REMINISCENCES OF A LAWYER’S CLERK.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIV, Issue VII, 16 February 1895, Page 154

REMINISCENCES OF A LAWYER’S CLERK.

By

Herbert Keen.

AN ABORTIVE PLOT. CURIOUS episode happened while I was acting “ managing clerk to Mr Sammers, who < ./xA\ 1 UBe< i to carry on business in SouthamptonWjfMkW street, Bloomsbury. Hewasanold-fashioned solicitor who, in his palmy days, had enjoyed /IwKJaWJ a ver 7 ® ne practice, but his health had begun r to fail for some years before I went to him ; J-'' ■ he had no son or successor for whom he de- ' *“ yr »% sired to keep up his connection: and he possessed ample _ private means. The circumstances combined had impaired his natural energy to such an extent that he hardly took the trouble to conceal from clients his indifference to his p- ofessional occupations, and the result was that the business had become stagnant and moribund. If he would only have taken a young and energetic partner he could have retained it all for he was personally much esteemed and respected ; but he always said that he preferred that his practice should die with him, the truth being that he was growing too old and indolent to tolerate any innovation. Nevertheless, with the inconsistency of mankind in general,,he was always a little annoyed when a client deserted him ; and those were the only occasions when I ever saw him out of temper. He was a most amiable old gentleman, with snow-white hair, aristocratic features, and a fine presence, in spite of his seventy-five years ; his intellect was perfectly clear, and when he chose to exert himself, he proved that he was still a capable man of business. One morning he arrived at the office rather late, and on my presenting myself in his room to receive instructions about the day’s correspondence, he said, irritably—- • Has Mr Cuthbert Chadwell called yet !’ •No, sir.’ • What do you suppose he means by this !’ inquired Mr Summers, handing me an open letter. While he turned, with transparent pretence at indifference to his other correspondence, I read as follows Thexford Park, Northamptonshire. Dear Sir,—l regret to inform you of the death of my father. I believe his will, of which I am sole executor, is in your possession. I am coming up to town to-morrow morning, and if you will kindly have the will looked out for me, I shall be obliged, as I propose to take it away. Yours truly, Cuthbert P. Chadwell. • I suppose you have the will, sir,’ I remarked, perceiving the cause of my principal’s irritation. • Yes, I believe it is in the strong room ; it must be ten years ago since the testator made it, and I have never seen him since. At one time he used to be a good client,’ said Mr Summers, with a sigh. • I suppose the son intends to go to somebody else.’ • He says that he wishes to take the will away,’ I observed, with diffidence. ‘ Well, he is welcome to it,' said Mr Summers, sharply ; * his father was a decent fellow, though a self-made man. Began life as a shoemaker, I have heard. But I have only seen the son once, and I wasn’t favourably impressed. I hear be is a skinflint.’ • Not much good as clients, that sort, sir,’ I said, to soothe • No. Still, it would have been more decent to . However, I don’t want hie business. Fetch up the will, Millicent, and make out a receipt.’ I could see that Mr Summers was annoyed at not being asked to prove the will and to wind np his late client’s estate, though 1 knew very well that when bis momentary

irritation had passed, my principal would be rather relieved than otherwise at having been spared the trouble. I descended to the strong room, and when I returned to the clerks’ office, I found that during my brief absence, Mr Cuthbert Chadwell had arrived, and was already closeted with Mr Summers. I therefore wrote out a receipt for the will, and entered Mr Summers' room with the document in my hand. ! I perceived at a glance that the interview between Mr Summers and his late client’s heir had not been of a I particularly cordial description. Mr Sammers’ annoyance I was manifested by his punctilious politeness, while Mr 1 Cuthbert Chadwell looked sulky and ill at ease. My I principal seemed relieved when I appeared, and held out his ' hand for the will, with an impatient gesture. • With your permission, Mr Chadwell, I will open the envelope,’ said Mr Summers, gravely. • I have no doubt that you are sole executor, as you say, but I cannot trust my memory.* Mr Chadwell, by a surly grunt, signified a grudging assent to this precaution, and I had leisure to observe him while Mr Summers was glancing at the will. He was a bald-headed, corpulent, middle-aged man, with coarse, bloated face, a hang dog look, and a very shifty expression about the eyes. He was evidently ill at ease, and when he happened to meet my gaze he appeared covered with confusion. • Here is the will,’ said Mr Summers, replacing the document in its envelope, and handing it across the table to Mr Chadwell. • 1 will ask you to sign this receipt, which my clerk has prepared.’ J The executor took possession of the will with evident eagerness, and stowed it quickly away in his pocket. He then affixed his signature to the receipt with a very shaky hand, and rose to take his departure. ‘ Good day, Mr Chadwell,’ said Mr Sammers, offering bis hand ; • I hope you will live many years to enjoy your inheritance.’ • All right,’ said the other, shortly, as he put on his hat and made for the door. 'lf I can ever put a job'in your way, Mr Sammers, I’ll bear you in mind.* •Thank you. At my time of life, however, I do not expect new clients,’ said Mr Summers, with quiet irony. Air Chadwell shambled out of the room in rather a shame-faced way, and hurried from the building. Mr Summers glanced up at him through the wire blind as he passed the window in the street ontside. • Not a prepossessing person, eh, Millicent !’ said Mr Summers, with a smile. •Sole executor, too I’ I remarked, answering the thought which was evidently in his mind. ‘ His father trusted him, apparently,’ said Mr Summers, shrugging his shoulders. • Besides, he practically takes everything himself.’ • Did he mention who his lawyer is ?’ I inquired, as I turned to leave the room. • He does not employ a lawyer,’ answered Mr Summers, smiling. ‘ He said when he came in this morning that he considers us useless and wasteful. He is going to prove the will himself at the local registry at Northampton.’ I guessed from this that Mr Chadwell had put Mr Summers’ back up by his manner of announcing his intentions, which accounted for the coolness I had remarked. I must say that in this instance' I did not consider that the business had been deprived of a valuable client. With this reflection I dismissed the matter from my mind and I do not suppose that either Mr Summers or I would ever have given another thought to Mr Chadwell and his affairs or heard anything more about him, but for one of those singular accidents which are sometimes dignified with the name of coincidences. There was a Chancery suit going on in the office at the time, in connection with which a series of advertisements had been inserted by order of the Court in various London and provincial newspapers. About a week after Mr Chadwell s visit, one of my fellow clerks handed me a Northamptonshire paper, saying that he could not find the advertisement in that issue, and asking me to see whether he had overlooked it. 1 made an unsuccessful search, and was

folding up the paper to return it to him, when my eye alighted upon a brief paragraph containing an obituary notice of the late Mr Chadwell, of Thexford. It stated, among other details, that he had died of a paralytic stroke on the 18th instant previous. Now Mr Chadwell had called upon us on the 16th, two days earlier ; and as he bad then informed ns that his father had died the day before, it followed that the date of the death was the 15th. The discrepancy was apparently due to a printer’s error in the paper; still, when I recalled to mind Mr Cuthbert Chadwell’s peculiar manner on the occasion of his visit to the office, I began to have a vague suspicion that there might be something wrong, and I, therefore showed Mr Summers the newspaper paragraph. •Uh I It is a mistake, of course,’ said Mr Summers, when I pointed out the date of death. • What does it matter whether the poor fellow died on the 15th or on the 18 th !’ ‘ Only that if he didn’t die till the 18th, Cuthbert Chadwell was not entitled to have the will,’ I replied. • Why ?’ said Mr Summers, sharply. • Because hie father was alive.’ • Pooh I It is all nonsense,’ said Mr Summers, getting up from his chair with a troubled expression. • I—l must admit that I thought the son’s manner was odd,’ he added, after a pause. ‘ Anyhow, we may as well set doubt at rest; send a wire to the newspaper people drawing attention to the mistake and see what they say.’ Accordingly, after some deliberation. I drew out and despatched the following message to the Editor of the Thexford Gazette: • Re Matthew Chadwell deceased.—Your issue 23rd gives date death 18ch. Is not this an error! Reply paid—important—confidential.’ Although I was beginning to feel almost excited at the discovery I had made, I cannot say that I entertained any serious suspicion, and I quite expected that the reply to my telegram would be of a reassuring nature. But to my surprise, and to Mr Summers’ consternation, the answer which arrived in due course was as follows :— • 18th correct date. Informant doctor—have seen certificate.* • Good gracious, Millicent, this is most grave 1’ exclaimed to ha£ been in getting hold of the will in his father’s lifetime !' • Perhaps he persuaded his father to destroy it,’ I said •He was residuary legatee, and—h’m I—’tie true there were some annuities and one or two big legacies,’ said Mr Summers, thoughtfully. ‘He was an only child, wasn’t he !’ I inquired. •If so everything would come to him in the event of an intestacy.’ • We mustn’t jump hastily at conclusions, Millicent,* said Mr Sammers, evidently greatly disturbed ; • the point must be cleared up. If there is anything wrong, I shall feel in a measure personally responsible. 1 don’t know what to do exactly, but I will think it over, and we will talk about it to-morrow.* It was then Mr Sammers* usual hoar for leaving, and he went home in a state of considerable agitation. For my part I began to think it quite possible that Cuthbert Chadwellmeditated some fraud, and 1 had the curiosity to look up the draft of his father’s will. Assuming that Cuthbert Chadwell was grasping and unscrupulous, the amount of the legacies and annuities seemed to offer quite sufficient incentive to him to suppress it, or at least to induce him ta endeavour to get it levoked. He had certainly not acted straightforwardly in obtaining possession of the will by means of a subterfuge, and this made me doubt the honesty of his intentions. The next day Mr Summers arrived at the office earlier than usual, looking pale and determined, and after glancing through the letters, he took out his watch and said to me :— • Millicent, I have decided to go down to Thexford, and I think you had better accompany me, as you were present when Mr Chadwell called the other day. We must start in half an hov- * ,

* You propose to call upon Mr Chadwell, air !* I inquired. * Yes. i shall insist upon an explanation. Mind, I don’t suppose there ia anything wrong. To destroy a will ia a felonv, and I have no reason to suspect Mr Chadwell of anything so bad as that But I mnst bo satisfied that the will stiff exists, or has been properly revoked.' In spite of his disclaimer, I could see that the result oi my principal’s deliberations had been to arotue his gravest suspicions, but he maintained a discreet reticence, and neither then, nor during our journey to Thexford, did .he offer to discuss the matter further. At Thexford station we hired a fly at the inn, and drove to the Park, which we reached about two o’clock in the afternoon. It was a fine place, I remember, though the surrounding country was flat and uninteresting, and much disfigured by workings for Ironstone, an extensive industry in those parte. The bouse was a big, ugly square brick building, more like a hotel than a mansion, and looked very much dilapidated and neglected. As the fly drove up to the entrance door Mr Cuthbert Chadwell was just strolling out, and he, therefore, came face to face with Mr Summers, who alighted with the agility of a young man and confronted him. My doubts of Mr Cuthbert Chadwell’s integrity were at once confirmed by hie look of consternation when he recognised my principal. For a moment he seemed literally thunderstruck, and stood staring at us open mouthed, while his colour changed from red to white. Pale to the lips he at length made an effort to recover himself, and addressed Mr Summers with an evil scowl. * What do you want here I* he exclaimed. * A few words, only, Mr Chadwell,’ replied Mr Summers, with admirable calmness. * I think indoors would be best ’ Cuthbert Chadwell took the hint with some perturbation, as he realised that the flyman was an observant spectator of the scene, and ushered us into the hall. Here for the first time he seemed to become conscious of the brusqueness of his greeting, for he murmured something abont being pleased to see Mr Summers, and led the way into a sitting-room, which was evidently the library. * Close the door, Mr Millicent,’ said Mr Summers, as we entered. * I have brought my clerk, Mr Chadwick, because he was present the other day when you said your father was then already dead.’ * And now you have found out he wasn’t, I suppose,* said Mr Chadwell, standing with his back to the fireplace, and speaking in a would-be jocular manner. *He did not die till the 18th,’ replied Mr Summers, gravely. * That is quite true. He wanted his will; he wasn’t well enough to write me an authority; 1 knew you lawyers are fond of raising difficulties, so I adopted this plan to avoid them,’ said Mr Chadwell, with effrontery. * Why not have told the truth?’ remarked Mr Summers, sternly. * I would have accompanied you, and brought the will myself.’ ‘That was just what I didn’t want,’said Mr Chadwell, with an insulting laugh. * Possibly,’ observed Mr Summers, drily. * I mean my father was too ill to be bothered with lawyers,’ added Mr Chadwell, changing his tone rather quickly. * I have no wish to offend yon,’ he added, in a cringing tone. ‘lt is not a question of anybody’s feelings,’ said Mr Summers quietly. ‘ Under the circumstances it is my duty to find ont what happened about the will.* * My father destroyed it,* said Mr Chadwell, sullenly. * Destroyed it 1’ exclaimed Mr Sommers, raising his eyebrows. ‘ What else should he want it for ?’ said Mr Chadwell insolently. * Did he destroy it himself ?’ asked Mr Summers keeping his eyes mercilessly fixed upon our host. * It was all in order if that is what you mean,’ said Mr Chadwell, beginning to display increased signs of uneasiness. ‘ Who was present ?’ ‘ I was.’ ‘ Who else !’ ‘ The nurse and—and the doctor,’ answered Mr Chadwell, with manifest hesitation. * Is the nurse in the house ?’ * No. She has left.* * Well, I must call and see the doctor,’ said Mr Summers, taking up his hat. ‘He lives in the village, I suppose. What is his name ?’ * Look here, Mr Summers, what is the meaning of this intrusion ? What the deuce has all this to do with you ?’ cried Mr Chadwell, endeavouring to hide his evident consternation by a bullying manner. *My father chose to destroy his will. That is enough for you isn’t it? And a devilish deal more than you need to be told,’ he added, with another coarse laugh. ‘ I can easily ascertain who the doctor was,’ answered Mr Summers, coolly. •As for your question, my duty is obvious. I must communicate the facts to the Court of Probate. certainly—possibly to the police.’ ‘ Why ?’ asked Mr Chadwell, with a muttered oath. ‘ The destruction of a will is a serious matter. In some cases it may amount to a criminal offence?’ said Mr Summers, significantly. • For the present, I have ascertained all I want to know, and I wish you good-day.’ With a stiff bow, Mr Summers, turned on his heel and left the room, while I followed him silently. But before I had closed the door behind me, Mr Chadwell called after us in a startled voice, and joined us in the hall. ‘ Mr Summers,’ he said, in a more conciliatory tone, * I don’t want my affairs talked abont all over the place. I don t wish to interfere with your doing what you think your duty, but let us come to my lawyer's. He, no doubt, will be able to satisfy you. *. is your lawyer?’ inquired Mr Summers, coldly. Mr Brown, of Stanford,’ answered Mr Chadwell, seizing h« hat from the hall table. ‘ Stanford is only three miles on, and your fly can take us there.’ ‘ It would be satisfactory to know exactly what happened, said Mr Summers, after a moment’s reflection. Come along, then,* said Mr Chadwell, eagerly. ‘ I will leave everything to my lawyer.* He led the way to the entrance door, and we all three entered the fly. Mr Summers and Mr Chadwell sat on the rront seat while I, facing them, had an opportunity of observing boi h. I fancied that my principal seemed a little by this manoeuvre of our companion, and I could well imagine the kind-hearted old gentleman beginning to reproach himself with having been too hasty. But ’r®® m y position I could also contemplate Mr Chadwell's nister expression, and I perceived very dearly that bis ggestion of a visit to his lawyer had been made out of esperation. Probablv. on the spur of the moment, he had

been able to think of no other expedient for preventing Mr Summers from seekiogao interview with thedoctor, and Ihad a shrewd suspicion that the intelligence we brought would be news to Mr Brown. Rightly or wrongly, I bad arrived at the conclusion that Mr Coad well bad destroyed his father’s will himself, unknown to the testator; bis manner at the reeent interview had left no doubt whatever in my mind upon this point; and I looked forward with considerable curiosity to what would transpire at Mr Brown’s office. S>, it seened to me, did Mr Chadwell, though in his case there was far less cariosity than apprehension. He never addressed a single word to Mr Summers during the drive, but eat Gdgetting about in bis corner, biting his lips, and staring blankly out of the window. It was not a comfortable journey for any of us. and Mr Sammers and I, at all events, were greatly relieved when the fly rattled through the narrow streets of Stanford. We had had business with Messrs Brown, Potter, and Co., of Stanford, and knew them to be a highly respectable firm. It was this fact which evidently puzzled Mr Sammers, for they were nob the kind of people to lend themselves to any shady transaction. As I had anticipated, however, as soon as we reached their office, Mr Chadwell rushed up the steps, saying that he wished to speak to Mr Brown before we saw him. Mr Summers and I followed leisurely, and were ushered into the waiting-room. When we were alone my principal turned to me anxiously—- ‘ What do you think of it all, Millicent ?' he inquired. * Mr Chadwell destroyed the will himself, and he is now, for the first time, giving Mr Brown his own version of the occurrence,’ I said, with conviction. • Well, well, I hope he will be quick about it,’ said Mr Summers, glancing at his watch. * I don’t know whether

you are beginning to realise that we have not lunched, Millicent; but I am.’ I was indeed unpleasantly conscious of the fact, but we were fortunately not detained very long. After an interval of about five or ten minutes a clerk appeared, and conducted us into Mr Brown’s room. There we found Mr Chadwell seated in a corner, looking very r**d and sulky, as though his solicitor had been speaki- ;■ him pretty plainly. The latter, a little bald old gentlemap with bright eyes, and a ruddy, clean-shaven face came forward to greet Mr Summers, and shook him warmly by the hand. ' Delighted to meet you, Mr Summers. We have known one another through the post for the past forty years.’ Mr Summers murmured his acknowledgments, while Mr Brown, after courteously placing chairs for us, resumed his seat at the desk. ‘ I have been away fishing in Norway for a month, and only returned home a few hours ago,’ remarked Mr Brown. * That is why I postponed my visit till to-day,’ interposed Mr Chadwell, eagerly. * Consequently. I have only just heard the news of the death of my late client, Mr Matthew Chadwell,’ said Mr Brown, ignoring the interruption. * Mr Cuthbert Chadwell has been good enough to say that he wishes me to act for him in the administration of his father’s estate.’ ‘ He died intestate,’ murmured Mr Chadwell, staring defiantly at Mr Summers. * That is the question,’ said Mr Summers, addressing Mr Brown. * I don’t know whether your client has told you what brings us here ?’ * Yes, be has,’ replied Mr Brown, taking a silver snuffbox from a drawer, and helping himself from it with grave deliberation. * I informed Mr Cuthbert that it was your obvious duty to ascertain the circumstances connected with the destraction of the will. I also informed hi u that I should not attempt to defend his conduct,’ he added, looking very straight at his client. * How was I to know anything about legal formalities ?* said the latter, scowling, and dropping his eyes. * All I know is, that I destroyed the will by my father’s wishes.’ * In the presence of the nurse and the doctor Y I interposed, quickly. * We need not go into that,’ said Mr Brown, with a significant glance at me. * Fortunately, the question of the legality of the transaction will not arise. I say emphatically —fortunately for you, Mr Chadwell.’ * I don't see that I did any harm,’ said Mr Chadwell,

doggedly. * No, Mr Simmers, no harm was done,’ said Mr Brown, ignoring his client with cool contempt, and addressing my principal. ‘ Yon said yon could prove to Mr Summers that my father intended to revoke the will Y continued Mr Chadwell, evidently puzzled by his solicitor’s manner. * When I last saw him a few months ago, he said he was going to write to you for it,' said Mr Brown, still addressing Mr Summers. * But he did not,’ observed my principal. ‘No, he did not—foolishly. Therefore, Mr Cuthbert Chadwell was most unwise in acting on his own responsibility. In fact, I have told our friend here that he has narrowly escaped most unpleasant consequences.* * It’s all right now, isn’t it, Mr Brown ? You are going to act for me, and ’ * No, sir,’ interrupted Mr Brown, sharply, * I did not say I would act for you. All I said was that I could convince Mr Sammers that be need not concern himself about the destruction of the will. The fact is,’ be added, slowly inhaling another pinch of snuff, and looking in our direction with a twinkle in bis eye, * the testator himself revoked that will in his lifetime.’ * I think I understand,’ said Mr Summers, quietly. * Yes,’ continued Mr Brown, addressing Mr Cuthbert, with ill-disguised elation, * the will being waste paper, it doesn’t matter whether it was destroyed rightly or wrongly. The late Mr Chadwell’s will gentlemen, is in my possession. It revokes all former wills, appoints me and my partner, Mr Potter, to be executors and trustees, and disposes of his property—ahem !— rather differently to what his original intentions were.’

* It s a lie 1’ cried Mr Cuthbert Chadwell, jumping to his feet in a sudden passion. My father made no later will,’ • Recollect what happened two years ago, sir.' said Mr Brown, starting up, and speaking in a very meaning tone. You thought you had cowed your father into telling nobody, but he told me, and this will was the result.’ ‘I shall dispute it,’ exclaimed Mr Chadwell, furiously, though evidently startled by the lawyer’s words. ‘ You can do as you like about that, but if you do the facts about the destruction of the old will must be dealt with, and . I should be sorry to stand in your shoes, Mr Cuthbert, in that case,’ said Mr Brown sternly. ' f— I shall obtain independent advice,’ cried Mr Chadwell, taking up his hat, and rushing to the door in ludicrous consternation. • You shall hear from me, Mr Brown, through my solicitor.’ ‘ • Meanwhile my partner and I will proceed to prove the will, and administer the estate,’ said the lawyer, calmly. For an instant Mr Chadwell stood still, with his hand on the door handle, literally glaring at Mr Brown, with an expression that was absolutely murderous. He was trembling with fury, and I believe had we not been present, he would have assaulted the little lawyer. But he had just sense enough to control himself, and with a sort of snarl, he suddenly rushed out of the room and vanished. ‘ That man, my dear sir,’ said Mr Brown to Mr Summers, giving way to momentary excitement when we were alone, ‘is to all intents and purposes a murderer. His poor father lived in terror of bis life, and two years ago—well, well,’ he added, checking himself, ‘I tnusn’c reveal a professional secret. You will understand from what I have hinted that the poor old father, from sheer fright, let him continue under the delusion that the will you made remained valid. Even that, however, didn't satisfy the scoundrel. He mu t needs try to suppress it.’ ‘ He. must be mad,’ exclaimed Mr Summers. " j I 8 ® bar *table to suppose so. Drink, however, has a good deal to do with his condition. My partner and I, I assure you, have a very unenviable task before us. He may shoot ns if he likes, but he shall never get hold of this will,’ said Mr Brown, with calm determination. * I suppose the new will contains disagreeable surprises for him ? inquired Mr Sammers, as he rose to take leave. He gets more than he deserves, but the bulk of the property goes to charities,’ said Mr Brown, with a grim laugh.