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The room was large and bare, with an almost barn-like emptiness. The color-washed walls appeared a dull grey in the gaslight. The wooden floor was uncarpeted, and at one end stood a wooden platform, suggesting the space was meant to be an artist’s studio. But there were no artistic touches to be found. The sparse furniture consisted of a camp bed, its bedclothes in disarray, two small tables cluttered with bottles and glasses, and a few mismatched chairs. Bottles of wine, spirits, and beer were scattered everywhere, with unopened bottles piled in a corner. The focal point of the room was a tall screen covered in crimson silk on the dais, drawing immediate attention.
Lawrence placed a finger to his lips as he held the door open for us. “Shh! She’s behind the screen. Listen! Can’t you hear her laughing?”
This time, I heard nothing. The room was silent, and every nerve in my body was on edge. Just as we settled in, the door on the opposite side creaked open cautiously. Mr. Bernstein and young Tom Moore entered. At the sight of her brother, the lady drew closer to me. The inspector eyed the newcomers warily.
“Who are these men? Where do they come from?” Symonds demanded.
Lawrence answered, “Inspector Symonds, meet Mr. Isaac Bernstein—dealer in forged bills and patron of penmen. Surely you’ve heard of him.”
Symonds nodded. “Oh, I’ve heard of Bernstein. And the other one?”
Lawrence glanced at the lady before responding, “Just a thief.”
“I’m no thief!” Tom Moore protested, his voice a mix of whine and snarl. Bernstein stepped in.
“Mr. Symonds, pleased to meet you. Our friend here is fond of jokes. Don’t take him seriously. I just needed a word with him in private—just one word. Lawrence, could we speak privately for a moment?”
“No, Bernstein. Anything you have to say, you’ll say here. Loudly, so everyone can hear.”
“Lawrence, please be reasonable. Let me make just one remark.”
Lawrence grabbed Bernstein by the shoulders and shook him. “Speak up, Bernstein! Shout it!”
“Don’t, Lawrence! You’re hurting me!”
“Hurt you? If only I could hurt you as you’ve hurt me! Why didn’t you run when you had the chance? For me, there’s no escape because of her, the face, and the words. But you had a chance. Now, there’s none! Now, there’s none!”
He flung Bernstein across the room. The man stumbled, catching himself just in time. Bernstein turned to the inspector, his voice shaky.
“Mr. Symonds, he’s not in his right mind. He’s been drinking—look at all these bottles!” Bernstein pleaded, gesturing to the scattered bottles.
Lawrence laughed, spreading his arms wide. “Look at those bottles! Evidence of a giant’s thirst! I’ll have another!” He grabbed a bottle of champagne, expertly slicing the neck off with a palette knife. The wine foamed over as he filled a soda-water tumbler and downed it in one gulp. “That’s the stuff! I like my drink with a sting!”
Bernstein pointed at Lawrence’s actions. “See? That’s all he does—drink! drink! drink! You can’t take his ravings seriously when they reflect on a respectable man.”
“Respectable man? Isaac Bernstein, respectable man?” Lawrence scoffed, tossing the empty bottle at Bernstein. The man ducked just in time.
“He’s a liar, through and through. No one who knows him would believe him on his oath,” young Tom Moore chimed in.
Lawrence pointed at him with his tumbler. “A Solomon risen to judgment! See truth’s imaged superscription on his brow.”
Before I could react, the lady stepped forward. “What he is, he owes to you—and to him!” She pointed at Bernstein. “You’re older, with more worldly knowledge. You used him as a tool to save yourselves. You found him in a ditch, and instead of helping, you dragged him deeper, pressing him down so you could climb out. Though he’s guilty, your guilt is a thousand times greater.”
“Spoken like an actress, Miss Moore. Your sentiments do you credit, though they’re stagey. You assume you can make a good man bad. I doubt it. All you can do is bring out the badness in someone already flawed. Bernstein, your brother, and I were born with a twist—a moral malformation. We were inclined toward a particular direction from the start. Could we have gone straight if we tried? I doubt it. I know I didn’t. I liked my pleasures hot and spicy. Your insipid virtues never tempted me.”
Lawrence took another swig. “In this world, spice costs money. And there’s the rub. I had none. But my brother—an all-seeing Providence and an indiscriminating parent blessed him with plenty. I tried to make my own money, sometimes succeeding, often failing. When I failed, I naturally turned to my brother. He occasionally objected. Odd, isn’t it? Then, one day, I met a man named Bernstein.”
Bernstein, watching with parted lips and troubled eyes, stepped forward. “Lawrence, my old friend, remember all I’ve done for you. Be careful what you say.”
“I remember, and so will you. You’ll never accuse me of forgetting. Bernstein was a Jew—an usurer.”
“I lend money to gentlemen in need, that’s all. There’s no harm in it. If I didn’t, someone else would.” Bernstein’s voice trembled.
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“He negotiated loans on varying terms—as I quickly learned. I had dealt with usurers before, but he was a new breed.”
“How new? Circumstances force one to adjust terms—it’s just business.”
“He lent me some money on what he considered reasonable terms.”
“And they were reasonable. You know they were.”
“‘When you need more,’ he said, ‘bring me another name on the bill.’ I asked, ‘Whose name?’ He said, ‘Your brother’s.’ ‘Do you think my brother would back a bill of mine? He’d never agree!’ ‘That,’ he said, ‘is a pity.’ And indeed, it was a pity. Brothers should be supportive; it’s only right.
“‘Come,’ he said, ‘dine with me.’ I did. After dinner, he brought up the bill again. ‘I’ll give you £700 for a three-month bill for a thousand with your brother’s name on it.’ ‘I told you, my brother would never back a bill of mine.’ ‘If you bring me such a bill, I won’t ask how it got there.’ Then he looked at me, and I saw what he meant. ‘So that’s it? I’ve done some risky things, but never that.’ He poured another glass of wine. ‘You say you need the money. The sooner you give me the bill, the sooner your needs are met.’ I gave him the bill the next morning. Three months later, there was trouble brewing.”
“I knew nothing of this—he’s making it all up. The bill was paid when due.”
“After nearly coming to blows with my brother, I was still desperate for money. This time, Bernstein came to me.
“‘I hear you’re in a bind.’ I acknowledged his accurate information. ‘Small amounts won’t help you. You need a substantial sum to get clear.’ I admitted it, wondering where this sum would come from. ‘Here’s what I’ll do,’ he said. ‘Bring me five bills for a thousand each with your brother’s name, and I’ll give you £2500 for the lot.’ I told him it was impossible. I’d promised my brother I wouldn’t misuse his name again. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘that’s a pity.’”
“I never said that. Those who know me will confirm it’s against my nature.”
“‘I think I can help,’ he continued. ‘I know a young fellow who might be useful. He’s a top-notch penman.’ ‘Are you saying he’s a forger?’ ‘Lawrence,’ cried Bernstein, ‘you shouldn’t use such words—you really shouldn’t.’”
“You hear him admit it? I said, ‘You shouldn’t use such words.’ I’ve always said that.”
“He introduced me to this expert penman over dinner. The penman was our young friend here—Tom Moore.”
“I never wanted to meet you—never. I told him that.”
Mr. Bernstein interrupted, “Now, Moore, that’s not true. You were always willing to meet him; why not? He was a gentleman of family and fortune. Why wouldn’t you want to know him?”
“He didn’t turn out that way, did he? Look how he treated me!”
“Ah, that’s different. We couldn’t predict how he’d turn out. We assumed he was a man of character.”
“Innocent-minded Bernstein! Naive Tom Moore! After dinner, Moore came back to my place.”
“You invited me.”
“I did, that’s true; and you came. I said to him, ‘I hear you’re a bit of a penman.’”
“I didn’t know what you meant.”
“Of course not. I laid five bill-stamps in front of him.”
“They were blank.”
“Yes, they were. I showed him my brother’s signature on a letter and asked if he could make a nice, clean copy of it on each stamp.”
“You never said what you were going to do with it.”
“True, I didn’t. But you asked, ‘How much are you going to pay me?’”
“Well, you were a stranger. You didn’t expect me to do it for free, did you?”
“Of course not. I said I’d give you a hundred pounds, which seemed fair for a little copying. But you demanded five hundred.”
“You never gave me five hundred pounds! You know that! Not even close!”
“Right again. I couldn’t see my way to that much. I said you’d get two hundred.”
“That night you didn’t give me any money at all.”
“No, but the next morning, I took five bills for a thousand pounds each, with my brother’s signature on them, to Mr. Isaac Bernstein. He gave me £2500, and you got two hundred out of that.”
“I took it as a friendly gesture.”
“Sure, from a complete stranger. Time passed, three months slipped by, and I started to worry. My luck was terrible. That £2500 vanished quickly; I lost almost every penny before I even realized I had it. When it was gone, I knew trouble was coming, big trouble. I started to fidget. I knew my brother, and considering last time it almost led to murder, this time it might really happen. Philip’s temper was bad, very bad. We had fought before, and I usually didn’t come out on top. Now, I foresaw the biggest fight of all, and I wasn’t confident about the outcome.
“I began to hate my brother. As days went by, my hatred and fear of him grew. Those feelings took over, and I started to think about how I could get the upper hand when everything blew up and the fight began. Then I remembered something from India.
“One night, unable to sleep after some bad drinking, my mind was filled with thoughts of my brother. I thought about his luck, his strength, how he always won our fights, and how in the next one, he’d probably win again. He was stronger in every way. How could I beat him? How?
“That’s when I thought of the Goddess. The idea came from her; she planted herself in my mind. I suspected it then, and now I know it. She had stayed in the packing case I brought her home in. I had never unpacked her, never even looked at her. She might have felt neglected, but no—she knew she wouldn’t be forgotten. She was just waiting for the right time. Now her time had come. She knew it, so she reminded me of her presence.
“At first, I found it funny—The Goddess. Her humorous side always appeals first. But that humor changes. I laughed at the idea of her appearing at such a moment. As I laughed, she laughed too. It was the first time I heard her laugh. The sound sent a chill through me. Even then, I wondered if I was going mad. She was in the cupboard across from my dressing room. It was strange I could hear her so clearly from my bed.
“‘I’ll go and look at her,’ I said. I went. As I opened the cupboard door, she laughed again—a soft, musical laugh, full of joy. It drew me in. ‘I didn’t know you could laugh,’ I said. ‘Where are you? Let’s get you out of here. If you’re as beautiful as your laughter, you’re worth looking at.’”
“There was the packing case, still nailed shut and tied up, just like it was when it came off the ship. When I touched it, she laughed again. This time, the sound had a strange way of boosting my spirits, fitting my mood perfectly. I dragged the case into my dressing room and unpacked it. There she was, in perfect condition, as ready, willing, and joyful as when I first saw her in her birthplace. She had weathered the voyage and her confinement remarkably well; there was no sign of resentment in her stance or appearance. As she demonstrated her powers, laughing all the while, I thought, ‘With her help, I can definitely take on my brother.’
“I got her out, but like the genie in that Arabian story, she wasn’t easy to put back. Without her consent, it was impossible to get her back in the packing case. She flat-out refused to give it. When I insisted on trying, she nearly ended me right then and there. So, I gave up. I left her where she was. That display of power and her willingness to use it made me realize I had found not just an ally, but maybe something more. One thing was certain—I had found an inseparable companion.
“From that moment on, in the silence of the night, when I couldn’t sleep because of thoughts of my brother, she’s never left my side. She’s become part of my life, woven into the very fabric of my being, into the core of who I am. She holds me, body, soul, and spirit, with unbreakable chains. And to her, it’s all a grand joke. Listen! She’s laughing now.”