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.
No. Take my advice, and let those fools who run after trouble go their own way. Sentimentalists may write screeds and poets sonnets, but youll find, my boy, that the only true friend youll have in life is your own pocket.
Charlie was not in the humour to be lectured, and more especially upon his passionate devotion to Maud. He was annoyed that Statham should have found it out, and yet, knowing the wide-reaching sources of information possessed by the old millionaire, it was scarcely to be wondered at.
Of course, he admitted, somewhat impatiently, there is a good deal of truth in your argument, even though it be a rather blunt one. Yet are not some men happy with the love of a good wife?
A few alas! a very few, Statham replied. Think of our greatest men. Nearly all of them have had skeletons in their cupboards because of their early infatuations. Of some, their domestic unhappiness is well-known. Others have, however, hidden it from the world, preferring to suffer than to humiliate themselves or admit their foolishness, he said, with a calm cynicism. To-day you think me heartless, without sentiment, because you are inexperienced. Twenty years hence recollect my words, and you will be fully in accord with me, and probably regret deeply not having followed my advice.
With his thin hand he turned over some papers idly, and then, after a moments pause, his manner changed, and he said, with a good-humoured laugh:
You wont listen to me, I know, Rolfe. So what is the use of expounding my theory?
It is very valuable, the young man declared, deferentially. I know that you are antagonistic towards women. All London is aware of that.
And they think me eccentric eh? he laughed. Well, I do not want them. Society I have no use for. It is all too shallow, too ephemeral, and too much make-believe. If I wished to go into Society to-morrow, it would welcome me. The door of every house in this neighbourhood would be opened to me. Why? Because my money is the key by which I can enter.
The most exclusive set would be delighted to come here, eat my dinners, listen to my music, and borrow my money. But who among the whole of that narrow, fast-living little world would care to know me as a poor man? I have known what it is to be poor, Rolfe, he went on; poorer than yourself. The world knows nothing of my past of the romance of my life. One day, when I am dead, it may perhaps know. But until then I preserve my secret.
He was leaning back in his padded chair, staring straight before him, just as he had been an hour ago.
Yes, he continued; I recollect one cold January night, when I passed along the pavement yonder, and jerked his finger in the direction of the street. I was penniless, hungry, and chilled to the bone. A man in evening-dress was coming from this very house, and I begged from him a few coppers, for I had tasted nothing that day, and further, my poor mother was dying at home dying of starvation. The man refused, and cursed me for daring to beg charity. I turned upon him and cursed him in return; I vowed that if ever I had money I would one day live in his house. He jeered at me and called me a maniac.
But, strangely enough, my words were prophetic. My fortune turned. I prospered. I am to-day living in the house of the man who cursed me, and that man himself is compelled to beg charity of me! Ah, yes! he exclaimed suddenly, rising from his chair with a sigh. The world little dreams of what my past has been. Only one man knows the man whom you told me, Rolfe, a little time ago, is in England and alive.
What the man Adams? exclaimed Rolfe, in surprise.
Yes, replied his employer, in a hoarse, changed voice. He knows everything.
Things that would be detrimental to you? asked his private secretary slowly.
He is unscrupulous, and would prove certain things that well, I I admit to you in strictest confidence, Rolfe, that it would be impossible for me to face.
Charlie stared at him in utter amazement.
Then you have satisfied yourself that what I told you is correct?
I disbelieved you when you told me. But I no longer doubt.
Why?
Because I have seen him to-day seen him with my own eyes. He was standing outside, there against the railings, watching the house.
And did he see you?
He saw and recognised me.
Charlie gave vent to a low whistle. He recognised the seriousness of the situation. As private secretary he was in old Stathams confidence to a certain extent, but never before had he made such an admission of fear as that he had just done.
Where is he now?
I dont know. Gone to prepare his coup for my ruin, most probably, was the old mans response, in a strained unnatural voice. But listen, Rolfe. I have told you to-day what I would tell no other man. In you I have reposed many confidences, because I know you well enough to be confident that you will never betray them.
You honour me, sir, by those words, the young man said. I endeavour to serve you faithfully as it is my duty. I am not forgetful of all that you have done for my sister and myself.
I know that you are grateful, Rolfe, he said, placing his bony hand upon the young mans shoulder. Therefore I seek your aid in this very delicate affair. The man Adams has returned from the grave how, I do not know. So utterly bewildering is it all that I was at first under the belief that my eyes were deceiving me that some man had been made up to resemble him and to impose upon me. Yet there is no imposture. The man whom I know to be dead is here in London, and alive!
But did you actually see him dead? asked Rolfe, innocently.
Old Statham started quickly at the question.
Er well no. I mean, I didnt exactly see him dead myself, he faltered.
Then how are you so very positive that he died?
Well, there was a funeral, a certificate, and insurance money was, I believe, paid.
That does not prove that he died, remarked Rolfe. I thought I understood you to say distinctly when we spoke of it the other day that you had actually stood beside the dead body of John Adams, and that you had satisfied yourself that life was extinct.
No! no! cried the old man, uneasily, his face blanched. If I led you to suppose that, I was wrong. I meant to imply that, from information furnished by others, I was under the belief that he had died.
Charlie Rolfe was silent. Why had his employer altered his declaration so as to suit the exigencies of the moment?
He raised his eyes to old Sams countenance, and saw that it was the face of a man upon whom the shadow of a crime had fallen.
Chapter Twelve.
In which a Womans Honour is at Stake
John Adams has seen you! exclaimed Rolfe, slowly. Therefore the situation is, I understand, one of extreme peril. Is that so?
Exactly, responded the millionaire, in a thin, weak voice. But by your aid I may yet extricate myself.
The younger man saw that the other was full of fear. Never had he seen his employer so nervous and utterly unstrung. The mystery of it all fascinated him. Statham had unwittingly acknowledged having been present at the presumed death of John Adams, and that in itself was a very suspicious circumstance.
Whatever assistance I can give I am quite ready to render it, he said, little dreaming what dire result would attend that offer.
Ah, yes! cried the old man, thankfully, grasping his secretarys hand. I knew you would not refuse, Rolfe. If you succeed I shall owe my life to you; you understand my life! And he looked straight into the young mans face, adding, And Samuel Statham never forgets to repay a service rendered.
I look for no repayment, he said. You have been so very good to my sister and myself that I owe you a deep debt of gratitude.
Ah! your sister. Where is she now?
At Cunningtons, in Oxford Street.
Oh, yes! I forgot. I wrote to Cunnington myself regarding her, didnt I? I hope shes comfortable. If not, tell me. Im the largest shareholder in that business.
You are very kind, replied the young man. But she always says she is most comfortable, and all the principals are very kind to her. Of course, it was hard for her at first when she commenced to earn her own living. The hours, the confinement, and the rigorous rules were irksome to a girl of her character, always been used as she had to freedom and a country life.
Yes, replied the old man rather thoughtfully. I suppose so. But if shes getting on well, I am quite satisfied. Should she have any complaint to make, dont fail to let me know.
Rolfe thanked him. The old fellow, notwithstanding his eccentricities, was always a generous master.
There was a pause, during which the millionaire walked to the window, peered out to see if the shabby watcher had returned, and then came back again to his table.
Rolfe, he commenced, as he seated himself, with surprising calmness, I have spoken more openly to you this afternoon than I have spoken to anyone for many years. First, you must remain in London. Just ring them up in the City, and tell them to send Sheldon here, and say that he must leave for Belgrade to-night. I will see him at seven oclock.
The secretary took up the transmitter of the private telephone line to the offices of Statham Brothers in Old Broad Street, and in a few moments was delivering the principals message to the manager.
Sheldon will be here at seven for instructions, he said, as he replaced the transmitter.
Then sit down, Rolfe and listen, the old man commanded, indicating a chair at the side of the table.
The younger man obeyed, and the great financier commenced.
You have promised your help, and also complete secrecy, have you not?
I shall say nothing, answered the other, at the same time eager to hear some closed page in the old mans history. Rely upon my discretion.
He was wondering whether the grey-faced old fellow was aware of the startling events of the previous evening in Cromwell Road. His spies had told him of Maud. They perhaps had discovered that amazing truth of what had occurred in that house, now deserted and empty.
Was it possible that old Statham, being in possession of his secret, did not now fear to repose confidence in him, for he knew that if he were betrayed he could on his part make an exposure that must prove both ruinous and fatal. The crafty old financier was not the person to place himself unreservedly in the hands of any man who could possibly turn his enemy. He had an ulterior motive, without a doubt. But what it was Charles Rolfe was unable to discover.
The mouth of that man Adams must be closed, said the old man, in a slow, deliberate voice, and you alone are able to accomplish it. Do this for me, and I can afford to pay well, and he regarded the young man with a meaning look.
Was it possible that he suggested foul play. Rolfe wondered. Was he suggesting that he should lurk in some dark corner and take the life of the shabby wayfarer, who had recently returned to England after a long absence?
It is not a question of payment, Rolfe replied. It is whether any effort of mine can be successful.
Yes; I know. I admit, Rolfe, that I was a fool. I ought to have listened to you when you first told me of his re-appearance, and I ought to have approached him and purchased his silence. I thought myself shrewd, and my cautiousness has been my undoing.
From the little I know, I fear that the purchase of the fellows silence is now out of the question. A week ago it could have been effected, but now he has cast all thought of himself to the winds, and his only object is revenge.
Revenge upon myself, sighed the old man, his face growing a trifle paler as he foresaw what a terrible vengeance was within the power of that shabby stranger. Ah! I know. He will be relentless. He has every reason to be if what has been told him had been true. A man lied the man who is dead. Therefore the truth the truth that would save my honour and my life can never be told, he added, with a desperate look upon his countenance.
Then you have been the victim of a liar? Rolfe said. Yes of a man who, jealous of my prosperity, endeavoured to ruin me by making a false statement. But his reward came quickly. I retaliated with my financial strength, and in a year he was ruined. To recoup himself he committed forgery, was arrested, and six months later died in prison but without confessing that what he had said concerning me was a foul invention. John Adams believed it and because of that, among other things, is my bitterest enemy.
But is there no way of proving the truth? asked Rolfe, surprised at this story.
None. The fellow put forward in support of his story proofs which he had forged. Adams naturally believed they were genuine.
And where are those proofs now?
Probably in Adams possession. He has no doubt hoarded them for use at the moment of his triumph.
Rolfe did not speak for several moments.
A week ago those proofs might, I believe, have been purchased for a round sum.
Could they not be purchased now? From the mans appearance he is penniless.
Not so poor as you think. If what Ive heard is true, he is in possession of funds. His shabbiness is only assumed. Have you any knowledge of a certain man named Lyle a short man slightly deformed.
Lyle! gasped his employer. Do you mean Leonard Lyle? What do you know of him?
I saw him in the company of Adams. It is he who supplies the latter with money.
Lyle! cried Statham, his eyes glaring in amazement. Lyle here in London?
He was here a week ago. You know him?
Know him yes! answered the old millionaire, hoarsely. Are you certain that he has become Adams friend?
I saw them together with my own eyes. They were sitting in the Café Royal, in Regent Street. Adams was in evening-dress, and wore an opera-hat. Theyd been to the Empire together.
Why didnt you tell me all this before? asked Statham, in a tone of blank despair. I I see now all the difficulties that have arisen. The pair have united to wreak their vengeance upon me, and I am powerless and unprotected.
But who is this man Leonard Lyle? inquired the secretary.
A man without a conscience. He was a mining engineer, and is now, I suppose a short, white-moustached man, with a slightly humped back and a squeaky voice.
The same.
Why didnt you tell me this before? If Lyle knows Adams, the position is doubly dangerous, he exclaimed, in abject dismay. No, he added, bitterly; there can be no way out.
I said nothing because you had refused to believe.
You saw them together after you had told me of Adams return, or before?