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diff --git a/9324-h/9324-h.htm b/9324-h/9324-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..875ac4e --- /dev/null +++ b/9324-h/9324-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12171 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Roden's Corner, by Henry Seton Merriman + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Roden's Corner, by Henry Seton Merriman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Roden's Corner + +Author: Henry Seton Merriman + + +Release Date: November, 2005 [EBook #9324] +This file was first posted on September 22, 2003 +Last Updated: March 12, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODEN'S CORNER *** + + + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian, and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + RODEN'S CORNER + </h1> + <h2> + By Henry Seton Merriman + </h2> + <h3> + 1913 + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days + Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays: + Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays, + And one by one back in the Closet lays” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. IN ST. JACOB STRAAT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. WORK OR PLAY? </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. BEGINNING AT HOME. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. A NEW DISCIPLE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. OUT OF EGYPT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. ON THE DUNES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. OFFICIAL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. THE SEAMY SIDE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. A SHADOW FROM THE PAST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. DEEPER WATER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. IN THE OUDE WEG. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. SUBURBAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. THE MAKING OF A MAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. UNSOUND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. PLAIN SPEAKING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. DANGER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. PLAIN SPEAKING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. A COMPLICATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. DANGER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. FROM THE PAST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. A COMBINED FORCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. GRATITUDE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. A REINFORCEMENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. A BRIGHT AND SHINING LIGHT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. CLEARING THE AIR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. THE ULTIMATUM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. COMMERCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. WITH CARE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. A LESSON. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. ON THE QUEEN'S CANAL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. AT THE CORNER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. ROUND THE CORNER. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. IN ST. JACOB STRAAT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.” + </pre> + <p> + “It is the Professor von Holzen,” said a stout woman who still keeps the + egg and butter shop at the corner of St. Jacob Straat in The Hague; she is + a Jewess, as, indeed, are most of the denizens of St. Jacob Straat and its + neighbour, Bezem Straat, where the fruit-sellers live—“it is the + Professor von Holzen, who passes this way once or twice a week. He is a + good man.” + </p> + <p> + “His coat is of a good cloth,” answered her customer, a young man with a + melancholy dark eye and a racial appreciation of the material things of + this world. + </p> + <p> + Some say that it is not wise to pass through St. Jacob Straat or Bezem + Straat alone and after nightfall, for there are lurking forms within the + doorways, and shuffling feet may be heard in the many passages. During the + daytime the passer-by will, if he looks up quickly enough, see furtive + faces at the windows, of men, and more especially of women, who never seem + to come abroad, but pass their lives behind those unwashed curtains, with + carefully closed windows, and in an atmosphere which may be faintly + imagined by a glance at the wares in the shop below. The pavement of St. + Jacob Straat is also pressed into the service of that commerce in old + metal and damaged domestic utensils which seems to enable thousands of the + accursed people to live and thrive according to their lights. It will be + observed that the vendors, with a knowledge of human nature doubtless bred + of experience, only expose upon the pavement articles such as bedsteads, + stoves, and other heavy ware which may not be snatched up by the fleet of + foot. Within the shops are crowded clothes and books and a thousand + miscellaneous effects of small value. A hush seems to hang over this + street. Even the children, white-faced and melancholy, with deep + expressionless eyes and drooping noses, seem to have realized too soon the + gravity of life, and rarely indulge in games. + </p> + <p> + He whom the butter-merchant described as Professor von Holzen passed + quickly along the middle of the street, with an air suggesting a desire to + attract as little attention as possible. He was a heavy-shouldered man + with a bad mouth—a greedy mouth, one would think—and mild + eyes. The month was September, and the professor wore a thin black + overcoat closely buttoned across his broad chest. He carried a pair of + slate-coloured gloves and an umbrella. His whole appearance bespoke + learning and middle-class respectability. It is, after all, no use being + learned without looking learned, and Professor von Holzen took care to + dress according to his station in life. His attitude towards the world + seemed to say, “Leave me alone and I will not trouble you,” which is, + after all, as satisfactory an attitude as may be desired. It is, at all + events, better than the common attitude of the many, that says, “Let us + exchange confidences,” leading to the barter of two valueless commodities. + </p> + <p> + The professor stopped at the door of No. 15, St. Jacob Straat—one of + the oldest houses in this old street—and slowly lighted a cigar. + There is a shop on the ground-floor of No. 15, where ancient pieces of + stove-pipe and a few fire-irons are exposed for sale. Von Holzen, having + pushed open the door, stood waiting at the foot of a narrow and grimy + staircase. He knew that in such a shop in such a quarter of the town there + is always a human spider lurking in the background, who steals out upon + any human fly that may pause to look at the wares. + </p> + <p> + This spider presently appeared—a wizened woman with a face like that + of a witch. Von Holzen pointed upward to the room above them. She shook + her head regretfully. + </p> + <p> + “Still alive,” she said. + </p> + <p> + And the professor turned toward the stair, but paused at the bottom step. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” he said, extending his fingers. “Some milk. How much has he had?” + </p> + <p> + “Two jugs,” she replied, “and three jugs of water. One would say he has a + fire inside him.” + </p> + <p> + “So he has,” said the professor, with a grim smile, as he went upstairs. + He ascended slowly, puffing out the smoke of his cigar before him with a + certain skill, so that his progress was a form of fumigation. The fear of + infection is the only fear to which men will own, and it is hard to + understand why this form of cowardice should be less despicable than + others. Von Holzen was a German, and that nation combines courage with so + deep a caution that mistaken persons sometimes think the former adjunct + lacking. The mark of a wound across his cheek told that in his student + days this man had, after due deliberation, considered it necessary to + fight. Some, looking at Von Holzen's face, might wonder what mark the + other student bore as a memento of that encounter. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen pushed open a door that stood ajar at the head of the stair, + and went slowly into the room, preceded by a puff of smoke. The place was + not full of furniture, properly speaking, although it was littered with + many household effects which had no business in a bedroom. It was, indeed, + used as a storehouse for such wares as the proprietor of the shop only + offered to a chosen few. The atmosphere of the room must have been a very + Tower of Babel, where strange foreign bacilli from all parts of the world + rose up and wrangled in the air. + </p> + <p> + Upon a sham Empire table, <i>très antique</i>, near the window, stood + three water-jugs and a glass of imitation Venetian work. A yellow hand + stretching from a dark heap of bedclothes clutched the glass and held it + out, empty, when Von Holzen came into the room. + </p> + <p> + “I have sent for milk,” said the professor, smoking hard, and heedful not + to look too closely into the dark corner where the bed was situated. + </p> + <p> + “You are kind,” said a voice, and it was impossible to guess whether its + tone was sarcastic or grateful. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen looked at the empty water-jugs with a smile, and shrugged his + shoulders. His intention had perhaps been a kind one. A bad mouth usually + indicates a soft heart. + </p> + <p> + “It is because you have something to gain,” said the hollow voice from the + bed. + </p> + <p> + “I have something to gain, but I can do without it,” replied Von Holzen, + turning to the door and taking a jug of milk from the hand of a child + waiting there. + </p> + <p> + “And the change,” he said sharply. + </p> + <p> + The child laughed cunningly, and held out two small copper coins of the + value of half a cent. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen filled the tumbler and handed it to the sick man, who a moment + later held it out empty. + </p> + <p> + “You may have as much as you like,” said Von Holzen, kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Will it keep me alive?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing can do that, my friend,” answered Von Holzen. He looked down at + the yellow face peering at him from the darkness. It seemed to be the face + of a very aged man, with eyes wide open and blood-shot. A thickness of + speech was accounted for by the absence of teeth. + </p> + <p> + The man laughed gleefully. “All the same, I have lived longer than any of + them,” he said. How many of us pride ourselves upon possessing an + advantage which others never covet! + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Von Holzen, gravely. “How old are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly thirty-five,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen nodded, and, turning on his heel, looked thoughtfully out of + the window. The light fell full on his face, which would have been a fine + one were the mouth hidden. The eyes were dark and steady. A high forehead + looked higher by reason of a growth of thick hair standing nearly an inch + upright from the scalp, like the fur of a beaver in life, without curl or + ripple. The chin was long and pointed. A face, this, that any would turn + to look at again. One would think that such a man would get on in the + world. But none may judge of another in this respect. It is a strange fact + that intimacy with any who has made for himself a great name leads to the + inevitable conclusion that he is unworthy of it. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful!” murmured Von Holzen—“wonderful! Nearly thirty-five!” + And it was hard to say what his thoughts really were. The only sound that + came from the bed was the sound of drinking. + </p> + <p> + “And I know more about the trade than any, for I was brought up to it from + boyhood,” said the dying man, with an uncanny bravado. “I did not wait + until I was driven to it, like most.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you were skilful, as I have been told.” + </p> + <p> + “Not all skill—not all skill,” piped the metallic voice, + indistinctly. “There was knowledge also.” + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen, standing with his hands in the pockets of his thin overcoat, + shrugged his shoulders. They had arrived by an oft-trodden path to an + ancient point of divergence. Presently Von Holzen turned and went towards + the bed. The yellow hand and arm lay stretched out across the table, and + Holzen's finger softly found the pulse. + </p> + <p> + “You are weaker,” he said. “It is only right that I should tell you.” + </p> + <p> + The man did not answer, but lay back, breathing quickly. Something seemed + to catch in his throat. Von Holzen went to the door, and furtive steps + moved away down the dark staircase. + </p> + <p> + “Go,” he said authoritatively, “for the doctor, at once.” Then he came + back towards the bed. “Will you take my price?” he said to its occupant. + “I offer it to you for the last time.” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand gulden?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “It is too little money,” replied the dying man. “Make it twelve hundred.” + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen turned away to the window again thoughtfully. A silence seemed + to have fallen over the busy streets, to fill the untidy room. The angel + of death, not for the first time, found himself in company with the greed + of men. + </p> + <p> + “I will do that,” said Von Holzen at length, “as you are dying.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you the money with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the dying man, regretfully. It was only natural, perhaps, that + he was sorry that he had not asked more. “Sit down,” he said, “and write.” + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen did as he was bidden. He had also a pocket-book and pencil in + readiness. Slowly, as if drawing from the depths of a long-stored memory, + the dying man dictated a prescription in a mixture of dog-Latin and Dutch, + which his hearer seemed to understand readily enough. The money, in + dull-coloured notes, lay on the table before the writer. The prescription + was a long one, covering many pages of the note-book, and the particulars + as to preparation and temperature of the various liquid ingredients filled + up another two pages. + </p> + <p> + “There,” said the dying man at length, “I have treated you fairly. I have + told you all I know. Give me the money.” + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen crossed the room and placed the notes within the yellow + fingers, which closed over them. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the recipient, “I have had more than that in my hand. I was + rich once, and I spent it all in Amsterdam. Now read over your writing. I + will treat you fairly.” + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen stood by the window and read aloud from his book. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the other. “One sees that you took your diploma at Leyden. You + have made no mistake.” + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen closed the book and replaced it in his pocket. His face bore no + sign of exultation. His somewhat phlegmatic calm successfully concealed + the fact that he had at last obtained information which he had long + sought. A cart rattled past over the cobble-stones, making speech + inaudible for the moment. The man moved uneasily on the bed. Von Holzen + went towards him and poured out more milk. Instead of reaching out for it, + the sick man's hand lay on the coverlet. The notes were tightly held by + three fingers; the free finger and the thumb picked at the counterpane. + Von Holzen bent over the bed and examined the face. The sick man's eyes + were closed. Suddenly he spoke in a mumbling voice—“And now that you + have what you want, you will go.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Von Holzen, in a kind voice, “I will not do that. I will + stay with you if you do not want to be left alone. You are brave, at all + events. I shall be horribly afraid when it comes to my turn to die.” + </p> + <p> + “You would not be afraid if you had lived a life such as mine. Death + cannot be worse, at all events.” And the man laughed contentedly enough, + as one who, having passed through evil days, sees the end of them at last. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen made no answer. He went to the window and opened it, letting in + the air laden with the clean scent of burning peat, which makes the + atmosphere of The Hague unlike that of any other town; for here is a city + with the smell of a village in its busy streets. The German scientist + stood looking out, and into the room came again that strange silence. It + was an odd room in which to die, for every article in it was what is known + as an antiquity; and although some of these relics of the past had been + carefully manufactured in a back shop in Bezem Straat, others were really + of ancient date. The very glass from which the dying man drank his milk + dated from the glorious days of Holland when William the Silent pitted his + Northern stubbornness and deep diplomacy against the fire and fanaticism + of Alva. Many objects in the room had a story, had been in the daily use + of hands long since vanished, could tell the history of half a dozen human + lives lived out and now forgotten. The air itself smelt of age and + mouldering memories. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen came towards the bed without speaking, and stood looking down. + Never a talkative man, he was now further silenced by the shadow that lay + over the stricken face of his companion. The sick man was breathing very + slowly. He glanced at Von Holzen for a moment, and then returned to the + dull contemplation of the opposite wall. Quite suddenly his breath caught. + There were long pauses during which he seemed to cease to breathe. Then at + length followed a pause which merged itself gently into eternity. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen waited a few minutes, and then bent over the bed and softly + unclasped the dead man's hand, taking from it the crumpled notes. + Mechanically he counted them, twelve hundred gulden in all, and restored + them to the pocket from which he had taken them half an hour earlier. + </p> + <p> + He walked to the window and waited. When at length the district doctor + arrived, Von Holzen turned to greet him with a stiff bow. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid, Herr Doctor,” he said, in German, “You are too late.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. WORK OR PLAY? + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Get work, get work; + Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get.” + </pre> + <p> + Two men were driving in a hansom cab westward through Cockspur Street. + One, a large individual of a bovine placidity, wore the Queen's uniform, + and carried himself with a solid dignity faintly suggestive of a + lighthouse. The other, a narrower man, with a keen, fair face and eyes + that had an habitual smile, wore another uniform—that of society. He + was well dressed, and, what is rarer carried his fine clothes with such + assurance that their fineness seemed not only natural but indispensable. + </p> + <p> + “Sic transit the glory of this world,” he was saying. At this moment three + men on the pavement—the usual men on the pavement at such times—turned + and looked into the cab. + </p> + <p> + “'Ere's White!” cried one of them. “White—dash his eyes! Brayvo! + brayvo, White!” + </p> + <p> + And all three raised a shout which seemed to be taken up vaguely in + various parts of Trafalgar Square, and finally died away in the distance. + </p> + <p> + “That is it,” said the young man in the frock-coat; “that is the glory of + this world. Listen to it passing away. There is a policeman touching his + helmet. Ah, what a thing it is to be Major White—to-day! To morrow—<i>bonjour + la gloire</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Major White, who had dropped his single eye-glass a minute earlier, sat + squarely looking out upon the world with a mild surprise. The eye from + which the glass had fallen was even more surprised than the other. But + this, it seemed, was a man upon whom the passing world made, as a rule, + but a passing impression. His attitude towards it was one of dense + tolerance. He was, in fact, one of those men who usually allow their + neighbours to live in a fool's-paradise, based upon the assumption of a + blindness or a stupidity or an indifference, which may or may not be + justified by subsequent events. + </p> + <p> + This was, as Tony Cornish, his companion, had hinted, <i>the</i> White of + the moment. Just as the reader may be the Jones or the Tomkins of the + moment if his soul thirst for glory. Crime and novel-writing are the two + broad roads to notoriety, but Major White had practiced neither felony nor + fiction. He had merely attended to his own and his country's business in a + solid, common-sense way in one of those obscure and tight places into + which the British officer frequently finds himself forced by the + unwieldiness of the empire or the indiscretion of an effervescent press. + </p> + <p> + That he had extricated himself and his command from the tight place, with + much glory to themselves and an increased burden to the cares of the + Colonial Office, was a fact which a grateful country was at this moment + doing its best to recognize. That the authorities and those who knew him + could not explain how he had done it any more than he himself could, was + another fact which troubled him as little. Major White was wise in that he + did not attempt to explain. + </p> + <p> + “That sort of thing,” he said, “generally comes right in the end.” And the + affair may thus be consigned to that pigeon-hole of the past in which are + filed for future reference cases where brilliant men have failed and + unlikely ones have covered themselves with sudden and transient glory. + </p> + <p> + There had been a review of the troops that had taken part in a short and + satisfactory expedition of which, by what is usually called a lucky + chance, White found himself the hero. He was not of the material of which + heroes are made; but that did not matter. The world will take a man and + make a hero of him without pausing to inquire of what stuff he may be. + Nay, more, it will take a man's name and glorify it without so much as + inquiring to what manner of person the name belongs. + </p> + <p> + Tony Cornish, who went everywhere and saw everything, was of course + present at the review, and knew all the best people there. He passed from + carriage to carriage in his smart way, saying the right thing to the right + people in the right words, failing to see the wrong people quite in the + best manner, and conscious of the fact that none could surpass him. Then + suddenly, roused to a higher manhood by the tramp of steady feet, by the + sight of his lifelong friend White riding at the head of his tanned + warriors, this social success forgot himself. He waved his silk hat and + shouted himself hoarse, as did the honest plumber at his side. + </p> + <p> + “That's better work than yours nor mine, mister,” said the plumber, when + the troops were gone; and Tony admitted, with his ready smile, that it was + so. A few minutes later Tony found Major White solemnly staring at a small + crowd, which as solemnly stared back at him, on the pavement in front of + the Horse Guards. + </p> + <p> + “Here, I have a cab waiting for me,” he had said; and White followed him + with a mildly bewildered patience, pushing his way gently through the + crowd as through a herd of oxen. + </p> + <p> + He made no comment, and if he heard sundry whispers of “That's 'im,” he + was not unduly elated. In the cab he sat bolt upright, looking as if his + tunic was too tight, as in all probability it was. The day was hot, and + after a few jerks he extracted a pocket-handkerchief from his sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I was going to Cambridge Terrace. Joan sent me a card this morning + saying that she wanted to see me,” explained Tony Cornish. He was a young + man who seemed always busy. His long thin legs moved quickly, he spoke + quickly, and had a rapid glance. There was a suggestion of superficial + haste about him. For an idle man, he had remarkably little time on his + hands. + </p> + <p> + White took up his eye-glass, examined it with short-sighted earnestness, + and screwed it solemnly into his eye. + </p> + <p> + “Cambridge Terrace?” he said, and stared in front of him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Have you seen the Ferribys since your glorious return to these—er—shores?” + As he spoke, Cornish gave only half of his attention. He knew so many + people that Piccadilly was a work of considerable effort, and it is + difficult to bow gracefully from a hansom cab. + </p> + <p> + “Can't say I have.” + </p> + <p> + “Then come in and see them now. We shall find only Joan at home, and she + will not mind your fine feathers or the dust and circumstance of war upon + your boots. Lady Ferriby will be sneaking about in the direction of + Edgware Road—fish is nearly two pence a pound cheaper there, I + understand. My respected uncle is sure to be sunning his waistcoat in + Piccadilly. Yes, there he is. Isn't he splendid? How do, uncle?” and + Cornish waved a grey Suède glove with a gay nod. + </p> + <p> + “How are the Ferribys?” inquired Major White, who belonged to the curt + school. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they seem to be well. Uncle is full of that charity which at all + events has its headquarters in the home counties. Aunt—well, aunt is + saving money.” + </p> + <p> + “And Miss Ferriby?” inquired White, looking straight in front of him. + </p> + <p> + Cornish glanced quickly at his companion. “Oh, Joan?” he answered. “She is + all right. Full of energy, you know—all the fads in their courses.” + </p> + <p> + “You get 'em too.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes; I get them too. Buttonholes come and buttonholes go. Have you + noticed it? They get large. Neapolitan violets all over your left shoulder + one day, and no flowers at all the week after.” Cornish spoke with a + gravity befitting the subject. He was, it seemed a student of human nature + in his way. “Of course,” he added, laying an impressive forefinger on + White's gold-laced cuff, “it would never do if the world remained + stationary.” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” said the major, darkly. “Never.” + </p> + <p> + They were talking to pass the time. Joan Ferriby had come between them, as + a woman is bound to come between two men sooner or later. Neither knew + what the other thought of Joan Ferriby, or if he thought of her at all. + Women, it is to be believed, have a pleasant way of mentioning the name of + a man with such significance that one of their party changes colour. When + next she meets that man she does it again, and perhaps he sees it, and + perhaps his vanity, always on the alert, magnifies that unfortunate blush. + And they are married, and live unhappily ever afterwards. And—let us + hope there is a hell for gossips. But men are different in their + procedure. They are awkward and <i>gauche</i>. They talk of newspaper + matters, and on the whole there is less harm done. + </p> + <p> + The hansom cab containing these two men pulled up jerkily at the door of + No. 9, Cambridge Terrace. Tony Cornish hurried to the door, and rang the + bell as if he knew it well. Major White followed him stiffly. They were + ushered into a library on the ground floor, and were there received by a + young lady, who, pen in hand, sat at a large table littered with newspaper + wrappers. + </p> + <p> + “I am addressing the Haberdashers' Assistants,” she said, “but I am very + glad to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Joan Ferriby was one of those happy persons who never know a doubt. + One must, it seems, be young to enjoy this nineteenth-century immunity. + One must be pretty—it is, at all events, better to be pretty—and + one must dress well. A little knowledge of the world, a decisive way of + stating what pass at the moment for facts, a quick manner of speaking—and + the rest comes <i>tout seul</i>. This cocksureness is in the atmosphere of + the day, just as fainting and curls and an appealing helplessness were in + the atmosphere of an earlier Victorian period. + </p> + <p> + Miss Ferriby stood, pen in hand, and laughed at the confusion on the table + in front of her. She was eminently practical, and quite without that + self-consciousness which in a bygone day took the irritating form of + coyness. Major White, with whom she shook hands <i>en camarade</i>, gazed + at her solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “Who are the Haberdashers' Assistants?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Miss Ferriby sat down with a grave face. “Oh, it is a splendid charity,” + she answered. “Tony will tell you all about it. It is an association of + which the object is to induce people to give up riding on Saturday + afternoons, and to lend their bicycles to haberdashers' assistants who + cannot afford to buy them for themselves. Papa is patron.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish looked quickly from one to the other. He had always felt that + Major White was not quite of the world in which Joan and he moved. The + major came into it at times, looked around him, and then moved away again + into another world, less energetic, less advanced, less rapid in its + changes. Cornish had never sought to interest his friend in sundry good + works in which Joan, for instance, was interested, and which formed a + delightful topic for conversation at teatime. + </p> + <p> + “It is so splendid,” said Joan, gathering up her papers, “to feel that one + is really doing something.” + </p> + <p> + And she looked up into White's face with an air of grave enthusiasm which + made him drop his eye-glass. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” he answered, rather vaguely. + </p> + <p> + Cornish had already seated himself at the table, and was folding the + addressed newspaper wrappers over circulars printed on thick note-paper. + This seemed a busy world into which White had stepped. He looked rather + longingly at the newspaper wrappers and the circulars, and then lapsed + into the contemplation of Joan's neat fingers as she too fell to the work. + </p> + <p> + “We saw all about you,” said the girl, in her bright, decisive way, “in + the newspapers. Papa read it aloud. He is always reading things aloud now, + out of the <i>Times</i>. He thinks it is good practice for the platform, I + am sure. We were all”—she paused and banged her energetic fist down + upon a pile of folded circulars which seemed to require further pressure—“very + proud, you know, to know you.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” ejaculated White, fervently. + </p> + <p> + “Well, why not?” asked Miss Ferriby, looking up. She had expressive eyes, + and they now flashed almost angrily. “All English people——” + she began, and broke off suddenly, throwing aside the papers and rising + quickly to her feet. Her eyes were fixed on White's tunic. “Is that a + medal?” she asked, hurrying towards him. “Oh, how splendid! Look, Tony, + look! A medal! Is it”—she paused, looking at it closely—“is it—the + Victoria Cross?” she asked, and stood looking from one man to the other, + her eyes glistening with something more than excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Um—yes,” admitted White. + </p> + <p> + Tony Cornish had risen to his feet also. He held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. Tony and Joan returned to their circulars in an odd + silence. The Haberdashers' Assistants seemed suddenly to have diminished + in importance. + </p> + <p> + “By-the-by,” said Joan Ferriby at length, “papa wants to see you, Tony. He + has a new scheme. Something very large and very important. The only + question is whether it is not too large. It is not only in England, but in + other countries. A great international affair. Some distressed + manufacturers or something. I really do not quite know. That Mr. Roden—you + remember?—has been to see him about it.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish nodded in his quick way. “I remember Roden,” he answered. “The man + you met at Hombourg. Tall dark man with a tired manner.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Joan. “He has been to see papa several times. Papa is just + as busy as ever with his charities,” she continued, addressing White. “And + I believe he wants you to help him in this one.” + </p> + <p> + “Me?” said White, nervously. “Oh, I'm no good. I should not know a + haberdasher's assistant if I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but this is not the Haberdashers' Assistants,” laughed Joan. “It is + something much more important than that. The Haberdashers' Assistants are + only——” + </p> + <p> + “Pour passer le temps,” suggested Cornish, gaily. + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not. But papa is really rather anxious about this. He says + it is much the most important thing he has ever had to do with—and + that is saying a good deal, you know. I wish I could remember the name of + it, and of those poor unfortunate people who make it—whatever it is. + It is some stuff, you know, and sounds sticky. Papa has so many charities, + and such long names to them. Aunt Susan says it is because he was so wild + in his youth—but one cannot believe that. Would you think that papa + had been wild in his youth—to look at him now?” + </p> + <p> + “Lord, no!” ejaculated White, with pious solidity, throwing back his + shoulders with an air that seemed to suggest a readiness to fight any man + who should hint at such a thing, and he waved the mere thought aside with + a ponderous gesture of the hand. + </p> + <p> + Joan had, however, already turned to another matter. She was consulting a + diary bound in dark blue morocco. + </p> + <p> + “Let me see, now,” she said. “Papa told me to make an appointment with + you. When can you come?” + </p> + <p> + Cornish produced a minute engagement-book, and these two busy people put + their heads together in the search for a disengaged moment. Not only in + mind, but in face and manner, they slightly resembled each other, and + might, by the keen-sighted, have been set down at once as cousins. Both + were fair and slightly made, both were quick and clever. Both faced the + world with an air of energetic intelligence that bespoke their intention + of making a mark upon it. Both were liable to be checked in a moment of + earnest endeavour by a sudden perception of the humorous, which liability + rendered them somewhat superficial, and apt of it lightly from one thought + to another. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could remember the name of papa's new scheme,” said Joan, as she + bade them good-bye. When they were in the cab she ran to the door. “I + remember,” she cried. “I remember now. It is malgamite.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. BEGINNING AT HOME. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Charity creates much of the misery it relieves, but it does + not relieve all the misery it creates.” + </pre> + <p> + Charity, as all the world knows, should begin at an “at home.” Lord + Ferriby knew as well as any that there are men, and perhaps even women, + who will give largely in order that their names may appear largely and + handsomely in the select subscription lists. He also knew that an + invitation card in the present is as sure a bait as the promise of bliss + hereafter. So Lady Ferriby announced by card (in an open envelope with a + halfpenny stamp) that she should be “at home” to certain persons on a + certain evening. And the good and the great flocked to Cambridge Terrace. + The good and great are, one finds, a little mixed, from a social point of + view. + </p> + <p> + There were present at Lady Ferriby's, for instance, a number of ministers, + some cabinet, others dissenting. Here, a man leaning against the wall wore + a blue ribbon across his shirt front. There, another, looking bigger and + more self-confident, had no shirt front at all. His was the cheap + distinction of unsuitable clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! Miss Ferriby, glad to see you,” he said as he entered, holding out a + hand which had the usual outward signs of industrial honesty. + </p> + <p> + Joan shook the hand frankly, and its possessor passed on. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the gas-man?” inquired Major White, gravely. He had been standing + beside her ever since his arrival, seeking, it seemed, the protection of + one who understood these social functions. It is to be presumed that the + major was less bewildered than he looked. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” And Joan said something hurriedly in White's large ear. “Everybody + has him,” she concluded; and the explanation brought certain calm into the + mildly surprised eye behind the eye-glass. White recognized the phrase and + its conclusive contemporary weight. + </p> + <p> + “Here's a flat-backed man!” he exclaimed, with a ring of relief. “Been + drilled, this man. Gad! He's proud!” added the major, as the new-comer + passed Joan with rather a cold bow. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's the detective,” explained Joan. “So many people, you know; and + so mixed. Everybody has them. Here's Tony—at last.” + </p> + <p> + Tony Cornish was indeed making his way through the crowd towards them. He + shook hands with a bishop as he elbowed a path across the room, and did it + with the pious face of a self-respecting curate. The next minute he was + prodding a sporting baronet in the ribs at the precise moment when that + nobleman reached the point of his little story and on the precise rib + where he expected to be prodded. It is always wise to do the expected. + </p> + <p> + At the sight of Tony Cornish, Joan's face became grave, and she turned + towards him with her little frown of preoccupation, such as one might + expect to find upon the face of a woman concerned in the great movements + of the day. But before Tony reached her the expression changed to a very + feminine and even old-fashioned one of annoyance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, here comes mother!” she said, looking beyond Cornish, who was indeed + being pursued by a wizened little old lady. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ferriby, it seemed, was not enjoying herself. She glanced + suspiciously from one face to another, as if she was seeking a friend + without any great hope of finding one. Perhaps, like many another, she + looked upon the world from that point Of view. + </p> + <p> + Cornish hurried up and shook hands. “Plenty of people,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” answered Joan, earnestly. “It only shows that there is, after + all, a great deal of good in human nature, that in such a movement as this + rich and poor, great and small, are all equal.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish nodded in his quick sympathetic way, accepting as we all accept + the social statements of the day, which are oft repeated and never + weighed. Then he turned to White and tapped that soldier's arm + emphatically. + </p> + <p> + “Way to get on nowadays,” he said, “is to be prominent in some great + movement for benefiting mankind.” Joan heard the words, and, turning, + looked at Cornish with a momentary doubt. + </p> + <p> + “And I mean to get on in the world, my dear Joan,” he said, with a gravity + which quite altered his keen, fair face. It passed off instantly, as if + swept away by the ready smile which came again. A close observer might + have begun to wonder under which mask lay the real Tony Cornish. + </p> + <p> + Major White looked stolidly at his friend. His face, on the contrary never + changed. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ferriby joined them at this moment—a silent, querulous-looking + woman in black silk and priceless lace, who, despite her white hair and + wrinkled face, yet wore her clothes with that carefulness which commands + respect from high and low alike. The world was afraid of Lady Ferriby, and + had little to say to her. It turned aside, as a rule, when she approached. + And when she had passed on with her suspicious glance, her bent and + shaking head, it whispered that there walked a woman with a romantic past. + It is, moreover, to be hoped that the younger portion of Lady Ferriby's + world took heed of this catlike, lonely woman, and recognized the + melancholy fact that it is unwise to form a romantic attachment in the + days of one's youth. + </p> + <p> + “Tony,” said her ladyship, “they have eaten all the sandwiches.” + </p> + <p> + And there was something in her voice, in her manner of touching Tony + Cornish's arm with her fan that suggested in a far-off, cold way that this + social butterfly had reached one of the still strings of her heart. Who + knows? There may have been, in those dim days when Lady Ferriby had played + her part in the romantic story which all hinted at and none knew, another + such as Tony Cornish—gay and debonair, careless, reckless, and yet + endowed with the power of making some poor woman happy. + </p> + <p> + “My dear aunt,” replied Cornish, with a levity with which none other ever + dared to treat her, “the benevolent are always greedy. And each additional + virtue—temperance, loving-kindness, humility—only serves to + dull the sense of humour and add to the appetite. Give them biscuits, + aunt.” + </p> + <p> + And offering her his arm, he good-naturedly led her to the + refreshment-room to investigate the matter. As she passed through the + crowded rooms, she glanced from face to face with her quick, seeking look. + She cordially disliked all these people. And their principal crime was + that they ate and drank. For Lady Ferriby was a miser. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At the upper end of the room a low platform served as a safe retreat +for sleepy chaperons on such occasions as the annual Ferriby ball. + To-night there were no chaperons. Is not charity the safest as well as +the most lenient of these? And does her wing not cover a multitude of +indiscretions? +</pre> + <p> + Upon this platform there now appeared, amid palms and chrysanthemums, a + long, rotund man like a bolster. He held a paper in his hand and wore a + platform smile. His attitude was that of one who hesitated to demand + silence from so well-bred a throng. His high, narrow forehead shone in the + light of the candelabra. This was Lord Ferriby—a man whose best + friend did his best for him in describing him as well-meaning. He gave a + cough which had sufficient significance in it to command a momentary + quiet. During the silence, a well-dressed parson stood on tiptoe and + whispered something in Lord Ferriby's ear. The suggestion, whatever it may + have been, was negated by the speaker on receipt of a warning shake of the + head from Joan. + </p> + <p> + “Er—ladies and gentlemen,” said Lord Ferriby, and gained the + necessary silence. “Er—you all know the purpose of our meeting here + to-night. You all know that Lady Ferriby and myself are much honoured by + your presence here. And—er—I am sure——” He did + not, however, appear to be quite sure, for he consulted his paper, and the + colonial bishop near the yellow chrysanthemums said, “Hear, hear!” + </p> + <p> + “And I am sure that we are, one and all, actuated by a burning desire to + relieve the terrible distress which has been going on unknown to us in our + very midst.” + </p> + <p> + “He has missed out half a page,” said Joan to Major White, who somehow + found himself at her side again. + </p> + <p> + “This is no place, and we have at the moment no time, to go into the + details of the manufacture of malgamite. Suffice it to say, that such a—er—composition + exists, and that it is a necessity in the manufacture of paper. Now, + ladies and gentlemen, the painful fact has been brought to light by my + friend Mr. Roden——” His lordship paused, and looked round with + a half-fledged bow, but failed to find Roden. + </p> + <p> + “By—er—Mr. Roden that the manufacture of malgamite is one of + the deadliest of industries. In fact, the makers of malgamite, and + fortunately they are comparatively few in number, stricken as they are by + a corroding disease, occupy in our midst the—er—place of the + lepers of the Bible.” + </p> + <p> + Here Lord Ferriby bowed affably to the bishop, as if to say, “And that is + where <i>you</i> come in.” + </p> + <p> + “We—er—live in an age,” went on Lord Ferriby—and the + practical Joan nodded her head to indicate that he was on the right track + now—“when charity is no longer a matter of sentiment, but rather a + very practical and forcible power in the world. We do not ask your + assistance in a vague and visionary crusade against suffering. We ask you + to help us in the development of a definite scheme for the amelioration of + the condition of our fellow-beings.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby spoke not with the ease of long practice, but with the + assurance of one accustomed to being heard with patience. He now waited + for the applause to die away. + </p> + <p> + “Who put him up to it?” Major White asked Joan. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Roden wrote the speech, and I taught it to papa,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + At this moment Cornish hurried up in his busy way. Indeed, these people + seemed to have little time on their hands. They belonged to a generation + which is much addicted to unnecessary haste. + </p> + <p> + “Seen Roden?” he asked, addressing his question to Joan and her companion + jointly. + </p> + <p> + “Never in my life,” answered Major White. “Is he worth seeing?” + </p> + <p> + But Cornish hurried away again. Lord Ferriby was still speaking, but he + seemed to have lost the ear of his audience, and had lapsed into + generalities. A few who were near the platform listened attentively + enough. Some who hoped that they were to be asked to speak applauded + hurriedly and finally whenever the speaker paused to take breath. + </p> + <p> + The world is full of people who will not give their money, but offer + readily enough what they call their “time” to a good cause. Lord Ferriby + was lavish with his “time,” and liked to pass it in hearing the sound of + his own voice. Every social circle has its talkers, who hang upon each + other's periods in expectance of the moment when they can successfully + push in their own word. Lord Ferriby, looking round upon faces well known + to him, saw half a dozen men who spoke upon all occasions with a sublime + indifference to the fact that they knew nothing of the subject in hand. + With the least encouragement any one of them would have stepped on to the + platform bubbling over with eloquence. Lord Ferriby was quite clever + enough to perceive the danger. He must go on talking until Roden was + found. Had not the pushing parson already intimated in a whisper that he + had a few earnest thoughts in his mind which he would be glad to get off? + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby knew those earnest thoughts, and their inevitable tendency to + send the audience to the refreshment-room, where, as Lady Ferriby's + husband, he suspected poverty in the land. + </p> + <p> + “Is not Mr. Cornish going to speak?” a young lady eagerly inquired of + Joan. She was a young lady who wore spectacles and scorned a fringe—a + dangerous course of conduct for any young woman to follow. But she made up + for natural and physical deficiencies by an excess of that zeal which + Talleyrand deplored. + </p> + <p> + “I think not,” answered Joan. “He never speaks in public, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder why?” said the young lady, sharply and rather angrily. + </p> + <p> + Joan shrugged her shoulders and laughed. She sometimes wondered why + herself, but Tony had never satisfied her curiosity. The young lady moved + away and talked to others of the same matter. There were quite a number of + people in the room who wanted to know why Tony Cornish did not speak, and + wished he would. The way to rule the world is to make it want something, + and keep it wanting. + </p> + <p> + “I make so bold as to hope,” Lord Ferriby was saying, “that when + sufficient publicity has been given to our scheme we shall be able to + raise the necessary funds. In the fulness of this hope, I have ventured to + jot down the names of certain gentlemen who have been kind enough to + assume the trusteeship. I propose, therefore, that the trustees of the + Malgamite Fund shall be—er—myself——” + </p> + <p> + Like a practiced speaker, Lord Ferriby paused for the applause which duly + followed. And certain elderly gentlemen, who had been young when Marmaduke + Ferriby was young, looked with much interest at the pictures on the wall. + That Lord Ferriby should assume the directorship of a great charity was to + send that charity on its way rejoicing. He stood smiling benevolently and + condescendingly down upon the faces turned towards him, and rejoiced + inwardly over these glorious obsequies of a wild and deplorable past. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Anthony Cornish,” he read out, and applause made itself heard again. + </p> + <p> + “Major White.” + </p> + <p> + And the listeners turned round and stared at that hero, whom they + discovered calmly and stolidly entrenched behind the eye-glass, his broad, + tanned face surmounting a shirt front of abnormal width. + </p> + <p> + “Herr von Holzen.” + </p> + <p> + No one seemed to know Herr von Holzen, or to care much whether he existed + or not. + </p> + <p> + “And—my—er—friend—the originator of this great + scheme—the man whom we all look up to as the benefactor of a most + miserable class of men—Mr. Percy Roden.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby meant the listeners to applaud, and they did so, although + they had never heard the name before. He folded the paper held in his + hand, and indicated by his manner that he had for the moment nothing more + to say. From his point of advantage he scanned the whole length of the + large room, evidently seeking some one. Anthony Cornish had been the + second name mentioned, and the majority hoped that it was he who was to + speak next. They anticipated that he, at all events, would be lively, and + in addition to this recommendation there hovered round his name that + mysterious charm which is in itself a subtle form of notoriety. People + said of Tony Cornish that he would get on in the world; and upon this + slender ladder he had attained social success. + </p> + <p> + But Cornish was not in the room, and after waiting a few moments, Lord + Ferriby came down from the platform, and joined some of the groups of + persons in the large room. For already the audience was breaking up into + small parties, and the majority, it is to be feared, were by now talking + of other matters. In these days we cannot afford to give sufficient time + to any one object to do that object or ourselves any lasting good. + </p> + <p> + Presently there was a stir at the door, and Cornish entered the large + room, followed leisurely by a tired-looking man, for whom the idlers near + the doorway seemed instinctively to make way. This man was tall, + square-shouldered, and loose of limb. He had smooth dark hair, and carried + his head thrown rather back from the neck. His eyes were dark, and the + fact that a considerable line of white was visible beneath the pupil + imparted to his whole being an air of physical delicacy suggestive of a + constant feeling of fatigue. + </p> + <p> + “Who is this?” asked Major White, aroused to a sense of stolid curiosity + which few of his fellow-men had the power of awakening. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that,” said Joan, looking towards the door—“that is Mr. Percy + Roden.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. A NEW DISCIPLE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Pour être heureux, il ne faut avoir rien à oublier.” + </pre> + <p> + There is in the atmosphere of the Hotel of the Vieux Doelen at The Hague + something as old-world, as quiet and peaceful, as there is in the very + name of this historic house. The stairs are softly carpeted; the great + rooms are hung with tapestry, and otherwise decorated in a massive and + somewhat gloomy style, little affected in the newer <i>caravanserais</i>. + The house itself, more than three hundred years old, is of dark red brick + with facings of stone, long since worn by wind and weather. The windows + are enormous, and would appear abnormal in any other city but this. The + Hotel of the Old Shooting gallery stands on the Toornoifeld and the + unobservant may pass by without distinguishing it from the private houses + on either side. This, indeed, is not so much a house of hasty rest for the + passing traveler as it is a halting-place for that great army which is + ever moving quietly on and on through the cities of the Old World—the + corps diplomatique—the army whose greatest victory is peace. The + traveller passing a night or two at the hotel may well be faintly + surprised at the atmosphere in which he finds himself. If he be what is + called a practical man, he will probably shake his head forebodingly over + the prospects of the proprietor. There seems, indeed, to be a singular + dearth of visitors. The winding stairs are nearly always deserted. The <i>salon</i> + is empty. There are no sounds of life, no trunks in the hall, and no + idlers at the door. And yet at the hour of the <i>table d'hôte</i> quiet + doors are opened, and quiet men emerge from rooms that seemed before to be + uninhabited. They are mostly smooth-haired men with a pensive reserve of + manner, a certain polished cosmopolitan air, and the inevitable + frock-coat. They bow gravely to each other, and seat themselves at + separate tables. As often as not they produce books or newspapers, and + read during the solemn meal. It is as well to watch these men and take + note of them. Many of them are grey-headed. No one of them is young. But + they are beginners, mere apprentices, at a very difficult trade, and in + the days to come they will have the making of the history of Europe. For + these men are attachés and secretaries of embassies. They will talk to you + in almost any European tongue you may select, but they are not + communicative persons. + </p> + <p> + During the winter—the gay season at The Hague—there are + usually a certain number of residents in the hotel. At the time with which + we are dealing, Mrs. Vansittart was staying there, alone with her maid. + Mrs. Vansittart was in the habit of dining at the small table near the + stove—a gorgeous erection of steel and brass, which stands nearly in + the centre of the smaller dining-room used in winter. Mrs. Vansittart + seemed, moreover, to be quite at home in the hotel, and exchanged bows + with a few of the gentlemen of the corps diplomatique. She was a graceful, + dark-haired woman, with deep brown eyes that looked upon the world without + much interest. This was not, one felt, a woman to lavish her attention or + her thoughts upon a toy spaniel, as do so many ladies travelling alone + with their maids in Continental hotels. Perhaps this woman of thirty-five + years or so preferred to be frankly bored, rather than set up for herself + a shivering four-legged object in life. Perhaps she was not bored at all. + One never knows. The gentlemen from the embassies glanced at her over + their books or their newspapers, and wondered who and what she might be. + They knew, at all events, that she took no interest in those affairs of + the great world which rumble on night and day without rest, with spasmodic + bursts of clumsy haste, and with a never-failing possibility of surprise + in their movements. This was no political woman, whatever else she might + be. She would talk in quite a number of languages of such matters as the + opera, a new book, or an old picture, and would then relapse again into a + sort of waiting silence. At thirty-five it is perhaps not well to wait too + patiently for those things that make a woman's life worth living. Mrs. + Vansittart had not the air, however, of one who would wait indefinitely. + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Percy Roden arrived at the hotel, he was assigned, at the hour of + <i>table d'hôte</i>, a small table between those occupied respectively by + Mrs. Vansittart and the secretary of the Belgian Embassy. Some subtle + sense conveyed to Percy Roden that he had aroused Mrs. Vansittart's + interest—the sense called vanity, perhaps, which conveys so much to + young men, and so much that is erroneous. On the second evening, + therefore, when he had returned from a busy day in the neighbourhood of + Scheveningen, Roden half looked for the bow which was half accorded to + him. That evening Mrs. Vansittart spoke to the waiter in English, which + was obviously her native language, and Roden overheard. After dinner Mrs. + Vansittart lingered in the <i>salon</i> and a woman, had such been + present, would have perceived that she made it easy for Roden to pause in + passing and offer her his English newspaper, which had arrived by the + evening post. The subtle is so often the obvious that to be unobservant is + a social duty. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she replied. “I like newspapers. Although I have not been in + England for years, I still take an interest in the affairs of my country.” + </p> + <p> + Her manner was easy and natural, without that taint of a too sudden + familiarity which is characteristic of the present generation. We are apt + to allow ourselves to feel too much at home. + </p> + <p> + “I, on the contrary,” replied Roden, with his tired air, “have never till + now been out of England or English-speaking colonies.” + </p> + <p> + His voice had a hollow sound. Although he was tall and broad-shouldered, + his presence had no suggestion of strength. Mrs. Vansittart looked at him + quickly as she took the newspaper from his hand. She had clever, + speculative eyes, and was obviously wondering why he had gone to the + colonies and why he had returned thence. So many sail to those distant + havens of the unsuccessful under one cloud and return under another, that + it seems wiser to remain stationary and snatch what passing sunshine there + may be. Roden had not a colonial manner. He was well dressed. He was, in + fact, the sort of man who would pass in any society. And it is probable + that Mrs. Vansittart summed him up in her quick mind with perfect success. + Despite our clothes, despite our airs and graces, we mostly appear to be + exactly what we are. Mrs. Vansittart, who knew the world and men, did not + need to be informed by Percy Roden that he was unacquainted with the + Continent. Comparing him with the other men passing through the <i>salon</i> + to their rooms or their club, it became apparent that he had one sort of + stiffness which they had not, and lacked another sort of stiffness which + grows upon those who live and take their meals in public places. Mrs. + Vansittart could probably have made a fair guess at the sort of education + Percy Roden had received. For a man carries his school mark through life + with him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she said, taking the newspaper and glancing at it with just + sufficient interest to prolong the conversation, “then you do not know The + Hague. It is a place that grows upon one. It is one of the social capitals + of the world. Vienna, St. Petersburg, Paris, are the others. Madrid, + Berlin, New York, are—nowhere.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed, bowed with a little half—foreign gesture of thanks, and + left him—left him, moreover, with the desire to see more of her. It + seemed that she knew the secret of that other worldling, Tony Cornish, + that the way to rule men is to make them want something and keep them + wanting. As Roden passed through the hall he paused, and entered into + conversation with the hall porter. During the course of this talk he made + some small inquiries respecting Mrs. Vansittart. That lady had no need to + make inquiries respecting Roden. Has it not been stated that she was + travelling with her maid? + </p> + <p> + “I see,” she said, when she saw him again the next day after dinner in the + <i>salon</i>, “that your great philanthropic scheme is now an established + fact. I have taken a great interest in its progress, and of course know + the names of some who are associated with you in it.” + </p> + <p> + Roden laughed indifferently, well pleased to be recognized. His notoriety + was new enough and narrow enough to please him still. There is no man so + much at the mercy of his own vanity as he who enjoys a limited notoriety. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered, “we have got it into shape. Do you know Lord Ferriby?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Mrs. Vansittart, slowly, “I have not that pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Ferriby is a good enough fellow,” said Roden, kindly; and Mrs. + Vansittart gave a little nod as she looked at him. Roden had drawn forward + a chair, and she sat down, after a moment's hesitation, in front of the + open fire. + </p> + <p> + “So I have always heard,” she answered, “and a great philanthropist.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—yes.” Roden paused and took a chair. “Oh yes; but Tony Cornish + is our right-hand man. The people seem to place greater faith in him than + they do in Lord Ferriby. When it is Cornish who asks, they give readily + enough. He is business-like and quick, and that always tells in the long + run.” + </p> + <p> + Percy Roden seemed disposed to be communicative, and Mrs. Vansittart's + attitude was distinctly encouraging. She leant sideways on the arm of her + chair, and looked at her companion with speculation in her intelligent + eyes. She was perhaps reflecting that this was not the sort of man one + usually finds engaged in philanthropic enterprise. It is likely that her + thoughts were of this nature, and were, as thoughts so often are, + transmitted silently to her companion's mind, for he proceeded, unasked, + to explain. + </p> + <p> + “It is not, properly speaking, a charity, you know,” he said. “It is more + in the nature of a trade union. This is a practical age, Mrs. Vansittart, + and it is necessary that charity should keep pace with the march of + progress and be self-supporting.” + </p> + <p> + There was a faint suggestion of glibness in his manner. It was probable + that he had made use of the same arguments before. + </p> + <p> + “And who else is associated with you in this great enterprise?” asked the + lady, keeping him with the cleverness of her sex upon the subject in which + he was obviously deeply interested. The shrewdest women usually treat men + thus, and they generally know what subject interests a man most—namely, + himself. + </p> + <p> + “Herr von Holzen is the most important person,” replied Roden. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mrs. Vansittart, looking into the fire; “and who is Herr von + Holzen?” + </p> + <p> + Roden paused for a moment, and the lady, looking half indifferently into + the fire, noticed the hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he is a scientist—a professor at one of the universities over + here, I believe. At all events, he is a very clever fellow—analytical + chemist and all that, you know. It is he who has made the discovery upon + which we are working. He has always been interested in malgamite, and he + has now found out how it may be manufactured without injury to the + workers. Malgamite, you understand, is an essential in the manufacture of + paper, and the world will never require less paper than it does now, but + more. Look at the tons that pass through the post-offices daily. + Paper-making is one of the great industries of the world, and without + malgamite, paper cannot be made at a profit to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Roden seemed to have his subject at his fingers' ends, and if he spoke + without enthusiasm, the reason was probably that he had so often said the + same thing before. + </p> + <p> + “I am much interested,” said Mrs. Vansittart, in her half-foreign way, + which was rather pleasing. “Tell me more about it.” + </p> + <p> + “The malgamite makers,” went on Roden, willingly enough, “are fortunately + but few in numbers and they are experts. They are to be found in twos and + threes in manufacturing cities—Amsterdam, Gothenburg, Leith, New + York, and even Barcelona. Of course there are a number in England. Our + scheme, briefly, is to collect these men together, to build a manufactory + and houses for them—to form them, in fact, into a close corporation, + and then supply the world with malgamite.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a great scheme, Mr. Roden.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is a great scheme; and it is, I think, laid upon the right lines. + These people require to be saved from themselves. As they now exist, they + are well paid. They are engaged in a deadly industry, and know it. There + is nothing more demoralizing to human nature than this knowledge. They + have a short and what they take to be a merry life.” The tired—looking + man paused and spread out his hands in a gesture of careless scorn. He had + almost allowed himself to lapse into enthusiasm. “There is no reason,” he + went on, “why they should not become a happy and respectable community. + The first thing we shall have to teach them is that their industry is + comparatively harmless, as it will undoubtedly be with Von Holzen's new + process. The rest will, I think, come naturally. Altered circumstances + will alter the people themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “And where do you intend to build this manufactory?” inquired Mrs. + Vansittart, to whom was vouch-safed that rare knowledge of the fine line + that is to be drawn between a kindly interest and a vulgar curiosity. The + two are nearer than is usually suspected. + </p> + <p> + “Here in Holland,” was the reply. “I have almost decided on the spot—on + the dunes to the north of Scheveningen. That is why I am staying at The + Hague. There are many reasons why this coast is suitable. We shall be in + touch with the canal system, and we shall have a direct outfall to the sea + for our refuse, which is necessary. I shall have to live in The Hague—my + sister and I.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You have a sister?” said Mrs. Vansittart, turning in her chair and + looking at him. A woman's interest in a man's undertaking is invariably + centred upon that point where another woman comes into it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Unmarried?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Dorothy is unmarried.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart gave several quick little nods of the head. + </p> + <p> + “I am wondering two things,” she said—“whether she is like you, and + whether she is interested in this scheme. But I am wondering more than + that. Is she pretty, Mr. Roden?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think she is pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of that. I like girls to be pretty. It makes their lives so + much more interesting—to the onlooker, <i>bien entendu</i>, but not + to themselves. The happiest women I have known have been the plain ones. + But perhaps your sister will be pretty and happy too. That would be so + nice, and so very rare, Mr. Roden. I shall look forward to making her + acquaintance. I live in The Hague, you know. I have a house in Park + Straat, and I am only at this hotel while the painters are in possession. + You will allow me to call on your sister when she joins you?” + </p> + <p> + “We shall be most gratified,” said Roden. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart had risen with a little glance at the clock, and her + companion rose also. “I am greatly interested in your scheme,” she said. + “Much more than I can tell you. It is so refreshing to find charity in + such close connection with practical common sense. I think you are doing a + great work, Mr. Roden.” + </p> + <p> + “I do what I can,” he replied, with a bow. + </p> + <p> + “And Mr. Von Holzen,” inquired Mrs. Vansittart, stopping for a moment as + she moved towards the doorway, which is large and hung with curtains—“does + Mr. Von Holzen work from purely philanthropic motives also?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—yes, I think so. Though, of course, he, like myself, will be + paid a salary. Perhaps, however, he is more interested in malgamite from a + scientific point of view.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, from a scientific point of view, of course. Good night, Mr. + Roden.” + </p> + <p> + And she left him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. OUT OF EGYPT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Un esclave est moins celui qu'on vend que celui qui se donne” + </pre> + <p> + A sea fog was blowing across the smooth surface of the Maas where that + river is broad and shallow, and a steamer anchored in the channel, grim + and motionless, gave forth a grunt of warning from time to time, while a + boy with mittened hands rang the bell hung high on the forecastle with a + dull monotony. The wind blowing from the south-east drove before it the + endless fog which hummed through the rigging, and hung there in little + icicles that pointed to leeward. On the bridge of the steamer, looking + like a huge woollen barrel surmounted by a comforter and a cap with + ear-flaps, the Dutch pilot stood philosophically at his post. Near him the + captain, mindful of the company's time-tables, walked with a quick, + impatient step. The fog was blowing past at the rate of four or five miles + an hour, but the supply of it, emanating from the low lands bordering the + Scheldt, seemed to be inexhaustible. This fog, indeed, blows across + Holland nearly the whole winter. + </p> + <p> + The steamer's deck was covered with ice, over which sand had been strewn. + The passengers were below in the warm saloon. Only the blue-faced boy at + the bell on the forecastle was on the main-deck. At times one of the watch + hurried from the galley to the forecastle with a pannikin of steaming + coffee. The vessel had been anchored since daybreak and the sound of other + bells and other whistles far and near told that she was not alone in these + waters. The distant boom of a steamer creeping cautiously down from + Rotterdam seemed to promise that farther inland the fog was thinner. A + silence, broken only by the whisper of the wind through the rigging, + reigned over all, so that men listened with anticipations of relief for + the sound of answering bells. The sky at length grew a little lighter, and + presently gaps made their appearance in the fog, allowing peeps over the + green and still water. + </p> + <p> + The captain and the pilot exchanged a few words—the very shortest of + consultations. They had been on the bridge together all night, and had + said all that there was to be said about wind and weather. The captain + gave a sharp order in his gruff voice, and, as if by magic, the watch on + deck appeared from all sides. The chief officer emerged from his cabin + beneath the wheel-house, and went forward into the fog, turning up his + collar. Presently the jerk and clink of the steam-winch told that the + anchor was being got home. The fog had been humoured for six hours, and + the time had now come to move on through thick or thin. What should + Berlin, Petersburg, Vienna, know of a fog on the Maas? And there were + mails and passengers on board this steamer. The clink of the winch brought + one of these on deck. Within the high collar of his fur coat, beneath the + brim of a felt hat pulled well down, the keen; fair face of Mr. Anthony + Cornish came peering up the gangway to the upper bridge. He exchanged a + nod with the captain and the pilot; for with these he had already been in + conversation at the breakfast-table. He took his station on the bridge + behind them, with his hands deep in the pockets of his loose coat, a + cigarette between his lips. A shout from the forecastle soon intimated + that the anchor was up, and the captain gave the order to the boy at the + engine-room telegraph. Through the fog the forms of the three men on the + look-out on the forecastle were dimly discernible. The great steamer crept + cautiously forward into the fog. The second mate, with his hand on the + whistle-line, blared out his warning note every half-minute. A dim shadow + loomed up on the port-side, which presently took the form of a great + steamer at anchor, and was left behind with a ringing bell and a booming + whistle. Another shadow turned out to be a pilot-cutter, and the Dutch + pilot exchanged a shouted consultation with an invisible person whom he + called “Thou,” and who replied to the imperfectly heard questions with the + words, “South East.” This shadow also was left behind, faintly calling, + “South East,” “South East.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a white buoy that I seek,” said the pilot, turning to those on the + bridge behind him, his jolly red face puckered with anxiety. And quite + suddenly the second officer, a bright-red Scotchman with little blue eyes + like tempered gimlets, threw out a red hand and pointing finger. + </p> + <p> + “There she rides,” he said. “There she rides; staar boarrrd your hellum!” + </p> + <p> + And a full thirty seconds elapsed before any other eyes could pierce that + gloom and perceive a great white buoy bowing solemnly towards the steamer + like a courtier bidding a sovereign welcome. One voice had seemed to be + gradually dominating the din of the many warning whistles that sounded + ahead, astern, and all around the steamer. This voice, like that of a + strong man knowing his own mind in an assembly of excited and unstable + counsellors, had long been raised with a persistence which at last seemed + to command all others, and the steamer moved steadily towards it; for it + was the siren fog-horn at the pier-head. At one moment it seemed to be + quite near, and at the next far away; for the ears, unaided by the eyes, + can but imperfectly focus sound or measure its distance. + </p> + <p> + “At last!” said the captain, suddenly, the anxiety wiped away from his + face as if by magic. “At last, I hear the cranes aworking on the quay.” + </p> + <p> + The purser had come to the bridge, and now approached Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to land them at the Hook or take them on to Rotterdam, + sir?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, land 'em at the Hook,” replied Cornish, readily. “Have you fed them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. They have had their breakfast—such as it is. Poor eaters + I call them, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” said Cornish, turning and looking at his burly interlocutor. “Yes, + I do not suppose they eat much.” + </p> + <p> + The purser shrugged his shoulders, and turned his attention to other + affairs, thoughtfully. The little, beacon at the head of the pier had + suddenly loomed out of the fog not fifty yards away—a very needle in + a pottle of hay, which the cunning of the pilot had found. + </p> + <p> + “Who are they, at any rate—these hundred and twenty ghosts of men?” + asked the sailor, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “They are malgamite workers,” answered Cornish, cheerily. “And I am going + to make men of them—not ghosts.” + </p> + <p> + The purser looked at him, laughed in rather a puzzled way, and quitted the + bridge. Cornish remained there, taking a quick, intelligent interest in + the manoeuvres by which the great steamer was being brought alongside the + quay. He seemed to have already forgotten the hundred and twenty men in + the second-class cabin. His touch was indeed hopelessly light. He + understood how it was that the steamer was made to obey, but he could not + himself have brought her alongside. Cornish was a true son of a generation + which understands much of many things, but not quite sufficient of any + one. + </p> + <p> + He stood at the upper end of the gangway as the malgamite workers filed + off—a sorry crew, narrow-chested, hollow-eyed, with that + half-hopeless, half-reckless air that tells of a close familiarity with + disease and death. He nodded to them airily as they passed him. Some of + them took the trouble to answer his salutation, others seemed indifferent. + A few glanced at him with a sort of dull wonder. And indeed this man was + not of the material of which great philanthropists are made. He was + cheerful and heedless, shallow and superficial. + </p> + <p> + “Get 'em into the train,” he said to an official at his side; and then, + seeing that he had not been understood, gave the order glibly enough in + another language. + </p> + <p> + The ill-clad travellers shuffled up the gangway and through the + custom-house. Few seemed to take an interest in their surroundings. They + exchanged no comments, but walked side by side in silence—dumb and + driven animals. Some of them bore signs of disease. A few stumbled as they + went. One or two were half blind, with groping hands. That they were of + different nationalities was plain enough. Here a Jew from Vienna, with the + fear of the Judenhetze in his eyes, followed on the heels of a tow-headed + giant from Stockholm. A cunning cockney touched his hat as he passed, and + rather ostentatiously turned to help a white-haired little Italian over + the inequalities of the gangway. One thing only they had in common—their + deadly industry. One shadow lay over them all—the shadow of death. A + momentary gravity passed across Cornish's face. These men were as far + removed from him as the crawling beetle is from the butterfly. Who shall + say, however, that the butterfly sees nothing but the flowers? + </p> + <p> + As they passed him, some of them edged away with a dull humility for fear + their poor garments should touch his fur coat. One, carrying a bird-cage, + half paused, with a sort of pride, that Cornish might obtain a fuller view + of a depressed canary. The malgamite workers of this winter's morning on + the pier of Hoek were not the interesting industrials of Lady Ferriby's + drawing-room. There their lives had been spoken of as short and merry. + Here the merriment was scarcely perceptible. The mystery of the dangerous + industries is one of those mysteries of human nature which cannot be + explained by even the youngest of novelists. That dangerous industries + exist we all know and deplore. That the supply of men and women ready to + take employment in such industries is practically inexhaustible is a fact + worth at least a moment's attention. + </p> + <p> + Cornish made the necessary arrangements with the railway officials, and + carefully counted his charges, who were already seated in the carriages + reserved for them. He must at all events be allowed the virtues of a + generation which is eminently practical and capable of overcoming the + small difficulties of everyday life. He was quick to decide and prompt to + act. + </p> + <p> + Then he seated himself in a carriage alone, with a sigh of relief at the + thought that in a few days he would be back in London. His responsibility + ended at The Hague, where he was to hand over the malgamite workers to the + care of Roden and Von Holzen. They were rather a depressing set of men, + and Holland, as seen from the carriage window—a snow-clad plain + intersected by frozen ditches and canals—was no more enlivening. The + temperature was deadly cold; the dull houses were rime-covered and + forbidding. The malgamite makers had been gathered together from all parts + of the world in a home specially organized for them in London. A second + detachment was awaiting their orders at Hamburg. But the principal workers + were these now placed under Cornish's care. + </p> + <p> + During the days of their arrival, when they had to be met and housed and + cared for, the visionary part of this great scheme had slowly faded before + a somewhat grim reality. Joan Ferriby had found the malgamite workers less + picturesque than she had anticipated. + </p> + <p> + “If they only washed,” she had confided to Major White, “I am sure they + would be easier to deal with.” And after talking French very vivaciously + and boldly with a man from Lyons, she hurried back to the West End, and to + the numerous engagements which naturally take up much of one's time when + Lent is approaching, and dilatory hospitality is stirred up by the + startling collapse of the Epiphany Sundays. + </p> + <p> + Here, however, were the malgamite workers and they had to be dealt with. + It was not quite what many had anticipated, perhaps, and Cornish was + looking forward with undisguised pleasure to the moment when he could rid + himself of these persons whom Joan had gaily designated as “rather + gruesome,” and whom he frankly recognized as sordid and uninteresting. He + did not even look, as Joan had looked, to the wives and children who were + to follow as likely to prove more picturesque and engaging. + </p> + <p> + The train made its way cautiously over the fog-ridden plain, and Cornish + shivered as he looked out of the window. “Schiedam,” the porters called. + This, Schiedam? A mere village, and yet the name was so familiar. The + world seemed suddenly to have grown small and sordid. A few other stations + with historic names, and then The Hague. + </p> + <p> + Cornish quitted his carriage, and found himself shaking hands with Roden, + who was awaiting him on the platform, clad in a heavy fur coat. Roden + looked clever and capable—cleverer and more capable than Cornish had + even suspected—and the organization seemed perfect. The reserved + carriages had been in readiness at the Hook. The officials were prepared. + </p> + <p> + “I have omnibuses and carts for them and their luggage,” were the first + words that Roden spoke. + </p> + <p> + Cornish instinctively placed himself under Roden's orders. The man had + risen immensely in his estimation since the arrival in London of the first + malgamite maker. The grim reality of the one had enhanced the importance + of the other. Cornish had been engaged in so many charities <i>pour rire</i> + that the seriousness of this undertaking was apt to exaggerate itself in + his mind—if, indeed, the seriousness of anything dwelt there at all. + </p> + <p> + “I counted them all over at the Hook,” he said. “One hundred and twenty—pretty + average scoundrels.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; they are not much to look at,” answered Roden. + </p> + <p> + And the two men stood side by side watching the malgamite workers, who now + quitted the train and stood huddled together in a dull apathy on the roomy + platform. + </p> + <p> + “But you will soon get them into shape, no doubt,” said Cornish, with + characteristic optimism. He was essentially of a class that has always + some one at hand to whom to relegate tasks which it could do more + effectually and more quickly for itself. The secret of human happiness is + to be dependent upon as few human beings as possible. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes! We shall soon get them into shape—the sea air and all that, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + Roden looked at his <i>protégés</i> with large, sad eyes, in which there + was alike no enthusiasm and no spark of human kindness. Cornish wondered + vaguely what he was thinking about. The thoughts were certainly tinged + with pessimism, and lacked entirely the blindness of an enthusiasm by + which men are urged to endeavour great things for the good of the masses, + and to make, as far as a practical human perception may discern, huge and + hideous mistakes. + </p> + <p> + “Von Holzen is down below,” said Roden, at length. “As soon as he comes up + we will draft them off in batches of ten, and pack them into the + omnibuses. The luggage can follow. Ah! Here comes Von Holzen. You don't + know him, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I don't know him.” + </p> + <p> + They both went forward to meet a man of medium height, with square + shoulders, and a still, clean-shaven face. Otto von Holzen raised his hat, + and remained bare-headed while he shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “The introduction is unnecessary,” he said. “We have worked together for + many months—you on the other side of the North Sea, and I on this. + And now we have, at all events, something to show for our work.” + </p> + <p> + He had a quick, foreign manner, with a kind smile, and certain vivacity. + </p> + <p> + This was a different sort of man to Roden—quicker to feel for + others, to understand others; capable of greater good, and possibly of + greater evil. He glanced at Cornish, nodded sympathetically, and then + turned to look at the malgamite makers. These, standing in a group on the + platform, holding in their hands their poor belongings, returned the gaze + with interest. The train which had brought them steamed out of the + station, leaving the malgamite makers gazing in a dull wonder at the three + men into whose hands they had committed their lives. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. ON THE DUNES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “L'indifference est le sommeil du coeur.” + </pre> + <p> + The village of Scheveningen, as many know, is built on the sand dunes, and + only sheltered from the ocean by a sea-wall. A new Scheveningen has sprung + up on this sea-wall—a mere terrace of red brick houses, already + faded and weather-worn, which stare forlornly at the shallow sea. Inland, + except where building enterprise has constructed roads and built villas + are sand dunes. To the south, beyond the lighthouse, are sand dunes. To + the north, more especially and most emphatically, are sand dunes as far as + the eye may see. This tract of country is a very desert, where thin + maritime grasses are shaken by the wind, where suggestive spars lie + bleaching, where the sand, driven before the breeze like snow, travels to + and fro through all the ages. + </p> + <p> + This afternoon, the dunes presented as forlorn an appearance as it is + possible in one's gloomiest moments to conceive. The fog had, indeed, + lifted a little, but a fine rain now drove before the wind, freezing as it + fell, so that the earth was covered by a thin sheet of ice. The short + January day was drawing to its close. + </p> + <p> + To the north of the waterworks, three hundred yards away from that + solitary erection, the curious may find to-day a few low buildings + clustering round a water-tower. These buildings are of wood, with roofs of + corrugated iron; and when they were newly constructed, not so many years + ago, presented a gay enough appearance, with their green shutters and + ornamental eaves. The whole was enclosed in a fence of corrugated iron, + and approached by a road not too well constructed on its sandy bed. + </p> + <p> + “We do not want the place to become the object of an excursion for + tourists to The Hague,” said Roden to Cornish, as they approached the + malgamite works in a closed carriage. + </p> + <p> + Cornish looked out of the window and made no remark. So far as he could + see on all sides, there was nothing but sand-hills and grey grass. The + road was a narrow one, and led only to the little cluster of houses within + the fence. It was a lonely spot, cut off from all communication with the + outer world. Men might pass within a hundred yards and never know that the + malgamite works existed. The carriage drove through the high gateway into + the enclosure. There were a number of cottages, two long, low buildings, + and the water-tower. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said Roden, “we have plenty of room to increase our + accommodation when there is need of it. But we must go slowly and feel our + way. It would never do to fail. We have accommodation here for a couple of + hundred workers and their families; but in time we shall have five hundred + of them in here—all the malgamite workers in the world.” + </p> + <p> + He broke off with a laugh, and looked round him. There was a ring in his + voice suggestive of a keen excitement. Could Percy Roden, after all, be an + enthusiast? Cornish glanced at him uneasily. In Cornish's world sincere + enthusiasm was so rare that it was never well received. + </p> + <p> + Roden's manner changed again, however, and he explained the plan of the + little village with his usual half-indifferent air. + </p> + <p> + “These two buildings are the factories,” he said. “In them three hundred + men can work at once. There we shall build sheds for the storage of the + raw material. Here we shall erect a warehouse. But I do not anticipate + that we shall ever have much malgamite on our hands. We shall turn over + our money very quickly.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish listened with the respectful attention which business details + receive nowadays from those whose birth and education unfit them for such + pursuits. It was obvious that he did not fully understand the terms of + which Roden made use; but he tapped his smart boot with his cane, gave a + quick nod of the head, and looked intelligently around him. He had a + certain respect for Percy Roden, while that philanthropist did not perhaps + appear quite at his best in his business moments. + </p> + <p> + “And do you—and that foreign individual, Mr. Von Holzen—live + inside this—zareba?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No; Von Holzen lives as yet in Scheveningen, in a hotel there. And I have + taken a small villa on the dunes, with my sister to keep house for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I did not know you had a sister,” said Cornish, still looking about + him with intelligent ignorance. “Does she take an interest in the + malgamite scheme?” + </p> + <p> + “Only so far as it affects me,” replied Roden. “She is a good sister to + me. The house is between the waterworks and the steam-tram station. We + will call in on our way back, if you care to.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like nothing better,” replied Cornish, conventionally, and they + continued their inspection of the little colony. The arrangements were as + simple as they were effective. Either Roden or Von Holzen certainly + possessed the genius of organization. In one of the cottages a cold + collation was set out on two long tables. There was a choice of wines, and + notably some bottles of champagne on a side table. + </p> + <p> + “For the journalists,” explained Roden. “I have a number of them coming + this afternoon to witness the arrival of the first batch of malgamite + makers. There is nothing like judicious advertisement. We have invited a + number of newspaper correspondents. We give them champagne and pay their + expenses. If you will be a little friendly, they would like it immensely. + They, of course, know who you are. A little flattery, you understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Flattery and champagne,” laughed Cornish—“the two principal + ingredients of popularity.” + </p> + <p> + “I have here a number of photographs,” continued Roden, “taken by a good + man in the neighbourhood. He has thrown in a view of the sea at the back, + you see. It is not there; but he has put in the sky and sea from another + plate, he tells me, to make a good picture of it. We shall send them to + the principal illustrated papers.” + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose,” said Cornish, with his gay laugh, “that some of the + journalists will throw in background also.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” answered Roden, gravely. “And the sentimentalists will be + satisfied. The sentimentalists never stop at providing necessaries; they + want to pamper. It will please them immensely to think that the malgamite + makers, who have been collected from the slums of the world, have a sea + view and every modern luxury.” + </p> + <p> + “We must humour them,” said Cornish, practically. “We should not get far + without them.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the sound of wheels made them both turn towards the + entrance. It was an omnibus—the best omnibus with the finest horses—which + brought the journalists. These gentlemen now descended from the vehicle + and came towards the cottage, where Cornish and Roden awaited them. They + were what is euphemistically called a little mixed. Some were too well + dressed, others too badly. But all carried themselves with an air that + bespoke a consciousness of greatness not unmingled with good-fellowship. + The leader, a stout man, shook hands affably with Cornish, who assumed his + best and most gracious manner. + </p> + <p> + “Aha! Here we are,” he said, rubbing his hands together and looking at the + champagne. + </p> + <p> + Then somehow Cornish came to the front and Roden retired into the + background. It was Cornish who opened the champagne and poured it into + their glasses. It was Cornish who made the best jokes, and laughed the + loudest at the journalistic quips fired off by his companions. Cornish + seemed to understand the guests better than did Roden, who was inclined to + be stiff towards them. Those who are assured of their position are not + always thinking about it. Men who stand much upon their dignity have not, + as a rule, much else to stand upon. + </p> + <p> + “Here's to you, sir,” cried the stout newspaper man, with upraised glass + and a heart full of champagne. “Here's to you—whoever you are. And + now to business. Perhaps you'll trot us round the works.” + </p> + <p> + This Cornish did with much success. He then stood beside the + correspondents while the malgamite workers descended from the omnibus and + took possession of their new quarters. He provided the journalists with + photographs and a short printed account of the malgamite trade, which had + been prepared by Von Holzen. It was finally Cornish who packed them into + the omnibus in high good humour, and sent them back to The Hague. + </p> + <p> + “Do not forget the sentiment,” he called out after them. “Remember it is a + charity.” + </p> + <p> + The malgamite workers were left to the care of Von Holzen, who had made + all necessary preparations for their reception. + </p> + <p> + “You are a cleverer man than I thought you,” said Roden to Cornish, as + they walked over the dunes together in the dusk towards the Rodens' house. + And it was difficult to say whether Roden was pleased or not. He did not + speak much during the walk, and was evidently wrapped in deep thought. + </p> + <p> + Cornish was light and inconsequent as usual. “We shall soon raise more + money,” he said. “We shall have malgamite balls, and malgamite bazaars, + malgamite balloon ascents if that is not flying too high.” + </p> + <p> + The Villa des Dunes stands, as its name implies, among the sand hills, + facing south and west. It is upon an elevation, and therefore enjoys a + view of the sea, and, inland, of the spires of The Hague. The garden is an + old one, and there are quiet nooks in it where the trees have grown to a + quite respectable stature. Holland is so essentially a tidy country that + nothing old or moss-grown is tolerated. One wonders where all the rubbish + of the centuries has been hidden; for all the ruins have been decently + cleared away and cities that teem with historical interest seem, with a + few exceptions, to have been built last year. The garden of the Villa des + Dunes was therefore more remarkable for cleanliness than luxuriance. The + house itself was uninteresting, and resembled a thousand others on the + coast in that it was more comfortable than it looked. A suggestion of + warmth and lamp-light filtered through the drawn curtains. + </p> + <p> + Roden led the way into the house, admitting himself with a latch-key. + “Dorothy,” he cried, as soon as the door was closed behind them—the + two tall men in their heavy coats almost filled the little hall—“Dorothy, + where are you?” + </p> + <p> + The atmosphere of the house—that subtle odour which is + characteristic of all dwellings—was pleasant. One felt that there + were flowers in the rooms, and that tea was in course of preparation. + </p> + <p> + The door on the left-hand side of the hall was opened, and a small woman + appeared there. She was essentially small—a little upright figure + with bright brown hair, a good complexion, and gay, sparkling eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I have brought Mr. Cornish,” explained Roden. “We are frozen, and want + some tea.” + </p> + <p> + Dorothy Roden came forward and shook hands with Cornish. She looked up at + him, taking him all in, in one quick intuitive glance, from his smooth + head to his neat boots. + </p> + <p> + “It is horribly cold,” she said. One cannot always be original and + sparkling, and it is wiser not to try too persistently. She turned and + re-entered the drawing-room, with Cornish following her. The room itself + was prettily furnished in the Dutch fashion, and there were flowers. + Dorothy Roden's manner was that of a woman; no longer in her first + girlhood, who had seen en and cities. She was better educated than her + brother; she was probably cleverer. She had, at all events, the subtle air + of self-restraint that marks those women whose lives are passed in the + society of a man mentally inferior to themselves. Of course all women are + in a sense doomed to this—according to their own thinking. + </p> + <p> + “Percy said that he would probably bring you in to tea,” said Miss Roden, + “and that probably you would be tired out.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks; I am not tired. We had a good passage, and everything has run as + smoothly. Do you take an active interest in us?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Roden paused in the action of pouring out tea, and looked across at + her interlocutor. + </p> + <p> + “Not an active one,” she answered, with a momentary gravity; and, after a + minute, glanced at Cornish's face again. + </p> + <p> + “It is going to be a big thing,” he said enthusiastically. “My cousin Joan + Ferriby is working hard at it in London. You do not know her, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “I was at school with Joan,” replied Miss Roden, with her soft laugh. + </p> + <p> + “And we took a school-girl oath to write to each other every week when we + parted. We kept it up—for a fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish's smooth face betrayed no surprise; although he had concluded that + Miss Roden was years older than Joan. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” he said, with ready tact, “you do not take an interest in the + same things as Joan. In what may be called new things—not clothes, I + mean. In factory girls' feather clubs, for instance, or haberdashers' + assistants, or women's rights, or anything like that.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I am not clever enough for anything like that. I am profoundly + ignorant about women's rights, and do not even know what I want, or ought + to want.” + </p> + <p> + Roden, who had approached the table, laughed, and taking his tea, went and + sat down near the fire. He, at all events, was tired and looked worn—as + if his responsibilities were already beginning to weigh upon him. Cornish, + too, had come forward, and, cup in hand, stood looking down at Miss Roden + with a doubtful air. + </p> + <p> + “I always distrust women who say that,” he said. “One naturally suspects + them of having got what they want by some underhand means—and of + having abandoned the rest of their sex. This is an age of amalgamation; is + not that so, Roden?” + </p> + <p> + He turned and sat down near to Dorothy. Roden thus appealed to, made some + necessary remark, and then lapsed into a thoughtful silence. It seemed + that Cornish was quite capable, however, of carrying on the conversation + by himself. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know nothing about your wrongs, either?” he asked Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” she replied. “I have not even the wit to know that I have any.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “No wonder Joan ceased writing to you. You + are a most suspicious case, Miss Roden. Of course you have righted your + wrongs—<i>sub rosa</i>—and leave other women to manage their + own affairs. That is what is called a blackleg. You are untrue to the + Union. In these days we all belong to some cause or another. We cannot + help it, and recent legislation adds daily to the difficulty. We must + either be rich or poor. At present the only way to live at peace with + one's poorer neighbours is to submit to a certain amount of robbery. But + some day the classes must combine to make a stand against the masses. The + masses are already combined. We must either be a man or a woman. Some day + the men must combine against the women, who are already united behind a + vociferous vanguard. May I have some more tea?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I have been left behind in the general advance,” said Miss + Roden, taking his cup. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid so. Of course I don't know where we are advancing to——” + He paused and drank the tea slowly. “No one knows that,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Probably to a point where we shall all suddenly begin fighting for + ourselves again.” + </p> + <p> + “That is possible,” he said gravely, setting down his cup. “And now I must + find my way back to The Hague. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + “He is clever,” said Dorothy, when Roden returned after having shown + Cornish the way. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Roden, without enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “You do not seem to be pleased at the thought,” she said carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—it will be all right! If his cleverness runs in the right + direction.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. OFFICIAL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “One may be so much a man of the world as to be nothing in + the world.” + </pre> + <p> + Political Economy will some day have to recognize Philanthropy as a + possible—nay, a certain stumbling-block in the world's progress + towards that millennium when Supply and Demand shall sit down together in + peace. Charity is certainly sowing seed into the ridges of time which will + bear startling fruit in the future. For Charity does not hesitate to close + up an industry or interfere with a trade that supplies thousands with + their daily bread. Thus the Malgamite scheme so glibly inaugurated by Lord + Ferriby in his drawing-room bore fruit within a week in a quarter to which + probably few concerned had ever thought of casting an eye. The price of a + high-class tinted paper fell in all the markets of the world. This paper + could only be manufactured with a large addition of malgamite to its other + components. In what may be called the prospectus of the Malgamite scheme + it was stated that this great charity was inaugurated for the purpose of + relieving the distress of the malgamiters—one of the industrial + scandals of the day—by enabling these afflicted men to make their + deadly product at a cheaper rate and without danger to themselves. This + prospectus naturally came to the hands of those most concerned, namely, + the manufacturers of coloured papers and the brokers who supply those + manufacturers with their raw material. + </p> + <p> + Thus Lord Ferriby, beaming benignantly from a bower of chrysanthemums on a + certain evening one winter not so many years ago, set rolling a small + stone upon a steep hill. So, in fact, wags the world; and none of us may + know when the echo of a careless word will cease vibrating in the hearts + of some that hear. + </p> + <p> + The malgamite trade was what is called a <i>close</i> one—that is to + say that this product passed out into the world through the hands of a few + brokers and these brokers were powerless, in face of Lord Ferriby's + announcement, to prevent the price of malgamite from falling. As this fell + so fell the prices of the many kinds of paper which could not be + manufactured without it. Thus indirectly, Lord Ferriby, with that + obtuseness which very often finds itself in company with a highly + developed philanthropy, touched the daily lives of thousands and thousands + of people. And he did not know it. And Tony Cornish knew it not. And Joan + and the subscribers never dreamt or thought of such a thing. + </p> + <p> + The paper market became what is called sensitive—that is to say, + prices rose and fell suddenly without apparent reason. Some men made money + and others lost it. Presently, however—that is to say, in the month + of March—two months after Tony Cornish had safely conveyed his + malgamite makers to their new home on the sand dunes of Scheveningen—the + paper markets of the world began to settle down again, and steadier prices + ruled. This could be traced—as all commercial changes may be traced—to + the original flow at one of the fountain-heads of supply and demand. It + arose from the simple fact that a broker in London had bought some of the + new malgamite—the Scheveningen malgamite—and had issued it to + his clients, who said that it was good. He had, moreover, bought it + cheaper. In a couple of days all the world—all the world concerned + in the matter—knew of it. Such is commerce at the end of the + century. + </p> + <p> + And Cornish, casually looking in at the little office of the Malgamite + Charity, where a German clerk recommended by Herr von Holzen kept the + books of the scheme, found his table littered with telegrams. Tony Cornish + had a reputation for being clever. He was, as a matter of fact, + intelligent. The world nearly always mistakes intelligence for cleverness, + just as it nearly always mistakes laughter for happiness. He was, however, + clever enough to have found out during the last two months that the + Malgamite scheme was a bigger thing than either he or his uncle had ever + imagined. + </p> + <p> + Many questions had arisen during those two months of Cornish's honorary + secretary ship of the charity which he had been unable to answer, and + which he had been obliged to refer to Roden and Von Holzen. These had + replied readily, and the matter as solved by them seemed simple enough. + But each question seemed to have side issues—indeed, the whole + scheme appeared suddenly to bristle with side issues, and Tony Cornish + began to find himself getting really interested in something at last. + </p> + <p> + The telegrams were not alone upon his office table. There were letters as + well. It was a nice little office, furnished by Joan with a certain + originality which certainly made it different from any other office in + Westminster. It had, moreover, the great recommendation of being above a + Ladies' Tea Association, so that afternoon tea could be easily procured. + The German clerk quite counted on receiving three half-holidays a week and + Joan brought her friends to tea, and her mother to chaperon. These little + tea-parties became quite notorious, and there was a question of a cottage + piano, which was finally abandoned in favour of a banjo. It happened to be + a wire-puzzle winter, and Cornish had the best collection of rings on + impossible wire mazes, and glass beads strung upon intertwisted hooks, in + Westminster, if not, indeed, in the whole of London. Then, of course, + there were the committee meetings—that is to say, the meeting of the + lady committees of the bazaar and ball sub-committees. The wire puzzles + and the association tea were an immense feature of these. + </p> + <p> + Cornish was quite accustomed to finding a number of letters awaiting him, + and had been compelled to buy a waste-paper basket of abnormal dimensions—so + many moribund charities cast envious eyes upon the Malgamite scheme, and + wondered how it was done, and, on the chance of it, offered Cornish + honourable honorary posts. But the telegrams had been few, and nearly all + from Roden. There was a letter from Roden this morning. + </p> + <p> + “DEAR CORNISH” (he wrote),— + </p> + <p> + “You will probably receive applications from malgamite workers in + different parts of the world for permission to enter our works. Accept + them all, and arrange for their enlistment as soon as possible. + </p> + <p> + “Yours in haste, + </p> + <h3> + “P.R.” + </h3> + <p> + Percy Roden was usually in haste, and wrote a bad letter in a beautiful + handwriting. + </p> + <p> + Cornish turned to the telegrams. They were one and all applications from + malgamite makers—from Venice to Valparaiso—to be enrolled in + the Scheveningen group. He was still reading them when Lord Ferriby came + into the little office. His lordship was wearing a new fancy waistcoat. It + was the month of April—the month assuredly of fancy waistcoats + throughout all nature. Lord Ferriby was, as usual, rather pleased with + himself. He had walked down Piccadilly with great effect, and a bishop had + bowed to him, recognizing, in a sense, a lay bishop. + </p> + <p> + “What have you got there, Tony?” he asked, affably, laying his smart + walking-stick on an inlaid bureau, which was supposed to be his, and was + always closed, and had nothing in it. + </p> + <p> + “Telegrams,” answered Cornish, “from malgamite makers, who want to join + the works at Scheveningen. Seventy-six of them. I don't quite understand + this business.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I,” admitted Lord Ferriby, in a voice which clearly indicated + that if he only took the trouble he could understand anything. “But I + fancy it is one of the biggest things in charity that has ever been + started.” + </p> + <p> + In the company of men, and especially of young men, Lord Ferriby allowed + himself a little license in speech. He at times almost verged on the + slangy, which is, of course, quite correct and <i>de haut ton</i>, and he + did not want to be taken for an old buffer, as were his contemporaries. + Therefore he called himself an old buffer whenever he could. <i>Qui + s'excuse s'accuse.</i> + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he added, “we must take the poor fellows.” + </p> + <p> + Without comment, Cornish handed him Roden's letter, and while Lord Ferriby + read it, employed himself in making out a list of the names and addresses + of the applicants. Cornish was, in fact, rising to the occasion. In other + circumstances Anthony Cornish might with favourable influence—say + that of a Scottish head clerk—have been made into what is called a + good business man. Without any training whatever, and with an education + which consisted only of a smattering of the classics and a rigid code of + honour, he usually perceived what it was wise to do. Some people call this + genius; others, luck. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Lord Ferriby, “that Roden is of the same opinion as myself. + A shrewd fellow, Roden.” And he pulled down his fancy waistcoat. + </p> + <p> + “Then I may write, or telegraph, to these men, and tell them to come?” + asked Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “Most certainly, my dear Anthony. We will collect them, or muster them, as + White calls it, in London, and then send them to Scheveningen, as before, + when Roden and Herr von Holzen are ready for them. Send a note to White, + whose department this mustering is. As a soldier he understands the + handling of a body of men. You and I are more competent to deal with a sum + of money.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby glanced towards the door to make sure that it was open, so + that the German clerk in the outer office should lose nothing that could + only be for his good—might, in fact, pick up a few crumbs from the + richly stored table of a great man's mind. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby leisurely withdrew his gloves and laid them on the inlaid + bureau. He had the physique of a director of public companies, and the + grave manner that impresses shareholders. He talked of the weather, drew + Cornish's attention to a blot of ink on the high-art wallpaper, and then + put on his gloves again, well pleased with himself and his morning's work. + </p> + <p> + “Everything appears to be in order, my dear Anthony,” he said. “So there + is nothing to keep me here any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” replied Cornish; and his lordship departed. + </p> + <p> + Cornish remained until it was time to go across St. James's Park to his + club to lunch. He answered a certain number of letters himself, the others + he handed over to the German clerk—a man with all the virtues, + smooth, upright hair, and a dreamy eye. The malgamite makers were bidden + to come as soon as they liked. After luncheon Cornish had to hurry back to + Great George Street. This was one of his busy days. At four o'clock there + was to be a meeting of the floor committee of the approaching ball, and + Cornish remembered that he had been specially told to get a new bass + string for the banjo. The Hon. Rupert Dalkyn had promised to come, but had + vowed that he would not touch the banjo again unless it had new strings. + So Cornish bought the bass string at the Army and Navy Stores, and the + first preparation for the meeting of the floor committee was the tuning of + the banjo by the German clerk. + </p> + <p> + There were, of course, flowers to be bought and arranged <i>tant bien que + mal</i> in empty ink-stands, a conceit of Joan's, who refused to spend the + fund money in any ornament less serious, while she quite recognized the + necessity for flowers on the table of a mixed committee. + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Rupert was the first to arrive. He was very small and neat and + rather effeminate. The experienced could tell at a glance that he came + from a fighting stock. He wore a grave and rather preoccupied air. He sat + down on the arm of a chair and looked sadly into the fire, while his lips + moved. + </p> + <p> + “Got something on your mind?” asked Cornish, who was putting the finishing + touches to the arrangement of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a new song composed for the occasion 'The Maudlin Malgamite'; like + to hear it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I would rather wait. I think I hear a carriage at the door,” said + Cornish, hastily. + </p> + <p> + Rupert Dalkyn had to be elected to the floor committee because he was Mrs. + Courteville's brother, and Mrs. Courteville was the best chaperon in + London. She was not only a widow, but her husband had been killed in + rather painful circumstances. + </p> + <p> + “Poor dear,” the people said when she had done something perhaps a little + unusual—“poor dear; you know her husband was killed.” + </p> + <p> + So the late Courteville, in his lone grave by the banks of the Ogowe + River, watched over his wife's welfare, and made quite a nice place for + her in London society. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Rupert himself had been intended for the Church, but had at Cambridge +developed such an exquisite sense of humour and so killing a power of +mimicry that no one of the dons was safe, and his friends told him that +he really mustn't. So he didn't. Since then Rupert had, to tell the +truth, done nothing. The exquisite sense of humour had also slightly +evaporated. People said, “Oh yes, very funny,” than which nothing is + more fatal to humour; and elderly ladies smiled a pinched smile at one +side of their lips. It is so difficult to see a joke through those +long-handled eye-glasses. +</pre> + <p> + Cornish was quite right when he said that he had heard a carriage, for + presently the door opened, and Mrs. Courteville came in. She was small and + slight—“a girlish figure,” her maid told her—and well dressed. + She was just at that age when she did not look it—at an age, + moreover, when some women seem to combine a maximum of experience with a + minimum of thought. But who are we to pick holes in our neighbours' + garments? If any of us is quite sure that he is not doing more harm than + good in the world, let him by all means throw stones at Mrs. Courteville. + </p> + <p> + Joan arrived next, accompanied by Lady Ferriby, who knew that if she + stayed at home she would only have to give tea to a number of people + towards whom she did not feel kindly enough disposed to reconcile herself + to the expense. Joan glanced hastily from Mrs. Courteville to Tony. She + had noticed that Mrs. Courteville always arrived early at the floor + committee meetings when these were held at the Malgamite office or in + Cornish's rooms. Joan wondered, while Mrs. Courteville was kissing her, + whether the widow had come with her brother or before him. + </p> + <p> + “Has he not made the room look pretty with that mimosa?” asked Mrs. + Courteville, vivaciously. People did not know how matters stood between + Joan Ferriby and Tony Cornish, and always wanted to know. That is why Mrs. + Courteville said “he” only when she drew Joan's attention to the flowers. + </p> + <p> + The meeting may best be described as lively. We belong, however, to an + eminently practical generation, and some business was really transacted. + The night for the Malgamite ball was fixed, and a list of stewards drawn + up; and then the Hon. Rupert played the banjo. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ferriby had some calls to pay, so Cornish volunteered to walk across + the park with Joan, who had a healthy love of exercise. They talked of + various matters, and of course returned again and again to the Malgamite + affairs. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” said Joan, at the corner of Cambridge Terrace, “I had a + letter this morning from Dorothy Roden. I was at school with her, you + know, and never dreamt that Mr. Roden was her brother. In fact, I had + nearly forgotten her existence. She is coming across for the ball. She + says she saw you when you were at The Hague. You never mentioned her, + Tony.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I? She is not interested in the Malgamite scheme, you know. And + nobody who is not interested in that is worth mentioning.” + </p> + <p> + They walked on in silence for a few minutes. Then Cornish asked a + question. + </p> + <p> + “What sort of person was she at school?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she was a frivolous sort of girl—never took anything seriously, + you know. That is why she is not interested in the Malgamite, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” said Tony Cornish. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. THE SEAMY SIDE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For this is death, and the sole death, + When a man's loss comes to him from his gain.” + </pre> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart told Roden that her house was in Park Street in The Hague. + But she did not mention that it was at the corner of Orange Street, which + makes all the difference. For Park Street is long, and the further end of + it—the extremity furthest removed from the Royal Palace—is + less desirable than the neighbourhood of the Vyverberg. Mrs. Vansittart's + house was in the most desirable part of a most desirable little city. She + was surrounded with houses inhabited by people bearing names well known in + history. These people are, moreover, of a fascinating cosmopolitanism. + They come from all parts of the world, in an ancestral sense. There are, + for instance, Dutch people living here whose names are Scottish. There are + others of French extraction, others again whose forefathers came to + Holland with the Don Juan of the religious wars whose history reads like a + romance. + </p> + <p> + Outwardly Mrs. Vansittart's house was of dark red brick, with stone + facings, and probably belonged to that period which in England is called + Tudor. Inwardly the house was as comfortable as thick carpets and rich + curtains and beautiful carvings could make it. The Dutch are pre-eminently + the flower-growers of the world, and the observant traveller walking along + Orange Street may note even in midwinter that the flowers in the windows + are changed each day. In this, as in other <i>menus plaisirs</i>, Mrs. + Vansittart had assumed the ways of the country of her adoption. For + Holland suggests to the inquiring mind an elderly gentleman, now getting a + little stout, who, after a wild youth, is beginning to appreciate the + blessings of repose and comfort; who, having laid by a small sufficiency, + sits peaceably by the fire, and reflects upon the days that are no more. + </p> + <p> + It was Mrs. Vansittart's pleasant habit to surround herself with every + comfort. She was an eminently self-respecting person—of that + self-respect which denies itself nothing except excess. She liked to be + well dressed, well housed, and well served. She possessed money, and with + it she bought these adjuncts, which in a minor degree are within the reach + of nearly everybody, though few have the wit to value them. She was not, + however, a vociferously contented woman. Like many another, she probably + wanted something that money could not buy. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart, in fulfilment of her promise to Percy Roden, called on + Dorothy at the Villa des Dunes, who in due course came to the house at the + corner of Park Street and Orange Street to return the visit. Dorothy had + been out when Mrs. Vansittart called, but she thought she knew from her + brother's description what sort of woman to expect. For Dorothy Roden had + been educated abroad, and was not without knowledge of a certain class of + English lady to be met with on the Continent, who is always well + connected, invariably idle, and usually refers gracefully to a great + sorrow in the past. + </p> + <p> + But Dorothy knew, as soon as she saw Mrs. Vansittart that she had formed + an entirely erroneous conception. This was not the sort of woman to seek + the admiration of the first-comer, and Percy Roden had allowed his sister + to surmise that, whether it had been sought or not, Mrs. Vansittart had + certainly been accorded his highest admiration. + </p> + <p> + “It is good of you to return my call so soon,” she said, in a friendly + voice. “You have walked, I suppose, all the way from the Villa des Dunes. + English girls are such great walkers now—a most excellent thing. I + belong to the semi-generation older than yours, which preferred a + carriage. I am an atrocious walker. You are not at all like your brother.” + And she threw back her head and looked speculatively at her visitor. “Sit + down,” she said, with a laugh. “You probably came here harbouring a + prejudice against me. One should never get to know a woman through her + men-folk. That is a rule almost without exception; you may take it from + one who is many years older than you. But—well, <i>nous verrons</i>. + Perhaps we are the exception.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so,” answered Dorothy, who was ready enough of speech. “At all + events, all that Percy told me made me anxious to meet you. It is rather + lonely, you know, at the Villa des Dunes. You see, Percy is engaged all + day with his malgamiters. And, of course, we know no one here yet.” + </p> + <p> + “There is Herr von Holzen,” suggested Mrs. Vansittart, ringing the bell + for tea. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. The man who is associated with Percy at the works? I do not know + him. Percy has not brought him to the villa.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Is that so? That is nice of your brother. Sometimes men, you know, + make use of their wives or their sisters to help them in their business + relationships. I have known a man use his pretty daughter to gain a + client. Beauty levels all, you see. Not nice, no; I suppose Herr von + Holzen, is—well—let us call him a foreign savant. Such a nice + broad term, you know; covers such a plentiful lack of soap.” And she + laughed easily, with eyes that were quite grave and alert. + </p> + <p> + “My brother does not say much about him,” answered Dorothy Roden. “Percy + never does tell me much of his affairs, and I am not sorry. I am sure I + should not understand them. Stocks and shares and freights and things. I + never quite know whether a freight is part of a ship; do you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. There are so many things more useful to know, are there not?—things + about people and human nature, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Dorothy, looking at her companion thoughtfully—“yes.” + </p> + <p> + And Mrs. Vansittart returned that thoughtful glance. “And the other man,” + she said suddenly, “Mr.—Cornish—do you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “He called at the Villa des Dunes. My brother brought him in to tea the + evening of arrival of the first batch of malgamiters,” replied Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Cornish interests me,” said Mrs. Vansittart. “I knew him when he was + a boy—or little more than a boy. He came to Weimar with a tutor to + learn German when I happened to be living there. I have heard of him from + time to time since. One sees his name in the society papers, you know. He + is one of those persons of whom something is expected by his friends—not + by himself. The young man who expects something of himself is usually + disappointed. Have you ever noticed in the biographies of great men, Miss + Roden that people nearly always began to expect something of them when + they were quite young? As if they were cast in a different mould from the + very first. Really great men, I mean not the fashionable pianist or + novelist of the hour whose portrait is in every illustrated journal for + perhaps two months, and then he is forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart spoke quickly in a foreign manner, asking with a certain + vivacity questions which required no answer. Dorothy Roden was not slow of + speech, but she touched topics with less airiness. Her mind seemed a + trifle insular in its tendencies. One topic attracted her, and the rest + were set aside. + </p> + <p> + “Why does Mr. Cornish interest you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart shrugged her shoulders and leant back in her deep chair. + </p> + <p> + “He strikes me as a person with infinite capacity for holding his cards. + That is all. But perhaps he has no good cards in his hand? Nothing but + rubbish—the twos and threes of ordinary drawing-room smartness—and + never a trump. Who can tell? <i>Qui vivra verra</i>, Miss. Roden. It may + not be in my time that the world shall hear of Tony Cornish—the real + world, not the journalistic world, I mean. He may ripen slowly, and I + shall be dead. I am getting elderly. How old do you think I am, Miss + Roden?” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty-five,” replied Dorothy; and Mrs. Vansittart turned sharply to look + at her. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said, slowly and thoughtfully. “Yes, you are quite right. That + is my age. And I suppose I look it. I suppose others would have guessed + with equal facility, but not everybody would have had the honesty to say + what they thought.” + </p> + <p> + Dorothy laughed and changed colour. “I said it without thinking,” she + answered. “I hope you do not mind.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not mind,” said Mrs. Vansittart, looking out of the window. “But + we were talking of Mr. Cornish.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Dorothy, buttoning her glove and glancing at the clock. + “Yes; but I must not talk any longer or I shall be late, and my brother + expects to find me at home when he returns from the works.” + </p> + <p> + She rose and shook hands, looking Mrs. Vansittart in the eyes. When + Dorothy had gone, the lady of the house stood for a minute looking at the + closed door. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what she thinks of me?” she said. + </p> + <p> + And Dorothy Roden, walking down Park Straat, was doing the same. She was + wondering what she thought of Mrs. Vansittart. + </p> + <p> + Although it was the month of April, the winter mists still rose at evening + and swept seawards from the marshes of Leyden. The trees had scarcely + begun to break into bud, for it had been a cold spring, and the ice was + floating lazily on the canal as Dorothy walked along its bank. The Villa + des Dunes was certainly somewhat lonely, standing as it did a couple of + hundred yards back from a sandy road—one of the many leading from + The Hague to Scheveningen. Between the villa and the road the dunes had + scarcely been molested, except indeed, to cut a narrow roadway to the + house. When Dorothy reached home, she found that her brother had not yet + returned. She looked at the clock. He was later than usual. The malgamite + works had during the last few weeks been absorbing more and more of his + attention. When he returned home, tired, in the evening, he was not + communicative. As for Otto von Holzen, he never showed his face outside + the works now, but seemed to live the life of a recluse within the iron + fence that surrounded the little colony. + </p> + <p> + Percy Roden had not returned to the Villa des Dunes at the usual hour + because he had other work to do. Von Holzen and he were now standing in + one of the little huts in silence. The light of the setting sun glowed + through the window upon their faces, upon the bare walls of the room, + rendered barer and in no way beautified by a terrible German print + purporting to represent the features of Prince Bismarck. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen stood, with his hands clasped behind his back, and looked out + of the window across the dreary dunes. Roden stood beside him, slouching + and heavy-shouldered, with his hands in his trouser pockets. His lower lip + was pressed inward between his teeth. His eyes were drawn and anxious. + </p> + <p> + On the bed, between the two men, lay a third—an old-looking youth + with lank red hair. It was the story of St. Jacob Straat over again, and + it was new to Percy Roden, who could not turn his eyes elsewhere. The man + was dying. He was a Pole who understood no word of English. Indeed, these + three men had no language in common in which to make themselves + understood. + </p> + <p> + “Can you do nothing at all?” asked Roden, for the second or third time. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” answered Von Holzen, without turning round. “He was a doomed + man when he came here.” + </p> + <p> + The man lay on the bed and stared at Von Holzen's back. Perhaps that was + the reason why Von Holzen so persistently looked out of the window. The + work-hours were over, and from some neighbouring cottage the sounds of a + concertina came on the quiet air. The musician had chosen a popular + music-hall song, which he played over and over again with a maddening + pertinacity. Roden bit his lip, and frowned at each repetition of the + opening bars. Von Holzen, with a still, pale face and stern eyes, seemed + to hear nothing. He had no nerves. At times he twisted his lips, + moistening them with his tongue, and suppressed an impatient sigh. The man + was a long time in dying. They had been waiting there two hours. This + little incident had to be passed over as quietly as possible on account of + the feelings of the concertina player and the others. + </p> + <p> + The door stood ajar, and in the adjoining room a professional nurse, in + cap and apron, sat reading a German newspaper. This also was a bedroom. + The cottage was, in point of fact, the hospital of the malgamite workers. + The nurse, whose services had not hitherto been wanted, had since the + inauguration of the works spent some pleasant weeks at a pension at + Scheveningen. She read her newspaper very philosophically, and waited. + </p> + <p> + Roden it was who watched the patient. The dying man never heeded him, but + looked persistently towards Von Holzen. The expression of his eyes + indicated that if they had had a language in common he would have spoken + to him. Roden saw the direction of the man's glance, and perhaps read its + meaning. For Percy Roden was handicapped with that greatest of all drags + on a successful career—a soft heart. He could speak harshly enough + of the malgamiters as a class, but he was drawn towards this dumb + individual, with a strong desire to effect the impossible. Von Holzen had + not promised that there should be no deaths. He had merely undertaken to + reduce the dangers of the malgamite industry gradually and steadily until + they ceased to exist. He had, moreover, the strength of mind to give to + this incident its proper weight in the balance of succeeding events. He + was not, in a word, handicapped as was his colleague. + </p> + <p> + The sun set beyond the quiet sea and over the sand dunes the shades of + evening crept towards the west. The outline of Prince Bismarck's iron face + faded slowly in the gathering darkness, until it was nothing but a shadow + in a frame on the bare wall. The concertina player had laid aside his + instrument. A sudden silence fell upon land and sea. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen turned sharply on his heel and leant over the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Come along,” he said to Roden, with averted eyes. “It is all over. There + is nothing more for us to do here.” + </p> + <p> + With a backward glance towards the bed, Roden followed his companion, out + of the room into the adjoining apartment where the nurse was sitting, and + where their coats and hats lay on the bed. Von Holzen spoke to the woman + in German. + </p> + <p> + “So!” she answered, with a mild interest, and folded her paper. + </p> + <p> + The two men went out into the keen air together, and did not look towards + each other or speak. Perhaps they knew that if there is any difficulty in + speaking of a subject it is better to keep silence. They crossed the sandy + space between this cottage and the others grouped round the factory like + tents around their headquarters. One of these huts was Von Holzen's—a + three-roomed building where he worked and slept. Its windows looked out + upon the factory, and commanded the only entrance to the railed enclosure + within which the whole colony was confined. It was Von Holzen's habit to + shut himself within his cottage for days together, living there in + solitude like some crustacean within its shell. At the door he turned, + with his fingers on the handle. + </p> + <p> + “You must not worry yourself about this,” he said to Roden, with averted + eyes. “It cannot be helped, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I know that.” + </p> + <p> + “And of course we must keep our own counsel. Good night, Roden.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Good night, Von Holzen.” + </p> + <p> + And Percy Roden passed through the gateway, walking slowly across the + dunes towards his own house; while Von Holzen watched him from the window + of the little three-roomed cottage. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. A SHADOW FROM THE PAST. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Le plus sur moyen d'arriver à son but c'est de ne pas faire + de rencontres en chemin.” + </pre> + <p> + “Yes, it was long ago—'lang, lang izt's her'—you remember the + song Frau Neumayer always sang. So long ago, Mr. Cornish, that——Well, + it must be Mr. Cornish, and not Tony.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart leant back in her comfortable chair and looked at her + visitor with observant eyes. Those who see the most are they who never + appear to be observing. It is fatal to have others say that one is so + sharp, and people said as much of Mrs. Vansittart, who had quick dark eyes + and an alert manner. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Cornish, “it is long ago, but not so long as all that.” + </p> + <p> + His smooth fair face was slightly troubled by the knowledge that the + recollections to which she referred were those of the Weimar days when she + who was now a widow had been a young married woman. Tony Cornish had also + been young in those days, and impressionable. It was before the world had + polished his surface bright and hard. And the impression left of the Mrs. + Vansittart of Weimar was that she was one of the rare women who marry <i>pour + le bon motif</i>. He had met her by accident in the streets of The Hague a + few hours ago, and having learnt her address, had, in duty bound, called + at the house at the corner of Park Straat and Oranje Straat at the + earliest calling hour. + </p> + <p> + “I am not ignorant of your history since you were at Weimar,” said the + lady, looking at him with an air of almost maternal scrutiny. + </p> + <p> + “I have no history,” he replied. “I never had a past even, a few years + ago, when every man who took himself seriously had at least one.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke as he had learnt to speak, with the surface of his mind—with + the object of passing the time and avoiding topics that might possibly be + painful. Many who appear to be egotistical must assuredly be credited with + this good motive. One is, at all events, safe in talking of one's self. + Sufficient for the social day is the effort to avoid glancing at the + cupboard where our neighbour keeps his skeleton. + </p> + <p> + A silence followed Cornish's heroic speech, and it was perhaps better to + face it than stave it off. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Vansittart, at the end of that pause, “I am a widow and + childless. I see the questions in your face.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish gave a little nod of the head, and looked out of the window. Mrs. + Vansittart was only a year older than himself, but the difference in their + life and experience, when they had learnt to know each other at Weimar, + had in some subtle way augmented the seniority. + </p> + <p> + “Then you never—” he said, and paused. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered lightly. “So I am what the world calls independent, you + see. No encumbrance of any sort.” + </p> + <p> + Again he nodded without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “The line between an encumbrance and a purpose is not very clearly + defined, is it?” she said lightly; and then added a question, “What are + you doing in The Hague—Malgamite?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered, in surprise, “Malgamite.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know all about it,” laughed Mrs. Vansittart. “I see Dorothy Roden + at least once a week.” + </p> + <p> + “But she takes no part in it.” + </p> + <p> + “No; she takes no part in it, <i>mon ami</i>, except in so far as it + affects her brother and compels her to live in a sad little villa on the + Dunes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you—you are interested?” + </p> + <p> + “Most assuredly. I have even given my mite. I am interested in”—she + paused and shrugged her shoulders—“in you, since you ask me, in + Dorothy, and in Mr. Roden. He gave the flowers at which you are so + earnestly looking, by the way.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Cornish, politely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Mrs. Vansittart, with a passing smile. “He is kind enough + to give me flowers from time to time. You never gave me flowers, Mr. + Cornish, in the olden times.” + </p> + <p> + “Because I could not afford good ones.” + </p> + <p> + “And you would not offer anything more reasonable?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to you,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “But of course that was long ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I am glad to hear that you know Miss Roden. It will make the little + villa on the Dunes less sad. The atmosphere of malgamite is not cheerful. + One sees it at its best in a London drawing-room. It is one of the many + realities which have an evil odour when approached too closely.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are coming nearer to it?” + </p> + <p> + “It is coming nearer to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mrs. Vansittart, examining the rings with which her fingers + were laden. “I thought there would be developments.” + </p> + <p> + “There are developments. Hence my presence in The Hague. Lord Ferriby <i>et + famille</i> arrive to-morrow. Also my friend Major White.” + </p> + <p> + “The fighting man?” inquired Mrs. Vansittart. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the fighting man. We are to have a solemn meeting. It has been found + necessary to alter our financial basis——” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart held up a warning hand. “Do not talk to me of your + financial basis. I know nothing of money. It is not from that point of + view that I contemplate your Malgamite scheme.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Then, if one may inquire, from what point of view....?” + </p> + <p> + “From the human point of view; as does every other woman connected with + it. We are advancing, I admit, but I think we shall always be willing to + leave the—financial basis—to your down-trodden sex.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very kind of you to be interested in these poor people,” began + Cornish; but Mrs. Vansittart interrupted him vivaciously. + </p> + <p> + “Poor people? Gott bewahre!” she cried. “Did you think I meant the + workers? Oh no! I am not interested in them. I am interested in your + Rodens and your Ferribys and your Whites, and even in your Tony Cornish. I + wonder who will quarrel and who will—well, do the contrary, and what + will come of it all? In my day young people were brought together by a + common pleasure, but that has gone out of fashion. And now it is a common + endeavour to achieve the impossible, to check the stars in their courses + by the holding of mixed meetings, and the enunciation of second-hand + platitudes respecting the poor and the masses—this is what brings + the present generation into that intercourse which ends in love and + marriage and death—the old programme. And it is from that point of + view alone, <i>mon ami</i>, that I take a particle of interest in your + Malgamite scheme.” + </p> + <p> + All of which Tony Cornish remembered later; for it was untrue. He rose to + take his leave with polite hopes of seeing her again. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do not hurry away,” she said. “I am expecting Dorothy Roden, who + promised to come to tea. She will be disappointed not to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish laughed in his light way. “You are kind in your assumptions,” he + answered. “Miss Roden is barely aware of my existence, and would not know + me from Adam.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless he stayed, moving about the room for some minutes looking at + the flowers and the pictures, of which he knew just as much as was + desirable and fashionable. He knew what flowers were “in,” such as + fuchsias and tulips, and what were “out,” such as camellias and double + hyacinths. About the pictures he knew a little, and asked questions as to + some upon the walls that belonged to the Dutch school. He was of the + universe, universal. Then he sat down again unobtrusively, and Mrs. + Vansittart did not seem to notice that he had done so, though she glanced + at the clock. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later Dorothy came in. She changed colour when Mrs. + Vansittart half introduced Cornish with the conventional, “I think you + know each other.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew you were coming to The Hague,” she said, shaking hands with + Cornish. “I had a letter from Joan the other day. They all are coming, are + they not? I am afraid Joan will be very much disappointed in me. She + thinks I am wrapped up heart and soul in the malgamiters—and I am + not, you know.” + </p> + <p> + She turned with a little laugh, and appealed to Mrs. Vansittart, who was + watching her closely, as if Dorothy were displaying some quality or point + hitherto unknown to the older woman. The girl's eyes were certainly + brighter than usual. + </p> + <p> + “Joan takes some things very seriously,” answered Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “We all do that,” said Mrs. Vansittart, without looking up from the + tea-table at which she was engaged. “Yes; it is a mistake, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly,” assented Mrs. Vansittart. “Do you take sugar, Miss Roden?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, please—seriously. Two pieces.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you like Joan?” asked Cornish, as he gave her the cup. “Do you take + anything else seriously?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” answered Dorothy Roden, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “And your brother?” inquired Mrs. Vansittart. “Is he coming this + afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “He will follow me. He is busy with the new malgamiters who arrived this + morning. I suppose you brought them, Mr. Cornish?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I brought them. Twenty-four of them—the dregs, so to speak. + The very last of the malgamiters, collected from all parts of the world. I + was not proud of them.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down and quickly changed the conversation, showing quite clearly + that this subject interested him as little as it interested his + companions. He brought the latest news from London, which the ladies were + glad enough to hear. For to Dorothy Roden, at least, The Hague was a place + of exile, where men lived different lives and women thought different + thoughts. Are there not a hundred little rivulets of news which never flow + through the journals, but are passed from mouth to mouth, and seem shallow + enough, but which, uniting at last, form a great stream of public opinion, + and this, having formed itself imperceptibly, is suddenly found in full + flow, and is so obvious that the newspapers forget to mention it? Thus + colonists and other exiles returning to England, and priding themselves + upon having kept in touch with the progress of events and ideas in the old + country, find that their thoughts have all the while been running in the + wrong channels—that seemingly great events have been considered very + small, that small ideas have been lifted high by the babbling crowd which + is vaguely called society. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From Tony Cornish, Mrs. Vansittart and Dorothy learnt that among other +social playthings charity was for the moment being laid aside. We have +inherited, it appears, a great box of playthings, and the careful + student of history will find that none of the toys are new—that they +have indeed been played with by our forefathers, who did just as we do. +They took each toy from the box, and cried aloud that it was new, that +the world had never seen its like before. Had it not, indeed? Then +presently the toy—be it charity, or a new religion, or sentiment, or +greed of gain, or war—is thrown back into the box again, where it lies +until we of a later day drag it forth with the same cry that it is new. +We grow wild with excitement over South African mines, and never +recognize the old South Sea bubble trimmed anew to suit the taste of +the day. We crow with delight over our East End slums, and never +recognize the patched-up remnants of the last Crusade that fizzled out +so ignominiously at Acre five hundred years ago. +</pre> + <p> + So Tony Cornish, who was <i>dans le movement</i> gently intimated to his + hearers that what may be called a robuster tone ruled the spirit of the + age. Charity was going down, athletics were coming up. Another Olympiad + had passed away. Wise indeed was Solon, who allowed four years for men to + soften and to harden again. During the Olympiads it is to be presumed that + men busied themselves with the slums that existed in those days, hearkened + to the decadent poetry or fiction of that time, and then, as the robuster + period of the games came round, braced themselves once more to the + consideration of braver things. + </p> + <p> + It appeared, therefore, that the Malgamite scheme was already a thing of + the past so far as social London was concerned. A sensational 'Varsity + boat-race had given charity its <i>coup de grace</i>, had ushered in the + spring, when even the poor must shift for themselves. + </p> + <p> + “And in the mean time,” commented Mrs. Vansittart, “here are four hundred + industrials landed, if one may so put it, at The Hague.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but that will be all right,” retorted Cornish, with his gay laugh. + “They only wanted a start. They have got their start. What more can they + desire? Is not Lord Ferriby himself coming across? He is at the moment on + board the Flushing boat. And he is making a great sacrifice, for he must + be aware that he does not look nearly so impressive on the Continent as he + does, say in Piccadilly, where the policemen know him, and even the + newspaper boys are dimly aware that this is no ordinary man to whom one + may offer a halfpenny Radical paper——” + </p> + <p> + Cornish broke off, and looked towards the door, which was at this moment + thrown open by a servant, who announced—“Herr Roden. Herr von + Holzen.” + </p> + <p> + The two men came forward together, Roden slouching and heavy-shouldered, + but well dressed; Von Holzen smaller, compacter, with a thoughtful, still + face and calculating eyes. Roden introduced his companion to the two + ladies. It is possible that a certain reluctance in his manner indicated + the fact that he had brought Von Holzen against his own desire. Either Von + Holzen had asked to be brought or Mrs. Vansittart had intimated to Roden + that she would welcome his associate, but this was not touched upon in the + course of the introduction. Cornish looked gravely on. Von Holzen was + betrayed into a momentary gaucheness, as if he were not quite at home in a + drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + Roden drew forward a chair, and seated himself near to Mrs. Vansittart + with an air of familiarity which the lady seemed rather to invite than to + resent. They had, it appeared, many topics in common. Roden had come with + the purpose of seeing Mrs. Vansittart, and no one else. Her manner, also, + changed as soon as Roden entered the room, and seemed to appeal with a + sort of deference to his judgment of all that she said or did. It was a + subtle change, and perhaps no one noticed it, though Dorothy, who was + exchanging conventional remarks with Von Holzen, glanced across the room + once. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” Von Holzen was saying in his grave way, with his head bent a little + forward, as if the rounded brow were heavy—“ah, but I am only the + chemist, Miss Roden. It is your brother who has placed us on our wonderful + financial basis. He has a head for finance, your brother, and is quick in + his calculations. He understands money, whereas I am only a scientist.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke English correctly but slowly, with the Dutch accent, which is + slighter and less guttural than the German. Dorothy was interested in him, + and continued to talk with him, leaving Cornish standing at a little + distance, teacup in hand. Von Holzen was in strong contrast to the two + Englishmen. He was graver, more thoughtful, a man of deeper purpose and + more solid intellect. There was something dimly Napoleonic in the direct + and calculating glance of his eyes, as if he never looked idly at anything + or any man. It was he who made a movement after the lapse of a few moments + only, as if, having recovered his slight embarrassment, he did not intend + to stay longer than the merest etiquette might demand. He crossed the + room, and stood before Mrs. Vansittart, with his heels clapped well + together, making the most formal conversation, which was only varied by a + stiff bow. + </p> + <p> + “I have a friendly recollection,” he said, preparing to take his leave, + “of a Charles Vansittart, a student at Leyden, with whom I was brought + into contact again in later life. He was, I believe, from Amsterdam, of an + English mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” replied Mrs. Vansittart. “Mine is a common name.” + </p> + <p> + And they bowed to each other in the foreign way. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. DEEPER WATER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Une bonne intention est une échelle trop courte.” + </pre> + <p> + “I have had considerable experience in such matters, and I think I may say + that the new financial scheme worked out by Mr. Roden and myself is a + sound one,” Lord Ferriby was saying in his best manner. + </p> + <p> + He was addressing Major White, Tony Cornish, Von Holzen, and Percy Roden, + convened to a meeting in the private <i>salon</i> occupied by the Ferribys + at the Hotel of the Old Shooting Gallery, at The Hague. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The <i>salon</i> in question was at the front of the house on the first +floor, and therefore looked out upon the Toornoifeld, where the trees +were beginning to show a tender green, under the encouragement of a + treacherous April sun. Major White, seated bolt upright in his chair, +looked with a gentle surprise out of the window. He had so small an +opinion of his understanding that he usually begged explanatory persons +to excuse him. “No doubt you're quite right, but it's no use trying to +explain it to <i>me</i>, don't you know,” he was in the habit of saying, and +his attitude said no less at the present moment. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Von Holzen, with his chin in the palm of his hand, watched Lord +Ferriby's face with a greater attention than that transparent +physiognomy required. Roden's attention was fully occupied by the +papers on the table in front of him. He was seated by Lord Ferriby's +side, ready to prompt or assist, as behoved a merely mechanical +subordinate. Lord Ferriby, dimly conscious of this mental attitude, had +spoken Roden's name with considerable patronage, and with the evident +desire to give every man his due. Cornish, in his quick and superficial +way, glanced from one face to the other, taking in <i>en passant</i> any +object in the room that happened to call for a momentary attention. He +noted the passive and somewhat bovine surprise on White's face, and +wondered whether it owed its presence thereto astonishment at finding +himself taking part in a committee meeting or amazement at the +suggestion that Lord Ferriby should be capable of evolving any scheme, +financial or otherwise, out of his own brain. The committee thus +summoned was a fair sample of its kind. Here were a number of men + dividing a sense of responsibility among them so impartially that there +was not nearly enough of it to go round. In a multitude of councilors +there may be safety, but it is assuredly the councillors only who are +safe. +</pre> + <p> + “The reasons,” continued Lord Ferriby, “why it is inexpedient to continue + in our present position as mere trustees of a charitable fund are too + numerous to go into at the present moment. Suffice it to say that there + are many such reasons, and that I have satisfied myself of their + soundness. Our chief desire is to ameliorate the condition of the + malgamite workers. It must assuredly suggest itself to any one of us that + the best method of doing this is to make the malgamite workers an + independent corporation, bound together by the greatest of ties, a common + interest.” + </p> + <p> + The speaker paused, and turned to Roden with a triumphant smile, as much + as to say, “There, beat that if you can.” + </p> + <p> + Roden could not beat it, so he nodded thoughtfully, and examined the point + of his pen. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said Lord Ferriby, impressively, “the greatest common + interest is a common purse.” + </p> + <p> + As the meeting was too small for applause, Lord Ferriby only allowed + sufficient time for this great truth to be assimilated, and then continued—“It + is proposed, therefore, that we turn the Malgamite Works into a company, + the most numerous shareholders to be the malgamiters themselves. The most + numerous shareholders, mark you—not the heaviest shareholders. These + shall be ourselves. We propose to estimate the capital of the company at + ten thousand pounds, which, as you know, is, approximately speaking, the + amount raised by our appeals on behalf of this great charity. We shall + divide this capital into two thousand five-pound shares, allot one share + to each malgamite worker—say five hundred shares—and retain + the rest—say fifteen hundred shares—ourselves. Of those + fifteen hundred, it is proposed to allot three hundred to each of us. Do I + make myself clear?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Major White, optimistically polishing his eye-glass with a + pocket-handkerchief. “Any ass could understand that.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Our friend Mr. Roden,” continued his lordship, “who, I mention in +passing, is one of the finest financiers with whom I have ever had + relationship, is of opinion that this company, having its works in +Holland, should not be registered as a limited company in England. The +reasons for holding such an opinion are, briefly, connected with the +interference of the English law in the management of a limited +liability company formed for the sole purpose of making money. +We are not disposed to classify ourselves as such a company. We are not +disposed to pay the English income tax on money which is intended for +distribution in charity. Each malgamite worker, with his one share, is +not, precisely speaking, so much a shareholder as a participator in +profits. We are not in any sense a limited liability company.” + </pre> + <p> + That Lord Ferriby had again made himself clear was sufficiently indicated + by the fact that Major White nodded his head at this juncture with + portentous gravity and wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “As to the question of profit and loss,” continued Lord Ferriby, “I am + not, unfortunately, a business man myself, but I think we are all aware + that the business part of the Malgamite scheme is in excellent hands. It + is not, of course, intended that we, as shareholders, shall in any way + profit by this new financial basis. We are shareholders in name only, and + receive profits, if profits there be, merely as trustees of the Malgamite + Fund. We shall administer those profits precisely as we have administered + the fund—for the sole benefit of the malgamite workers. The profits + of these poor men, earned on their own share, may reasonably be considered + in the light of a bonus. So much for the basis upon which I propose that + we shall work. The matter has had Mr. Roden's careful consideration, and I + think we are ready to give our consent to any proposal which has received + so marked a benefit. There are, of course, many details which will require + discussion——Eh?” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby broke off short, and turned to Roden, who had muttered a few + words. + </p> + <p> + “Ah—yes. Yes, certainly. Mr. Roden will kindly spare us details as + much as possible.” + </p> + <p> + This was considerate and somewhat appropriate, as Tony Cornish had yawned + more than once. + </p> + <p> + “Now as to the past,” continued Lord Ferriby. “The works have been going + for more than three months, and the result has been uniformly satisfactory——Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Many deaths?” inquired White, stolidly repeating his question. + </p> + <p> + “Deaths? Ah—among the workers? Yes, to be sure. Perhaps Mr. von + Holzen can tell you better than I.” + </p> + <p> + And his lordship bowed in what he took to be the foreign manner across the + table. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Von Holzen, quietly, “there have, of course, been deaths, + but not so many as I anticipated. The majority of the men had, as Mr. + Cornish will tell you, death written on their faces when they arrived at + The Hague.” + </p> + <p> + “They certainly looked seedy,” admitted Tony. + </p> + <p> + “We will, I think, turn rather to the—eh—er—living,” + said Lord Ferriby, turning over the papers in front of him with a slightly + reproachful countenance. He evidently thought it rather bad form of White + to pour cold water over his new whitewash. For Lord Ferriby's was that + charity which hopeth all things, and closeth her eye to practical facts, + if these be discouraging. “I have here the result of the three months' + work.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at the papers with so condescending an air that it was quite + evident that, had he been a business man and not a lord, he would have + understood them at a glance. There was a short silence while he turned + over the closely written sheets with an air of approving interest. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, as if during those moments he had run his eye up all the + column of figures and found them correct, “the result, as I say, + gentlemen, has been most satisfactory. We have manufactured a malgamite + which has been well received by the paper-makers. We have, furthermore, + been able to supply at the current rate without any serious loss. We are + increasing our plant, and the day is not so far distant when we may, at + all events, hope to be self-supporting.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby sat up and pulled down his waistcoat, a sure signal that the + fountain of his garrulous inspiration was for the moment dried up. + </p> + <p> + With great presence of mind Tony Cornish interposed a question which only + Roden could answer, and after the consideration of some statistics, the + proceedings terminated. It had been apparent all through that Percy Roden + was the only business man of the party. In any question of figures or + statistics his colleagues showed plainly that they were at sea. Lord + Ferriby had in early life been managed by a thrifty mother, who had in due + course married him to a thrifty wife. Tony Cornish's business affairs had + been narrowed down to the financial fiasco of a tailor's bill far beyond + his facilities. Major White had, in his subaltern days, been despatched + from Gibraltar on a business quest into the interior of Spain to buy mules + there for his Queen and country. He fell out with a dealer at Ronda, whom + he knocked down, and returned to Gibraltar branded as unbusiness-like and + hasty, and there his commercial enterprise had terminated. Von Holzen was + only a scientist, a fact of which he assured his colleagues repeatedly. + </p> + <p> + If plain speaking be a sign of friendship, then women are assuredly + capable of higher flights than men. A lifelong friendship between two + women usually means that they quarrelled at school, and have retained in + later days the privilege of mutual plain speaking. If Jones, who was + Tompkins's best man, goes yachting with Tompkins in later days, these two + sinners are quite capable of enjoying themselves immensely in the present + without raking about among the ashes of the past to seek the reason why + Tompkins persisted, in spite of his friends' advice, in making an idiot of + himself over that Robinson girl—Jones standing by all the while with + the ring in his waistcoat pocket. Whereas, if the friendship existed + between the respective ladies of Jones and Tompkins, their conversation + will usually be found to begin with: “I always told you, Maria, when we + were girls together,” or, “Well, Jane, when we were at school you never + would listen to me.” A man's friendship is apparently based upon a + knowledge of another's redeeming qualities. A woman's dearest friend is + she whose faults will bear the closest investigation. + </p> + <p> + It was doubtless owing to these trifling variations in temperament that + Joan Ferriby learnt more about The Hague and Percy Roden and Otto von + Holzen, and lastly, though not leastly, Mrs. Vansittart, in ten minutes + than Tony Cornish could have learnt in a month of patient investigation. + The first five of these ten precious minutes were spent in kissing Dorothy + Roden, and admiring her hat, and holding her at arm's length, and saying, + with conviction, that she was a dear. Then Joan asked why Dorothy had + ceased writing, and Dorothy proved that it was Joan who had been in + default, and lo! a bridge was thrown across the years, and they were + friends once more. + </p> + <p> + “And you mean to tell me,” said Joan, as they walked up the Korte Voorhout + towards the canal and the Wood, “that you don't take any interest in the + Malgamite scheme?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Dorothy. “And I am weary of the very word.” + </p> + <p> + “But then you always were rather—well, frivolous, weren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not take lessons as seriously as you, perhaps, if that is what you + mean,” admitted Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + And Joan, who had come across to Holland full of zeal in well-doing, and + as seriously as ever Queen Marguerite sailed to the Holy Land, walked on + in silence. The trees were just breaking into leaf, and the air was laden + with a subtle odour of spring. The Korte Voorhout is, as many know, a + short broad street, spotlessly clean, bordered on either side by quaint + and comfortable houses. The traffic is usually limited to one carriage + going to the Wood, and on the pavement a few leisurely persons engaged in + taking exercise in the sunshine. It was a different atmosphere to that + from which Joan had come, more restful, purer perhaps, and certainly + healthier, possibly more thoughtful; and charity, above all virtues, to be + practiced well must be practiced without too much reflection. He who lets + wisdom guide his bounty too closely will end by giving nothing at all. + </p> + <p> + “At all events,” said Joan, “it is splendid of Mr. Roden to work so hard + in the cause, and to give himself up to it as he does.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye—es.” + </p> + <p> + Joan turned sharply and looked at her companion. Dorothy Roden's face was + not, perhaps, easy to read, especially when she turned, as she turned now, + to meet an inquiring glance with an easy smile. + </p> + <p> + “I have known so many of Percy's schemes,” she explained, “that you must + not expect me to be enthusiastic about this.” + </p> + <p> + “But this must succeed, whatever may have happened to the others,” cried + Joan. “It is such a good cause. Surely nothing can be a better aim than to + help such afflicted people, who cannot help themselves, Dorothy! And it is + so splendidly organized. Why, Mr. Johnson, the labour expert, you know, + who wears no collar and a soft hat, said that it could not have been + better organized if it had been a strike. And a Bishop Somebody—a + dear old man with legs like a billiard-table—said it reminded him of + the early Christians' <i>esprit de corps</i>, or something like that. + Doesn't sound like a bishop, though, does it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it doesn't,” admitted Dorothy, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “So if your brother thinks it will not succeed,” said Joan, confidently, + “he is wrong. Besides”—in a final voice—“he has Tony to help + him, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Dorothy, looking straight in front of her, “of course he has + Mr. Cornish.” + </p> + <p> + “And Tony,” pursued Joan, eagerly, “always succeeds. There is something + about him—I don't know what it is.” + </p> + <p> + Dorothy recollected that Mrs. Vansittart had said something like this + about Tony Cornish. She had said that he had the power of holding his + cards and only playing them at the right moment. Which is perhaps the + secret of success in life, namely, to hold one's cards, and, if the right + moment does not present itself, never to play them at all, but to hold + them to the end of the game, contenting one's self with the knowledge that + one has had, after all, the makings of a fine game that might have been + worth the playing. + </p> + <p> + “There are people, you know,” Joan broke in earnestly, “who think that if + they can secure Tony for a picnic the weather will be fine.” + </p> + <p> + “And does he know it?” asked Dorothy, rather shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Tony?” laughed Joan. “Of course not. He never thinks about anything like + that.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. IN THE OUDE WEG. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Le sage entend à demi mot.” + </pre> + <p> + The porter of the hotel on the Toornoifeld was enjoying his early + cigarette in the doorway, when he was impelled by a natural politeness to + stand aside for one of the visitors in the hotel. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said. “You promenade yourself thus early?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Cornish, cheerily, “I promenade myself thus early.” + </p> + <p> + “You have had your coffee?” asked the porter. “It is not good to go near + the canals when one is empty.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish lingered a few minutes, and made the man's mind easy on this + point. There are many who obtain a vast deal of information without ever + asking a question, just as there are some—and they are mostly women—who + ask many questions and are told many lies. Tony Cornish had a cheery way + with him which made other men talk. He was also as quick as a woman. He + went about the world picking up information. + </p> + <p> + The city clocks were striking seven as he walked across the Toornoifeld, + where the morning mist still lingered among the trees. The great square + was almost deserted. Holland, unlike France, is a lie-abed country, and at + an hour when a French town would be astir and its streets already thronged + with people hurrying to buy or sell at the greatest possible advantage, a + Dutch city is still asleep. Park Straat was almost deserted as Cornish + walked briskly down it towards the Willem's Park and Scheveningen. A few + street cleaners were leisurely working, a few milkmen were hurrying from + door to door, but the houses were barred and silent. + </p> + <p> + Cornish walked on the right-hand side of the road, which made it all the + easier for Mrs. Vansittart to perceive him from her bedroom window as he + passed Oranje Straat. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said that lady, and rang the bell for her maid, to whom she + explained that she had a sudden desire to take a promenade this fine + morning. + </p> + <p> + So Tony Cornish walked down the Oude Weg under the trees of that great + thoroughfare, with Mrs. Vansittart following him leisurely by one of the + side paths, which, being elevated above the road enabled her to look down + upon the Englishman and keep him in sight. When he came within view of the + broad road that cuts the Scheveningen wood in two and leads from the East + Dunes to the West—from the Malgamite Works, in a word, to the + cemetery—he sat down on a bench hidden by the trees. And Mrs. + Vansittart, a hundred yards behind him, took possession of a seat as + effectually concealed. + </p> + <p> + They remained thus for some time, the object of a passing curiosity to the + fish-merchants journeying from Scheveningen to The Hague. Then Tony + Cornish seemed to perceive something on the road towards the sea which + interested him, and Mrs. Vansittart, rising from her seat, walked down to + the main pathway, which commanded an uninterrupted view. That which had + attracted Cornish's attention was a funeral, cheap, sordid, and obscure, + which moved slowly across the Oude Weg by the road, crossing it at right + angles. It was a peculiar funeral, inasmuch as it consisted of three + hearses and one mourning carriage. The dead were, therefore, almost as + numerous as the living, an unusual feature in civil burials. From the + window of the rusty mourning coach there looked a couple of debased + countenances, flushed with drink and that special form of excitement which + is especially associated with a mourning coach hired on credit and a + funeral beyond one's means. Behind these two faces loomed others. There + seemed to be six men within the carriage. + </p> + <p> + The procession was not inspiriting, and Cornish's face was momentarily + grave as he watched it. When it had passed, he rose and walked slowly back + towards The Hague. Before he had gone far, he met Mrs. Vansittart face to + face, who rose from a seat as he approached. + </p> + <p> + “Well, <i>mon ami</i>,” she asked, with a short laugh, “have you had a + pleasant walk?” + </p> + <p> + “It has had a pleasant end, at all events,” he replied, meeting her glance + with an imperturbable smile. + </p> + <p> + She jerked her head upwards with a little foreign gesture of indifference. + </p> + <p> + “It is to be presumed,” she said, as they walked on side by side, “that + you have been exploring and investigating our—byways. Remember, my + good Tony, that I live in The Hague, and may therefore be possessed of + information that might be useful to you. It will probably be at your + disposal when you need it.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with daring black eyes, and laughed. A strong man + usually takes a sort of pride in his power. This woman enjoyed the same + sort of exultation in her own cleverness. She was not wise enough to hide + it, which is indeed a grim, negative pleasure usually enjoyed by elderly + gentlemen only. Social progress has, moreover, made it almost a crime to + hide one's light under a bushel. Are we not told, in so many words, by the + interviewer and the personal paragraphist, that it is every man's duty to + set his light upon a candlestick, so that his neighbour may at least try + to blow it out? + </p> + <p> + Cornish had learnt to know Mrs. Vansittart at a period in her life when, + as a young married woman, she regarded all her juniors with a matronly + goodwill, none the less active that it was so exceedingly new. She had in + those days given much good advice, which Cornish had respectfully heard. + Fate had brought them together at the rare moment and in almost the sole + circumstances that allow of a friendship being formed between a man and a + woman. + </p> + <p> + They walked slowly side by side now under the trees of the Oude Weg, + inhaling the fresh morning air, which was scented by a hundred breaths of + spring, and felt clean to face and lips. Mrs. Vansittart had no intention + of resigning her position of mentor and friend. It was, moreover, one of + those positions which will not bear being defined in so many words. + Between men and women it often happens that to point out the existence of + certain feelings is to destroy them. To say, “Be my friend,” as often as + not makes friendship impossible. Mrs. Vansittart was too clever a woman to + run such a risk in dealing with a man in whom she had detected a reserve + of which the rest of the world had taken no account. It is unwise to enter + into war or friendship without seeing to the reserves. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember,” asked Mrs. Vansittart, suddenly, “how wise we were when + we were young? What knowledge of the world, what experience of life one + has when all life is before one!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” admitted Cornish, guardedly. + </p> + <p> + “But if I preached a great deal, I at all events did you no harm,” said + Mrs. Vansittart, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “And as to experience, well, one buys that later.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and the wise re-sell—at a profit,” laughed Cornish. “It is not + a commodity that any one cares to keep. If we cannot sell it, we offer it + for nothing, to the young.” + </p> + <p> + “Who accept it, at an even lower valuation; and you and I, Mr. Tony + Cornish, are cynics who talk cheap epigrams to hide our thoughts.” + </p> + <p> + They walked on for a few yards in silence. Then Tony turned in his quick + way and looked at her. He had thin, mobile lips, which expressed + friendship and curiosity at this moment. + </p> + <p> + “What are <i>you</i> thinking?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She turned and looked at him with grave, searching eyes, and when these + met his it became apparent that their friendship had re-established + itself. + </p> + <p> + “Of your affairs,” she answered, “and funerals.” + </p> + <p> + “Both lugubrious,” suggested Cornish. “But I am obliged to you for so far + honouring me.” + </p> + <p> + He broke off, and again walked on in silence. She glanced at him half + angrily, and gave a quick shrug of the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Then you will not speak,” she said, opening her parasol with a snap. “So + be it. The time has perhaps not come yet. But if I am in the humour when + that time does come, you will find that you have no ally so strong as I. + Ah, you may stick your chin out and look as innocent as you like! You are + not easy in your mind, my good friend, about this precious Malgamite + scheme. But I ask no confidences, and, <i>bon Dieu</i>! I give none.” + </p> + <p> + She broke off with a little laugh, and looked at him beneath the shade of + her parasol. She had a hundred foreign ways of putting a whole wealth of + meaning into a single gesture, into a movement of a parasol or a fan, such + as women acquire, and use upon poor defenceless men, who must needs face + the world with stolid faces and slow, dumb hands. + </p> + <p> + Cornish answered the laugh readily enough. “Ah!” he said, “then I am + accused of uneasiness of mind of preoccupation, in fact. I plead guilty. I + made a mistake. I got up too early. It was a fine morning, and I was + tempted to take a walk before breakfast, which we have at half-past nine, + in a fine old British way. We have toast and a fried sole. Great is the + English milord!” + </p> + <p> + They were in Park Straat now, in sight of Mrs. Vansittart's house. And + that lady knew that her companion was talking in order to say nothing. + </p> + <p> + “We leave this morning,” continued Cornish, in the same vein. “And we + rather flatter ourselves that we have upheld the dignity of our nation in + these benighted foreign parts.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that poor Lord Ferriby! It is so easy to laugh at him. You think him + a fool, although—or because—he is your uncle. So do I, + perhaps. But I always have a little distrust for the foolishness of a + person who has once been a knave. You know your uncle's reputation—the + past one, I mean, not the whitewash. Do not forget it.” They had reached + the corner of Oranje Straat, and Mrs. Vansittart paused on her own + doorstep. “So you leave this morning,” she said. “Remember that I am in + The Hague, and—well, we were once friends. If I can help you, make + use of me. You have been wonderfully discreet, my friend. And I have not. + But discretion is not required of a woman. If there is anything to tell + you, you shall hear from me.” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand, and bade him good-bye with a semi-malicious laugh. + Then she stood in the porch, and watched him walk quickly away. + </p> + <p> + “So it is Dorothy Roden,” she said to herself, with a wise nod. “A queer + case. One of those at first sight, one may suppose.” + </p> + <p> + The Rodens, of whom she thought at the moment, were not only thinking, but + speaking of her. They had finished breakfast, and Dorothy was standing at + the window looking out over the Dunes towards the sea. Her brother was + still seated at the table, and had lighted a cigarette. Like many another + who offers an exaggerated respect to women as a whole, he was rather + inclined to Bohemianism at home, and denied to his immediate feminine + relations the privileges accorded to their sex in general. He was older + than Dorothy, who had always been dependent upon him to a certain extent. + She had a little money of her own, and quite recognized the fact that, + should her brother marry, she would have to work for her living. In the + mean time, however, it suited them both to live together, and Dorothy had + for her brother that affection of which only women are capable. It amounts + to an affectionate tolerance more than to a tolerant affection. For it + perceives its object's little failings with a calm and judicial eye. It + weighs the man in the balance, and finds him wanting. This, moreover, is + the lot of a large proportion of women. This takes the place of that + higher feeling which is probably the finest emotion of which the human + heart is capable. And yet there are men who grudge these sufferers their + petty triumphs, their poor little emancipation, their paltry + wrangler-ships, their very bicycles. + </p> + <p> + “You don't like this place—I know that,” Percy Roden was saying, in + continuation of a desultory conversation. He looked up from the letters + before him with a smile which was kind enough and a little patronizing. + Patronage is perhaps the armour of the outwitted. + </p> + <p> + “Not very much,” answered Dorothy, with a laugh. “But I dare say it will + be better in the summer.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean this villa,” pursued Roden, flicking the ash from his cigarette + and leaning back in his chair. He had grand, rather tired gestures, which + possibly impressed some people. Grandeur, however, like sentiment, is not + indigenous to the hearth. Our domestic admirers are not always watching + us. + </p> + <p> + Dorothy was looking out of the window. “It is not a bad little place,” she + said practically, “when one has grown accustomed to its sandiness.” + </p> + <p> + “It will not be for long,” said Percy Roden. + </p> + <p> + And his sister turned and looked at him with a sudden gravity. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No; I have been thinking that it will be better for us to move into The + Hague—Park Straat or Oranje Straat.” + </p> + <p> + Dorothy turned and faced him now. There was a faint, far-off resemblance + between these two, but Dorothy had the better face—shrewder, more + thoughtful, cleverer. Her eyes, instead of being large and dark and rather + dreamy, were grey and speculative. Her features were clear-cut and + well-cut—a face suggestive of feeling and of self-suppression, + which, when they go together, go to the making of a satisfactory human + being. This was a woman who, to put it quite plainly, would scarcely have + been held in honour by our grandmothers, but who promised well enough for + her possible granddaughters; who, when the fads are lived down and the + emancipation is over and the shrieking is done, will make a very excellent + grandmother to a race of women who shall be equal to men and respected of + men, and, best of all, beloved of men. Wise mothers say that their + daughters must sooner or later pass through an awkward age. Woman is + passing through an awkward age now, and Dorothy Roden might be classed + among those who are doing it gracefully. + </p> + <p> + She looked at her brother with those wise grey eyes, and did not speak at + once. + </p> + <p> + “Oranje Straat and Park Straat,” she said lightly, “cost money.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that is all right!” answered her brother, carelessly, as one who in + his time has handled great sums. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Then we are prosperous?” inquired Dorothy, mindful of other great + schemes which had not always done their duty by their originator. +</pre> + <p> + “Oh yes! We shall make a good thing out of this Malgamite. The labourer is + worthy of his hire, you know. There is no reason why we should not take a + better house than this. Mrs. Vansittart knows of one in Park Straat which + would suit us. Do you like her—Mrs. Vansittart, I mean?” + </p> + <p> + His tone was slightly patronizing again. The Malgamite was a success, it + appeared, and assuredly success is the most difficult emergency that a man + has to face in life. + </p> + <p> + “Very much,” answered Dorothy, quietly. She looked hard at her brother; + for Dorothy had long ago gauged him, and had recently gauged Mrs. + Vansittart with a facility which is quite incomprehensible to men and easy + enough to women. She knew that her brother was not the sort of man to + arouse the faintest spark of love in the heart of such a woman as her of + whom they spoke. And yet Percy's tone implied as clearly as if the words + had been spoken that he had merely to offer to Mrs. Vansittart his hand + and heart in order to make her the happiest of women. Either Dorothy or + her brother was mistaken in Mrs. Vansittart. Between a man and a woman it + is usually the man who is mistaken in an estimate of another woman. + Dorothy was wondering, not whether Mrs. Vansittart admired her brother, + but why that lady was taking the trouble to convey to him that such was + the case. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. SUBURBAN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Le bonheur c'est être né joyeux.” + </pre> + <p> + There are in the suburbs of London certain strata of men which lie in + circles of diminishing density around the great city, like <i>debris</i> + around a volcano. London indeed erupts every evening between the hours of + five and six, and throws out showers of tired men, who lie where they fall—or + rather where their season ticket drops them—until morning, when they + arise and crowd back again to the seething crater. The deposits of small + clerks and tradespeople fall near at hand in a dense shower, bounded on + the north by Finchley, on the south by Streatham. An outer circle of head + clerks, Government servants, junior partners, covers the land in a stratum + reaching as far south as Surbiton, as far north as the Alexandra Palace. + And beyond these limits are cast the brighter lights of commerce, law, and + finance, who fall, a thin golden shower, in the favoured neighbourhoods of + the far suburbs, where, from eventide till morning, they play at being + country gentlemen, talking stock and stable, with minds attuned to share + and produce. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Joseph Wade, banker, was one of those who are thrown far afield by the + facilities of a fine suburban train service. He wore a frock-coat, a very + shiny hat, and he read the <i>Times</i> in the train. He lived in a + staring red house, solid brick without and solid comfort within, in the + favoured pine country of Weybridge. He was one of those pillars of the + British Constitution who are laughed at behind their backs and eminently + respected to their faces. His gardeners trembled before him, his coachman, + as stout and respectable as himself, knew him to be a just and a good + master, who grudged no man his perquisites, and behaved with a fine + gentlemanly tact at those trying moments when the departing visitor is + desirous of tipping and the coachman knows that it is blessed to receive. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade rather scorned the amateur country-gentleman hobby which so many + of his travelling companions affected. It led them to don rough tweed + suits on Sunday, and walk about their paddocks and gardens as if these + formed a great estate. + </p> + <p> + “I am a banker,” he said, with that sound common sense which led him to + avoid those cheap affectations of superiority that belong to the outer + strata of the daily volcanic deposit—“I am a banker, and I am + content to be a banker in the evening and on Sundays, as well as during + bank-hours. What should I know about horses or Alderneys or Dorking fowls? + None of 'em yield a dividend.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade, in fact, looked upon “The Brambles” as a place of rest, arriving + there at half-past six, in time to dress for a very good dinner. After + dinner he read in a small way by no means to be despised. He had a taste + for biography, and cherished in his stout heart a fine old respect for + Thackeray and Dickens and Walter Scott. Of the modern fictionists he knew + nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Seems to me they are splitting straws, my dear,” he once said to an + earnest young person who thought that literature meant contemporary + fiction, whereas we all know that the two are in no way connected. + </p> + <p> + Joseph Wade was a widower, having some years before buried a wife as stout + and sensible as himself. He never spoke of her except to his daughter + Marguerite, now leaving school, and usually confined his remarks to a + consideration of what Marguerite's mother would have liked in the + circumstances under discussion at the moment. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite had been educated at Cheltenham, and “finished” at Dresden, + without any limit as to extras. She had come home from Dresden a few + months before the Malgamite scheme was set on foot, to find herself + regarded by her father in the light of a rather delicate financial crisis. + The affection which had always existed between father and daughter soon + developed into something stronger—something volatile and half + mocking on her part, indulgent and half mystified on his. + </p> + <p> + “She is rather a handful,” wrote Mr. Wade to Tony Cornish, “and too + inconsequent to let my mind be easy about her future. I wish you would run + down and dine and sleep at 'The Brambles' some evening soon. Monday is + Marguerite's eighteenth birthday. Will you come on that evening?” + </p> + <p> + “He is not thirty-three yet,” reflected Mr. Wade, as he folded the letter + and slipped it into an envelope, “and she is the sort of girl who must be + able to give a man her full respect before she can give him—er—anything + else.” + </p> + <p> + From which it may be perceived that the astute banker was preparing to + face the delicate financial crisis. + </p> + <p> + Cornish received the invitation the day after returning from Holland. Mr. + Wade had been his father's friend and trustee, and was, he understood, + distantly related to the mother whom Tony had never known. Such + invitations were not infrequent, and it was the recipient's custom to set + aside others in order to reply with an acceptance. A friendship had sprung + up between two men who were not only divided by a gulf of years, but had + hardly a thought in common. + </p> + <p> + On arriving at Weybridge station, Cornish found Marguerite awaiting his + arrival in a very high dog-cart drawn by an exceedingly shiny cob, which + animal she proceeded to handle with vast spirit and a blithe ignorance. + She looked trim and fresh, with bright brown hair under a smart sailor + hat, and a complexion almost dazzling in its youthfulness and brilliancy. + She nodded gaily at Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “Hop up,” she said encouragingly, “and then hang on like grim death. There + are going to be—whoa, my pet!—er—ructions. All right, + William. Let go.” + </p> + <p> + William let go, and made a dash at the rear step. The shiny cob squeaked, + stood thoughtfully on his hind legs for a moment, and then dashed across + the bridge, shaving a cab rather closely, and failing to observe a bank of + stones at one side of the road. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind this sort of thing?” inquired Marguerite, as they bumped + heavily over the obstruction. + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least. Most invigorating, I consider it.” Marguerite arranged + the reins carefully, and inclined the whip at a suitable angle across her + companion's vision. + </p> + <p> + “I'm learning to drive, you know,” she said, leaning confidently down from + her high seat. “And papa thinks that because this young gentleman is + rather stout he is quiet, which is quite a mistake. Whoa! Steady! Keep off + the grass! Visitors are requested to keep to—Well, I'm”—she + hauled the pony off the common, whither he had betaken himself, on to the + road again—“blowed,” she added, religiously completing her + unfinished sentence. + </p> + <p> + They were now between high fences, and compelled to progress more + steadily. + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad you have come, you know,” Marguerite took the opportunity + of assuring the visitor. “It is jolly slow, I can tell you, at times; and + then you will do papa good. He is very difficult to manage. It took me a + week to get this pony out of him. His great idea is for somebody to marry + me. He looks upon me as a sort of fund that has to be placed or sunk or + something, somewhere. There was a young Scotchman here the week before + last. I have forgotten his name already. John—something—Fairly. + Yes, that is it—John Fairly, of Auchen-something. It is better to be + John Fairly, of Auchen-something, than a belted earl, it appears.” + </p> + <p> + “Did John tell you so himself?” inquired Tony. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and he ought to know, oughtn't he? But that was what put me on my + guard. When a Scotchman begins to tell you who he is, take my advice and + sheer off.” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” said Tony. + </p> + <p> + “And when a Scotchman begins to tell you what he has, you may be sure that + he wants something more. I smelt a rat at once. And I would not speak to + him for the rest of the evening, or if I did, I spoke with a Scotch accent—just + a suspeecion of an accent, you know—nothing to get hold of, but just + enough to let him know that his Auchen-something would not go down with + me.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke with a sort of inconsequent earnestness, a relic of the + school-days she had so lately left behind. She did not seem to have had + time to decide yet whether life was a rattling farce or a matter of deadly + earnest. And who shall blame her, remembering that older heads than hers + are no clearer on that point? + </p> + <p> + On approaching the red villa by its short entrance drive of yellow gravel, + they perceived Mr. Wade slowly walking in his garden. The garden of “The + Brambles” was exactly the sort of garden one would expect to find attached + to a house of that name. It was chiefly conspicuous for its lack of + brambles, or indeed of any vegetable of such disorderly habit. Yellow + gravel walks intersected smooth lawns. April having drawn almost to its + close, there were thin red lines of tulips standing at attention all along + the flowery borders. Not a stalk was out of place. One suspected that the + flowers had been drilled by a martinet of a gardener. The sight of an + honest weed would have been a relief to the eye. The curse of too much + gardener and too little nature lay over the land. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr. Wade, holding out a large white hand. “You perceive me + inspecting the garden, and if you glance in the direction of McPherson's + cottage you will perceive McPherson watching me. I pay him a hundred and + twenty and he knows that it is too much.” + </p> + <p> + “By the way, papa,” put in Marguerite, gravely, “will you tell McPherson + that he will receive a month's notice if he counts the peaches this + summer, as he did last year?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade laughed, and promised her a freer hand in this matter. They + walked in the trim garden until it was time to dress for dinner, and + Cornish saw enough to convince him that Mr. Wade was fully occupied + between banking hours in his capacity as Marguerite's father. + </p> + <p> + That young lady came down as the bell rang, in a white dress as fresh and + girlish as herself, and during the meal, which was long and somewhat + solemn, entertained the guest with considerable liveliness. It was only + after she had left them to their wine, over which the banker loved to + linger in the old-fashioned way that Mr. Wade put on his grave financial + air. He fingered his glass thoughtfully, as if choosing, not a subject of + conversation, but a suitable way of approaching a premeditated question. + </p> + <p> + “You do not recollect your mother?” he said suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “No; she died when I was two years old.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade nodded, and slowly sipped his port. “Queer thing is,” he said, + after a pause and looking towards the door, “that that child is + startlingly like what your mother used to be at the age of eighteen, when + I first knew her. Perhaps it is only my imagination—not that I have + much of that. Perhaps all girls are alike at that age—a sort of + freshness and an optimism that positively take one's breath away. At any + rate, she reminds me of your mother.” He broke off, and looked at Cornish + with his slow and rather ponderous smile. His attitude towards the world + was indeed one of conscious ponderosity. He did not attempt to understand + the lighter side of life, but took it seriously as a work-a-day matter. “I + was once in love with your mother,” he stated squarely. “But circumstances + were against us. You see, your father was a lord's younger brother, and + that made a great difference in Clapham in those days. I felt it a good + deal at the time, but I of course got over it years and years ago. No + sentiment about me, Tony. Sentiment and seventeen stone won't balance, you + know.” The great man slowly drew the decanter towards him. “She got a + better husband in your father—a clever, bright chap—and I was + best man, I recollect. It was about that time—about your age I was—that + I took seriously to my work. Before, I had been a little wild. And that + interest has lasted me right up to the present time. Take my word for it, + Tony, the greatest interest in life would be money-making—if one + only knew what to do with the money afterwards.” The banker had been + eating a biscuit, and he now swept the crumbs together with his little + finger from all sides in a lessening circle until they formed a heap upon + the white tablecloth. “It accumulates,” he said slowly, “accumulates, + accumulates. And, after all, one can only eat and drink the best that are + to be obtained, and the best costs so little—a mere drop in the + ocean.” He handed Tony the decanter as he spoke. “Then I married + Marguerite's mother, some years afterwards, when I was a middle-aged man. + She was the only daughter of—the bank, you know.” + </p> + <p> + And that seemed to be all that there was to be said about Marguerite's + mother. + </p> + <p> + Tony Cornish nodded in his quick, sympathetic way. Mr. Wade had told him + none of this before, but it was to be presumed that he had heard at least + part of it from other sources. His manner now indicated that he was + interested, but he did not ask his companion to say one word more than he + felt disposed to utter. It is probable that he knew these to be no idle + after-dinner words, spoken without premeditation, out of a full heart; for + Mr. Wade was not, as he had boasted, a person of sentiment, but a plain, + straightforward business man, who, if he had no meaning to convey, said + nothing. And in this respect it is a pity that more are not like him. + </p> + <p> + “We have always been pretty good friends, you and I,” continued the + banker, “though I know I am not exactly your sort. I am distinctly City; + you are as distinctly West End. But during your minority, and when we + settled up accounts on your coming of age, and since then, we have always + hit it off pretty well.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cornish, moving his feet impatiently under the table. + </p> + <p> + There was no mistaking the aim of all this, and Mr. Wade was too British + in his habits to beat about the bush much longer. + </p> + <p> + “I do not mind telling you that I have got you down in my will,” said the + banker. + </p> + <p> + Cornish bit his lip and frowned at his wine-glass. And it is possible that + the man of no sentiment understood his silence. + </p> + <p> + “I have frequently disbelieved what I have heard of you,” went on the + elder man. “You have, doubtless, enemies—as all men have—and + you have been a trifle reckless, perhaps, of what the world might say. If + you will allow me to say so, I think none the worse of you for that.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade pushed the decanter across the table, and when Cornish had filled + his glass, drew it back towards himself. It is wonderful what resource + there is in half a glass of wine, if merely to examine it when it is hard + to look elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + “You remember, six months ago, I spoke to you of a personal matter,” said + the banker. “I asked you if you had thoughts of marrying, and suggested + something in the nature of a partnership if that would facilitate your + plans in any way.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not the sort of offer one is likely to forget,” answered Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “I asked you if—well, if it was Joan Ferriby.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And I answered that it was not Joan Ferriby. That was mere gossip, + of which we are both aware, and for which neither of us cares a pin.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it comes to this,” said Mr. Wade, drawing lines on the tablecloth + with his dessert knife as if it were a balance-sheet, and he was casting + the final totals there. “You are a man of the world; you are clever; you + are like your father before you, in that you have something that women + care about. Heaven only knows what it is, for I don't!” He paused, and + looked at his companion as if seeking that intangible something. Then he + jerked his head towards the drawing-room, where Marguerite could be dimly + heard playing an air from the latest comic opera with a fine contempt for + accidentals. “That child,” he said, “knows no more about life than a + sparrow. A man like myself—seventeen stone—may have to balance + his books at any moment. You have a clear field; for you may take my word + for it that you will be the first in it. My own experience of life has + been mostly financial, but I am pretty certain that the first man a woman + cares for is the man she cares for all along, though she may never see him + again. I don't hold it out as an inducement, but there is no reason why + you should not know that she will have a hundred and fifty thousand pounds—not + when I am dead, but on the day she marries.” Mr. Wade paused, and took a + sip of his most excellent port. “Do not hurry,” he said. “Take your time. + Think about it carefully—unless you have already thought about it, + and can say yes or no now.” + </p> + <p> + “I can do that.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade bent forward heavily, with one arm on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said. “Which is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It is no,” answered Cornish, simply. The banker passed his table-napkin + across his lips, paused for a moment, and then rose with, as was his + hospitable custom, his hand upon the sherry decanter. “Then let us go into + the drawing-room,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. THE MAKING OF A MAN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Heureux celui qui n'est forcée de sacrifier personne à son + devoir.” + </pre> + <p> + “You know,” said Marguerite the next morning, as she and Cornish rode + quietly along the sandy roads, beneath the shade of the pines—“you + know, papa is such a jolly, simple old dear—he doesn't understand + women in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you call yourself a woman nowadays?” inquired Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “You bet. Bet those grey hairs of yours if you like. I see them! All down + one side.” + </p> + <p> + “They are all down both sides and on the top as well—my good—woman. + How does your father fail to understand you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, to begin with, he thinks it necessary to have Miss Williams, to + housekeep and chaperon, and to do oddments generally—as if I + couldn't run the show myself. You haven't seen Miss Williams—oh, + crikey! She has gone to Cheltenham for a holiday, for which you may thank + your eternal stars. She is just the sort of person who <i>would</i> go to + Cheltenham. Then papa is desperately keen about my marrying. He keeps + trotting likely <i>partis</i> down here to dine and sleep—that's why + you are here, I haven't a shadow of a doubt. None of the <i>partis</i> + have passed muster yet. Poor old thing, he thinks I do not see through his + little schemes.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish laughed, and glanced at Marguerite under the shade of his straw + hat, wondering, as men have probably wondered since the ages began, how it + is that women seem to begin life with as great a knowledge of the world as + we manage to acquire towards the end of our experience. Marguerite made + her statements with a certain careless <i>aplomb</i>, and these were + usually within measurable distance of the fact, whereas a youth her age + and ten years older, if he be of a didactic turn, will hold forth upon + life and human nature with an ignorance of both which is positively + appalling. + </p> + <p> + “Now, I don't want to marry,” said Marguerite, suddenly returning to her + younger and more earnest manner. “What is the good of marrying?” + </p> + <p> + “What, indeed,” echoed Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, if papa tackles you—about me, I mean—when he has + done the <i>Times</i>—he won't say anything before, the <i>Times</i> + being the first object in papa's existence, and yours very truly the + second—just you choke him off—won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “Promise?” + </p> + <p> + “Promise faithfully.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right. Now tell me—is my hat on one side?” + </p> + <p> + Cornish assured her that her hat was straight, and then they talked of + other things, until they came to a ditch suitable for some jumping + lessons, which he had promised to give her. + </p> + <p> + She was bewilderingly changeable, at one moment childlike, and in the next + very wise—now a heedless girl, and a moment later a keen woman of + the world—appearing to know more of that abode of evil than she well + could. Her colour came and went—her very eyes seemed to change. + Cornish thought of this open field which Marguerite's father had offered, + and perhaps he thought of the hundred and fifty thousand pounds that lay + beneath so bright a surface. + </p> + <p> + On returning to “The Brambles,” they found Mr. Wade reading the <i>Times</i> + in the glass-covered veranda of that eligible suburban mansion. It being a + Saturday, the great banker was taking a holiday, and Cornish had arranged + not to return to town until midday. + </p> + <p> + “Come here,” shouted Mr. Wade, “and have a cigar while you read the + paper.” + </p> + <p> + “And remember,” added Marguerite, slim and girlish in her riding-habit; + “choke him off!” + </p> + <p> + She stood on the door-step, looking over her shoulder, and nodded at + Cornish, her fresh lips tilted at the corner by a smile full of gaiety and + mysticism. + </p> + <p> + “Read that,” said Mr. Wade, gravely. + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Wade was always grave—was clad in gravity and a frock-coat + all his waking moments—and Cornish took up the newspaper carelessly. + He stretched out his legs and lighted a cigar. Then he leisurely turned to + the column indicated by his companion. It was headed, “Crisis in the Paper + Trade: the Malgamite Corner.” + </p> + <p> + And Tony Cornish did not raise his eyes from the printed sheet for a full + ten minutes. When at length he looked up, he found Mr. Wade watching him, + placid and patient. + </p> + <p> + “Can't make head or tail of it,” he said, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I will make both head and tail of it for you,” said Mr. Wade, who in his + own world had a certain reputation for plain speaking. + </p> + <p> + It was even said that this stout banker could tell a man to his face that + he was a scoundrel with a cooler nerve than any in Lombard Street. + </p> + <p> + “What has occurred,” he said, slowly folding the advertisement sheet of + the <i>Times</i>, “is only what has been foreseen for a long time. The + world has been degenerating into a maudlin state of sentiment for some + years. The East End began it; a thousand sentimental charities have + fostered the movement. Now, I am a plain man—a City man, Tony, to + the tips of my toes.” And he stuck out a large square-toed foot and looked + contemplatively at it. “Half of your precious charities—the + societies that you and Joan Ferriby, and, if you will allow me to say so, + that ass Ferriby, are mixed up in—are not fraudulent, but they are + pretty near it. Some people who have no right to it are putting other + people's money into their pockets. It is the money of fools—a fool + and his money are soon parted, you know—but that does not make + matters any better. The fools do not always part with their money for the + right reason; but that also is of small importance. It is not our business + if some of them do it because they like to see their names printed under + the names of the royal and the great—if others do it for the mere + satisfaction of being life—governors of this and that institution—if + others, again, head the county lists because they represent a part of that + county in Parliament—if the large majority give of their surplus to + charities because they are dimly aware that they are no better than they + should be, and wish to take shares in a concern that will pay a dividend + in the hereafter. They know that they cannot take their money out of this + world with them, so they think they had better invest some of it in what + they vaguely understand to be a great limited company, with the bishops on + the board and—I say it with all reverence—the Almighty in the + chair. I would not say this to the first-comer because it would not be + well received, and it is not fashionable to treat Charity from a + common-sense point of view. It is fashionable to send a cheque to this and + that charity—feeling that it is charity, and therefore will be all + right, and that the cheque will be duly placed on the credit side of the + drawer's account in the heavenly books, however it may be foolishly spent + or fraudulently appropriated by the payee on earth. Half a dozen of the + fashionable charities are rotten, but we have not had a thorough-going + swindle up to this time. We have been waiting for it ... in Lombard + Street. It is there....” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and tapped the printed column of the <i>Times</i> with a fat + and inexorable forefinger. He was, it must be remembered, a mere banker—a + person in the City, where honesty is esteemed above the finer qualities of + charity and beneficence, where soul and sentiment are so little known that + he who of his charity giveth away another's money is held accountable for + his manner of spending it. + </p> + <p> + “It is there, ... and you have the honour of being mixed up in it,” said + Mr. Wade. + </p> + <p> + Cornish took up the paper, and looked at the printed words with a vague + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “There is no knowing,” went on the banker, “how the world will take it. It + is one of our greatest financial difficulties that there is never any + knowing how the world will take anything. Of course, we in the City are + plain-going men, who have no handles to our names and no time for the + fashionable fads. We are only respectable, and we cannot afford to be + mixed up in such a scheme as your malgamite business.” Mr. Wade glanced at + Cornish and paused a moment. He was a stolid Englishman, who had received + punishment in his time, and could hit hard when he deemed that hard + hitting was merciful. “It has only been a question of time. The credulity + of the public is such that, sooner or later, a bogus charity must + assuredly have followed in the wake of the thousand bogus companies that + exist to-day. I only wonder that it has not come sooner. You and Ferriby + and, of course, the women have been swindled, my dear Tony—that is + the head and the tail of it.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish laughed gaily. “I dare say we have,” he admitted. “But I will be + hanged if I see what it all means, now.” + </p> + <p> + “It may mean ruin to those who have anything to lose,” explained Mr. Wade, + calmly. “The whole thing has been cleverly planned—one of the + cleverest things of recent years, and the man who thought it out had the + makings of a great financier in him. What he wanted to do was to get the + malgamite industry into his own hands. If he had formed a company and gone + about it in a straightforward manner, the paper-makers of the whole world + would have risen like one man and smashed him. Instead of that, he moved + with the times, and ran the thing as a charity—a fashionable + amusement, in fact. The malgamite industry is neither better nor worse + than the other dangerous trades, and no man need go into it unless he + likes. But the man who started this thing—whoever he may be—supplied + that picturesqueness without which the public cannot be moved—and + lo! We have an army of martyrs.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade paused and jerked the ash from his cigar. He glanced at Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “No one suspected that there was anything wrong. It was plausibly put + forth, and Ferriby ... did his best for it. Then the money began to come + in, and once money begins to come in for a popular charity the difficulty + is to stop it. I suppose it is still coming in?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cornish. “It is still coming in, and nobody is trying to stop + it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade laughed in his throat, as fat men do. “And,” he cried, sitting + upright and banging his heavy fist down on the arm of his chair—“and + there are millions in your malgamite works at the Hague—millions. If + it were only honest it would be the finest monopoly the world has ever + seen—for two years, but no longer. At the end of that period the + paper-makers will have had time to combine and make their own stuff—then + they'll smash you. But during those two years all the makers in the world + will have to buy your malgamite at the price you chose to put upon it. + They have their forward contracts to fulfil—government contracts, + Indian contracts, newspaper contracts. Thousands and thousands of tons of + paper will have to be manufactured at a loss every week during the next + two years, or they'll have to shut up their mills. Now do you see where + you are?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Cornish, “I see where I am, now.” + </p> + <p> + His face was drawn and his eyes hard, like those of a man facing ruin. And + that which was written on his face was an old story, so old that some may + not think it worth the telling; for he had found out (as all who are + fortunate will, sooner or later, discover) that success or failure, riches + or poverty, greatness or obscurity, are but small things in a man's life. + Mr. Wade looked at his companion with a sort of wonder in his shrewd old + face. He had seen ruined men before now—he had seen criminals + convicted of their wrong-doing—he had seen old and young in + adversity, and, what is more dangerous still, in prosperity—but he + had never seen a young face grow old in the twinkling of an eye. The + banker was only thinking of this matter as a financial crisis, in which + his great skill made him take a master's delight. There must inevitably + come a great crash, and Mr. Wade's interest was aroused. Cornish was + realizing that the crash would of a certainty fall between himself and + Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + “This thing,” continued the banker, judicially, “has not evolved itself. + It is not the result of a singular chain of circumstances. It is the + deliberate and careful work of one man's brain. This sort of speculative + gambling comes to us from America. It was in America that the first cotton + corner was conceived. That is what the paper means when it plainly calls + it the malgamite corner. Now, what I want to know is this—who has + worked this thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Percy Roden,” answered Cornish, thoughtfully. “It is Roden's corner.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Roden's a clever fellow,” said the great financier. “The sort of man + who will die a millionaire or a felon—there is no medium for that + sort. He has conducted the thing with consummate skill—has not made + a mistake yet. For I have watched him. He began well, by saying just + enough and not too much. He went abroad, but not too far abroad. He + avoided a suspicious remoteness. Then he bided his time with a fine + patience, and at the right moment converted it quietly into a company—with + a capital subscribed by the charitable—a splendid piece of audacity. + I saw the announcement in the newspaper, neatly worded, and issued at the + precise moment when the public interest was beginning to wane, and before + the thing was forgotten. People read it, and having found a new plaything—bicycles, + I suppose—did not care two pins what became of the malgamite scheme, + and yet they were not left in a position to be able to say that they had + never heard that the thing had been turned into a company.” The banker + rubbed his large soft hands together with a grim appreciation of this + misapplied skill, which so few could recognize at its full value. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he continued, in his deliberate, practical way, as if in the course + of his experience he had never yet met a difficulty which could not be + overcome, “it is more our concern to think about the future. The + difficulty you are in would be bad enough in itself—it is made a + hundred times worse by the fact that you have a man like Roden, with all + the trumps in his hand, waiting for you to throw the first card. Of + course, I know no details yet, but I soon shall. What seems complicated to + you may appear simple enough to me. I am going to stand by you—understand + that, Tony. Through thick and thin. But I am going to stand behind you. I + can hit harder from there. And this is just one of those affairs with + which my name must not be associated. So far as I can judge at present, + there seems to be only one course open to you, and that is to abandon the + whole affair as quietly and expeditiously as possible, to drop malgamite + and the hope of benefiting the malgamite workers once and for all.” + </p> + <p> + Tony was looking at his watch. It was, it appeared, time for him to go if + he wanted to catch his train. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, rising; “I will be d——d if I do that.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade looked at him curiously, as one may look at a sleeper who for no + apparent reason suddenly wakes and stretches himself. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said slowly, and that was all. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. UNSOUND. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Be wiser than other people if you can; but do not tell them + so.” + </pre> + <p> + If Major White was not a man of quick comprehension, he was, at all + events, honest in his density. He never said that he understood when he + did not do so. When he received a telegram in barracks at Dover to come up + to London the next day and meet Cornish at his club at one o'clock, the + major merely said that he was in a state of condemnation, and fixing his + glass very carefully into his more surprised eye, studied the thin pink + paper as if it were a unique and interesting proof of the advance of the + human race. In truth, Major White never sent telegrams, and rarely + received them. He blew out his cheeks and said a second time that he was + damned. Then he threw the telegram into a waste-paper basket, which was + rarely put to so legitimate a use; for the major never wrote letters if he + could help it, and received so few that they hardly kept him supplied in + pipe-lights. + </p> + <p> + He apparently had no intention of replying to Cornish's telegram, arguing + very philosophically in his mind that he would go if he could, and if he + could not, it would not matter very much. A method of contemplating life, + as a picture with a perspective to it, which may be highly recommended to + fussy people who herald their paltry little comings and goings by a number + of unnecessary communications. + </p> + <p> + Without, therefore, attempting a surmise as to the meaning of this + summons, White took a morning train to London, and solemnly reported + himself to the hall porter of a club in St. James's Street as the + well-dressed throng was leisurely returning from church. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Cornish told me to come and have lunch with him,” he said, in his + usual bald style, leaving explanations and superfluous questions to such + as had time for luxuries of that description. + </p> + <p> + He was taken charge of by a button-boy, whose head reached the major's + lowest waistcoat button, was deprived of his hat and stick, and + practically commanded to wash his hands, to all of which he submitted + under stolid and silent protest. + </p> + <p> + Then he was led upstairs, refusing absolutely to hurry, although urged + most strongly thereto by the boy's example and manner of pausing a few + steps higher up and looking back. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the major, when he had heard Cornish's story across the table, + and during the consumption of a perfectly astonishing luncheon—“yes; + half the trouble in this world comes from the incapacity of the ordinary + human being to mind his own business.” He operated on a creaming Camembert + cheese with much thoughtfulness, and then spoke again. “I should like you + to tell me,” he said, “what a couple of idiots like us have to do with + these confounded malgamiters. We do not know anything about industry or + workmen—or work, so far as that goes”—he paused and looked + severely across the table—“especially you,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Which was strictly true; for Tony Cornish was and always had been a + graceful idler. He was one of those unfortunate men who possess + influential relatives, than which there are few heavier handicaps in that + game of life, where if there be any real scoring to be done, it must be + compassed off one's own bat. To follow out the same inexpensive simile, + influential relatives may get a man into a crack club, but they cannot + elect him to the first eleven. So Tony Cornish, who had never done + anything, but had waited vaguely for something to turn up that might be + worth his while to seize, had no answer ready, and only laughed gaily in + his friend's face. + </p> + <p> + “The first thing we must do,” he said, very wisely leaving the past to + take care of itself, “is to get old Ferriby out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “'Cos he is a lord?” + </p> + <p> + “Partly.” + </p> + <p> + “'Cos he is an ass?” suggested White, as a plausible alternative. + </p> + <p> + “Partly; but chiefly because he is not the sort of man we want if there is + going to be a fight.” + </p> + <p> + A momentary light gleamed in the major's eye, but it immediately gave + place to a placid interest in the Camembert. + </p> + <p> + “If there is going to be a fight,” he said, “I'm on.” + </p> + <p> + In which trivial remark the major explained his whole life and mental + attitude. And if the world only listened, instead of thinking what effect + it is creating and what it is going to say next, it would catch men thus + giving themselves away in their daily talk from morning till night. For + Major White had always been “on” when there was fighting. By dint of + exchanging and volunteering and asking, and generally bothering people in + a thick-skinned, dull way, he always managed to get to the front, where + his competitors—the handful of modern knights-errant who mean to + make a career in the army, and inevitably succeed—were not afraid of + him, and laughingly liked him. And the barrack-room balladists had + discovered that White rhymes with Fight. And lo! Another man had made a + name for himself in a world that is already too full of names, so that in + the paths of Fame the great must necessarily fall against each other. + </p> + <p> + After luncheon, in the smaller smoking-room, where they were alone, + Cornish explained the situation at greater length to Major White, who did + not even pretend to understand it. + </p> + <p> + “All I can make of it is that that loose-shouldered chap Roden is a + scoundrel,” he said bluntly, from behind a great cigar, “and wants + thumping. Now, if there's anything in that line—” + </p> + <p> + “No; but you must not tell him so,” interrupted Cornish. “I wish to + goodness I could make you understand that cunning can only be met by + cunning, not by thumps, in these degenerate days. Old Wade has taken us by + the hand, as I tell you. They come to town, by the way, to-morrow, and + will be in Eaton Square for the rest of the season. He says that it is his + business to meet the low cunning of the small solicitors and the noble + army of company promoters, and it seems that he knows exactly what to do. + At any rate, it is not expedient to thump Roden.” + </p> + <p> + Major White shrugged his shoulders with much silent wisdom. He believed, + it appeared, in thumps in face of any evidence in favour of milder + methods. + </p> + <p> + “Deuced sorry for that girl,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Cornish was lighting a cigarette. “What girl?” he asked quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Roden, chap's sister. She knows her brother is a dark horse, but she + wouldn't admit it, not if you were to kill her for it. Women”—the + major paused in his great wisdom—“women are a rum lot.” + </p> + <p> + Which, assuredly, no one is prepared to deny. + </p> + <p> + Cornish glanced at his companion through the cigarette smoke, and said + nothing. + </p> + <p> + “However,” continued the major, “I am at your service. Let us have the + orders.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow,” answered Cornish, “is Monday, and therefore the Ferribys will + be at home. You and I are to go to Cambridge Terrace about four o'clock to + see my uncle. We will scare him out of the Malgamite business. Then we + will go upstairs and settle matters with Joan. Wade and Marguerite will + drop in about half-past four. Joan and Marguerite see a good deal of each + other, you know. If we have any difficulty with my uncle, Wade will give + him the <i>coup de grâce</i>, you understand. His word will have more + weight than ours We shall then settle on a plan of campaign, and clear out + of my aunt's drawing-room before the crowd comes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will do the talking,” stipulated Major White. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes; I will do the talking. And now I must be off. I have a lot of + calls to pay, and it is getting late. You will find me here to-morrow + afternoon at a quarter to four.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Major White took his departure, to appear again the next day in + good time, placid and debonair—as he had appeared when called upon + in various parts of the world, where things were stirring. + </p> + <p> + They took a hansom, for the afternoon was showery, and drove through the + crowded streets. Even Cambridge Terrace, usually a quiet thoroughfare, was + astir with traffic, for it was the height of the season and a levee day. + As the cab swung round into Cambridge Terrace, White suddenly pushed his + stick up through the trap-door in the roof of the vehicle. + </p> + <p> + “Ninety-nine,” he shouted to the driver in his great voice. “Not nine.” + </p> + <p> + Then he threw himself back against the dingy blue cushions. + </p> + <p> + Cornish turned and looked at him in surprise. “Gone off your head?” he + inquired. “It is nine—you know that well enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered White, “I know that, my good soul; but you could not see + the door as I could when we came round the corner. Roden and Von Holzen + are on the steps, coming out.” + </p> + <p> + “Roden and Von Holzen in England?” + </p> + <p> + “Not only in England,” said White, placidly, “but in Cambridge Terrace. + And “—he paused, seeking a suitable remark among his small selection + of conversational remnants—“and the fat is in the fire.” + </p> + <p> + The cab had now stopped at the door of number ninety-nine. And if Roden or + Von Holzen, walking leisurely down Cambridge Terrace, had turned during + the next few moments, they would have seen a stationary hansom cab, with a + large round face—mildly surprised, like a pink harvest moon—rising + cautiously over the roof of it, watching them. + </p> + <p> + When the coast was clear, Cornish and White walked back to number nine. + Lord Ferriby was at home, and they were ushered into his study, an + apartment which, like many other things appertaining to his lordship, was + calculated to convey an erroneous impression. There were books upon the + tables—the lives of great and good men. Pamphlets relating to + charitable matters, missionary matters, and a thousand schemes for the + amelioration of the human lot here and hereafter, lay about in profusion. + This was obviously the den of a great philanthropist. + </p> + <p> + His lordship presently appeared, carrying a number of voting papers, which + he threw carelessly on the table. He was, it seemed, a subscriber to many + institutions for the blind, the maimed, and the halt. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, “I generally get through my work in the morning, but I find + myself behindhand to-day. It is wonderful,” he added, directing his + conversation and his benevolent gaze towards White, “how busy an idle man + may be.” + </p> + <p> + “M—m—yes!” answered the major, with his stolid stare. + </p> + <p> + Cornish broke what threatened to be an awkward silence by referring at + once to the subject in hand. + </p> + <p> + “It seems,” he began, “that this Malgamite scheme is not what we took it + to be.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby looked surprised and slightly scandalized. Could it be + possible for a fashionable charity to be anything but what it appeared to + be? In his eyes, wandering from one face to the other, there lurked the + question as to whether they had seen Roden and Von Holzen quit his door a + minute earlier. But no reference was made to those two gentlemen, and Lord + Ferriby, who, as a chairman of many boards, was a master of the art of + conciliation and the decent closing of both eyes to unsightly facts, + received Cornish's suggestion with a polite and avuncular pooh-pooh. + </p> + <p> + “We must not,” he said soothingly, “allow our judgment to be hastily + affected by the ill-considered statements of the—er—newspapers. + Such statements, my dear Anthony—and you, Major White—are, I + may tell you, only what we, as the pioneers of a great movement, must be + prepared to expect. I saw the article in the <i>Times</i> to which you + refer—indeed, I read it most carefully, as, in my capacity of + chairman of this—eh—char—that is to say, company, I was + called upon to do. And I formed the opinion that the mind of the writer + was—eh—warped.” Lord Ferriby smiled sadly, and gave a final + wave of the hand, as if to indicate that the whole matter lay in a + nutshell, and that nutshell under his lordship's heel. “Warped or not,” + answered Cornish, “the man says that we have formed ourselves into a + company, which company is bound to make huge profits, and those profits + are naturally assumed to find their way into our pockets.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Anthony,” replied the chairman, with a laugh which was almost a + cackle, “the labourer is worthy of his hire.” + </p> + <p> + Which seems likely to become the <i>dernier cri</i> of the overpaid + throughout all the ages. + </p> + <p> + “Even if we contradict the statement,” pursued Cornish, with a sudden + coldness in his manner, “the contradiction will probably fail to reach + many of the readers of this article, and as matters at present stand, I do + not see that we are in a position to contradict.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“My dear Anthony,” answered Lord Ferriby, turning over his papers with +a preoccupied air, as if the question under discussion only called for +a small share of his attention—“my dear Anthony, the money was +subscribed for the amelioration of the lot of the malgamite workers. We +have not only ameliorated their lot, but we have elevated them morally +and physically. We have far exceeded our promises, and the subscribers, + who, after all, take a small interest in the matter, have every reason +to be satisfied that their money has been applied to the purpose for +which they intended it. They were kind enough to intrust us with the +financial arrangements. The concern is a private one, and it is the +business of no one—not even of the <i>Times</i>—to inquire into the method +which we think well to adopt for the administration of the Malgamite +Fund. If the subscribers had no confidence in us, they surely would not +have given the management unreservedly into our hands.” Lord Ferriby +spread out the limbs in question with an easy laugh. Has not a greater +than any of us said that a man “may smile, and smile, and be a +villain”? A silence followed, which was almost, but not quite, broken +by the major, who took his glass from his eye, examined it very +carefully, as if wondering how it had been made, and, replacing it with +a deep sigh, sat staring at the opposite wall. +</pre> + <p> + “Then you are not disposed to withdraw your name from the concern?” asked + Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “Most certainly not, my dear Anthony. What have the malgamiters done that + I should, so to speak, abandon them at the first difficulty which has + presented itself?” + </p> + <p> + “And what about the profits?” inquired Cornish, bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Roden is our paid secretary. He understands the financial situation, + which is rather a complicated one. We may, I think, leave such details to + him. And if I may suggest it (I may perhaps rightly lay claim to a + somewhat larger experience in charitable finances than either of you), I + should recommend a strict reticence on this matter. We are not called upon + to answer idle questions, I think. And if—well—if the labourer + is found worthy of his hire ... buy yourself a new hat, my dear Anthony. + Buy yourself a new hat.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish rose, and looked at his watch. “I wonder if Joan will give us a + cup of tea,” he said. “We might, at all events, go up and try.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly—certainly. And I will follow when I have finished my + work. And do not give the matter another thought—either of you—eh!” + </p> + <p> + “He's been got at,” said Major White to his companion as they walked + upstairs together, as if Lord Ferriby were a jockey or some common person + of that sort. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. PLAIN SPEAKING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Il est rare que la tête des rois soit faite à la mesure de + leur couronne.” + </pre> + <p> + “What I want is something to eat,” Miss Marguerite Wade confided in an + undertone to Tony Cornish, a few minutes later in Lady Ferriby's + drawing-room. She said this with a little glance of amusement, as Cornish + stood before her with two plates of biscuits, which certainly did not + promise much sustenance. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” answered Cornish, “you have come to the wrong house.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite kept him waiting while she arranged biscuits in her saucer. He + set the plates aside, and returned to her in answer to her tacit order, + conveyed by laying one hand on a vacant chair by her side. Marguerite was + in the midst of that brief period of a woman's life wherein she dares to + state quite clearly what she wants. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you marry Joan?” she asked, eating a biscuit with a fine young + optimism, which almost implied that things sometimes taste as nice as they + look. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you marry Major White?” retorted Tony; and Marguerite turned + and looked at him gravely. + </p> + <p> + “For a man,” she said, “that wasn't so dusty. So few men have any eyes in + their head, you know.” And she thoughtfully finished the biscuits. “I + think I'll go back to the bread-and-butter,” she said. “It's the last time + Lady Ferriby will ask me to stay to tea, so I may as well be hanged for—three + pence as three farthings. And I think I will be more careful with you in + the future. For a man, you are rather sharp.” And she looked at him + doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “When you attain my age,” replied Tony, “you will have arrived at the + conclusion that the whole world is sharper than one took it to be. It does + not do to think that the world is blind. It is better not to care whether + it sees or not.” + </p> + <p> + “Women cannot afford to do that,” returned Marguerite, with the + accumulated wisdom of nearly a score of years. “Oh, hang!” she added, a + moment later, under her breath, as she perceived Joan and Major White + coming towards them. + </p> + <p> + “I have a letter for you,” said Joan, “enclosed in one I received this + morning from Mrs. Vansittart at The Hague. She is not coming to the + Harberdashers' Assistants' Ball, and this is, I suppose, in answer to the + card you sent her. She explains that she did not know your address.” And + Joan looked at him with a doubting glance for a moment. + </p> + <p> + Cornish took the letter, but did not ask permission to open it. He held it + in his hand, and asked Joan a question. “Did you see Saturday's Times?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course I did,” she answered earnestly; “and of course, if it is + true you will all wash your hands of the whole affair, I suppose. I was + talking to Mr. Wade about it. He, however, placed both sides of the + question before me in about ten words, and left me to take my choice—which + I am incompetent to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Papa doesn't understand women,” put in Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + “Understands money, though,” retorted Major White, looking at her in + somewhat severe astonishment, as if he had hitherto been unaware that she + could speak. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite took the rebuff with demurely closed lips, a probable + indication that the only retort she could think of was hardly fit for + enunciation. + </p> + <p> + Then Cornish drifted out of the conversation, and presently moved away to + the window, where he took the opportunity of opening Mrs. Vansittart's + letter. Mr. Wade, near at hand, was explaining good-naturedly to Lady + Ferriby that, with the best will in the world, five per cent, and perfect + safety are not to be obtained nowadays. + </p> + <p> + “MON AMI” (wrote Mrs. Vansittart in French), “I take a daily promenade + after coffee in the Oude Weg. I sit on the bench where you sat, and more + often than not I see the sight that you saw. I am not a sentimental woman, + but, after all, one has a heart, and this is a pitiful affair. Also, I + have obtained from a reliable source the information that the new system + of manufacture is more deadly than the old, which I have long suspected, + and which, I believe, has passed through your mind as well. You and I went + into this thing without <i>le bon motif</i>; but Providence is dealing out + fresh hands, and you, at all events, hold cards that call for careful and + bold playing. My friend, throw your Haberdashers over the wall and act + without delay.” + </p> + <h3> + “E. V.” + </h3> + <p> + She enclosed a formal refusal of the invitation to the Haberdashers' + Assistants' Ball. + </p> + <p> + Major White was not a talkative man, and towards Joan in particular his + attitude was one of silent wonder. In preference to talking to her, he + preferred to stand a little way off and look at her. And if, at these + moments, the keen observer could detect any glimmer of expression on his + face, that glimmer seemed to express abject abasement before a creation + that could produce anything so puzzling, so interesting, so absolutely + beautiful—as Joan. + </p> + <p> + Cornish, seeing White engaged in his favourite pastime, took him by the + arm and led him to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Read that,” he said, “and then burn it.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” Joan was saying to Marguerite, as he joined them, “there are, + as your father says, two sides to the question. If papa and Tony and Major + White withdraw their names and abandon the poor malgamiters now, there + will be no help for the miserable wretches. They will all drift back to + the cheaper and more poisonous way of making malgamite. And such a thing + would be a blot upon our civilization—wouldn't it, Tony?” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite nodded an airy acquiescence. She was watching Major White—that + great strategist—tear up Mrs. Vansittart's letter and throw it into + the fire, with a deliberate non-concealment which was perhaps superior to + any subterfuge. The major joined the group. + </p> + <p> + “That is the view that I take of it,” answered Tony. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you say?” asked Joan, turning upon the major. + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh, nothing!” replied that soldier, with perfect truthfulness. + </p> + <p> + “Then what are you going to do?” asked Joan, who was practical, and, like + many practical people, rather given to hasty action. + </p> + <p> + “We are going to stick to the malgamiters,” replied Tony, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Through thick and thin?” inquired Marguerite, buttoning her glove. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—through thick and thin.” + </p> + <p> + Both girls looked at Major White, who stolidly returned their gaze, and + appeared as usual to have no remark to offer. He was saved, indeed, from + all effort in that direction by the advent of Lord Ferriby, who entered + the room with more than his usual importance. He carried an open letter in + his hand, and seemed by his manner to demand the instant attention of the + whole party. There are some men and a few women who live for the + multitude, and are not content with the attention of one or two persons + only. And surely these have their reward, for the attention of the + multitude, however pleasant it may be while it lasts, is singularly + short-lived, and there is nothing more pitiful to watch than the effort to + catch it when it has wandered. + </p> + <p> + “Eh—er,” began his lordship, and everybody paused to listen. “I have + here a letter from our clerk at the Malgamite office in Great George + Street. It appears that there are a number of persons there—paper-makers, + I understand—who insist upon seeing us, and refuse to leave the + premises until they have done so.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby's manner indicated quite clearly his pity for these persons + who had proved themselves capable of such a shocking breach of good + manners. + </p> + <p> + “One hardly knows what to do,” he said, not meaning, of course, that his + words should be taken <i>au pied de la lettre</i>. His hearers, he + obviously felt assured, knew him better than to imagine that he was really + at a loss. “It is difficult to deal with—er—persons of this + description. What do you propose that we should do?” he inquired, turning, + as if by instinct, to Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “Go and see them,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Anthony, such a crisis should be dealt with by Mr. Roden, + whom one may regard as our—er—financial adviser.” + </p> + <p> + “But as Roden is not here, we must do without his assistance. Perhaps Mr. + Wade would consent to act as our financial adviser on this occasion,” + suggested Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go with you,” replied the banker, “and hear what they have to say, + if you like. But of course I can take no part in anything in the nature of + a controversy, and my name must not be mentioned.” + </p> + <p> + “Incognito,” suggested Lord Ferriby, with a forced laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—incognito,” returned the banker, gravely. + </p> + <p> + The major attracted general attention to himself by murmuring something + inaudible, which he was urged to repeat. + </p> + <p> + “Doocid decent of Mr. Wade,” he said, a second time. + </p> + <p> + And that seemed to settle the matter, for they all moved towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “Leave the carriage for me,” cried Marguerite over the banisters, as her + father descended the stairs. “Seems to me,” she added to Joan in an + undertone, “that the Malgamite scheme is up a gum-tree.” + </p> + <p> + At the little office of the Malgamite Fund the directors of that charity + found four gentlemen seated upon the chairs usually grouped round the + table where the ball committee or the bazaar sub-committees held their + sittings. One, who appeared to be what Lord Ferriby afterwards described, + more in sorrow than in anger, as the ringleader, was a red-haired, + brown-bearded Scotchman, with square shoulders and his head set thereon in + a manner indicative of advanced radical opinions. The second in authority + was a mild-mannered man with a pale face and a drooping sparse moustache. + He had a gentle eye, and lips for ever parting in a mildly argumentative + manner. The other two paper-makers appeared to be foreigners. “Ah'm + thinking——” began the mild man in a long drawl; but he was + promptly overpowered by his fellow-countryman, who nodded curtly to Mr. + Wade, and said—“Lord Ferriby?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered the banker, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “That is my name,” said the chairman of the Malgamite Fund, with his + finger in his watch-chain. + </p> + <p> + The russet gentleman looked at him with a fierce blue eye. + </p> + <p> + “Then, sir,” he said, “we'll come to business. For it's on business that + we've come. My friend Mr. MacHewlett, is, like myself, in charge of one of + the biggest mills in the country; here's Mossier Delmont of the great mill + at Clermont-Ferrand, and Mr. Meyer from Germany. My own name's a plain one—like + myself—but an honest one; it's John Thompson.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby bowed, and Major White looked at John Thompson with a placid + interest, as if he felt glad of this opportunity of meeting one of the + Thompson family. + </p> + <p> + “And we've come to ask you to be so good as to explain your position as + regards malgamite. What are ye, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” began Lord Ferriby, with one hand upraised in mild + expostulation, “let us be a little more conciliatory in our manner. We + are, I am sure (I speak for myself and my fellow-directors, whom you see + before you), most desirous of avoiding any unpleasantness, and we are + ready to give you all the information in our power, when”—he paused, + and waved a graceful hand—“when you have proved your right to demand + such information.” + </p> + <p> + “Our right is that of representatives of a great trade. We four men, that + have been deputed to see you on the matter, have at our backs no less than + eight thousand employees—honest, hard-workin' men, whose bread you + are taking out of their mouths. We are not afraid of the ordinary + vicissitudes of commerce. If ye had quietly worked this monopoly in fair + competition, we should have known how to meet ye. But ye come before the + world as philanthropists, and ye work a great monopoly under the guise of + doin' a good work. It was a dirty thing to do.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby shrugged his shoulders. “My dear sir,” he said, “you fail to + grasp the situation. We have given our time and attention to the + grievances of these poor men, whose lot it has been our earnest endeavour + to ameliorate. You are speaking, my dear sir, to men who represent, not + eight thousand employes, but who represent something greater than they, + namely, charity.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah'm thinking!” began Mr. MacHewlett, plaintively, and the very richness + of his accents secured a breathless attention. “Damn charity,” he + concluded, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + And Major White looked upon him in solid approval, as upon a plain-spoken + man after his own heart. + </p> + <p> + “And we,” said Mr. Thompson, “represent commerce, which was in the world + before charity, and will be there after it, if charity is going to be + handled by such as you.” + </p> + <p> + There was, it appeared, no possibility of pacifying these irate + paper-makers, whose plainness of speech was positively painful to ears so + polite as those of Lord Ferriby. A Scotchman, hard hit in his tenderest + spot, namely, the pocket, is not a person to mince words, and Lord Ferriby + was for the moment silenced by the stormy attack of Mr. Thompson, and the + sly, plaintive hits of his companion. But the chairman of the Malgamite + Fund would not give way, and only repeated his assurances of a desire to + conciliate, which desire took the form only of words, and must, therefore, + have been doubly annoying to angry men. To him who wants war there is + nothing more insulting than feeble offers of peace. Major White expressed + his readiness to fight Messrs. Thompson and MacHewlett at one and the same + time on the landing, but this suggestion was not well received. + </p> + <p> + Upon two of the listeners no word was lost, and Mr. Wade and Cornish knew + that the paper-makers had right upon their side. + </p> + <p> + Quite suddenly Mr. Thompson's manner changed, and he glanced towards the + door to see that it was closed. + </p> + <p> + “Then it's a matter of paying,” he said to his companions. Turning towards + Lord Ferriby, he spoke in a voice that sounded more contemptuous than + angry. “We're plain business men,” he said. “What's your price—you + and these other gentlemen?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no price,” answered Cornish, meeting the angry blue eyes and + speaking for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “And mine is too high—for plain business men,” added Major White, + with a slow smile. + </p> + <p> + “Seeing that you're a lord,” said Thompson, addressing the chairman again, + “I suppose it's a matter of thousands. Name your figure, and be done with + it.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby took the insult in quite a different spirit to that displayed + by his two co-directors. He was pale with anger, and spluttered rather + incoherently. Then he took up his hat and stick and walked with much + dignity to the door. + </p> + <p> + He was followed down the stairs by the paper-makers, Mr. Thompson making + use of language that was decidedly bespattered with “winged words,” while + Mr. MacHewlett detailed his own thoughts in a plaintive monotone. Lord + Ferriby got rather hastily into a hansom and drove away. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing for it,” said Mr. Wade to Cornish in the gay little + office above the Ladies' Tea Association—“there is nothing for it + but to run Roden's Corner yourself.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. DANGER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The first and worst of all frauds is to cheat one's self.” + </pre> + <p> + Percy Roden was possessed of that love of horses which, like sentiment, + crops up in strange places. He had never been able to indulge this taste + beyond the doubtful capacities of the livery-stable. He found, however, + that at the Hague he could hire a good saddle-horse, which discovery was + made with suspicious haste after learning the fact that Mrs. Vansittart + occasionally indulged in the exercise that his soul loved. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart said that she rode because one has to take exercise, and + riding is the laziest method of fulfilling one's obligations in this + respect. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like horsy women,” she said; “and I cannot understand how my sex + has been foolish enough to believe that any woman looks her best, or, + indeed, anything but her worst, in the saddle.” + </p> + <p> + There is a period in the lives of most men when they are desirous of + extending their knowledge of the surrounding country on horseback, on a + bicycle, on foot, or even on their hands and knees, if such journeys might + be accomplished in the company of a certain person. Percy Roden was at + this period, and he soon discovered that there are tulip farms in the + neighbourhood of The Hague. A tulip farm may serve its purpose as well as + ever did a ruin or a waterfall in more picturesque countries than Holland; + for, indeed, during the last weeks in April and the early half of May, + these fields of waving yellow, pink, and red are worth traveling many + miles to see. As for Mrs. Vansittart, it may be said of her, as of the + rest of her sex under similar circumstances, that it suited her purpose to + say that she would like nothing better than to visit the tulip farms. + </p> + <p> + Roden's suggestion included breakfast at the Villa des Dunes, whither Mrs. + Vansittart drove in her habit, while her saddle-horse was to follow later. + Dorothy welcomed her readily enough, with, however, a reserve at the back + of her grey eyes. A woman is, it appears, ready to forgive much if love + may be held out as an excuse, but Dorothy did not believe that Mrs. + Vansittart had any love for Percy; indeed, she shrewdly suspected that all + that part of this woman's life belonged to the past, and would remain + there until the end of her existence. There are few things more + astonishing to the close observer of human nature than the accuracy and + rapidity with which one woman will sum up another. + </p> + <p> + “You are not in your habit,” said Mrs. Vansittart, seating herself at the + breakfast-table. “You are not to be of the party?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Dorothy. “I have never had the opportunity or the + inclination to ride.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I know,” laughed the elder woman. “Horses are old-fashioned, and only + dowagers drive in a barouche to-day. I suppose you ride a bicycle, or + would do so in any country but Holland, where the roads make that craze a + madness. I must be content with my old-fashioned horse. If, in moving with + the times, one's movements are apt to be awkward, it is better to be left + behind, is it not, Mr. Roden?” + </p> + <p> + Roden's glance expressed what he did not care to say in the presence of a + third person. When a woman, whose every movement is graceful, speaks of + awkwardness, she assuredly knows her ground. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart, moreover, showed clearly enough that she was on the safe + side of forty by quite a number of years when it came to settling herself + in the saddle and sitting her fresh young horse. + </p> + <p> + “Which way?” she inquired when they reached the canal. + </p> + <p> + “Not that way, at all events,” answered Roden, for his companion had + turned her horse's head toward the malgamite works. + </p> + <p> + He spoke with a laugh that was not pleasant to the ears, and a shadow + passed through Mrs. Vansittart's dark eyes. She glanced across the yellow + sand hills, where the works were effectually concealed by the rise and + fall of the wind-swept land, from whence came no sign of human life, and + only at times, when the north wind blew, a faint and not unpleasant odour + like the smell of sealing-wax. For all that the world knew of the + malgamite workers, they might have been a colony of lepers. “You speak,” + said Mrs. Vansittart, “as if you were a failure instead of a brilliant + success. I think”—she paused for a moment, as if the thought were a + real one and not a mere conversational convenience, as are the thoughts of + most people—“that the cream of social life consists of the cheery + failures.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no faith in my own luck,” answered Percy Roden, gloomily, whose + world was a narrow one, consisting as it did of himself and his bank-book. + Moreover, most men draw aside readily enough the curtain that should hide + the world in which they live, whereas women take their stand before their + curtain and talk, and talk—of other things. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart had never for a moment been mistaken in her estimate of + her companion, of—as he considered himself—her lover. She had + absolutely nothing in common with him. She was a physically lazy, but a + mentally active woman, whose thoughts ran to abstract matters so + persistently that they brought her to the verge of abstraction itself. + </p> + <p> + Percy Roden, on the other hand, would, with better health, have been an + athlete. In his youth he had overtaxed his strength on the football field. + When he took up a newspaper now he read the money column first and the + sporting items next. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart glanced at neither of these, and as often as not contented + herself with the advertisements of new books, passing idly over the news + of the world with a heedless eye. She, at all events, avoided the mistake, + common to men and women of a journalistic generation, of allowing + themselves to be vastly perturbed over events in far countries, which can + in no way affect their lives. + </p> + <p> + Roden, on the other hand, took a certain broad interest in the progress of + the world, but only watched the daily procession of events with the + discriminating eye of a business man. He kept his eye, in a word, on the + main chance, as on a small golden thread woven in the grey tissue of the + world's history. + </p> + <p> + It was easy enough to make him talk of himself and of the Malgamite + scheme. + </p> + <p> + “And you must admit that you are a success, you know,” said Mrs. + Vansittart. “I see your quiet grey carts, full of little square boxes, + passing up Park Straat to the railway station in a procession every day.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” admitted Roden. “We are doing a large business.” + </p> + <p> + He was willing to allow Mrs. Vansittart to suppose that he was a rich man, + for he was shrewd enough to know that the affections, like all else in + this world, are purchasable. + </p> + <p> + “And there is no reason,” suggested Mrs. Vansittart, “why you should not + go on doing a large business, as you say your method of producing + malgamite is an absolute secret.” + </p> + <p> + “Absolute.” + </p> + <p> + “And the process is preserved in your memory only?” asked the lady, with a + little glance towards him which would have awakened the vanity of wiser + men than Percy Roden. + </p> + <p> + “Not in my memory,” he answered. “It is very long and technical, and I + have other things to think of. It is in Von Holzen's head, which is a + better one than mine.” + </p> + <p> + “And suppose Herr von Holzen should fall down and die, or be murdered, or + something dramatic of that sort—what would happen?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” answered Roden, “we have a written copy of it, written in Hebrew, in + our small safe at the works, and only Von Holzen and I have the keys of + the safe.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart laughed. “It sounds like a romance,” she said. She pulled + up, and sat motionless in the saddle for a few moments. “Look at that line + of sea,” she said, “on the horizon. What a wonderful blue.” + </p> + <p> + “It is always dark like that with an east wind,” replied Roden, + practically. “We like to see it dark.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart turned and looked at him interrogatively, her mind only + half-weaned from the thoughts which he never understood. + </p> + <p> + “Because we know that the smell of malgamite will be blown out to sea,” he + explained; and she gave a little nod of comprehension. + </p> + <p> + “You think of everything,” she said, without enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “No; I only think of you,” he answered, with a little laugh, which indeed + was his method of making love. + </p> + <p> + For fear of Mrs. Vansittart laughing at him, he laughed at love—a + very common form of cowardice. She smiled and said nothing, thus tacitly + allowing him, as she had allowed him before, to assume that she was not + displeased. She knew that in love he was the incarnation of caution, and + would only venture so far as she encouraged him to come. She had him, in a + word, thoroughly in hand. + </p> + <p> + They rode on, talking of other things; and Roden, having sped his shaft, + seemed relieved in mind, and had plenty to say—about himself. A + man's interests are himself, and malgamite naturally formed a large part + of Roden's conversation. Mrs. Vansittart encouraged him with a singular + persistency to talk of this interesting product. + </p> + <p> + “It is wonderful,” she said—“quite wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hardly that,” he answered slowly, as if there were something more + to be said, which he did not say. + </p> + <p> + “And I do not give so much credit to Herr von Holzen as you suppose,” + added Mrs. Vansittart, carelessly. “Some day you will have to fulfil your + promise of taking me over the works.” + </p> + <p> + Roden did not answer. He was perhaps wondering when he had made the + promise to which his companion referred. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go home that way?” asked Mrs. Vansittart, whose experience of + the world had taught her that deliberate and steady daring in social + matters usually, succeeds. “We might have a splendid gallop along the + sands at low tide, and then ride up quietly through the dunes. I take a + certain interest in—well—in your affairs, and you have never + even allowed me to look at the outside of the malgamite works.” + </p> + <p> + “Should like to know the extent of your interest,” muttered Roden, with + his awkward laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you would,” replied Mrs. Vansittart, coolly. “But that is not + the question. Here we are at the cross-roads. Shall we go home by the + sands and the dunes?” + </p> + <p> + “If you like,” answered Roden, not too graciously. + </p> + <p> + According to his lights, he was honestly in love with Mrs. Vansittart, but + Percy Roden's lights were not brilliant, and his love was not a very high + form of that little-known passion. It lacked, for instance, unselfishness, + and love that lacks unselfishness is, at its best, a sorry business. He + was afraid of ridicule. His vanity would not allow him to risk a rebuff. + His was that faintness of heart which is all too common, and owes its + ignoble existence to a sullen vanity. He wanted to be sure that Mrs. + Vansittart loved him before he betrayed more than a half-contemptuous + admiration for her. Who knows that he was not dimly aware of his own + inferiority, and thus feared to venture? + </p> + <p> + The tide was low, as Mrs. Vansittart had foreseen, and they galloped along + the hard, flat sands towards Scheveningen, where a few clumsy + fishing-boats lay stranded. Far out at sea, others plied their trade, + tacking to and fro over the banks, where the fish congregate. The sky was + clear, and the deep-coloured sea flashed here and there beneath the sun. + Objects near and far stood out in the clear air with a startling + distinctness. It was a fresh May morning, when it is good to be alive, and + better to be young. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart rode a few yards ahead of her companion, with a set face + and deep calculating eyes. When they came within sight of the tall chimney + of the pumping-station, it was she who led the way across the dunes. + “Now,” she suddenly inquired, pulling up, and turning in her saddle, + “where are your works? It seems that one can never discover them.” + </p> + <p> + Roden passed her and took the lead. “I will take you there, since you are + so anxious to go—if you will tell me why you wish to see the works,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to know,” she answered, with averted eyes and a slow + deliberation, “where and how you spend so much of your time.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you are jealous of the malgamite works,” he said, with his curt + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I am,” she admitted, without meeting his glance; and Roden rode + ahead, with a gleam of satisfaction in his heavy eyes. + </p> + <p> + So Mrs. Vansittart found herself within the gates of the malgamite works, + riding quietly on the silent sand, at the heels of Roden's horse. + </p> + <p> + The workmen's dinner-bell had rung as they approached, and now the + factories were deserted, while within the cottages the midday meal + occupied the full attention of the voluntary exiles. For the directors had + found it necessary, in the interests of all concerned, to bind the workers + by solemn contract never to leave the precincts of the works without + permission. + </p> + <p> + Roden did not speak, but led the way across an open space now filled with + carts, which were to be loaded during the day in readiness for an early + despatch on the following morning. Mrs. Vansittart followed without asking + questions. She was prepared to content herself with a very cursory visit. + </p> + <p> + They had not progressed thirty yards from the entrance gate, which Roden + had opened with a key attached to his watch-chain, when the door of one of + the cottages moved, and Von Holzen appeared. He was hatless, and came out + into the sunshine rather hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, madame,” he said, “you honour us beyond our merits.” And he stood, + smiling gravely, in front of Mrs. Vansittart's horse. + </p> + <p> + She surreptitiously touched the animal with her heel, but Von Holzen + checked its movement by laying his hand on the bridle. + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” he said, “it happens to be our mixing day, and the factories are + hermetically closed while the process goes forward. Any other day, madame, + that your fancy brings you over the dunes, I should be delighted—but + not to-day. I tell you frankly there is danger. You surely would not run + into it.” He looked up at her with his searching gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you think it is easy to frighten me, Herr von Holzen,” she cried, + with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “No; but I would not for the world that you should unwittingly run any + risks in this place.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, he led the horse quietly to the gate, and Mrs. Vansittart, + seeing her helplessness, submitted with a good grace. + </p> + <p> + Roden made no comment, and followed, not ill pleased, perhaps, at this + simple solution of his difficulty. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen did not refer to the incident until late in the evening, when + Roden was leaving the works. + </p> + <p> + “This is too serious a time,” he said, “to let women, or vanity, interfere + in our plans. You know that the deaths are on the increase. Anything in + the nature of an inquiry at this time would mean ruin, and—perhaps + worse. Be careful of that woman. I sometimes think that she is fooling + you.—But I think,” he added to himself, when the gate was closed + behind Roden, “that I can fool her.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. PLAIN SPEAKING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A tous maux, il y a deux remèdes—le temps et le silence.” + </pre> + <p> + “They call me Uncle Ben—comprenny?” one man explained very slowly to + another for the sixth time across a small iron table set out upon the + pavement. + </p> + <p> + They were seated in front of the humble Café de l'Europe, which lies + concealed in an alley that runs between the Keize Straat and the + lighthouse of Scheveningen. It was quite dark and a lonely reveler at the + next table seemed to be asleep. The economical proprietor of the Café de + l'Europe had conceived the idea of constructing a long-shaped lantern, not + unlike the arm of a railway signal, which should at once bear the insignia + of his house and afford light to his out-door custom. But the idea, like + many of the higher flights of the human imagination, had only left the + public in the dark. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” continued the unchallenged speaker, in a voice which may be heard + issuing from the door of any tavern in England on almost any evening of + the week—the typical voice of the tavern-talker—“yes, they've + always called me Uncle Ben. Seems as if they're sort o' fond of me. Me has + seen many hundreds of 'em come and go. But nothing like this. Lord save + us!” + </p> + <p> + His hand fell heavily on the iron table, and he looked round him in + semi-intoxicated stupefaction. He was in a confidential humour, and when a + man is in this humour, drunk or sober, he is in a parlous state. It was + certainly rather unfortunate that Uncle Ben should have in this expansive + moment no more sympathetic companion than an ancient, intoxicated + Frenchman, who spoke no word of English. + </p> + <p> + “What I want to know, Frenchy,” continued the Englishman, in a thick, + aggrieved voice, “is how long you've been at this trade, and how much you + know about it—you and the other Frenchy. But there's none of us + speaks the other's lingo. It is a regular Tower of Babble we are!” And + Uncle Ben added to his mental confusion a further alcoholic fog. “That's + why I showed yer the way out of the works over the iron fence by the empty + casks, and brought yer by the beach to this 'ere house of entertainment, + and stood yer a bottle of brandy between two of us—which is + handsome, not bein' my own money, seeing as how the others deputed me to + do it—me knowing a bit of French, comprenny?” Benjamin, like most of + his countrymen, considering that if one speaks English in a loud, clear + voice, and adds “comprenny” rather severely, as indicating the intention + of standing no nonsense, the previous remarks will translate themselves + miraculously in the hearer's mind. “You comprenny—eh? Yes. Oui.” + “Oui,” replied the Frenchman, holding out his glass; and Uncle Ben's was + that pride which goes with a gift of tongues. + </p> + <p> + He struck a match to light his pipe—one of the wooden, + sulphur-headed matches supplied by the <i>café</i>—and the guest at + the next table turned in his chair. The match flared up and showed two + faces, which he studied keenly. Both faces were alike unwashed and deeply + furrowed. White, straggling beards and whiskers accentuated the redness of + the eyelids, the dull yellow of the skin. They were hopeless and debased + faces, with that disquieting resemblance which is perceptible in the faces + of men of dissimilar features and no kinship, who have for a number of + years followed a common calling, or suffered a common pain. + </p> + <p> + These two men were both half blind; they had equally unsteady hands. The + clothing of both alike, and even their breath, was scented by a not + unpleasant odour of sealing-wax. + </p> + <p> + It was quite obvious that not only were they at present half intoxicated, + but in their soberest moments they could hardly be of a high intelligence. + </p> + <p> + The reveller at the next table, who happened to be Tony Cornish, now drew + his chair nearer. + </p> + <p> + “Englishman?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “That's me,” answered Uncle Ben, with commendable pride, “from the top of + my head to me boots. Not that I've anything to say against foreigners.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I; but it's pleasant to meet a countryman in a foreign land.” Cornish + deliberately brought his chair forward. “Your bottle is empty,” he added; + “I'll order another. Friend's a Frenchman, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “That he is—and doesn't understand his own language either,” + answered Uncle Ben, in a voice indicating that that lack of comprehension + rather intensified his friend's Frenchness than otherwise. + </p> + <p> + The proprietor of the Café de l'Europe now came out in answer to Cornish's + rap on the iron table, and presently brought a small bottle of brandy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cornish, pouring out the spirit, which his companions drank in + its undiluted state from small tumblers—“yes, I'm glad to meet an + Englishman. I suppose you are in the works—the Malgamite?” + </p> + <p> + “I am. And what do you know about malgamite, mister?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not much, I am glad to say.” + </p> + <p> + “There is precious few that knows anything,” said the man, darkly, and his + eye for a moment sobered into cunning. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard that it is a very dangerous trade, and if you want to get + out of it I'm connected with an association in London to provide + situations for elderly men who are no longer up to their work,” said + Cornish, carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Thank ye, mister; not for me. I'm making my five-pound note a week, I am, + and each cove that dies off makes the survivors one richer, so to speak—survival + of the fittest, they call it. So we don't talk much, and just pockets the + pay.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is the arrangement, is it?” said Cornish, indifferently. “Yes. + We've got a clever financier, as they call it, I can tell yer. We're a + good-goin' concern, we are. Some of us are goin' pretty quick, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there many deaths, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! there you're asking a question,” returned the man, who came of a + class which has no false shame in refusing a reply. + </p> + <p> + Cornish looked at the man beneath the dim light of the unsuccessful lamp—a + piteous specimen of humanity, depraved, besotted, without outward sign of + a redeeming virtue, although a certain courage must have been there—this + and such as this stood between him and Dorothy Roden. Uncle Ben had known + starvation at one time, for starvation writes certain lines which even + turtle soup may never wipe out—lines which any may read and none may + forget. Tony Cornish had seen them before—on the face of an old + dandy coming down the steps of a St. James's Street club. The malgamiter + had likewise known drink long and intimately, and it is no exaggeration to + say that he had stood cheek by jowl with death nearly all his life. + </p> + <p> + Such a man was plainly not to be drawn away from five pounds a week. + </p> + <p> + Cornish turned to the Frenchman—a little, cunning, bullet-headed + Lyonnais, who would not speak of his craft at all, though he expressed + every desire to be agreeable to monsieur. + </p> + <p> + “When one is <i>en fête</i>,” he cried, “it is good to drink one's glass + or two and think no more of work.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew one or two of your men once,” said Cornish, returning to the + genial Uncle Ben. “William Martins, I remember, was a decent fellow, and + had seen a bit of the world. I will come to the works and look him up some + day.” + </p> + <p> + “You can look him up, mister, but you won't find him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, has he gone home?” + </p> + <p> + “He's gone to his long home, that's where he's gone.” + </p> + <p> + “And his brother, Tom Martins, both London men, like myself?” inquired + Cornish, without asking that question which Uncle Ben considered such + exceedingly bad form. + </p> + <p> + “Tom's dead, too.” + </p> + <p> + “And there were two Americans, I recollect—I came across from + Harwich in the same boat with them—Hewlish they were called.” + </p> + <p> + “Hewlishes has stepped round the corner, too,” admitted Uncle Ben. “Oh + yes; there's been changes in the works, there's no doubt. And there's only + one sort o' change in the malgamite trade. Come on, Frenchy, time's up.” + </p> + <p> + The men stood up and bade Cornish good night, each after his own manner, + and went away steadily enough. It was only their heads that were + intoxicated, and perhaps the brandy of the Café de l'Europe had nothing to + do with this. + </p> + <p> + Cornish followed them, and, in the Keize Straat, he called a cab, telling + the man to drive to the house at the corner of Oranje Straat and Park + Straat, occupied by Mrs. Vansittart. That lady, the servant said, in reply + to his careful inquiry, was at home and alone, and, moreover, did not + expect visitors. The man was not at all sure that madame would receive. + </p> + <p> + “I will try,” said Cornish, writing two words in German on the corner of + his visiting-card. “You see,” he continued, noticing a well-trained + glance, “that I am not dressed, so if other visitors arrive, I would + rather not be discovered in madame's salon, you understand?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart shook hands with Cornish in silence, her quick eyes noted + the change in him which the shrewd butler had noticed in the + entrance-hall. The Cornish of a year earlier would have gone back to the + hotel to dress. + </p> + <p> + “I was just going out to the Witte society concert,” said Mrs. Vansittart. + “I thought the open air and the wood would be pleasant this evening. Shall + we go or shall we remain?” She stood with her hand on the bell looking at + him. + </p> + <p> + “Let us remain here,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + She rang the bell and countermanded the carriage. Then she sat slowly + down, moving as under a sort of oppression, as if she foresaw what the + next few minutes contained, and felt herself on the threshold of one of + the surprises that Fate springs upon us at odd times, tearing aside the + veils behind which human hearts have slept through many years. For + indifference is not the death, but only the sleep of the heart. + </p> + <p> + “You have just arrived?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I have been here a week.” + </p> + <p> + “At The Hague?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Cornish, with a grave smile; “at a little inn in + Scheveningen, where no questions are asked.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart nodded her head slowly. “Then, <i>mon ami</i>,” she said, + “the time has come for plain speaking?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + “It is always the woman who wants to get to the plain speaking,” she said, + with a smile, “and who speaks the plainest when one gets there. You men + are afraid of so many words; you think them, but you dare not make use of + them. And how are women to know that you are thinking them?” She spoke + with a sort of tolerant bitterness, as if all these questions no longer + interested her personally. She sat forward, with one hand on the arm of + her chair. “Come,” she said, with a little laugh that shook and trembled + on the brink of a whole sea of unshed tears, “I will speak the first word. + When my husband died, my heart broke—and it was Otto von Holzen who + killed him.” Her eyes flashed suddenly, and she threw herself back in the + chair. Her hands were trembling. + </p> + <p> + Cornish made a quick gesture of the hand—a trick he had learnt + somewhere on the Continent, more eloquent than a hundred words—which + told of his sympathy and his comprehension of all that she had left + unsaid. For truly she had told him her whole history in a dozen words. + </p> + <p> + “I have followed him and watched him ever since,” she went on at length, + in a quiet voice; “but a woman is so helpless. I suppose if any of us were + watched and followed as he has been our lives would appear a strange + mixture of a little good and much bad, mixed with a mass of neutral + idleness. But surely his life is worse than the rest—not that it + matters. Whatever his life had been, if he had been a living saint, Tony, + he would have had to pay—for what he has done to me.” + </p> + <p> + She looked steadily into the keen face that was watching hers. She was not + in the least melodramatic, and what was stranger, perhaps, she was not + ashamed. According to her lights, she was a good woman, who went to church + regularly, and did a little conventional good with her superfluous wealth. + She obeyed the unwritten laws of society, and busied herself little in her + neighbours' affairs. She was kind to her servants, and did not hate her + neighbours more than is necessary in a crowded world. She led a blameless, + unoccupied, and apparently purposeless life. And now she quietly told Tony + Cornish that her life was not purposeless, but had for its aim the desire + of an eye for an eye and a life for a life. + </p> + <p> + “You remember my husband,” continued Mrs. Vansittart, after a pause. “He + was always absorbed in his researches. He made a great discovery, and + confided in Otto von Holzen, who thought that he could make a fortune out + of it. But Von Holzen cheated and was caught. There was a great trial, and + Von Holzen succeeded in incriminating my husband, who was innocent, + instead of himself. The company, of course, failed, which meant ruin and + dishonour. In a fit of despair my husband shot himself. And afterwards it + transpired that by shooting himself at that time he saved my money. One + cannot take proceedings against a dead man, it appears. So I was left a + rich woman, after all, and my husband had frustrated Otto von Holzen. The + world did not believe that my husband had done it on purpose; but I knew + better. It is one of those beliefs that one keeps to one's self, and is + indifferent whether the world believes or not. So there remain but two + things for me to do—the one is to enjoy the money, and to let my + husband see that I spend it as he would have wished me to spend it—upon + myself; the other is to make Otto von Holzen pay—when the time + comes. Who knows? the Malgamite is perhaps the time; you are perhaps the + man.” She gave her disquieting little laugh again, and sat looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” he said at length. “Before, I was puzzled. There seemed no + reason why you should take any interest in the scheme.” + </p> + <p> + “My interest in the Malgamite scheme narrows down to an interest in one + person,” answered Mrs. Vansittart, “which is what really happens to all + human interests, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. A COMPLICATION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “La plus grande punition infligée à l'homme, c'est faire + souffrir ce qu'il aime, en voulant frapper ce qu'il hait.” + </pre> + <p> + Cornish had, as he told Mrs. Vansittart, been living a week at + Scheveningen in one of the quiet little inns in the fishing-town, where a + couple of apples are displayed before lace curtains in the window of the + restaurant as a modest promise of entertainment within. Knowing no Dutch, + he was saved the necessity of satisfying the curiosity of a garrulous + landlady, who, after many futile questions which he understood perfectly, + came to the conclusion that Cornish was in hiding, and might at any moment + fall into the hands of the police. + </p> + <p> + There are, it appears, few human actions that attract more curiosity for a + short time than the act of colonization. But no change is in the long run + so apathetically accepted as the presence of a colony of aliens. Cornish + soon learnt that the malgamite works were already accepted at Scheveningen + as a fact of small local importance. One or two fish-sellers took their + wares there instead of going direct to The Hague. A few of the malgamite + workers were seen at times, when they could get leave, on the Digue, or + outside the smaller <i>cafés</i>. Inoffensive, stricken men these appeared + to be, and the big-limbed, hardy fishermen looked on them with mingled + contempt and pity. No one knew what the works were, and no one cared. Some + thought that fireworks were manufactured within the high fence; others + imagined it to be a gunpowder factory. All were content with the knowledge + that the establishment belonged to an English company employing no outside + labour. + </p> + <p> + Cornish spent his days unobtrusively walking on the dunes or writing + letters in his modest rooms. His evenings he usually passed at the Café de + l'Europe, where an occasional truant malgamite worker would indulge in a + mild carouse. From these grim revelers Cornish elicited a good deal of + information. He was not actually, as his landlady suspected, in hiding, + but desired to withhold as long as possible from Von Holzen and Roden the + fact that he was in Holland. None of the malgamite workers recognized him; + indeed, he saw none of those whom he had brought across to The Hague, and + he did not care to ask too many questions. At length, as we have seen, he + arrived at the conclusion that Von Holzen's schemes had been too deeply + laid to allow of attack by subtler means, and as a preliminary to further + action called on Mrs. Vansittart. + </p> + <p> + The following morning he happened to take his walk within sight of the + Villa des Dunes, although far enough away to avoid risk of recognition, + and saw Percy Roden leave the house shortly after nine to proceed towards + the works. Then Tony Cornish lighted a cigarette, and sat down to wait. He + knew that Dorothy usually walked to The Hague before the heat of the day + to do her shopping there and household business. He had not long to wait. + Dorothy quitted the little house half an hour after her brother. But she + did not go towards The Hague, turning to the right instead, across the + open dunes towards the sea. It was a cool morning after many hot days, and + a fresh, invigorating breeze swept over the sand hills from the sea. It + was to be presumed that Dorothy, having leisure, was going to the edge of + the sea for a breath of the brisk air there. + </p> + <p> + Cornish rose and followed her. He was essentially a practical man—among + the leaders of a practical generation. The day, moreover, was conducive to + practical thoughts and not to dreams, for it was grey and yet of a light + air which came bowling in from a grey sea whose shores have assuredly been + trodden by the most energetic of the races of the world. For all around + the North Sea and on its bosom have risen races of men to conquer the + universe again and again. + </p> + <p> + Cornish had come with the intention of seeing Dorothy and speaking with + her. He had quite clearly in his mind what he intended to say to her. It + is not claimed for Tony Cornish that he had a great mind, and that this + was now made up. But his thoughts, like all else about him, were neat and + compact, wherein he had the advantage of cleverer men, who blundered along + under the burden of vast ideas, which they could not put into portable + shape, and over which they constantly stumbled. + </p> + <p> + He followed Dorothy, who walked briskly over the sand hills, upright, + trim, and strong. She carried a stick, which she planted firmly enough in + the sand as she walked. As he approached, he could see her lifting her + head to look for the sea; for the highest hills are on the shore here, and + stand in the form of a great barrier between the waves and the low-lying + plains. She swung along at the pace which Mrs. Vansittart had envied her, + without exertion, with that ease which only comes from perfect proportions + and strength. + </p> + <p> + Cornish was quite close to her before she heard his step, and turned + sharply. She recognized him at once, and he saw the colour slowly rise to + her face. She gave no cry of surprise, however, was in no foolish feminine + flutter, but came towards him quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know you were in Holland,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He shook hands without answering. All that he had prepared in his mind had + suddenly vanished, leaving not a blank, but a hundred other things which + he had not intended to say, and which now, at the sight of her face, + seemed inevitable. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, looking into her steady grey eyes, “I am in Holland—because + I cannot stay away—because I cannot live without you. I have + pretended to myself and to everybody else that I come to The Hague because + of the Malgamite; but it is not that. It is because you are here. Wherever + you are I must be; wherever you go I must follow you. The world is not big + enough for you to get away from me. It is so big that I feel I must always + be near you—for fear something should happen to you—to watch + over you and take care of you. You know what my life has been....” + </p> + <p> + She turned away with a little shrug of the shoulders and a shake of the + head. For a woman may read a man's life in his face—in the twinkling + of an eye—as in an open book. + </p> + <p> + “All the world knows that....” he continued, with a sceptical laugh. “Is + it not written ... in the society papers? But it has always been + aboveboard—and harmless enough....” + </p> + <p> + Dorothy smiled as she looked out across the grey sea. He was, it appeared, + telling her nothing that she did not know. For she was wise and shrewd—of + that pure leaven of womankind which leaveneth all the rest. And she knew + that a man must not be judged by his life—not even by outward + appearance, upon which the world pins so much faith—but by that + occasional glimpse of the soul of him, which may live on, pure through all + impurity, or may be foul beneath the whitest covering. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he continued, “I have wasted my time horribly—I have + never done any good in the world. But—great is the extenuating + circumstance! I never knew what life was until I saw it ... in your eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Still she stood with her back half turned towards him, looking out across + the sea. The sun had mastered the clouds and all the surface of the water + glittered. A few boats on the horizon seemed to dream and sleep there. + Beneath the dunes, the sand stretched away north and south in an unbroken + plain. The wind whispered through the waving grass, and, far across the + sands, the sea sang its eternal song. Dorothy and Cornish seemed to be + alone in this world of sea and sand. So far as the eye could see, there + were no signs of human life but the boats dreaming on the horizon. + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite sure?” said Dorothy, without turning her head. + </p> + <p> + “Of what...?” + </p> + <p> + “Of what you say.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I am quite sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” she said, with a little laugh that suddenly opened the gates of + Paradise and bade one more poor human-being enter in—“because it is + a serious matter ... for me.” + </p> + <p> + Then, because he was a practical man and knew that happiness, like all + else in this life, must be dealt with practically if aught is to be made + of it, he told her why he had come. For happiness must not be rushed at + and seized with wild eyes and grasping hands, but must be quickly taken + when the chance offers, and delicately handled so that it be not ruined by + over haste or too much confidence. It is a gift that is rarely offered, + and it is only fair to say that the majority of men and women are quite + unfit to have it. Even a little prosperity (which is usually mistaken for + happiness) often proves too much for the mental equilibrium, and one + trembles to think what the recipient would do with real happiness. + </p> + <p> + “I did not come here intending to tell you that,” said Cornish, after a + pause. + </p> + <p> + They were seated now on the dry and driven sand, among the inequalities of + the tufted grass. + </p> + <p> + Dorothy glanced at him gravely, for his voice had been grave. + </p> + <p> + “I think I knew,” she answered, with a sort of quiet exultation. Happiness + is the quietest of human states. + </p> + <p> + Cornish turned to look at her, and after a moment she met his eyes—for + an instant only. + </p> + <p> + “I came to tell you a very different story,” he said, “and one which at + the moment seems to present insuperable difficulties. I can only show you + that I care for you by bringing trouble into your life—which is not + even original.” + </p> + <p> + He broke off with a little, puzzled laugh. For he did not know how best to + tell her that her brother was a scoundrel. He sat making idle holes in the + sand with his stick. + </p> + <p> + “I am in a difficulty,” he said at length—“so great a difficulty + that there seems to be only one way out of it. You must forget what I have + told you to-day, for I never meant to tell you until afterwards, if ever. + Forget it for some months until the malgamite works have ceased to exist, + and then, if I have the good fortune to be given an opportunity, I will”—he + paused—“I will mention myself again,” he concluded steadily. + </p> + <p> + Dorothy's lips quivered, but she said nothing. It seemed that she was + content to accept his judgment without comment as superior to her own. For + the wisest woman is she who suspects that men are wiser. + </p> + <p> + “It is quite clear,” said Cornish, “that the Malgamite scheme is a fraud. + It is worse than that; it is a murderous fraud. For Von Holzen's new + system of making malgamite is not new at all, but an old system revived, + which was set aside many years ago as too deadly. If it is not this + identical system, it is a variation of it. They are producing the stuff + for almost nothing at the cost of men's lives. In plain English, it is + murder, and it must be stopped at any cost. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I must stop it whatever it may cost me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered again. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to the works to-night to have it out with Von Holzen and your + brother. It is impossible to say how matters really stand—how much + your brother knows, I mean—for Von Holzen is clever. He is a cold, + calculating man, who rules all who come near him. Your brother has only to + do with the money part of it. They are making a great fortune. I am told + that financially it is splendidly managed. I am a duffer at such things, + but I understand better now how it has all been done, and I see how clever + it is. They produce the stuff for almost nothing, they sell it at a great + price, and they have a monopoly. And the world thinks it is a charity. It + is not; it is murder.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke quietly, tapping the ground with his stick, and emphasizing his + words with a deeper thrust into the sand. The habit of touching life + lightly had become second nature with him, and even now he did not seem + quite serious. He was, at all events, free from that deadly earnestness + which blinds the eye to all save one side of a question. The very soil + that he tapped could have risen up to speak in favour of such as he; for + William the Silent, it is said, loved a jest, and never seemed to be quite + serious during the long years of the greatest struggle the modern world + has seen. + </p> + <p> + “It seems probable,” went on Cornish, “that your brother has been + gradually drawn into it; that he did not know when he first joined Von + Holzen what the thing really was—the system of manufacture, I mean. + As for the financial side of it, I am afraid he must have known of that + all along; but the older one gets the less desirous one is of judging + one's neighbour. In financial matters so much seems to depend, in the + formation of a judgment, whether one is a loser or a gainer by the + transaction. There is a great fortune in malgamite, and a fortune is a + temptation to be avoided. Others besides your brother have been tempted. I + should probably have succumbed myself if it had not been—for you.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled again in a sort of derision; as if she could have told him more + about himself than he could tell her. He saw the smile, and it brought a + flash of light to his eyes. Deeper than fear of damnation, higher than the + creeds, stronger than any motive in a man's life, is the absolute + confidence placed in him by a woman. + </p> + <p> + “I went into the thing thoughtlessly,” he continued, “because it was the + fashion at the time to be concerned in some large charity. And I am not + sorry. It was the luckiest move I ever made. And now the thing will have + to be gone through with, and there will be trouble.” + </p> + <p> + But he laughed as he spoke; for there was no trouble in their hearts, + neither could anything appall them. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. DANGER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Beware equally of a sudden friend and a slow enemy.” + </pre> + <p> + Roden and Von Holzen were at work in the little office of the malgamite + works. The sun had just set, and the soft pearly twilight was creeping + over the sand hills. The day's work was over, and the factories were all + locked up for the night. In the stillness that seems to settle over earth + and sea at sunset, the sound of the little waves could be heard—a + distant, constant babbling from the west. The workers had gone to their + huts. They were not a noisy body of men. It was their custom to creep + quietly home when their work was done, and to sit in their doorways if the + evening was warm, or with closed doors if the north wind was astir, and + silently, steadily assuage their deadly thirst. Those who sought to + harvest their days, who fondly imagined they were going to make a fight + for it, drank milk according to advice handed down to them from their + sickly forefathers. The others, more reckless, or wiser, perhaps, in their + brief generation, took stronger drink to make glad their hearts and for + their many infirmities. + </p> + <p> + They had merely to ask, and that which they asked for was given to them + without comment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Uncle Ben to the new-comers, “you has a slap-up time—while + it lasts.” + </p> + <p> + For Uncle Ben was a strong man, and waxed garrulous in his cups. He had + made malgamite all his life and nothing would kill him, not even drink. + Von Holzen watched Uncle Ben, and did not like him. It was Uncle Ben who + played the concertina at the door of his hut in the evening. He sprang + from the class whose soul takes delight in the music of a concertina, and + rises on bank holidays to that height of gaiety which can only be + expressed by an interchange of hats. He came from the slums of London, + where they breed a race of men, small, ill-formed, disease-stricken, hard + to kill. + </p> + <p> + The north wind was blowing this evening, and the huts were all closed. The + sound of Uncle Ben's concertina could be dimly heard in what purported to + be a popular air—a sort of nightmare of a tune such as a + barrel-organist must suffer after bad beer. Otherwise, there was nothing + stirring within the enclosure. There was, indeed, a hush over the whole + place, such as Nature sometimes lays over certain spots like a quiet veil, + as one might lay a cloth over the result of an accident, and say, “There + is something wrong here; go away.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish, having tried the main entrance gate, found it locked, and no bell + with which to summon those within. He went round to the northern end of + the enclosure, where the sand had drifted against the high corrugated iron + fencing, and where there were empty barrels on the inner side, as Uncle + Ben had told him. + </p> + <p> + “After all, I am a managing director of this concern,” said Cornish to + himself, with a grim laugh, as he clambered over the fence. + </p> + <p> + He walked down the row of huts very slowly. Some of them were empty. The + door of one stood ajar, and a sudden smell of disinfectant made him stop + and look in. There was something lying on a bed covered by a grimy sheet. + </p> + <p> + “Um—m,” muttered Cornish, and walked on. + </p> + <p> + There had been another visitor to the malgamite works that day. Then + Cornish paused for a moment near Uncle Ben's hut, and listened to + “Ta-ra-ra boom-de-ay.” He bit his lips, restraining a sudden desire to + laugh without any mirth in his heart, and went towards Von Holzen's + office, where a light gleamed through the ill-closed curtains. For these + men were working night and day now—making their fortunes. He caught, + as he passed the window, a glimpse of Roden bending over a great ledger + which lay open before him on the table, while Von Holzen, at another desk, + was writing letters in his neat German hand. + </p> + <p> + Then Cornish went to the door, opened it, and passing in, closed it behind + him. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” he said, with just a slight exaggeration of his usual + suave politeness. + </p> + <p> + “Halloa!” exclaimed Roden, with a startled look, and instinctively closing + his ledger. + </p> + <p> + He looked hastily towards Von Holzen, who turned, pen in hand. Von Holzen + bowed rather coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” he answered, without looking at Roden. Indeed, he crossed + the room, and placed himself in front of his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Just come across?” inquired Roden, putting together his papers with his + usual leisureliness. + </p> + <p> + “No; I have been here some time.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish turned and met Von Holzen's eyes with a ready audacity. He was not + afraid of this silent scientist, and had been trained in a social world + where nerve and daring are highly cultivated. Von Holzen looked at him + with a measuring eye, and remembered some warning words spoken by Roden + months before. This was a cleverer man than they had thought him. This was + the one mistake they had made in their careful scheme. + </p> + <p> + “I have been looking into things,” said Cornish, in a final voice. He took + off his hat and laid it aside. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen went slowly back to his desk, which was a high one. He stood + there close by Roden, leaning his elbow on the letters that he had been + writing. The two men were thus together facing Cornish, who stood at the + other side of the table. + </p> + <p> + “I have been looking into things,” he repeated, “and—the game is + up.” + </p> + <p> + Roden, whose face was quite colourless, shrugged his shoulders with a + sneering smile. Von Holzen slowly moistened his lips, and Cornish, meeting + his glance, felt his heart leap upward to his throat. His way had been the + way of peace. He had never seen that look in a man's eyes before, but + there was no mistaking it. There are two things that none can mistake—an + earthquake, and murder shining in a man's eyes. But there was good blood + in Cornish's veins, and good blood never fails. His muscles tightened, and + he smiled in Von Holzen's face. + </p> + <p> + “When you were over in London a fortnight ago,” he said, “you saw my + uncle, and squared him. But I am not Lord Ferriby, and I am not to be + squared. As to the financial part of this business”—he paused, and + glanced at the ledgers—“that seems to be of secondary importance at + the moment. Besides, I do not understand finance.” + </p> + <p> + Roden's tired eyes flickered at the way in which the word was spoken. + </p> + <p> + “I propose to deal with the more vital questions,” Cornish continued, + looking straight at Von Holzen. “I want details of the new process—the + prescription, in fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you want much,” answered Von Holzen, with his slight accent. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I want more than that,” was the retort; “I want a list of your deaths—not + necessarily for publication. If the public were to hear of it, they would + pull the place down about your ears, and probably hang you on your own + water-tower.” + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen laughed. “Ah, my fine gentleman, if there is any hanging up to + be done, you are in it, too,” he said. Then he broke into a good-humoured + laugh, and waved the question aside with his hand. “But why should we + quarrel? It is mere foolishness. We are not schoolboys, but men of the + world, who are reasonable, I hope. I cannot give you the prescription + because it is a trade secret. You would not understand it without expert + assistance, and the expert would turn his knowledge to account. We + chemists, you see, do not trust each other. No; but I can make malgamite + here before your eyes—to show you that it is harmless—what?” + He spoke easily, with a certain fascination of manner, as a man to whom + speech was easy enough—who was perhaps silent with a set purpose—because + silence is safe. “But it is a long process,” he added, holding up one + finger, “I warn you. It will take me two hours. And you, who have perhaps + not dined, and this Roden, who is tired out—” + </p> + <p> + “Roden can go home—if he is tired,” said Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” answered Von Holzen, with outspread hands, “it is as you like. + Will you have it now and here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—now and here.” + </p> + <p> + Roden was slowly folding away his papers and closing his books. He glanced + curiously at Von Holzen, as if he were displaying a hitherto unknown side + to his character. Von Holzen, too, was collecting the papers scattered on + his desk, with a patient air and a half-suppressed sigh of weariness, as + if he were entering upon a work of supererogation. + </p> + <p> + “As to the deaths,” he said, “I can demonstrate that as we go along. You + will see where the dangers lie, and how criminally neglectful these people + are. It is a curious thing, that carelessness of life. I am told the + Russian soldiers have it.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed that in his way Herr von Holzen was a philosopher, having in his + mind a store of odd human items. He certainly had the power of arousing + curiosity and making his hearers wish him to continue speaking, which is + rare. Most men are uninteresting because they talk too much. + </p> + <p> + “Then I think I will go,” said Roden, rising. He looked from one to the + other, and received no answer. “Good night,” he added, and walked to the + door with dragging feet. + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” said Cornish. And he was left alone for the first time in + his life with Von Holzen, who was clearing the table and making his + preparations with a silent deftness of touch acquired by the handling of + delicate instruments, the mixing of dangerous drugs. + </p> + <p> + “Then our good friend Lord Ferriby does not know that you are here?” he + inquired, without much interest, as if acknowledging the necessity of + conversation of some sort. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “When I have shown you this experiment,” pursued Von Holzen, setting the + lamp on a side-table, “we must have a little talk about his lordship. With + all modesty, you and I have the clearest heads of all concerned in this + invention.” He looked at Cornish with his sudden, pleasant smile. “You + will excuse me,” he said, “if while I am doing this I do not talk much. It + is a difficult thing to keep in one's head, and all the attention is + required in order to avoid a mistake or a mishap.” + </p> + <p> + He had already assumed an air of unconscious command, which was probably + habitual with him, as if there were no question between them as to who was + the stronger man. Cornish sat, pleasantly silent and acquiescent, but he + felt in no way dominated. It is one thing to assume authority, and another + to possess it. + </p> + <p> + “I have a little laboratory in the factory where I usually work, but not + at night. We do not allow lights in there. Excuse me, I will fetch my + crucible and lamp.” + </p> + <p> + And he went out, leaving Cornish alone. There was only one door to the + room, leading straight out into the open. The office, it appeared, was + built in the form of an annex to one of the storehouses, which stood + detached from all other buildings. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes Von Holzen returned, laden with bottles and jars. One + large wicker-covered bottle with a screw top he set carefully on the + table. + </p> + <p> + “I had to find them in the dark,” he explained absent-mindedly, as if his + thoughts were all absorbed by the work in hand. “And one must be careful + not to jar or break any of these. Please do not touch them in my absence.” + As he spoke, he again examined the stoppers to see that all was secure. “I + come again,” he said, making sure that the large basket-covered bottle was + safe. Then he walked quickly out of the room and closed the door behind + him. + </p> + <p> + Almost immediately Cornish was conscious of a bitter taste in his mouth, + though he could smell nothing. The lamp suddenly burnt blue and instantly + went out. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Cornish stood up, groping in the dark, his head swimming, a deadly +numbness dragging at his limbs. He had no pain, only a strange +sensation of being drawn upwards. Then his head bumped against the +door, and the remaining glimmer of consciousness shaped itself into the +knowledge that this was death. He seemed to swing backwards and +forwards between life and death—between sleep and consciousness. Then +he felt a cooler air on his lips. He had fallen against the door, which +did not fit against the threshold, and a draught of fresh air whistled +through upon his face. “Carbonic acid gas,” he muttered, with shaking +lips. “Carbonic acid gas.” He repeated the words over and over again, +as a man in delirium repeats that which has fixed itself in his +wandering brain. Then, with a great effort, he brought himself to +understand the meaning of the words that one portion of his brain kept +repeating to the other portion which could not comprehend them. He +tried to recollect all that he knew of carbonic acid gas, which was, in +fact, not much. He vaguely remembered that it is not an active gas that +mingles with the air and spreads, but rather it lurks in corners—an +invisible form of death—and will so lurk for years unless disturbed +by a current of air. + + Cornish knew that in falling he had fallen out of the radius of the +escaping gas, which probably filled the upper part of the room. If he +raised himself, he would raise himself into the gas, which was slowly +descending upon him, and that would mean instant death. He had already +inhaled enough—perhaps too much. He lay quite still, breathing the +draught between the door and the threshold, and raising his left hand, +felt for the handle of the door. He found it and turned it. The door +was locked. He lay still, and his brain began to wander, but with an +effort he kept a hold upon his thoughts. He was a strong man, who had +never had a bad illness—a cool head and an intrepid heart. +Stretching out his legs, he found some object close to him. It was Von +Holzen's desk, which stood on four strong legs against the wall. +Cornish, who was quick and observant, remembered now how the room was +shaped and furnished. He gathered himself together, drew in his legs, +and doubled himself, with his feet against the desk, his shoulder +against the door. He was long and lithe, of a steely strength which he +had never tried. He now slowly straightened himself, and tore the +screws out of the solid wood of the door, which remained hanging by the +upper hinge. His head and shoulders were now out in the open air. +He lay for a moment or two to regain his breath, and recover from the +deadly nausea that follows gas poisoning. Then he rose to his feet, and +stood swaying like a drunken man. Von Holzen's cottage was a few yards +away. A light was burning there, and gleamed through the cracks of the +curtains. +</pre> + <p> + Cornish went towards the cottage, then paused. “No,” he muttered, holding + his head with both hands. “It will keep.” And he staggered away in the + darkness towards the corner where the empty barrels stood against the + fence. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. FROM THE PAST. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “One and one with a shadowy third.” + </pre> + <p> + “You have the air, <i>mon ami</i>, of a malgamiter,” said Mrs. Vansittart, + looking into Cornish's face—“lurking here in your little inn in a + back street! Why do you not go to one of the larger hotels in + Scheveningen, since you have abandoned The Hague?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the larger hotels are not open yet,” replied Cornish, bringing + forward a chair. + </p> + <p> + “That is true, now that I think of it. But I did not ask the question + wanting an answer. You, who have been in the world, should know women + better than to think that. I asked in idleness—a woman's trick. Yes; + you have been or you are ill. There is a white look in your face.” + </p> + <p> + She sat looking at him. She had walked all the way from Park Straat in the + shade of the trees—quite a pedestrian feat for one who confessed to + belonging to a carriage generation. She had boldly entered the restaurant + of the little hotel, and had told the waiter to take her to Mr. Cornish's + apartment. + </p> + <p> + “It hardly matters what a very young waiter, at the beginning of his + career, may think of us. But downstairs they are rather scandalized, I + warn you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I ceased explaining many years ago,” replied Cornish, “even in + English. More suspicion is aroused by explanation than by silence. For + this wise world will not believe that one is telling the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “When one is not,” suggested Mrs. Vansittart. + </p> + <p> + “When one is not,” admitted Cornish, in rather a tired voice, which, to so + keen an ear as that of his hearer, was as good as asking her why she had + come. + </p> + <p> + She laughed. “Yes,” she said, “you are not inclined to sit and talk + nonsense at this time in the morning. No more am I. I did not walk from + Park Straat and take your defences by storm, and subject myself to the + insult of a raised eyebrow on the countenance of a foolish young waiter, + to talk nonsense even with you, who are cleverer with your non-committing + platitudes than any man I know.” She laughed rather harshly, as many do + when they find themselves suddenly within hail, as it were, of that + weakness which is called feeling. “No, I came here on—let us say—business. + I hold a good card, and I am going to play it. I want you to hold your + hand in the mean time; give me to-day, you understand. I have taken great + care to strengthen my hand. This is no sudden impulse, but a set purpose + to which I have led up for some weeks. It is not scrupulous; it is not + even honest. It is, in a word, essentially feminine, and not an affair to + which you as a man could lend a moment's approval. Therefore, I tell you + nothing. I merely ask you to leave me an open field to-day. Our end is the + same, though our methods and our purpose differ as much as—well, as + much as our minds. You want to break this Malgamite corner. I want to + break Otto von Holzen. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + Cornish had known her long enough to permit himself to nod and say + nothing. + </p> + <p> + “If I succeed, <i>tant mieux</i>. If I fail, it is no concern of yours, + and it will in no way affect you or your plans. Ah, you disapprove, I see. + What a complicated world this would be if we could all wear masks! Your + face used to be a safer one than it is now. Can it be that you are + becoming serious—<i>un jeune homme sérieux?</i> Heaven save you from + that!” + </p> + <p> + “No; I have a headache; that is all,” laughed Cornish. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart was slowly unbuttoning and rebuttoning her glove, deep in + thought. For some women can think deeply and talk superficially at the + same moment. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” she said, with a sudden change of voice and manner, “I have + a conviction that you know something to-day of which you were ignorant + yesterday? All knowledge, I suppose, leaves its mark. Something about Otto + von Holzen, I suspect. Ah, Tony, if you know something, tell it to me. If + you hold a strong card, let me play it. You do not know how I have longed + and waited—what a miserable little hand I hold against this strong + man.” + </p> + <p> + She was serious enough now. Her voice had a ring of hopelessness in it, as + if she knew that limit against which a woman is fated to throw herself + when she tries to injure a man who has no love for her. If the love be + there, then is she strong, indeed; but without it, what can she do? It is + the little more that is so much, and the little less that is such worlds + away. + </p> + <p> + Cornish did not deny the knowledge which she ascribed to him, but merely + shook his head, and Mrs. Vansittart suddenly changed her manner again. She + was quick and clever enough to know that whatever account stood open + between Cornish and Von Holzen the reckoning must be between them alone, + without the help of any woman. + </p> + <p> + “Then you will remain indoors,” she said, rising, “and recover from your + ... strange headache—and not go near the malgamite works, nor see + Percy Roden or Otto von Holzen—and let me have my little try—that + is all I ask.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Cornish, reluctantly; “but I think you would be wiser to + leave Von Holzen to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mrs. Vansittart, with one of her quick glances. “You think + that.” + </p> + <p> + She paused on the threshold, then shrugged her shoulders and passed out. + She hurried home, and there wrote a note to Percy Roden. + </p> + <h3> + “DEAR MR. RODEN, + </h3> + <p> + “It seems a long time since I saw you last, though perhaps it only seems + so to <i>me</i>. I shall be at home at five o'clock this evening, if you + care to take pity on a lonely countrywoman. If I should be out riding when + you come, please await my return. + </p> + <p> + “Yours very truly, + </p> + <h3> + “EDITH VANSITTART.” + </h3> + <p> + She closed the letter with a little cruel smile, and despatched it by the + hand of a servant. Quite early in the afternoon she put on her habit, but + did not go straight downstairs, although her horse was at the door. She + went to the library instead—a small, large-windowed room, looking on + to Oranje Straat. From a drawer in her writing-table she took a key, and + examined it closely before slipping it into her pocket. It was a new key + with the file-marks still upon it. + </p> + <p> + “A clumsy expedient,” she said. “But the end is so desirable that the + means must not be too scrupulously considered.” + </p> + <p> + She rode down Kazerne Straat and through the wood by the Leyden Road. By + turning to the left, she soon made her way to the East Dunes, and thus + describing a circle, rode slowly back towards Scheveningen. She knew her + way, it appeared, to the malgamite works. Leaving her horse in the care of + the groom, she walked to the gate of the works, which was opened to her by + the doorkeeper, after some hesitation. The man was a German, and + therefore, perhaps, more amenable to Mrs. Vansittart's imperious + arguments. + </p> + <p> + “I must see Herr von Holzen without delay,” she said. “Show me his + office.” + </p> + <p> + The man pointed out the building. “But the Herr Professor is in the + factory,” he said. “It is mixing-day to-day. I will, however, fetch him.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart walked slowly towards the office where Roden had told her + that the safe stood wherein the prescription and other papers were + secured. She knew it was mixing-day and that Von Holzen would be in the + factory. She had sent Roden on a fool's errand to Park Straat to await her + return there. Was she going to succeed? Would she be left alone for a few + moments in that little office with the safe? She fingered the key in her + pocket—a duplicate obtained at some risk, with infinite difficulty, + by the simple stratagem of borrowing Roden's keys to open an old and + disused desk one evening in Park Straat. She had conceived the plan + herself, had carried it out herself, as all must who wish to succeed in a + human design. She was quite aware that the plan was crude and almost + childish, but the gain was great, and it is often the simplest means that + succeed. The secret of the manufacture of malgamite—written in black + and white—might prove to be Von Holzen's death-warrant. Mrs. + Vansittart had to fight in her own way or not fight at all. She could not + understand the slower, surer methods of Mr. Wade and Cornish, who appeared + to be waiting and wasting time. + </p> + <p> + The German doorkeeper accompanied her to the office, and opened the door + after knocking and receiving no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Will the high-born take a seat?” he said; “I shall not be long.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no need to hurry,” said Mrs. Vansittart to herself. + </p> + <p> + And before the door was quite closed she was on her feet again. The office + was bare and orderly. Even the waste-paper baskets were empty. The books + were locked away and the desks were clear. But the small green safe stood + in the corner. Mrs. Vansittart went towards it, key in hand. The key was + the right one. It had only been selected by guesswork among a number on + Roden's bunch. It slipped into the lock and turned smoothly, but the door + would not move. She tugged and wrenched at the handle, then turned it + accidentally, and the heavy door swung open. There were two drawers at the + bottom of the safe which were not locked, and contained neatly folded + papers. Her fingers were among these in a moment. The papers were folded + and tied together. Many of the bundles were labelled. A long narrow + envelope lay at the bottom of the drawer. She seized it quickly and turned + it over. It bore no address nor any superscription. “Ah!” she said + breathlessly, and slipped her finger within the flap of the envelope. Then + she hesitated for a moment, and turned on her heel. Von Holzen was + standing in the doorway looking at her. + </p> + <p> + They stared at each other for a moment in silence. Mrs. Vansittart's lips + were drawn back, showing her even, white teeth. Von Holzen's quiet eyes + were wide open, so that the white showed all around the dark pupil. Then + he sprang at her without a word. She was a lithe, strong woman, taller + than he, or else she would have fallen. Instead, she stood her ground, and + he, failing to get a grasp at her wrist, stumbled sideways against the + table. In a moment she had run round it, and again they stared at each + other, without a word, across the table where Percy Roden kept the books + of the malgamite works. + </p> + <p> + A slow smile came to Von Holzen's face, which was colourless always, and + now a sort of grey. He turned on his heel, walked to the door, and, + locking it, slipped the key into his pocket. Then he returned to Mrs. + Vansittart. Neither spoke. No explanation was at that moment necessary. He + lifted the table bodily, and set it aside against the wall. Then he went + slowly towards her, holding out his hand for the unaddressed envelope, + which she held behind her back. He stood for a moment holding out his hand + while his strong will went out to meet hers. Then he sprang at her again + and seized her two wrists. The strength of his arms was enormous, for he + was a deep-chested man, and had been a gymnast. The struggle was a short + one, and Mrs. Vansittart dropped the envelope helplessly from her + paralyzed fingers. He picked it up. + </p> + <p> + “You are the wife of Karl Vansittart,” he said in German. + </p> + <p> + “I am his widow,” she replied; and her breath caught, for she was still + shaken by the physical and moral realization of her absolute helplessness + in his hands, and she saw in a flash of thought the question in his mind + as to whether he could afford to let her leave the room alive. + </p> + <p> + “Give me the key with which you opened the safe,” he said coldly. + </p> + <p> + She had replaced the key in her pocket, and now sought it with a shaking + hand. She gave it to him without a word. Morally she would not acknowledge + herself beaten, and the bitterness of that moment was the self-contempt + with which she realized a physical cowardice which she had hitherto deemed + quite impossible. For the flesh is always surprised by its own weakness. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen looked at the key critically, turning it over in order to + examine the workmanship. It was clumsily enough made, and he doubtless + guessed how she had obtained it. Then he glanced at her as she stood + breathless with a colourless face and compressed lips. + </p> + <p> + “I hope I did not hurt you,” he said quietly, thereby putting in a dim and + far-off claim to greatness, for it is hard not to triumph in absolute + victory. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head with a twisted smile, and looked down at her hands, + which were still helpless. There were bands of bright red round the white + wrists. Her gloves lay on the table. She went towards them and numbly took + them up. He was impassive still, and his face, which had flushed a few + moments earlier, slowly regained its usual calm pallor. It was this very + calmness, perhaps, that suddenly incensed Mrs. Vansittart. Or it may have + been that she had regained her courage. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she cried, with a sort of break in her voice that made it strident—“yes. + I am Karl Vansittart's wife, and I—cared for him. Do you know what + that means? But you can't. All that side of life is a closed book to such + as you. It means that if you had been a hundred times in the right and he + always in the wrong, I should still have believed in him and distrusted + you—should still have cared for him and hated you. But he was not + guilty. He was in the right and you were wrong—a thief and a + murderer, no doubt. And to screen your paltry name, you sacrificed Karl + and the happiness of two people who had just begun to be happy. It means + that I shall not rest until I have made you pay for what you have done. I + have never lost sight of you—and never shall—” + </p> + <p> + She paused, and looked at his impassive face with a strange, dull + curiosity as she spoke of the future, as if wondering whether she had a + future or had reached the end of her life—here, at this moment, in + the little plank-walled office of the malgamite works. But her courage + rose steadily. It is only afar off that Death is terrible. When we + actually stand in his presence, we usually hold up our heads and face him + quietly enough. + </p> + <p> + “You may have other enemies,” she continued. “I know you have—men, + too—but none of them will last so long as I shall, none of them is + to be feared as I am—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped again in a fury, for he was obviously waiting for her to pause + for mere want of breath, as if her words could be of no weight. + </p> + <p> + “If you fear anything on earth,” she said, acknowledging is one merit + despite herself. + </p> + <p> + “I fear you so little,” he answered, going to the door and unlocking it, + “that you may go.” + </p> + <p> + Her whip lay on the table. He picked it up and handed it to her, gravely, + without a bow, without a shade of triumph or the smallest suspicion of + sarcasm. There was perhaps the nucleus of a great man in Otto von Holzen, + after all, for there was no smallness in his mind. He opened the door, and + stood aside for her to pass out. + </p> + <p> + “It is not because you do not fear me—that you let me go,” said Mrs. + Vansittart. “But—because you are afraid of Tony Cornish.” + </p> + <p> + And she went out, wondering whether the shot had told or missed. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. A COMBINED FORCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Hear, but be faithful to your interest still. + Secure your heart, then fool with whom you will.” + </pre> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart walked to the gate of the malgamite works, thinking that + Von Holzen was following her on the noiseless sand. At the gate, which the + porter threw open on seeing her approach, she turned and found that she + was alone. Von Holzen was walking quietly back towards the factory. He was + so busy making his fortune that he could not give Mrs. Vansittart more + than a few minutes. She bit her lip as she went towards her horse. Neglect + is no balm to the wounds of the defeated. + </p> + <p> + She mounted her horse and looked at her watch. It was nearly five o'clock, + and Percy Roden was doubtless waiting for her in Park Straat. It is a + woman's business to know what is expected of her. Mrs. Vansittart recalled + in a very matter-of-fact way the wording of her letter to Roden. She + brushed some dust from her habit, and made sure that her hair was tidy. + Then she fell into deep thought, and set her mind in a like order for the + work that lay before her. A man's deepest schemes in love are child's play + beside the woman's schemes that meet or frustrate his own. Mrs. Vansittart + rode rapidly home to Park Straat. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Roden, the servant told her, was awaiting her return in the + drawing-room. She walked slowly upstairs. Some victories are only to be + won with arms that hurt the bearer. Mrs. Vansittart's mind was warped, or + she must have known that she was going to pay too dearly for her revenge. + She was sacrificing invaluable memories to a paltry hatred. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said to Roden, whose manner betrayed the recollection of her + invitation to him, “so I have kept you waiting—a minute, perhaps, + for each day that you have stayed away from Park Straat.” + </p> + <p> + Roden laughed, with a shade of embarrassment, which she was quick to + detect. + </p> + <p> + “Is it your sister,” she asked, “who has induced you to stay away?” + </p> + <p> + “Dorothy has nothing but good to say of you,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is Herr von Holzen,” said Mrs. Vansittart, laying aside her + gloves and turning towards the tea-table. She spoke quietly and rather + indifferently, as one does of persons who are removed by a social grade. + “I have never told you, I believe, that I happen to know something of your—what + is he?—your foreman. He has probably warned you against me. My + husband once employed this Von Holzen, and was, I believe, robbed by him. + We never knew the man socially, and I have always suspected that he bore + us some ill feeling on that account. You remember—in this room, when + you brought him to call soon after your works were built—that he + referred to having met my husband. Doubtless with a view to finding out + how much I knew, or if I was in reality the wife of Charles Vansittart. + But I did not choose to enlighten him.” + </p> + <p> + She had poured out tea while she spoke. Her hands were unsteady still, and + she drew down the sleeve of her habit to hide the discoloration of her + wrist. She turned rather suddenly, and saw on Roden's face the confession + that it had been due to Von Holzen's influence that he had absented + himself from her drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + “However,” she said, with a little laugh, and in a final voice, as if + dismissing a subject of small importance—“however, I suppose Herr + von Holzen is rising in the world, and has the sensitive vanity of persons + in that trying condition.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down slowly, remembering her pretty figure in its smart habit. + Roden's slow eyes noted the pretty figure also, which she observed, one + may be sure. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me your news,” she said. “You look tired and ill. It is hard work + making one's fortune. Be sure that you know what you want to buy before + you make it, or afterwards you may find that it has not been worth while + to have worked so hard.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps what I want is not to be bought,” he said, with his eyes on the + carpet. For he was an awkward player at this light game. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she exclaimed. “Then it must be either worthless or priceless.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, but he did not speak, and those who are quick to detect + the fleeting shade of pathos might have seen it in the glance of the tired + eyes. For Percy Roden was only clever as a financier, and women have no + use for such cleverness, only for the results of it. Roden was conscious + of making no progress with Mrs. Vansittart, who handled him as a cat + handles a disabled mouse while watching another hole. + </p> + <p> + “You have been busier than ever, I suppose,” she said, “since you have had + no time to remember your friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Roden, brightening. He was so absorbed in the most + absorbing and lasting employment of which the human understanding is + capable that he could talk of little else, even to Mrs. Vansittart. “Yes, + we have been very busy, and are turning out nearly ten tons a day now. And + we have had trouble from a quarter in which we did not expect it. Von + Holzen has been much worried, I know, though he never says anything. He + may not be a gentleman, Mrs. Vansittart, but he is a wonderful man.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Mrs. Vansittart, indifferently; and something in her manner + made him all the more desirous of explaining his reasons for associating + himself with a person who, as she had subtly and flatteringly hinted more + than once, was far beneath him from a social point of view. This desire + rendered him less guarded than it was perhaps wise to be under the + circumstances. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is a very clever man—a genius, I think. He rises to each + difficulty without any effort, and every day shows me new evidence of his + foresight. He has done more than you think in the malgamite works. His + share of the work has been greater than anybody knows. I am only the + financier, you understand. I know about bookkeeping and about—money—how + it should be handled—that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too modest, I think,” said Mrs. Vansittart, gravely. “You forget + that the scheme was yours; you forget all that you did in London.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—while Von Holzen was doing more here. He had the more difficult + task to perform. Of course I did my share in getting the thing up. It + would be foolish to deny that. I suppose I have a head on my shoulders, + like other people.” And Mr. Percy Roden, with his hand at his moustache, + smiled a somewhat fatuous smile. He thought, perhaps, that a woman will + love a man the more for being a good man of business. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Vansittart, softly. + </p> + <p> + “But I should like Von Holzen to have his due,” said Roden, rather + grandly. “He has done wonders, and no one quite realizes that except + perhaps Cornish.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! Does Mr. Cornish give Herr von Holzen his due, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Cornish does his best to upset Von Holzen's plans at every turn. He does + not understand business at all. When that sort of man goes into business + he invariably gets into trouble. He has what I suppose he calls scruples. + It comes, I imagine, from not having been brought up to it.” Roden spoke + rather hotly. He was of a jealous disposition, and disliked Mrs. + Vansittart's attitude towards Cornish. “But he is no match for Von + Holzen,” he continued, “as he will find to his cost. Von Holzen is not the + sort of man to stand any kind of interference.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah?” said Mrs. Vansittart again, in the slightly questioning and + indifferent manner with which she received all defence of Otto von Holzen, + and which had the effect of urging Roden to further explanation. + </p> + <p> + “He is not a man I should care to cross myself,” he said, determined to + secure Mrs. Vansittart's full attention. “He has the whole of the + malgamiters at his beck and call, and is pretty powerful, I can tell you. + They are a desperate set of fellows; men engaged in a dangerous industry + do not wear kid gloves.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart was watching him across the low tea-table; for Roden + rarely looked at his interlocutor. He had more of her attention than he + perhaps suspected. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she said, rather more indifferently than before, “I think you + exaggerate Herr von Holzen's importance in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not exaggerate the danger into which Cornish will run if he is not + careful,” retorted Roden, half sullenly. + </p> + <p> + There was a ring of anxiety in his voice. Mrs. Vansittart glanced sharply + at him. It was borne in upon her that Roden himself was afraid of Von + Holzen. This was more serious than it had at first appeared. There are + periods in every man's history when human affairs suddenly appear to + become unmanageable and the course of events gets beyond any sort of + control—when the hand at the helm falters, and even the managing + female of the family hesitates to act. Roden seemed to have reached such a + crisis now, and Mrs. Vansittart; charm she never so wisely, could not + brush the frown of anxiety from his brow. He was in no mood for + love-making, and men cannot call up this fleeting humour, as a woman can, + when it is wanted. So they sat and talked of many things, both glancing at + the clock with a surreptitious eye. They were not the first man and woman + to go hunting Cupid with the best will in the world—only to draw a + blank. + </p> + <p> + At length Roden rose from his chair with slow, lazy movements. Physically + and morally he seemed to want tightening up. + </p> + <p> + “I must go back to the works,” he said. “We work late to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Then do not tell Herr von Holzen where you have been,” replied Mrs. + Vansittart, with a warning smile. Then, on the threshold, with a gravity + and a glance that sent him away happy, she added, “I do not want you to + discuss me with Otto von Holzen, you understand!” + </p> + <p> + She stood with her hand on the bell, looking at the clock, while he went + downstairs. The moment she heard the street door closed behind him she + rang sharply. + </p> + <p> + “The brougham,” she said to the servant, “at once.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later she was rattling down Maurits Kade towards the Villa des + Dunes. A deep bank of clouds had risen from the west, completely obscuring + the sun, so that it seemed already to be twilight. Indeed, nature itself + appeared to be deceived, and as the carriage left the town behind and + emerged into the sandy quiet of the suburbs, the countless sparrows in the + lime-trees were preparing for the night. The trees themselves were + shedding an evening odour, while, from canal and dyke and ditch, there + arose that subtle smell of damp weed and grass which hangs over the whole + of Holland all night. + </p> + <p> + “The place smells of calamity,” said Mrs. Vansittart to herself, as she + quitted the carriage and walked quickly along the sandy path to the Villa + des Dunes. + </p> + <p> + Dorothy was in the garden, and, seeing her, came to the gate. Mrs. + Vansittart had changed her riding-habit for one of the dark silks she + usually wore, but she had forgotten to put on any gloves. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” she said rapidly, taking Dorothy's hand, and holding it—“come + to the seat at the end of the garden where we sat one evening when we + dined alone together. I do not want to go indoors. I am nervous, I + suppose. I have allowed myself to give way to panic like a child in the + dark. I felt lonely in Park Straat, with a house full of servants, so I + came to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I think there is going to be a thunderstorm,” said Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + And Mrs. Vansittart broke into a sudden laugh. “I knew you would say that. + Because you are modern and practical—or, at all events, you show a + practical face to the world, which is better. Yes, one may say that much + for the modern girl, at all events—she keeps her head. As to her + heart—well, perhaps she has not got one.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not,” admitted Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + They had reached the seat now, and sat down beneath the branches of a + weeping-willow, trimly trained in the accurate Dutch fashion. Mrs. + Vansittart glanced at her companion, and gave a little, low, wise laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I did well to come to you,” she said, “for you have not many words. You + have a sense of humour—that saving sense which so few people possess—and + I suspect you to be a person of action. I came in a panic, which is still + there, but in a modified degree. One is always more nervous for one's + friends than for one's self. Is it not so? It is for Tony Cornish that I + fear.” + </p> + <p> + Dorothy looked steadily straight in front of her, and there was a short + silence. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know why he stays in Holland, and I wish he would go home,” + continued Mrs. Vansittart. “It is unreasoning, I know, and foolish, but I + am convinced that he is running into danger.” She stopped suddenly, and + laid her hand upon Dorothy's; for she had caught many foreign ways and + gestures. “Listen,” she said, in a lower tone. “It is useless for you and + me to mince matters. The Malgamite scheme is a terrible crime, and Tony + Cornish means to stop it. Surely you and I have long suspected that. I + know Otto von Holzen. He killed my husband. He is a most dangerous man. He + is attempting to frighten Tony Cornish away from here, and he does not + understand the sort of person he is dealing with. One does not frighten + persons of the stamp of Tony Cornish, whether man or woman. I have made + Tony promise not to leave his room to-day. For to-morrow I cannot answer. + You understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Dorothy, with a sudden light in her eyes, “I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother must take care of himself. I care nothing for Lord Ferriby, + or any others concerned in this, but only for Tony Cornish, for whom I + have an affection, for he was part of my past life—when I was happy. + As for the malgamiters, they and their works may—go hang!” And Mrs. + Vansittart snapped her fingers. “Do you know Major White?” she asked + suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I have seen him once.” + </p> + <p> + “So have I—only once. But for a woman once is often enough—is + it not so?—to enable one to judge. I wish we had him here.” + </p> + <p> + “He is coming,” answered Dorothy. “I think he is coming to-morrow. When I + saw Mr. Cornish yesterday, he told me that he expected him. I believe he + wrote for him to come. He also wrote to Mr. Wade, the banker, asking him + to come.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he found things worse than he expected. He has, in a sense, sent for + reinforcements. When does Major White arrive—in the morning?” + </p> + <p> + “No; not till the evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he comes by Flushing,” said Mrs. Vansittart, practically. “You are + thinking of something. What is it?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“I was wondering how I could see some of the malgamite workers +to-morrow. I know some of them, and it is from them that the danger may +be expected. They are easily led, and Herr von Holzen would not scruple +to make use of them.” + + “Ah!” said Mrs. Vansittart, “you have guessed that, too. I have more +than guessed it—I know it. You must see these men to-morrow.” + </pre> + <p> + “I will,” answered Dorothy, simply. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart rose and held out her hand. “Yes,” she said, “I came to + the right person. You are calm, and keep your head; as to the other, + perhaps that is in safe-keeping too. Good night and come to lunch with me + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. GRATITUDE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “On se guérit de la bienfaisance par la connaissance de ceux + qu'on oblige.” + </pre> + <p> + “Can you tell me if there is a moon to-night?” Mrs. Vansittart asked a + porter in the railway station at The Hague. + </p> + <p> + The man stared at her for a moment, then realized that the question was a + serious one. + </p> + <p> + “I will ask one of the engine-drivers, my lady,” he answered, with his + hand at the peak of his cap. + </p> + <p> + It was past nine o'clock, and Mrs. Vansittart had been waiting nearly half + an hour for the Flushing train. Her carriage was walking slowly up and + down beneath the glass roof of the entrance to the railway station. She + had taken a ticket in order to gain access to the platform, and was almost + alone there with the porters. Her glance travelled backwards and forwards + between the clock and the western sky, visible beneath the great arch of + the station. The evening was a clear one, for the month of June still + lingered, but the twilight was at hand. The Flushing train was late + to-night of all nights; and Mrs. Vansittart stamped her foot with + impatience. What was worse was Dorothy Roden's lateness. Dorothy and Mrs. + Vansittart, like two generals on the eve of a battle, had been exchanging + hurried notes all day; and Dorothy had promised to meet Mrs. Vansittart at + the station on the arrival of the train. + </p> + <p> + “The moon is rising now, my lady—a half-moon,” said the porter + approaching with that leisureliness which characterizes railway porters + between trains. + </p> + <p> + “Why does your stupid train not come?” asked Mrs. Vansittart, with + unreasoning anger. + </p> + <p> + “It has been signalled, my lady; a few minutes now.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart gave a quick sigh of relief, and turned on her heel. She + had long been unable to remain quietly in one place. She saw Dorothy + coming up the slope to the platform. At last matters were taking a turn + for the better—except, indeed, Dorothy's face, which was set and + white. + </p> + <p> + “I have found out something,” she said at once, and speaking quickly but + steadily. “It is for to-night, between half-past nine and ten.” + </p> + <p> + She had her watch in her hand, and compared it quickly with the station + clock as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I have secured Uncle Ben,” she said—all the ridicule of the name + seemed to have vanished long ago. “He is drunk, and therefore cunning. It + is only when he is sober that he is stupid. I have him in a cab + downstairs, and have told your man to watch him. I have been to Mr. + Cornish's rooms again, and he has not come in. He has not been in since + morning, and they do not know where he is. No one knows where he is.” + </p> + <p> + Dorothy's lip quivered for a moment, and she held it with her teeth. Mrs. + Vansittart touched her arm lightly with her gloved fingers—a + strange, quick, woman's gesture. + </p> + <p> + “I went upstairs to his rooms,” continued Dorothy. “It is no good thinking + of etiquette now or pretending——” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mrs. Vansittart, hurriedly, so that the sentence was never + finished. + </p> + <p> + “I found nothing except two torn envelopes in the waste-paper basket. One + in an uneducated hand—perhaps feigned. The other was Otto von + Holzen's writing.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! In Otto von Holzen's writing—addressed to Tony at the Zwaan at + Scheveningen?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Otto von Holzen knows where Tony is staying, at all events. We have + learnt something. You have kept the envelopes?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + They both turned at the rumble of the train outside the station. The great + engine came clanking in over the points, its lamp glaring like the eye of + some monster. + </p> + <p> + “Provided Major White is in the train,” muttered Mrs. Vansittart, tapping + on the pavement with her foot. “If he is not in the train, Dorothy?” + </p> + <p> + “Then we must go alone.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart turned and looked her slowly up and down. + </p> + <p> + “You are a brave woman,” she said thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + But Major White was in the train, being a man of his word in small things + as well as in great. They saw him pushing his way patiently through the + crowd of hotel porters and others who had advice or their services to + offer him. Then he saw Mrs. Vansittart and Dorothy, and recognized them. + </p> + <p> + “Give your luggage ticket to the hotel porter and let him take it straight + to the hotel. You are wanted elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + Still Major White was only in his normal condition of mild and patient + surprise. He had only met Mrs. Vansittart once, and Dorothy as often. He + did exactly as he was told without asking one of those hundred questions + which would inevitably have been asked by many men and more women under + such circumstances, and followed the ladies out of the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “We must talk here,” said Mrs. Vansittart. “One cannot do so in a carriage + in the streets of The Hague.” + </p> + <p> + Major White bowed gravely, and looked from one to the other. He was rather + travel-worn, and seemed to be feeling the heat. + </p> + <p> + “Tony Cornish has probably written to you about his discoveries as to the + malgamite works. We have no time to go into that question, however,” said + Mrs. Vansittart, who was already beginning to be impatient with this + placid man. “He has earned the enmity of Otto von Holzen—a man who + will stop at nothing—and the malgamiters are being raised against + him by Von Holzen. Our information is very vague, but we are almost + certain that an attempt is to be made on Tony's life to-night between + half-past nine and ten. You understand?” Mrs. Vansittart almost stamped + her foot. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” answered White, looking at the station clock. “Twenty minutes' + time.” + </p> + <p> + “We have the information from one of the malgamiters themselves, who knows + the time and the place, but he is tipsy. He is in a carriage outside the + station.” + </p> + <p> + “How tipsy?” asked Major White; and both his hearers shrugged their + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “How can we tell you that?” snapped Mrs. Vansittart; and Major White + dropped his glass from his eye. + </p> + <p> + “Where is your brother?” he said, turning to Dorothy. He was evidently + rather afraid of Mrs. Vansittart, as a quick-spoken person not likely to + have patience with a slow man. + </p> + <p> + “He has gone to Utrecht,” answered Dorothy. “And Mr. von Holzen is not at + the works, which are locked up. I have just come from there. By a lucky + chance I met this man Ben, and have brought him here.” + </p> + <p> + White looked at Dorothy thoughtfully, and something in his gaze made her + change colour. + </p> + <p> + “Let me see this man,” he said, moving towards the exit. + </p> + <p> + “He is in that carriage,” said Dorothy, when they had reached a quiet + corner of the station yard. “You must be quick. We have only a quarter of + an hour now. He is an Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + White got into the cab with Uncle Ben, who appeared to be sleeping, and + closed the door after him. In a few moments he emerged again. + </p> + <p> + “Tell the man to drive to a chemist's,” he said to Mrs. Vansittart. “The + fellow is not so bad. I have got something out of him, and will get more. + Follow in your carriage—you and Miss Roden.” + </p> + <p> + It was Major White's turn now to take the lead, and Mrs. Vansittart meekly + obeyed, though White's movements were so leisurely as to madden her. + </p> + <p> + At the chemist's shop, White descended from the carriage and appeared to + have some language in common with the druggist, for he presently returned + to the carriage, carrying a tumbler. After a moment he went to the window + of Mrs. Vansittart's neat brougham. + </p> + <p> + “I must bring him in here,” he said. “You have a pair of horses which look + as if they could go. Tell your man to drive to the pumping-station on the + Dunes, wherever that may be.” + </p> + <p> + Then he went and fetched Uncle Ben, whom he brought by one arm, in a + dislocated condition, trotting feebly to keep pace with the major's long + stride. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart's coachman must have received very decided orders, for he + skirted the town at a rattling trot, and soon emerged from the streets + into the quiet of the Wood, which was dark and deserted. Here, in a sandy + and lonely alley, he put the horses to a gallop. The carriage swayed and + bumped. Those inside exchanged no words. From time to time Major White + shook Uncle Ben, which seemed to be a part of his strenuous treatment. + </p> + <p> + At length the carriage stopped on the narrow road, paved with the little + bricks they make at Gouda, that leads from Scheveningen to the + pumping-station on the Dunes. Major White was the first to quit it, + dragging Uncle Ben unceremoniously after him. Then, with his disengaged + hand, he helped the ladies. He screwed his glass tightly into his eye, and + looked round him with a measuring glance. + </p> + <p> + “This place will be as light as day,” he said, “when the moon rises from + behind those trees.” + </p> + <p> + He drew Uncle Ben aside, and talked with him for some time in a low voice. + The man was almost sober now, but so weak that he could not stand without + assistance. Major White was an advocate, it seemed, of heroic measures. He + appeared to be asking many questions, for Uncle Ben pointed from time to + time with an unsteady hand into the darkness. When his mind, muddled with + malgamite and drink, failed to rise to the occasion, Major White shook him + like a sack. After a few minutes' conversation, Ben broke down completely, + and sat against a sand-bank to weep. Major White left him there, and went + towards the ladies. + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell your man,” he said to Mrs. Vansittart, “to drive back to + the junction of the two roads and wait there under the trees?” He paused, + looking dubiously from one to the other. “And you and Miss Roden had + better go back with him and stay in the carriage.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Dorothy, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” added Mrs. Vansittart. + </p> + <p> + And Major White moistened his lips with an air of patient toleration for + the ways of a sex which had ever been far beyond his comprehension. + </p> + <p> + “It seems,” he said, when the carriage had rolled away over the noisy + stones, “that we are in good time. They do not expect him until nearly + ten. He has been attempting for some time to get the men to refuse to + work, and these same men have written to ask him to meet them at the works + at ten o'clock, when Roden is at Utrecht, and Von Holzen is out. There is + no question of reaching the works at all. They are going to lie in ambush + in a hollow of the Dunes, and knock him on the head about half a mile from + here north-east.” And Major White paused in this great conversational + effort to consult a small gold compass attached to his watch-chain. + </p> + <p> + The two women waited patiently. + </p> + <p> + “Fine place, these Dunes,” said the major, after a pause. “Could conceal + three thousand men between here and Scheveningen.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is not a question of hiding soldiers,” said Mrs. Vansittart, + sharply, with a movement of the head indicative of supreme contempt. + </p> + <p> + “No,” admitted White. “Better hide ourselves, perhaps. No good standing + here where everybody can see us. I'll fetch our friend. Think he'll sleep + if we let him. Chemist gave him enough to kill a horse.” + </p> + <p> + “But haven't you any plans?” asked Mrs. Vansittart, in despair. “What are + you going to do? You are not going to let these brutes kill Tony Cornish? + Surely you, as a soldier, must know how to meet this crisis.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. Not much of a soldier, you know,” answered White, soothingly, as + he moved away towards Uncle Ben. “But I think I know how this business + ought to be managed. Come along—hide ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + He led the way across the dunes, dragging Uncle Ben by one arm, and + keeping in the hollows. The two women followed in silence on the silent + sand. + </p> + <p> + Once Major White paused and looked back. “Don't talk,” he said, holding up + a large fat hand in a ridiculous gesture of warning, which he must have + learnt in the nursery. He looked like a large baby listening for a bogey + in the chimney. + </p> + <p> + Once or twice he consulted Uncle Ben, and as often glanced at his compass. + There was a certain skill in his attitude and demeanour, as if he knew + exactly what he was about. Mrs. Vansittart had a hundred questions to ask + him, but they died on her lips. The moon rose suddenly over the distant + trees and flooded all the sand-hills with light. Major White halted his + little party in a deep hollow, and consulted Uncle Ben in whispers. Then + bidding him sit down, he left the three alone in their hiding-place, and + went away by himself. He climbed almost to the summit of a neighbouring + mound, and stopped suddenly, with his face uplifted, as if smelling + something. Like many short-sighted persons, he had a keen scent. In a few + minutes he came back again. + </p> + <p> + “I have found them,” he whispered to Mrs. Vansittart and Dorothy. “Smelt + 'em—like sealing-wax. Eleven of them—waiting there for + Cornish.” And he smiled with a sort of boyish glee. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” whispered Mrs. Vansittart. + </p> + <p> + “Thump them,” he answered, and presently went back to his post of + observation. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Ben had fallen asleep, and the two women stood side by side waiting + in the moonlight. It was chilly, and a keen wind swept in from the sea. + Dorothy shivered. They could hear certain notes of certain instruments in + the band of the Scheveningen Kurhaus, nearly two miles away. It was + strange to be within sound of such evidences of civilization, and yet in + such a lonely spot—strange to reflect that eleven men were waiting + within a few yards of them to murder one. And yet they could safely have + carried out their intention, and have scraped a hole in the sand to hide + his body, in the certainty that it would never be found; for these dunes + are a miniature desert of Sahara, where nothing bids men leave the beaten + paths, where certain hollows have probably never been trodden by the foot + of man, and where the ever-drifting sand slowly accumulates—a very + abomination of desolation. + </p> + <p> + At length White rose to his feet agilely enough, and crept to the brow of + the dune. The men were evidently moving. Mrs. Vansittart and Dorothy + ascended the bank to the spot just vacated by White. + </p> + <p> + Only a few dozen yards away they could see the black forms of the + malgamiters grouped together under the covert of a low hillock. Hidden + from their sight, Major White was slowly stalking them. + </p> + <p> + Dorothy touched Mrs. Vansittart's arm, and pointed silently in the + direction of Scheveningen. A man was approaching, alone, across the + silvery sand-hills. It was Tony Cornish, walking into the trap laid for + him. + </p> + <p> + Major White saw him also, and thinking himself unobserved, or from mere + habit acquired among his men, he moistened the tips of his fingers at his + lips. + </p> + <p> + The malgamiters moved forward, and White followed them. They took up a + position in a hollow a few yards away from the foot-path by which Cornish + must pass. One of their number remained behind, crouching on a mound, and + evidently reporting progress to his companions below. When Cornish was + within a hundred yards of the ambush, White suddenly ran up the bank, and + lifting this man bodily, threw him down among his comrades. He followed + this vigorous attack by charging down into the confused mass. In a few + moments the malgamiters streamed away across the sand-hills like a pack of + hounds, though pursued and not pursuing. They left some of their number on + the sand behind them, for White was a hard hitter. + </p> + <p> + “Give it to them, Tony!” White cried, with a ring of exultation in his + voice. “Knock 'em down as they come!” + </p> + <p> + For there was only one path, and the malgamiters had to run the gauntlet + of Tony Cornish, who knocked some of them over neatly enough as they + passed, selecting the big ones, and letting the others go free. He knew + them by the smell of their clothes, and guessed their intention readily + enough. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange scene, and one that left the two women, watching it, + breathless and eager. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wish I were a man!” exclaimed Mrs. Vansittart, with clenched fists. + </p> + <p> + They hurried toward Cornish and White, who were now alone on the path. + White had rolled up his sleeve, and was tying his handkerchief round his + arm with his other hand and his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing,” he said. “One of the devils had a knife. Must get my + sleeve mended to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. A REINFORCEMENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Prends moy telle que je suy.” + </pre> + <p> + When Major White came down to breakfast at his hotel the next morning, he + found the large room deserted and the windows thrown open to the sun and + the garden. He was selecting a table, when a step on the verandah made him + look up. Standing in the window, framed, as it were, by sunshine and + trees, was Marguerite Wade, in a white dress, with demure lips, and the + complexion of a wild rose. She was the incarnation of youth—of that + spring-time of life of which the sight tugs at the strings of older + hearts; for surely that is the only part of life which is really and + honestly worth the living. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite came forward and shook hands gravely. Major White's left + eyebrow quivered for a moment in indication of his usual mild surprise at + life and its changing surface. + </p> + <p> + “Feeling pretty—bobbish?” inquired Marguerite, earnestly. + </p> + <p> + White's eyebrow went right up and his glass fell. + </p> + <p> + “Fairly bobbish, thank you,” he answered, looking at her with stupendous + gravity. + </p> + <p> + “You look all right, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “You should never judge by appearances,” said White, with a fatherly + severity. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite pursed up her lips, and looked his stalwart frame up and down + in silence. Then she suddenly lapsed into her most confidential manner, + like a schoolgirl telling her bosom friend, for the moment, all the truth + and more than the truth. + </p> + <p> + “You are surprised to see me here; thought you would be, you know. I knew + you were in the hotel; saw your boots outside your door last night; knew + they must be yours. You went to bed very early.” + </p> + <p> + “I have two pairs of boots,” replied the major, darkly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, to tell you the truth, I have brought papa across. Tony wrote for + him to come, and I knew papa would be no use by himself, so I came. I told + you long ago that the Malgamite scheme was up a gum-tree, and that seems + to be precisely where you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely.” + </p> + <p> + “And so I have come over, and papa and I are going to put things + straight.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't if I were you.” + </p> + <p> + “Shouldn't what?” inquired Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + “Shouldn't put other people's affairs straight. It does not pay, + especially if other people happen to be up a gum-tree—make yourself + all sticky, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite looked at him doubtfully. “Ah!” she said. “That's what—is + it?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what,” admitted Major White. + </p> + <p> + “That is the difference, I suppose, between a man and a woman,” said + Marguerite, sitting down at a small table where breakfast had been laid + for two. “A man looks on at things going—well, to the dogs—and + smokes and thinks it isn't his business. A woman thinks the whole world is + her business.” + </p> + <p> + “So it is, in a sense—it is her doing, at all events.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite had turned to beckon to the waiter, and she paused to look back + over her shoulder with shrewd, clear eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said mystically. + </p> + <p> + Then she addressed herself to the waiter, calling him “Kellner,” and + speaking to him in German, in the full assurance that it would be his + native tongue. + </p> + <p> + “I have told him,” she explained to White, “to bring your little + coffee-pot and your little milk-jug and your little pat of butter to this + table.” + </p> + <p> + “So I understood.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Then you know German?” inquired Marguerite, with another doubtful + glance. + </p> + <p> + “I get two pence a day extra pay for knowing German.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite paused in her selection, of a breakfast roll from a silver + basket containing that Continental choice of breads which look so + different and taste so much alike. + </p> + <p> + “Seems to me,” she said confidentially, “that you know more than you + appear to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Not such a fool as I look, in fact.” + </p> + <p> + “That is about the size of it,” admitted Marguerite, gravely. “Tony always + says that the world sees more than any one suspect. Perhaps he is right.” + </p> + <p> + And both happening to look up at this moment, their glances met across the + little table. + </p> + <p> + “Tony often is right,” said Major White. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, during which Marguerite attended to the two small + coffee-pots for which she had such a youthful and outspoken contempt. The + privileges of her sex were still new enough to her to afford a certain + pleasure in pouring out beverages for other people to drink. + </p> + <p> + “Why is Tony so fond of The Hague? Who is Mrs. Vansittart?” she asked, + without looking up. + </p> + <p> + Major White looked stolidly out of the open window for a few minutes + before answering. + </p> + <p> + “Two questions don't make an answer.” + </p> + <p> + “Not these two questions?” asked Marguerite, with a sudden laugh. + </p> + <p> + “No; Mrs. Vansittart is a widow, young, and what they usually call + 'charming,' I believe. She is clever, yes, very clever, and she was, I + suppose, fond of Vansittart; and that is the whole story, I take it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly a cheery story.” + </p> + <p> + “No true stories are,” returned the major, gravely. + </p> + <p> + But Marguerite shook her head. In her wisdom—that huge wisdom of + life as seen from the threshold—she did not believe Mrs. + Vansittart's story. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but novelists and people take a true story and patch it up at the + end. Perhaps most people do that with their lives, you know; perhaps Mrs. + Vansittart—” + </p> + <p> + “Won't do that,” said the major, staring in a stupid way out of the window + with vacant, short-sighted eyes. “Not even if Tony suggested it—which + he won't do.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that Tony is not a patch upon the late Mr. Vansittart—that + is what <i>you</i> mean,” said Marguerite, condescendingly. “Then why does + he stay in The Hague?” + </p> + <p> + Major White shrugged his shoulders and lapsed into a stolid silence, + broken only by a demand made presently by Marguerite to the waiter for + more bread and more butter. She looked at her companion once or twice, and + it is perhaps not astonishing that she again concluded that he must be as + dense as he looked. It is a mistake that many of her sex have made + regarding men. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know Miss Roden?” she asked suddenly. “I have heard a good deal + about her from Joan.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she pretty?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Very pretty?” persisted Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the major. + </p> + <p> + And they continued their breakfast in silence. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite appeared to have something to think about. Major White was in + the habit of stating that he never thought, and certainly appearances bore + him out. + </p> + <p> + “Your father is late,” he said at length. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Marguerite, with a gay laugh. “Because he was afraid to + ring the bell for hot water. Papa has a rooted British conviction that + Continental chambermaids always burst into your room if you ring the bell, + whether the door is locked or not. He is nothing if not respectable, poor + old dear—would give points to any bishop in the land.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke her father came into the room, looking, as his daughter had + stated eminently British and respectable. He shook hands with Major White, + and seemed pleased to see him. The major was, in truth, a man after his + own heart, and one whom he looked upon as solid. For Mr. Wade belonged to + a solid generation that liked the andante of life to be played in good + heavy chords, and looked with suspicious eyes upon brilliancy of execution + or lightness of touch. + </p> + <p> + “I have had a note from Cornish,” he said, “who suggests a meeting at this + hotel this afternoon to discuss our future action. The other side has, it + appears, written to Lord Ferriby to come over to The Hague.” There had in + Mr. Wade's life usually been that “other side,” which he had treated with + a good, honest respect so long as they proved themselves worthy of it; but + which he crushed the moment they forgot themselves. For there was in this + British banker a vast spirit of honest, open antagonism by which he and + his likes have built up a scattered empire on this planet. “At three + o'clock,” he concluded, lifting the cover of a silver dish which + Marguerite had sent back to the kitchen awaiting her father's arrival. + “And what will you do, my dear?” he said, turning to her. + </p> + <p> + “I?” replied Marguerite, who always knew her own mind. “I shall take a + carriage and drive down to the Villa des Dunes to see Dorothy Roden. I + have a note for her from Joan.” + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Wade turned to his breakfast with an appetite in no way diminished + by the knowledge that the “other side” were about to take action. + </p> + <p> + At three o'clock the carriage was awaiting Marguerite at the door of the + hotel, but for some reason Marguerite lingered in the porch, asking + questions and absolutely refusing to drive all the way to Scheveningen by + the side of the “Queen's Canal.” When at length she turned to get in, Tony + Cornish was coming across the Toornoifeld under the trees; for The Hague + is the shadiest city in the world, with forest trees growing amid its + great houses. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Marguerite, holding out her hand. “You see, I have come across + to give you all a leg-up. Seems to me we are going to have rather a + spree.” + </p> + <p> + “The spree,” replied Cornish, with his light laugh, “has already begun.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite drove away towards The Hague Wood, and disappeared among the + transparent green shadows of that wonderful forest. The man had been + instructed to take her to the Villa des Dunes by way of the Leyden Road, + making a round in the woods. It was at a point near the farthest outskirts + of the forest that Marguerite suddenly turned at the sight of a man + sitting upon a bench at the roadside reading a sheet of paper. + </p> + <p> + “That,” she said to herself, “is the Herr Professor—but I cannot + remember his name.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite was naturally a sociable person. Indeed, a woman usually stops + an old and half-forgotten acquaintance, while men are accustomed to let + such bygones go. She told the driver to turn round and drive back again. + The man upon the bench had scarce looked up as she passed. He had the air + of a German, which suggestion was accentuated by the solitude of his + position and the poetic surroundings which he had selected. A German, be + it recorded to his credit, has a keen sense of the beauties of nature, and + would rather drink his beer before a fine outlook than in a comfortable + chair indoors. When Marguerite returned, this man looked up again with the + absorbed air of one repeating something in his mind. When he perceived + that she was undoubtedly coming towards himself, he stood up and took off + his hat. He was a small, square-built man, with upright hair turning to + grey, and a quiet, thoughtful, clean-shaven face. His attitude, and indeed + his person, dimly suggested some pictures that have been painted of the + great Napoleon. His measuring glance—as if the eyes were weighing + the face it looked upon—distinctly suggested his great prototype. + </p> + <p> + “You do not remember me, Herr Professor,” said Marguerite, holding out her + hand with a frank laugh. “You have forgotten Dresden and the chemistry + classes at Fräulein Weber's?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Fräulein; I remember those classes,” the professor answered, with a + grave bow. + </p> + <p> + “And you remember the girl who dropped the sulphuric acid into the + something of potassium? I nearly made a great discovery then, mein Herr.” + </p> + <p> + “You nearly made the greatest discovery of all, Fräulein. Yes, I remember + now—Fräulein Wade.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am Marguerite Wade,” she answered, looking at him with a little + frown, “but I can't remember your name. You were always Herr Professor. + And we never called anything by its right name in the chemistry classes, + you know; that was part of the—er—trick. We called water H2 or + something like that. We called you J.H.U, Herr Professor.” + </p> + <p> + “What does that mean, Fräulein?” + </p> + <p> + “Jolly hard up,” returned Marguerite, with a laugh which suddenly gave + place, with a bewildering rapidity, to a confidential gravity. “You were + poor then, mein Herr.” + </p> + <p> + “I have always been poor, Fräulein, until now.” + </p> + <p> + But Marguerite's mind had already flown to other things. She was looking + at him again with a frown of concentration. + </p> + <p> + “I am beginning to remember your name,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not strange how a name comes back with a face? And I had quite + forgotten both your face and your name, Herr ... Herr ... von Holz”—she + broke off, and stepped back from him—“von Holzen,” she said slowly. + “Then you are the malgamite man?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Fräulein,” he answered, with his grave smile; “I am the malgamite + man.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite looked at him with a sort of wonder, for she knew enough of the + Malgamite scheme to realize that this was a man who ruled all that came + near him, against whom her own father and Tony Cornish and Major White and + Mrs. Vansittart had been able to do nothing—who in face of all + opposition continued calmly to make malgamite, and sell it daily to the + world at a preposterous profit, and at the cost only of men's lives. + </p> + <p> + “And you, Fräulein, are the daughter of Mr. Wade, the banker?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, feeling suddenly that she was a schoolgirl again, + standing before her master. + </p> + <p> + “And why are you in The Hague?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” replied Marguerite, hesitating for perhaps the first time in her + life, “to enlarge our minds, mein Herr.” She was looking at the paper he + held in his hand, and he saw the direction of her glance. In response, he + laughed quietly, and held it out towards her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “you have guessed right. It is the Vorschrift, the + prescription for the manufacture of malgamite.” + </p> + <p> + She took the paper and turned it over curiously. Then, with her usual + audacity, she opened it and began to read. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she said, “it is in Hebrew.” + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen nodded his head, and held out his hand for the paper, which she + gave to him. She was not afraid of the man—but she was very near to + fear. + </p> + <p> + “And I am sitting here, quietly under the trees, Fräulein,” he said, + “learning it by heart.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. A BRIGHT AND SHINING LIGHT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Un homme sérieux est celui qui se croit regardé.” + </pre> + <p> + When Lord Ferriby decided to accede to Roden's earnest desire that he + should go to The Hague, he was conscious of conferring a distinct favour + upon the Low Countries. + </p> + <p> + “It is not a place one would choose to go to at this time of year,” he + said to a friend at the club. “In the winter, it is different; for the + season there is in the winter, as in many Continental capitals.” + </p> + <p> + One of the numerous advantages attached to an hereditary title is the + certainty that a hearer of some sort or another will always be + forthcoming. A commoner finds himself snubbed or quietly abandoned so soon + as his reputation for the utterance of egoisms and platitudes is + sufficiently established, but there are always plenty of people ready and + willing to be bored by a lord. A high-class club is, moreover, a very + mushroom-bed of bores, where elderly gentlemen who have traveled quite a + distance down the road of life, without finding out that it is bordered on + either side by a series of small events not worth commenting upon, meet to + discuss trivialities. + </p> + <p> + “Truth is,” said his lordship to one of these persons, “this Malgamite + scheme is one of the largest charities that I have conducted, and carries + with it certain responsibilities—yes, certain responsibilities.” + </p> + <p> + And he assumed a grave air of importance almost amounting to worry. For + Lord Ferriby did not know that a worried look is an almost certain + indication of a small mind. Nor had he observed that those who bear the + greatest responsibilities, and have proved themselves worthy of the + burden, are precisely they who show the serenest face to the world. + </p> + <p> + It must not, however, be imagined that Lord Ferriby was in reality at all + uneasy respecting the Malgamite scheme. Here again he enjoyed one of the + advantages of having been preceded by a grandfather able and willing to + serve his party without too minute a scruple. For if the king can do no + wrong, the nobility may surely claim a certain immunity from criticism, + and those who have allowance made to them must inevitably learn to make + allowance for themselves. Lord Ferriby was, in a word, too self-satisfied + to harbour any doubts respecting his own conduct. Self-satisfaction is, of + course, indolence in disguise. + </p> + <p> + It was easy enough for Lord Ferriby to persuade himself that Cornish was + wrong and Roden in the right; especially when Roden, in the most + gentlemanly manner possible, paid a cheque, not to Lord Ferriby direct, + but to his bankers, in what he gracefully termed the form of a bonus upon + the heavy subscription originally advanced by his lordship. There are many + people in the world who will accept money so long as their delicate + susceptibilities are not offended by an actual sight of the cheque. + </p> + <p> + “Anthony Cornish,” said Lord Ferriby, pulling down his waistcoat, “like + many men who have had neither training nor experience, does not quite + understand the ethics of commerce.” + </p> + <p> + His lordship, like others, seemed to understand these to mean that a man + may take anything that his neighbour is fool enough to part with. + </p> + <p> + Joan was willing enough to accompany her father, because, in the great + march of social progress, she had passed on from charity to sanitation, + and was convinced that the mortality among the malgamiters, which had been + more than hinted at in the Ferriby family circle, was entirely due to the + negligence of the victims in not using an old disinfectant served up in + artistic flagons under a new name. Permanganate of potash under another + name will not only smell as sweet, but will perform greater sanitary + wonders, because the world places faith in a new name, and faith is still + the greatest healer of human ills. + </p> + <p> + Joan, therefore, proposed to carry to The Hague the glad tidings of the + sanitary millennium, fully convinced that this had come to a suffering + world under the name of “Nuxine,” in small bottles, at the price of one + shilling and a penny halfpenny. The penny halfpenny, no doubt, represented + the cost of bottle and drug and the small blue ribbon securing the + stopper, while the shilling went very properly into the manufacturer's + pocket. It was at this time the fashion in Joan's world to smell of + “Nuxine,” which could also be had in the sweetest little blue tabloids, to + place in the wardrobe and among one's clean clothes. Joan had given Major + White a box of these tabloids, which gift had been accepted with becoming + gravity. Indeed, the major seemed never to tire of hearing Joan's + exordiums, or of watching her pretty, earnest face as she urged him to use + “Nuxine” in its various forms, and it was only when he heard that + cigar-holders made of “Nuxine” absorbed all the deleterious properties of + tobacco that his stout heart failed him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he pleaded, “but a fellow must draw the line at a sky-blue + cigar-holder, you know.” + </p> + <p> + And Joan had to content herself with the promise that he would use none + other than “Nuxine” dentifrice. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby and Joan, therefore, set out to The Hague, his lordship in + the full conviction (enjoyed by so many useless persons) that his presence + was in itself of beneficial effect upon the course of events, and Joan + with her “Nuxine” and, in a minor degree now, her “Malgamiters” and her + “Haberdashers' Assistants.” Lady Ferriby preferred to remain at Cambridge + Terrace, chiefly because it was cheaper, and also because the cook + required a holiday, and, with a kitchen-maid only, she could indulge in + her greatest pleasure—a useless economy. The cook refused to starve + her fellow-servants, while the kitchen-maid, mindful of a written + character in the future, did as her ladyship bade her—hashing and + mincing in a manner quite irreconcilable with forty pounds a year and beer + money. + </p> + <p> + Major White met the travellers at The Hague station, and Joan, who had had + some trouble with her father during the simple journey, was conscious for + the first time of a sense of orderliness and rest in the presence of the + stout soldier, who seemed to walk heavily over difficulties when they + arose. + </p> + <p> + “Eh—er,” began his lordship, as they walked down the platform, “have + you seen anything of Roden?” + </p> + <p> + For Lord Ferriby was too self-centred a man to b keenly observant, and had + as yet failed to detect Von Holzen behind and overshadowing his partner in + the Malgamite scheme. + </p> + <p> + “No—cannot say I have,” replied the major. + </p> + <p> + He had never discussed the malgamite affairs with Lord Ferriby. Discussion + was, indeed, a pastime in which the major never indulged. His position in + the matter was clearly enough defined, but he had no intention of + explaining why it was that he ranged himself stolidly on Cornish's side in + the differences that had arisen. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby was dimly conscious of a smouldering antagonism, but knew the + major sufficiently well not to fear an outbreak of hostilities. Men who + will face opposition may be divided into two classes—the one taking + its stand upon a conscious rectitude, the other half-hiding with the cheap + and transparent cunning of the ostrich. Many men, also, are in the + fortunate condition of believing themselves to be invariably right unless + they are told quite plainly that they are wrong. And there was nobody to + tell Lord Ferriby this. Cornish, with a sort of respect for the head of + the family—a regard for the office irrespective of its holder—was + so far from wishing to convince his uncle of error that he voluntarily + relinquished certain strong points in his position rather than strike a + blow that would inevitably reach Lord Ferriby, though directed towards + Roden or Von Holzen. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby heard, however, with some uneasiness, that the Wades were in + The Hague. + </p> + <p> + “A worthy man—a very worthy man,” he said abstractedly; for he + looked upon the banker with that dim suspicion which is aroused in certain + minds by uncompromising honesty. + </p> + <p> + The travellers proceeded to the hotel, where rooms had been prepared for + them. There were flowers in Joan's room, which her maid said she had + rearranged, so awkwardly had they been placed in the vase. The Wades, it + appeared, were out, and had announced their intention of not returning to + lunch. They were, the hotel porter thought, to take that meal at Mrs. + Vansittart's. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Lord Ferriby, “that I shall go down to the works.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, do,” answered White, with an expressionless countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you will accompany me?” suggested Joan's father. + </p> + <p> + “No—think not. Can't hit it off with Roden. Perhaps Joan would like + to see the Palace in the Wood.” + </p> + <p> + Joan thought that it was her duty to go to the malgamite works, and + murmured the word “Nuxine,” without, however, much enthusiasm; but White + happened to remember that it was mixing-day. So Lord Ferriby went off + alone in a hired carriage, as had been his intention from the first; for + White knew even less about the ethics of commerce than did Cornish. + </p> + <p> + The account of affairs that awaited his lordship at the works was, no + doubt, satisfactory enough, for the manufacture of malgamite had been + proceeding at high pressure night and day. Von Holzen had, as he told + Marguerite, been poor all his life, and poverty is a hard task-master. He + was not going to be poor again. The grey carts had been passing up and + down Park Straat more often than ever, taking their loads to one or other + of the railway stations, and bringing, as they passed her house, a gleam + of anger to Mrs. Vansittart's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The scoundrels!” she muttered. “The scoundrels! Why does not Tony act?” + </p> + <p> + But Tony Cornish, who alone knew the full extent of Von Holzen's + determination not to be frustrated, could not act—for Dorothy's + sake. + </p> + <p> + A string of the quiet grey carts passed up Park Straat when the party + assembled there had risen from the luncheon-table. Mrs. Vansittart and Mr. + Wade were standing together at the window, which was large even in this + city of large and spotless windows. Dorothy and Cornish were talking + together at the other end of the room, and Marguerite was supposed to be + looking at a book of photographs. + </p> + <p> + “There goes a consignment of men's lives,” said Mrs. Vansittart to her + companion. + </p> + <p> + “A human life, madam,” answered the banker, “like all else on earth, + varies much in value.” For Mr. Wade belonged to that class of Englishmen + which has a horror of all sentiment, and takes care to cloak its good + actions by the assumption of an unworthy motive. And who shall say that + this man of business was wrong in his statement? Which of us has not a few + friends and relations who can only have been created as a solemn warning? + </p> + <p> + As Mrs. Vansittart and Mr. Wade stood at the window, Marguerite joined + them, slipping her hand within her father's arm with that air of + protection which she usually assumed towards him. She was gay and lively, + as she ever was, and Mrs. Vansittart glanced at her more than once with a + sort of envy. Mrs. Vansittart did not, in truth, always understand + Marguerite or her English, which was essentially modern. + </p> + <p> + They were standing and laughing at the window, when Marguerite suddenly + drew them back. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Mrs. Vansittart. + </p> + <p> + “It is Lord Ferriby,” replied Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + And looking cautiously between the lace curtains, they saw the great man + drive past in his hired carriage. “He has recently bought Park Straat,” + commented Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + And his lordship's condescending air certainly seemed to suggest that the + street, if not the whole city, belonged to him. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade pointed with his thick thumb in the direction in which Lord + Ferriby was driving. + </p> + <p> + “Where is he going?” he asked bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “To the malgamite works,” replied Mrs. Vansittart, with significance. And + Mr. Wade made no comment. Mrs. Vansittart spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “I asked Major White,” she said, “to lunch with us to-day, but he was + pledged, it appeared, to meet Lord Ferriby and his daughter, and see them + installed at their hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr. Wade. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart, who in truth seemed to find the banker rather heavy, + allowed some moments to elapse before she again spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Major White,” she then observed, “does not accompany Lord Ferriby to the + malgamite works.” + </p> + <p> + “Major White,” replied Marguerite, demurely, “has other fish to fry.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. CLEARING THE AIR + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “It is as difficult to be entirely bad as it is to be + entirely good.” + </pre> + <p> + Percy Roden, who had been to Utrecht and Antwerp, arrived home on the + evening of the day that saw Lord Ferriby's advent to The Hague. Though the + day had been fine enough, the weather broke up at sunset, and great clouds + chased the sun towards the west. Then the rain came suddenly and swept + across the plains in a slanting fury. A cold wind from the south-east + followed hard upon the heavy clouds, and night came in a chaos of squall + and beating rain. Roden was drenched in his passage from the carriage to + the Villa des Dunes, which, being a summer residence, had not been + provided with a carriage-drive across the dunes from the road. He looked + at his sister with tired eyes when she met him in the entrance-hall. He + was worn and thinner than she had seen him in the days of his adversity, + for Percy Roden, like his partner, had made several false starts upon the + road to fortune before he got well away. Like many—like, indeed, + nearly all—who have to try again, he had lightened himself of a + scruple or so each time he turned back. Prosperity, however, seems to kill + as many as adversity. Abundant wealth is a vexation of spirit to-day as + surely as it was in the time of that wise man who, having tried it, said + that a stranger eateth it, and it is vanity. + </p> + <p> + “Beastly night,” said Roden, and that was all. He had been to Antwerp on + banking business, and had that sleepless look which brings a glitter to + the eyes. This was a man handling great sums of money. “Von Holzen been + here to-day?” he asked, when he had changed his clothes, and they were + seated at the dinner-table. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Dorothy, with her eyes on his plate. + </p> + <p> + He was eating little, and drank only mineral water from a stone bottle. He + was like an athlete in training, though the strain he sought to meet was + mental and not physical. He shivered more than once, and glanced sharply + at the door when the maid happened to leave it open. + </p> + <p> + When Dorothy went to the drawing-room she lighted the fire, which was + ready laid, and of wood. Although it was nearly midsummer, the air was + chilly, and the rain beat against the thin walls of the house. + </p> + <p> + “I think it probable,” Roden had said, before she left the dining-room, + “that Von Holzen will come in this evening.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down before the fire, which burnt briskly, and looked into it with + thoughtful, clever grey eyes. Percy thought it probable that Von Holzen + would come to the Villa des Dunes this evening. Would he come? For Percy + knew nothing of the organized attempt on Cornish's life which she herself + had frustrated. He seemed to know nothing of the grim and silent + antagonism that existed between the two men, shutting his eyes to their + movements, which were like the movements of chess-players that the + onlooker sees but does not understand. Dorothy knew that Von Holzen was + infinitely cleverer than her brother. She knew, indeed, that he was + cleverer than most men. With the quickness of her sex, she had long ago + divined the source and basis of his strength. He was indifferent to women—who + formed no part of his life, who entered in no way into his plans or + ambitions. Being a woman, she should, theoretically, have disliked and + despised him for this. As a matter of fact, the characteristic commanded + her respect. + </p> + <p> + She knew that her brother was not in Von Holzen's confidence. It was + probable that no man on earth had ever come within measurable distance of + that. He would, in all likelihood, hear nothing of the attempt to kill + Cornish, and Cornish himself would be the last to mention it. For she knew + that her lover was a match for Von Holzen, and more than a match. She had + never doubted that. It was a part of her creed. A woman never really loves + a man until she has made him the object of a creed. And it is only the man + himself who can—and in the long run usually does—make it + impossible for her to adhere to her belief. + </p> + <p> + She was still sitting and thinking over the fire when her brother came + into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said at the sight of the fire, and came forward, holding out his + hands to the blaze. He looked down at his sister with glittering and + unsteady eyes. He was in a dangerous humour—a humour for + explanations and admissions—to which weak natures sometimes give + way. And, looking at the matter practically and calmly, explanations and + admissions are better left—to the hereafter. But Von Holzen saved + him by ringing the front-door bell at that moment. + </p> + <p> + The professor came into the room a minute later. He stood in the doorway, + and bowed in the stiff German way to Dorothy. With Roden he exchanged a + curt nod. His hair was glued to his temples by the rain, which gleamed on + his face. + </p> + <p> + “It is an abominable night,” he said, coming forward. “Ach, Fräulein, + please do not leave us—and the fire,” he added; for Dorothy had + risen. “I merely came to make sure that he had arrived safely home.” He + took the chair offered to him by Roden, and sat on it without bringing it + forward. He had but little of that self-assurance which is so highly + cultivated to-day as to be almost offensive. “There are, of course, + matters of business,” he said, “which can wait till to-morrow. To-night + you are tired.” He looked at Roden as a doctor may look at a patient. “Is + it not so, Fräulein?” he asked, turning to Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Except one or two—which we may discuss now.” + </p> + <p> + Dorothy turned and glanced at him. He was looking at her, and their eyes + met for a moment. He seemed to see something in her face that made him + thoughtful, for he remained silent for some time, while he wiped the rain + from his face with his pocket-handkerchief. It was a pale, determined + face, which could hardly fail to impress those with whom he came in + contact as the face of a strong man. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Ferriby has been at the works to-day,” he said; and then, with a + gesture of the hands and a shrug, he described Lord Ferriby as a + nonentity. “He went through the works, and looked over your books. I wrote + out a sort of certificate of his satisfaction with both, and—he + signed it.” + </p> + <p> + Roden was leaning forward over the fire with a cigarette between his lips. + He nodded shortly. “Good,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday,” continued Von Holzen, “I met an old acquaintance—a Miss + Wade—one of the young ladies of a Pensionnat at Dresden, in which I + taught at one time. She is a daughter of the banker Wade, and told me, + reluctantly, that she is at The Hague with her father—a friend of + Cornish's. This morning I took a walk on the sands at Scheveningen; there + was a large fat man, among others, bathing at the Northern + bathing-station. It was Major White. It is a regular gathering of the + clans. I saw a German paper-maker—a big man in the trade—on + the Kursaal terrace this morning. It may be a mere chance, and it may + not.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he had withdrawn from his pocket a folded paper, which he was + fingering thoughtfully. Dorothy, who knew that she had by her looks + unwittingly warned him, made no motion to go now. He would say nothing + that he did not deliberately intend for her ears as much as for her + brother's. Von Holzen opened the paper slowly, and looked at it as if + every line of it was familiar. It was a sheet of ordinary foolscap covered + with minute figures and writing. + </p> + <p> + “It is the Vorschrift, the—how do you say?—prescription for + the malgamite, and there are several in The Hague at this moment who want + it, and some who would not be too scrupulous in their methods of procuring + it. It is for this that they are gathering—here in The Hague.” + </p> + <p> + Roden turned in his leisurely way, and looked over his shoulder towards + the paper. Von Holzen glanced at Dorothy. He had no desire to keep her in + suspense, but he wished to know how much she knew. She looked into the + fire, treating his conversation as directed towards her brother only. + </p> + <p> + “I tried for ten years in vain to get this,” continued Von Holzen, “and at + last a dying man dictated it to me. For years it lived in the brain of one + man only—and he a maker of it himself. He might have died at any + moment with that secret in his head. And I,”—he folded the paper + slowly and shrugged his shoulders—“I watched him. And the last + intelligible word he spoke on earth was the last word of this + prescription. The man can have been no fool; for he was a man of little + education. I never respected him so much as I do now when I have learnt it + myself.” He rose and walked to the fire. “You permit me, Fräulein,” he + said, putting the logs together with his foot. + </p> + <p> + They burnt up brightly, and he threw the paper upon them. In a moment it + was reduced to ashes. He turned slowly upon his heel, and looked at his + companions with the grave smile of one who had never known much mirth. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said, touching his forehead, with one finger; “it is in the + brain of one man—once more.” He returned to the chair he had just + vacated. “And whosoever wishes to stop the manufacture of malgamite will + need to stop that brain,” he said, with a soft laugh. “Of course there is + a risk attached to burning that paper,” he continued, after a pause. “My + brain may go—a little clot of blood no bigger than a pin's head, and + the greatest brain on earth is so much pulp! It may be worth some one's + while to kill me. It is so often worth some one's while to kill somebody + else, even at a considerable risk—but the courage is nearly always + lacking. However, we must run these risks.” + </p> + <p> + He rose from his chair with a low and rather pleasant laugh, glancing at + the clock as he did so. It was evidently his intention to take his leave. + Dorothy rose also, and they stood for a moment facing each other. He was a + few inches above her stature, and he looked down at her with his slow, + thoughtful eyes. He seemed always to be making a diagnosis of the souls of + men. + </p> + <p> + “I know, Fräulein,” he said, “That you are one of those who dislike me, + and seek to do me harm. I am sorry. It is long since I discarded a + youthful belief that it was possible to get on in life without arousing + ill feeling. Believe me, it is impossible even to hold one's own in this + world without making enemies. There are two sides to every question, + Fräulein—remember that.” + </p> + <p> + He brought his heels together, bowed stiffly, from the waist, in his + formal manner, and left the room. Percy Roden followed him, leaving the + door open. Dorothy heard the rustle of his dripping waterproof as he put + it on, the click of the door, the sound of his firm retreating tread on + the gravel. Then her brother came back into the room. His rather weak face + was flushed. His eyes were unsteady. Dorothy saw this in a glance, and her + own face hardened unresponsively. The situation was clearly enough defined + in her own mind. Von Holzen had destroyed the prescription before her on + purpose. It was only a move in that game of life which is always extending + to a new deal, and of which women as onlookers necessarily see the most. + Von Holzen wished Cornish, and others concerned, to know that he had + destroyed the prescription. It was a concession in disguise—a + retrograde movement—perhaps <i>pour mieux sauter</i>. + </p> + <p> + Percy Roden was one of those men who have a grudge against the world. The + most hopeless ill-doer is he who excuses himself angrily. There are some + who seem unconscious of their own failings, and for these there is hope. + They may some day find out that it is better to be at peace with the world + even at the cost of a little self-denial. But Percy Roden admitted that he + was wrong, and always had that sort of excuse which seeks to lay the blame + upon a whole class—upon other business men, upon those in authority, + upon women. + </p> + <p> + “It is excused in others, why not in me?”—the last cry of the + ne'er-do-well. + </p> + <p> + He glanced angrily at Dorothy now. But he was always half afraid of her. + </p> + <p> + “I wish we had never come to this place,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Then let us go away from it,” answered Dorothy, “before it is too late.” + </p> + <p> + Roden looked at her in surprise. Did she expect him to go away now from + Mrs. Vansittart? He knew, of course, that Dorothy and the world always + expected too much from him. + </p> + <p> + “Before it is too late. What do you mean?” he asked, still thinking of + Mrs. Vansittart. + </p> + <p> + “Before the Malgamite scheme is exposed,” replied Dorothy, bluntly. And, + to her surprise, he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you meant something else,” he said. “The Malgamite scheme can + look after itself. Von Holzen is the cleverest man I know, and he knows + what he is doing. I thought you meant Mrs. Vansittart—were thinking + of her.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I was not thinking of Mrs. Vansittart.” + </p> + <p> + “Not worth thinking about,” suggested Roden, adhering to his method of + laughing for fear of being laughed at, which is common enough in very + young men; but Roden should have outgrown it by this time. + </p> + <p> + “Not seriously.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Dorothy?” + </p> + <p> + “That I hope you do not think seriously of asking Mrs. Vansittart to marry + you.” + </p> + <p> + Roden gave his rather unpleasant laugh again. “It happens that I do,” he + replied. “And it happens that I know that Mrs. Vansittart never stays in + The Hague in summer when all the houses are empty and everybody is away, + and the place is given up to tourists, and becomes a mere annex to + Scheveningen. This year she has stayed—why, I should like to know.” + </p> + <p> + And he stroked his moustache as he looked into the fire. He had been + indulging in the vain pleasure of putting two and two together. A young + man's vanity—or indeed any man's vanity—is not to be trusted + to work out that simple addition correctly. Percy Roden was still in a + dangerously exalted frame of mind. There is no intoxication so dangerous + as that of success, and none that leaves so bitter a taste behind it. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he said, “no girl ever thinks that her brother can succeed in + such a case. I suppose you dislike Mrs. Vansittart?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I like her, and I understand her, perhaps better than you do. I + should like nothing better than that she should marry you, but——” + </p> + <p> + “But what?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, ask her,” replied Dorothy—a woman's answer. + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “And then let us go away from here.” + </p> + <p> + Roden turned on her angrily. “Why do you keep on repeating that?” he + cried. “Why do you want to go away from here?” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” replied Dorothy, as angry as himself, “you know as well as I do + that the Malgamite scheme is not what it pretends to be. I suppose you are + making a fortune and are dazzled, or else you are being deceived by Herr + von Holzen, or else——” + </p> + <p> + “Or else——” echoed Roden, with a pale face. “Yes—go on.” + But she bit her lip and was silent. “It is an open secret,” she went on + after a pause. “Everybody knows that it is a disgrace or worse—perhaps + a crime. If you have made a fortune, be content with what you have made, + and clear yourself of the whole affair.” + </p> + <p> + “Not I.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I am going to make more. And I am going to marry Mrs. Vansittart. + It is only a question of money. It always is with women. And not one in a + hundred cares how the money is made.” + </p> + <p> + Which, of course, is not true; for no woman likes to see her husband's + name on a biscuit or a jam-pot. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” went on Percy, in his anger. “I know which side you take, + since you are talking of open secrets. At any rate, Von Holzen knows yours—if + it is a secret—for he has hinted at it more than once. You think + that it is I who have been deceived or who deceive myself. You are just as + likely to be wrong. You place your whole faith in Cornish. You think that + Cornish cannot do wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Dorothy turned and looked at him. Her eyes were steady, but the color left + her face, as if she were afraid of what she was about to say. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said. “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “And without a moment's hesitation,” went on Roden, hurriedly, “you would + sacrifice everything for the sake of a man you had never seen six months + ago?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Even your own brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. THE ULTIMATUM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Le plus grand, le plus fort et le plus adroit surtout, est + celui qui sait attendre.” + </pre> + <p> + “If you think that Herr von Holzen is a philanthropist, my dear,” said + Marguerite Wade, sententiously, “that is exactly where your toes turn in.” + </p> + <p> + She addressed this remark to Joan Ferriby, whose eyes were certainly + veiled by that cloak of charity which the kind-hearted are ever ready to + throw over the sins of others. The two girls were sitting in the quiet + old-world garden of the hotel, beneath the shade of tall trees, within the + peaceful sound of the cooing doves on the tiled roof. Major White was + sitting within earshot, looking bulky and solemn in his light tweed suit + and felt hat. The major had given up appearances long ago, but no man + surpassed him in cleanliness and that well-groomed air which distinguishes + men of his cloth. He was reading a newspaper, and from time to time + glanced at his companions, more especially, perhaps, at Joan. + </p> + <p> + “Major White,” said Marguerite. “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Greengage, please.” + </p> + <p> + The greengages were on a table at the major's elbow, having been placed + there at Marguerite's command by the waiter who attended them at + breakfast. White made ready to pass the dish. + </p> + <p> + “Fingers,” said Marguerite. “Heave one over.” + </p> + <p> + White selected one with an air of solemn resignation. Marguerite caught + the greengage as neatly as it was thrown. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of Herr von Holzen?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “To think,” replied the Major, “certain requisites are necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Um—m.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know Herr von Holzen, and I have nothing to think with,” he + explained gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you soon will know him, and I dare say if you tried you would find + that you are not so stupid as you pretend to be. You are going down to the + works this morning with Papa and Tony Cornish. I know that, because papa + told me.” + </p> + <p> + The Major looked at her with his air of philosophic surprise. She held up + her hand for a catch, and with resignation he threw her another greengage. + </p> + <p> + “Tony is going to call for you in a carriage at ten o'clock, and you three + old gentlemen are going to drive in an open barouche with cigars, like a + bean feast, to the malgamite works.” + </p> + <p> + “The description is fairly accurate,” admitted Major White, without + looking up from his paper. + </p> + <p> + “And I imagine you are going to raise—Hail Columbia!” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her severely through his glass, and said nothing. She nodded + in a friendly and encouraging manner, as if to intimate that he had her + entire approval. + </p> + <p> + “Take my word for it,” she continued, turning to Joan, “Herr von Holzen is + a shady customer. I know a shady customer when I see him. I never thought + much of the malgamite business, you know, but unfortunately nobody asked + my opinion on the matter. I wonder——” She paused, looking + thoughtfully at Major White, who presently met her glance with a stolid + stare. “Of course!” she said, in a final voice. “I forgot. You never + think. You can't. Oh no!” + </p> + <p> + “It is so easy to misjudge people,” pleaded Joan, earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “It is much easier to see right through them, straight off, in the + twinkling of a bedpost,” asserted Marguerite. “You will see, Herr von + Holzen is wrong and Tony is right. And Tony will smash him up. You will + see. Tony”—she paused, and looked up at the roof where the doves + were cooing—“Tony knows his way about.” + </p> + <p> + Major White rose and laid aside his paper. Mr. Wade was coming down the + iron steps that led from the verandah to the garden. The banker was + cutting a cigar, and wore a placid, comfortable look, as if he had + breakfasted well. Even as regards kidneys and bacon in a foreign hotel, + where there is a will there is a way, and Marguerite possessed tongues. + “I'll turn this place inside out,” she had said, “to get the old thing + what he wants.” Then she attacked the waiter in fluent German. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite noted his approach with a protecting eye. “It's all solid + common sense,” she said in an undertone to Joan, referring, it would + appear, to his bulk. + </p> + <p> + In only one respect was she misinformed as to the arrangements for the + morning. Tony Cornish was not coming to the hotel to fetch Mr. Wade and + White, but was to meet them in the shadiest of all thoroughfares and green + canals, the Koninginne Gracht, where at midday the shadows cast by the + great trees are so deep that daylight scarcely penetrates, and the boats + creep to and fro like shadows. This amendment had been made in view of the + fact that Lord Ferriby was in the hotel, and was, indeed, at this moment + partaking of a solemn breakfast in his private sitting-room overlooking + the Toornoifeld. + </p> + <p> + His lordship did not, therefore, see these two solid pillars of the + British constitution walk across the corner of the Korte Voorhout, cigar + in lip, in a placid silence begotten, perhaps, of the knowledge that, + should an emergency arise, they were of a material that would arise to + meet it. + </p> + <p> + Cornish was awaiting them by the bank of the canal. He was watching a boat + slowly work its way past him. It was one of the large boats built for + traffic on the greater canals and the open waters of the Scheldt estuary. + It was laden from end to end with little square boxes bearing only a + number and a port mark in black stencil. A pleasant odor of sealing-wax + dominated the weedy smell of the canal. + </p> + <p> + “Wherever you turn you meet the stuff,” was Cornish's greeting to the two + Englishmen. + </p> + <p> + Major White, with his delicate sense of smell, sniffed the breeze. Mr. + Wade looked at the canal-boat with a nod. Commercial enterprise, and, + above all, commercial success, commanded his honest respect. + </p> + <p> + They entered the carriage awaiting them beneath the trees. Cornish was, as + usual, quick and eager, a different type from his companions, who were not + brilliant as he was, nor polished. + </p> + <p> + They found the gates of the malgamite works shut, but the door-keeper, + knowing Cornish to be a person of authority, threw them open and directed + the driver to wait outside till the gentlemen should return. The works + were quiet and every door was closed. + </p> + <p> + “Is it mixing-day?” asked Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “Every day is mixing-day now, mein Herr, and there are some who work all + night as well. If the gentlemen will wait a moment, I will seek Herr + Roden.” + </p> + <p> + And he left them standing beneath the brilliant sun in the open space + between the gate and the cottage where Von Holzen lived. In a few moments + he returned, accompanied by Percy Roden, who emerged from the office in + his shirt-sleeves, pen in hand. He shook hands with Cornish and White, + glanced at Mr. Wade, and half bowed. He did not seem glad to see them. + </p> + <p> + “We want to look at your books,” said Cornish. “I suppose you will make no + objection?” Roden bit his moustache and looked at the point of his pen. + </p> + <p> + “You and Major White?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “And this gentleman, who comes as our financial advisor.” + </p> + <p> + Roden raised his eyebrows rather insolently. “Ah—may I ask who this + gentleman is?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Wade,” answered the banker, characteristically for himself. + </p> + <p> + Roden's face changed, and he glanced at the great financier with a keen + interest. + </p> + <p> + “I have no objection,” he said after a moment's hesitation. “If Von Holzen + will agree. I will go and ask him.” + </p> + <p> + And they were left alone in the sunshine once more. Mr. Wade watched Roden + as he walked towards the factory. + </p> + <p> + “Not the sort of man I expected,” he commented. “But he has the right + shaped head for figures. He is shrewd enough to know that he cannot + refuse, so gives in with a good grace.” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes Von Holzen approached them, emerging from the factory + alone. He bowed politely, but did not offer to shake hands. He had not + seen Cornish since the evening when he had offered to make malgamite + before him, and the experiment had taken such a deadly turn. He looked at + him now and found his glance returned by an illegible smile. The question + flashed through his mind and showed itself on his face as to why Roden had + made such a mistake as to introduce a man like this into the Malgamite + scheme. Von Holzen invited the gentlemen into the office. “It is small, + but it will accommodate us,” he said, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + He drew forward chairs, and offered one to Cornish in particular, with a + grim deference. He seemed to have divined that their last meeting in this + same office had been, by tacit understanding, kept a secret. There is for + some men a certain satisfaction in antagonism, and a stern regard for a + strong foe—which reached its culmination, perhaps, in that Saxon + knight who desired to be buried in the same chapel as his lifelong foe—between + him, indeed, and the door—so that at the resurrection day they + should not miss each other. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen seemed to have somewhat of this feeling for Cornish. He offered + him the best seat at the table. Roden was taking his books from a safe—huge + ledgers bound in green pigskin, slim cash-books, cloth-bound journals. He + named them as he laid them on the table before Mr. Wade. Major White + looked at the great tomes with solemn and silent awe. Mr. Wade was already + fingering his gold pencil-case. He eyed the closed books with an + anticipatory gleam of pleasure in his face—as a commander may eye + the arrayed squadrons of the foe. + </p> + <p> + “It is, of course, understood that this audit is strictly in confidence?” + said Von Holzen. “For your own satisfaction, and not in any sense for + publication. It is a trade secret.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” answered Cornish, to whom the question had been addressed. + “We trust to the honor of these gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish looked up and met the speaker's grave eyes. “Yes,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Roden, having emptied the large safe, leant his shoulder against the iron + mantelpiece and looked down at those seated at the table—especially + at Mr. Wade. His hands were in his pockets; his face wore a careless + smile. He had not resumed his coat, and the cleanliness of the books + testified to the fact that he always worked in shirt-sleeves. It was a + trick of the trade, which exonerated him from the necessity of + apologizing. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade took the great ledgers, opened them, fluttered the pages with his + fingers, and set them aside one after the other. Then Roden seemed to + recollect something. He went to a drawer and took from it a packet of + neatly folded papers held together by elastic rings. The top one he + unfolded and laid on the table before Mr. Wade. + </p> + <p> + “Trial balance-sheet of 31st of March,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade glanced up and down the closely written columns, which were like + copper-plate—an astounding mass of figures. The additions in the + final column ran to six numerals. The banker folded the paper and laid it + aside. Then, he turned to the slim cash-books, which he glanced at + casually. The journals he set aside without opening. He handled the books + with a sort of skill showing that he knew how to lift them with the least + exertion, how to open them and close them and turn their stiff pages. The + enormous mass of figures did not seem to appal him; the maze was straight + enough beneath such skillful eyes. Finally, he turned to a small locked + ledger, of which the key was attached to Roden's watch-chain, who came + forward and unlocked the book. Mr. Wade turned to the index at the + beginning of the volume, found a certain account, and opened the book + there. At the sight of the figures he raised his eyebrow and glanced up at + Roden. + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” he exclaimed, beneath his breath. He had arrived at his + destination—had torn the heart out of these great books. All in the + room were watching his placid, shrewd old face. He studied the books for + some time and then took a sheet of blank paper from a number of such + attached by a string to a corner of the table. He reflected for some + minutes, pushing the movable part of his gold pencil in and out pensively + as he did so. Then he wrote a number of figures on the sheet of paper and + handed it to Cornish. He closed the locked ledger with a snap. The audit + of the malgamite books was over. + </p> + <p> + “It is a wonderful piece of single-handed bookkeeping,” he said to Roden. + </p> + <p> + Cornish was studying the paper set before him by the banker. The + proceedings seemed to have been prearranged, for no word was exchanged. + There was no consultation on either side. Finally, Cornish folded the + paper and tore it into a hundred pieces in scrupulous adherence to Von + Holzen's conditions. Mr. Wade was sitting back in his chair thoughtfully + amusing himself with his gold pencil-case. Cornish looked at him for a + moment, and then spoke, addressing Von Holzen. + </p> + <p> + “We came here to make a final proposal to you,” he said; “to place before + you, in fact, our ultimatum. We do not pretend to conceal from you the + fact that we are anxious to avoid all publicity, all scandal. But if you + drive us to it, we shall unhesitatingly face both in order to close these + works. We do not want the Malgamite scheme to be dragged as a charity in + the mud, because it will inevitably drag other charities with it. There + are certain names connected with the scheme which we should prefer; + moreover, to keep from the clutches of the cheaper democratic newspapers. + We know the weakness of our position. + </p> + <p> + “And we know the strength of ours,” put in Von Holzen, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. We recognize that also. You have hitherto slipped in between + international laws, and between the laws of men. Legally, we should have + difficulty in getting at you, but it can be done. Financially——” + He paused, and looked at Mr. Wade. + </p> + <p> + “Financially,” said the banker, without lifting his eyes from his pencil + case, “we shall in the long run inevitably smash you—though the + books are all right.” + </p> + <p> + Roden smiled, with his long white fingers at his moustache. + </p> + <p> + “From the figures supplied to me by Mr. Wade,” continued Cornish, “I see + that there is an enormous profit lying idle—so large a profit that + even between ourselves it is better not mentioned. There are, or there + were yesterday, two hundred and ninety-two malgamite makers in active + work.” + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen made an involuntary movement, and Cornish looked at him over + the pile of books. “Oh!” he said, “I know that. And I know the number of + deaths. Perhaps you have not kept count, but I have. From the figures + supplied by Mr. Wade, I see, therefore, that we have sufficient to pension + off these two hundred and ninety-two men and their families—giving + each man one hundred and twenty pounds a year. We can also make provision + for the widows and orphans out of the sum I propose to withdraw from the + profits. There will then be left a sum representing two large fortunes—of + say between three and four thousand a year each. Will you and Mr. Roden + accept this sum, dividing it as you think fit, and hand over the works to + me? We ask, you to take it—no questions asked, and go.” + </p> + <p> + “And Lord Ferriby?” suggested Von Holzen. + </p> + <p> + Major White made a sudden movement, but Cornish laid his hand quickly upon + the soldier's arm. + </p> + <p> + “I will manage Lord Ferriby. What is your answer?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Von Holzen, instantly, as if he had long known what the + ultimatum would be. + </p> + <p> + Cornish turned interrogatively to Roden. His eyes urged Roden to accept. + </p> + <p> + “No,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade took out his large gold watch and looked at it. + </p> + <p> + “Then there is no need,” he said composedly, “to detain these gentlemen + any longer.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. COMMERCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The world will not believe a man repents. + And this wise world of ours is mainly right.” + </pre> + <p> + “Then you are of opinion, my dear White, that one cannot well refuse to + meet these—er—persons?” + </p> + <p> + “Not,” replied Major White to Lord Ferriby, whose hand rested on his stout + arm as they walked with dignity in the shade of the trees that border the + Vyver—that quaint old fish-pond of The Hague—“not without + running the risk of being called a d——d swindler.” + </p> + <p> + For the major was a lamentably plain-spoken man, who said but little, and + said that little strong. Lord Ferriby's affectionate grasp of the + soldier's arm relaxed imperceptibly. One must, he reflected, be prepared + to meet unpleasantness in the good cause of charity—but there are + words hardly applicable to the peerage, and Major White had made use of + one of these. + </p> + <p> + “Public opinion,” observed the major, after some minutes of deep thought, + “is a difficult thing to deal with—'cos you cannot thump the + public.” + </p> + <p> + “It is notably hard,” said his lordship, firing off one of his pet + platform platitudes, “to induce the public to form a correct estimate, or + what one takes to be a correct estimate.” + </p> + <p> + “Especially of one's self,” added the major, looking across the water + towards the Binnenhof in his vacant way. + </p> + <p> + Then they turned and walked back again beneath the heavy shade of the + trees. The conversation, and indeed this dignified promenade on the + Vyverberg, had been brought about by a letter which his lordship had + received that same morning inviting him to attend a meeting of + paper-makers and others interested in the malgamite trade to consider the + position of the malgamite charity, and the advisability of taking legal + proceedings to close the works on the dunes at Scheveningen. The meeting + was to be held at the Hôtel des Indes, at three in the afternoon, and the + conveners hinted pretty plainly that the proceedings would be of a + decisive nature. The letter left Lord Ferriby with a vague feeling of + discomfort. His position was somewhat isolated. A coldness had for some + time been in existence between himself and his nephew, Tony Cornish. Of + Mr. Wade, Lord Ferriby was slightly distrustful. + </p> + <p> + “These commercial men,” he often said, “are apt to hold such narrow + views.” + </p> + <p> + And, indeed, to steer a straight course through life, one must not look to + one side or the other. + </p> + <p> + There remained Major White, of whom Lord Ferriby had thought more highly + since Fortune had called this plain soldier to take a seat among the gods + of the British public. For no man is proof against the satisfaction of + being able to call a celebrated person by his Christian name. The major + had long admired Joan, in his stupid way from, as one might say, the other + side of the room. But neither Lord nor Lady Ferriby had encouraged this + silent suit. Joan was theoretically one of those of whom it is said that + “she might marry anybody,” and who, as the keen observer may see for + himself, often finishes by failing to marry at all. She was pretty and + popular, and had, moreover, the <i>entrée</i> to the best houses. White + had been useful to Lord Ferriby ever since the inauguration of the + Malgamite scheme. He was not uncomfortably clever, like Tony Cornish. He + was an excellent buffer at jarring periods. Since the arrival of Joan and + her father at The Hague, the major had been almost a necessity in their + daily life, and now, quite suddenly, Lord Ferriby found that this was the + only person to whom he could turn for advice or support. + </p> + <p> + “One cannot suppose,” he said, in the full conviction that words will meet + any emergency—“One cannot suppose that Von Holzen will act in direct + opposition to the voice of the majority.” + </p> + <p> + “Von Holzen,” replied the major, “plays a doocid good game.” + </p> + <p> + After luncheon they walked across the Toornoifeld to the Hôtel des Indes, + and there, in a small <i>salon</i>, found a number of gentlemen seated + round a table. Mr. Wade was conspicuous by his absence. They had, indeed, + left him in the hotel garden, sitting at the consumption of an excellent + cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Join the jocund dance?” the major had inquired, with a jerk of the head + towards the Hôtel des Indes. But Mr. Wade was going for a drive with + Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + Tony Cornish was, however, seated at the table, and the major recognized + two paper-makers whom he had seen before. One was an aggressive, + red-headed man, of square shoulders and a dogged appearance, who had + “radical” written all over him. The other was a mild-mannered person, with + a thin, ash-colored moustache. The major nodded affably. He distinctly + remembered offering to fight these two gentlemen either together or one + after the other on the landing of the little malgamite office in + Westminster. And there was a faint twinkle behind the major's eyeglass as + he saluted them. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Thompson,” he said. “How do, MacHewlett?” For he never + forgot a face or a name. + </p> + <p> + “A'hm thinking——” Mr. MacHewlett was observing, but his + thoughts died a natural death at the sight of a real lord, and he rose and + bowed. Mr. Thompson remained seated and made that posture as aggressive + and obvious as possible. The remainder of the company were of varied + nationality and appearance, while one, a Frenchman of keen dark eyes and a + trim beard—seemed by tacit understanding to be the acknowledged + leader. Even the pushing Mr. Thompson silently deferred to him by a + gesture that served at once to introduce Lord Ferriby and invite the + Frenchman to up and smite him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Lord Ferriby took the seat that had been left vacant for him at the +head of the table. He looked around upon faces not too friendly. +“We were saying, my lord,” said the Frenchman, in perfect English and +with that graceful tact which belongs to France alone, “that we have +all been the victims of an unfortunate chain of misunderstandings. +Had the organizers of this great charity consulted a few paper-makers +before inaugurating the works at Scheveningen, much unpleasantness + might have been averted, many lives might, alas, have been spared. +But—well—such mundane persons as ourselves were probably unknown to +you and unthought-of; the milk is spilt, is it not so? Let us rather +think of the future.” + </pre> + <p> + Lord Ferriby bowed graciously, and Mr. Thompson moved impatiently on his + chair. The suave method had no attractions for him. + </p> + <p> + “A'hm thinking,” began Mr. MacHewlett, in his most plaintive voice, and + commanded so sudden and universal an attention as to be obviously + disconcerted, “his lordship'll need plainer speech than that,” he muttered + hastily, and subsided, with an uneasy glance in the direction of that man + of action, Major White. + </p> + <p> + “One misunderstanding has, however, been happily dispelled,” said the + Frenchman, “by our friend—if monsieur will permit the word—our + friend, Mr. Cornish. From this gentleman we have learned that the + executive of the Malgamite Charity are not by any means in harmony with + the executive of the malgamite works at Scheveningen; that, indeed, the + charity repudiates the action of its servants in manufacturing malgamite + by a dangerous process tacitly and humanely set aside by makers up to this + time; that the administrators of the fund are no party to the 'corner' + which has been established in the product; do not desire to secure a + monopoly, and disapprove of the sale of malgamite at a price which has + already closed one or two of the smaller mills, and is paralyzing the + paper trade of the world.” + </p> + <p> + The speaker finished with a bow towards Cornish, and resumed his seat. All + were watching Lord Ferriby's face, except Major White, who examined a + quill pen with short-sighted absorption. Lord Ferriby looked across the + table at Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Ferriby,” said Cornish, without rising from his seat, and meeting + his uncle's glance steadily, “will now no doubt confirm all that Monsieur + Creil has said.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby had, in truth, come to the meeting with no such intention. He + had, with all his vast experience, no knowledge of a purely commercial + assembly such as this. His public had hitherto been a drawing-room public. + He was accustomed to a flower-decked platform, from which to deliver his + flowing periods to the emotional of both sexes. There were no flowers in + this room at the Hôtel des Indes, and the men before him were not of the + emotional school. They were, on the contrary, plain, hard-headed men of + business, who had come from different parts of the world at Cornish's + bidding to meet a crisis in a plain, hard-headed way. They had only + thoughts of their balance-sheets, and not of the fact that they held in + the hollow of their hands the lives of hundreds, nay, of thousands, of + men, women, and children. Monsieur Creil alone, the keen-eyed Frenchman, + had absolute control of over three thousand employees—married men + with children—but he did not think of mentioning the fact. And it is + a weight to carry about with one—to go to sleep with and to awake + with in the morning—the charge of, say, nine thousand human lives. + </p> + <p> + For a few moments Lord Ferriby was silent. Cornish watched him across the + table. He knew that his uncle was no fool, although his wisdom amounted to + little more than the wisdom of the worldly. Would Lord Ferriby recognize + the situation in time? There was a wavering look in the great man's eye + that made his nephew suddenly anxious. Then Lord Ferriby rose slowly, to + make the shortest speech that he had ever made in his life. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” he said, “I beg to confirm what has just been said.” + </p> + <p> + As he sat down again, Cornish gave a sharp sigh of relief. In a moment Mr. + Thompson was on his feet, his red face alight with democratic anger. + </p> + <p> + “This won't do,” he cried. “Let's have done with palavering and talk. + Let's get to plain speaking.” + </p> + <p> + And it was not Lord Ferriby, but Tony Cornish, who rose to meet the + attack. + </p> + <p> + “If you will sit down,” he said, “and keep your temper, you shall have + plain speaking, and we can get to business. But if you do neither, I shall + turn you out of the room.” + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Tony. And something which Mr. Thompson did not understand + made him resume his seat in silence. The Frenchman smiled, and took up his + speech where he had left it. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Cornish,” he said, “speaks with authority. We are, gentlemen, in the + hands of Mr. Cornish, and in good hands. He has this matter at the tips of + his fingers. He has devoted himself to it for many months past, at + considerable risk, as I suspect, to his own safety. We and the thousands + of employees whom we represent cannot do better than entrust the situation + to him, and give him a free hand. For once, capital and labour have a + common interest——” + </p> + <p> + He was again interrupted by Mr. Thompson, who spoke more quietly now. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” he said, “that we may well consider the past for a few + minutes before passing on to the future. There's more than a million + pounds profit, at the lowest reckoning, on the last few months' + manufacture. Question is, where is that profit? Is this a charity, or is + it not? Mr. Cornish is all very well in his way. But we're not fools. + We're men of business, and as such can only presume that Mr. Cornish, like + the rest of 'em, has had his share. Question is, where are the profits?” + </p> + <p> + Major White rose slowly. He was seated beside Mr. Thompson, and, standing + up, towered above him. He looked down at the irate red face with a calm + and wondering eye. + </p> + <p> + “Question is,” he said gravely, “where the deuce you will be in a few + minutes if you don't shut up.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Mr. Thompson once more resumed his seat. He had the + satisfaction, however, of perceiving that his shaft had reached its mark; + for Lord Ferriby looked disconcerted and angry. The chairman of many + charities looked, moreover, a little puzzled, as if the situation was + beyond his comprehension. The Frenchman's pleasant voice again broke in, + soothingly and yet authoritatively. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Cornish and a certain number of us have, for some time, been in + correspondence,” he said. “It is unnecessary for me to suggest to my + present hearers that in dealing with a large industry—in handling, + as it were, the lives of a number of persons—it is impossible to + proceed too cautiously. One must look as far ahead as human foresight may + perceive—one must give grave and serious thought to every possible + outcome of action or inaction. Gentlemen, we have done our best. We are + now in a position to say to the administrators of the Malgamite Fund, + close your works and we will do the rest. And this means that we shall + provide for the survivors of this great commercial catastrophe, that we + shall care for the widows and children of the victims, that we shall + supply ourselves with malgamite of our own manufacture, produced only by a + process which is known to be harmless, that we shall make it impossible + that such a monopoly may again be declared. We have, so far as lies in our + power, provided for every emergency. We have approached the two men who, + from their retreat on the dunes of Scheveningen, have swayed one of the + large industries of the world. We have offered them a fortune. We have + tried threats and money, but we have failed to close them but one + alternative, and that is—war. We are prepared in every way. We can + to-morrow take over the manufacture of malgamite for the whole world—but + we must have the works on the dunes at Scheveningen. We must have the + absolute control of the Malgamite Fund and of the works. We propose, + gentlemen, to seize this control, and invest the supreme command in the + one man who is capable of exercising it—Mr. Anthony Cornish.” + </p> + <p> + The Frenchman sat down, looked across the table, and shrugged his + shoulders impatiently; for the irrepressible Thompson was already on his + feet. It must be remembered that Mr. Thompson worked on commission, and + had been hard hit. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” he cried, pointing a shaking forefinger into Lord Ferriby's face, + “that man has no business to be sitting there. We're honest here—if + we're nothing else. We all know your history, my fine gentleman; we know + that you cannot wipe out the past, so you're trying to whitewash it over + with good works. That's an old trick, and it won't go down here. Do you + think we don't see through you and your palavering speeches? Why have you + refused to take action against Roden and Von Holzen? Because they've paid + you. Look at him, gentlemen! He has taken money from those men at + Scheveningen—blood money. He has had his share. I propose that Lord + Ferriby explains his position.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Thompson banged his fist on the table, and at the same moment sat down + with extreme precipitation, urged thereto by Major White's hand on his + collar. + </p> + <p> + “This is not a vestry meeting,” said the major, sternly. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby had risen to his feet. “My position, gentlemen,” he began, + and then faltered, with his hand at his watch-chain. “My position——” + He stopped with a gulp. His face was the colour of ashes. He turned in a + dazed way towards his nephew; for at the beginning and the end of life + blood is thicker than water. “Anthony,” said his lordship, and sat down + heavily. + </p> + <p> + All rose to their feet in confusion. Major White seemed somehow to be + quicker than the rest, and caught Lord Ferriby in his arms—but Lord + Ferriby was dead. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. WITH CARE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Some man holdeth his tongue, because he hath not to answer: + and some keepeth silence, knowing his time.” + </pre> + <p> + Those who live for themselves alone must at least have the consolatory + thought that when they die the world will soon console itself. For it has + been decreed that he who takes no heed of others shall himself be taken no + heed of. We soon learn to do without those who are indifferent to us and + useless to us. Lord Ferriby had so long and so carefully studied the <i>culte</i> + of self that even those nearest to him had ceased to give him any thought, + knowing that in his own he was in excellent hands—that he would + always ask for what he wanted. It was Lord Ferriby's business to make the + discovery (which all selfish people must sooner or later achieve) that the + best things in this world are precisely those which may not be given on + demand, and for which, indeed, one may in nowise ask. + </p> + <p> + When Major White and Cornish were left alone in the private <i>salon</i> + of the Hôtel des Indes—when the doctor had come and gone, when the + blinds had been decently lowered, and the great man silently laid upon the + sofa—they looked at each other without speaking. The grimmest + silence is surely that which arises from the thought that of the dead one + may only say what is good. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like me,” said Cornish, “to go across and tell Joan?” + </p> + <p> + And Major White, whose god was discipline, replied, “She's your cousin. It + is for you to say.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be glad if you will go,” said Cornish, “and leave me to make the + other arrangements. Take her home tomorrow, or tonight if she wants to, + and leave us—me—to follow.” + </p> + <p> + So Major White quitted the Hôtel des Indes, and walked slowly down the + length of the Toornoifeld, leaving Cornish alone with Lord Ferriby, whose + death made his nephew suddenly a richer man. + </p> + <p> + The Wades had gone out for a drive in the wood. Major White knew that he + would find Joan alone at the hotel. Bad news has a strange trick of + clearing the way before it. The major went to the <i>salon</i> on the + ground floor overlooking the corner of the Vyverberg. Joan was writing a + letter at the window. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said, turning, pen in hand, “you are soon back. Have you + quarrelled?” + </p> + <p> + White went stolidly across the room towards her. There was a chair by the + writing-table, and here he sat down. Joan was looking uneasily into his + face. Perhaps she saw more in that immovable countenance than the world + was pleased to perceive. + </p> + <p> + “Your father was taken suddenly ill,” he said, “during the meeting.” Joan + half rose from her chair, but the major laid his protecting hand over + hers. It was a large, quiet hand—like himself, somewhat suggestive + of a buffer. And it may, after all, be no mean <i>rôle</i> to act as a + buffer between one woman and the world all one's life. + </p> + <p> + “You can do nothing,” said White. “Tony is with him.” + </p> + <p> + Joan looked into his face in speechless inquiry. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered, “your father is dead.” + </p> + <p> + Then he sat there in a silence which may have been intensely stupid or + very wise. For silence is usually cleverer than speech, and always more + interesting. Joan was dry-eyed. Well may the children of the selfish arise + and bless their parents for (albeit unwittingly) alleviating one of the + necessary sorrows of life. + </p> + <p> + After a silence, Major White told Joan how the calamity had occurred, in a + curt military way, as of one who had rubbed shoulders with death before, + who had gone out, moreover, to meet him with a quiet mind, and had told + others of the dealings of the destroyer. For Major White was deemed a + lucky man by his comrades, who had a habit of giving him messages for + their friends before they went into the field. Perhaps, moreover, the + major was of the opinion of those ancient writers who seemed to deem it + more important to consider how a man lives than how he dies. + </p> + <p> + “It was some heart trouble,” he concluded, “brought on by worry or sudden + excitement.” + </p> + <p> + “The Malgamite,” answered Joan. “It has always been a source of uneasiness + to him. He never quite understood it.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered the major, very deliberately, “he never quite understood + it.” And he looked out of the window with a thoughtful noncommitting face. + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I—understand it,” said Joan, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + And the major looked suddenly dense. He had, as usual, no explanation to + offer. + </p> + <p> + “Was father deceived by some one?” Joan asked, after a pause. “One hears + such strange rumours about the Malgamite Fund. I suppose father was + deceived?” + </p> + <p> + She spoke of the dead man with that hushed voice which death, with a + singular impartiality to race or creed, seems to demand of the survivors + wheresoever he passes. + </p> + <p> + White met her earnest gaze with a grave nod. “Yes,” he answered. “He was + deceived.” + </p> + <p> + “He said before he went out that he did not want to go to the meeting at + all,” went on Joan, in a tone of tender reminiscence, “but that he had + always made a point of sacrificing his inclination to his sense of duty. + Poor father!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the major, looking out of the window. And he bore Joan's + steady, searching glance like a man. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” she said suddenly. “Were you and Tony deceived also?” + </p> + <p> + Major White reflected for a moment. It is unwise to tell even the smallest + lie in haste. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered at length. “Not so entirely as your father.” + </p> + <p> + He uncrossed his legs, and made a feeble attempt to divert her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + But Joan was on the trail as it were of a half-formed idea in her own + mind, and she would not have been a woman if she had relinquished the + quest so easily. + </p> + <p> + “But you were deceived at first?” she inquired, rather anxiously. “I know + Tony was. I am sure of it. Perhaps he found out later; but you—” + </p> + <p> + She drew her hand from under his rather hastily, having just found out + that it was in that equivocal position. + </p> + <p> + “You were never deceived,” she said, with a suspicion of resentment. + </p> + <p> + “Well—perhaps not,” admitted the major, reluctantly. And he looked + regretfully at the hand she had withdrawn. “Don't know much about + charities,” he continued, after a pause. “Don't quite look at them in the + right light, perhaps. Seems to me that you ought to be more business-like + in charities than in anything else; and we're not business men—not + even you.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her very solemnly and wisely, as if the thoughts in his mind + would be of immense value if he could only express them; but he was + without facilities in that direction. If one cannot be wise, the next best + thing is to have a wise look. He rose, for he had caught sight of Tony + Cornish crossing the Toornoifeld in the shade of the trees. Perhaps the + major had forgotten for the moment that a great man was dead; that there + were letters to be written and telegrams to be despatched; that the world + must know of it, and the insatiable maw of the public be closed by a few + scraps of news. For the public mind must have its daily food, and the wise + are they who tell it only that which it is expedient for it to know. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ferriby's life was, moreover, one that needed careful obituary + treatment. Everybody's life may for domestic purposes be described as a + hash; but Lord Ferriby's was a hash which in the hands of a cheap + democratic press might easily be served up so daintily as to be very + savoury in the nostrils of the world. Some of its component parts were + indeed exceedingly ancient, and, so to speak, gamey, while the Malgamite + scheme alone might easily be magnified into a very passable scandal. + </p> + <p> + Tony came into the room, keen and capable. He did not show much feeling. + Perhaps Joan and he understood each other without any such display. For + they had known each other many years, and had understood other and more + subtle matters without verbal explanation. For the world had been pleased + to say that Joan and Tony must in the end inevitably marry. And they had + never explained, never contradicted, and never married. + </p> + <p> + While the three were still talking, a carriage rattled up to the door of + the hotel, and then another. There began, in a word, that hushed confusion—that + running to and fro as of ants upon a disturbed ant-hill—which + follows hard upon the footsteps of the grim messenger, who himself is + content to come so quietly and unobtrusively. Roden arrived to make + inquiries, and Mrs. Vansittart, and a messenger from more than one + embassy. Then the Wades came, brought hurriedly back by a messenger sent + after them by Tony Cornish. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite, with characteristic energy, came into the room first, slim and + bright-eyed. She looked from one face to the other, and then crossed the + room and stood beside Joan without speaking. She was smiling—a + little hard smile with close-set lips, showing the world a face that meant + to take life open-eyed, as it is, and make the best of it. + </p> + <p> + Before long the two girls quitted the room, leaving the three men to their + hushed discussion. Tony had already provided himself with pen and paper. + In twelve hours that which the world must know about Lord Ferriby should + be in print. There was just time to cable it to the <i>Times</i> and the + news agencies. And in these hurried days it is the first word which, after + all, goes farthest and carries most weight. A contradiction is at all + times a poor expedient. + </p> + <p> + “I have silenced the paper-makers,” said Cornish, sitting down to write. + “Even that ass Thompson, by striking while the iron was hot.” + </p> + <p> + “And Roden won't open his lips,” added Mr. Wade, who, as he drove up, had + seen that brilliant financier uneasily strolling under the trees of the + Toornoifeld, looking towards the hotel, for Lord Ferriby's death was a + link in the crooked malgamite chain which even Von Holzen had failed to + foresee. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, Lord Ferriby must have been gratified could he have seen the + posthumous pother that he made by dying at this juncture. For in life he + had only been important in his own eyes, and the world had taken little + heed of him. This same keen-sighted world would not regret him much now + and would assuredly mete out to that miserly old screw, his widow, only as + much sympathy as the occasion deserved. Lady Ferriby would, the world + suspected, sell off his lordship's fancy waistcoats, and proceed to save + money to her heart's content. Even the thought of his club subscriptions, + now necessarily to be discontinued, must have assuaged a large part of the + widow's grief. Such, at least, was the opinion of the clubs themselves, + when the news was posted up among the weather reports and the latest tapes + from the House that same evening. + </p> + <p> + While Lord Ferriby's friends were comfortably endowing him with a few + compensating virtues over their tea and hot buttered toast in Pall Mall + and St. James's Street, Mr. Wade, Tony, and White dined together at the + Hotel of the Old Shooting Gallery at The Hague. The hour was an early one, + and had never been countenanced by Lord Ferriby, but the three men in + whose hands he had literally left his good name did not attach supreme + importance to this matter. Indeed, the banker thought kindly of six-thirty + as an hour at which in earlier days he had been endowed with a better + appetite than he ever possessed now at eight o'clock or later. While they + were at table a telegram was handed to Cornish. It was from Lord Ferriby's + solicitor in London, and contained the advice that Tony Cornish had been + appointed sole executor of his lordship's will. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God!” said Tony, with a little laugh, as he read the message and + handed it across to Mr. Wade, who looked at it gravely without comment. + “And now,” said Cornish, “not even Joan need know.” + </p> + <p> + For Cornish, having perceived Percy Roden under the trees of the + Toornoifeld, had gone out there to speak to him, and in answer to a plain + question had received a plain answer as to the price that Lord Ferriby had + been paid for the use of his name in the Malgamite Fund transactions. + </p> + <p> + Joan had elected to remain in her own rooms, with Marguerite to keep her + company, until the evening, when, under White's escort, she was to set out + for England. The major had in a minimum of words expressed himself ready + to do anything at any time, provided that the service did not require an + abnormal conversational effort. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be home twenty-four hours after you,” said Cornish, as he bade + Joan good-bye at the station. “And you need believe no rumours and fear no + gossip. If people ask impertinent questions, refer them to White.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'll thump them,” added the major, who indeed looked capable of + rendering that practical service. + </p> + <p> + They were favoured by a full moon and a perfect night for their passage + from the Hook of Holland to Harwich. Joan expressed a desire to remain on + deck, at all events, until the lights of the Maas had been left behind. + Major White procured two deck chairs, and found a corner of the upper deck + which was free alike from too much wind and too many people. There they + sat in the shadow of a boat, and Joan seemed fully occupied with her own + thoughts, for she did not speak while the steamer ploughed steadily + onwards through the smooth water. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if it is my duty to continue to take an active part in the + Malgamite Fund,” she said at length. + </p> + <p> + And the major, who had been permitted to smoke, looked attentively at the + lighted end of his cigar, and said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid it must be,” continued Joan, whose earnest endeavours to find + out what was her duty, and do it, occupied the larger part of her time and + attention. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Major White. + </p> + <p> + “Because I don't want to.” + </p> + <p> + The major thought about the matter for a long time—almost half + through a cigar. It was wonderful how so much thought could result in so + few words, especially in these days, which are essentially days of many + words and few thoughts. During this period of meditation, Joan sat looking + out to sea, and the moon shining down upon her face showed it to be + puckered with anxiety. Like many of her contemporaries, she was troubled + by an intense desire to do her duty, coupled with an unfortunate lack of + duties to perform. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would tell me what you think,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Seems to me,” said White, “that your duty is clear enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Drop the Malgamiters and the Haberdashers and all that, and—marry + me.” + </p> + <p> + But Joan only shook her head sadly. “That cannot be my duty,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Why? 'Cos it isn't unpleasant enough?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Joan, after a pause, in the deepest earnestness—“no—that's + just it.” + </p> + <p> + Out of which ambiguous observation the major seemed to gather some + meaning, for he looked up at the moon with one of his most vacant smiles. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. A LESSON. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Whom the gods mean to destroy, they blind.” + </pre> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart had passed the age of blind love. She had not the + incentive of a healthy competition. She had not that more dangerous + incentive of middle-aged vanity, which draws the finger of derision so + often in the direction of widows. And yet she took a certain pleasure in + playing a half-careless and wholly cynical Juliet to Percy Roden's <i>gauche</i> + Romeo. She had no intention of marrying him, and yet she continued to + encourage him even now that open war was declared between Cornish and the + malgamite makers. Cornish had indeed thanked Mrs. Vansittart for her + assistance in the past in such a manner as to convey to her that she could + hardly be of use to him in the future. He had magnified her good offices, + and had warned her to beware of arousing Von Holzen's anger. Indeed, her + use of Percy Roden was at an end, and yet she would not let him go. + Cornish was puzzled, and so was Dorothy. Percy Roden was gratified, and + read the riddle by the light of his own vanity. Mrs. Vansittart was not, + perhaps, the first woman to puzzle her neighbours by refusing to + relinquish that which she did not want. She was not the first, perhaps, to + nurse a subtle desire to play some part in the world rather than be left + idle in the wings. So she played the part that came first and easiest to + her hand—a woman's natural part, of stirring up strife between men. + </p> + <p> + She was, therefore, gratified when Von Holzen made his way slowly towards + her through the crowd on the Kursaal terrace one afternoon on the occasion + of a Thursday concert. She was sitting alone in a far corner of the + terrace, protected by a glass screen from the wind which ever blows at + Scheveningen. She never mingled with the summer visitors at this popular + Dutch resort—indeed, knew none of them. Von Holzen seemed to be + similarly situated; but Mrs. Vansittart knew that he did not seek her out + on that account. He was not a man to do anything—much less be + sociable—out of idleness. He only dealt with his fellow-beings when + he had a use for them. + </p> + <p> + She returned his grave bow with an almost imperceptible movement of the + head, and for a moment they looked hard at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Madame still lingers at The Hague,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “As you see.” + </p> + <p> + “And is the game worth the candle?” + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand tentatively on a chair, and looked towards her with an + interrogative glance. He would not, it appeared, sit down without her + permission. And, womanlike, she gave it, with a shrug of one shoulder. A + woman rarely refuses a challenge. “And is the game worth the candle?” he + repeated. + </p> + <p> + “One can only tell when it is played out,” was the reply; and Herr von + Holzen glanced quickly at the lady who made it. + </p> + <p> + He turned away and listened to the music. An occasional concert was the + one diversion he allowed himself at this time from his most absorbing + occupation of making a fortune. He had probably a real love of music, + which is not by any means given to the good only, or the virtuous. Indeed, + it is the art most commonly allied to vice. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” said Von Holzen, after a pause, “that paper which it pleased + madame's fantasy to possess at one time—is destroyed. Its teaching + exists only in my unworthy brain.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and looked at her with his slow smile, his measuring eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; so madame need give the question no more thought, and may turn her + full attention to her new—fancy.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart was studying her programme, and did not look up or display + the slightest interest in what he was saying. + </p> + <p> + “Every event seems but to serve to strengthen our position,” went on Von + Holzen, still half listening to the music. “Even the untimely death of + Lord Ferriby—which might at first have appeared a <i>contretemps</i>. + Cornish takes home the coffin by tonight's mail, I understand. Men may + come, madame, and men may go—but we go on for ever. We are still + prosperous—despite our friends. And Cornish is nonplussed. He does + not know what to do next, and fate seems to be against him. He has no + luck. We are manufacturing—day and night.” + </p> + <p> + “You are interested in Mr. Cornish,” observed Mrs. Vansittart, coolly; and + she saw a sudden gleam in Von Holzen's eyes. + </p> + <p> + After all, the man had a passion over which his control was insecure—the + last, the longest of the passions—hatred. He shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “He has forced himself upon our notice—unnecessarily as the result + has proved—only to find out that there is no stopping us.” + </p> + <p> + He could scarcely control his voice as he spoke of Cornish, and looked + away as if fearing to show the expression of his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart watched him with a cool little smile. Von Holzen had not + come here to talk of Cornish. He had come on purpose to say something + which he had not succeeded in saying yet, and she was not ignorant of + this. She was going to make it as difficult as possible for him, so that + when he at last said what he had come to say, she should know it, and + perhaps divine his motives. + </p> + <p> + “Even now,” he continued, “we have succeeded beyond our expectations. We + are rich men, so that madame—need delay no longer.” He turned and + looked her straight in the eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I?” she inquired, with raised eyebrows. “Need delay no longer—in + what?” + </p> + <p> + “In consummating the happiness of my partner, Percy Roden,” he was clever + enough to say without being impertinent. “He—and his banking account—are + really worth the attention of any lady.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart laughed, and, before answering, acknowledged stiffly the + stiff salutation of a passer. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is suggested that I am waiting for Mr. Roden to be rich enough in + order to marry him?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the talk of gossips and servants.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart looked at him with an amused smile. Did he really know so + little of the world as to take his information from gossips and servants? + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she said, and that was all. She rose and made a little signal with + her parasol to her coachman, who was waiting in the shadow of the Kursaal. + As she drove home, she wondered why Von Holzen was afraid that she should + marry Percy Roden, who, as it happened, was coming to tea in Park Straat + that evening. Mrs. Vansittart had not exactly invited him—not, at + all events, that he was aware of. He was under the impression that he had + himself proposed the visit. + </p> + <p> + She remembered that he was coming, but gave no further thought to him. All + her mind was, indeed, absorbed with thoughts of Von Holzen, whom she hated + with the dull and deadly hatred of the helpless. The sight of him, the + sound of his voice, stirred something within her that vibrated for hours, + so that she could think of nothing else—could not even give her + attention to the little incidents of daily life. She pretended to herself + that she sought retribution—that she wished on principle to check a + scoundrel in his successful career. The heart, however, knows no + principles; for these are created by and belong to the mind. Which + explains why many women seem to have no principles and many virtuous + persons no heart. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansittart went home to make a careful toilet pending the arrival of + Percy Roden. She came down to the drawing-room, and stood idly at the + window. + </p> + <p> + “The talk of gossips and servants,” she repeated bitterly to herself. One + of Von Holzen's shafts had, at all events, gone home. And Percy Roden came + into the room a few minutes afterwards. His manner had more assurance than + when he had first made Mrs. Vansittart's acquaintance. He had, perhaps, a + trifle less respect for the room and its occupant. Mrs. Vansittart had + allowed him to come nearer to her; and when a woman allows a man of whom + she has a low opinion to come near to her, she trifles with her own + self-respect, and does harm which, perhaps, may never be repaired. + </p> + <p> + “I was too busy to go to the concert this afternoon,” he said, sitting + down in his loose-limbed way. + </p> + <p> + His assumption that his absence had been noticed rather nettled his + hearer. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Were you not there?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + He turned and looked at her with his curt laugh. “If I had been there you + would have known it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + It was just one of those remarks—delivered in the half-mocking voice + assumed in self-protection—which Mrs. Vansittart had hitherto + allowed to pass unchallenged. And now, quite suddenly, she resented the + manner and the speech. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” she said, with a subtle inflection of tone which should have + warned him. + </p> + <p> + But he was engaged in drawing down his cuffs. Many young men would know + more of the world if they had no cuffs or collars to distract them. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Roden; “if I had gone to the concert it would not have + been for the music.” + </p> + <p> + Percy Roden's method of making love was essentially modern. He threw to + Mrs. Vansittart certain scraps of patronage and admiration, which she + could pick up seriously and keep if she cared to. But he was not going to + risk a wound to his vanity by taking the initiative too earnestly. Mrs. + Vansittart, who was busy at the tea-table, set down a cup which she had in + her hand and crossed the room towards him. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Mr. Roden?” she asked slowly. + </p> + <p> + He looked up with wavering eyes, and visibly lost colour under her gaze. + </p> + <p> + “What do I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. What do you mean when you say that, if you had gone to the concert, + it would not have been for the music; that if you had been there, I should + have known of your presence, and a hundred other—impertinences?” + </p> + <p> + At first Roden thought that the way was being made easy for him as it is + in books, as, indeed, it sometimes is in life, when it happens to be a way + that is not worth the treading; but the last word stung him like a lash—as + it was meant to sting. It was, perhaps, that one word that made him rise + from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “If you meant to object to anything that I may say, you should have done + so long ago,” he said. “Who was the first to speak at the hotel when I + came to The Hague? Which of us was it that kept the friendship up and + cultivated it? I am not blind. I could hardly be anything else, if I had + failed to see what you have meant all along.” + </p> + <p> + “What have I meant all along?” she asked, with a strange little smile. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you have meant me to say such things as I have said, and perhaps + more.” + </p> + <p> + “More—what can you mean?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him still with a smile, which he did not understand. And, + like many men, he allowed his vanity to explain things which his + comprehension failed to elucidate. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, after a moment's hesitation, “will you marry me? There!” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Roden, I will not,” she answered promptly; and then suddenly her + eyes flashed, at some recollection, perhaps—at some thought + connected with her happy past contrasted with this sordid, ignoble + present. + </p> + <p> + “You!” she cried. “Marry you!” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he asked, with a bitter little laugh, “what is there wrong with + me?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what there is wrong with you. And I am not interested to + inquire. But, so far as I am concerned, there is nothing right.” + </p> + <p> + A woman's answer after all, and one of those reasons which are no reasons, + and yet rule the world. + </p> + <p> + Roden looked at her, completely puzzled. In a flash of thought he recalled + Dorothy's warning, and her incomprehensible foresight. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” he said, lapsing in his self-forgetfulness into the terse language + of his everyday life and thought, “what on earth have you been driving at + all along?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been driving at Herr von Holzen and the Malgamite scheme. I have + been helping Tony Cornish,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + So Percy Roden quitted the house at the corner of Park Straat a wiser man, + and perhaps he left a wiser woman in it. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Mrs. Vansittart to Marguerite Wade, long afterwards, when + a sort of friendship had sprung up and ripened between them—“my + dear, never let a man ask you to marry him unless you mean to say yes. It + will do neither of you any good.” + </p> + <p> + And Marguerite, who never allowed another the last word, gave a shrewd + little nod before she answered—“I always say no—before they + ask me.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. ON THE QUEEN'S CANAL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “There's not a crime— + But takes its proper change still out in crime + If once rung on the counter of this world.” + </pre> + <p> + Cornish went back to The Hague immediately after Lord Ferriby's funeral + because it has been decreed that for all men, this large world shall + sooner or later narrow down to one city, perhaps, or one village, or a + single house. For a man's life is always centred round a memory or a hope, + and neither of those requires much space wherein to live. Tony Cornish's + world had narrowed to the Villa des Dunes on the sandhills of + Scheveningen, and his mind's eye was always turned in that direction. His + one thought at this time was to protect Dorothy—to keep, if + possible, the name she bore from harm and ill-fame. Each day that passed + meant death to the malgamite workers. He could not delay. He dared not + hurry. He wrote again to Percy Roden from London, amid the hurried + preparations for the funeral, and begged him to sever his connection with + Von Holzen. + </p> + <p> + “You will not have time,” he wrote, “to answer this before I leave for The + Hague. I shall stay on the Toornoifeld as usual, and hope to arrive about + nine o'clock to-morrow evening. I shall leave the hotel about a + quarter-past nine and walk down the right-hand bank of the Koninginne + Gracht, and should like to meet you by the canal, where we can have a + talk. I have many reasons to submit to your consideration why it will be + expedient for you to come over to my side in this difference now, which I + cannot well set down on paper. And remember that between men of the world, + such as I suppose we may take ourselves to be, there is no question of one + of us judging the other. Let me beg of you to consider your position in + regard to the Malgamite scheme—and meet me to-morrow night between + the Malie Veld and the Achter Weg about half-past nine. I cannot see you + at the works, and it would be better for you not to come to my hotel.” + </p> + <p> + The letter was addressed to the Villa des Dunes, where Roden received it + the next morning. Dorothy saw it, and guessed from whom it was, though she + hardly knew her lover's writing. He had adhered firmly to his resolution + to keep himself in the background until he had finished the work he had + undertaken. He had not written to her; had scarcely seen her. Roden read + the letter, and put it in his pocket without a word. It had touched his + vanity. He had had few dealings with men of the standing and position of + Cornish, and here was this peer's nephew and peer's grandson appealing to + him as to a friend, classing him together with himself as a man of the + world. No man has so little discretion as a vain man. It is almost + impossible for him to keep silence when speech will make for his + glorification. Roden arrived at the works well pleased with himself, and + found Von Holzen in their little office, put out, ill at ease, + domineering. It was unfortunate, if you will. Percy Roden was always ready + to perceive his own ill-fortune, and looked back later to this as one of + his most untoward hours. Life, however, should surely consist of seizing + the fortunate and fighting through the ill moments—else why should + men have heart and nerve? + </p> + <p> + In such humours as they found themselves it did not take long for these + two men to discover a question upon which to differ. It was a mere matter + of detail connected with the money at that time passing through their + hands. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Roden, in the course of a useless and trivial dispute—“of + course you think you know best, but you know nothing of finance—remember + that. Everybody knows that it is I who have run that part of the business. + Ask old Wade, or White—or Cornish.” + </p> + <p> + The argument had, in truth, been rather one-sided. For Roden had done all + the talking, while Von Holzen looked at him with a quiet eye and a silent + contempt that made him talk all the more. Von Holzen did not answer now, + though his eye lighted at the mention of Cornish's name. He merely looked + at Roden with a smile, which conveyed as clearly as words Von Holzen's + suggestion that none of the three men named would be prepared to give + Roden a very good character. “I had a letter, by the way, from Cornish + this morning,” said Roden, lapsing into his grander manner, which Von + Holzen knew how to turn to account. + </p> + <p> + “Ah—bah!” he exclaimed sceptically. And that lurking vanity of the + inferior to lessen his own inferiority did the rest. + </p> + <p> + “If you don't believe me, there you are,” said Roden, throwing the letter + upon the table—not ill-pleased, in the heat of the moment, to show + that he was a more important person than his companion seemed to think. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen read the letter slowly and thoughtfully. The fact that it was + evidently intended for Roden's private eye did not seem to affect one or + the other of these two men, who had travelled, with difficulty, along the + road to fortune, only reaching their bourn at last with a light stock of + scruples and a shattered code of honour. Then he folded it, and handed it + back. He was not likely to forget a word of it. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you will go,” he said. “It will be interesting to hear what he + has to say. That letter is a confession of weakness.” + </p> + <p> + In making which statement Von Holzen showed his own weak point. For, like + many clever men, he utterly failed to give to women their place—the + leading place—in the world's history, as in the little histories of + our daily lives. He never detected Dorothy between every line of Cornish's + letter, and thought that it had only been dictated by inability to meet + the present situation. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot very well refuse to go since the fellow asks me,” said Roden, + grandly. He might as well have displayed his grandeur to a statue. If love + is blind, self-love is surely half-witted as well, for it never sees nor + understands that the world is fooling it. Roden failed to heed the + significant fact that Von Holzen did not even ask him what line of conduct + he intended to follow with regard to Cornish, nor seek in his autocratic + way to instruct him on that point; but turned instead to other matters and + did not again refer to Cornish or the letter he had written. + </p> + <p> + So the day wore on while Cornish impatiently walked the deck of the + steamer, ploughing its way across the North Sea, through showers and + thunderstorms and those grey squalls that flit to and fro on the German + Ocean. And some tons of malgamite were made, while a manufacturer or two + of the grim product laid aside his tools forever, while the money flowed + in, and Otto von Holzen thought out his deep silent plans over his vats + and tanks and crucibles. And all the while those who write in the book of + fate had penned the last decree. + </p> + <p> + Cornish arrived punctually at The Hague. He drove to the hotel, where he + was known, where, indeed, he had never relinquished his room. There was no + letter for him—no message from Percy Roden. But Von Holzen had + unobtrusively noted his arrival at the station from the crowded retreat of + the second-class waiting-room. + </p> + <p> + The day had been a very hot one, and from canal and dyke arose that sedgy + odour which comes with the cool of night in all Holland. It is hardly + disagreeable, and conveys no sense of unhealthiness. + </p> + <p> + It seems merely to be the breath of still waters, and, in hot weather, + suggests very pleasantly the relief of northern night. The Hague has two + dominant smells. In winter, when the canals are frozen, the reek of + burning-peat is on the air and in the summer the odour of slow waters. + Cornish knew them both. He knew everything about this old-world city, + where the turning-point of his life had been fixed. It was deserted now. + The great houses, the theatre—the show-places—were closed. The + Toornoifeld was empty. + </p> + <p> + The hotel porter, aroused by the advent of the traveller from an + after-dinner nap in his little glass box, spread out his hands with a + gesture of surprise. + </p> + <p> + “The season is over,” he said. “We are empty. Why you come to The Hague + now?” + </p> + <p> + Even the sentries at the end of the Korte Voorhout wore a holiday air of + laxness, and swung their rifles idly. Cornish noticed that only half of + the lamps were lighted. + </p> + <p> + The banks of the Queen's Canal are heavily shaded by trees, which, indeed, + throw out their branches to meet above the weed-sown water. There is a + broad thoroughfare on either side of the canal, though little traffic + passes that way. These are two of the many streets of The Hague which seem + to speak of a bygone day, when Holland played a greater part in the + world's history than she does at present, for the houses are bigger than + the occupants must need, and the streets are too wide for the traffic + passing through them. In the middle the canal—a gloomy corridor + beneath the trees—creeps noiselessly towards the sea. Cornish was + before the appointed hour, and walked leisurely by the pathway between the + trees and the canal. Soon the houses were left behind, and he passed the + great open space called the Malie Veld. He had met no one since leaving + the guard-house. It was a dark night, with no moon, but the stars were + peeping through the riven clouds. + </p> + <p> + “Unless he stands under a lamp, I shall not see him,” he said to himself, + and lighted a cigar to indicate his whereabouts to Roden, should he elect + to keep the appointment. When he had gone a few paces farther he saw + someone coming towards him. There was a lamp halfway between them, and, as + he approached the light, Cornish recognized Roden. There was no mistaking + the long loose stride. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said Cornish, “if this is going to the end?” + </p> + <p> + And he went forward to meet the financier. + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid you would not come,” he said, in a voice that was friendly + enough, for he was a man of the world, and in that which is called Society + (with a capital letter) had rubbed elbows all his life with many who had + no better reputation than Percy Roden, and some who deserved a worse. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't mind coming,” answered Roden, “because I did not want to keep + you waiting here in the dark. But it is no good, I tell you that at the + outset.” + </p> + <p> + “And nothing I can say will alter your decision?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. A man does not get two such chances as this in his lifetime. I + am not going to throw this one away for the sake of a sentiment.” + </p> + <p> + “Sentiment hardly describes the case,” said Cornish, thoughtfully. “Do you + mean to tell me that you do not care about all these deaths—about + these poor devils of malgamiters?” And he looked hard at his companion + beneath the lamp. + </p> + <p> + “Not a d—n,” answered Roden. “I have been poor—you haven't. + Why, man! I have starved inside a good coat. You don't know what that + means.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish looked at him, and said nothing. There was no mistaking the man's + sincerity—nor the manner in which his voice suddenly broke when he + spoke of hunger. + </p> + <p> + “Then there are only two things left for me to do,” said Cornish, after a + moment's reflection. “Ask your sister to marry me first, and smash you up + afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + Roden, who was smoking, threw his cigarette away. “You mean to do both + these things?” + </p> + <p> + “Both.” + </p> + <p> + Roden looked at him. He opened his lips to speak, but suddenly leapt back. + </p> + <p> + “Look out!” he cried, and had barely time to point over Cornish's + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Cornish swung round on his heel. He belonged to a school and generation + which, with all its faults, has, at all events, the redeeming quality of + courage. He had long learnt to say the right thing, which effectually + teaches men to do the right thing also. He saw some one running towards + him, noiselessly, in rubber shoes. He had no time to think, and scarce a + moment in which to act, for the man was but two steps away with an + upraised arm, and in the lamplight there flashed the gleam of steel. + </p> + <p> + Cornish concentrated his attention on the upraised arm, seizing it with + both hands, and actually swinging his assailant off his legs. He knew in + an instant who it was, without needing to recognize the smell of + malgamite. This was Otto von Holzen, who had not hesitated to state his + opinion—that it is often worth a man's while to kill another. + </p> + <p> + While his feet were still off the ground, Cornish let him go, and he + staggered away into the darkness of the trees. Cornish, who was lithe and + quick, rather than of great physical force, recovered his balance in a + moment, and turned to face the trees. He knew that Von Holzen would come + back. He distinctly hoped that he would. For man is essentially the first + of the “game” animals and beneath fine clothes there nearly always beats a + heart ready, quite suddenly, to snatch the fearful joy of battle. + </p> + <p> + Von Holzen did not disappoint him, but came flying on silent feet, like + some beast of prey, from the darkness. Cornish had played half-back for + his school not so many years before. He collared Von Holzen low, and let + him go, with a cruel skill, heavily on his head and shoulder. Not a word + had been spoken, and, in the stillness of the summer night, each could + hear the other breathing. + </p> + <p> + Roden stood quite still. He could scarcely distinguish the antagonists. + His own breath came whistling through his teeth. His white face was + ghastly and twitching. His sleepy eyes were awake now, and staring. + </p> + <p> + Each charge had left Cornish nearer to the canal. He was standing now + quite at the edge. He could smell, but he could not see the water, and + dared not turn his head to look. There is no railing here as there is + nearer the town. + </p> + <p> + In a moment, Von Holzen was on his feet again. In the dark, mere inches + are much equalized between men—but Von Holzen had a knife. Cornish, + who held nothing in his hands, knew that he was at a fatal disadvantage. + </p> + <p> + Again, Von Holzen ran at him with his arm outstretched for a swinging + stab. Cornish, in a flash of thought, recognized that he could not meet + this. He stepped neatly aside. Von Holzen attempted to stop stumbled, half + recovered himself, and fell headlong into the canal. + </p> + <p> + In a moment Cornish and Roden were at the edge, peering into the darkness. + Cornish gave a breathless laugh. + </p> + <p> + “We shall have to fish him out,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And he knelt down, ready to give a hand to Von Holzen. But the water, + smooth again now, was not stirred by so much as a ripple. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose he can swim?” muttered Roden, uneasily. + </p> + <p> + And they waited in a breathless silence. There was something horrifying in + the single splash, and then the stillness. + </p> + <p> + “Gad!” whispered Cornish. “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + Roden struck a match, and held it inside his hat so as to form a sort of + lantern, though the air was still enough. Cornish did the same, and they + held the lights out over the water, throwing the feeble rays right across + the canal. + </p> + <p> + “He cannot have swum away,” he said. “Von Holzen,” he cried out + cautiously, after another pause—“Von Holzen—where are you?” + </p> + <p> + But there was no answer. + </p> + <p> + The surface of the canal was quite still and glassy in those parts that + were not covered by the close-lying duck-weed. The water crept stealthily, + slimily, towards the sea. + </p> + <p> + The two men held their breath and waited. Cornish was kneeling at the edge + of the water, peering over. + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” he repeated. “Gad! Roden, where is he?” + </p> + <p> + And Roden, in a hoarse voice, answered at length “He is in the mud at the + bottom—head downwards.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. AT THE CORNER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “L'homme s'agite et Dieu le mêne.” + </pre> + <p> + The two men on the edge of the canal waited and listened again. It seemed + still possible that Von Holzen had swum away in the darkness—had + perhaps landed safely and unperceived on the other side. + </p> + <p> + “This,” said Cornish, at length, “is a police affair. Will you wait here + while I go and fetch them?” + </p> + <p> + But Roden made no answer, and in the sudden silence Cornish heard the + eerie sound of chattering teeth. Percy Roden had morally collapsed. His + mind had long been t a great tension, and this shock had unstrung him. + Cornish seized him by the arm, and held him while he hook like a leaf and + swayed heavily. + </p> + <p> + “Come, man,” said Cornish, kindly—“come, pull yourself together.” + </p> + <p> + He held him steadily and patiently until the shaking eased. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go,” said Roden, at length. “I couldn't stay ere alone.” + </p> + <p> + And he staggered away towards The Hague. It seemed hours before he came + back. A carriage rattled past Cornish while he waited there, and two + foot-passengers paused for a moment to look at him with some suspicion. + </p> + <p> + At last Roden returned, accompanied by a police official—a + phlegmatic Dutchman, who listened to the story in silence. He shook his + head at Cornish's suggestion, made in halting Dutch mingled with German, + that Von Holzen had swum away in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the officer, “I know these canals—and this above all + others. They will find him, planted in the mud at the bottom, head + downward like a tulip. The head goes in and the hands are powerless, for + they only grasp soft mud like a fresh junket.” He drew his short sword + from its sheath, and scratched a deep mark in the gravel. Then he turned + to the nearest tree, and made a notch on the bark with the blade. “There + is nothing to be done tonight,” he said philosophically. “There are men + engaged in dredging the canal. I will set them to work at dawn before the + world is astir. In the mean time”—he paused to return his sword to + its scabbard—“in the meantime I must have the names and residence of + these gentlemen. It is not for me to believe or disbelieve their story.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you go home alone? Are you all right now?” Cornish asked Roden, as he + walked away with him towards the Villa des Dunes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can go home alone,” he answered, and walked on by himself, + unsteadily. + </p> + <p> + Cornish watched him, and, before he had gone twenty yards, Roden stopped. + “Cornish!” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + And they walked towards each other. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know that Von Holzen was there. You will believe that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I will believe that,” answered Cornish. + </p> + <p> + And they parted a second time. Cornish walked slowly back to the hotel. He + limped a little, for Von Holzen had in the struggle kicked him on the + ankle. He suddenly felt very tired, but was not shaken. On the contrary, + he felt relieved, as if that which he had been attempting so long had been + suddenly taken from his hands and consummated by a higher power, with whom + all responsibility rested. He went to bed with a mechanical deliberation, + and slept instantly. The daylight was streaming into the window when he + awoke. No one sleeps very heavily at The Hague—no one knows why—and + Cornish awoke with all his senses about him at the opening of his bedroom + door. Roden had come in and was standing by the bedside. His eyes had a + sleepless look. He looked, indeed, as if he had been up all night, and had + just had a bath. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” he said, in his hollow voice—“I say, get up. They have + found him—and we are wanted. We have to go and identify him—and + all that.” + </p> + <p> + While Cornish was dressing, Roden sat heavily down on a chair near the + window. + </p> + <p> + “Hope you'll stick by me,” he said, and, pausing, stretched out his hand + to the washing-stand to pour himself out a glass of water—“I hope + you'll stick by me. I'm so confoundedly shaky. Don't know what it is—look + at my hand.” He held out his hand, which shook like a drunkard's. + </p> + <p> + “That is only nerves,” said Cornish, who was ever optimistic and cheerful. + He was too wise to weigh carefully his reasons for looking at the best + side of events. “That is nothing. You have not slept, I expect.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I've been thinking. I say, Cornish—you must stick by me—I + have been thinking. What am I to do with the malgamiters? I cannot manage + the devils as Von Holzen did. I'm—I'm a bit afraid of them, + Cornish.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that will be all right. Why, we have Wade, and can send for White if + we want him. Do not worry yourself about that. What you want is breakfast. + Have you had any?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I left the house before Dorothy was awake or the servants were down. + She knows nothing. Dorothy and I have not hit it off lately.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish made no answer. He was ringing the bell, and ordered coffee when + the waiter came. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't met any incident in life yet,” he said cheerfully, “that seemed + to justify missing out meals.” + </p> + <p> + The incident that awaited them was not, however, a pleasant one, though + the magistrate in attendance afforded a courteous assistance in the + observance of necessary formalities. Both men made a deposition before + him. + </p> + <p> + “I know something,” he said to Cornish, “of this malgamite business. We + have had our eye upon Von Holzen for some time—if only on account of + the death-rate of the city.” + </p> + <p> + They breathed more freely when they were out in the street. Cornish made + some unimportant remark, which the other did not answer. So they walked on + in silence. Presently, Cornish glanced at his companion, and was startled + at the sight of his face, which was grey, and glazed all over with + perspiration, as an actor's face may sometimes be at the end of a great + act. Then he remembered that Roden had not spoken for a long time. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you see?” gasped Roden. + </p> + <p> + “See what?” + </p> + <p> + “The things they had laid on the table beside him. The things they found + in his hands and his pockets.” + </p> + <p> + “The knife, you mean,” said Cornish, whose nerves were worthy of the blood + that flowed in his veins, “and some letters?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; the knife was mine. Everybody knows it. It is an old dagger that has + always lain on a table in the drawing room at the Villa des Dunes.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never been in the drawing room at the Villa des Dunes, except once + by lamplight,” said Cornish, indifferently. + </p> + <p> + Roden turned and looked at him with eyes still dull with fear. + </p> + <p> + “And among the letters was the one you wrote to me making the appointment. + He must have stolen it from the pocket of my office coat, which I never + wear while I am working.” Cornish was nodding his head slowly. “I see,” he + said, at length—“I see. It was a pretty <i>coup</i>. To kill me, and + fix the crime on you—and hang you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Roden, with a sudden laugh, which neither forgot to his dying + day. + </p> + <p> + They walked on in silence. For there are times in nearly every man's life + when events seem suddenly to outpace thought, and we can only act as seems + best at the moment; times when the babbler is still and the busybody at + rest; times when the cleverest of us must recognize that the long and + short of it all is that man agitates himself and God leads him. At the + corner of the Vyverberg they parted—Cornish to return to his hotel, + Roden to go back to the works. His carriage was awaiting him in a shady + corner of the Binnenhof. For Roden had his carriage now, and, like many + possessing suddenly such a vehicle, spent much time and thought in getting + his money's worth out of it. + </p> + <p> + “If you want me, send for me, or come to the hotel,” were Cornish's last + words, as he shut the successful financier into his brougham. + </p> + <p> + At the hotel, Cornish found Mr. Wade and Marguerite lingering over a late + breakfast. + </p> + <p> + “You look,” said Marguerite, “as if you had been up to something.” She + glanced at him shrewdly. “Have you smashed Roden's Corner?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Cornish, turning to Mr. Wade; “and if you will come out + into the garden, I will tell you how it has been done. Monsieur Creil said + that the paper-makers could begin supplying themselves with malgamite at a + day's notice. We must give them that notice this morning.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wade, who was never hurried and never late, paused at the open window + to light his cigar before following Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said placidly, “then fortune must have favored you, or something + has happened to Von Holzen.” + </p> + <p> + Cornish knew that it was useless to attempt to conceal anything whatsoever + from the discerning Marguerite, so—in the quiet garden of the hotel, + where the doves murmur sleepily on the tiles, and the breeze only stirs + the flowers and shrubs sufficiently to disseminate their scents—he + told father and daughter the end of Roden's Corner. + </p> + <p> + They were still in the garden, an hour later, writing letters and + telegrams, and making arrangements to meet this new turn in events, when + Dorothy Roden came down the iron steps from the verandah. + </p> + <p> + She hurried towards them and shook hands, without explaining her sudden + arrival. + </p> + <p> + “Is Percy here?” she asked Cornish. “Have you seen him this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “He is not here, but I parted from him a couple of hours ago on the + Vyverberg. He was going down to the works.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he never got there,” said Dorothy. “I have had nearly all the + malgamiters at the Villa des Dunes. They are in open rebellion, and if + Percy had been there they would have killed him. They have heard a report + that Herr von Holzen is dead. Is it true?” “Yes. Von Holzen is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “And they broke into the office. They got at the books. They found out the + profits that have been made and they are perfectly wild with fury. They + would have wrecked the Villa des Dunes, but——” + </p> + <p> + “But they were afraid of you, my dear,” said Mr. Wade, filling in the + blank that Dorothy left. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she admitted. + </p> + <p> + “Well played,” muttered Marguerite, with shining eyes. + </p> + <p> + Cornish had risen, and was folding away his papers. “I will go down to the + works,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But you cannot go there alone,” put in Dorothy, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “He will not need to do that,” said Mr. Wade, throwing the end of his + cigar into the bushes, and rising heavily from his chair. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite looked at her father with a little upward jerk of the head and + a light in her eyes. It was quite evident that she approved of the old + gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “He's a game old thing,” she said, aside to Dorothy, while her father + collected his papers. + </p> + <p> + “Your brother has probably been warned in time, and will not go near the + works,” said Cornish to Dorothy. “He was more than prepared for such an + emergency; for he told me himself that he was half afraid of the men. He + is almost sure to come to me here—in fact, he promised to do so if + he wanted help.” + </p> + <p> + Dorothy looked at him, and said nothing. The world would be a simpler + dwelling-place if those who, for one reason or another, cannot say exactly + what they mean would but keep silence. + </p> + <p> + Cornish told her, hurriedly, what had happened twelve hours ago on the + bank of the Queen's Canal; and the thought of the misspent, crooked life + that had ended in the black waters of that sluggish tideway made them all + silent for a while. For death is in itself dignified, and demands respect + for all with whom he has dealings. Many attain the distinction of vice in + life, while more only reach the mere mediocrity of foolishness; but in + death all are equally dignified. We may, indeed, assume that we shall, by + dying, at last command the respect of even our nearest relations and + dearest friend—for a week or two, until they forget us. + </p> + <p> + “He was a clever man,” commented Mr. Wade, shutting up his gold pencil + case and putting it in the pocket of his comfortable waistcoat. “But + clever men are rarely happy——” + </p> + <p> + “And clever women—never,” added Marguerite—that shrewd seeker + after the last word. + </p> + <p> + While they were still speaking, Percy Roden came hurriedly down the steps. + He was pale and tired, but his eye had a light of resolution in it. He + held his head up, and looked at Cornish with a steady glance. It seemed + that the vague danger which he had anticipated so nervously had come at + last, and that he stood like a man in the presence of it. + </p> + <p> + “It is all up,” he said. “They have found the books; they have understood + them; and they are wrecking the place.” + </p> + <p> + “They are quite welcome to do that,” said Cornish. Mr. Wade, who was + always business-like, had reopened his writing-case when he saw Roden, and + now came forward to hand him a written paper. + </p> + <p> + “That is a copy,” he said, “of the telegram we have sent to Creil. He can + come here and select what men he wants—the steady ones and the + skilled workmen. With each man we will hand him a cheque in trust. The + others can take their money—and go.” + </p> + <p> + “And drink themselves to death as expeditiously as they think fit,” added + Cornish, the philanthropist—the fashionable drawing-room champion of + the masses. + </p> + <p> + “I got back here through the Wood,” said Percy Roden, who was still + breathless, as if he had been hurrying. “One of them, a Swede, came to + warn me. They are looking for me in the town—a hundred and twenty of + them, and not one who cares that”—he paused, and gave a snap of the + fingers—“for his life or the law. Both railway stations are watched, + and all the steam-boat stations on the canals; they will kill me if they + catch me.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes wavered, for there is nothing more terrifying than the avowed + hostility of a mass of men, and no law grimmer than lynch-law. Yet he held + up his head with a sort of pride in his danger—some touch of that + subtle sense of personal distinction which seems to reach the heart of the + victim of an accident, or of a prisoner in the dock. + </p> + <p> + “If I had not met that Swede I should have gone on to the works, and they + would have pulled me to pieces there,” continued Roden. “I do not know how + I am to get away from The Hague, or where I shall be safe in the whole + world; but the money is at Hamburg and Antwerp. The money is safe enough.” + </p> + <p> + He gave a laugh and threw back his head. His hearers looked at him, and + Mr. Wade alone understood his thoughts. For the banker had dealt with + money-makers all his life and knew that to many men, money is a god, and + the mere possession of it dearer to them than life itself. + </p> + <p> + “If you stay here, in my room upstairs,” said Cornish, “I will go down to + the works now. And this evening I will try and get you away from The Hague—and + from Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “And I will go to the Villa des Dunes again,” added Dorothy, “and pack + your things.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite had risen also, and was moving towards the steps. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” asked her father. + </p> + <p> + “To the Villa des Dunes,” she replied; and, turning to Dorothy, added, “I + shall take some clothes and stay with you there until things straighten + themselves out a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I cannot let you go there alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + “Because—I am not that sort,” said Marguerite; and, turning, she + ascended the iron steps. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. ROUND THE CORNER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Les heureux ne rient pas; ils sourient.” + </pre> + <p> + Soon after Mr. Wade and Cornish had quitted their carriage, on that which + is known as the New Scheveningen Road, and were walking across the dunes + to the malgamite works, they met a policeman running towards them. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” he answered breathlessly, to their inquiries—“it is the + English Chemical Works on the dunes, which have caught fire. I am hurrying + to the Artillery Station to telegraph for the fire-engines; but it will be + useless. It will all be over in half an hour—by this wind and after + so much dry weather; see the black smoke, excellencies.” + </p> + <p> + And the man pointed towards a column of smoke, blown out over the + sand-hills by the strong wind, characteristic of these flat coasts. Then, + with a hurried salutation, he ran on. + </p> + <p> + Cornish and Mr. Wade proceeded more leisurely on their way; for the banker + was not of a build to hurry even to a fire. Before they had gone far they + perceived another man coming across the Dunes towards The Hague. As he + approached, Cornish recognized the man known as Uncle Ben. He was + shambling along on unsteady legs, and carried his earthly belongings in a + canvas sack of doubtful cleanliness. The recognition was apparently + mutual; for Uncle Ben deviated from his path to come and speak to them. + </p> + <p> + “It's me, mister,” he said to Cornish, not disrespectfully. “And I don't + mind tellin' yer that I'm makin' myself scarce. That place is gettin' a + bit too hot for me. They're just pullin' it down and makin' a bonfire of + it. And if you or Mr. Roden goes there, they'll just take and chuck yer on + top of it—and that's God's truth. They're a rough lot some of them, + and they don't distinguish 'tween you and Mr. Roden like as I do. Soddim + and Gomorrer, I say. Soddim and Gomorrer! There won't be nothin' left of + yer in half an hour.” And he turned and shook a dirty fist towards the + rising smoke, which was all that remained of the malgamite works. He + hurried on a few paces, then stopped and laid down his bag. He ran back, + calling out “Mister!” as he neared Cornish and Mr. Wade. “I don't mind + tellin' yer,” he said to Cornish, with a ludicrous precautionary look + round the deserted dunes to make sure that he would not be overheard; for + he was sober, and consequently stupid—“I don't mind tellin' yer—seein' + as I'm makin' myself scarce, and for the sake o' Miss Roden, who has + always been a good friend to me—as there's a hundred and twenty of + 'em looking for Mr. Roden at this minute, meanin' to twist his neck; and + what's worse, there's others—men of dedication like myself—who + has gone to the murder, or something. And they'll get it too, with the + story they've got to tell, and them poor devils planted thick as taters in + the cheap corner of the cemetery. I've warned yer, mister.” Uncle Ben + expectorated with much emphasis, looked towards the malgamite works with a + dubious shake of the head, and went on his way, muttering, “Soddim and + Gomorrer.” + </p> + <p> + His hearers walked on over the sand-hills towards the smoke, of which the + pungent odour, still faintly suggestive of sealing-wax, reached their + nostrils. At the top of a high dune, surmounted with considerable + difficulty, Mr. Wade stopped. Cornish stood beside him, and from that + point of vantage they saw the last of the malgamite works. Amid the flames + and smoke the forms of men flitted hither and thither, adding fuel to the + fire. + </p> + <p> + “They are, at all events, doing the business thoroughly,” said the banker. + “And there is nothing to be gained by our disturbing them at it—and + a good deal to be lost—namely, our lives. They are not burning the + cottages, I see; only the factory. There is nothing heroic about me, Tony. + Let us go back.” + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Wade returned to The Hague alone; for Cornish had matters of + importance requiring his attention. It was now doubly necessary to get + Roden safely away from Holland, and with the necessity increased the + difficulty. For Holland is a small country, well watched, highly + civilized. Cornish knew that it would be next to impossible for Roden to + leave the country by rail or road. There remained, therefore, the sea. + Cornish had, during his sojourn at the humble Swan at Scheveningen, made + certain friends there. And it was to the old village under the dunes, + little known to visitors, and a place apart from the fashionable bathing + resort, that he went in his difficulty. He spent nearly the whole day in + these narrow streets; indeed, he lunched at the Swan in company of a + seafaring gentleman clad in soft blue flannel, and addicted to the + mediaeval coiffure still affected in certain parts of Zeeland. + </p> + <p> + From this quiet retreat Cornish also wrote a note to Dorothy at the Villa + des Dunes, informing her of Roden's new danger, and warning her not to + attempt to communicate with her brother, or even send him his baggage. In + the afternoon Cornish made a few purchases, which he duly packed in a + sailor's kit-bag, and at nightfall Roden arrived on foot. + </p> + <p> + The weather was squally, as it often is in August on these coasts; indeed, + the summer seemed to have come to an end before its time. + </p> + <p> + “It is raining like the deuce,” said Roden, “and I am wet through, though + I came under the trees of the Oude Weg.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with his usual suggestion of a grievance, which made Cornish + answer him rather curtly—“We shall be wetter before we get on + board.” + </p> + <p> + It was raining when they quitted the modest Swan, and hurried through the + sparsely lighted, winding streets. Cornish had borrowed two oil-skin coats + and caps, which at once disguised them and protected them from the rain. + Any passer-by would have taken them for a couple of fishermen going about + their business. But there were few in the streets. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you doing all this for me?” asked Roden, suddenly. “To avoid a + scandal,” replied Cornish, truthfully enough; for he had been brought up + in a world where the longevity of scandal is fully understood. + </p> + <p> + The wide stretch of sand was entirely deserted when they emerged from the + narrow streets and gained the summit of the sea-wall. A thunderstorm was + growling in the distance, and every moment a flash of thin summer + lightning shimmered on the horizon. The wind was strong, as it nearly + always is here, and shallow white surf stretched seaward across the flats. + The sea roared continuously without that rise and fall of the breakers + which marks a deeper coast, and from the face of the water there arose a + filmy mist—part foam, part phosphorescence. + </p> + <p> + As Roden and Cornish passed the little lighthouse, two policemen emerged + from the shadow of the wall, and watched them, half suspiciously. “Good + evening,” said one of them. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” answered Cornish, mimicking the sing-song accent of the + Scheveningen streets. + </p> + <p> + They walked on in silence. “Whew!” ejaculated Roden, when the danger + seemed to be past, and they could breathe again. + </p> + <p> + They went down a flight of steps to the beach, and stumbled across the + soft sand towards the sea. One or two boats were lying out in the surf—heavy + Dutch fishing-boats, known technically as “pinks,” flat-bottomed, + round-prowed, keel less, heavy and ungainly vessels, but strong as wood + and iron and workmanship could make them. Some seemed to be afloat, others + bumped heavily and continuously; while a few lay stolidly on the ground + with the waves breaking right over them as over rocks. + </p> + <p> + The noise of the sea was so great that Cornish touched his companion's + arm, and pointed, without speaking, to one of the vessels where a light + twinkled feebly through the spray breaking over her. It seemed to be the + only vessel preparing to go to sea on the high tide, and, in truth, the + weather looked anything but encouraging. + </p> + <p> + “How are we going to get on board?” shouted Roden, amid the roar of the + waves. + </p> + <p> + “Walk,” answered Cornish, and he led the way into the sea. + </p> + <p> + Hampered as they were by their heavy oil skins, their progress was slow, + although the water barely reached their knees. The <i>Three Brothers</i> + was bumping when they reached her and clambered on board over the bluff + sides, sticky with salt water and tar. + </p> + <p> + “She'll be afloat in ten minutes,” said a man in oil-skins, who helped + them over the low bulwarks. He spoke good English, and seemed to have + learned some of the taciturnity of the seafaring portion of that nation + with their language; for he went aft to the tiller without more words and + took his station there. + </p> + <p> + Roden seated himself on the rail and looked back towards Scheveningen. + Cornish stood beside him in silence. The spray broke over them + continuously, and the boat rolled and bumped in such a manner that it was + impossible to stand or even sit without holding on to the clumsy rigging. + </p> + <p> + The lights of Scheveningen were stretched out in a line before them; the + lighthouse winked a glaring eye that seemed to stare over their heads far + out to sea. The summer lightning showed the sands to be bare and deserted. + There were no unusual lights on the sea wall. The Kurhaus and the hotels + were illuminated and gay. The shore took no heed of the sea tonight. + </p> + <p> + “We've succeeded,” said Roden, curtly, and quite suddenly he rolled over + in a faint at Cornish's feet. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, Dorothy received a letter at the Villa des Dunes, posted + the evening before by Cornish at Scheveningen. + </p> + <p> + “We hope to get away tonight,” he wrote, “in the 'pink,' the <i>Three + Brothers</i>. Our intention is to knock about the North Sea until we find + a suitable vessel—either a sailing ship trading between Norway and + Spain on its way south, or a steamer going direct from Hamburg to South + America. When I have seen your brother safely on board one of these + vessels, I shall return in the <i>Three Brothers</i> to Scheveningen. She + is a small boat, and has a large white patch of new canvas at the top of + her mainsail. So if you see her coming in, or waiting for the tide, you + may conclude that your brother is in safety.” + </p> + <p> + Later in the day, Mr. Wade called, having driven from The Hague very + comfortably in an open carriage. + </p> + <p> + “The house,” he said placidly, “is still watched, but I have no doubt that + Tony has outwitted them all. Creil arrived last night, and seems a capable + man. He tells me that half of the malgamiters are in jail at The Hague for + intoxication and uproariousness last night. He is selecting those he + wants, and the rest he will send to their homes. So we are balancing our + affairs very comfortably; and if there is anything I can do for you, Miss + Roden, I am at your command.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Dorothy is all right,” said Marguerite, rather hurriedly; and when + her father took his leave, she slipped her hand within his solid arm, and + walked with him across the sand towards the carriage. “Haven't you seen,” + she asked—“you old stupid!—that Dorothy is all right? Tony is + in love with her.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied the banker, rather humbly—“no, my dear. I am afraid I + had not noticed it.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite pressed his arm, not unkindly. “You can't help it,” she + explained. “You are only a man, you know.” + </p> + <p> + The following days were quiet enough at the Villa des Dunes, and it is in + quiet days that a friendship ripens best. The two girls left there + scarcely expected to hear of Cornish's return for some days; but they fell + into the habit of walking towards the sea whenever they went out-of-doors, + and spent many afternoon hours on the dunes. During these hours Dorothy + had many confidential and lively conversations with her new-found friend. + Indeed, confidence and gaiety were so bewilderingly mingled that Dorothy + did not always understand her companion. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon, three days after the departure of Percy Roden, when Von + Holzen was buried, and the authorities had expressed themselves content + with the verdict that he had come accidentally by his death, Marguerite + took occasion to congratulate herself, and all concerned, in the fact that + what she vaguely called “things” were beginning to straighten themselves + out. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“We are round the corner,” she said decisively. “And now papa and I +shall go home again, and Miss Williams will come back. Miss +Williams—oh, lord! She is one of those women who have a stick inside +them instead of a heart. And papa will trot out his young men—likely +young men from the city. Papa married the bank, you know. And he wants + me to marry another bank and live gorgeously ever afterwards. Poor old +dear!” + </pre> + <p> + “I think he would rather you were happy than gorgeous,” said Dorothy, with + a laugh, who had seen some of the honest banker's perplexity with regard + to this most delicate financial affair. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he would. At all events, he does his best—his very best. He + has tried at least fifty of these gentle swains since I came back from + Dresden—red hair and a temper, black hair and an excellent opinion + of one's self, fair hair and stupidity. But they wouldn't do—they + wouldn't do, Dorothy!” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite paused, and made a series of holes in the sand with her + walking-stick. + </p> + <p> + “There was only one,” she said quietly, at length. “I suppose there is + always—only one—eh, Dorothy?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” answered Dorothy, looking straight in front of her. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite was silent for a while, looking out to sea with a queer little + twist of the lips that made her look older—almost a woman. One could + imagine what she would be like when she was middle-aged, or quite old, + perhaps. + </p> + <p> + “He would have done,” she said. “Quite easily. He was a million times + cleverer than the rest—a million times—well, he was quite + different, I don't know how. But he was paternal. He thought he was much + too old, so he didn't try——” + </p> + <p> + She broke off with a light laugh, and her confidential manner was gone in + a flash. She stuck her stick firmly into the ground, and threw herself + back on the soft sand. + </p> + <p> + “So,” she cried gaily. <i>“Vogue la galère</i>. It's all for the best. + That is the right thing to say when it cannot be helped, and it obviously + isn't for the best. But everybody says it, and it is always wise to pass + in with the crowd, and be conventional—if you swing for it.” + </p> + <p> + She broke off suddenly, looking at her companion's face. A few boats had + been leisurely making for the shore all the afternoon before a light wind, + and Dorothy had been watching them. They were coming closer now. + </p> + <p> + “Dorothy, do you see the <i>Three Brothers</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “That is the <i>Three Brothers</i>,” answered Dorothy, pointing with her + walking-stick. + </p> + <p> + For a time they were silent, until, indeed, the boat with the patched sail + had taken the ground gently, a few yards from the shore. A number of men + landed from her, some of them carrying baskets of fish. One, walking + apart, made for the dunes, in the direction of the New Scheveningen Road. + </p> + <p> + “And that is Tony,” said Marguerite. “I should know his walk—if I + saw him coming out of the Ark, which, by the way, must have been rather + like the <i>Three Brothers</i> to look at. He has taken your brother + safely away, and now he is coming—to take you.” + </p> + <p> + “He may remember that I am Percy's sister,” suggested Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't matter whose sister you are,” was the decisive reply. “Nothing + matters”—Marguerite rose slowly, and shook the sand from her dress—“nothing + matters, except one thing, and that appears to be a matter of absolute + chance.” + </p> + <p> + She climbed slowly to the summit of the dune under which they had been + sitting, and there, pausing, she looked back. She nodded gaily down at + Dorothy. Then suddenly, she held out her hands before her, and Cornish, + looking up, saw her slim young form poised against the sky in a mock + attitude of benediction. + </p> + <p> + “Bless you, my dears,” she cried, and with a short laugh turned and walked + towards the Villa des Dunes. + </p> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Roden's Corner, by Henry Seton Merriman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODEN'S CORNER *** + +***** This file should be named 9324-h.htm or 9324-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/3/2/9324/ + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian, and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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