It has been told how the gambling at the Beargarden went on one Sunday night. On the following Monday Sir Felix did not go to the club. He had watched Miles Grendall at play, and was sure that on more than one or two occasions the man had cheated. Sir Felix did not quite know what in such circumstances it would be best for him to do. Reprobate as he was himself, this work of villainy was new to him and seemed to be very terrible. What steps ought he to take? He was quite sure of his facts, and yet he feared that Nidderdale and Grasslough and Longestaffe would not believe him. He would have told Montague, but Montague had, he thought, hardly enough authority at the club to be of any use to him. On the Tuesday again he did not go to the club. He felt severely the loss of the excitement to which he had been accustomed, but the thing was too important to him to be slurred over. He did not dare to sit down and play with the man who had cheated him without saying anything about it. On the Wednesday afternoon life was becoming unbearable to him and he sauntered into the building at about five in the afternoon. There, as a matter of course, he found Dolly Longestaffe drinking sherry and bitters. ‘Where the blessed angels have you been?’ said Dolly. Dolly was at that moment alert with the sense of a duty performed. He had just called on his sister and written a sharp letter to his father, and felt himself to be almost a man of business.
‘I’ve had fish of my own to fry,’ said Felix, who had passed the last two days in unendurable idleness. Then he referred again to the money which Dolly owed him, not making any complaint, not indeed asking for immediate payment, but explaining with an air of importance that if a commercial arrangement could be made, it might, at this moment, be very serviceable to him. ‘I’m particularly anxious to take up those shares,’ said Felix.
‘Of course you ought to have your money.’
‘I don’t say that at all, old fellow. I know very well that you’re all right. You’re not like that fellow, Miles Grendall.’
‘Well; no. Poor Miles has got nothing to bless himself with. I suppose I could get it, and so I ought to pay.’
‘That’s no excuse for Grendall,’ said Sir Felix, shaking his head.
‘A chap can’t pay if he hasn’t got it, Carbury. A chap ought to pay of course. I’ve had a letter from our lawyer within the last half hour — here it is.’ And Dolly pulled a letter out of his pocket which he had opened and read indeed the last hour, but which had been duly delivered at his lodgings early in the morning. ‘My governor wants to sell Pickering, and Melmotte wants to buy the place. My governor can’t sell without me, and I’ve asked for half the plunder. I know what’s what. My interest in the property is greater than his. It isn’t much of a place, and they are talking of ￡50,000, over and above the debt upon it. ￡25,000 would pay off what I owe on my own property, and make me very square. From what this fellow says I suppose they’re going to give in to my terms.’
‘By George, that’ll be a grand thing for you, Dolly.’
‘Oh yes. Of course I want it. But I don’t like the place going. I’m not much of a fellow, I know. I’m awfully lazy and can’t get myself to go in for things as I ought to do; but I’ve a sort of feeling that I don’t like the family property going to pieces. A fellow oughtn’t to let his family property go to pieces.’
‘You never lived at Pickering.’
‘No; — and I don’t know that it is any good. It gives us 3 per cent. on the money it’s worth, while the governor is paying 6 per cent., and I’m paying 25, for the money we’ve borrowed. I know more about it than you’d think. It ought to be sold, and now I suppose it will be sold. Old Melmotte knows all about it, and if you like I’ll go with you to the city to-morrow and make it straight about what I owe you. He’ll advance me ￡1,000, and then you can get the shares. Are you going to dine here?’
Sir Felix said that he would dine at the club, but declared, with considerable mystery in his manner, that he could not stay and play whist afterwards. He acceded willingly to Dolly’s plans of visiting Abchurch Lane on the following day, but had some difficulty in inducing his friend to consent to fix on an hour early enough for city purposes. Dolly suggested that they should meet at the club at 4 p.m. Sir Felix had named noon, and promised to call at Dolly’s lodgings. They split the difference at last and agreed to start at two. They then dined together, Miles Grendall dining alone at the next table to them. Dolly and Grendall spoke to each other frequently, but in that conversation the young baronet would not join. Nor did Grendall ever address himself to Sir Felix. ‘Is there anything up between you and Miles?’ said Dolly, when they had adjourned to the smoking-room.
‘I can’t bear him.’
‘There never was any love between you two, I know. But you used to speak, and you’ve played with him all through.’
‘Played with him! I should think I have. Though he did get such a haul last Sunday he owes me more than you do now.’
‘Is that the reason you haven’t played the last two nights?’
Sir Felix paused a moment. ‘No; — that is not the reason. I’ll tell you all about it in the cab to-morrow.’ Then he left the club, declaring that he would go up to Grosvenor Square and see Marie Melmotte. He did go up to the Square, and when he came to the house he would not go in. What was the good? He could do nothing further till he got old Melmotte’s consent, and in no way could he so probably do that as by showing that he had got money wherewith to buy shares in the railway. What he did with himself during the remainder of the evening the reader need not know, but on his return home at some comparatively early hour, he found this note from Marie.
Wedn............