II
THE SARSFIELD-MITCHAM AFFAIR
Stranleigh's first visit to the United States of America caused serious apprehension among his friends in England, and resulted in the somewhat irritated disappointment of those whole-hearted citizens in the big Republic who proposed extending to him that generous welcome which this hospitable people have ever accorded distinguished foreigners. After the London Bank panic, a great deal had been printed about Lord Stranleigh in the newspapers of New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, and other cities, but this was all on account of the tremendous wealth he had gathered in through the meteoric rise of stock when the crisis ended. An enterprising American journalist, however, discovered that it was Lord Stranleigh himself who had come to the rescue of the Bank of England, and this revelation produced an effect approaching a sensation, for it showed that Stranleigh must have been a very rich man even before that unneeded accession of wealth came to him through his various stockbrokers. So when it was announced that Lord Stranleigh was about to visit New York, the Press of that city was full of conjectures as to the cause of his western journey, and it also assured him that he would receive an enthusiastic reception on his arrival at the Empire City. The masculine leaders of finance, and the feminine leaders of fashion, were equally determined that the young man should find his visit interesting, and from what they had read of him, they were quite unprepared for the disdainful aloofness that characterised his conduct the moment he left the shores of old England. He refused all invitations with a noble scorn which was almost mediæval in its cold severity.
It was generally admitted that he was every inch a lord, but the frigid, impassive dignity of his manner, and his rigid exclusiveness, were facts for which the United States were unprepared. It had been supposed that he was a genial fellow, with ideas that were almost democratic in their radicalism, but here, instead, was encountered the true Grand Duke of fiction, to whom the common man is but dirt beneath his feet. He haughtily brushed aside the reporters, and refused to kow-tow to that mighty engine of modernity, the daily Press. The most amazing interviews appeared, in which he gave expression to sentiments that roused the anger of many people from New York to California, but he did not even take the trouble to contradict these palpable inventions. He assumed a position of such lofty pride that he regarded the society leaders of Newport as no better than the bricklayer's wife of Hoboken; was reported to have said so, and didn't deny it. The New York Evening Post, in a thoughtful editorial on this conceited young man, showed that human nature helplessly travelled in a circle, and that the very acme of the monarchical idea, carried by Lord Stranleigh to such an extreme as the United States had never witnessed before, became really the essence of true republicanism. In any genuine democracy the grand lady of Newport could be no better than the bricklayer's wife of Hoboken; in fact, the bricklayer's wife should, if possible, receive the greater honour, as being a useful person, which the Newport society woman was not; therefore, Lord Stranleigh was a veritable democrat, while the newspapers which were ridiculing and lampooning him, had gone round the circle into the monarchical delusion that all men (and especially all women), were not free and equal.
Stranleigh's friends in England were amazed at the reports cabled across of the young man's demeanour in New York, and they came to the conclusion that the pride of many possessions had gone to his head. They regretted that this exhibition of hauteur, so foreign to what they knew of him, should have taken place in the commercial capital of a friendly country.
It is rather strange that not even one of the alert newspaper men so much as surmised the truth of the matter, and now the sequence of events pertaining to that lively three weeks during which Stranleigh was the principal theme of paragraphists and caricaturists in the American Press, is here, for the first time, set down in print.
Lord Stranleigh was perfectly happy in London, and had no more thought of visiting New York than of going to the moon, when one morning, as he sat at breakfast, his great friend, Peter Mackeller, the young mining engineer, was announced. Mackeller had himself become a rich man through his partnership with Lord Stranleigh, and on such brotherly terms were the two, that each called on the other without ceremony at any odd hour. Stranleigh always kept a vacant chair opposite him at meal times, and plates were solemnly changed before it by the man in waiting, just as if a guest were present. Then should anyone drop in, a chair and a plate were waiting for him.
"Come along, Peter," cried Stranleigh, when the young man entered, "come along and occupy the vacant chair."
"Thanks, I had breakfast in the morning."
"Yes, I knew you'd say that. I generally provide you with an opportunity for making the remark. I like to hear it. There is such a delicate, subtle reproach in its tone that I always feel righteously reproved, for my late rising. You get up at a few hours after midnight, at a time you erroneously term morning, and consume a meal which you erroneously term breakfast. It is really a late supper, and the whole action is your form of dissipation, which you disguise to yourself under the plea that you have work to do. But do sit down; I have just finished the Times, understand all about our foreign relations, realise afresh under what a beast of a government we are staggering. I find the Irish are raising the devil in the western counties, and that the Scots, taking advantage of the commotion, are quietly gathering to themselves our little accumulations of gear by means of early rising, hard work, and pretended honesty; so, Peter, I am glad to see you, and hope you will talk in your usual interesting fashion."
"H-mm," grunted Peter.
"That's a good beginning. Well, how has the world been using you?"
"Oh, fairly. I'm going over to America next week."
"The deuce you say! Some new mines discovered in the western mountains, eh?"
"Not this trip. I don't suppose I shall get further west than New York."
"Oh, I thought you had some project on hand."
"I have."
"Then out with it, unless it's a secret."
"I want you to come with me."
"Why, they are doing me very well in London just now. My excellent cook brews coffee in a way to make you dream of the luxurious East, and he can grill a sole so that it consoles one for all his troubles—no pun intended. I am told that in New York they have no soles—neither the one you spell with an 'e,' nor the one you spell with a 'u.' Pun intentional this time."
"An exceedingly bad one, too."
"It's well known the Scotch have no sense of humour, Peter. What's taking you to New York?"
"The Adriatic."
"That's not so bad, Peter. You'll improve in time, so don't be pessimistic about yourself."
"The point is: will you come with me?"
"There's no particular reason why I should, at the moment, except for the pleasure of your companionship, which I admit is a temptation. I'm floating Bendale's Stores into a limited liability company; being tired of shopkeeping, I desire to unload on the credulous British public. Three millions of pounds is all I'm asking, so I must stop in old England, and sign documents presented to me by the lawyers."
"How soon is your great company to be brought out?"
"The date isn't fixed yet. I'm waiting for the financial situation to be rather more settled than it is. Consols are away down, they tell me, though I don't see what that has to do with the matter. In fact, I hold that the cheaper gilt-edged securities become, the quicker the public should bite at something new, but my chief advisers tell me I am wrong, so I allow them to take their own course."
"Then, you see, there's nothing in the way of a trip to New York. We won't be there longer than three weeks."
"Oh, I don't yearn for New York, Peter. There's no particular reason why I should go, and there are many attractions right here. For instance, the '78 champagne at the club is getting pretty low, and cannot be renewed. I fear that my fellow members, who are a conscienceless set, will take advantage of my absence, and get away with the lot before I return."
"Look here, Stranleigh, I wish you'd talk seriously for a few minutes."
"In heaven's name, what else am I doing? What is more serious than the threatened exhaustion of a notable wine-bin? You never miss the water till the well runs dry, Peter. I'm trying to drive wisdom into that thick head of yours."
"I want to interest you in the business that is taking me to New York."
Stranleigh slowly shook his head.
"My boy, I have no desire to be interested. Interest usually involves excitement, which produces energetic action, and the first thing one knows, he's in a turmoil. I'm taking the rest cure, and living the simple life; I can get all the excitement I want at the race course."
"If you will allow me to give you a brief account of the case, I rather think there are some features in it that will appeal to you."
But Stranleigh, with a laugh, turned to his man, and commanded him, in the name of mercy, to bring a grilled sole and some fresh coffee. Peter's mouth must be stopped at any cost.
The refection was very speedily placed before Mackeller, who, grumbling with some discontent, in a low voice, nevertheless partook of it with zest.
"You ought to go further west than New York, Peter."
"Why?"
"Because you're such a great bear. You should get out into those mountainous regions where the President hunts."
Mackeller growled, but went on with his fish. The trend of the interview did not please him.
"Couldn't I make you happy by selling you some shares in my shop?"
"I've all I can attend to already."
"Do you mean the sole, or the New York business?"
Mackeller disdained to reply, but finishing his breakfast, pushed back his chair, drawing a deep sigh as he did so. Mackeller had more finesse than Stranleigh gave him credit for.
"I've got myself into rather a tangle," he began slowly. "I'm up a tree. I'm afraid I've bitten off more than I can chew, as they say out west, and the only claim I press on your sympathy is that I became involved while trying to protect you."
"To protect me? Do you think I need a guardian, then?"
"I don't know what I thought at the beginning, but I am quite sure now that I need a guardian myself, and am urging you to act in that capacity for the next month. It isn't your money I want: I'm financing the scheme, and shan't ask you to risk a penny; but I'd like to have the benefit of your advice now and then, as the plan unfolds, and if I get myself into a tight place, which is quite likely, I'd feel safer if I knew you were arranging a method of helping me out."
Lord Stranleigh threw back his head and laughed heartily.
"Peter, day by day you present new and unexpected phases of genius. I have hitherto looked upon you as the embodiment of grim determination, showing a never-say-die tenacity in a fight. I expect from you a certain rugged honesty of remark, but never before have I regarded you as a diplomatist. Here am I pestered to death by all sorts and conditions of men, who wish me to invest money in this, that, or t'other. I have come to feel that I am a sort of modern Midas, from whom everyone wishes to chip a piece of gold, and then you drop in, and intimate that it is my mental qualifications and not my metal qualifications you wish to draw on. It is my mind, and not my cash you are after. In the face of such flattery, Peter, I am helpless."
"Thanks, Stranleigh. Then may I count on your assistance?"
"It's very likely. I always was a heedless person, but I hope you are not entering into a contest with Wall Street. They tell me that the men of that thoroughfare are much more than a match for our unsophisticated farmers of the London Stock Exchange. I've no wish to get into a scrimmage with them."
"Why, you've already been in a scrimmage with them, and beat them hands down."
"When?"
"When Wall Street tried to corner the gold of the world."
"Oh, that was no scrimmage. That was a massacre. There is nothing in such a contest to make a man feel proud of himself. I defeated them not by mental acumen, but through the brutal weight of the metal I was lucky enough at that moment to possess. I simply dumped a train-load of ingots on their backs, and my accumulation of so many tons of gold at the psychological time was merely raw luck. It wasn't playing the game, and I felt myself a coward all the time I was doing it. It seemed to be taking such a mean advantage of Wall Street. If I met any denizen of that thoroughfare again I should like the fight to be man to man and steel to steel, but in that case, although we might indulge in an interesting bit of sword play, I am sure I'd be defeated. Tell me there is no danger of Wall Street being your opponent."
"If there is, will you refuse to join me?"
"Oh, I've already confessed I'm a fool. You don't need to ask a question like that."
"Well, in this case I expect to be confronted with a much more serious antagonist than Wall Street. My opponent is likely to be no other than P. G. Flannigan."
"The devil!"
"I think you're quite right."
"You mean the man who owns all the railways in the United States?"
"He controls a great number of them, and I rather fear he will control me before I am done with him."
Lord Stranleigh pushed back his chair, threw one leg over the other, lit a fresh cigarette, and said:
"Tell me all about it, Peter."
Mackeller had so patiently worked up to the point he desired to reach that he now seemed unaccountably reluctant to begin his narrative, and Stranleigh shrewdly surmised that the mining engineer doubted whether the scheme would appeal to his friend with that force which had so completely captured himself.
"I think perhaps it would be better," Mackeller hesitated, "for me to give a little lunch at the Ritz, and introduce you to the girl who has this business at her fingers'-ends. She would be able to answer any question you might wish to ask, and to meet any objections you could put forward."
Lord Stranleigh sat suddenly very erect, the cigarette burning neglected between his two fingers.
"The girl!" he echoed. "The girl!! Oh, Peter, Peter, and this from you, whom I had supposed to be a solid mass of human Scotch granite! Do you mean to sit there calmly and tell me that you have allowed a girl to entangle you in a maze of American finance, which you do not in the least understand, and pit you against such a man as P. G. Flannigan? Peter, you amaze, shock, and horrify me! A girl, indeed! Well, this is unexpected. I beg to inform you, before you begin, that I refuse to meet her. The odds being against you in a catch-as-catch-can tumble with P. G. Flannigan, I am not heartless enough further to handicap you by meeting this girl, and destroying your prospects with her also. Everyone knows, Peter, that I am a better looking man than you, and as for our clothes, there is no comparison."
Mackeller had been shifting about uneasily in his chair, his countenance gradually assuming the lovely tint of a Queen Anne brick villa.
"Oh, you are always ragging me when I try to talk business."
"I'm not ragging you, Peter; I'm chaffing you. The subtleties of the English language are concealed from a Scotchman like you. Now, tell me first about this girl. Who is she, and how does she come into the fray?"
"She is the only daughter of Sarsfield-Mitcham, of Stamford, Connecticut."
"And who is Sarsfield-Mitcham, of Stamford, Connecticut?"
"He is the greatest inventor that America has produced."
"I thought Edison held that position?"
"Oh, Edison, besides being a notable inventor, possesses a very shrewd, hard, business head, which Sarsfield-Mitcham does not. The Connecticut citizen is a dreamer, yet he has constructed more useful, practical articles than any other person on the face of the earth, but never developing any capacity for business, and being a most trustful man in spite of the fact that he has been cheated on every hand, he is to-day in poverty while others roll in wealth because of his ingenuity."
"H-m; a most dangerous individual for one to have anything to do with."
"Well, others have not found it so, but have profited largely through their connection with him."
"I see. And the daughter has come over here to secure capital that will enable her father to circumvent his enemies?"
"Exactly."
"And this capital, if she obtains it, will be lost through her father's inanity?"
"Oh, no! I'm going to see to that."
"Ah, there's where you come in. Well; explain."
"Miss Sarsfield-Mitcham came across the ocean for the purpose of meeting Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood, of whom she had read much in the newspapers, and of whose wealth she imagined her notions were exaggerated, though in reality they fall far short of the truth. She thought that an appeal to this nabob might be successful."
"And the nabob refuses to see her?"
"Curiously enough, Stranleigh, she now refuses to see the nabob, and, if I gave the little lunch at the Ritz, I should need to use some of that diplomacy with which you newly credit me, to induce her to be my guest. She reposes complete confidence in me," said Mackeller, with a note of defiance in his tone, "and believes that I alone will circumvent the enemy."
Lord Stranleigh laughed joyously.
"Oh, Peter, Peter, this is indeed my friend Mackeller in a new light! Is she pretty?"
"Our conversations have been entirely on business," said Mackeller, severely. "She thinks of no one but her father."
"Nevertheless, you must at least have glanced at her. Is she pretty, I asked?"
"Very."
"Intelligent?"
"Very."
"Charming in manner?"
"Very."
"Your eloquence on feminine perfection seems to be restricted to one word, Mackeller. And so this fascinating personage has persuaded you that you can successfully cross swords with the unconquered P. G. Flannigan, against whom even the United States Government has been powerless? After that I shall set no limit to what a woman can do."
But Peter went on unabashed.
"Miss Sarsfield-Mitcham's father, some years ago, came to England in an attempt to form a company to sell a typewriter invented by him, and which, to confess the truth, he had already lost control of. He got into business relations with my father, then in the stockbroking profession, and although nothing practical came of their endeavours—which was rather typical of Mr. Sarsfield-Mitcham's affairs—my father gradually formed a sincere attachment for the man."
"Whose experience hitherto had been with legal attachments!"
Mackeller continued stolidly, unheeding.
"Miss Sarsfield-Mitcham, then as now, was her father's assistant, and as they were concerned with a typewriter, she learned shorthand and typewriting, and became an expert stenographer. When, a few months ago, she saw a new financial crisis approaching which threatened to block her father's line of progress and nullify all his work of the past two or three years, she became imbued with the idea that if once she obtained access to you she might yet circumvent the enemy, and, seeing my name connected with yours in the public Press, it occurred to her that perhaps I was the son of her father's friend, so she came across, and appealed to me for an introduction to you."
"Then you selfishly kept quiet about the matter until such time as the poor girl arrived at the erroneous belief that you are a better man than I. How gullible women are, after all! But we will abandon romance, and tackle finance. What has her father invented this time?"
"He has produced a most ingenious electrical device which is attached to railway locomotives. It is quite automatic, and acts independently of either the locomotive engineer or the stoker. Its object is to prevent collisions and the disastrous telescoping of trains, which is unfortunately so frequent on the railways of America, and, indeed, in this country as well. Suppose two trains are approaching one another along a single line of railway, each concealed from the other by a curvature of the track, and intervening forest or hill. Sarsfield-Mitcham's device comes into operation when the trains are about half a mile or more apart. It stops the engine and applies the brake. Even the most stupid and stubborn engineer cannot get his train in motion again until the line ahead is clear."
"And is this contraption practicable?"
"It works splendidly as a model, but has never yet been tried on a real locomotive."
"Why not?"
"Because Mr. Mitcham hasn't the money."
"There should be no difficulty about that. Hang it all, I'll give you a cheque at this moment which will enable him to test the matter with real engines on a real railway line."
"The situation is not quite so easy as you think, Stranleigh. In fact, we now come to one of the most ingenious bits of manipulation that I ever heard of, so simple and so apparently straightforward that Miss Mitcham herself is sometimes in doubt regarding the justice of her suspicions. But if she waits until all her doubts are removed or verified, it will then be too late for action, should the result be what she fears. They appear to be giving the old man all the rope he asks for, and Sarsfield-Mitcham is quite unconsciously constructing a noose, fastening it round his neck, attaching it to the beam overhead, and making every preparation to hang himself—speaking figuratively, of course. P. G. Flannigan has not only advanced the necessary money to make a complete test of this invention, but has given him twice as much as he asked for; in fact, everything that Sarsfield-Mitcham required he has obtained. A little company has been formed under the laws of the State of New Jersey, and P. G. Flannigan has paid into the treasury of that company just double the amount of money that Mitcham thought would be necessary."
"But why didn't Mitcham insist on a controlling share of the stock of this company? Why didn't he make it a sine qua non that he should have fifty-one shares out of every hundred?"
"He did."
"And obtained it?"
"Obtained it without a murmur."
"You say that Sarsfield-Mitcham has the voting control of this company?"
"Absolutely."
"Then what the deuce is he howling about, with double the money that he required and a majority of the shares allotted to him?"
"He isn't growling. He is living, perfectly happy, in a fool's paradise. His daughter cannot even persuade him that he is in danger. It is she who sees what is ahead."
"Well, Peter, in spite of your compliment to my brain, the girl sees a great deal further ahead than I do. If you give me complete control of a company; if, after that, you double the capital I need, and if the company possesses an invention as useful as you indicate, I'd snap my fingers at Wall Street, Flannigan, and the London Stock Exchange combined. Isn't this young woman of yours just a trifle over-suspicious?"
"I don't think so. She is dealing with some of the most subtle and conscienceless rascals there are on the face of the earth."
"On which side of the ocean, Peter?"
"Oh, come, Stranleigh, I'm talking seriously. There's no room for genial persiflage in this business."
"Reproof accepted, Peter, in that spirit of humble admiration which I have always entertained for you. But, for the life of me, I cannot see how P. G. Flannigan can injure her father, even if he wishes to. He seems to have tied himself up, and not the other man at all, whom he apparently has left free."
"I may explain that when Sarsfield-Mitcham had completed his model, and had secured his patent, his money was exhausted, and it then became necessary to seek further capital. Naturally he turned to those who would be most likely to appreciate and understand the mechanism he had evolved; to those, in a word, who would adopt such an invention, should a test prove it successful. He found no difficulty in getting a hearing. That seems to be one good point in American business methods: the busiest and most successful man will always listen to a suggestion, and weigh it, no matter from what source it comes. He succeeded in interesting the engineering department belonging to one of P. G. Flannigan's railways, and gradually worked up and up, until at last there came the fateful interview with the great man himself, which interview was exceedingly short, and apparently exceedingly satisfactory to Sarsfield-Mitcham. Numerous conferences were held with various officials of ever-increasing importance, and these meetings were all attended by father and daughter, the latter taking shorthand notes of the conversations, which she afterwards typed out for the guidance of her father. The enthusiastic Sarsfield-Mitcham operated his little model railway, which, as I understand it, was a double-track affair, and the miniature engines passed each other at full speed when one was on each line, but the moment they approached on the same set of rails, they came to a standstill at any point previously selected by the inventor.
Finally a meeting was arranged with the great magnate himself. It was very brief, very curt, very much to the point, but you should see the young lady's eyes flash when she speaks of the celebrated P. G. Flannigan."
"One moment, Mr. Mackeller. If you will ignore the lustrous and doubtless expressive eyes of Miss Sarsfield-Mitcham, and proceed with the business details, I'd be greatly obliged. I am much more interested in the astute railway magnate than in the fascinating stenographer."
"Very good. Flannigan asked a few sharp questions, which showed that he had read with some thoroughness the reports of his subordinates. He witnessed in silence the performances of the model engine, and listened with visible impatience to the prolific observations offered by Mr. Sarsfield-Mitcham. All the while the daughter was studying the Railway King, and"
"Now, Peter, switch on to the main line, please, and keep to the rails. What did Flannigan say and do?"
"Flannigan said: 'This seems to work all right in miniature, but the apparatus may be too delicate or too intricate to be serviceable in actual practice. How much money do you need to attach your apparatus to a full-sized locomotive and to carry out an exhaustive series of actual trials on the road?'
"'Will you supply a couple of locomotives and a piece of disused track along the line of any of your railways, Mr. Flannigan?' asked Sarsfield-Mitcham.
"'You mean supply them free?'
"'Yes, sir.'
"'No, I cannot do that. If I go into this thing it will be with my own money. I cannot risk shareholders' funds in a speculation which may turn out to be wild-cat. One of my railways will furnish you with a piece of disused track and two old-fashioned locomotives, but you must pay for them.'
"'In that case I should need fifteen thousand dollars.'
"'Very well; I will venture thirty thousand on these reports, and on what I have seen. You will form a limited liability company with that capitalisation, and I will pay the money into its banking account.'
"'A limited liability company!' echoed Sarsfield-Mitcham. 'In that case I should need to receive a majority of stock.'
"'Of course. You take fifty-one shares and allot me forty-nine.'
"Miss Sarsfield-Mitcham was quietly prompting her father, but Flannigan ignored her throughout."
"Do the same, Peter, do the same. Flannigan is a very successful man whose example is worth following."
"Mr. Sarsfield-Mitcham said, 'I want to be perfectly open and above board with you. I don't intend to lose control of this invention as I have done with others. It must be understood that my fifty-one shares carries complete voting power.'
"'Certainly, subject to whatever legal enactments exist for the protection of a minority shareholder.'
"'No difficulties are to be placed in my way?'
"'Not by me, nor by my men. If anyone in my employ obstructs you, send a telegram to me.'
"'And if my experiments are successful, may I take it that your roads will adopt this invention on a suitable royalty basis?'
"'If your invention does in practice what you say it will do, every road in the world will be compelled to adopt it. It will become as universal as the air-brake. You need no assurance from me on that score. I ought, on the contrary, to receive from you, who are in the position of a monopolist, a guarantee that your invention should not become the sole property of any one particular road. It must be open to the whole railway world with no favoured nation clause, and no secret rebates.'
"'I willingly agree to that,' said Sarsfield-Mitcham, and without another word the conference ended."
"By the gods, that seems to me as straightforward a talk as ever I've heard. Did Flannigan keep his word in every respect?"
"He did."
"Well, with all due deference to this young lady, I don't see what she has to complain of."
"Of course, you are bound to take into account her experiences with men apparently similarly straightforward. Up to the present she has only her woman's intuition to go on."
"Oh, there's a great deal of nonsense talked about woman's intuition! I think it a most unsafe guide in business. If, instead of a battle-scarred veteran like Flannigan, who never looked at her, there had been a nice young man resembling Peter Mackeller, her woman's intuition would have led to complete trust, which probably has been the outcome in your case."
"You do like to hear yourself talk, don't you?"
Stranleigh laughed good-naturedly.
"Well, Peter, you've been doing most of the talking, and taking rather a long time to arrive anywhere; in fact, you have not yet arrived. I don't see where you come in, or where there is any room for me. Flannigan, as I said before, had placed everything in this man's hands; given him all that he asked for without a murmur, and without discussion; told him quite truly that if the invention is a success he shall need no influence to get it placed, then, seemingly, washed his hands of the affair and went on with his business, leaving Sarsfield-Mitcham a clear field and guaranteeing him against interference. What more could the girl want?"
"I admit that on the surface she certainly appears to be unreasonable, but she is convinced her father is surrounded by men in Flannigan's employ acting as his agents."
"Who chose these men?"
"Her father did."
"Well, really, Peter, this young woman's unfairness is prejudicing me against her. If her father himself deliberately chose his assistants, how can Flannigan be even remotely responsible? I'm becoming sorry for Flannigan dealing in an open-handed manner with a middle-aged visionary, whose daughter sees something sinister in everything Flannigan does. How old is this young woman?"
"Between twenty-two and twenty-five, I should say."
"She seems to have lest faith in humanity at a very early age."
"Oh, she never had any faith in Flannigan. You must remember that she has seen her father time and again lose the result of his labours through his lack of business acumen, and because of his infinite trust in his fellows. She has seen others grow rich through the product of his brain. She regards this present complication as her father's last throw, and is determined that the dice shall not be loaded."
"I quite sympathise with her in this, Peter, but isn't it just possible that Flannigan is an honest man?"
"He has been accused of many things," said Mackeller, drily, "but never of honesty."
"I return to my original difficulty in understanding the situation." Stranleigh had arisen and was pacing up and down the room, hands in his pockets, and a slight frown on his brow.
"If Mr. Sarsfield-Mitcham is given untrammelled control of the money, and untrammelled choice of his assistants, how can Flannigan interfere? How has he interfered? What ground has she for suspecting he has attempted interference?"
"She believes that Flannigan's agents bribe her father's men as soon as her father engages them."
"What reason does she give for that belief, for I suppose it would be useless to ask a woman for proof?"
"The business manager whom her father appointed seemed to be a most capable and energetic man, who came well recommended. His first move was to take expensive offices on Broadway, which she thinks was unnecessary at that stage of the game, and to lease a factory much larger than was required. Then he negotiated with one of Flannigan's railways for sixty miles of line at an exorbitant figure when half a mile of disused track would have been sufficient. The net result of his business management was that in a month or two the thirty thousand dollars capital was gone."
"But why should Flannigan bribe Sarsfield-Mitcham's business manager to squander Flannigan's own money?"
"In the first place, thirty thousand dollars isn't a drop in the bucket to Flannigan, but the shrewdness of the man is shown by the fact that the money, even from his point of view, is not squandered. The expensive Broadway rooms were taken in the Flannigan building; the leased empty factory is owned by Flannigan. The sixty miles of track belongs to one of Flannigan's railways. The thirty thousand dollars Flannigan affirmed were his own, which may or may not have been true, have filtered back through Sarsfield-Mitcham's careless fingers into the Flannigan treasury again. Flannigan was approached for more capital; Flannigan quite reasonably urged that he had already supplied double the amount that the inventor had thought to be sufficient, and he refused, as he put it, to throw good money after bad. However, he lent S.-M. a thousand dollars to settle the most pressing claims, and since that time Sarsfield-Mitcham has been sinking deeper and deeper into debt, while Flannigan shrugs his shoulders, says he's very sorry, but will put no more cash in a scheme he considers a failure. The extravagant business manager has been discharged, but the mischief is already done. His daughter came over to this country hoping to interest you in the situation. If unsuccessful in this, the end is inevitable. The company will go into liquidation, a receiver will be appointed, and plant, office furniture, material, and patent auctioned off by the sheriff to the highest bidder. There can be practically no competition, for people will regard the enterprise as one of the numerous failures continually coming under the hammer. One of Flannigan's agents will buy everything, including the patent, at a nominal figure, and everyone who knows the circumstances will say just what you have said, that it is all Sarsfield-Mitcham's own fault. He had complete power, and made a mess of it."
"Peter, you credit Flannigan with almost diabolical subtlety. Does Miss Mitcham return to the land of intrigue by the Adriatic that carries you?"
"No, she remains in London."
"Why?"
Because she is being watched and spied upon. Flannigan's agent, as she says, is on her trail, and has camped there."
"Good heavens! And do you believe it?"
"Yes, I do, and, furthermore, your house is being watched, and you yourself constantly followed."
Stranleigh chuckled as he walked up and down.
"Oh, Peter, this is too funny. You guileless children are playing a game of hide-and-seek, and I hope it amuses you. To make the thing complete I should go at once to Baker Street and consult my old and admired friend, Sherlock Holmes. How on earth was Flannigan to know that the girl came over to see me?"
"She thinks her father must have talked. He's a great talker, it seems, and she had to give him a reason for her departure for England. He is so imaginative a man that the moment your name was mentioned you at once became his partner, and all financial clouds had rolled by. So she remains in England and enacts the part of the disappointed seeker for capital."
"Exactly. And what do you propose to do?"
"I propose to get over to New York as quickly as possible and test for myself the value of her father's invention."
"That's a sane proposal at last. Suppose it is all right; what then?"
"I shall advance him the money to stave off liquidation. I shall become business manager pro tem.; will hurry to completion the apparatus on the two locomotives, and afterwards give a demonstration to newspaper men and to managers of railways. From that point we shall go straight ahead, making and supplying apparatus to the various railway systems, extending our field of action to Europe and South America, and before long there will be no lack of money in our bank account."
"Do you anticipate Mr. Flannigan's bitter opposition when he learns what you are about?"
"Yes."
"And that's why you want me to assist you?"
"Yes."
"You fear that this opposition may prove successful?"
"I do."
"Well, my dear Peter, don't let that trouble you any more. Flannigan will not interfere. I am taking it for granted, in spite of the spies and secret agents with which you equip Flannigan, that he deals in no such rubbish. Miss Sarsfield-Mitcham has hypnotised you, and I venture to bet a whole sovereign that Flannigan doesn't know she is in England, and wouldn't care a rap if he did. A man who through his own genius has risen to such a place in the railway world as G. P. Flannigan is no fool. He'll not hinder you. Why, what are you doing? You are building up for him a great business."
"He wants to own that business himself and eliminate everyone else."
"Yes, you think so. It would be silly to oppose a quixotic young man like you, who are going to risk your money in a project of which Flannigan owns half, and in which you can possess only whatever stock Mr. Sarsfield-Mitcham presents to you."
"What would you do?"
"I'd let Sarsfield-Mitcham go bankrupt; and allow the sheriff, or whatever official attends to these matters, to sell him out. I'd eliminate Sarsfield-Mitcham; I'd eliminate his charming but suspicious daughter; then I'd turn round and eliminate Mr. Flannigan. I'd recompense Mr. Sarsfield-Mitcham and his daughter, of course, but I wouldn't have such a feather-headed man babbling to everyone about my affairs, and I wouldn't allow this girl to fill my mind with grotesque suspicions."
"Then you'd fight Flannigan?"
"Yes, square and above board. I'd bring him into the open."
"And crush him with the weight of gold."
"Oh, I'm not in the crushing business. I believe in conciliation. Flannigan and I will compromise; we'll show our hands, and then join them. I am going on the basis that Flannigan is a man of sense. I daresay he fully intends to wave aside Mr. Sarsfield-Mitcham, and in that he rather has my sympathy. If I were certain that he would compensate the inventor properly, I don't think I'd interfere; but I rather suspect he intends to throw the poor wretch into the human scrap-heap with as little compunction as he'd break up an obsolete locomotive. That I shall endeavour to prevent—not from any goodness of heart at all, but merely because my friend Mackeller is interested in the old gentleman's daughter."
"Then you will join me?"
"Oh, yes, as certainly as Miss Sarsfield-Mitcham will do the same when you ask her; but I must proceed in my own way. You may tell the girl that you have persuaded me to cross with you in the Adriatic. Encourage her to remain in England on an apparently futile search for capital. If Flannigan has set spies on her track, for heaven's sake let's provide those peripatetic men with something to do. Besides, I should prefer that the Atlantic rolled between the young woman and myself while I am carrying out my felonious designs. Now, do you give me a free hand, or do you not?"
"Certainly I do."
"You will keep absolutely silent about my plans as they develop?"
"Yes."
"Good. You will now witness the first move of the game."
He touched an electric button, and when a servant appeared said curtly:
"Tell Ponderby to come here."
The sphinx-like Ponderby entered, and stood silent at attention. Lord Stranleigh looked him over as if he had never seen him before, but Ponderby's impassive face gave no indication that he was aware of the scrutiny.
"Ponderby, how much older are you than I?"
"Two years, five months, and fourteen days, my lord."
"That, I take it, is reasonably accurate, Ponderby, although, of course, it would have been more satisfactory had you brought it down to hours, minutes, and seconds. Now, we are going to America together."
"Yes, my lord."
"Have you ever been there before, Ponderby?"
"No, my lord."
Again Lord Stranleigh studied the statuesque Ponderby, employing the same intentness he had formerly bestowed upon him, then turned to Mackeller and said:
"If you met Ponderby in Piccadilly, dressed in my clothes, is there any chance you might mistake him for me?"
Mackeller glanced from one to the other, a slow smile coming to his lips.
"I don't know that I should mistake him for you, but one not quite so well acquainted with you both might do so."
"Wait till you see Ponderby in his new togs, and I think you'll admit the likeness. For years Ponderby has been modelling himself upon me, and unconsciously I have been modelling myself upon Ponderby, until now we appear to have absorbed one another's good qualities, with very much the same cast of feature."
All the while that this conversation, which might have seemed embarrassing, was going on, Ponderby stood like a graven image and never even smiled.
"When does the Adriatic sail, Peter?"
"On the fourteenth."
"Very well, Ponderby, you will go to my tailor's and bespeak a full outfit of clothes, exactly such as you would order for me, only you must be measured for them. It is necessary that they fit you with that exactness which you have always been successful in obtaining on my behalf. The tailor must have these things ready, and in this house, by the evening of the twelfth. Understand that money is no object, and see that whatever I wish done, is done promptly and at the moment set."
"Yes, my lord."
"From the time you leave London, Ponderby, until you return to this mansion, you are Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood. Do you comprehend that?"
"Yes, my lord."
"I am Edmund Trevelyan, a distant relative of the Stranleigh family. I'd allow you to call me Teddy, but I must not aspire so high. It might cause international complications."
"Yes, my lord."
"I am one of your business managers looking after your railway investments in America. Peter Mackeller here is the other business manager, looking after the Stranleigh mining properties."
"Yes, my lord."
"Now, Ponderby, from this moment, as a matter of practice, you will sink into oblivion that term 'my lord.'"
"Yes, sir."
"You will erase the word 'sir' from your vocabulary."
"Yes."
"In America, if the reporters succeed in gaining admission to your palatial apartments in whatever hotel in New York is the most expensive, you will be a man who knows nothing of business. Refer the reporters either to Mackeller or Trevelyan, and order 'em out."
"Yes."
"You will accept no invitations, either from the men to their clubs or from the women to their mansions at Newport or elsewhere. Comprenez vous, Monsieur?"
"Yes."
"You don't need to act a part at all, for that would be too much of a strain. Just be your own cold, calm, contemptuous self, and, above all things, don't give the snap away. You must never forget, night or day, that you are Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood. Mackeller and I will not be stopping at your hotel, but at some more modest hostelry."
"Yes."
"Very good. You will set out at once to engage such servants as Lord Stranleigh would wish to accompany him. Secure a discreet valet who is acquainted with neither you nor me, and you must take none of our own servants with us, or any of their acquaintances. I am trusting everything to your discretion."
"Yes."
"That will do, Ponderby."
The new Lord Stranleigh retired with an added dignity, as if the temporary title had already fallen upon him.
"My dear Stranleigh," protested Mackeller, "you are surely not serious in what you propose? You will never attempt to carry out this masquerade?"
"My name's Trevelyan, if you please, Mackeller. You have just seen Lord Stranleigh disappear with all the pomp of the peerage."
Mackeller groaned.
"You talked of my nonsense in believing about secret agents and detectives, but this madcap scheme! It's perfectly absurd, and will be discovered before we've been in New York two days."
"Then Ponderby will disappoint me, that's all. Nevertheless, I've staked my money on Ponderby, and predict that for the first time in your life you will realise the true bearing of the British aristocracy. America is said to be the land of the free, and I want a slice of liberty. I want to knock round with the boys, dine at their clubs, accept what invitations I receive, and have a good time generally, while poor Ponderby sits in splendid gloom at the swell hotel. I have an idea, Peter, that we won't catch a weasel asleep. If Flannigan is all you say, he will arrange an interview with Lord Stranleigh. Half an hour's conversation with the stolid Ponderby will convince so shrewd a judge of men as Flannigan that he has encountered about the most wooden-headed fool that the universe has yet produced. I thus cherish a faint hope that Flannigan may underestimate the enemy. Anyhow, we'll see what happens. So:
"To the West, to the West, to the land of the free,
Where the mighty Missouri rolls down to the sea."
"I believe it's the Hudson at New York, Mr. Trevelyan."
"All right; make it so."
Before the Adriatic was forty-eight hours at sea Mackeller received a wireless message from Miss Sarsfield-Mitcham, in London, saying that one of her father's creditors had taken action to recover the amount due to him, with the result that the company had gone into liquidation. This suit at law had been inaugurated in New York on the same day it was announced by cable that Lord Stranleigh was about to sail on the Adriatic from Southampton, accompanied by an imposing suite of servants, and attended by his two business managers, Mr. Mackeller, the distinguished mining engineer, the newspapers called him, and Edmund Trevelyan, scoffingly referred to as the poor relation of the Stranleigh family, who was visiting America ostensibly to study the railway position—a subject, one reporter cabled, of which he was as blissfully ignorant as of the intricacies of American politics. Lord Stranleigh, the cable message from London stated, had paid ten thousand dollars to the White Star Line for the accommodation reserved for himself and suite on board the Adriatic. This for two days remained a record of extravagance in crossing the ocean, but on the third day an American millionaire, coming eastward on the Deutschland, gave his cheque for fifteen thousand dollars, and so the palm remained with America.
The fact that legal action had been taken on the very day that Stranleigh sailed went far to convince our young man that the suspicions of Miss Sarsfield-Mitcham and Peter Mackeller regarding espionage on the part of P. G. Flannigan were correct after all. Stranleigh had hitherto been very sceptical on this point; nevertheless, if Flannigan expected to sell up and possess all the effects of the company before the Adriatic arrived in New York, he had counted without the opposition. Lord Stranleigh's advisers in London had made arrangements by cable with an eminent firm of lawyers in New York, who at once interposed on Sarsfield-Mitcham's behalf, and instantly blocked proceedings by beautiful legal methods, which must have convinced Mr. Flannigan that there would be no hole-and-corner sheriff sale of the patent and other assets of the company.
There had been a good deal of curiosity on the part of the Adriatic's passengers when it became known that the great Lord Stranleigh was on board, and the ladies especially were most anxious to get a glimpse of this aristocratic magnate; but Lord Stranleigh remained in his magnificent suite of rooms, partaking of all his meals there, waited upon by his own people, and not once during the voyage did he appear on deck outside his own particular promenade, which was strictly guarded from intrusion. In like manner Lord Stranleigh maintained this rigid exclusiveness on the floor of the Plaza Hotel, which had been reserved for him. His not too polite refusal of all invitations from Society leaders in New York and Newport caused much discontent in select circles that intended to make him the lion of the day. He was equally firm in declining to meet any newspaper man or any captain of industry who wished to interest him in this scheme or the other, or who desired to learn his views regarding high finance. Wall Street and Society were equally angry, but the rest of America laughed, and the newspapers day by day published marvellous accounts of his doings and opinions, which their readers might believe or not, just as they chose.
But one man was enjoying a riotously good time, and this was Edmund Trevelyan, his lordship's distant cousin, who was unanimously voted by all who met him as the best, most genial, most sensible Englishman who had ever drifted across the ocean. He was made an honorary member of all the leading clubs, and entertained at dinners that were select and the best of their kind. Edmund Trevelyan learned that strict attention to business did not preclude a hospitality such as he had never before encountered, and which he felt he would have some difficulty in repaying adequately when his hosts honoured him with a visit in London. Important and wealthy men implored their wives to invite Edmund Trevelyan to their social functions; but the women were intent upon the lord, and refused to give a thought to any hanger-on at the Court, so Trevelyan was forced to content himself exclusively with the society of men whom he found very much to his liking.
The sedate Peter Mackeller took no part in this round of festivities. With characteristic energy he plunged at once into the business that had brought them to America. The sixty-mile length of railway line and the rolling stock thereon, which the company had leased, was now tied up with the red tape of the insolvency proceedings, and so could not be touched either by him or by Sarsfield-Mitcham. He at once secured another piece of line on Long Island, with two locomotives, captured Sarsfield-Mitcham, who was still garrulously optimistic, quite certain that his daughter would pull him through the legal tangle in which he found himself involved—the girl was now on her way across the ocean; thus while the New York lawyers by various expedients held off the sheriff's sale, Mackeller and the inventor, with their assistants, were busily transforming the locomotives that were to accomplish the supreme test.
At last Peter reported to Edmund Trevelyan that everything was satisfactory; the invention all that Sarsfield-Mitcham had claimed for it. The New York lawyers were now instructed to withdraw all opposition, and allow a sheriff's sale to come on in its due course. Trevelyan went with Mackeller over to Long Island, and was convinced by practical observation that the life-saving scheme was a great success.
While he was away from New York he experienced a taste of P. G. Flannigan's quality that filled him with both chagrin and laughter. In some manner, never yet fully explained—for poor Ponderby was too bewildered when his young master met him afterwards to give any understandable account of the affair—the dominant P. G. Flannigan had passed all the guards at the Plaza Hotel as if he possessed the Open Sesame of the Arabian Nights, and was actually closeted for two hours and a half with the exclusive Lord Stranleigh. The newspapers rang with this important announcement. The richest man in England, if not in the world, was holding a private conversation, no witnesses present, with the greatest manipulator of railways then in existence. It was boldly stated that this had been the object of Lord Stranleigh's visit to the United States, and that he was going to place a thousand million of dollars at the disposal of P. G. Flannigan. Flannigan stocks rose like balloons; that two hours and a half behind closed doors sent an electric thrill through the whole investment world. Interests opposed to Flannigan acted like houses of cards. Financial New York and London were filled with fear and uncertainty. How big was the cat, and which way would it jump? was the question which no one could answer.
When Flannigan emerged from those guarded rooms the reporters said that he looked pleasant and smiled, but would say nothing; at least, he would say nothing further than that his visit to Lord Stranleigh had merely been one of courtesy; that they had not discussed finance at all, as he had called solely to offer Lord Stranleigh the hospitality of his private car, inviting him to a tour over the lines he controlled, but he could not announce whether Lord Stranleigh would accept or not; and this statement, being strictly true, was credited by no one on this unbelieving earth, cabled, as it was, all over the world.
The real Lord Stranleigh, when he heard all this, nearly doubled with laughter, as, back in his own room once more, with Peter standing seriously before him, he increased rather than calmed the latter's fears.
"That resourceful man," laughed Lord Stranleigh, "will make monkeys of us before he has done with us. Peter, we'd better pack up and get back to England while we've enough money left to pay our passage. Why didn't we take return tickets? Without so much as 'by your leave,' he has walked into our inmost citadel. Why, look how his stocks have risen! He must have gathered in millions through that two hours' work, and the devil of it is that he told the exact truth when he came out."
"What did Ponderby say?" gasped Mackeller. Lord Stranleigh had just returned from seeing his valet.
"Say? Why, poor old Ponderby is dazed; doesn't know what he said, and doesn't know what he did. The dominating personality of this man has left Ponderby all in a tremble. He mops his brow when he thinks of it. He says that Flannigan offered him his private car; told him about it and how it was equipped, praised the excellence of his negro servants, invited him to visit Chicago; said he shouldn't leave the country without seeing Niagara Falls; and simply, it seems to me, talked against time, the unhappy Ponderby answering 'yes' or 'no' at random, and trying to get from under the steely glitter of those glasses of his, which, Ponderby tells me, conceals Flannigan's own expression and enables him to probe into the very soul of the man he is conversing with. Of course, all Flannigan desired was to stop there two and a half hours, and let the newspapers know it; and this he accomplished."
"How in the name of heaven did he get in?"
"Oh, ask me an easier one—or, rather, a harder one. I suppose he simply bought his way in."
"Do you think he suspected that Ponderby wasn't really Lord Stranleigh?"
"Oh, goodness knows what he suspected. I rather surmise that he did not twig the situation, because, you see, he wasn't looking for that sort of thing. I also gather that Flannigan left with his mind made up that Lord Stranleigh was merely a stupid fool, who by luck had tumbled into uncounted wealth. If this is so, it is all to our advantage, for it may make Flannigan careless; but be that as it may, the tussle comes on Thursday at three o'clock in the afternoon, and there I am depending on you to outbid all opposition at the auction sale. You will be quite ready with your special train for the public trial of the invention on Thursday morning at ten o'clock?"
"Quite ready."
"All right; I'll send out the invitations. We must lure the principal newspaper men aboard, and all these millionaires who have been so kind to me."
"Don't you think," suggested Mackeller, "that it would be better to postpone the public trial until we are sure who owns the patent? You see, we are unnecessarily coming right out into the open. Flannigan will then be certain that we are determined to acquire the invention."
"My dear boy, Flannigan is certain now. I am quite of your opinion that he has known every mortal thing we have done, and even our secret thoughts. Great man, Flannigan! I told you in the beginning I was going to fight Flannigan in the open. I regard his visit to Ponderby as being the throwing down of the gauntlet. It is defiance, and I expect to see him in person at the sheriff's sale, Thursday afternoon."
A distinguished crowd assembled at the western terminus of the Long Island railway. Stranleigh had provided his guests with a sumptuous train of Pullman cars, in which materials for refreshment had not been overlooked. When he got the crowd together, he briefly explained the nature of the invention, told them that on the bit of track at his disposal, something like a hundred miles away, there had been placed a locomotive fitted with this apparatus, and attached to a train of flat cars loaded with railway iron.
"You will realise," he said genially, "that if our train of Pullmans comes against such an object as that, and the apparatus doesn't work, you will witness a smash that may be worth seeing."
"Oh, yes," said one cynical journalist, "that's all very well, Mr. Trevelyan; but how can we be assured that you haven't bribed the engine-driver and fireman to slow down the train when it approaches the obstacle?"
Trevelyan smiled.
"I couldn't bribe the fireman," he said, "because yesterday I inadvertently called him a stoker, and he has not yet forgiven me."
There was a laugh at this; the party jubilantly mounted the Pullman cars, and the special pulled out.
It proved a very pleasant and speedy journey, and as the train approached its destination Edmund Trevelyan passed the word that all should assemble in the observation-car at the rear, as that would be uncoupled, and the rest of the train shot on ahead. When this was done, conductors outside each end of the observation-car locked the doors, and Edmund Trevelyan smilingly made a startling announcement.
"Gentlemen," he said, "a remark was made to me before we started to the effect that I might have bribed fireman and engineer. That charge was true, but not in the sense the accuser intended. It was my desire that this test should be one never forgotten by any of those present. I have bribed both engineer and fireman to jump off after having set their locomotive at its greatest speed. We are now running at something like sixty miles an hour toward five hundred tons of railway iron. By this time our engine-driver and fireman are twenty-five miles behind us, and the locomotive ahead is empty, dragging us through space at such speed as it has achieved, entirely uncontrolled except by Mr. Sarsfield-Mitcham's apparatus."
There was a moment's silence. Some looked apprehensively out of the windows at the flying landscape; one or two tried the door, then someone said nonchalantly:
"All right, Mr. Trevelyan, you have delivered an important statement, but I was disappointed you did not end it with the remark that the Governor of North Carolina made to the Governor of South Carolina."
"Ah, really!" said Trevelyan, puzzled. "And what did he say?"
There was a general laugh at Trevelyan's ignorance and bewilderment, but the negro waiters understood the allusion and passed the drinks. Suddenly the train gave a little shudder, and, in spite of themselves, several men turned pale, but were relieved by seeing through the windows that the speed was lessening. Then they heard the crunch of the air-brake, and finally the train came to a standstill.
"My friend Mackeller," spoke up Trevelyan, "arranged the apparatus so that the two locomotives should stop at a distance of three hundred and twenty-five feet from each other. We will now learn how close or how far out his calculation has been."
The conductors at each end unlocked and threw open the doors, calling humorously and stentoriously, "All change!" The guests poured out into the open country, and there, grim before them, three hundred feet away on the single line of track, stood a fireless locomotive, with its long trail of iron-laden cars. The cab of their own locomotive was indeed empty, as Trevelyan had said. One millionaire, a valuable man with many interests all over the land, came forward to the smiling Trevelyan, but not to congratulate him.
"Young man," he said sternly, "I don't like a joke of this kind."
"It is no joke, sir," said Trevelyan, "but a serious effort to stimulate belief. You are like certain people in the Scriptures: a sign from Heaven wouldn't convince you. I think you all realise the value of this invention now."
At three o'clock that afternoon Edmund Trevelyan and Peter Mackeller walked into the unnecessarily sumptuous offices of Mr. Mitcham's ill-fated company. There were less than a score of persons present, for this sale, so far as the general public was concerned, represented the auctioning of valueless effects owned by a firm that had failed to make good. The newspaper accounts of the trial of the invention that morning were already on the streets, but no reader connected them with this obscure sale. The splendidly-upholstered chairs had been placed in two or three rows, with some ordinary wooden benches behind them in case there should be a large attendance. The auctioneer sat at a desk looking over some papers. Flannigan was not present. He failed to come into the open as Trevelyan had expected.
It was five minutes past the hour when the auctioneer arose and briefly recapitulated what he had to sell, asking for a bid. There was no reply.
"How much am I offered?" he repeated, and then spoke in a perfunctory way of the possible value of the patent, as well as the up-to-date nature of the machinery which Mr. Sarsfield-Mitcham had purchased for the manufacture of the device. Again there was silence, broken at last by Mackeller.
"Five thousand dollars," he said.
"Five thousand? Thank you, sir. That will do as a beginning. Now, gentlemen, what's the next offer for this valuable property? Shall I say ten thousand?"
"Six," spoke up a man at the further end of the room.
"Six thousand I am bid. Any advance on six thousand? It's up to you, sir." He nodded at Mackeller.
"Seven," said Mackeller.
"Eight!" promptly replied the other.
"Nine," said Mackeller.
"Ten!"
"Eleven."
"Twelve."
"Thirteen."
"Fourteen."
"Fifteen."
"Sixteen."
"Seventeen."
"Eighteen."
"Nineteen."
"Twenty."
"Twenty thousand I'm bid for a property that's worth a hundred thousand if it's worth a cent."
"Twenty-five thousand."
"Twenty-six."
"Oh, really, I can't take thousand dollar bids now. We'll go up by five thousands, if you please. Shall I say thirty?"
"Thirty."
Thirty-five."
"Forty."
"Forty-five."
"Fifty thousand."
The young man at the further end of the room rose.
"Mr. Martin," he said to the auctioneer, "would you mind waiting a moment until I use the telephone. I may say I am not bidding for myself, and I must communicate with my principal."
"Oh, I think that's all right," said Martin.
"Hold on," cried Mackeller, also rising. "I protest against this. The sale must go on."
"I'll not keep you five minutes, sir."
"The sale must go on," repeated Mackeller, determinedly.
"I think," said Auctioneer Martin, suavely, "that it's quite within my province to postpone a sale, or even to stop it."
"I protest against such a decision," said Mackeller firmly. "I know it is contrary to custom, and I believe it to be illegal."
"I shall register your protest," replied the auctioneer politely, then, nodding to the other, he said:
"Be as quick as you can. I'll allow you five minutes."
Mackeller sat down, growling; the other fled to an inner room. He evidently knew where the telephone was situated. The jingle of a bell was heard, and the murmur of a voice, but no words could be distinguished. The young man returned.
"I ask you, Mr. Auctioneer, to accept bids of a thousand dollars."
"Very well," replied the complacent auctioneer.
The bidding went on for a moment or two with one thousand dollar raises from the young fellow, and five thousand dollar raises by Mackeller. Finally Mackeller, the light of battle in his eye, cried:
"A hundred thousand dollars," which staggered his opponent, who was looking anxiously behind him.
"Your bid, sir," nodded the auctioneer, but the young man did not respond.
"A hundred thousand! Going at a hundred thousand! Going at a hundred thousand! What name, sir?"
"Peter Mackeller."
"Going to Mr. Mackeller for a hundred thousand dollars. Last call. Any advance on a hundred thousand?"
"Half a million dollars!"
The words came like the crack of a whip, and every man in the room turned round. There by the door stood the redoubtable, much-pictured form and spectacled face of P. G. Flannigan. Peter was stricken dumb and looked with despair at his comrade behind him.
"Half a million dollars," echoed the auctioneer as if nothing particular had happened. Lord Stranleigh made no reply to Mackeller's mute appeal, but rose with a smile on his face, tip-toed his way to the back of the room, and held out his hand to P. G. Flannigan.
"How are you, Mr. Flannigan?" he said, in a voice so low that none but the man to whom it was addressed could hear. "I am Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood, but I trust to your discretion that you will not give me away, as the saying is."
Flannigan's glasses seemed to flutter and blink.
"The deuce you say!" muttered Flannigan. "Then who—then who?"
"Who raised your holdings of stock forty millions or thereabouts, Mr. Flannigan? Why, my valet, an excellent man named Ponderby. You rather knocked him out that afternoon."
"Any advance on five hundred thousand dollars? Third and last time?"
"Six hundred thousand," said Stranleigh in a quiet voice which was nevertheless heard in the furthermost corner of the room, so great was the stillness and the tension. "Look here, Mr. Flannigan, just one word; I am going to own this property, and every dollar you bid against me I shall make you pay back when you are compelled to use this invention on your line."
"You think you can do that?"
"Certainly; we had a test of the invention this morning. Pullman car train; lots of millionaires present, and newspaper men too. The newspaper men did not flinch; I'll say that for them, but I nearly scared the mortal lives out of some of your best financial citizens."
"Six hundred thousand! Third and last time! Mr. Flannigan, it's against you, sir."
"Wait a moment," said Flannigan, as if he commanded the universe; then to Lord Stranleigh, "Go on, sir."
"I had the engineer and fireman jump off and send us along the line at sixty miles an hour against some forty trucks of railroad iron standing on the single track. If that invention hadn't worked, Mr. Flannigan, you wouldn't have had me here to oppose you, but as it has worked I'm going to possess it."
"I'm waiting for your bid, Mr. Flannigan," said the auctioneer, seemingly eager to show his independence of even so great a man. The mallet hovered over the desk.
"Seven hundred thousand," cried Flannigan impatiently.
"A million," replied Stranleigh with great sweetness.
"Look here," said Flannigan, curtly, "will you compromise?"
"Yes."
"On what terms?"
"Give the million I have bid to old Sarsfield-Mitcham, then you and my friend Mackeller take hold of the company, Mackeller absorbing Sarsfield-Mitcham's share and you holding your own."
"That will give him control."
"Yes, but he's a splendid man, and as long as you work straight with him you have nothing to fear."
"It's against you, Mr. Flannigan," said the auctioneer.
"I agree to that," he nodded at Lord Stranleigh; then to the auctioneer, "All right; let him have it. He seems to want it worse than I do."
Then to Stranleigh: "Bring your friend round to my room in half an hour and we'll settle details. Your name—your name, I think, is Mr. Trevelyan, isn't it?"
"Yes," replied Stranleigh.
"Then, good afternoon, Mr. Trevelyan; delighted to have met you."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Flannigan."