“Ah, Benjamin Weaver. A pleasure, sir, a pleasure.” He bowed at me and gestured that I should return to the seat from which I had sprung. I bowed at him and sat.
“Edward,” he said to his man, “get Mr. Weaver a glass of some of that delightful claret.” Then he turned to me. “You do take claret, don’t you?”
“Only if it is delightful,” I answered.
He smiled at me. Mr. Cobb was indeed a smiling sort of man. He was in his later forties, stout in the way of such men and, I thought, handsome, with a lined face and bright blue eyes full of sparkle. He appeared jolly enough, but I had long since learned to be suspicious of jolly men. Sometimes they were what they appeared, and sometimes they were men who used the affect of good humor as a disguise to mask hidden cruelties.
Once Edward had placed the claret in my hands—it was, indeed, delightful and was contained in an ornate crystal goblet with a ribbed bowl, engraved with what appeared to be dancing fish—Cobb sat across from me in a red and gold chair, sipped at his wine, and closed his eyes with pleasure. “I have heard much approbatory discussion of you, Mr. Weaver. You are said to be the very man for finding lost things. It is also said of you that you know how to disguise yourself well. No small trick for someone about whom the papers have had so much to say.”
“A gentleman might know my name without knowing my face,” I said. “It is only the keenest of eyes that will recognize a face out of context. The properly chosen wig and coat will see to that. I know of such matters from experience.”
“Your expertise in such things has been well reported. Consequently, I have a task I’d like to ask you to perform for me, which will require that you present yourself in disguise. It is an evening’s work only and demands little more than that you go to a gaming house, drink and consort with whores, and play at cards with money not your own. I will pay you five pounds. What say you?”
“I say that if every man could make five pounds from behaving thus, there would hardly be a debtor in London.”
He laughed and proceeded to tell me about Bailor, a card cheat who had defrauded Cobb in the most outrageous fashion during a game of cacho. “I can abide losing,” he said, “and I can even abide being made to look the fool for doing so. However, when I learned that this Bailor is a Gypsy cozener, I could not abide that. I must have my revenge on him.” Cobb then told me what he had in mind. Bailor would be at Kingsley’s the next night. Cobb had already struck a bargain with the cacho dealer, so no more of me was required but that I draw attention to myself and entice Bailor to engage me in a challenge. Informed as I was of Bailor’s dislikes, we easily agreed that I should go dressed as a foppish Scotsman. Cobb was nearly ready to hug himself with pleasure. “The trap shall be so easily sprung, I only wish I could see it for myself. But I fear my presence would alert him, so I shall stand down.”
I then raised the issue of funds, and Cobb said he would make things easy on that score. He opened his pocketbook that rested near to his disposal and withdrew an impressive stack of banknotes. “Here are twelve hundred pounds,” he said, though he made no indication that he wished to place them into my hands. “You must lose a bit here and there to entice him, but I wish the final blow to be as near to a thousand as you can make it.” He continued to clutch the notes.
“You concern yourself, perhaps, with the safety of your money?”
“It is a great deal more than I am paying you.”
“I believe, in even the most negative reports of my reputation, you have never heard it suggested that I am a thief or a cheat. I give my word that I shall deal with your money as you request.”
“Yes, of course.” Cobb rang the little bell on the table next to him.
The servant entered the room once more, this time with a dour man of approximately my age, which is to say, close to but not quite thirty. He had either a low forehead or his wig was pulled down too low, though I suspected it was the former, for he had other deficiencies of countenance—a nose too large and lumpy, sunken cheeks, a receding chin. He was, in short, a most unattractive man, and along with the servant they composed a pair of most unpleasant faces. I do not much hold to physiognomy, but something in their ugliness told me that their characters were stamped on their faces.
“Mr. Weaver, over there you see my nephew, Mr. Tobias Hammond, a dedicated servant of his majesty at the Customs House.”
Hammond bowed stiffly. I rose and returned the greeting.
“He is employed at His Majesty’s Customs House,” Cobb reiterated.
“Yes,” I answered.
“I merely wished to point out his affiliation with the Customs House,” Cobb said.
“Yes, Uncle,” Hammond answered. “I believe he understands that.”
Cobb turned back to me. “Though, as you say, I have never heard a believable word uttered to impeach your honesty, I hope you will not mind that I bring in a pair of witnesses to see that I am entrusting twelve hundred pounds to your care. I expect you will return it no later than Thursday morning with whatever winnings you should earn off it. As these winnings will be collected through my own machinations, I trust you will not claim a percentage of them for yourself.”
“Of course. I can return the money to you that very night, if you prefer. I should be more comfortable having it in my possession for the briefest period possible.”
“Lest you be tempted to steal it, I suppose?” He let out a laugh.
“It is a great deal of money, so of course I shall be tempted, but I have ever been used to mastering my temptations.”
“Uncle, are you quite certain this is wise?” asked the nephew, Mr. Hammond of the Customs House.
“Oh, it’s the thing,” Cobb answered.
Hammond screwed his awkward face into an even more unappealing mask of discontent. He turned to the servant. “That will be all, Edmond.”
Edmond, I thought. Cobb had called him Edward. Once the servant had left, Mr. Hammond regarded me with hard brown eyes.
“I understand that Mr. Weaver has an acceptable reputation,” he said, “but it cannot be a sound practice to trust any man with this sum, more than he could hope to gain honestly in many years.”
“It is a substantial sum,” I agreed, “but stealing it would mean I must hide myself, abandon my good name, and have no prospects for future income. Furthermore, if after this employment word should spread that I had been entrusted with this sum and that Mr. Cobb’s trust was safe, then my future income can only grow. It would be a poor investment indeed for me to act the thief. Nevertheless, this is Mr. Cobb’s plan and not my own. I did not ask to be so entrusted, and I shall not insist upon it.”
“I should have him sign a note if it were my money,” Hammond observed.
“If it were your money, you could do as you like, as I shall do with mine.” Cobb spoke entirely without bitterness. Indeed, there was a certain good nature to his tone, as if he were unfamiliar with pique. “What means papers when we have witnesses? It is all one, and I believe no paper can stand the surety of Mr. Weaver’s reputation.”
“As you like, sir.” Hammond bowed and retreated.
Mr. Cobb spent the next half hour or so telling me more of what he knew of the dealer and of Bailor and what I was to say when I defeated him. I left confident that I could earn my five pounds without fail, but I also felt uneasy, for no man can have upon him twelve hundred pounds in negotiable bills and feel at ease. I wanted only to do what was asked of me and return with all deliberate speed.