on the afternoon of friday, june 2, 18—, i was entering in my case-book some memoranda having reference to the very curious matter of the duchess of datchet’s deed-box. it was about two o’clock. andrews came in and laid a card upon my desk. on it was inscribed ‘mr paul lessingham.’
‘show mr lessingham in.’
andrews showed him in. i was, of course, familiar with mr lessingham’s appearance, but it was the first time i had had with him any personal communication. he held out his hand to me.
‘you are mr champnell?’
‘i am.’
‘i believe that i have not had the honour of meeting you before, mr champnell, but with your father, the earl of glenlivet, i have the pleasure of some acquaintance.’
i bowed. he looked at me, fixedly, as if he were trying to make out what sort of man i was.
‘you are very young, mr champnell.’
‘i have been told that an eminent offender in that respect once asserted that youth is not of necessity a crime.’
‘and you have chosen a singular profession,—one in which one hardly looks for juvenility.’
‘you yourself, mr lessingham, are not old. in a statesman one expects grey hairs.—i trust that i am sufficiently ancient to be able to do you service.’
he smiled.
‘i think it possible. i have heard of you more than once, mr champnell, always to your advantage. my friend, sir john seymour, was telling me, only the other day, that you have recently conducted for him some business, of a very delicate nature, with much skill and tact; and he warmly advised me, if ever i found myself in a predicament, to come to you. i find myself in a predicament now.’
again i bowed.
‘a predicament, i fancy, of an altogether unparalleled sort. i take it that anything i may say to you will be as though it were said to a father confessor.’
‘you may rest assured of that.’
‘good.—then, to make the matter clear to you i must begin by telling you a story,—if i may trespass on your patience to that extent. i will endeavour not to be more verbose than the occasion requires.’
i offered him a chair, placing it in such a position that the light from the window would have shone full upon his face. with the calmest possible air, as if unconscious of my design, he carried the chair to the other side of my desk, twisting it right round before he sat on it,—so that now the light was at his back and on my face. crossing his legs, clasping his hands about his knee, he sat in silence for some moments, as if turning something over in his mind. he glanced round the room.
‘i suppose, mr champnell, that some singular tales have been told in here.’
‘some very singular tales indeed. i am never appalled by singularity. it is my normal atmosphere.’
‘and yet i should be disposed to wager that you have never listened to so strange a story as that which i am about to tell you now. so astonishing, indeed, is the chapter in my life which i am about to open out to you, that i have more than once had to take myself to task, and fit the incidents together with mathematical accuracy in order to assure myself of its perfect truth.’
he paused. there was about his demeanour that suggestion of reluctance which i not uncommonly discover in individuals who are about to take the skeletons from their cupboards and parade them before my eyes. his next remark seemed to point to the fact that he perceived what was passing through my thoughts.
‘my position is not rendered easier by the circumstance that i am not of a communicative nature. i am not in sympathy with the spirit of the age which craves for personal advertisement. i hold that the private life even of a public man should be held inviolate. i resent, with peculiar bitterness, the attempts of prying eyes to peer into matters which, as it seems to me, concern myself alone. you must, therefore, bear with me, mr champnell, if i seem awkward in disclosing to you certain incidents in my career which i had hoped would continue locked in the secret depository of my own bosom, at any rate till i was carried to the grave. i am sure you will suffer me to stand excused if i frankly admit that it is only an irresistible chain of incidents which has constrained me to make of you a confidant.’
‘my experience tells me, mr lessingham, that no one ever does come to me until they are compelled. in that respect i am regarded as something worse even than a medical man.’
a wintry smile flitted across his features,—it was clear that he regarded me as a good deal worse than a medical man. presently he began to tell me one of the most remarkable tales which even i had heard. as he proceeded i understood how strong, and how natural, had been his desire for reticence. on the mere score of credibility he must have greatly preferred to have kept his own counsel. for my part i own, unreservedly, that i should have deemed the tale incredible had it been told me by tom, dick, or harry, instead of by paul lessingham.
