'I didn't think such cleverness possible. Have you ever discovered anything like that?'
'I have.'
'What is done when such a thing is discovered?'
'That depends upon circumstances. Usually a policeman is called in.'
'Why, it's like being a detective. I wish you would tell me about some of the cases you have had. Don't make me ask so many questions. Talk.'
'I don't think my experiences would interest you in the least. There was one case with which I had something to do in London, two years ago, that——'
'Oh, London! I don't believe the book-keepers there are half so sharp as ours. If you had to deal with American accountants, you would not find out so easily what they had or had not done.'
'Well, Miss Brewster, I may say I have just had an experience of that kind with some of your very sharpest American book-keepers. I found that the books had been kept in the most ingenious way with the intent to deceive. The system had been going on for years.'
'How interesting! And did you call in a policeman?'
'No. This was one of the cases where a policeman was not necessary. The books were kept with the object of showing that the profits of the m—of the business—had been much greater than they really were. I may say that one of your American accountants had already looked over the books, and, whether through ignorance or carelessness, or from a worse motive, he reported them all right. They were not all right, and the fact that they were not, will mean the loss of a fortune to some people on your side of the water, and the saving of good money to others on my side.'
'Then I think your profession must be a very important one.'
'We think so, Miss Brewster. I would like to be paid a percentage on the money saved because of my report.'
'And won't you?'
'Unfortunately, no.'
'I think that is too bad. I suppose the discrepancy must have been small, or the American accountant would not have overlooked it?'
'I didn't say he overlooked it. Still, the size of a discrepancy does not make any difference. A small error is as easily found as a large one. This one was large. I suppose there is no harm in my saying that the books, taking them together, showed a profit of forty thousand pounds, when they should have shown a loss of nearly half that amount. I hope nobody overhears me.'
'No; we are quite alone, and you may be sure I will not breathe a word of what you have been telling me.'
'Don't breathe it to Kenyon, at least. He would think me insane if he knew what I have said.'
'Is Mr. Kenyon an accountant, too?'
'Oh no. He is a mineralogist. He can go into a mine, and tell with reasonable certainty whether it will pay the working or not. Of course, as he says himself, any man can see six feet into the earth as well as he can. But it is not every man that can gauge the value of a working mine so well as John Kenyon.'
'Then, while you were delving among the figures, your companion was delving among the minerals?'
'Precisely.'
'And did he make any such startling discovery as you did?'
'No; rather the other way. He finds the mines very good properties, and he thinks that if they were managed intelligently they would be good paying investments—that is, at a proper price, you know—not at what the owners ask for them at present. But you can have no possible interest in these dry details.'
'Indeed, you are mistaken. I think what you have told me intensely interesting.'
For once in her life Miss Jennie Brewster told the exact truth. The unfortunate man at her side was flattered.
'For what I have told you,' he said, 'we were offered twice what the London people pay us for coming out here. In fact, even more than that: we were asked to name our own price.'
'Really now! By the owners of the property, I suppose, if you wouldn't tell on them?'
'No. By one of your famous New York newspaper men. He even went so far as to steal the papers that Kenyon had in Ottawa. He was cleverly caught, though, before he could make any use of what he had stolen. In fact, unless his people in New York had the figures which were originally placed before the London Board, I doubt if my statistics would have been of much use to him even if he had been allowed to keep them. The full significance of my report will not show until the figures I have given are compared with those already in the hands of the London people, which were vouched for as correct by your clever American accountant.'
'You shouldn't run down an accountant just because he is American. Perhaps there will come a day, Mr. Wentworth, when you will admit that there are Americans who are more clever than either that accountant or that newspaper man. I don't think your specimens are typical.'
'I don't "run down," as you call it, the men because they are Americans. I "run down" the accountant because he was either ignorant or corrupt. I "run down" the newspaper man because he was a thief.'
Miss Brewster was silent for a few moments. She was impressing on her memory what he had said to her, and was anxious to get away, so that she could write out in her cabin exactly what had been told her. The sound of the lunch-gong gave her the excuse she needed, so, bidding her victim a pleasant and friendly farewell, she hurried from the deck to her state-room.
One morning, when Kenyon went to his state-room on hearing the breakfast-gong, he found the lazy occupant of the upper berth still in his bunk.
'Come, Wentworth,' he shouted, 'this won't do, you know. Get up! get up! breakfast, my boy! breakfast!—the most important meal in the day to a healthy man.'
Wentworth yawned and stretched his arms over his head.
'What's the row?' he asked.
'The row is, it's time to get up. The second gong has sounded.'
'Dear me! is it so late? I didn't hear it.' Wentworth sat up in his bunk, and looked ruefully over the precipice down the chasm to the floor. 'Have you been up long?' he asked.
'Long? I have been on deck an hour and a half,' answered Kenyon.
'Then, Miss What's-her-Name must have been there also.'
'Her name is Miss Longworth,' replied Kenyon, without looking at his comrade.
'That's her name, is it? and shewason deck?'
'She was.'
'I thought so,' said Wentworth; 'just look at the divine influence of woman! Miss Longworth rises early, therefore John Kenyon rises early. Miss Brewster rises late, therefore George Wentworth is not seen until breakfast-time. If the conditions were reversed, I suppose the getting-up time of the two men would be changed accordingly.'
'Not at all, George—not at all. I would rise early whether anybody else on board did or not. In fact, when I got on deck this morning, I expected to have it to myself.'
'I take it, though, that you were not grievously disappointed when you found you hadn't a monopoly?'
'Well, to tell the truth, I was not; Miss Longworth is a charmingly sensible girl.'
'Oh, they all are,' said Wentworth lightly. 'You had no sympathy for me the other day. Now you know how it is yourself, as they say across the water.'
'I don't know how it is myself. The fact is, we were talking business.'
'Really? Did you get so far?'
'Yes, we got so far, if that is any distance. I told her about the mica-mine.'
'Oh, you did! What did she say? Will she invest?'
'Well, when I told her we expected to form a company for fifty thousand pounds, she said it was such a small sum, she doubted if we could get anybody interested in it in London.'
Wentworth, who was now well advanced with his dressing, gave a long whistle.
'Fifty thousand pounds a small sum? Why, John, she must be very wealthy! Probably more so than the American millionairess.'
'Well, George, you see, the difference between the two young ladies is this: that while American heiresses are apt to boast of their immense wealth, English women say nothing about it.'
'If you mean Miss Brewster when you speak in that way, you are entirely mistaken. She has never alluded to her wealth at all, with the exception of saying that her father was a millionaire. So if the young woman you speak of has been talking of her wealth at all, she has done more than the American girl.'
'She said nothing to indicate she was wealthy. I merely conjectured it when I discovered she looked upon fifty thousand pounds as a triviality.'
'Well, the fault is easily remedied. We may raise the price of the mine to one hundred thousand pounds if we can get people to invest. Perhaps the young lady's father might care to go in for it at that figure.'
'Oh, by the way, Wentworth,' said Kenyon, 'I forgot to tell you, Miss Longworth's father is one of the London Syndicate.'
'By Jove! are you sure of that? How do you know? You weren't talking of our mission out there, were you?'
'Certainly not,' replied Kenyon, flushing. 'You don't think I would speak of that to a stranger, do you? nor of anything concerned with our reports.'
Wentworth proceeded with his dressing, a guilty feeling rising in his heart.
'I want to ask you a question about that.'
'About what?' said Wentworth shortly.
'About those mines. Miss Longworth's father being a member of the London Syndicate, suppose he asks what our views in relation to the matter are: would we be justified in telling him anything?'
'He won't ask me as I don't know him; he may ask you, and if he does, then you will have to decide the question for yourself.'
'Would you say anything about it if you were in my place?'
'Oh, I don't know. If we were certain it was all right—if you are sure heisa member of the syndicate, and he happens to ask you about it, I scarcely see how you can avoid telling him.'
'It would be embarrassing; so I hope he won't ask me. We should not speak of it until we give in our reports. He knows, however, that you are the accountant who has that part of the business in charge.'
'Oh, then you have been talking with him?'
'Just a moment or two, after his daughter introduced me.'
'What did you say his name was?'
'John Longworth, I believe. I am sure about the Longworth, but not about the John.'
'Oh, old John Longworth in the City! Certainly; I know all about him. I never saw him before, but I think we are quite safe in telling him anything he wants to know, if he asks.'
'Breakfast, gentlemen,' said the steward, putting his head in at the door.
After breakfast Edith Longworth and her cousin walked the deck together. Young Longworth, although in better humour than he had been the night before, was still rather short in his replies, and irritating in his questions.
'Aren't you tired of this eternal parade up and down?' he asked his cousin. 'It seems to me like a treadmill—as if a person had to work for his board and lodging.'
'Let us sit down then,' she replied; 'although I think a walk before lunch or dinner increases the attractiveness of those meals wonderfully.'
'I never feel the need of working up an appetite,' he answered pettishly.
'Well, as I said before, let us sit down;' and the girl, having found her chair, lifted the rug that lay upon it, and took her place.
The young man, after standing for a moment looking at her through his glistening monocle, finally sat down beside her.
'The beastly nuisance of living on board ship,' he said, 'is that you can't play billiards.'
'I am sure you play enough at cards to satisfy you during the few days we are at sea,' she answered.
'Oh, cards! I soon tire of them.'
'You tire very quickly of everything.'
'I certainly get tired of lounging about the deck, either walking or sitting.'
'Then, pray don't let me keep you.'
'You want me to go so you may walk with your newly-found friend, that miner fellow?'
'That miner fellow is talking with my father just now. Still, if you would like to know, I have no hesitation in telling you I would much prefer his company to yours if you continue in your present mood.'
'Yes, or in any mood.'
'I did not say that; but if it will comfort you to have me say it, I shall be glad to oblige you.'
'Perhaps, then, I should go and talk with your father, and let the miner fellow come here and talk with you.'
'Please do not call him the miner fellow. His name is Mr. Kenyon. It is not difficult to remember.'
'I know his name well enough. Shall I send him to you?'
'No. I want to talk with you in spite of your disagreeableness. And what is more, I want to talk with you about Mr. Kenyon. So I wish you to assume your very best behaviour. It may be for your benefit.'
The young man indulged in a sarcastic laugh.
'Oh, if you are going to do that, I have nothing more to say,' remarked Edith quietly, rising from her chair.
'I meant no harm. Sit down and go on with your talk.'
'Listen, then. Mr. Kenyon has the option of a mine in Canada, which he believes to be a good property. He intends to form a company when he reaches London. Now, why shouldn't you make friends with him, and, if you found the property is as good as he thinks it is, help him to form the company, and so make some money for both of you?'
'You are saying one word for me and two for Kenyon.'
'No, it would be as much for your benefit as for his, so it is a word for each of you.'
'You are very much interested in him.'
'My dear cousin, I am very much interested in the mine, and I am very much interested in you. Mr. Kenyon can speak of nothing but the mine, and I am sure my father would be pleased to see you take an interest in something of the sort. I mean, you know that if you would do something of your own accord—something that was not suggested to you by him—he would like it.'
'Well, it is suggested to me by you, and that's almost the same thing.'
'No, it is not the same thing at all. Father would indeed be glad if he saw you take up anything on your own account and make a success of it. Why can you not spend some of your time talking with Mr. Kenyon discussing arrangements, so that when you return to London you might be prepared to put the mine on the market and bring out the company?'
'If I thought you were talking to me for my own sake, I would do what you suggest; but I believe you are speaking only because you are interested in Kenyon.'
'Nonsense! How can you be so absurd? I have known Mr. Kenyon but for a few hours—a day or two at most.'
The young man pulled his moustache for a moment, adjusted his eyeglass, and then said:
'Very good. I will speak to Kenyon on the subject if you wish it, but I don't say that I can help him.'
'I don't ask you to help him. I ask you to help yourself. Here is Mr. Kenyon. Let me introduce you, and then you can talk over the project at your leisure.'
'I don't suppose an introduction is necessary,' growled the young man; but as Kenyon approached them, Edith Longworth said:
'We are a board of directors, Mr. Kenyon, on the great mica-mine. Will you join the Board now, or after allotment?' Then, before he could reply, she said: 'Mr. Kenyon, this is my cousin, Mr. William Longworth.'
Longworth, without rising from his chair, shook hands in rather a surly fashion.
'I am going to speak to my father,' said the girl, 'and will leave you to talk over the mica-mine.'
When she had gone, young Longworth asked Kenyon:
'Where is the mine my cousin speaks of?'
'It is near the Ottawa River, in Canada,' was the answer.
'And what do you expect to sell it for?'
'Fifty thousand pounds.'
'Fifty thousand pounds! That will leave nothing to divide up among—by the way, how many are there in this thing—yourself alone?'
'No; my friend Wentworth shares with me.'
'Share and share alike?'
'Yes.'
'Of course, you think this mine is worth the money you ask for it—there is no swindle about it, is there?'
Kenyon drew himself up sharply as this remark was made. Then he answered coldly:
'If there was any swindle about it, I should have nothing to do with it.'
'Well, you see, I didn't know; mining swindles are not such rarities as you may imagine. If the mine is so valuable, why are the proprietors anxious to sell?'
'The owners are in Austria, and the mine in Canada, and so it is rather at arm's-length, as it were. They are mining for mica, but the mine is more valuable in other respects than it is as a mica property. They have placed a figure on the mine which is more than it has cost them so far.'
'You know its value in those other respects?'
'I do.'
'Does anyone know this except yourself?'
'I think not—no one but my friend Wentworth.'
'How did you come to learn its value?'
'By visiting the mine. Wentworth and I went together to see it.'
'Oh, is Wentworth also a mining expert?'
'No; he is an accountant in London.'
'Both of you were sent out by the London Syndicate, I understand, to look after their mines, or the mines they thought of purchasing, were you not?'
'We were.'
'And you spent your time in looking up other properties for yourselves, did you?'
Kenyon reddened at this question.
'My dear sir,' he said, 'if you are going to talk in this strain, you will have to excuse me. We were sent by the London Syndicate to do a certain thing. We did it, and did it thoroughly. After it was done the time was our own, as much as it is at the present moment. We were not hired by the day, but took a stated sum for doing a certain piece of work. I may go further and say that the time was our own at any period of our visit, so long as we fulfilled what the London Syndicate required of us.'
'Oh, I meant no offence,' said Longworth. 'You merely seemed to be posing as a sort of goody-goody young man when I spoke of mining swindles, so I only wished to startle you. How much have you to pay for the mine—that is the mica-mine?'
Kenyon hesitated for a moment.
'I do not feel at liberty to mention the sum until I have consulted with my friend Wentworth.'
'Well, you see, if I am to help you in this matter, I shall need to know every particular.'
'Certainly. I shall have to consult Wentworth as to whether we require any help or not.'
'Oh, you will speedily find that you require all the help you can get in London. You will probably learn that a hundred such mines are for sale now, and the chances are you will find that this very mica-mine has been offered. What do you believe the mine is really worth?'
'I think it is worth anywhere from one hundred thousand pounds to two hundred thousand pounds, perhaps more.'
'Is it actually worth one hundred thousand pounds?'
'According to my estimate, it is.'
'Is it worth one hundred and fifty thousand pounds?'
'It is.'
'Is it worth two hundred thousand pounds?'
'I think so.'
'What percentage would it pay on two hundred thousand pounds?'
'It might pay ten per cent., perhaps more.'
'Why, in the name of all that is wonderful, don't you put the price at two hundred thousand pounds? If it will pay ten per cent and more on that amount of money, then that sum is what you ought to sell it for. Now we will investigate this matter, if you like, and if you wish to take me in with you, and put the price up to two hundred thousand pounds, I will see what can be done about it when we get to London. Of course, it will mean somebody going out to Canada again to report on the mine. Your report would naturally not be taken in such a case; you are too vitally interested.'
'Of course,' replied Kenyon, 'I shouldn't expect my report to have any weight.'
'Well, somebody would have to be sent out to report on the mine. Are you certain that it will stand thorough investigation?'
'I am convinced of it.'
'Would you be willing to make this proposition to the investors, that, if the expert did not support your statement, you would pay his expenses out there and back?'
'I would be willing to do that,' said Kenyon, 'if I had the money; but I haven't the money.'
'Then, how do you expect to float the mine on the London market? It cannot be done without money.'
'I thought I might be able to interest some capitalist.'
'I am much afraid, Mr. Kenyon, that you have vague ideas of how companies are formed. Perhaps your friend Wentworth, being an accountant, may know more about it.'
'Yes, I confess I am relying mainly on his assistance.'
'Well, will you agree to put the price of the mine at two hundred thousand pounds, and share what we make equally between the three of us?'
'It is a large price.'
'It is not a large price if the mine will pay good dividends upon it; if it will pay eight per cent. on that amount, it is the real price of the mine, while you say that you are certain it will pay ten per cent.'
'I say I think it will pay that percentage. One never can speak with entire certainty where a mine is concerned.'
'Are you willing to put the price of the mine at that figure? Otherwise, I will have nothing to do with it.'
'As I said, I shall have to consult my friend about it, but that can be done in a very short time, and I will answer you in the afternoon.'
'Good; there is no particular hurry. Have a talk over it with him, and while I do not promise anything, I think the scheme looks feasible, if the property is good. Remember, I know nothing at all about that, but if you agree to take me in, I shall have to know full particulars of what you are going to pay for the property, and what its peculiar value is.'
'Certainly. If we agree to take a partner, we will give that partner our full confidence.'
'Well, there is nothing more to say until you have had a consultation with your friend. Good-morning, Mr. Kenyon;' and with that Longworth arose and lounged off to the smoking-room.
Kenyon waited where he was for some time, hoping Wentworth would come along, but the young man did not appear. At last he went in search of him. He passed along the deck, but found no trace of his friend, and looked for a moment into the smoking-room, but Wentworth was not there. He went downstairs to the saloon, but his search below was equally fruitless. Coming up on deck again, he saw Miss Brewster sitting alone reading a paper-covered novel.
'Have you seen my friend Wentworth?' he asked.
She laid the book open-faced upon her lap, and looked quickly up at Kenyon before answering.
'I saw him not so very long ago, but I don't know where he is now. Perhaps you will find him in his state-room; in fact, I think it more than likely that he is there.'
With that, Miss Brewster resumed her book.
Kenyon descended to the state-room, opened the door, and saw his comrade sitting upon the plush-covered sofa, with his head in his hands. At the opening of the door, Wentworth started and looked for a moment at his friend, apparently not seeing him. His face was so gray and ghastly that Kenyon leaned against the door for support as he saw it.
'My God, George!' he cried, 'what is the matter with you? What has happened? Tell me!'
Wentworth gazed in front of him with glassy eyes for a moment, but did not answer. Then his head dropped again in his hands, and he groaned aloud.
There was one man on board theCaloricto whom Wentworth had taken an extreme dislike. His name was Fleming, and he claimed to be a New York politician. As none of his friends or enemies asserted anything worse about him, it may be assumed that Fleming had designated his occupation correctly. If Wentworth were asked what he most disliked about the man, he would probably have said his offensive familiarity. Fleming seemed to think himself a genial good fellow, and he was immensely popular with a certain class in the smoking-room. He was lavishly free with his invitations to drink, and always had a case of good cigars in his pocket, which he bestowed with great liberality. He had the habit of slapping a man boisterously on the back, and saying, 'Well, old fellow, how are you? How's things?' He usually confided to his listeners that he was a self-made man: had landed at New York without a cent in his pocket, and look at him now!
Wentworth was icy towards this man; but frigidity had no effect whatever on the exuberant spirits of the New York politician.
'Well, old man!' cried Fleming to Wentworth, as he came up to the latter and linked arms affectionately. 'What lovely weather we are having for winter time!'
'Itisgood,' said Wentworth.
'Good? It's glorious! Who would have thought, when leaving New York in a snowstorm as we did, that we would run right into the heart of spring? I hope you are enjoying your voyage?'
'I am.'
'You ought to. By the way, why are you so awful stand-offish? Is it natural, or merely put on "for this occasion only"?'
'I do not know what you mean by "stand-offish."'
'You know very well what I mean. Why do you pretend to be so stiff and formal with a fellow?'
'I am never stiff and formal with anyone unless I do not desire his acquaintance.'
Fleming laughed loudly.
'I suppose that's a personal hint. Well, it seems to me, if this exclusiveness is genuine, that you would be more afraid of newspaper notoriety than of anything else.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Because I can't, for the life of me, see why you spend so much time with Dolly Dimple. I am sure I don't know why she is here; but I do know this: that you will be served up to the extent of two or three columns in theSunday Argusas sure as you live.'
'I don't understand you.'
'You don't? Why, it's plain enough. You spend all your time with her.'
'I do not even know of whom you are speaking.'
'Oh, come now, that's too rich! Is it possible you don't know that Miss Jennie Brewster is the one who writes those Sunday articles over the signature of "Dolly Dimple"?'
A strange fear fell upon Wentworth as his companion mentioned theArgus. He remembered it as J.K. Rivers' paper; but when Fleming said Miss Brewster was a correspondent of theArgus, he was aghast.
'I—I—I don't think I quite catch your meaning,' he stammered.
'Well, my meaning's easy enough to see. Hasn't she ever told you? Then it shows she wants to do you up on toast. You're not an English politician, are you? You haven't any political secrets that Dolly wants to get at, have you? Why, she is the greatest girl there is in the whole United States for finding out just what a man doesn't want to have known. You know the Secretary of State'—and here Fleming went on to relate a wonderfully brilliant feat of Dolly's; but the person to whom he was talking had neither eyes nor ears. He heard nothing and he saw nothing.
'Dear me!' said Fleming, drawing himself up and slapping the other on the back, 'you look perfectly dumfounded. I suppose I oughtn't to have given Dolly away like this; but she has pretended all along that she didn't know me, and so I've got even with her. You take my advice, and anything you don't want to see in print, don't tell Miss Brewster, that's all. Have a cigar?'
'No, thank you,' replied the other mechanically.
'Better come in and have a drink.'
'No, thank you.'
'Well, so long. I'll see you later.'
'It can't be true—it can't be true!' Wentworth repeated to himself in deep consternation, but still an inward misgiving warned him that, after all, it might be true. With his hands clasped behind him he walked up and down, trying to collect himself—trying to remember what he had told and what he had not. As he walked along, heeding nobody, a sweet voice from one of the chairs thrilled him, and he paused.
'Why, Mr. Wentworth, what is the matter with you this morning? You look as if you had seen a ghost.'
Wentworth glanced at the young woman seated in the chair, who was gazing up brightly at him.
'Well,' he said at last, 'I am not sure but Ihaveseen a ghost. May I sit down beside you?'
'May you? Why, of course you may. I shall be delighted to have you. Is there anything wrong?'
'I don't know. Yes, I think there is.'
'Well, tell it to me; perhaps I can help you. A woman's wit, you know. What is the trouble?'
'May I ask you a few questions, Miss Brewster?'
'Certainly. A thousand of them, if you like, and I will answer them all if I can.'
'Thank you. Will you tell me, Miss Brewster, if you are connected with any newspaper?'
Miss Brewster laughed her merry, silvery little laugh.
'Who told you? Ah! I see how it is. It was that creature Fleming. I'll get even with him for this some day. I know what office he is after, and the next time he wants a good notice from theArgushe'll get it; see if he don't. I know some things about him that he would just as soon not see in print. Why, what a fool the man is! I suppose he told you out of revenge because I wouldn't speak to him the other evening. Never mind; I can afford to wait.'
'Then—then, Miss Brewster, itistrue?'
'Certainly it is true; is there anything wrong about it? I hope you don't think it is disreputable to belong to a good newspaper?'
'To a good newspaper, no; to a bad newspaper, yes.'
'Oh, I don't think theArgusis a bad newspaper. It pays me well.'
'Then it is to theArgusthat you belong?'
'Certainly.'
'May I ask, Miss Brewster, if there is anything I have spoken about to you that you intend to use in your paper?'
Again Miss Brewster laughed.
'I will be perfectly frank with you. I never tell a lie—it doesn't pay. Yes. The reason I am here is becauseyouare here. I am here to find out what your report on those mines will be, also what the report of your friend will be. I have found out.'
'And do you intend to use the information you have thus obtained—if I may say it—under false pretences?'
'My dear sir, you are forgetting yourself. You must remember that you are talking to a lady.'
'A lady!' cried Wentworth in his anguish.
'Yes, sir, a lady; and you must be careful how you talk tothislady. There was no false pretence about it, if you remember. What you told me was in conversation; I didn't ask you for it. I didn't even make the first advances towards your acquaintance.'
'But you must admit, Miss Brewster, that it is very unfair to get a man to engage in what he thinks is a private conversation, and then to publish what he has said.'
'My dear sir, if that were the case, how would we get anything for publication that people didn't want to be known? Why, I remember once, when the Secretary of State——'
'Yes,' interrupted Wentworth wearily; 'Fleming told me that story.'
'Oh, did he? Well, I'm sure I'm much obliged to him. Then I need not repeat it.'
'Do you mean to say that you intend to send to theArgusfor publication what I have told you in confidence?'
'Certainly. As I said before, that is what I am here for. Besides, there was no "in confidence" about it.'
'And yet you pretend to be a truthful, honest, honourable woman?'
'I don'tpretendit; I am.'
'How much truth, then, is there in your story that you are a millionaire's daughter about to visit your father in Paris, and accompany him from there to the Riviera?'
Miss Brewster laughed brightly.
'Oh, I don't call fibs, which a person has to tell in the way of business, untruths.'
'Then probably you do not think your estimable colleague, Mr. J.K. Rivers, behaved dishonourably in Ottawa?'
'Well, hardly. I think Rivers was not justified in what he did because he was unsuccessful, that is all. I'll bet a dollar if I had got hold of these papers they would have gone through to New York; but, then, J.K. Rivers is only a stupid man, and most menarestupid'—with a sly glance at Wentworth.
'I am willing to admit that, Miss Brewster, if you mean me. There never was a more stupid man than I have been.'
'My dear Mr. Wentworth, it will do you ever so much good if you come to a realization of that fact. The truth is, you take yourself much too seriously. Now, it won't hurt you a bit to have what I am going to send published in theArgus, and it will help me a great deal. Just you wait here for a few moments.'
With that she flung her book upon his lap, sprang up, and vanished down the companion-way. In a very short time she reappeared with some sheets of paper in her hand.
'Now you see how fair and honest I am going to be. I am going to read you what I have written. If there is anything in it that is not true, I will very gladly cut it out; and if there is anything more to be added, I shall be very glad to add it. Isn't that fair?'
Wentworth was so confounded with the woman's impudence that he could make no reply.
She began to read: '"By an unexampled stroke of enterprise theNew York Argusis enabled this morning to lay before its readers a full and exclusive account of the report made by the two English specialists, Mr. George Wentworth and Mr. John Kenyon, who were sent over by the London Syndicate to examine into the accounts, and inquire into the true value of the mines of the Ottawa River."'
She looked up from the paper, and said, with an air of friendly confidence:
'I shouldn't send that if I thought the people at the New York end would know enough to write it themselves; but as the paper is edited by dull men, and not by a sharp woman, I have to make them pay twenty-five cents a word for puffing their own enterprise. Well, to go on: "When it is remembered that the action of the London Syndicate will depend entirely on the report of these two gentlemen—"'
'I wouldn't put it that way,' interrupted Wentworth in his despair. 'I would use the word "largely" for "entirely."'
'Oh,thankyou,' said Miss Brewster cordially. She placed the manuscript on her knee, and, with her pencil, marked out the word 'entirely,' substituting 'largely.' The reading went on: '"When it is remembered that the action of the London Syndicate will dependlargelyon the report of these two gentlemen, the enterprise of theArgusin getting this exclusive information, which will be immediately cabled to London, may be imagined." That is the preliminary, you see; and, as I said, it wouldn't be necessary to cable it if women were at the head of affairs over there, which they are not. "Mr. John Kenyon, the mining expert, has visited all the mineral ranges along the Ottawa River, and his report is that the mines are very much what is claimed for them; but he thinks they are not worked properly, although, with judicious management and more careful mining, the properties can be made to pay good dividends. Mr. George Wentworth, who is one of the leading accountants of London—"'
'I wouldn't say that, either,' groaned George. 'Just strike out the words "one of the leading accountants of London."'
'Yes?' said Miss Brewster; 'and what shall I put in the place of them?'
'Put in place of them "the stupidest ass in London"!'
Miss Brewster laughed at that.
'No; I shall put in what I first wrote: "Mr. George Wentworth, one of the leading accountants of London, has gone through the books of the different mines. He has made some startling discoveries. The accounts have been kept in such a way as to completely delude investors, and this fact will have a powerful effect on the minds of the London Syndicate. The books of the different mines show a profit of about two hundred thousand dollars, whereas the actual facts of the case are that there has been an annual loss of something like one hundred thousand dollars—"'
'What's that? what's that?' cried Wentworth sharply.
'Dollars, you know. You said twenty thousand pounds. We put it in dollars, don't you see?'
'Oh,' said Wentworth, relapsing again.
'"One hundred thousand dollars"—where was I? Oh yes. "It is claimed that an American expert went over these books before Mr. Wentworth, and that he asserted they were all right. An explanation from this gentleman will now be in order."'
'There!' cried the young lady, 'that is the substance of the thing. Of course, I may amplify a little more before we get to Queenstown, so as to make them pay more money. People don't value a thing that doesn't cost them dearly. How do you like it? Is it correct?'
'Perfectly correct,' answered the miserable young man.
'Oh, I am so glad you like it! I do love to have things right.'
'I didn't say Ilikedit.'
'No, of course, you couldn't be expected to say that; but I am glad you think it is accurate. I will add a note to the effect that you think it is a goodrésuméof your report.'
'For Heaven's sake, don't drag me into the matter!' cried Wentworth.
'Well, I won't, if you don't want me to.'
There was silence for a few moments, during which the young woman seemed to be adding commas and full-stops to the MS. on her knee. Wentworth cleared his throat two or three times, but his lips were so dry that he could hardly speak. At last he said:
'Miss Brewster, how can I induce you not to send that from Queenstown to your paper?'
The young woman looked up at him with a pleasant bright smile.
'Induce me? Why, you couldn't do it—it couldn't be done. This will be one of the greatest triumphs I have ever achieved. Think of Rivers failing in it, and me accomplishing it!'
'Yes; I have thought of that,' replied the young man despondently. 'Now, perhaps you don't know that the full report was mailed from Ottawa to our house in London, and the moment we get to Queenstown I will telegraph my partners to put the report in the hands of the directors?'
'Oh, I know all about that,' replied Miss Brewster; 'Rivers told me. He read the letter that was enclosed with the documents he took from your friend. Now, have you made any calculations about this voyage?'
'Calculations? I don't know what you mean.'
'Well, I mean just this: We shall probably reach Queenstown on Saturday afternoon. This report, making allowance for the difference in the time, will appear in theArguson Sunday morning. Your telegram will reach your house or your firm on Saturday night, when nothing can be done with it. Sunday nothing can be done. Monday morning, before your report will reach the directors, the substance of what has appeared in theArguswill be in the financial papers, cabled over to London on Sunday night. The first thing your directors will see of it will be in the London financial papers on Monday morning. That's what I mean, Mr. Wentworth, by calculating the voyage.'
Wentworth said no more. He staggered to his feet and made his way as best he could to the state-room, groping like a blind man. There he sat down with his head in his hands, and there his friend Kenyon found him.
'Tell me what has happened,' demanded John Kenyon.
Wentworth looked up at him.
'Everything has happened,' he answered.
'What do you mean, George? Are you ill? What is the matter with you?'
'I am worse than ill, John—a great deal worse than ill. I wish I were ill.'
'That wouldn't help things, whatever is wrong. Come, wake up. Tell me what the trouble is.'
'John, I am a fool—an ass—a gibbering idiot.'
'Admitting that, what then?'
'I trusted a woman—imbecile that I am; and now—now—I'm what you see me.'
'Has—has Miss Brewster anything to do with it?' asked Kenyon suspiciously.
'She has everything to do with it.'
'Has she—rejected you, George?'
'What!thatgirl? Oh, you're the idiot now. Do you think I would askher?'
'I cannot be blamed for jumping at conclusions. You must remember "that girl," as you call her, has had most of your company during this voyage; and most of your good words when you were not with her. Whatisthe matter? What has she to do with your trouble?'
Wentworth paced up and down the narrow limits of the state-room as if he were caged. He smote his hand against his thigh, while Kenyon looked at him in wonder.
'I don't know how I can tell you, John,' he said. 'I must, of course; but I don't know how I can.'
'Come on deck with me.'
'Never.'
'Come out, I say, into the fresh air. It is stuffy here, and, besides, there is more danger of being overheard in the state-room than on deck. Come along, old fellow.'
He caught his companion by the arm, and partly dragged him out of the room, closing the door behind him.
'Pull yourself together,' he said. 'A little fresh air will do you good.'
They made their way to the deck, and, linking arms, walked up and down. For a long time Wentworth said nothing, and Kenyon had the tact to hold his peace. Suddenly Wentworth noticed that they were pacing back and forth in front of Miss Brewster, so he drew his friend away to another part of the ship. After a few turns up and down, he said:
'You remember Rivers, of course.'
'Distinctly.'
'He was employed on that vile sheet, theNew York Argus.'
'I suppose it is a vile sheet. I don't remember ever seeing it. Yes, I know he was connected with that paper. What then? What has Miss Brewster to do with Rivers?'
'She is one of theArgusstaff, too.'
'George Wentworth, you don't mean to tell me that!'
'I do.'
'And is she here to find out about the mine?'
'Exactly. She was put on the job after Rivers had failed.'
'George!' said Kenyon, suddenly dropping his companion's arm and facing him. 'What have you told her?'
'There is the misery of it. I have told her everything.'
'My dear fellow, how could you be——'
'Oh, I know—I know! I know everything you would say. Everything you can say I have said to myself, and ten times more and ten times worse. There is nothing you can say of me more bitter than what I think about myself.'
'Did you tell her anything aboutmyreport?'
'I told her everything—everything! Do you understand? She is going to telegraph from Queenstown the full essence of the reports—of both our reports.'
'Heavens! this is fearful. Is there no way to prevent her sending it?'
'If you think you can prevent her, I wish you would try it.'
'How did you find it out? Didshetell you?'
'Oh, it doesn't matter how I found it out. I did find it out. A man told me who she was; then I asked her, and she was perfectly frank about it. She read me the report, even.'
'Read it to you?'
'Yes, read it to me, and punctuated it in my presence—put in some words that I suggested as being better than those she had used. Oh, it was the coolest piece of work you ever saw!'
'But there must be some way of preventing her getting that account to New York in time. You see, all we have to do is to wire your people to hand in our report to the directors, and then hers is forestalled. She has to telegraph from a British office, and it seems to me that we could stop her in some way.'
'As, for instance, how?'
'Oh, I don't know just how at the moment, but we ought to be able to do it. If it were a man, we could have him arrested as a dynamiter or something; but a woman, of course, is more difficult to deal with. George, I would appeal to her better nature if I were you.'
Wentworth laughed sneeringly.
'Better nature?' he said. 'She hasn't any; and that is not the worst of it. She has "calculated," as she calls it, all the possibilities in the affair; she "calculates" that we will reach Queenstown about Saturday night. If we do, she will get her report through in time to be published on Sunday in theNew York Argus. If that is the case, then see where our telegram will be. We telegraph our people to send in the report. It reaches the office Saturday night, and is not read. The office closes at two o'clock; but even if they got it, and understood the urgency of the matter, they could not place the papers before the directors until Monday morning, and by Monday morning it will be in the London financial sheets.'
'George, that woman is a fiend.'
'No, she isn't, John. She is merely a clever American journalist, who thinks she has done a very good piece of work indeed, and who, through the stupidity of one man, has succeeded, that's all.'
'Have you made any appeal to her at all?'
'Oh, haven't I! Of course I have. What good did it do? She merely laughed at me. Don't you understand? That is what she is here for. Her whole voyage is for that one purpose; and it's not likely the woman is going to forego her triumph after having succeeded—more especially as somebody else in the same office has failed. That's what gives additional zest to what she has done. The fact that Rivers has failed and she has triumphed seems to be the great feather in her cap.'
'Then,' said Kenyon, 'I'm going to appeal to Miss Brewster myself.'
'Very well. I wish you joy of your job. But do what you can, John, there's a good fellow. Meanwhile, I want to be alone somewhere.'
Wentworth went down the stairway that led to the steerage department, and for a few moments sat among the steerage passengers. Then he climbed up another ladder, and got to the very front of the ship. Here he sat down on a coil of rope, and thought over the situation. Thinking, however, did him very little good. He realized that, even if he got hold of the paper Miss Brewster had, she could easily write another. She had the facts in her head, and all that she needed to do was to get to a telegraph office and there hand in her message.
Meanwhile, Kenyon took a few turns up and down the deck, thinking deeply on the same subject. He passed over to the side where Miss Brewster sat, but on coming opposite her had not the courage to take his place beside her. She was calmly reading her book. Three times he came opposite her, paused for a moment, and then continued his hopeless march. He saw that his courage was not going to be sufficient for the task, and yet he felt the task must be accomplished. He didn't know how to begin. He didn't know what inducement to offer the young woman for foregoing the fruits of her ingenuity. He felt that this was the weak point in his armour. The third time he paused in front of Miss Brewster; she looked up and motioned him to the chair beside her, saying:
'I do not know you very well, Mr. Kenyon, but I know who you are. Won't you sit down here for a moment?'
The bewildered man took the chair she indicated.
'Now, Mr. Kenyon, I know just what is troubling you. You have passed three or four times wishing to sit down beside me, and yet afraid to venture. Is that not true?'
'Quite true.'
'I knew it was. Now I know also what you have come for. Mr. Wentworth has told you what the trouble is. He has told you that he has given me all the particulars about the mines, hasn't he?'
'He has.'
'And he has gone off to his state-room to think over the matter, and has left the affair in your hands, and you imagine you can come here to me and, perhaps, talk me out of sending that despatch to theArgus. Isn't that your motive?'
'That is about what I hope to be able to do,' said Kenyon, mopping his brow.
'Well, I thought I might just as well put you out of your misery at once. You take things very seriously, Mr. Kenyon—I can see that. Now, don't you?'
'I am afraid I do.'
'Why, of course you do. The publication of this, as I told Mr. Wentworth, will really not matter at all. It will not be any reflection on either of you, because your friends will be sure that, if you had known to whom you were talking, you would never have said anything about the mines.'
Kenyon smiled grimly at this piece of comfort.
'Now, I have been thinking about something since Mr. Wentworth went away. I am really very sorry for him. I am more sorry than I can tell.'
'Then,' said Kenyon eagerly, 'won't you——'
'No, I won't, so we needn't recur to that phase of the subject. That is what I am here for, and, no matter what you say, the despatch is going to be sent. Now, it is better to understand that at the first, and then it will create no trouble afterwards. Don't you think that is the best?'
'Probably,' answered the wretched man.
'Well, then, let us start there. I will say in the cablegram that the information comes from neither Mr. Kenyon nor Mr. Wentworth.'
'Yes, but that wouldn't be true.'
'Why, of course it wouldn't be true; but that doesn't matter, does it?'
'Well, on our side of the water,' said Kenyon, 'we think the truth does matter.'
Miss Brewster laughed heartily.
'Dear me!' she said, 'what little tact you have! How does it concern you whether it is true or not? If there is any falsehood, it is not you who tell it, so you are free from all blame. Indeed, you are free from all blame anyhow, in this affair; it is all your friend Wentworth's fault; but still, if it hadn't been Wentworth, it would have been you.'
Kenyon looked up at her incredulously.
'Oh yes, it would,' she said, nodding confidently at him. 'You must not flatter yourself, because Mr. Wentworth told me everything about it, that you wouldn't have done just the same, if I had had to find it out from you. All men are pretty much alike where women are concerned.'
'Can I say nothing to you, Miss Brewster, which will keep you from sending the message to America?'
'You cannot, Mr. Kenyon. I thought we had settled that at the beginning. I see there is no use talking to you. I will return to my book, which is very interesting. Good-morning, Mr. Kenyon.'
Kenyon felt the hopelessness of his project quite as much as Wentworth had done, and, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, he wandered disconsolately up and down the deck.
As he went to the other side of the deck, he met Miss Longworth walking alone. She smiled a cordial welcome to him, so he turned and changed his step to suit hers.
'May I walk with you a few minutes?' he said.
'Of course you may,' was the reply, 'What is the matter? You are looking very unhappy.'
'My comrade and myself are in great trouble, and I thought I should like to talk with you about it.'
'I am sure if there is anything I can do to help you, I shall be most glad to do it.'
'Perhaps you may suggest something. You see, two men dealing with one woman are perfectly helpless.'
'Ah, who is the one woman—not I, is it?'
'No, not you, Miss Longworth. I wish it were, then we would have no trouble.'
'Oh, thank you!'
'You see, it is like this: When we were in Quebec—I think I told you about that—theNew York Argussent a man to find out what we had reported, or were going to report, to the London Syndicate.'
'Yes, you told me that.'
'Rivers was his name. Well, this same paper, finding that Rivers had failed after having stolen the documents, has tried a much more subtle scheme, which promises to be successful. They have put on board this ship a young woman who has gained a reputation for learning secrets not intended for the public. This young woman is Miss Brewster, who sits next Wentworth at the table. Fate seems to have played right into her hand and placed her beside him. They became acquainted, and, unfortunately, my friend has told her a great deal about the mines, which she professed an interest in. Or, rather, she pretended to have an interest in him, and so he spoke, being, of course, off his guard. There is no more careful fellow in the world than George Wentworth, but a man does not expect that a private conversation with a lady will ever appear in a newspaper.'
'Naturally not.'
'Very well, that is the state of things. In some manner Wentworth came to know that this young woman was the special correspondent of theNew York Argus. He spoke to her about it, and she is perfectly frank in saying she is here solely for the purpose of finding out what the reports will be, and that the moment she gets to Queenstown she will cable what she has discovered to New York.'
'Dear me! that is very perplexing. What have you done?'
'We have done nothing so far, or rather, I should say, we have tried everything we could think of, and have accomplished nothing. Wentworth has appealed to her, and I made a clumsy attempt at an appeal also, but it was of no use. I feel my own helplessness in this matter, and Wentworth is completely broken down over it.'
'Poor fellow! I am sure of that. Let me think a moment.'
They walked up and down the deck in silence for a few minutes. Then Miss Longworth looked up at Kenyon, and said;
'Will you place this matter in my hands?'
'Certainly, if you will be so kind as to take any interest in it.'
'I take a great deal of interest. Of course, you know my father is deeply concerned in it also, so I am acting in a measure for him.'
'Have you any plan?'
'Yes; my plan is simply this: The young woman is working for money; now, if we can offer her more than her paper gives, she will very quickly accept, or I am much mistaken in the kind of woman she is.'
'Ah, yes,' said Kenyon; 'but we haven't the money, you see.'
'Never mind; the money will be quickly forthcoming. Don't trouble any more about it. I am sure that can be arranged.'
Kenyon thanked her, looking his gratitude rather than speaking it, for he was an unready man, and she bade him good-bye until she could think over her plan.
That evening there was a tap at the state-room door of Miss Jennie Brewster.
'Come in,' cried the occupant.
Miss Longworth entered, and the occupant of the room looked up, with a frown, from her writing.
'May I have a few moments' conversation with you?' asked the visitor gravely.
Miss Jennie Brewster was very much annoyed at being interrupted, and she took no pains to conceal her feelings. She was writing an article entitled 'How People kill Time on Shipboard,' and she did not wish to be disturbed; besides, as she often said of herself, she was not 'a woman's woman,' and she neither liked, nor was liked by, her own sex.
'I desire a few moments' conversation with you, if I have your permission,' said Edith Longworth, as she closed the door behind her.
'Certainly,' answered Jennie Brewster. 'Will you sit down?'
'Thank you,' replied the other, as she took a seat on the sofa. 'I do not know just how to begin what I wish to say. Perhaps it will be better to commence by telling you that I know why you are on board this steamer.'
'Yes; and why am I on board the steamer, may I ask?'
'You are here, I understand, to get certain information from Mr. Wentworth. You have obtained it, and it is in reference to this that I have come to see you.'
'Indeed! and are you so friendly with Mr. Wentworth that you——'
'I scarcely know Mr. Wentworth at all.'
'Then, why do you come on a mission from him?'
'It is not a mission from him. It is not a mission from anyone. I was speaking to Mr. Kenyon, or, rather, Mr. Kenyon was speaking to me, about a subject which troubled him greatly. It is a subject in which my father is interested. My father is a member of the London Syndicate, and he naturally would not desire to have your intended cable message sent to New York.'
'Really; are you quite sure that you are not speaking less for your father than for your friend Kenyon?'
Anger burned in Miss Longworth's face, and flashed from her eyes as she answered:
'You must not speak to me in that way.'
'Excuse me, I shall speak to you in just the way I please. I did not ask for this conference; you did, and as you have taken it upon yourself to come into this room uninvited, you will have to put up with what you hear. Those who interfere with other people's business, as a general thing, do not have a nice time.'
'I quite appreciated all the possible disagreeableness of coming here, when I came.'
'I am glad of that, because if you hear anything you do not like, you will not be disappointed, and will have only yourself to thank for it.'
'I would like to talk about this matter in a spirit of friendliness if I can. I think nothing is to be attained by speaking in any other way.'
'Very well, then. What excuse have you to give me for coming into my state-room to talk about business which does not concern you?'
'Miss Brewster, itdoesconcern me—it concerns my father, and that concerns me. I am, in a measure, my father's private secretary, and am intimately acquainted with all the business he has in hand. This particular business is his affair, and therefore mine. That is the reason I am here.'
'Are you sure?'
'Am I sure of what?'
'Are you sure that what you say is true?'
'I am not in the habit of speaking anything but the truth.'
'Perhaps you flatter yourself that is the case, but it does not deceive me. You merely come here because Mr. Kenyon is in a muddle about what I am going to do. Isn't that the reason?'
Miss Longworth saw that her task was going to be even harder than she had expected.
'Suppose we let all question of motive rest? I have come here—I have asked your permission to speak on this subject, and you have given me the permission. Having done so, it seems to me you should hear me out. You say that I should not be offended——'
'I didn't say so. I do not care a rap whether you are offended or not.'
'You at least said I might hear something that would not be pleasant. What I wanted to say is this: I have taken the risk of that, and, as you remark, whether I am offended or not does not matter. Now we will come to the point——'
'Just before you come to the point, please let me know if Mr. Kenyon told you he had spoken to me on this subject already.'
'Yes, he told me so.'
'Did he tell you that his friend Wentworth had also had a conversation with me about it?'
'Yes, he told me that also.'
'Very well, then, if those two men can do nothing to shake my purpose, how do you expect to do it?'
'That is what I am about to tell you. This is a commercial world, and I am a commercial man's daughter. I recognise the fact that you are going to cable this information for the money it brings. Is that not the case?'
'It is partly the case.'
'For what other consideration do you work, then?'
'For the consideration of being known as one of the best newspaper women in the city of New York. That is the other consideration.'
'I understood you were already known as the most noted newspaper woman in New York.'
This remark was much more diplomatic than Miss Longworth herself suspected.
Jennie Brewster looked rather pleased, then she said:
'Oh, I don't know about that; but I intend it shall be so before a year is past.'
'Very well, you have plenty of time to accomplish your object without using the information you have obtained on board this ship. Now, as I was saying, theNew York Arguspays you a certain amount for doing this work. If you will promise not to send the report over to that paper, I will give you a cheque for double the sum theArguswill pay you, besides refunding all your expenses twice over.'
'In other words, you ask me to be bribed and refuse to perform my duty to the paper.'
'It isn't bribery. I merely pay you, or will pay you, double what you will receive from that paper. I presume your connection with it is purely commercial. You work for it because you receive a certain amount of money; if the editor found someone who would do the same work cheaper, he would at once employ that person, and your services would be no longer required. Is that not true?'
'Yes, it is true.'
'Very well, then, the question of duty hardly enters into such a compact. They have sent you on what would be to most people a very difficult mission. You have succeeded. You have, therefore, in your possession something to sell. The New York paper will pay you a certain sum in cash for it. I offer you, for the same article, double the price theNew York Arguswill pay you. Is not that a fair offer?'
Jennie Brewster had arisen. She clasped and unclasped her hands nervously. For a small space of time nothing was said, and Edith Longworth imagined she had gained her point. The woman standing looked down at the woman sitting.
'Do you know all the particulars about the attempt to get this information?' asked Miss Brewster.
'I know some of them. What particulars do you mean?'
'Do you know that a man from theArgustried to get this information from Mr. Kenyon and Mr. Wentworth in Canada?'
'Yes; I know about that.'
'Do you know that he stole the reports, and that they were taken from him before he could use them?'
'Yes.'
'Do you know he offered Mr. Kenyon and Mr. Wentworth double the price the London Syndicate would have paid them, on condition they gave him a synopsis of the reports?'
'Yes, I know that also.'
'Do you know that, in doing what he asked, they would not have been keeping back for a single day the real report from the people who engaged them? You know all that, do you?'
'Yes; I know all that.'
'Very well, then. Now you ask me to do very much more than Rivers asked them, because you ask me to keep my paper completely in the dark about the information I have got. Isn't that so?'
'Yes, you can keep them in the dark until after the report has been given to the directors; then, of course, you can do what you please with the information.'
'Ah, but by that time it will be of no value. By that time it will have been published in the London financial papers. At that time anybody can get it. Isn't that the case?'