Chapter 3

Then,
and her voice grows more solemn, she begs for a little time to settle
her affairs and to make her peace with God. To which his lordship
replies with great emotion:

“To be sure, you shall have proper time allowed you.”

When she is conducted from the court she steps into her coach with the
air of a belle whose chair is to take her to a fashionable rout. The
fatal news has reached the prison before her arrival. As she enters
the keeper’s house, which for so long has been her home, she finds the
family overcome with grief and the children all in tears.

“Don’t mind it,” she cries, cheerfully. “What does it matter? I am very
hungry. Pray let me have something for supper as soon as possible.”

That sombre heart of hers is a brave one also.

All this time William Cranstoun, worthy brother in all respects of
Simon Tappertit, had been in hiding--in Scotland perhaps, or, as some
say, in Northumberland--watching with fearful quakings for the result
of the trial. Shortly after the conviction of his accomplice he managed
to take ship to the Continent, and luckily for his country he never
polluted its soil again. There are several contemporary accounts of
his adventures in France and in the Netherlands, to which the curious
may refer. All agree that he confessed his share in the murder when
he was safe from justice. With unaccustomed propriety, our Lady Fate
soon hastened to snap the thread of his existence, and on the 3rd of
December of this same year, at the little town of Furnes in Flanders,
aged thirty-eight, he drew his last breath. A short time before, being
seized with remorse for his sins, he had given the Catholic Church the
honour of enrolling him a proselyte. Indeed the conversion of so great
a ruffian was regarded as such a feather in their cap that the good
monks and friars advertised the event by means of a sumptuous funeral.

Worthy Judge Legge fulfils his promise to the unhappy Miss Blandy, and
she is given six weeks in which to prepare herself for death. Meek
and more softened is the sombre woman, who, like a devoted penitent,
submits herself day after day to the vulgar gaze of a hundred eyes,
while she bows in all humility before the altar of her God. Yet her
busy brain is aware that those to whom she looks for intercession
are keeping a careful watch upon her demeanour. For she has begged
her godmother Mrs Mountenay to ask one of the bishops to speak for
her; she is said to entertain the hope that the recently-bereaved
Princess will endeavour to obtain a reprieve. In the fierce war of
pamphleteers, inevitable in those days, she takes her share, playing
with incomparable tact to the folly of the credulous. Although the
majority, perhaps, believe her guilty, she knows that a considerable
party is in her favour. On the 20th of March is published “A Letter
from a Clergyman to Miss Blandy, with her Answer,” in which she tells
the story of her share in the tragedy. During the remainder of her
imprisonment she extends this narrative into a long account of the
whole case--assisted, it is believed, by her spiritual adviser, the
Rev. John Swinton, who, afflicted possibly by one of his famous fits
of woolgathering, seems convinced of her innocence. No human effort,
however, is of any avail. Both the second and third George, knowing
their duty as public entertainers, seldom cheated the gallows of a
victim of distinction.

Originally the execution had been fixed for Saturday, the 4th of April,
but is postponed until the following Monday, because the University
authorities do not think it seemly that the sentence shall be carried
out during Holy Week. A great crowd collects in the early morning
outside the prison walls before the announcement of the short reprieve,
and it speaks marvels for the discipline of the gaol that Miss Blandy
is allowed to go up into rooms facing the Castle Green so that she can
view the throng. Gazing upon the assembly without a tremor, she says
merely that she will not balk their expectations much longer. On Sunday
she takes sacrament for the last time, and signs a declaration in which
she denies once more all knowledge that the powder was poisonous. In
the evening, hearing that the Sheriff has arrived in the town, she
sends a request that she may not be disturbed until eight o’clock the
next morning.

It was half-past the hour she had named when the dismal procession
reached the door of her chamber. The Under-Sheriff was accompanied by
the Rev. John Swinton, and by her friend Mr Rives, the lawyer. Although
her courage did not falter, she appeared meek and repentant, and spoke
with anxiety of her future state, in doubt whether she would obtain
pardon for her sins. This penitent mood encouraged the clergyman to beg
her declare the whole truth, to which she replied that she must persist
in asserting her innocence to the end. No entreaty would induce her to
retract the solemn avowal.

At nine o’clock she was conducted from her room, dressed in the same
black gown that she had worn at the trial, with her hands and arms
tied by strong black silk ribbons. A crowd of five thousand persons,
hushed and expectant, was waiting on the Castle Green to witness her
sufferings. Thirty yards from the door of the gaol, whence she was led
into the open air, stood the gallows--a beam placed across the arms
of two trees. Against it lay a step-ladder covered with black cloth.
The horror of her crime must have been forgotten by all who gazed upon
the calm and brave woman. For truly she died like a queen. Serene and
fearless she walked to the fatal spot, and joined most fervently with
the clergyman in prayer. After this was ended they told her that if she
wished she might speak to the spectators.

“Good people,” she cried, in a clear, audible voice, “give me leave
to declare to you that I am perfectly innocent as to any intention
to destroy or even hurt my dear father; that I did not know, or even
suspect, that there was any poisonous quality in the fatal powder
I gave him; though I can never be too much punished for being the
innocent cause of his death. As to my mother’s and Mrs Pocock’s deaths,
that have been unjustly laid to my charge, I am not even the innocent
cause of them, nor did I in the least contribute to them. So help
me, God, in these my last moments. And may I not meet with eternal
salvation, nor be acquitted by Almighty God, in whose awful presence I
am instantly to appear hereafter, if the whole of what is here asserted
is not true. I from the bottom of my soul forgive all those concerned
in my prosecution; and particularly the jury, notwithstanding their
fatal verdict.”

Then, having ascended five steps of the ladder, she turned to the
officials. “Gentlemen,” she requested, with a show of modesty, “do
not hang me high.” The humanity of those whose task it was to put her
to death, forced them to ask her to go a little higher. Climbing two
steps more, she then looked round, and trembling, said, “I am afraid
I shall fall.” Still, her invincible courage enabled her to address
the crowd once again. “Good people,” she said, “take warning by me
to be on your guard against the sallies of any irregular passion, and
pray for me that I may be accepted at the Throne of Grace.” While the
rope was being placed around her neck it touched her face, and she
gave a deep sigh. Then with her own fingers she moved it to one side.
A white handkerchief had been bound across her forehead, and she drew
it over her features. As it did not come low enough, a woman, who had
attended her and who had fixed the noose around her throat, stepped up
and pulled it down. For a while she stood in prayer, and then gave the
signal by thrusting out a little book which she held in her hand. The
ladder was moved from under her feet, and in obedience to the laws of
her country she was suspended in the air, swaying and convulsed, until
the grip of the rope choked the breath from her body.

Horrible! Yet only in degree are our own methods different from those
employed a hundred and fifty years ago.

During the whole of the sad tragedy, the crowd, unlike the howling mob
at Tyburn, maintained an awestruck silence. There were few dry eyes,
though the sufferer did not shed a tear, and hundreds of those who
witnessed her death went away convinced of her innocence. An elegant
young man named Edward Gibbon, with brain wrapped in the mists of
theology, who for three days had been gentleman commoner at Magdalen,
does not appear to have been attracted to the scene. Surely George
Selwyn must be maligned, else he would have posted to Oxford to witness
this spectacle. It would have been his only opportunity of seeing a
gentlewoman in the hands of the executioner.

After hanging for half an hour with the feet, in consequence of her
request, almost touching the ground, the body was carried upon the
shoulders of one of the sheriff’s men to a neighbouring house. At five
o’clock in the afternoon the coffin containing her remains was taken
in a hearse to Henley, where, in the dead of night, amidst a vast
concourse, it was interred in the chancel of the parish church between
the graves of her father and mother.

So died ‘the unfortunate Miss Blandy’ in the thirty-second year of her
age--with a grace and valour which no scene on the scaffold has ever
excelled. If, as the authors of _The Beggars Opera_ and _The History
of Jonathan Wild_ have sought to show, in playful irony, the greatness
of the criminal is comparable with the greatness of the statesman,
then she must rank with Mary of Scotland and Catherine of Russia among
the queens of crime. Hers was the soul of steel, theirs also the
opportunity.

In every period the enormity of a sin can be estimated only by its
relation to the spirit of the age; and in spite of cant and sophistry,
the contemporaries of Miss Blandy made no legal distinction between
the crimes of parricide and petty larceny. Nay, the same rope that
strangled the brutal cut-throat in a few moments might prolong the
agony of a poor thief for a quarter of an hour. Had the doctors
succeeded in saving the life of the old attorney, the strange law which
in later times put to death Elizabeth Fenning would have been powerless
to demand the life of Mary Blandy for a similar offence. The protests
of Johnson and Fielding against the iniquity of the criminal code fell
on idle ears.

Thus we may not judge Mary Blandy from the standpoint of our own
moral grandeur, for she is a being of another world--one of the vain,
wilful, selfish children to whom an early Guelph was king--merely
one of the blackest sheep in a flock for the most part ill-favoured.
As we gaze upon her portrait there comes a feeling that we do not
know this sombre woman after all, for though the artist has produced
a faithful resemblance, we perceive there is something lacking.
We look into part, not into her whole soul. None but one of the
immortals--Rembrandt, or his peer--could have shown this queen among
criminals as she was: an iron-hearted, remorseless, demon-woman, her
fair, cruel visage raised mockingly amidst a chiaroscuro of crime and
murkiness unspeakable.

“a narrow, foxy face,
Heart-hiding smile, and gay persistent eye.”

In our own country the women of gentle birth who have been convicted
of murder since the beginning of the eighteenth century may be
counted on the fingers of one hand. Mary Blandy, Constance Kent,
Florence Maybrick--for that unsavoury person, Elizabeth Jefferies,
has no claim to be numbered in the roll, and the verdict against
beautiful Madeleine Smith was ‘Not proven’--these names exhaust the
list. And of them, the first alone paid the penalty at the gallows.
The annals of crime contain the records of many parricides, some
that have been premeditated with devilish art, but scarce one that a
daughter has wrought by the most loathsome of coward’s weapons. In
comparison with the murderess of Henley, even Frances Howard and Anne
Turner were guilty of a venial crime. Mary Blandy stands alone and
incomparable--pilloried to all ages among the basest of her sex.

Yet the world soon forgot her. “Since the two misses were hanged,”
chats Horace Walpole on the 23rd of June, coupling irreverently the
names of Blandy and Jefferies with the beautiful Gunnings--“since the
two misses were hanged, and the two misses were married, there is
nothing at all talked of.” Society, however, soon found a new thrill in
the adventures of the young woman Elizabeth Canning.

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE BLANDY CASE

I. CONTEMPORARY TRACTS

1. _An Authentic Narrative of that Most Horrid Parricide._ (Printed in
the year 1751. Name of publisher in second edition, M. Cooper.)

2. _A Genuine and Full Account of the Parricide_ committed by Mary
Blandy, Oxford; Printed for, and sold by C. Goddard in the High St, and
sold by R. Walker in the little Old Bailey, and by all booksellers and
pamphlet Shops. (Published November 9, 1751.)

3. _A Letter from a Clergyman to Miss Mary Blandy with her Answer
thereto_.... As also Miss Blandy’s Own Narrative. London; Printed for
M. Cooper at the Globe in Paternoster Row. 1752. Price four pence.
Brit. Mus. (March 20, 1752.)

4. _An Answer to Miss Blandy’s Narrative._ London; Printed for W. Owen,
near Temple Bar. 1752. Price 3d. Brit. Mus. (March 27, 1752.)

5. _The Case of Miss Blandy considered_ as a Daughter, as a
Gentlewoman, and as a Christian. Oxford; Printed for R. Baldwin, at the
Rose in Paternoster Row. Brit. Mus. (April 6, 1752.)

6. _Original Letters to and from Miss Blandy and C---- C----_, London.
Printed for S. Johnson, near the Haymarket, Charing Cross. 1752. Brit.
Mus. (April 8, 1752.)

7. _A Genuine and Impartial Account of the Life of Miss M. Blandy._ W.
Jackson and R. Walker. (April 9, 1752.)

8. _Miss Mary Blandy’s Own Account._ London; Printed for A. Millar in
the Strand. 1752 (price one shilling and sixpence). N.B. The Original
Account authenticated by Miss Blandy in a proper manner may be seen
at the above A. Millar’s. Brit. Mus. (April 10, 1752. The most famous
apologia in criminal literature.)

9. _A Candid Appeal to the Public, by a Gentleman of Oxford._ London.
Printed for J. Clifford in the Old Bailey, and sold at the Pamphleteer
Shops. 1752. Price 6d. Brit. Mus. (April 15, 1752.)

10. _The Tryal of Mary Blandy._ Published by Permission of the Judges.
London. Printed for John and James Rivington at the Bible and Crown and
in St Paul’s Churchyard. 1752. In folio price two shillings. 8vo. one
shilling. Brit. Mus. (April 24, 1752.)

11. _The Genuine Histories_ of the Life and Transactions of John Swan
and Eliz. Jeffries, ... and Miss Mary Blandy, London. Printed and
sold by T. Bailey opposite the Pewter-Pot-Inn in Leadenhall Street.
(Published after April 10, 1752.)

12. _An Authentic and full History of all the Circumstances of the
Cruel Poisoning of Mr. Francis Blandy_, printed only for Mr. Wm. Owen,
Bookseller at Temple Bar, London, and R. Goadby in Sherborne. Brit.
Mus. (Without date. From pp. 113-132 the pamphlet resembles the “Answer
to Miss Blandy’s Narrative,” published also by Wm. Owen.)

13. _The Authentic Tryals of John Swan and Elizabeth Jeffryes_.... With
the Tryal of Miss Mary Blandy, London. Printed by R. Walker for W.
Richards, near the East Gate, Oxford. 1752. Brit. Mus. (Published later
than the “Candid Appeal.”)

14. _The Fair Parricide._ A Tragedy in three acts. Founded on a late
melancholy event. London. Printed for T. Waller, opp. Fetter Lane.
Fleet Street (price 1/). Brit. Mus. (May 5, 1752.)

15. _The Genuine Speech of the Hon. Mr ----_, at the late Trial of Miss
Blandy, London; Printed for J. Roberts in Warwick Lane. 1752. (Price
sixpence.) Brit. Mus. (May 15, 1752.)

16. _The x x x x Packet Broke Open_, or a letter from Miss Blandy in
the Shades below to Capt. Cranstoun in his exile above. London. Printed
for M. Cooper at the Globe in Paternoster Row. 1752. Price 6d. Brit.
Mus. (May 16, 1752.)

17. _The Secret History of Miss Blandy._ London. Printed for Henry
Williams, and sold by the booksellers at the Exchange, in Ludgate St,
at Charing Cross, and St. James. Price 1s. 6d. Brit. Mus. (June 11,
1752. A sane and well-written account of the whole story.)

18. _Memoires of the Life of Wm. Henry Cranstoun Esqre._ London.
Printed for J. Bouquet, at the White Hart, in Paternoster Row; 1752.
Price one shilling. Brit. Mus. (June 18, 1752.)

19. _The Genuine Lives of Capt. Cranstoun and Miss Mary Blandy._
London. Printed for M. Cooper, Paternoster Row, and C. Sympson at the
Bible Warehouse, Chancery Lane. 1753. Price one shilling. Brit. Mus.

20. _Capt. Cranstoun’s Account of the poisoning of the Late Mr. Francis
Blandy._ London. Printed for R. Richards, the Corner of Bernard’s-Inn,
near the Black Swan, Holborn. Brit. Mus. (March 1-3, 1753.)

21. _Memories of the life and most remarkable transactions of Capt.
William Henry Cranstoun._ Containing an account of his conduct in his
younger years. His letter to his wife to persuade her to disown him as
her husband. His trial in Scotland, and the Court’s decree thereto. His
courtship of Miss Blandy; his success therein, and the tragical issue
of that affair. His voluntary exile abroad with the several accidents
that befel him from his flight to his death. His reconciliation to the
Church of Rome, with the Conversation he had with a Rev. Father of the
Church at the time of his conversion. His miserable death, and pompous
funeral. Printed for M. Cooper in Paternoster Row; W. Reeve in Fleet
Street; and C. Sympson in Chancery Lane. Price 6d. With a curious print
of Capt. Cranstoun. Brit. Mus. (March 10-13, 1753. As the title-page of
this pamphlet is torn out of the copy in the Brit. Mus., it is given in
full. From pp. 3-21 the tract is identical with “The Genuine Lives,”
also published by M. Cooper.)

22. _Parricides!_ The trial of Philip Stansfield, Gt, for the murder of
his father in Scotland, 1688. Also the trial of Miss Mary Blandy, for
the murder of her Father, at Oxford 1752. London (1810). Printed by J.
Dean, 57 Wardour St, Soho for T. Brown, 154 Drury Lane and W. Evans, 14
Market St, St James’s. Brit. Mus.

23. _The Female Parricide_, or the History of Mary-Margaret d’Aubray,
Marchioness of Brinvillier.... In which a parallel is drawn between
the Marchioness and Miss Blandy. C. Micklewright, Reading. Sold by J.
Newbery. Price 1/. (March 5, 1752.)

Lowndes mentions also:--

24. _An Impartial Inquiry into the Case of Miss Blandy._ With
reflections on her Trial, Defence, Repentance, Denial, Death. 1753. 8vo.

25. _The Female Parricide._ A Tragedy, by Edward Crane, of Manchester.
1761. 8vo.

26. _A Letter from a Gentleman to Miss Blandy_ with her answer thereto.
1752. 8vo. (Possibly the same as “A Letter from a Clergyman.”)

The two following are advertised in the newspapers of the day:--

27. _Case of Miss Blandy and Miss Jeffreys_ fairly stated, and
compared.... R. Robinson, Golden Lion, Ludgate Street. (March 26, 1752.)

28. _Genuine Letters between Miss Blandy and Miss Jeffries_ before and
after their Conviction. J. Scott Exchange Alley; W. Owen, Temple Bar;
G. Woodfall, Charing Cross. (April 21, 1752.)

29. Broadside. _Execution of Miss Blandy._ Pitts, Printer, Toy and
Marble Warehouse, 6 Great St. Andrew’s St. Seven Dials. Brit. Mus.

30. _The Addl. MSS._, 15930. Manuscript Department in the Brit. Mus.

II. CONTEMPORARY NEWSPAPERS AND MAGAZINES

1. _Read’s Weekly Journal_, March and April (1752), February 3 (1753).

2. _The General Advertiser_, August-November (1751), March and April
(1752).

3. _The London Evening Post_, March and April (1752).

4. _The Covent Garden Journal_ (Sir Alexander Drawcansir), February,
March, and April (1752).

5. _The London Morning Penny Post_, August and September (1751).

6. _Gentleman’s Magazine_, pp. 376, 486-88 (1751), pp. 108-17, 152,
188, 195 (1752), pp. 47, 151 (1753), p. 803, pt. II. (1783).

7. _Universal Magazine_, pp. 114-124, 187, 281 (1752).

8. _London Magazine_, pp. 379, 475, 512(1751), pp. 127, 180, 189(1752),
p. 89 (1753).

NOTES

NOTE I.--In recent years the guilt of Cranstoun has been questioned.
Yet a supposition that does not explain two damning circumstances must
be baseless:

(_a_) In the first place, one of his letters to Miss Blandy,
dated July 18, 1751, was read by Bathurst in his opening
speech. Although the reports of the trial do not tell us that
the note was produced in court, or that the handwriting was
verified, it cannot be presumed that the Crown lawyers were
guilty of wilful fabrication. However strange it may appear
that this letter alone escaped destruction, it is improbable
that Miss Blandy invented it. Had she done so its contents
would have been more consistent with her defence. As it stands
it is most unfavourable to her. Therefore, in the absence of
further evidence, we must conclude that the letter is genuine,
and if genuine Cranstoun was an accomplice.

(_b_) In the second place, the paper containing the poison
which was rescued from the fire, is said by the prosecution to
have borne the inscription in Cranstoun’s handwriting, ‘Powder
to clean the pebbles’ If this had been counterfeit, Miss Blandy
would have had no object in destroying it, but would have kept
it for her purpose.

At any cost Lord Cranstoun must have been anxious to remove the black
stain from his scutcheon. That this was impossible the fact that it was
not done seems to prove. Indeed, if Captain Cranstoun had been ignorant
of the crime, he could have proved his innocence as soon as Miss Blandy
was arrested by producing her letters, which, granting this hypothesis,
would have contained no reference that would have incriminated him.
That she had written a great deal to him was shown in evidence at the
trial by the clerk Lyttleton.

For these reasons it is impossible to accept the conclusion of the
writer of Cranstoun’s life in the _Dic. Nat. Biog._ (who has adopted
the assertion in Anderson’s _Scottish Nation_, vol. i. p. 698), that
“apart from Miss Blandy’s statement there is nothing to convict him of
the murder.”

NOTE II.--Anderson’s statement that “there does not appear to be any
grounds for supposing that Captain Cranstoun was in any way accessory
to the murder,” shows that he had not a complete knowledge of the facts
at his disposal, or that he did not weigh them with precision. Miss
Blandy’s intercepted letter to her lover affords a strong presumption
of his connivance, and her destruction of his correspondence suggests
that it contained incriminating details. That these two actions were
subtle devices to cast suspicion upon Cranstoun cannot be maintained
with any show of plausibility, for in this case Miss Blandy, if
dexterous enough to weave such a crafty plot, must have foreseen its
exposure, and with such exposure her own inevitable ruin, when to
prove that he was not an accomplice her lover had produced the letters
she had written to him. Thus to support such an assumption it must be
shown that Cranstoun had previously destroyed every particle of her
handwriting, and that she was aware of the fact. Of such an improbable
circumstance there is, of course, no evidence.

NOTE III.--“Old Benchers of the Middle Temple,” _Essays of Elia_. The
relative of Miss Blandy, with whom Mr Samuel Salt was dining when
he made the unfortunate remark which Lamb repeats, may have been Mr
Serjeant Henry Stephens of Doctors’ Commons, who was her maternal uncle.

NOTE IV.--The date of Miss Blandy’s birth is not given in the _Dic.
Nat. Biog._ From the register of Henley Parish Church it appears that
she was baptized on July 15, 1720.

THE UNFORTUNATE BROTHERS

THE CASE OF ROBERT AND DANIEL PERREAU AND MRS MARGARET CAROLINE RUDD,
1775-6

“What’s this dull town to me?
Robin’s not near;
He whom I wish to see,
Wish for to hear.
Where’s all the joy and mirth,
Made life a heaven on earth?
Oh! they’re all fled with thee,
Robin Adair.”

When tenor Braham sent his plaintive air ringing through the town,
few were alive who could recall the two previous occasions on which
also the name of Adair was upon every lip. One day in February 1758
all London had been stirred by the elopement of Lady Caroline Keppel,
daughter of second Earl Albemarle, with a rollicking Irish physician
who may have been the Robert of the ballad; while during the summer of
1775 the whole world was wondering whether a man or a most beautiful
woman must go to Tyburn for using the signature of Mr William Adair,
the rich army agent, cousin to Dr Robin of wedding and song. In the
first romance the hero received the just title of ‘the fortunate
Irishman’: in the latter the chief personages were ‘the unfortunate
brothers’ Messrs Robert and Daniel Perreau. Their disaster happened
thus:--

On a Tuesday morning, the 7th of March 1775, a slender, middle-aged
gentleman walked into the counting-house of Messrs Drummond, the great
bankers of Charing Cross. Garbed in a trim snuff-coloured suit, and
betraying none of the macaroni eccentricities with the exception of a
gold-laced hat, his dress suited the rôle that he played in life--a
sleek and prosperous apothecary. This Mr Robert Perreau of Golden
Square was welcomed cordially by Henry Drummond, one of the partners
in the firm, for an apothecary was almost as eminent as a doctor, and
the men had met and known each other at such houses as my Lord Egmont’s
or that of my Lady Lyttelton. Producing as security a bond for £7500,
bearing a signature that should have been honoured by any house in
London, the visitor requested a loan of £5000. However, strange to
say, banker Henry, who had been joined by his brother Robert, seemed
dissatisfied.

“This bond is made payable to you,” he remarked. “Was you present when
it was executed?”

“No, I was not present,” was Mr Perreau’s reply.

“It is not the signature of William Adair, the late army agent of Pall
Mall,” was the startling comment of Robert Drummond. “I have seen his
drafts many a time!”

The prim countenance of the apothecary remained unperturbed.

“There is no doubt but it is his hand,” he answered, with perfect
composure, “for it is witnessed by Mr Arthur Jones, his solicitor, and
by Thomas Stark, his servant.”

“It is very odd,” replied the incredulous Robert Drummond. “I have seen
his hand formerly, and this does not appear to be the least like it.”

Brother Henry Drummond echoed the same sentiment, whereupon Mr Robert
Perreau waxed mysterious and emphatic.

“Mr Adair is my particular friend,” he declared. “There are family
connections between us.... Mr Adair has money of mine in his hands, and
allows me interest.”

“Come to-morrow, Mr Perreau,” said Henry Drummond, “and we will give
you an answer.”

Having received this promise the apothecary departed, but after the
lapse of two hours he returned, and was seen by banker Henry once more.
Without the least reserve he confessed that he had been much concerned
by what the Messrs Drummond had told him.

“I could not be easy in my mind till I had called on Mr Adair,” he
explained. “Luckily I catched him in his boots before he went to take
his ride.”

Naturally, the good banker listened with interest, noting the words,
for it seemed odd that Mr William Adair, the rich squire of Flixton
Hall in Suffolk, whose son was carrying on the army agency, should
raise money in such a style.

“I produced the bond to Mr Adair,” Robert Perreau continued. “It was
his signature, he said, but he might possibly have altered his hand
from the time you had seen him write.... You might let me have the
£5000, Mr Adair said, and he would pay the bond in May, though it is
not payable till June.”

The astute banker, who had talked the matter over with his brother in
the interim, did not express his doubts so strongly.

“Leave the bond with me,” he suggested to his visitor, “in order that
we may get an assignment of it.”

Which proposal Mr Robert Perreau assented to readily, believing, no
doubt, that it was a preface to the payment of his money. In the
course of the day the document was shown to a friend of Mr Adair,
and finally exhibited to the agent himself. Attentive to the hour
of his appointment, Mr Perreau left his gallipots in Golden Square,
and reached the Charing Cross bank at eleven o’clock on the following
morning. Both partners were ready for him, and suggested that to clear
up all doubts it would be wise to call upon Mr William Adair without
delay. To this the apothecary assented very readily--indeed, in any
case a refusal would have aroused the worst suspicions. As it was a
wet morning, he had come in his elegant town coach, and he drove off
immediately with one of the bankers to the house of the late agent in
Pall Mall. Upon their entrance the squire of Flixton took Mr Henry
Drummond by the hand, but, to the surprise of the worthy banker,
made a bow merely to the man who had boasted him as his ‘particular
friend’ Then, the bond being produced, Mr Adair at once repudiated the
signature. For the first time Robert Perreau betrayed astonishment.

“Surely, sir,” cried he, “you are jocular!”

A haughty glance was the sole response of the wealthy agent.

“It is no time to be jocular when a man’s life is at stake,” retorted
the indignant Henry Drummond. “What can all this mean? The person you
pretend to be intimate with does not know you.”

“Why, ’tis evident this is not Mr Adair’s hand,” added his brother, who
had just arrived, with similar warmth, pointing to the forged name.