressions. “Yes,” I said, “that’s all very well,” I said, “but here I’ve got a stolen note and you’ve got the value for it. Now I tell you,” I said, “what I’m going to do; I’m going straight with this note to Mr Jacob Twisden, who’s got this Dancy-De Levis case in ‘and. He’s a well-known Society lawyer,” I said, “of great experience.” “Oh!” he said, “that is what you do?”—funny the way he speaks! “Then I come with you!”—And I’ve got him in the cab below. I want to tell you everything before he comes up. On the way I tried to get something out of him, but I couldn’t—I could not. “This is very awkward,” I said at last. “It is, Mr Gilman,” was his reply; and he began to talk about his Sicilian claret—a very good wine, mind you; but under the circumstances it seemed to me uncalled for. Have I made it clear to you?

TWISDEN. [Who has listened with extreme attention] Perfectly, Mr Gilman. I’ll send down for him. [He touches a hand-bell].

The YOUNG CLERK appears at the door, Left Forward.

A gentleman in a taxi-waiting. Ask him to be so good as to step up. Oh! and send Mr Graviter here again.

The YOUNG CLERK goes out.

GILMAN. As I told you, sir, I’ve been followin’ this case. It’s what you might call piquant. And I should be very glad if it came about that this helped Captain Dancy. I take an interest, because, to tell you the truth, [Confidentially] I don’t like—well, not to put too fine a point upon it ‘Ebrews. They work harder; they’re more sober; they’re honest; and they’re everywhere. I’ve nothing against them, but the fact is—they get on so.

TWISDEN. [Cocking an eye] A thorn in the flesh, Mr Gilman.

GILMAN. Well, I prefer my own countrymen, and that’s the truth of it.

As he speaks, GRAVITER comes in by the door Left Forward.

TWISDEN. [Pointing to the newspaper and the note] Mr Gilman has brought this, of which he is holder for value. His customer, who changed it three days ago, is coming up.

GRAVITER. The fifty-pounder. I see. [His face is long and reflective].

YOUNG CLERK. [Entering] Mr Ricardos, sir.

He goes out. RICARDOS is a personable, Italian-looking man in a frock coat, with a dark moustachioed face and dark hair a little grizzled. He looks anxious, and bows.

TWISDEN. Mr Ricardos? My name is Jacob Twisden. My partner. [Holding up a finger, as RICARDOS would speak] Mr Gilman has told us about this note. You took it to him, he says, three days ago; that is, on Monday, and received cash for it?

RICARDOS. Yes, sare.

TWISDEN. You were not aware that it was stolen?

RICARDOS. [With his hand to his breast] Oh! no, sare.

TWISDEN. You received it from—?

RICARDOS. A minute, sare; I would weesh to explain—[With an expressive shrug] in private.

TWISDEN. [Nodding] Mr Gilman, your conduct has been most prompt. You may safely leave the matter in our hands, now. Kindly let us retain this note; and ask for my cashier as you go out and give him [He writes] this. He will reimburse you. We will take any necessary steps ourselves.

GILMAN. [In slight surprise, with modest pride] Well, sir, I’m in your ‘ands. I must be guided by you, with your experience. I’m glad you think I acted rightly.

TWISDEN. Very rightly, Mr Gilman—very rightly. [Rising] Good afternoon!

GILMAN. Good afternoon, sir. Good afternoon, gentlemen! [To TWISDEN] I’m sure I’m very ‘appy to have made your acquaintance, sir. It’s a well-known name.

TWISDEN. Thank you.

GILMAN retreats, glances at RICARDOS, and turns again.

GILMAN. I suppose there’s nothing else I ought to do, in the interests of the law? I’m a careful man.

TWISDEN. If there is, Mr Gilman, we will let you know. We have your address. You may make your mind easy; but don’t speak of this. It might interfere with Justice.

GILMAN. Oh! I shouldn’t dream of it. I’ve no wish to be mixed up in anything conspicuous. That’s not my principle at all. Good-day, gentlemen.

He goes.

TWISDEN. [Seating himself] Now, sir, will you sit down.

But RICARDOS does not sit; he stands looking uneasily across the table at GRAVITER.

You may speak out.

RICARDOS. Well, Mr Tweesden and sare, this matter is very serious for me, and very delicate—it concairns my honour. I am in a great difficulty.

TWISDEN. When in difficulty—complete frankness, sir.

RICARDOS. It is a family matter, sare, I—

TWISDEN. Let me be frank with you. [Telling his points off on his fingers] We have your admission that you changed this stopped note for value. It will be our duty to inform the Bank of England that it has been traced to you. You will have to account to them for your possession of it. I suggest to you that it will be far better to account frankly to us.

RICARDOS. [Taking out a handkerchief and quite openly wiping his hands and forehead] I received this note, sare, with others, from a gentleman, sare, in settlement of a debt of honour, and I know nothing of where he got them.

TWISDEN. H’m! that is very vague. If that is all you can tell us, I’m afraid—

RICARDOS. Gentlemen, this is very painful for me. It is my daughter’s good name—[He again wipes his brow].

TWISDEN. Come, sir, speak out!

RICARDOS. [Desperately] The notes were a settlement to her from this gentleman, of whom she was a great friend.

TWISDEN. [Suddenly] I am afraid we must press you for the name of the gentleman.

RICARDOS. Sare, if I give it to you, and it does ‘im ‘arm, what will my daughter say? This is a bad matter for me. He behaved well to her; and she is attached to him still; sometimes she is crying yet because she lost him. And now we betray him, perhaps, who knows? This is very unpleasant for me. [Taking up the paper] Here it gives the number of another note—a ‘undred-pound note. I ‘ave that too. [He takes a note from his breast pocket].

GRAVITER. How much did he give you in all?

RICARDOS. For my daughter’s settlement one thousand pounds. I understand he did not wish to give a cheque because of his marriage. So I did not think anything about it being in notes, you see.

TWISDEN. When did he give you this money?

RICARDOS. The middle of Octobare last.

TWISDEN. [Suddenly looking up] Mr Ricardos, was it Captain Dancy?

RICARDOS. [Again wiping his forehead] Gentlemen, I am so fond of my daughter. I have only the one, and no wife.

TWISDEN. [With an effort] Yes, yes; but I must know.

RICARDOS. Sare, if I tell you, will you give me your good word that my daughter shall not hear