He might be lurking in the vicinity, but Levi had an hour ago entered and informed his master that the patient vigil had been relaxed.
Old Sam had dismissed him with a grunt of dissatisfaction. Those last hours of his life he wished to spend alone.
He had been trying to see some way out of the cul-de-sac in which he found himself, but there was none. That shabby wayfarer his worst enemy, had found him. Years ago he had sworn a terrible vengeance, but for secret reasons, known only to Statham himself, he had laughed his threats to scorn. Then came his death, and Statham was free, free to prosper, become rich and powerful, and use his great wealth for good or for evil as he felt so inclined.
He had, however, used it for good. His contributions to charities were many and handsome. Among other things, he had built and endowed a wing of the London Hospital, for which his Majesty signified his intention of conferring a baronetcy upon him. But that honour he declined. To his brother in the City he had said, I dont wish for any honour, and Ill remain plain Sam to the end of my days. There was a reason a secret reason why he was unable to receive the distinction. None knew it none even dreamed.
The papers expressed wonder at the refusal, and people called him a fool. In Old Broad Street men were envious, and laughed in their sleeves. Yet if they had known the real reason they would surely have stood aghast.
One day, however, his private secretary, young Rolfe, had come to him with a strange and improbable tale. His enemy was alive and well, and was, moreover, actually in England! He questioned the young man, and found certain discrepancies in the statement. Therefore, shrewd and far-seeing, he refused to believe it, and suspected blackmail to be the ultimate intention. He did not, however, suspect Rolfe of any inclination that way. He was both faithful and devoted.
Five years before, Rolfes father, a man of considerable means who had been interested in his financial undertakings, burnt his fingers badly over a concession given by the Persian Government and became bankrupt. A year later he died, a ruined man, leaving a son Charles and a daughter Marion. The latter had been compelled, he understood, to earn her living in a London shop, and the former, who had only recently come down from Oxford, he had engaged as his confidential secretary.
He had indeed done this because he had felt that Charlies father had made the ruinous speculation upon his advice, and it therefore behoved him to do some little for the dead mans children. Few men in the City of London in these modern days are possessors of consciences, and those who have are usually too busy with their own affairs to think of the children of ruined friends.
Old Sam Statham was a hard man, it must be admitted. He would drive a bargain to the last fraction of percentage, and in repayment of loans he was relentless sometimes. Yet the acts of private charity that he did were many, and he never sought to advertise them.
In Charles Rolfe he had not been disappointed. Never once had he disobeyed the orders he had given, and, what was more, never once had he sought to penetrate beyond the door at the head of the staircase which shut off the ground floor from the one above.
The first day that Rolfe came to attend to his correspondence he had told him that he must never ascend those stairs, and that if he did he would be discharged at a moments notice.
This prohibition struck the young man as curious and lent additional colour to the whispers of mystery concerning the fine fashionable house. A thousand weird suggestions arose within his mind of what was concealed upstairs, yet he was powerless to investigate, and, after a few weeks, grew to regard his masters words as those of an eccentric man whose enormous wealth had rendered a trifle extraordinary at times.
Old Levi was janitor of that green baize door. Situated round the corner, no one standing in the hall could see it. Therefore its existence was unsuspected. But it was an iron door covered with green baize, and always kept locked. Levi kept the key, and to all Rolfes inquisitiveness he was dumb.
The master allows nobody upstairs, was always his reply. I sleep downstairs because I am not permitted to ascend.
What other servants might be there he knew not. Levi was the only other person he ever saw. The curtains at the upper windows always looked fresh and smart, and often as he went up Park Lane at night and glanced up at them, he saw lights in them, showing that they must be inhabited.
At first all this puzzled him sorely. He had told Marion about it, and also Maud Petrovitch, both girls being intensely interested in the mystery of the house and the character of the unseen occupants of its upper floors.
But as Charlie declared that old Statham was eccentric in everything, the mystery had gradually worn off and been forgotten.
The old mans face had sadly changed since early morning. His countenance now was that of a man in sheer despair. He had looked up the Continental Bradshaw and had scrawled half a dozen telegrams, addressed to his secretary, now on his way to Servia, and these had been taken to the post-office by Levi.
But it was all in vain. The message to Belgrade could not possibly reach Rolfe for another three days, and then, alas! it would be too late.
Before then he would be finished with all earthly things, and the world would denounce him as a coward. Yet even that would be preferable to standing and hearing his enemys denunciation than facing exposure, ridicule, and ruin.
Levi was right when he suggested flight, he was murmuring to himself. Yet where can I go? Im too well-known. My portrait is constantly in the papers, and, save Greece, there is no country in which I could obtain sanctuary. Again, suppose I got safely to Greece, what about the firms credit? It would be gone. But if I die to-day, before this man returns, they cannot accuse the dead, and the firm, being in a sound financial position, cannot be attacked. No, only by my own death can I save the situation. I must sacrifice myself. There is no help for it! None! I must die!
He gazed wildly around the big old-fashioned room as though his eyes were searching for some means of escape.
But there was none. His past had that day risen against him, and he was self-condemned.
His chin sank again upon his chest, and his deep-set eyes were fixed upon the soft, dark-green carpet. The marble clock chimed the hour of four, and recalled him to a sense of his surroundings.
He stretched himself, sighing deeply. He was wondering, when that shabby watcher, who held his life in his dirty talons, would return.
Thoughts of the past, tragic and bitter, arose within him, and a muttered imprecation escaped his thin, white lips. He was faced with a problem that even the expenditure of his millions could not solve. He could purchase anything on earth, but he could not buy a few more years of his own life.
He envied the man who was poor and struggling, the man with a cheerful wife and loving children, the man who worked and earned and had no far-reaching interests. The wage-earner was to him the ideal life of a man, for he obtained an income without the enormous responsibility consequent upon being a principal. His vast wealth was but a millstone about his neck.
That little leather book, with its brass lock, wherein was recorded his financial position in a nutshell, was lying upon the table. When he had consulted it he had been appalled. He was worth far more than he had ever imagined. And yet, by an irony of fate, the accumulation of that wealth was now to cost him his life!
The long bar of sunlight had been moving slowly across the carpet, all the afternoon. Old Sam Statham has risen and crossed again to his writing-table, searching among some papers in a drawer, and finding a silver cigarette case, much tarnished by long neglect. This he opened, and within was displayed one tiny object. It was not a cigarette, but a tiny glass tube with a glass stopper, containing a number of very small white pilules.
The long bar of sunlight had been moving slowly across the carpet, all the afternoon. Old Sam Statham has risen and crossed again to his writing-table, searching among some papers in a drawer, and finding a silver cigarette case, much tarnished by long neglect. This he opened, and within was displayed one tiny object. It was not a cigarette, but a tiny glass tube with a glass stopper, containing a number of very small white pilules.
He was gazing thoughtfully upon these, without removing the tube from its hiding-place, when, of a sudden, the door opened, and Levi, his pale face flushed with excitement and half breathless, entered, exclaiming in a low whisper:
Rolfe is here! Shall I show him in?
Rolfe! gasped the millionaire in a voice of amazement. Are you serious, Levi?
Serious? Of course. He has just called and asked if you can see him.
Show him in instantly, was Stathams answer, as hope became at that instant renewed. We may find a way out of this difficulty yet with his aid.
We may, echoed Levi, closing the door for a moment behind him, so that the young man might not overhear his words. We may; but recollect that he is a man in love.
Well?
And he loves that girl Maud Petrovitch. Dont you understand eh? asked Levi, with an evil flash in his eyes.
Ah! I see, replied his master, biting his under lip. I follow you, Levi. It is good that you warned me. Leave the girl to me. Show him in.
You know what I told you a few days ago of his friendship with Petrovitch, the old servant went on. Recollect that what I said was the truth, and act upon the confidential information I gave you. In this matter youve a difficult task before you, but dont be chicken-hearted and generous, as you are so very often. Youre in a tight corner, and you must get out of it somehow, by hook or by crook.
Trust me to look after myself, responded the millionaire, with a sudden smile upon his pale, haggard face, for he saw that with his secretary in London he might after all escape, and he had already closed the tarnished cigarette case that contained those pilules by which he had been contemplating ending his stormy existence. Tell him to come in.
But I beg of you to be firm. Youre not a fool, urged Levi, bending earnestly towards him. What is a womans honour as compared with your future? You must sacrifice her or yourself. There are many women in the world, recollect but there is only one Samuel Statham!
Chapter Eleven.
Samuel Statham Makes Confession
When Rolfe entered old Sams presence he saw that something was amiss.
Was it possible that his employer knew his secret the secret of his visit to Cromwell Road on the previous night? Perhaps he did. The suggestion crossed his mind, and he stood breathless for a few seconds.
I thought you had left for Servia, Rolfe, exclaimed the old man in his thin, weak voice. He had seated himself at the writing-table prior to his secretarys appearance, and had tried to assume a businesslike air. But his face was unusually drawn and haggard.
I missed the train last night, was the young mans reply. It is useless to leave till to-night, as I can then catch the Orient Express from Paris to-morrow morning. Therefore I thought Id call to see if you have any further instructions.
The old man grunted. His keen eyes were fixed upon the others face. The explanation was an unsatisfactory one.
Samuel Statham, as became a great financier, had a wonderful knack of knowing all that passed. He had his spies and secret agents in every capital, and was always well informed of every financial move in progress. To him, early information often meant profits of many thousands, and that information was indeed paid for generously.
In London, too, his spies were ever at work. Queer, mysterious persons of both sexes often called there in Park Lane, and were admitted to private audience of the king of the financial world. Rolfe knew them to be his secret agents, and, further, that his employers knowledge of his own movements was often wider than he had ever dreamed.
No man in the whole City of London was more shrewd or more cunning than old Sam Statham. It was to the interest of Statham Brothers to be so. Indeed, he had once remarked to his secretary that no secret, however carefully kept, was safe from his agents, and that he could discover without difficulty anything he wanted to know.
Had he discovered the truth regarding the strange disappearance of the Doctor and his daughter?
Why did you lose the train last night, Rolfe? asked the great financier. You did not go to Charing Cross, he added.
Rolfe held his breath again. Yes, as he had feared, his departure had been watched for.
I well, it was too late, and so I didnt attempt to catch the train.
Why too late? asked Statham, reprovingly. In a matter of business and especially of the magnitude of yours at this moment one should never be behindhand. Your arrival in Belgrade twenty-four hours late may mean a loss of about twenty thousand to the firm.
I hope not, sir, Rolfe exclaimed, quickly. I trust that the business will go through all right. I I did my best to catch the train!
Your best! Why, you had half a day in which to pack and get to Charing Cross!
I quite admit that, but I was prevented.
By what? asked Statham, fixing his eyes upon the young man before him.
By a matter of private business.
Yes a woman! You may as well admit it, Rolfe, for I know all about it. You cant deceive me, you know.
The others face went ghastly white, much to Stathams surprise. The latter saw that he had unconsciously touched a point which had filled his secretary with either shame or fear, and made a mental note of it.
I dont deny it, sir, he faltered, much confused. He had no idea that his employer had any knowledge of Maud.
Well youre an idiot, he said, very plainly. Youll never get on in the world if youre tied to a womans shoe strings, depend upon it. Girls are the ruin of young men like you. When a man is free, hes his own master, but as soon as he becomes the slave of a pretty face then hes a lost soul both to himself and to those who employ him. Take the advice of an old man, Rolfe, he added, not unkindly. Cast off the trammels, and be free to go hither and thither. When I was your age, I believed in what men call love. Bah! Live as long as I have, and watch human nature as I have watched it, and youll come to the same conclusion as I have arrived at.
And what is that? asked Rolfe, for such conversation was altogether unusual.
That woman is mans ruin always that the more beautiful the woman the more complete the ruin, he answered, in the hard, unsympathetic way which he sometimes did when he wished to emphasise a point.
Charlie Rolfe was silent. He was familiar with old Sams eccentricities, one of which was that he must never be contradicted. His amazing prosperity had induced an overbearing egotism. It was better to make no reply.
At heart the old man was beside himself with delight that his secretary had not left London, but it was his policy never to betray pleasure at anything. He seldom bestowed a single word of praise upon anyone. He was silent when satisfied, and bitterly sarcastic when not pleased.
I do not think, sir, that whatever you may have heard concerning the lady in question is to her detriment, he could not refrain from remarking.
All that I have heard is very favourable, I admit. Understand that I say nothing against the lady. What I object to is the principle of a young man being in love. Why court unhappiness? Youll meet with sufficient of it in the world, I can assure you. Look at me! Should I be what I am if I had saddled myself with a woman and her worries of society, frocks, children, petty jealousies, flirtations, and the thousand and one cares and annoyances which make a mans life a burden to him.