And this is what Mr. Simon Lock read, while Mr. Oakley watched his master’s face. The calligraphy of the document was miraculously neat and small, and the thing had all the appearance of a declaration formally made:

‘Statement of me, Robert John Dalrymple Featherstone, made on the day before my death. (Here followed the date.)

‘This statement is intended to be perfectly plain and simple. I put down facts as they occur to me in the most straightforward possible way. I have never before in my life undertaken any sort of literary composition, beyond letters to acquaintances. My parents dying when I was a boy, and me being an only child, I have had no relatives; nor have I ever had an intimate friend. I do not know why I am at the trouble to write out this statement now. I only know that I am compelled to make it by an instinct, or an impulse, which overpowers my ordinary common-sense. It cannot be a matter of any importance that the world should understand the circumstances under which I am led to commit suicide. The world will not care. And, on the other hand, this statement may work harm, or at least annoyance, to one whom I love. Nevertheless I must write it. Everyone, perhaps, who commits suicide feels this tremendous desire to explain to the world the reasons of his act—that act for which there is no remedy, that act which he knows, if he is a Christian, must involve him in eternal remorse.

‘As I write I have a sort of feeling that what I put down may be printed in the newspapers. This feeling causes me to want to write unnaturally, in a strained and showy measure. I shall try to avoid this. All my life I have lived quiet and retired. This was not because I was modest. I am not more modest than other mediocre men. It was because I was shy and awkward and reserved by nature in the presence of others. When I am alone I feel bumptious, audacious; I feel like a popular actor.

‘But let me begin.

‘My age is fifty-six. For thirty years I have been in the service of the British and Scottish Banking Corporation, Limited. For eight years before that I was in the service of a small private bank in Northamptonshire. I have always served the British and Scottish faithfully, to the best of my ability. Yet after thirty years I was only a cashier in a suburban branch with a salary of two hundred a year—such an income as many a more fortunate man spends on cigars and neckties. I do not, however, blame anyone for this. I do not blame myself. I realize clearly that I am a very mediocre man, and deserved nothing better. I never had any talent for banking. I never had any talent for anything. I became a bank clerk through the persuasion and influence of a distant uncle. I agreed with him that it was an honourable and dignified vocation. It has suited me. I got used to the official duties. I soon learnt how to live within my income. I had no vicious tastes—no tastes of any sort. I had no social gifts. I merely did my work conscientiously. My evenings I spent reading the papers and periodicals and smoking. I have smoked two ounces of Old Judge per week regularly for five-and-twenty years. I have never smoked before lunch except during my annual fortnight at the seaside. Every morning at breakfast I have read the Standard. My political opinions have never varied.

‘Thus my life has been one of absolute sameness. There was no joy in it except the satisfaction of regular habits, and there was no sorrow, until last year but one (May 28th), when Miss Juana Craig walked into the office at Kilburn.

‘She said, “Is my father in his office?”

‘I did not know her, had never seen her before, but I guessed at once that she was the daughter of Mr. Raphael Craig, the manager of our branch. I say she said, “Is my father in his office?” Nothing beyond those words, and yet they had the same effect on me as if they had been the most magnificent piece of oratory. I was literally struck dumb with emotion. There was something peculiar in her rich voice that overcame me. She was obliged to repeat the question.

‘At last I said, “Miss Craig, I presume. No; Mr. Craig is not in, but he will be in shortly.” ‘I stammered this as though I had been repeating a badly-learnt lesson.

‘She said, “Then I will wait in his room, if I may.”

‘The way she said those last three words, “if I may,” made me feel dizzy. There was a sort of appeal in them. Of course I knew it was only politeness—formal politeness—yet I was deeply touched by it. And I felt ashamed that this beautiful girl should, in a way, have to beg a favour from old me.

‘I said, “With pleasure.” And then I took her into Mr. Craig’s room, and she sat down, and said what wet weather we were having, and I tried to talk to her. But she was too beautiful. I could not help thinking all the time that my hair was grey, and my moustache part grey and part sandy, and that I had my office coat on, with paper shields over my wrist-bands, and that I was only five feet two inches in height. At last I came out of the room, and as I did so all the clerks looked at me, laughing, and I blushed violently. I do not remember ever blushing before.

‘One clerk said jokingly, “Hello, Feather (they called me Feather), what ha’ you been up to in there?”

‘If I had been a bigger man I would have knocked him down.

‘I had never had anything to do with women, except, in a purely business way, with our lady customers. Our lady customers all liked having their cheques cashed, etc., by me, because I was always so strictly polite to them. But, strange to say, I could not be polite to Miss Craig, though never before had I wanted so badly to be polite to any woman.

‘After that day Miss Craig seemed to call every day, or nearly every day, for her father, just after closing time in the afternoon. She was on a motor-car, and they went off together up towards Edgware, Mr. Craig having a house in the country near Dunstable. Sometimes I came out on to the pavement to see them off. Once or twice I waved good-bye to them, and once I actually kissed my hand to Miss Juana. It was a very daring thing to do, and after I had done it I wished I had not! done it, but I could not help doing it. She did not take offence, and the next day she was more charming than ever. She is the sweetest, most womanly creature that God ever made. My wonder is that the other clerks did not seem to see this. They never went further than to say that she was a pretty girl. I despised them. I despise them now more than ever.

‘One Friday afternoon Mr. Craig said, “Featherstone, have you anything particular to do this week-end?” I said that I had not. He said, “Well, will you come up with us to-morrow, and spend the week-end with us?”

‘Before I could answer anything Miss Juana said, “Yes, do, Mr. Featherstone, there’s a dear man. We should love to have you.”

‘The charming and adorable creature condescended to joke. I said, “I gladly accept your very kind invitation.”

‘So I went up and stayed at their house till the Monday morning. Miss Juana drove down on the motor-car, me sitting by her side, and Mr. Craig behind. It was very enjoyable.

‘Mr. Craig himself was very polite to me during my visit, and so was Miss Teresa, Miss Juana’s sister. Miss Teresa drove us back to London on the Monday morning. And for this I was sorry; not that I have a word to say against Miss Teresa, who is a pretty enough girl, and amiable. Just before we started on the journey to London Mr. Craig put a small but heavy portmanteau under the back seat of the motor-car. I asked him what that was, merely from idle curiosity, and he said, “Money, my lad.” The two ladies were not about I laughed, thinking he was joking. But that day he called me into his private room and said, in a very ordinary tone of voice, “Featherstone, here is fifty pounds in new silver. Pay it into my private account.”

‘“Yes, sir,” I said, not thinking. It was the luncheon hour, and nearly all the clerks were out. I casually examined the silver. Of course I can distinguish a bad coin in a moment, almost by instinct. I seem to be mysteriously warned of the approach of a bad coin. But this money was all right. The next morning Miss Juana called in, and she and I had a chat. I liked her more and more. And, either I was an insufferably conceited ass, or she liked me. I knew there was more than thirty years’ difference between us. But I said to myself, “Pooh! what is thirty years? A man is as young as he feels.” I knew that I had only an income of two hundred a year, which might rise to two hundred and twenty-five or two hundred and fifty; but I said to myself that thousands of people married happily on less than that. I felt that it was impudent on my part to aspire to the hand of this angel; but I also said to myself that it was always impudence that succeeded.

‘Anyhow, I was madly and deeply in love, I, bank cashier, aged fifty odd.

‘Two hours after Miss Juana had called Mr. Craig called me into his room and said again in a very ordinary tone of voice: “Featherstone, here is another fifty pounds in silver. Pay it into my private account.” As before, the money lay in piles on his desk. “Yes, sir,” I said. I thought it very strange, but my mind was preoccupied with Miss Juana, and he was Miss Juana’s father, so I said nothing else. Again, most of the other clerks were out when I filled up the slip and put the cash into the drawers. All that day I thought of Miss Juana. Let me say now that I am convinced she had no part in the plot, for it was a plot, which Mr. Craig laid against me.

‘At the end of that week Mr. Craig had paid over two hundred pounds’ worth of new silver into his private account, and these payments continued. In a fortnight I was asked down to the Craigs’ country house again. I cannot describe my courtship of Miss Juana. I find my statement is getting too long. But in any event I could not describe it. It was the most precious, the only precious fragment of my life. The only drawback to my timid happiness was Mr. Craig’s attitude to me—a sort of insinuating attitude, quite at variance with the usual style of this powerfully-minded and very reticent man. The payments of new silver continued. In a business of the magnitude of our Kilburn branch the silver was, of course, distributed in the ordinary routine of affairs without special notice being taken of it.

‘One day I proposed to Miss Juana. It was a terrible moment for me. To this hour I do not know how I dared to do it. To my inconceivable astonishment and joy Miss Juana said: “You honour me, Mr. Featherstone. I am a poor girl. My father is not rich. I do not love you, but I like you, and I esteem you. I accept your hand.”

‘Later I said to Mr. Craig: “Mr. Craig, I have asked your daughter Juana to be my wife, and she has done me the honour to consent. Do you also consent?”

‘He said in reply: “My dear Featherstone, you will pardon me, but, of course, I know the amount of your salary. Have you any other resources?” I said that I had none.

‘The interview grew strangely complex. I see now that he handled me with consummate skill and adroitness. It came to this. He said:

“Assist me in a scheme of mine which is approaching completion, and when it is complete I will give you twenty thousand pounds. But you will be bound to secrecy.”

‘I said to him: “Is your scheme in any way contrary to the law?”

‘He said: “Frankly, it is. But, Feather-stone, you are in love, and there is no crime in my scheme.”

‘I admit that Mr. Craig’s offer of twenty thousand pounds dazzled me at first, especially as I began instantly to perceive that my life’s happiness would depend on my acceptance of it. You may ask what right a man aged fifty odd has to talk of a life’s happiness—a man who probably has not more than ten years to live. Let me suggest that it is impossible for any man, however old, not to believe that he will survive for an indefinitely long period, unless he be actually on his death-bed.

‘Moreover, I was profoundly in love. I loved with the intense and restrained passion of, which only a middle-aged man in love for the first time is capable. No young man, with the facile ardours of youth, could appreciate my feelings. Be that as it may—and I have no wish at this solemn hour to attempt to excuse myself—my demeanour certainly gave Mr. Craig the impression that I had no objection to becoming his confederate. His face showed that he was pleased—that a weight had been lifted from his mind.

‘He said: “Give me your oath that you will disclose nothing of what I am about to tell you.”

‘I said: “But suppose I do not see my way——”

‘He interrupted me very grimly: “What does that matter? Anyhow, I presume you can see your way to hold your tongue?”

‘So, not without qualms, I gave him an oath of secrecy. He then told me that he had been coining silver for many years—that his object had been to coin a hundred thousand pounds’ worth, and that he was then at the end of his long task.

‘I said: “But you just now told me that you had not involved yourself in any crime; surely to utter false money is a crime?”

‘He said with sudden anger: “It is not false money; it is perfectly good money. It is exactly the silver produced by the Mint, and neither you nor anyone could tell the difference.”

‘He then explained to me how it was profitable for him, owing to the very low price of silver, to make real money, good in every respect. He finished by saying that no one was robbed by his device.

‘I said: “Excuse me, but the Government is robbed, and, since the Government represents the public, the public is robbed. You are robbing the public. Besides, coining is a crime.”

‘He burst out: “Only in the eyes of the law. It is not a real crime.”

‘I said, as quietly as I could: “That may be; real or unreal, it is a crime.”

‘He went on, apparently not noticing my observation: “Anyhow, I find it necessary to put this money into circulation at a far quicker rate than I have previously achieved. The years are slipping by. I have by me vast accumulations of silver money, and I must negotiate them. I will tell you my object, Featherstone: it is to take a just revenge upon a scoundrel who, more than twenty years ago—before her birth—cast a shadow—a terrible shadow—over the life of the girl whom you love. Will not that move you?”

‘I exclaimed: “Juana?”

‘He said: “Yes, Juana and her sister and their poor mother. I have lived till now only to carry out that scheme—only to see this man at my feet ruined and begging for a mercy which I shall not vouchsafe.”

‘I own that I was moved to sympathy by the fearful earnestness of Mr. Craig. I asked him who the man was.

‘He replied: “That I will not tell you, nor will I tell you his sin, nor the precise nature of my revenge, until you agree to join me. Surely you, as the professed lover of Juana, will not hesitate for a moment?”

‘But I did hesitate.

‘I said: “First, let me ask you one or two questions.”

‘He said coldly and bitterly: “Ask.”

‘So I asked: “You want me to help you in passing this coin which has not come from the Royal Mint?”

‘He replied with eagerness: “Yes. I want one or two accounts opened at other banks, and certain operations put into action with financiers and specie dealers. Also, with your help, I can do a lot at our own bank.”

‘I said: “It seems to me you have already done something there.”

‘He laughed, and outlined to me the various means, all very ingenious, by which he had already disposed of a lot of silver.

‘I said: “Another question: Am I to understand that if I decline to join you you will withhold your consent to my marriage with i your daughter?”

‘He answered: “If now, at this stage, you decline to join me, I would see both you and Juana dead before I allowed you to marry.”

‘His manner was ferocious. I could see that he was absolutely absorbed—that his whole moral being was cankered by this life-long idea of a mysterious revenge. And though I did not allow him to guess the fact, I was annoyed at his attempt to intimidate me. I am not to be intimidated.

‘I said: “I will think it over, and give you my answer shortly.”

‘I saw Juana privately, told her that her father had not given me a definite answer, and returned to London in order that I might think the matter over with the more calmness. In the same house with that angelic presence it was impossible for me to think at all. I deem it right to state that I believed—and still believe—that Mr. Craig was telling me the truth, and that he was of sound mind. I truly believed—and still believe—that some man, the object of Mr. Craig’s hate, had deeply wronged Juana, her sister and her mother, and that Mr. Craig was animated in all that he did by a lofty conception of human justice. I guessed, further, that there was probably no means by which Mr. Craig could bring this man, whoever he might be, before the tribunals of the law (how many crimes slip through the wide meshes of the law!), and that therefore he had no alternative but a private vengeance. The idea of vengeance on behalf of Juana—that beloved being—appealed strongly to my deepest feelings.

‘Nevertheless, on mature consideration, I felt that I could not become a party to Mr. Craig’s scheme. I have always tried to live an honest life, and I have never accepted the sophism that the end justifies the means. In three days I returned to the house near Dunstable and told Mr. Craig my decision. He was enraged.

‘He said: “Then you prefer to give up Juana?”

‘I said: “Do you think you are acting fairly in insisting that no man shall be Juana’s husband unless he consents to commit a crime against the law?”

‘He said: “Bosh!”

‘Before such an argument I was dumb. I saw more and more clearly that Mr. Craig was what is called a monomaniac, and a very determined and obdurate one.

‘After further and useless words, I left him and sought Juana.

‘I said to her: “Miss Juana, your father forbids us to marry.”

‘She replied in a strange tone: “My father is a harsh man, Robert. He can be very cruel. Although I feel that he loves Teresa and myself passionately, you can have no idea of the life we live here. Sometimes it is terrible. Teresa is my father’s favourite, and I—I sometimes hate him. I hate him now. Perhaps because I cannot comprehend him. Robert, I will marry you without his consent.”

‘I cannot describe my emotions at that moment. Her use of my Christian name thrilled me through and through. There was something in the tone of her voice which caused strange and exquisite vibrations in me. I thank God now that I had strength to behave as an English gentleman should behave.

‘I said: “Miss Juana, your kindness overwhelms me. But I should be unworthy of your love if I took advantage of it. I am an old-fashioned man, with old-fashioned views, and I could not marry a lady in the face of her parent’s opposition.”

‘Without a word, she ran out of the house. I saw that she was crying. A few minutes afterwards I saw her galloping wildly down the road on her strawberry-roan mare. She was the most magnificent and superb horsewoman I have ever set eyes on.

‘The incident, as the phrase goes, was closed.

I had enjoyed the acquaintance of Miss Juana for nearly twelve months. I enjoyed it no longer. The relations between Mr. Craig and myself resumed their old formality. He was nothing but the bank manager; I was nothing but the cashier. The pity was that I was bound to secrecy as regards his scheme; and I saw that his scheme was maturing. Without the slightest scruple, he made use of me to aid in disposing of his silver through the bank. He could depend on my honour, though my honour made a criminal of me. Things got worse and worse. His methods grew bolder and bolder. A year passed. One day he told another clerk in the office that a great-uncle had died and left him a hundred thousand pounds in new silver. He turned to me, who happened to be close by.

‘“A strange fellow! I have mentioned his peculiarities to you before now, have I not, Featherstone?”

‘Scarcely knowing what I said, I answered, “Yes.”

‘I was thus by an audacious stroke made a party to his dodge for explaining away the extraordinary prevalence of new silver. Previously to this I had noticed that he was drawing large cheques in favour of a firm of stockbrokers.

‘At length I could stand it no more. I went into his private room and said: “Mr. Craig, either you must cease your illegal proceedings, or you must release me from my oath of secrecy.”

‘He said flatly: “I shall do neither.”

‘Of course I could see that my request was foolish. He had me between his thumb and finger.

‘I then said: “Very well, Mr. Craig, there is one alternative left to me—I resign my position in the bank. You force me to do this.”

‘He said: “As you wish.”

‘He was relentless. So I was cast on the world, at my age. I had no hope of obtaining another situation. But what else could I do? By remaining in the service of the bank, and allowing Mr. Craig to make it the channel for disposing of false money, I was betraying my trust to the bank. The truth was I ought to have done a year before what I did then.

‘My savings amounted to about a hundred pounds.

‘Soon after this final step I discovered, to my equal grief and astonishment, that Miss Juana had left her father’s house—doubtless he had practically driven her forth—and was earning her living in a travelling circus. I ascertained where the circus was, and I had an interview with Miss Juana one night after the performance. Miss Juana was in her circus-dress, a curiously showy riding-habit, and she had paint on her dear face. The interview was inexpressibly painful to me. I cannot narrate it in full.

‘I said: “Miss Juana, marry me. I implore you! Never mind your father’s consent. Anything to save you from this. I implore you to marry me! I love you more than ever.”

‘I did not tell her that I had no means of livelihood now. I had absolutely forgotten the fact.

‘She replied: “Why, Mr. Featherstone, I am getting an honest living.”

‘I said again: “Marry me.”

‘I could not argue.

‘She said: “A year ago I would have married you. I liked you. But I cannot marry you now.”

‘I asked madly: “Why?”

‘She replied: “Things have happened in the meantime.”

‘I returned to London last night and bought a revolver. It is my intention to kill myself in Mr. Craig’s own room while he is out at lunch. This seems to me proper, but I may be mad. Who knows? My brain may be unhinged. As for my oath of secrecy, Raphael Craig cannot demand secrecy from a dead man. If this document leads to his punishment, let it. I care not. And Juana, as she says herself, is getting an honest living. She is independent of her terrible father.

‘It is half-past one o’clock in the morning.

In twelve hours I shall be in the beyond. I will place this statement in a vase on the mantelpiece. Let who will find it.

‘Given under my dying hand,

‘Robert J. Dalrymple Featherstone.’

When Simon Lock had finished the perusal of this document he passed his hand before his eyes. The dead man’s handwriting, although perfectly clear, was so fine that even the delicate shades of Simon Lock’s electric chandelier had not been able to prevent the august financier from feeling the effects of the strain; but the condition of his eyes was a trifle. He experienced a solid and satisfying joy—such joy as he had not felt for a very long time.

‘You have read it?’ he questioned Oakley.

‘I took that liberty, sir,’ said Oakley, who was now the old Oakley again—formal, dry, submissive.

‘And what did you think of it, Oakley?’

‘I thought, sir, that it might prove useful to you.’

‘Did you assume that I was the unnamed man against whom this wonderful Raphael Craig is directing what he calls his vengeance?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Ah!’ breathed Simon Lock. ‘I’ve just got this in time.’

‘You think that you have got it in time, sir?’

‘Yes, my young friend. It is a nice question whether it constitutes legal evidence, but anyhow, it constitutes a lever which I think I can use pretty effectively upon Mr. Craig.’

‘Then you deem it valuable, sir?’

‘Yes,’ said Simon Lock.

‘What do you think it is worth to you, sir?’

Oakley looked peculiarly at his master, who paused.

‘Well, Oakley,’ he said at length, ‘since you put it in that way, it is worth, we’ll say, a hundred pounds to me. I’ll draw you a cheque. It will pay the expenses of your summer holiday.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Oakley impassively. ‘May I just glance at the document again, sir? There was one point——’

Simon Lock handed him the dead man’s message. Oakley took it, folded it carefully, and placed it in his pocket.

‘What the devil are you doing?’ Simon Lock demanded angrily.

‘I was venturing to think, sir, that, after all, the document belonged to me by right of discovery. And since I have the misfortune to differ from you as to its monetary value——’

Simon Lock jumped up, and then he looked rather cautiously at Mr. Oakley’s somewhat muscular frame.

‘Look here——’ Simon Lock began imperatively.

‘In my hip-pocket I have a revolver, Mr. Lock,’ said Mr. Oakley. ‘Force, therefore, would be a mistake.’

‘I see,’ said Simon Lock. ‘Well, what do you think the thing worth?’

‘Ten thousand pounds,’ said Mr. Oakley imperturbably. ‘I will hand it over to you in exchange for a promissory note for that amount payable at three months.’

There was a long pause. Simon Lock had the precious gift of knowing when he was beaten.

‘I accept,’ he said.

‘Thank you; here is the document,’ said Oakley when he had received the promissory note.

After Simon Lock had transferred the paper to his own pocket he remarked:

‘Oakley, the position which you occupy here is quite beneath your high capabilities. I dismiss you. I will write you out a cheque for a month’s wages. Leave the house within an hour.’

‘With pleasure, sir,’ said Mr. Oakley, exactly as he had accepted the invitation to dinner.