CHAPTER VI
THE COMPANY TAKES PROCEEDINGS TO COLLECT A DEBT
For the next fortnight the Company did nothing. We watched Amalgamated Fertilizers sink and sink, as Honest John Driver and Gutermann unloaded their shares, and Chelubai and Bottiger made a few hundreds by selling for the account. I levied toll on those hundreds for the Children's Hospital. Doubtless Honest John Driver got four days' start of Gutermann in the operation, for it was not till the fifth morning that we saw in the papers paragraphs headed "Mysterious Disappearance of a Financier," and read that that respected citizen and imperialist of East Surbiton, Mr. Albert Amsted Pudleigh, had left his office at five on the previous Friday and vanished into the ewigkeit or some such spacious lair. This brief account was followed in every paper by a description of the rascal so flattering that his mother, in her most partial mood, could by no chance have recognized him. Since he had but reached the rank of two hundred thousand pounds, the papers only accorded him paragraphs for a day or two, and paid no further heed to his vanishing. For my part, I had grown tired of the subject of Pudleigh long before the appearance of the first paragraph; Chelubai and Bottiger were always for discussing the silence of the police, what they were probably doing, or not doing, in the matter, with an utterly morbid interest. The subject bored me, and I let them see it. My interest lay wholly in the question whether Honest John Driver would pay his subscription or not. I hoped, but I did not for the moment expect, that he would.
I found it a very pleasant fortnight, for the fact that I had some one to look after made an amazing difference to my life. Angel, too, I was sure, found it no less pleasant, for the fact that she had, for the first time, some one to look after her made as great a difference to her life. We were hard up, indeed, for a curious sentimental desire to support the child myself kept me firm in my usual course of never borrowing from Chelubai and Bottiger, save in Bridge emergencies.
At the end of the fortnight the quarterly instalment of my income and checks from solicitors and for reviewing were due, so that I should be in easy circumstances. During that fortnight Angel and I had many interesting and earnest discussions as to ways and means, whether we ought to pay ninepence or tenpence halfpenny a pound for bacon, and so forth. She even proposed that I should save six shillings a week by discharging Mrs. Plimsoll, and letting her do that good woman's work. But I would not hear of it. "No," I said with generous warmth, "it shall never be said that I let a sister of mine discharge the offices of a menial!"
We led, perforce, a very quiet life. I abandoned my patient and persistent attendance at the more exciting cases which were exercising the intelligence of his Majesty's Judges, the newspapers, and the British Public, and wrote hard and steadily all the morning, while Angel read with no less steadiness the lighter books in my library or the novels I gathered for review. I soon found that I could trust her judgment in the matter of novels, and she saved me the reading of many; I wrote my reviews from her accounts of them, and she was indeed delighted at contributing a share of the work. At half -past one we made a frugal lunch off cheese, bread and butter and marmalade, and between two and three I did another hour's work.
At three I opened my oak, and Chelubai or Bottiger, or both of them, never failed to come in to tea. With the coming of Angel both of them had developed an imperative craving for my daily companionship, and, naturally, politeness compelled them to do their best to entertain and amuse her. They were of real help in the matter of food; they brought cakes of a wonderful richness and boxes of chocolates for tea, and they vied strenuously with one another in the matter of dining us. It was unfortunate that I could not see my way to accepting the hospitality of one or the other every night. On the nights on which I did not accept it, we all four dined together at places little affected by ladies—the Cock, Stone's and the Cheshire Cheese—for even the wealthy Chelubai, used as he was to the best efforts of the Savoy, the Carlton and the Ritz, did not disdain the honest but unpretentious English food of those hostelries. Bottiger preferred it.
Talking and smoking, we lingered at our table till ten o'clock, and then I brought Angel home, to the pleasantest hour of the day. Sitting on either side of the fire, we talked; and whether she talked of her old life in Cumberland, or of the people in a novel she had read, or listened—and she was an excellent listener—to the wicked wisdom of the world from my experienced lips, that hour never bored me. I began even to resent spending the evening at the theatre when one of the Reviews for which I wrote had sent me tickets that I might write about the play. But her childlike joy in the frequently tedious performances was so great that I had not the heart to deny her the pleasure. And after all, when we came home and ate the well-chosen cakes of Chelubai and Bottiger, we had most of an hour's talk, in which I generally had to expose the pernicious or idiotic view of life presented by the dramatist.
As far as I could find out, Angel had but one conspicuous weakness, a pitiable fondness for the game of golf—lawn-tennis is my game. I made shift to bear with it, in the interests of her health, and on two or three afternoons I sent her down to Wimbledon with Bottiger, whose morbid craving for the game was far greater than her own. He assured me that she played very well indeed. "In another year," he said, with a hushed solemnity, "she will make any woman in England go."
It was curious that at the end of ten days both Angel and I had fallen into a habit of talking about the future as if she had taken the place of my sister and sharer of my rooms for good and all. I did not expect the good fortune to last, though Angel's lack of friends seemed to prevent the possibility of interference, but I was bent on making the most of it, and, as I have said, the charming presence of a delightful creature made life a far more important matter.
The police did not trouble us, or at any rate troubled us very little. Chelubai did not suffer from the acute form of remorse, the fear of detection; Angel and the need of working hard to keep the home over our heads gave me very little time for unpleasant thoughts. Bottiger, who was quite safe from the police, was far more uneasy than either of us. His imagination was forever conjuring up disastrous possibilities, and we had to be very severe indeed with him to prevent him from plaguing us with his visions.
We were, in truth, far more concerned with the question how to gather in the subscription from Honest John Driver, and held many councils in which we worked out a scheme for inducing him to act up to his nickname. We had made up our minds to strike directly he refused to pay; and when we learned that he, too, was a Whole-Hog Wapshot our hopes of quick payment sank low. A good hocussing drug played an important part in our plan, and Bottiger procured the formula of one from the able but drunken doctor of his acquaintance, and we had the prescription made up. It had but one defect—it was somewhat bitter. We tested it carefully, therefore, with different liquors, and found that its bitterness attracted less the attention of the drinker when it was mixed with black coffee. But lest the coffee should impair its force, we tried it on Bottiger. It sent him into a quite satisfactory, stertorous slumber.
When our preparations had been made, the weather turned very wet, and on a happy thought of mine we set about teaching Angel 'Bridge.' She proved an admirable pupil, of great quickness and intelligence, and after our practical teaching, watching us play, and reading a treatise on the game while I worked in the morning, she made a fair partner for me against Chelubai and Bottiger. On the fourth afternoon we won enough off them, to her great delight, to pay for our dinners.
At last the day of payment came, and in the morning Chelubai called on Honest John Driver. The worthy King of Finance made no difficulty about seeing him, and welcomed him with a bluff but gracious bonhomie. But when Chelubai asked for the two thousand pounds, he made very clear his firm resolve not to pay it.
"No, Mr. Kearsage," he said, with a generous warmth of conviction almost enthusiastic. "It is a matter of principle with me. I make it my practice never to pay money except under a written contract. Show me the contract and I pay you the money. No man in the city of London can say that I don't."
Chelubai was quite sure that many men in the city of London could say that he didn't, but he kept his assurance to himself, since there was nothing to be gained by ruffling the pride of the King of Finance.
"Mr. Driver, sir," he said in his strongest American accent, "as a man of business myself, I respect your devotion to principle. But if you will dine with me to-night at the Hotel Cecil, I think I shall be able to show you good reasons why you should pay me the money, and prove to you that as we have been useful to you in the past we can be useful to you again. I am dining with two young friends, a man and a lady. They will go early, and after they have gone we can have a good business talk."
Honest John Driver hesitated, reflected doubtless that he could without an effort talk the hind leg off a horse, that he enjoyed above everything talking the hind legs off horses, that the dinner committed him to nothing and would cost him nothing. "Well, Mr. Kearsage," he said, with a pompous gravity, "I never refuse to listen to a business proposition. I will dine with you, and hear what you have to say."
Chelubai came straight from the city to my rooms, where the Company was gathered together, and gave us a full account of his interview with Honest John Driver. He ended by saying: "And so the fly is going to walk into the parlor," and it seemed to us a happy description of what the King of Finance was doing. All our preparations were made, the hocussing dose even had been measured out—a generous dose in a very small phial. There was nothing to do but play Bridge until the hour of action came; and we played, lunched, played, had tea, and played. At half-past six Chelubai and Bottiger went away to dress, and at a quarter to eight they called for us in Chelubai's motor-car—a comfortable 16 h.-p. Napier. We left the car in the quadrangle near to the door of the restaurant, our motor-coats and caps and Angel's wraps in the car, and Angel and I waited in the ante-chamber of the restaurant while the others chose the tables; for Bottiger was not dining with us, but at the next table.
Angel was flushed with delighted excitement, for to her had been assigned the most difficult part of the business, and the flush and the brightness of her excited eyes invested her face with a startling brilliance. I bade her try and be cool, and she said that when the time came she would be cool, with a confidence which freed me from all fear of her bungling.
Chelubai soon came back, and he had scarcely rejoined us when Honest John Driver entered. Chelubai shook hands with him, and said:
"Let me introduce you, Mr. Driver, Miss Armitage—Mr. Armitage, Mr. Driver."
We had seen no reason to entrust him with our real names.
The King of Finance shook us warmly by the hand in turn, and in turn said, "Very pleased to meet you."
Chelubai led us into the restaurant to a table near the door. Bottiger sat at the next table. Chelubai took the head of the table, with Honest John Driver on his right hand, where Angel should have sat but for the necessity that she should be on the drinking hand of the King of Finance, next his wine glasses. I faced her and Driver.
I observed that the thoughtfulness with which Chelubai and I suggested, discussed, accepted or rejected the dishes of every course made a very good impression on the King of Finance, and inspired him with a useful respect for us, so that the opinions on the weather, which he at once put forth, were really respectful in tone. For a while I kept an eye on Angel, and saw that at first she was too excited to enjoy her dinner. But by the time we had finished our fish she had plainly settled down. Honest John Driver seemed for a while somewhat out of his element, and therefore subdued; then, finding that his essays in talk were well received, he cheered up, and led the conversation with all the sprightliness of a commercial traveller. He was infinitely waggish; he made jokes which would not have come amiss from a fourth-form boy, and laughed at them with the heartiest laughter. Between jokes he lavished on Angel unmistakable, if disconcerting, compliments, resolved, as I perceived, to prove himself not only the wag, but "quite the lady's man." And all the while the brazen honesty blazed ostentatiously from his flat, round face. I have never seen such honesty, or so much of it; it seemed at times positively indecent to make such a parade of a moral quality, harmless though it was. I felt that he ought to have worn a beard, and hidden some of it.
So we came, or rather Honest John Driver brought us, through dinner. I was saved from boredom by the thought that his waggishness was all in the day's work and far more bearable than the half-crown Franco-Italian dinner of Albert Amsted Pudleigh. Chelubai, inured to business men by his early training, never flinched. Angel, poor child, looked often bewildered and oftener disgusted; then with an effort she would recover herself and appear amiable and serene.
When we had finished dinner, and chosen each our liqueur, Chelubai turned to Driver and said: "I've ordered Java coffee, but perhaps it is too bitter for you, and you would prefer the ordinary?"
"No, no," said Driver. "I follow your lead. I know when I'm being done well by an expert."
Chelubai ordered coffee, and began a story of a San Franciscan operation in real estate to which the King of Finance listened with all his ears. Angel put both elbows on the table. In the middle of the story the coffee, liqueurs and cigars came. Driver set down his cup on his right hand in a most convenient position, took his liqueur and chose a cigar with scarcely a glance at it, so absorbed was he in the story. Chelubai came to the end of it.
"Rascally thieves!" cried Honest John Driver, with honest indignation.
Chelubai upset his glass of brandy. Driver's mouth opened, he grabbed at his napkin and dabbed at the spilt spirit. Angel's right wrist came deftly down into the hollow of her left arm, her hand hung for three seconds above Driver's cup and rose again.
"Bang went half-a-crown!" cried Honest John Driver, and laughed heartily. Chelubai and I laughed with him, and I heard Angel gasp.
"Bang it went!" cried Chelubai, helping himself to another glass of brandy, and plunging into another business yarn.
Driver drank his coffee like a man. He made something of a wry face over it indeed, but he would by no means appear not to know a good thing when he got it. We were all keen attention watching for the first symptoms, which, thanks to Bottiger, we knew well, of the working of the drug. Chelubai began to reel off yet another business yarn, a long one, and he was but half-way through it when we saw that Driver could not keep his mind on it. He passed his hand over his eyes, then pulled himself together, and interrupted Chelubai by saying thickly: "A toast and a sentiment. Miss Armitage, and may the festive board never be ungraced by the presence of beauty."
He bowed and leered at Angel. Chelubai said sharply, "The bill!" and the waiter, who had it ready, presented it. Chelubai put six sovereigns on the plate, rose and said, "Let's go and smoke in front of the hotel. The night's quite warm enough."
We all rose, Chelubai put his arm through Driver's, Angel led the way, Bottiger and I followed close behind our prize. As we came out of the restaurant Driver was already staggering, and I took his other arm and said cheerfully: "Hold up, old man!"
Angel and Bottiger jumped into the front seat of the motor-car, Driver made some fatuous and hardly coherent objection to going for a drive at that time of night; but we dragged him into the tonneau and plumped him down between us. Bottiger started the car, and we went gently out of the quadrangle.
A few yards down the Strand Driver seemed to pull himself together once more, sat bolt upright and said, "Thish ish shplendid."
I took hold of his right arm, Chelubai of his left, and we held him still.
"Bustle her along, and keep the horn going!" I said sharply, for I thought it possible we might have a struggle.
In Wellington Street, Driver, who had been gurgling, chuckling and nodding, suddenly began to sing a Wapshot hymn. It ran:
"The souls in torment wish that they
Had Whole-Hog Wapshots been;
Then would they not have wailing gazed
Upon that dreadful scene."
He sang two verses with spirit and half a third, but that was incoherent. Then he fell back limp and snoring.
We ran up Southampton Bow into Seymour Street, and so to Camden Town, then through St. John's Wood into Maida Vale, and turned up to Kilburn. In Maida Vale we stopped, put on our motor-coats, and I saw to it that Angel was warmly wrapped up. Then I said to Chelubai: "I'm horribly cramped. Let's shove the subscriber under our feet."
We did, and he snored away peacefully.
Seeing that the night was dark, and we had our valuable lump of Finance and a lady on board, Bottiger was content to go at a moderate speed, so that it was a quarter to eleven when we reached his cottage in Hertfordshire, which we use for week-ends in summer and partridge-shooting in their season.
First of all, we carried Honest John Driver to the sofa of the dining-room and bound him hand and foot. We unloaded the car of the food and luggage we had brought, lighted fires and brought four demijohns which contained, or had contained, spirits out of the larder, and ranged them in a row before the sofa. Chelubai poured some kerosene out of an oil-can on to a rag, and anointed generously the chin and nostrils of our sleeping captive. Then we set out brandy, soda and cards, and sat down to play Bridge.