A CAB from the London terminus speedily deposited Lord Stranleigh at his favorite club in Pall Mall. Two acquaintances coming down the steps nodded to him casually, so casually that the salutation, taken in conjunction with the lack of all interest displayed in the smoking room when he entered, caused him to realize that he had never been missed, and this indifference keeps a man from becoming too conceited when he has victoriously pitted his intelligence against bears or brigands in far-away corners of the earth, and lives to tell the tale, or keep quiet about it, as the case may be. As he was attired in the ordinary business suit that had done two days’ hard duty at Southampton, he could not commit the solecism of entering the dining room. Indeed, gleaming, snowy shirt fronts were so prevalent in the smoking room itself that he experienced the unaccustomed, but rather enjoyable feeling of being a wild and woolly pioneer, who had strayed by mistake into a stronghold of fashionable civilization. The dining room being forbidden ground, Stranleigh contented himself with a couple of sandwiches and a tankard of German beer. As he partook of this frugal fare, a broad shirt front bore down upon him that reminded him of the sail of a racing yacht.
“Hello, Stranleigh,” said Sir William Grainger, the owner of the shirt front. “Remember me telling you last week that Flying Scud was sure of a place in the Maple-Durham stakes?”
“I don’t remember having received that information from you,” replied Stranleigh. “Did Flying Scud pull it off, then?”
“Pull it off? Why, the race isn’t run till tomorrow.”
“Oh, I beg pardon, I had forgotten the date.”
“Well, Stranleigh, I’ve got it straight that Flying Scud will romp in a winner. It’s a sure thing. Don’t you give it away, but act on the hint, and you won’t be sorry. Odds are twenty-five to one at the present moment, and for every blooming quid you put up, you’ll get a pony.”
“That’s very attractive, Billy.”
“Attractive? Why, it’s simply found money.”
“Ah, well, such chances are not for me, Billy. I’ve had to pawn my evening togs in order to get a sandwich and a glass of beer. I’m a hornyhanded son of toil trying to pick up an honest living. Why don’t you follow my example, Billy, and do something useful? This deplorable habit of betting on the races will lead you into financial straits by and by, and what is worse, the gambling fever may become chronic if you don’t check it in time.”
Sir William Grainger laughed joyously at this. He was a young man who had already run through a large patrimony left him by his father, and since that time had developed a genius for borrowing which would have done credit to Harriman, the railway king.
“Come, Stranleigh, don’t preach, or at least, if you do preach, don’t hedge. You know what I want. Lend me a pony till next Monday, there’s a good fellow. That sum will bring me in six hundred and twenty-five pounds before to-morrow night. I’ve figured it all out on a sheet of club paper, but I’m stony broke, so fork over the twenty-five, Stranleigh.”
Lord Stranleigh, without demur, took from his pocketbook some Bank of England notes of ten pounds each, selected three of them, and passed them on to Sir William, who thus getting five pounds more than he had asked for, lovingly fingered the tenacious, crisp pieces of paper, then put forward a bluff of getting one of them changed, that he might return the extra money.
“Oh, don’t trouble about that,” said Stranleigh, somewhat wearily. He had had a tiring day at Southampton, and beer and sandwiches were not a very inspiring meal at the end of it. “Don’t trouble about that. If you take another sheet of club paper, you may be able to calculate how much more the extra five pounds will bring you in to-morrow night.”
“By Jove, that’s true,” said Sir William, much relieved, and then the ease with which he had made the haul seemed to stir up his covetousness and still further submerge all self-respect.
“Talking of the extra amount I will gain reminds me, Stranleigh, that if you will give me one more ten-pound note, the whole loot will be an even thousand at twenty-five to one, you know. I’ll pay it all back on Monday, but it seems a pity to miss such a chance, doesn’t it?”
“How wonderfully you can estimate the odds, Billy. If forty pounds will bring you a thousand, then, as you say, it would be a pity to miss such an opportunity. Well, here you are,” and he passed the fourth ten-pound note into the other’s custody.
Still Sir William lingered. Perhaps it would have been more merciful if his lordship had demurred rather strenuously against accommodating him with the so-called loan. The sight of the other’s notes now returning to his pocket filled him with envy. He felt some remnant of reluctance in attempting to increase his acquisition, so he put it in another form:
“I say, Stranleigh, if you’d like me to lay a bit on for you, so far as Flying Scud is concerned, I’ll do it with pleasure.”
“Thanks, old man, but I shan’t trouble you. I intend to put on some money, but it will be against Flying Scud.”
“What! have you heard anything?” cried Sir William in alarm, but the other interrupted——
“I know nothing about the horse at all, but I know a good deal about your luck, and I’ll have that forty pounds back on Monday, without troubling you, except by betting against you.” Sir William laughed a little, shrugged his shoulders, and walked away with the loot.
“Yes,” murmured Stranleigh to himself, “this is dear old London again, sure enough. The borrowing of money has begun.”
In spite of being touched for varying amounts, Lord Stranleigh enjoyed to the full his return to the Metropolis, and for many days strolled down Piccadilly with the easy grace of a man about town, the envy of less fortunate people who knew him. This period of indolence was put an end to by the receipt of a telegram from Mackeller. That capable young man had sent his message from the northwest corner of Brittany, having ordered the Rajah to be run into the roadstead of Brest. The communication informed Stranleigh that Mackeller had hoisted up a portion of the cargo, and placed it aboard a lugger, which was to sail direct for Portreath. This transhipment of part of the cargo had brought Plimsoll’s mark on the side of the Rajah into view once more, and the steamer might now enter the harbor of Plymouth without danger of being haled before the authorities, charged with overloading. He expected to reach Plymouth next day.
Stranleigh was lunching at home that day because in the morning he had been favored with a telephone call, and on putting the receiver to his ear, had distinguished the still, small voice of Conrad Schwartzbrod, who appeared to be trying to say something with reference to the Rajah. Stranleigh was afflicted with a certain dislike of the telephone, and often manifested an impatience with its working which he did not usually show when confronted with the greater evils of life, so after telling the good Mr. Schwartzbrod to stand farther away from the transmitter, to come closer, to speak louder, he at last admitted he could not understand what was being said, and invited the financier to call upon him at his house that afternoon at half past two, if what he had to say was important enough to justify a journey from the city to the West End.
At the luncheon table Mackeller’s long telegram was handed to him, and, after he had read it, Stranleigh smiled as he thought how nearly its arrival had coincided with Schwartzbrod’s visit, and he wondered how much the latter would give for its perusal if he knew of its existence. He surmised that the Stock Exchange magnate was becoming a little anxious because of the nonarrival of the Rajah at Lisbon, where, doubtless, his emissaries awaited her. In spite of his pretense of misapprehension, he had heard quite distinctly at the telephone receiver that Schwartz-brod had just learned he was the owner of the Rajah, and that he wished to renew his charter of that slow-going, deliberate steam vessel, but he could not deny himself the pleasure of crossquestioning so crafty an opponent face to face. He had been expecting an application from Conrad Schwartzbrod for some days, and now it had arrived almost too late, for he directed Ponderby to secure him a berth on the Plymouth express for that night.
The young nobleman did not receive the elderly capitalist in his business office downstairs, as perhaps would have been the more suitable, but greeted him instead in the ample and luxurious drawing-room on the first floor, where Stranleigh, enjoying the liberty of a bachelor, was smoking an after-luncheon cigar, and he began the interview by offering a similar one to his visitor, which was declined. Mr. Schwartzbrod, it seemed, never smoked.
The furtive old man was palpably nervous and ill at ease. He sat on the extreme edge of an elegant chair, and appeared not to know exactly what to do with his hands. The news which had reached him from Sparling & Bilge in Southampton, that Lord Stranleigh was the new owner of the Rajah, had disquieted Schwartzbrod, and his manner showed this to his indolent host, who lounged back in an easy-chair, calmly viewing the newcomer with an expression of countenance that was almost cherublike in its innocence.
0247
“Sorry you don’t smoke,” drawled the younger man. “You miss a great deal of pleasure in life by your abstention.”
“It is a habit I never acquired, my lord, and so perhaps I do not feel the lack of it so much as one accustomed to tobacco might suppose. I lead a very busy life, and, indeed, a somewhat anxious one, since times are so bad in the city, therefore I have little opportunity of cultivating what I might call—I hope with no offense—the smaller vices.”
“Ah, there speaks a large trader. You go in for the big things in life, whether in finance or in vice.”
“I hope I may say without vanity, my lord, that I have always avoided vice, large or small.”
“Lucky man; I wish I could make the same confession. So times are bad in the city, are they?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Then why don’t you chuck the city, and come and live in the West End where life is easy?”
“A rich man may live where he pleases, my lord, but I have been a hard worker all my life.”
“Poor, but honest, eh? Still, when all’s said and done, Mr. Schwartzbrod, I really believe that you hard workers enjoy your money better when you get it than we leisurely people who have never known the lack of it. I believe in honesty myself, and if I were not of so indolent a nature, I think I might perhaps have become an honest man. But a busy laborer like yourself, Mr. Schwartzbrod, has not come to the West End to hear me talk platitudes about honesty. In America the man goes West who intends to work hard. In London a man comes west when he has made money.
“‘You miss a great deal of pleasure in life.’”
“He has his pile in the city, and expects to cease work. You have come west temporarily to see me about some matter which the telephone delighted in mixing up with buzzings and rattlings and intermittent chattering that made your theme difficult to comprehend. Perhaps you will be good enough to let me know in what way I may serve you.”
“At the time when I expected to operate the gold field, which you know of, my lord, I chartered a steamer, named the Rajah, at Southampton.”
“Oh, the Rajah!” interrupted his lordship, sitting up, a gleam of intelligent comprehension animating his face. “The Rajah was what you were trying to say? I thought you were speaking of a Jolly Roger. Roger was the word that came over to me, and ‘Jolly Roger’ means the flag of a pirate ship, or something pertaining to piracy, so I, recognizing your voice, thinks to myself: ‘What, in the name of Moses and the Prophets, can a respectable city personage mean by speaking of the Jolly Roger, as if he were a captain of buccaneers.’ Oh, yes, the Rajah! Now I understand. Proceed, Mr. Schwartzbrod.”
The personage seemed to turn a trifle more sallow than usual as the other went on enthusiastically talking of pirate ships and buccaneers, but he surmised that the young nobleman meant nothing in particular, as he sank back once more in his easy-chair, and again half closed his eyes, blowing the smoke of his cigar airily aloft. Presently, moistening his lips, Conrad Schwartzbrod found voice, convinced that the other’s allusion to marine pillage was a mere coincidence, and not a covert reference to Frowningshield and his merry men, or to the mission of the Rajah herself.
“I was about to say, my lord, that I had chartered the Rajah from a firm of shipping people in Southampton, intending to use her in the development of the mineral property in West Africa. That property having passed from the hands of myself and my associates into yours, my lord, I determined to employ the Rajah in the South American cattle trade, as we own an extensive tract of territory in the Argentine, the interests of which we are endeavoring to forward with the ultimate object of floating a company.”
Again the prospective company promoter moistened his lips when they had safely delivered this interesting piece of fiction.
“So the Rajah has gone to the Argentine Republic, has she?” said Stranleigh.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Filled with dynamite and mining machinery, eh? Surely a remarkable cargo for a herdsman to transport, Mr. Schwartzbrod?”
“Well, you see, my lord, the dynamite and machinery was on our hands, and as there are many mines in South America, we thought we could sell the cargo there to better advantage than in Southampton.”
“Of course I don’t in the least doubt, Mr. Schwartzbrod, that you own large ranches in South America, but I strongly suspect——”
He paused, and opened his eyes to half width, looking quizzically at his vis-à-vis.
“You strongly suspect what, my lord?” muttered Schwartzbrod.
“I suspect that you own a mine in South America that you are keeping very quiet about.”
“Well, my lord,” confessed Schwartzbrod, with apparent diffidence, “it is rarely wise to speak of these things prematurely.”
“That is quite true, and I have really no wish to pry into your secrets, but to tell the truth, I felt a little sore about your action with regard to the Rajah.”
“My action? What action?”
“You must admit, Mr. Schwartzbrod, that when I acquired those so-called gold fields, I became possessor of everything the company owned, or at least I thought I did. Now, in the company was vested the charter of the Rajah, and it was the company’s money which bought all the materials with which you have sailed away to South America. It therefore seemed to me—I don’t wish to put it harshly—that you had, practically, made off with a portion of my property.”
“You astonish me, my lord. It never occurred to me that such a view could be held by any one, especially one like yourself, so well acquainted with facts.”
Stranleigh shrugged his shoulders.
“Acquainted with the facts? Oh, I don’t know that I’m so very well versed in them. I’m not a business man, Mr. Schwartzbrod, and although I engage business men to look after my interests, it seems to me that sometimes they are not as sharp as they might be. I thought, after the acquisition of the company’s property, that the charter of the Rajah and the contents of her hold belonged to me, just as much as the company’s money in the bank did, or as its gold in West Africa.”
“I assure you, my lord, you are mistaken. The Rajah and her charter were not mentioned in the documents of agreement between you and me, while the money in the bank was. But aside from all that, my lord, you gave me a document covering all that had been done previous to its signing, and the Rajah had sailed from South America several days before that instrument was completed. Everything was done legally, and under the advice of competent solicitors—yours and mine.”
“Do not mistake me, Mr. Schwartzbrod; I am not complaining at all, nor even doubting the legality of the documents to which you refer. I am merely saying that I thought the Rajah and her cargo was to be turned over to me. There, doubtless, I was mistaken. It seems to me after all, Mr. Schwartzbrod, that there is a higher criterion of action than mere legality. You, probably, would be the first to admit that there is such a thing as moral right which may not happen to coincide with legal right.”
“Assuredly, assuredly, my lord. I should be very sorry indeed to infringe upon any moral law, but, unfortunately, in this defective world, my lord, experience has shown that it is always well to set down in plain black and white exactly what a man means when a transfer is made, otherwise your remembrance of what was intended may differ entirely from mine, and yet each of us may be scrupulously honest in our contention.”
“Yes, you have me there, Mr. Schwartzbrod. I see the force of your reasoning, and a man has only himself to blame if he neglects those necessary precautions which you have mentioned, so we will say nothing more about that phase of the matter, but you will easily understand that having thought myself entitled to the use of the Rajah, I may not feel myself inclined to renew your charter now.”
“Ah, there again, my lord, it is all set down in black and white. The charter distinctly states that I am to have the option of renewal for a further three months when the first three months has expired.”
“You corner me at every point of the game, Mr. Schwartzbrod. I take it, then, that my purchase of the Rajah does not invalidate the arrangement made with you by her former owners?”
“Certainly not, my lord. If you buy a property, you take over all its liabilities.”
“That seems just and reasonable. So your application for renewal is a mere formality, against which any objection of mine would be futile?”
“Did not Sparling & Bilge explain to you, my lord, that the steamer was under charter?”
“I never saw those estimable gentlemen, Mr. Schwartzbrod. The purchase was made by an agent of mine, and I have no doubt Sparling & Bilge made him acquainted with all the liabilities I was acquiring. If you insist on exercising your option, Mr. Schwartzbrod, I suppose I must either postpone the development of my gold-bearing property, or charter ano............