LORD CHALDON\'S instructive little monologue on the subject of the Hebrew in finance afforded Thorpe a certain pleasure, which was in its character, perhaps, more social than intellectual.
It was both a flattering and striking experience to have so eminent a man at the side of one\'s desk, revealing for one\'s guidance the secrets of sovereigns and cabinets. Great names were mentioned in the course of this dissertation—mentioned with the authoritative ease of one who dined with princes and prime ministers—and Thorpe felt that he shared in the distinction of this familiarity with the august. He was in the position of paying a salary to this courtly old nobleman and statesman, who could tell him of his own intimate knowledge how Emperors conversed with one another; how the Pope fidgeted in his ornate-carved chair when the visitor talked on unwelcome topics; how a Queen and an opera-bouffe dancer waged an obscure and envenomed battle for the possession of a counting-house strong box, and in the outcome a nation was armed with inferior old muskets instead of modern weapons, and the girl got the difference expressed in black pearls.
These reminiscences seemed to alter the atmosphere, and even the appearance, of the Board Room. It was almost as if the apartment itself was becoming historic, like those chambers they pointed out to the tourist wherein crowned heads had slept. The manner of the Marquis lent itself charmingly to this illusion. He spoke in a facile, mellifluous voice, and as fluently as if he had been at work for a long time preparing a dissertation on this subject, instead of taking it up now by chance. In his tone, in his gestures, in the sustained friendliness of his facial expressions, there was a palpable desire to please his auditor—and Thorpe gave more heed to this than to the thread of the discourse. The facts that he heard now about the Jewish masters of international finance were doubtless surprising and suggestive to a degree, but somehow they failed to stimulate his imagination. Lord Chaldon\'s statesmanlike discussion of the uses to which they put this vast power of theirs; his conviction that on the whole they were beneficent; his dread of the consequences of any organized attempt to take this power away from them, and put it into other and less capable hands—no doubt it was all very clever and wise, but Thorpe did not care for it.
At the end he nodded, and, with a lumbering movement, altered his position in his chair. The fixed idea of despoiling Rostocker, Aronson, Ganz, Rothfoere, Lewis, and Mendel of their last sixpence had been in no wise affected by this entertaining homily. There appeared to be no need of pretending that it had been. If he knew anything of men and their manners, his titled friend would not object to a change of topic.
“Lord Chaldon,” he said abruptly, “we\'ve talked enough about general matters. While you\'re here, we might as well go into the subject of the Company. Our annual meeting is pretty nearly due—but I think it would be better to have it postponed. You see, this extraordinary development of dealing in our shares on the Stock Exchange has occupied my entire attention. There has been no time for arranging the machinery of operations on our property in Mexico. It\'s still there; it\'s all right. But for the time being, the operations in London are so much more important. We should have nothing to tell our shareholders, if we brought them together, except that their one-pound shares are worth fifteen pounds, and they know that already.”
The Marquis had listened with a shrewdly attentive eye upon the speaker\'s face. The nervous affection of his eyelids gave him now a minute of blinking leisure in which to frame his comment. “I have not heard that my shares are worth fifteen pounds,” he said then, with a direct, meaning little smile.
“No,” Thorpe laughed, leaning comfortably back in his chair. “That\'s what I want to talk to you about. You see, when the Company was started, it was impossible to foresee that this dealing in our ordinary shares would swamp everything else. If things had taken their usual course, and we had paid our attention to Mexico instead of to the London Stock Exchange, my deferred vendor\'s shares, two thousand of which you hold, would by this time be worth a good bit. As it is, unfortunately, they are outside of the deal. They have nothing to do with the movement of the ordinary shares. But of course you understand all that.”
Lord Chaldon assented by an eloquent nod, at once resigned and hopeful.
“Well—that is contrary to all my expectations—and intentions,” Thorpe resumed. “I don\'t want you to suffer by this unlooked-for change in the shape of things. You hold two thousand shares—only by accident they\'re the wrong kind of shares. Very well: I\'ll make them the right kind of shares. I\'ll have a transfer sent to you tomorrow, so that you can return those vendor\'s shares to me, and in exchange for them I\'ll give you two thousand fully-paid ordinary shares. You can sell these at once, if you like, or you can hold them on over one more settlement, whichever you please.”
“This is very munificent,” remarked Lord Chaldon, after an instant\'s self-communion. His tone was extremely gracious, but he displayed none of the enthusiastic excitement which Thorpe perceived now that he had looked for. The equanimity of Marquises, who were also ex-Ambassadors, was evidently a deeper-rooted affair than he had supposed. This elderly and urbane diplomat took a gift of thirty thousand pounds as he might have accepted a superior cigar.
A brief pause ensued, and was ended by another remark from the nobleman: “I thought for the moment of asking your advice—on this question of selling,” he continued. “But it will be put more appropriately, perhaps, in this way: Let me leave it entirely in your hands. Whatever you do will be right. I know so little of these things—and you know so much.”
Thorpe put out his lips a trifle, and looked away for an instant in frowning abstraction. “If it were put in that way—I think I should sell,” he said. “It\'s all right for me to take long chances—it\'s my game—but there\'s no reason why you should risk things. But let me put it in still another way,” he added, with the passing gleam of a new thought over the dull surface of his eye. “What do you say to our making the transaction strictly between ourselves? Here are shares to bearer, in the safe there. I say that two thousand of them are yours: that makes them yours. I give you my cheque for thirty thousand pounds—here, now, if you like—and that makes them mine again. The business is finished and done with—inside this room. Neither of us is to say anything about it to a soul. Does that meet your views?”
The diplomat pondered the proposition—again with a lengthened perturbation of the eyelids. “It would be possible to suggest a variety of objections, if one were of a sophistical turn of mind,” he said at last, smilingly reflective. “Yet I see no really insuperable obstacle in the path.” He thought upon it further, and went on with an enquiring upward glance directed suddenly at Thorpe: “Is there likely to be any very unpleasant hubbub in the press—when it is known that the annual meeting has been postponed?”
Thorpe shook his head with confidence. “No—you need have no fear of that. The press is all right. It\'s the talk of the City, I\'m told—the way I\'ve managed the press. It isn\'t often that a man has all three of the papers walking the same chalk-line.”
The Marquis considered these remarks with a puzzled air. Then he smiled faintly. “I\'m afraid we\'re speaking of different things,” he suggested. “Apparently you refer to the financial papers. I had scarcely given them a thought. It does not seem to me that I should mind particularly what they said about me—but I should care a great deal about the other press—the great public press.”
“Oh, what do they know about these things?” said Thorpe, lightly. “So far as I can see, they don\'t know about anything, unless it gets into the police court, or the divorce court, or a court of some kind. They\'re the funniest sort of papers I ever saw. Seems as if they didn\'t think anything was safe to be printed until it had been sworn to. Why anybody should be afraid of them is more than I can see.”
“Nevertheless,” persisted his Lordship, blandly, “I should greatly dislike any public discussion of our Company\'s affairs. I hope it is quite clear that that can be avoided.”
“Absolutely!” Thorpe told him, with reassuring energy. “Why, discussions don\'t make themselves. Somebody has to kick before anything gets discussed. And who is to kick here? The public who hold the shares are not likely to complain because they\'ve gone up fifteen hundred or two thousand per cent. And who else has any interest in what the Company, as a Company, does?”
“Ah, that is a question which has occurred to me,” said Lord Chaldon, “and I shall be glad if it is already answered. The only people likely to \'kick,\' as you put it so simply, would be, I take it, Directors and other officers of the Company who find themselves holding a class of shares which does not participate in the present rise. I speak with some confidence—because I was in that position myself until a few minutes ago—and I don\'t mind confessing that I had brought myself to contemplate the contingency of ultimately being compelled to—to \'kick\' a little. Of course, so far as I am concerned, events have put me in a diametrically different frame of mind. If I came prepared—I won\'t say to curse, but to—to criticize—I certainly remain to bless. But you see my point. I of course do not know what you have done as regards the other members of the Board.”
“I don\'t care about them,” said Thorpe, carelessly. “You are the one that I wished to bring in on the ground-floor. The others don\'t matter. Of course, I shall do something for them; they shan\'t be allowed to make trouble—even supposing that it would be in their power to make trouble, which isn\'t the case. But it won\'t be done by any means on the same scale that—” he paused abruptly, and the two men tacitly completed his sentence in the glance they exchanged.
The Marquis of Chaldon rose, and took up his hat and stick. “If you will post it to me—in a registered letter—my town house—please,” he remarked, with a charmingly delicate hesitation over the phrases. Then he put out his hand: “I need not say how fully I appreciate your great kindness to my old friend Fromentin. It was a noble action—one I shall always reflect upon with admiration.”
“I hope you won\'t mention it, though,” said Thorpe, as they shook hands; “either that or—or anything else.”
“I shall preserve the most guarded—the most diplomatic secrecy,” his Lordship assured him, as they walked toward the door.
Thorpe opened this door, and stepped aside, with a half bow, to facilitate the exit of the Marquis, who bent gracious acknowledgment of the courtesy. Then, with an abrupt start of surprise, the two men straightened themselves. Directly in front of them, leaning lightly against the brass-rail which guarded the entrance to the Board Room, stood Lord Plowden.
A certain sense of confusion, unwelcome but inevitable, visibly enveloped this chance meeting. The Marquis blinked very hard as he exchanged a fleeting hand-shake with the younger nobleman, and murmured some indistinguishable commonplaces. Then, with a graceful celerity, which was more than diplomatic, he disappeared. Thorpe, with more difficulty, recovered a sort of stolidity of expression that might pass for composure. He in turn gave his hand to the newcomer, and nodded to him, and achieved a doubtful smile.
“Come in!” he said, haltingly. “Where did you drop from? Glad to see you! How are all your people?”
A moment later the young Viscount was seated in the chair which the elderly Marquis had vacated. He presented therein a figure which, in its way, was perhaps as courtly as the other had been—but the way was widely different. Lord Plowden\'s fine, lithe form expressed no deference in its easy postures. His handsome face was at no pains to assume conciliatory or ingratiating aspects. His brilliant brown eyes sparkled a confident, buoyant gaze full into the heavy, lethargic countenance of the big man at the desk.
“I haven\'t bothered you before,” he said, tossing his gloves into his hat, and spreading his frock-coat out by its silk lapels. He crossed his legs, and sat back with a comfortable smile. “I knew you were awfully busy—and I kept away as long as I could. But now—well, the truth is—I\'m in rather of a hole. I hope you don\'t mind my coming.”
“Why not at all,” said Thorpe, laconically. After a momentary pause he added: “The Marquis has just been consulting me about the postponement of the annual meeting. I suppose you agree with us—that it would be better to put it off. There\'s really nothing to report. Of course, you know more about the situation than he does—between ourselves. The shareholders don\'t want a meeting; it\'s enough for them that their shares are worth fifteen or twenty times what they paid for them. And certainly WE don\'t need a meeting, as things stand now.”
“Ah yes—how do things stand now?” asked Lord Plowden, briskly.
“Well,”—Thorpe eyed his visitor with a moody blankness of gaze, his chin once more buried in his collar—“well, everything is going all right, as far as I can see. But, of course, these dealings in our shares in the City have taken up all my time—so that I haven\'t been able to give any attention to starting up work in Mexico. That being the case, I shall arrange to foot all the bills for this year\'s expenses—the rent, the Directors\' fees and clerk-hire and so on—out of my own pocket. It comes, all told, to about 2,700 pounds—without counting my extra 1,000 pounds as Managing Director. I don\'t propose to ask for a penny of that, under the circumstances—and I\'ll even pay the other expenses. So that the Company isn\'t losing a penny by our not getting to work at the development of the property. No one could ask anything fairer than that.—And are your mother and sister quite well?”
“Oh, very well indeed, thanks,” replied the other. He relapsed abruptly into a silence which was plainly preoccupied. Something of the radiant cheerfulness with which his face had beamed seemed to have faded away.
“I\'m in treaty for a house and a moor in the Highlands”—Thorpe went on, in a casual tone—“in fact, I\'m hesitating between three or four places that all seem to be pretty good—but I don\'t know whether I can get away much before the twentieth. I hope you can contrive to come while I\'m there. I should like it very much if you would bring your mother and sister—and your brother too. I have a nephew about his age—a fine young fellow—who\'d be company for him. Why can\'t you say now that you\'ll all come?”
Lord Plowden emerged from his brown study with the gleam of some new idea on his face. “I might bring my sister,” he said. “My mother hates Scotland. She doesn\'t go about, either, even in England. But I daresay Winnie would enjoy it immensely. She has a great opinion of you, you know.”
“I only saw her that once,” Thorpe remarked. Some thought behind his words lent a musing effect to the tone in which they were uttered. The brother\'s contemplative smile seemed a comment upon this tone.
“Women are curious creatures,” he said. “They take fancies and dislikes as swiftly and irresponsibly as cloud-shadows shift and change on a mountain-side in April. But I happen to know that my sister does like you immensely. So does my ............