Chapter IV: Part I (3)

Now it may be true, as her garrulous old aunt told me, that Miss Thornton was discovered in the drawing-room that night weeping bitterly, but if so, I venture to assert her tears were those of anger--the tears of a spoilt child. However, the point is not what I think, but what Williams thought. He left the Thorntons' house firmly convinced that he had wholly failed in his mission and succeeded only in making the woman he loved hate him. But as he lay awake brooding over the situation the possibility presented itself that the girl might go to Forbes with the story and assert her loyalty by offering to marry him then and there. Such things had happened before. As he thought it over, the possibility became a fear, and the fear a resolution to protect the girl, not only against Forbes, but if necessary against herself. The step he took was theoretically quite as impossible as his original action. But to attempt the impossible is sometimes to achieve it.

Early the next morning Williams looked up Pierce & Butler, the attorneys who had represented Mrs. Forbes in the divorce proceedings, obtained her address, and straightway called upon the lady herself. His interview was short, but at its close he made another extraordinary move. He telegraphed Meyer that the East Broadway business was to be closed within twenty-four hours. Seeing that he had not up to that time made any adequate examination of the title, his action must have seemed somewhat rash to his clerks--especially as he spent most of the intervening hours, not at the Register's office, but in the building of the green lamps on Mulberry Street known as Police Headquarters.

As a result of this, the first callers at Williams' offices on the following morning were afforded singular accommodations. One of them was stationed behind the portieres, another was supplied with a seat in a closet, and another was ensconced in a coat-cupboard.

Then Williams sat down at the big table in the Title-closing room and waited for Meyer and the other parties to the purchase and sale of the property. They came promptly.

Meyer arrived first, accompanied by Jacobs, his confidential clerk, for that prudent Hebrew never did anything without one of his own people being present as a witness; then Mr. Winter, the real estate broker, dropped in, and when finally Mr. August Stein, Attorney-at-law, introduced himself and his client Mrs. Forbes. Williams showed no surprise that Mr. Stein's client did not in any way resemble the Mrs. Forbes he had interviewed only the day before.

Mr. Stein was a nervous, active little man who spoke in the sharp brisk tones of one who has much to do and but little time to do it in.

"Now, Mr. Williams, you are all ready, I hope. I have another appointment at 11.30. You found everything clear? Of course--of course. It isn't everyone who can carry East Broadway property free and clear.--No, indeed, Mrs. Forbes."

The attorney smiled approvingly at his client.

Williams studied the papers in his hand and answered without looking up.

"Everything is completed except the formality of identification. Of course it's all right, but you know I have not had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Forbes and I don't think my client has----"

Meyer shook his head.

"Well, don't let's waste time on that," Mr. Stein interrupted, "you know Mr. Winter here, and he will identify Mrs. Forbes to your satisfaction."

Williams glanced inquiringly at the broker whom he had known for a couple of years.

"Do you identify this lady as the owner of this East Broadway property, Mr. Winter?" he asked.

"Surely--surely," was the answer.

"How long have you known her, Mr. Winter?"

"Well, about--I should say--it must be--two years."

"Who introduced you--or how did you meet?"

"Now, Mr. Williams," interrupted Mr. Stein, "this is very interesting, but it's wasting my time. All this should have been attended to before I was summoned. I am a very busy man and you'll have to postpone the whole matter until to-morrow. I really can't wait."

Mr. Stein began buttoning up his coat and reached for his hat.

Williams fumbled among his papers for a moment and drew forth an affidavit.

"Perhaps we can save time with your aid. This is rather a large transaction for me, so I have to go slowly. You will have no objection to signing this affidavit of identification--will you, Mr. Stein?"

The attorney adjusted his glasses.

"It's not necessary, Sir," he remarked, merely glancing at the paper and handing it back.--"It's not at all necessary. There is already sufficient evidence to satisfy any reasonable man and we are not obliged to satisfy you. It was your duty to have convinced yourself before the time of closing."

"I didn't suppose you would have any objection to giving the proof required."

"I don't know that there is any objection, but I've been closing real estate titles all my life and I know my rights and don't intend to be imposed upon."

"I'm not trying to impose upon you, my dear Sir."

"That's just what you are trying to do and I don't propose"--the lawyer rose and began to gather up his papers.

"What is the matter, Mr. Stein? Why are you getting excited?"

"I'm not excited, Sir, but I propose to be treated with decent respect and not like a shyster, and since you insist----"

"But I don't insist----" interrupted Williams. "Sit down, Mr. Stein."

----"Since you insist," persisted the lawyer, walking toward Mr. Meyer, "I make a tender to your client of this deed----" he drew a document from his pocket and handed it to Meyer's clerk.

"Sit down, Mr. Stein," repeated Williams sharply,--"unless you want me to think you are seeking an excuse to break this contract.--Sit down at once, Sir!--Mr. Jacobs--let me look at that deed."

The clerk handed the paper to him and Williams glanced at the signature.

"This is already signed and acknowledged before you as witness and Notary, Mr. Stein. It is perfectly satisfactory. Let us proceed."

The attorney slowly sat down again and then laughed uneasily.

"I had completely forgotten that, Mr. Williams. Your insistence nettled me for the moment and quite put it out of my head. A tempest in a tea-pot--much ado about nothing, of course!--But rights are rights, you know.--It's instinct with us lawyers to insist upon them, isn't it?"

"Mr. Meyer, kindly hand your check to this lady who will deliver her deed," directed Williams, as he passed the paper to the woman.

Meyer beckoned the young lawyer to the window.

"Is everything all right?" he whispered, as he fumbled in his pocket for the check, "are you sure?"

"Do as I tell you!" was the whispered answer, so sharp and savage that the old man started and his cunning eyes flashed angrily. For a moment he hesitated, gazing earnestly into the calm face of his counsel and then turned suddenly and handed the check to the woman.

"Is that check certified? Let me see it!" cried Stein starting to his feet. The woman handed it to him, at the same time delivering the deed into Meyer's outstretched hand.

"Now what did you do that for?" Stein snapped angrily at his client--"can't you wait----"

He stopped suddenly, for something clicked behind him and he turned just in time to see Winter handcuffed and struggling in the arms of a detective.

With a cry the fellow leaped across the long, narrow table, but as he landed on the other side he found himself facing the muzzle of a revolver pointing at him from the window curtains. Without a word he threw up his hands, and as he did so passed the check into his mouth. The movement did not escape Williams, and like a flash his revolver was between the fellow's eyes.

"Spit it out," he said quietly. "Don't chew it! This revolver is self-cocking! One--two----"

The check came again into evidence.

"Hands down for the bangles--my son," ordered the detective as he stepped toward Stein. As the handcuffs snapped, Williams lowered his weapon and picked up the check. Then as the men moved their prisoners toward the door he turned to the woman.

"Mrs.--Forbes," he began in a low tone, "won't you be good enough to tell me your right name?"

The reply was a paroxysm of tears and sobs. Williams waited for the outburst to subside and then quietly repeated his question. The answer came brokenly between sobs.

"It'd be--it'd be Mrs. Forbes--if--if--I had my rights!"

Williams stared at the speaker in utter amazement. Was there something more in this case? Who was this woman, anyway, and why did she claim any right to Forbes' name?

"And until you get your rights," he said, "what shall I call you?"

"Mary Halpin--Miss," answered the woman, sullenly.

Williams signalled the waiting detective to stop where he was.

"Well, Mary," he continued, "will you kindly go into my room for a moment?"

The woman rose and passed into the room indicated.

"Miss Halpin," began Williams when the door closed, "I suppose you are well aware what your position is, and that it can't be made much worse. I cannot, of course, promise you any leniency, but if you want to answer a few questions you can regard yourself as speaking confidentially to your Counsel, and I may possibly be able to give you some advice."

The woman looked at him in silence for a moment and then nodded.

"Are you the Mary Halpin mentioned in the divorce case of _Forbes_ vs. _Forbes_?"

"Yes."

Williams studied the face before him, and as he did so, possibilities began to crowd thick and fast upon his mind. He determined to risk something in his next question.

"Mr. Forbes suggested that you impersonate Mrs. Forbes," he asserted boldly.

"How do you know that?" snapped Miss Halpin.

"No matter--I do know it. What reason did he give for wanting you to impersonate his wife?"

The woman buried her face in her hands and Williams let her cry it out.

Here was a nice ending to all his plans for Miss Thornton! If Forbes' connection with this case was known what a splendid newspaper story his courtship of the young society girl would make! All the horrors of publicity would be crowded upon her with crushing force. She might bear humiliation in the sight of her friends, but not before the gaze of the world. If anything was to be done to strangle that journalistic tid-bit it must be done then and there.

"Why did he want you to impersonate his wife?" repeated Williams.

The woman looked at him through her tears.

"He said he had to have the money and--if I did it--he'd have plenty. He said--he said there was no harm--that I was--I was--that I had a right to say I was Mrs. Forbes, and he'd marry me afterwards. But he'll never do it now!" she sobbed, "he'll never do it now!"

"I think he will."

Miss Halpin stopped weeping and stared eagerly at Williams.

"O if I thought that!" she began. "I'd do anything--anything!"

"Listen then. Does Winter or Stein know of Forbes in this matter?"

"No, no."

"Don't they know he's back of you?"

"No."

"All your own game?--You bought them yourself?"

"Yes."

"And you don't want revenge on Forbes?"

"No, no. God forgive me, I love him!"

"Then prove it. You will be taken to the Tombs now. Don't get frightened. Say nothing to anyone. Before night Forbes will get bail for you and you will go at once with him to Dr. Strong's in Jersey City. Forbes has promised to marry you before?"

"Yes."

"So I suppose you wouldn't mind having some sort of hold on him?"

The woman smiled.

"All right, I'll give you some advice. If he hesitates at the altar this time tell him you've been asked to turn State's evidence and remind him that it is difficult for wives to testify against their husbands. That's all. Good-bye."

Williams opened the door and stepped into the outer office.

"You will find your prisoner in my room, Sergeant," he said to the waiting detective.

"Dan," he called to the office boy, as the door closed upon the officer and his charge. "Ring up Mr. R. Castelez Forbes, and say I want to see him here at once."

Ten minutes later Williams was retained by R. Castelez Forbes, and gave that gentleman some sound advice. The same day toward evening, Mrs. R. C. Forbes, _nee_ Halpin, and her husband, _alias_ R. Castelez Forbes, started very privately for the West, and the City of New York was the richer in forfeited bail.

* * * * *

It is often difficult to differentiate between the accessory to a crime and the counsel defending the criminal. Williams, of course, might plead confidential communications, which certainly cover a multitude of sins. But I prefer to pardon him on the theory that all is fair in love and--well, law is a sort of civil war. Sometimes not even civil.

If this wasn't a true story, I might report that Williams married a fine woman in every way worthy of him, and that Meyer as a reward for that day's good work gave him all his business ever afterwards. But the facts are Williams never married, and Meyer refused to pay his fee. Whereupon Williams promptly sued him for the money, won the suit and collected every cent due him. That is the real reason why the old scamp respects him nowadays and gives him so much of his business.

BY WAY OF COUNTERCLAIM.

I.

There are office buildings still standing in down-town New York where the occupant does not merge his identity with the numerals on his door. But they are very old buildings and the tenants are apt to be as old-fashioned as their surroundings. It was in one of these venerable piles that Clayton Sargent passed his legal apprenticeship, and perhaps this explains some things in his career which are otherwise inexplicable.

When Sargent was first ushered into the offices of Messrs. Harding, Peyton, Merrill and Van Standt he found a suite of plainly furnished rooms connected by green baize doors and surrounded by law books from floor to ceiling. The desks were large and dignified--almost learned in their solidity, as though they had soaked in all the wisdom that had dripped from the pens and all the experience of the pen holders.--The large iron safe built into the wall of the rear room looked a very monster of mystery from whose cavernous jaws no secrets would ever escape, and in whose keeping confidences were secure as with the Sphinx.

No sound of the typewriter was ever heard in those rooms, though the crackle and snapping of the soft cannel coal in the open fireplaces would occasionally lure someone into betting that "the Ancients had surrendered." No telephone ever tinkled its call inside those doors and no member of the firm ever learned to use that instrument.

Harding, Peyton, Merrill and Van Standt's law papers were a joke in the profession. They were engrossed on parchment-like paper and tied with blue or red silk string, and if a seal was used two bits of ribbon always protruded from its edge. But those who read these documents, though they laughed at the outside, respected the inside, for "the Ancients" had a large practice and knew how to keep it.

"They're harmless old birds," said Elmendorff, whose place Sargent was taking, "but utterly impractical. I've been three years in a live office and I tell you I couldn't stand this. You'll waste your time here. Why, not a week ago I heard old man Peyton tell a client that he'd better put everything on the altar of compromise and then offer to divide, rather than get into litigation. They're dying of dry rot. You can't get up a scrap here to save your eternal. Just think of this for instance. Last month I began an action for the Staunton Manufacturing Company against Mundel and it was dead open and shut, too. Well, in walks Harding one morning madder than hops. 'How did this get in the office?' says he, waiving the complaint. I told him I advised the plaintiffs that they had a good case. 'Good case!' he roars. 'There's not the slightest justice in the claim--not a scintilla of justice, Sir!' 'But we can win,' I told him, and I showed the old fool where the defendant had slipped up in the wording of his contract and how we had him cold. Well, darn me, if he didn't get hotter under the collar than before, asking me if I thought his firm were hired tricksters and bravos and I don't know what. Finally he bundled all the papers back to the Staunton Company and wrote them they oughtn't to sue. That settled me, and so I told them I'd have to get out into the world again before the moss grew. It's a pity, too, for they've really got a smooth lot of clients if they only knew how to work them."

So Elmendorff departed, but no one ever heard that he took any of the Ancients' practice with him.

It was this atmosphere which Sargent breathed for three years, and perhaps, as has been said, that may account for some of his many eccentricities and explain, in a measure, his treatment of Fenton.

Fenton had married the daughter of Brayton Garland, one of Mr. Harding's clients, and when his wife sued him for divorce he brought the papers to Sargent.

It was in offices very different from the Ancients' that Fenton found his counsel. They were on the 17th floor of the Titan Building, on lower Broadway, where the draught in the hall steadily sucked a stream of people into elevators, which, with the regularity of trip-hammers, shot them up breathless and dropped them gasping.

There were three law firms in the same suite with Sargent,--four attorneys "on their own hook," a Seamless Mattress Company, an Electric Drying Company and a Collection Agency. Typewriters clicked in every room, messengers clattered up and down the long hallway, brass gates on the railed-off spaces swung to and fro crashing with every swing, the telephones sung a constant chorus, electric bells buzzed and tinkled, doors banged, papers rustled, voices droned or struck the air in sharp staccato, and yet in the midst of all this restless human energy there were times when Sargent felt lonely. It was not merely that he missed the atmosphere of quiet and study, but the very rush and scramble seemed to generate ideas and actions foreign to the code of professional ethics and dignity which governed the Ancients.

Sometimes the denizens of the Titan Building discussed the matter with him.

"Theoretically your venerable friends are all right," a brilliant, pushing young lawyer told him one day. "The man who lives by maxims in this day and generation will have food for thought, but he'll never earn his salt. We start with the same point of view, but----"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"But someone throws gold-dust in our eyes?" suggested Sargent.

"Bosh!" was the retort. "Don't talk the cant of the incompetent. The Bar is of a higher average to-day than it ever was before."

But despite the "high average," Sargent often felt himself a solitary outsider looking on at the mad clamour and pitiless pursuit and wondering if it was worth all it seemed to cost. A defect in early education--this pausing to think--for philosophers on lower Broadway are apt to have but brief careers.

"There's nothing in the case," Fenton told his counsel, who sat gazing out of the window at the tiny human ants crawling in and out of the stone heaps in the street below.

Sargent looked narrowly at his client, but the side face told him nothing, so he made no comment and Fenton continued,

"I don't know why she wants to drag us into court. I suppose some long-whiskered tabby has been telling her I ought to stay home every night. Say, Sargent, isn't there some way of bringing her to her senses?"

The speaker turned from the window with a gesture of impatience, and Sargent studied the handsome though somewhat boyish face. He knew Fenton for an easy-going fellow, but no fool. He was a young man who had earned his money by his own brains, acquiring all the self-confidence and other characteristics, good and bad, which accompany achievement. There was strength of character in his face, and a certain firmness of purpose about the mouth that suggested something which the clear blue eyes contradicted.

"You say there is nothing in the case," Sargent answered. "Why do you suppose she brings suit? I don't know Mrs. Fenton, of course, but women are not anxious as a rule to get themselves into court. Have you tried to see her and obtain an explanation?"

"Lord, no! If you knew her you'd see how useless it would be. There's no way out of this except by showing her we mean business. She's nearly killed all the affection I ever had for her by this nonsense, but I want it stopped--and stopped right now."

The suggestive lines of Fenton's mouth were strongly marked as he snapped out the last words.

"If you no longer love your wife,--am I to understand that you want a divorce? Have you anything to set up by way of counterclaim?"

"By way of counterclaim? No.--Yes, I have. I want the children."

Sargent smiled. "That's hardly a counterclaim," he answered.

"Well, it's counterclaim enough for me.--That's just the thing. You push that and we'll see about the rest afterwards. If she wants to go into court she'll have to go without the children."

Fenton's mouth was firmly set, and its lines were almost grim. The boyish look had faded, and without it his features developed coarseness.

Sargent hesitated.

"Mr. Fenton," he said at last, "I don't like these cases, and when a man dislikes his work, you know, he's not apt to do it well. I think you would do better to retain other counsel."

"Now that's all nonsense, Sargent. You are just the man for me. I don't want one of those advertising roarers who'll have us in every paper. I want this thing stopped. You'll only have to apply for the children and that'll end it. There are plenty of legal ruffians to be had. I have chosen you because you are a gentleman and know how this business should be handled."

There was no note of flattery in Fenton's tone.

"But, Mr. Fenton, admitting there is nothing in the case, the custody of the children is still a matter resting wholly in the discretion of the Court and you may not succeed. Mr. Harding is an excellent lawyer and will doubtless make a good fight. You remember, of course, that I was in his office some years ago?"

Fenton looked sharply at his counsel and his eyes narrowed slightly as he answered.

"Well, that doesn't make any difference, does it? It ought to be all the better. You must know all the old chap's tricks."

There was a suggestion of cunning about the man which completely transformed him for a moment. His watchful eyes, however, read the doubt in Sargent's face and bespoke a charming sincerity as he added:

"Why, of course, I knew you were brought up with 'the Ancients,' Sargent. I was only joking. But that is merely another reason why you are best fitted to undertake this case. If it were the ordinary divorce dirt I wouldn't ask you to plough it up. But it's not. Mr. Harding knows you and you will be able to approach him easily. Mrs. Fenton has been poorly advised, I think, but the mischief's not yet wholly done. Make your 'motion' or whatever you call it, and then you'll find the rest is easy. I know you can handle the matter as few men could. I've wanted to give you some business for a long time and I'm sorry to begin with this. However, it will not be the last, you know."

Sargent had built up a fair practice since he left "the Ancients," but this was the first time he had ever been opposed to them. He confessed to himself that he did not like it.

Fenton was not wholly convincing, but if he did not take up this case someone else would. If he was better than his profession it was high time to retire from it. Then, too, Mr. Harding was growing old, and doubtless the woman deceived by silly stories had deceived him. Very probably, as Fenton said, the first aggressive move would settle the whole affair. What fools women were to listen to every Old Wife who came along with idle tittle-tattle seeking recruits for the great Army of the Misunderstood! Fenton's business was worth having, and if this matter went well there was no knowing where it might lead. Moreover all the essential facts were in the defendant's favour, and as Sargent skilfully set them forth in his "moving papers" he experienced that subtle influence, known to every lawyer, which can turn the most judicial counsel into a partisan, and make the silliest quarrel a matter of deadly moment between strangers to its cause.

II.

Any Court with jurisdiction in divorce proceedings draws an audience peculiar to itself.

Every Court Room has, of course, its individual devotees. For instance "Dutch Pete" is accustomed to the corner bench in Part XV. and would not change it for any other sleeping quarters, and even the migratory loafers seem to know and respect old "Lawyer" Brady's seat in Trial Term