Mr. Van Torp was walking slowly down the Elm Walk in the park at Oxley Paddox. The ancient trees were not in full leaf yet, but there were myriads of tiny green feather points all over the rough brown branches and the smoother twigs, and their soft colour tinted the luminous spring air. High overhead all sorts and conditions of little birds were chirping and trilling and chattering together and by turns, and on the ground the sparrows were excessively busy and talkative, while the squirrels made wild dashes across the open, and stopped suddenly to sit bolt upright and look about them, and then dashed on again.
Little Ida walked beside the millionaire in silence, trustfully holding one of his hands, and as she watched the sparrows she tried to make out what sort of sound they could be making when they hopped forward and opened their bills so wide that she could distinctly see their little tongues. Mr. Van Torp's other hand held a newspaper, and he was reading the article about himself which Margaret had shown to Lady Maud. He did not take that particular paper, but a marked copy had been sent to him, and in due course had been ironed and laid on the breakfast-table with those that came regularly. The article was marked in red pencil.
He read it slowly with a perfectly blank expression, as if it concerned some one he did not know. Once only, when he came upon the allusion to the little girl, his eyes left the page and glanced quietly down at the large red felt hat with its knot of ribbands that moved along beside him, and hid all the child's face except the delicate chin and the corner of the pathetic little mouth. She did not know that he looked down at her, for she was intent on the sparrows, and he went back to the article and read to the end.
Then, in order to fold the paper, he gently let go of Ida's hand, and she looked up into his face. He did not speak, but his lips moved a little as he doubled the sheet to put it into his pocket; and instantly the child's expression changed, and she looked hurt and frightened, and stretched up her hand quickly to cover his mouth, as if to hide the words his lips were silently forming.
'Please, please!' she said, in her slightly monotonous voice. 'You promised me you wouldn't any more!'
'Quite right, my dear,' answered Mr. Van Torp, smiling, 'and I apologise. You must make me pay a forfeit every time I do it. What shall the forfeit be? Chocolates?'
She watched his lips, and understood as well as if she had heard.
'No,' she answered demurely. 'You mustn't laugh. When I've done anything wicked and am sorry, I say the little prayer Miss More taught me. Perhaps you'd better learn it too.'
'If you said it for me,' suggested Mr. Van Torp gravely, 'it would be more likely to work.'
'Oh no! That wouldn't do at all! You must say it for yourself. I'll teach it to you if you like. Shall I?'
'What must I say?' asked the financier.
'Well, it's made up for me, you see, and besides, I've shortened it a wee bit. What I say is: "Dear God, please forgive me this time, and make me never want to do it again. Amen." Can you remember that, do you think?'
'I think I could,' said Mr. Van Torp. 'Please forgive me and make me never do it again.'
'Never want to do it again,' corrected little Ida with emphasis. 'You must try not even to want to say dreadful things. And then you must say "Amen." That's important.'
'Amen,' repeated the millionaire.
At this juncture the discordant toot of an approaching motor-car was heard above the singing of the birds. Mr. Van Torp turned his head quickly in the direction of the sound, and at the same time instinctively led the little girl towards one side of the road. She apparently understood, for she asked no questions. There was a turn in the drive a couple of hundred yards away, where the Elm Walk ended, and an instant later an enormous white motor-car whizzed into sight, rushed furiously towards the two, and was brought to a standstill in an uncommonly short time, close beside them. An active man, in the usual driver's disguise of the modern motorist, jumped down, and at the same instant pushed his goggles up over the visor of his cap and loosened the collar of his wide coat, displaying the face of Constantino Logotheti.
'Oh, it's you, is it?' Mr. Van Torp asked the wholly superfluous question in a displeased tone. 'How did you get in? I've given particular orders to let in no automobiles.'
'I always get in everywhere,' answered Logotheti coolly. 'May I see you alone for a few minutes?'
'If it's business, you'd better see Mr. Bamberger,' said Van Torp.'I came here for a rest. Mr. Bamberger has come over for a few days.You'll find him at his chambers in Hare Court.'
'No,' returned Logotheti, 'it's a private matter. I shall not keep you long.'
'Then run us up to the house in your new go-cart.'
Mr. Van Torp lifted little Ida into the motor as if she had been a rather fragile china doll instead of a girl nine years old and quite able to get up alone, and before she could sit down he was beside her. Logotheti jumped up beside the chauffeur and the machine ran up the drive at breakneck speed. Two minutes later they all got out more than a mile farther on, at the door of the big old house. Ida ran away to find Miss More; the two men entered together, and went into the study.
The room had been built in the time of Edward Sixth, had been decorated afresh under Charles the Second, the furniture was of the time of Queen Anne, and the carpet was a modern Turkish one, woven in colours as fresh as paint to fit the room, and as thick as a down quilt: it was the sort of carpet which has come into existence with the modern hotel.
'Well?' Mr. Van Torp uttered the monosyllable as he sat down in his own chair and pointed to a much less comfortable one, which Logotheti took.
'There's an article about you,' said the latter, producing a paper.
'I've read it,' answered Mr. Van Torp in a tone of stony indifference.
'I thought that was likely. Do you take the paper?'
'No. Do you?'
'No, it was sent to me,' Logotheti answered. 'Did you happen to glance at the address on the wrapper of the one that came to you?'
'My valet opens all the papers and irons them.'
Mr. Van Torp looked very bored as he said this, and he stared stonily at the pink and green waistcoat which his visitor's unfastened coat exposed to view. Hundreds of little gold beads were sewn upon it at the intersections of the pattern. It was a marvellous creation.
'I had seen the handwriting on the one addressed to me before,'Logotheti said.
'Oh, you had, had you?'
Mr. Van Torp asked the question in a dull tone without the slightest apparent interest in the answer.
'Yes,' Logotheti replied, not paying any attention to his host's indifference. 'I received an anonymous letter last winter, and the writing of the address was the same.'
'It was, was it?'
The millionaire's tone did not change in the least, and he continued to admire the waistcoat. His manner might have disconcerted a person of less assurance than the Greek, but in the matter of nerves the two financiers were well matched.
'Yes,' Logotheti answered, 'and the anonymous letter was about you, and contained some of the stories that are printed in this article.'
'Oh, it did, did it?'
'Yes. There was an account of your interview with the Primadonna at a hotel in New York. I remember that particularly well.'
'Oh, you do, do you?'
'Yes. The identity of the handwriting and the similarity of the wording make it look as if the article and the letter had been written by the same person.'
'Well, suppose they were—I don't see anything funny about that.'
Thereupon Mr. Van Torp turned at last from the contemplation of the waistcoat and looked out of the bay-window at the distant trees, as if he were excessively weary of Logotheti's talk.
'It occurred to me,' said the latter, 'that you might like to stop any further allusions to Miss Donne, and that if you happened to recognize the handwriting you might be able to do so effectually.'
'There's nothing against Madame Cordova in the article,' answered Mr. Van Torp, and his aggressive blue eyes turned sharply to his visitor's almond-shaped brown ones. 'You can't say there's a word against her.'
'There may be in the next one,' suggested Logotheti, meeting the look without emotion. 'When people send anonymous letters about broadcast to injure men like you and me, they are not likely to stick at such a matter as a woman's reputation.'
'Well—maybe not.' Mr. Van Torp turned his sharp eyes elsewhere. 'You seem to take quite an interest in Madame Cordova, Mr. Logotheti,' he observed, in an indifferent tone.
'I knew her before she went on the stage, and I think I may call myself a friend of hers. At all events, I wish to spare her any annoyance from the papers if I can, and if you have any regard for her you will help me, I'm sure.'
'I have the highest regard for Madame Cordova,' said Mr. Van Torp, and there was a perceptible change in his tone; 'but after this, I guess the best way I can show it is to keep out of her track. That's about all there is to do. You don't suppose I'm going to bring an action against that paper, do you?'
'Hardly!' Logotheti smiled.
'Well, then, what do you expect me to do, Mr. Logotheti?'
Again the eyes of the two men met.
'I'll tell you,' answered the Greek. 'The story about your visit toMiss Donne in New York is perfectly true.'
'You're pretty frank,' observed the American.
'Yes, I am. Very good. The man who wrote the letter and the article knows you, and that probably means that you have known him, though you may never have taken any notice of him. He hates you, for some reason, and means to injure you if he can. Just take the trouble to find out who he is and suppress him, will you? If you don't, he will throw more mud at honest women. He is probably some underling whose feelings you have hurt, or who has lost money by you, or both.'
'There's something in that,' answered Mr. Van Torp, showing a little more interest. 'Do you happen to have any of his writing about you? I'll look at it.'
Logotheti took a letter and a torn piece of brown paper from his pocket and handed both to his companion.
'Read the letter, if you like,' he said. 'The handwriting seems to be the same as that on the wrapper.'
Mr. Van Torp first compared the address, and then proceeded to read the anonymous letter. Logotheti watched his face quietly, but it did not change in the least. When he had finished, he folded the sheet, replaced it in the envelope, and returned it with the bit of paper.
'Much obliged,' he said, and he looked out of the window again and was silent.
Logotheti leaned back in his chair as he put the papers into his pocket again, and presently, as Mr. Van Torp did not seem inclined to say anything more, he rose to go. The American did not move, and still looked out of the window.
'You originally belonged to the East, Mr. Logotheti, didn't you?' he asked suddenly.
'Yes. I'm a Greek and a Turkish subject.'
'Do you happen to know the Patriarch of Constantinople?'
Logotheti stared in surprise, taken off his guard for once.
'Very well indeed,' he answered after an instant. 'He is my uncle.'
'Why, now, that's quite interesting!' observed Mr. Van Torp, rising deliberately and thrusting his hands into his pockets.
Logotheti, who knew nothing about the details of Lady Maud's pending divorce, could not imagine what the American was driving at, and waited for more. Mr. Van Torp began to walk up and down, with his rather clumsy gait, digging his heels into vivid depths of the new Smyrna carpet at every step.
'I wasn't going to tell you,' he said at last, 'but I may just as well. Most of the accusations in that letter are lies. I didn't blow up the subway. I know it was done on purpose, of course, but I had nothing to do with it, and any man who says I had, takes me for a fool, which you'll probably allow I'm not. You're a man of business, Mr. Logotheti. There had been a fall in Nickel, and for weeks before the explosion I'd been making a considerable personal sacrifice to steady things. Now you know as well as I do that all big accidents are bad for the market when it's shaky. Do you suppose I'd have deliberately produced one just then? Besides, I'm not a criminal. I didn't blow up the subway any more than I blew up the Maine to bring on the Cuban war! The man's a fool.'
'I quite agree with you,' said the Greek, listening with interest.
'Then there's another thing. That about poor Mrs. Moon, who's gone out of her mind. It's nonsense to say I was the reason of Bamberger's divorcing his wife. In the first place, there are the records of the divorce, and my name was never mentioned. I was her friend, that's all, and Bamberger resented it—he's a resentful sort of man anyway. He thought she'd marry me as soon as he got the divorce. Well, she didn't. She married old Alvah Moon, who was the only man she ever cared for. The Lord knows how it was, but that wicked old scarecrow made all the women love him, to his dying day. I had a high regard for Mrs. Bamberger, and I suppose she was right to marry him if she liked him. Well, she married him in too much of a hurry, and the child that was born abroad was Bamberger's and not his, and when he found it out he sent the girl East and would never see her again, and didn't leave her a cent when he died. That's the truth about that, Mr. Logotheti. I tell you because you've got that letter in your pocket, and I'd rather have your good word than your bad word in business any day.'
'Thank you,' answered Logotheti. 'I'm glad to know the facts in the case, though I never could see what a man's private life can have to do with his reputation in the money market!'
'Well, it has, in some countries. Different kinds of cats have different kinds of ways. There's one thing more, but it's not in the letter, it's in the article. That's about Countess Leven, and it's the worst lie of the lot, for there's not a better woman than she is from here to China. I'm not at liberty to tell you anything of the matter she's interested in and on which she consults me. But her father is my next neighbour here, and I seem to be welcome at his house; he's a pretty sensible man, and that makes for her, it seems to me. As for that husband of hers, we've a good name in America for men like him. We'd call him a skunk over there. I suppose the English word is polecat, but it doesn't say as much. I don't think there's anything else I want to tell you.'
'You spoke of my uncle, the Patriarch,' observed Logotheti.
'Did I? Yes. Well, what sort of a gentleman is he, anyway?'
The question seemed rather vague to the Greek.
'How do you mean?' he inquired, buttoning his coat over the wonderful waistcoat.
'Is he a friendly kind of a person, I mean? Obliging, if you take him the right way? That's what I mean. Or does he get on his ear right away?'
'I should say,' answered Logotheti, without a smile, 'that he gets on his ear right away—if that means the opposite of being friendly and obliging. But I may be prejudiced, for he does not approve of me.'
'Why not, Mr. Logotheti?'
'My uncle says I'm a pagan, and worship idols.'
'Maybe he means the Golden Calf,' suggested Mr. Van Torp gravely.
Logotheti laughed.
'The other deity in business is the Brazen Serpent, I believe,' he retorted.
'The two would look pretty well out there on my lawn,' answered Mr.Van Torp, his hard face relaxing a little.
'To return to the point. Can I be of any use to you with thePatriarch? We are not on bad terms, though he does think me a heathen.Is there anything I can do?'
'Thank you, not at present. Much obliged. I only wanted to know.'
Logotheti's curiosity was destined to remain unsatisfied. He refused Mr. Van Torp's not very pressing invitation to stay to luncheon, given at the very moment when he was getting into his motor, and a few seconds later he was tearing down the avenue.
Mr. Van Torp stood on the steps till he was out of sight and then came down himself and strolled slowly away towards the trees again, his hands behind him and his eyes constantly bent upon the road, three paces ahead.
He was not always quite truthful. Scruples were not continually uppermost in his mind. For instance, what he had told Lady Maud about his engagement to poor Miss Bamberger did not quite agree with what he had said to Margaret on the steamer.
In certain markets in New York, three kinds of eggs are offered for sale, namely, Eggs, Fresh Eggs, and Strictly Fresh Eggs. I have seen the advertisement. Similarly in Mr. Van Torp's opinion there were three sorts of stories, to wit, Stories, True Stories, and Strictly True Stories. Clearly, each account of his engagement must have belonged to one of these classes, as well as the general statement he had made to Logotheti about the charges brought against him in the anonymous letter. The reason why he had made that statement was plain enough; he meant it to be repeated to Margaret because he really wished her to think well of him. Moreover, he had recognised the handwriting at once as that of Mr. Feist, Isidore Bamberger's former secretary, who knew a good many things and might turn out a dangerous enemy.
But Logotheti, who knew something of men, and had dealt with some very accomplished experts in fraud from New York and London to Constantinople, had his doubts about the truth of what he had heard, and understood at once why the usually reticent American had talked so much about himself. Van Torp, he was sure, was in love with the singer; that was his weak side, and in whatever affected her he might behave like a brute or a baby, but would certainly act with something like rudimentary simplicity in either case. In Logotheti's opinion Northern and English-speaking men might be as profound as Persians in matters of money, and sometimes were, but where women were concerned they were generally little better than sentimental children, unless they were mere animals. Not one in a thousand cared for the society of women, or even of one particular woman, for its own sake, for the companionship, and the exchange of ideas about things of which women know how to think. To the better sort, that is, to the sentimental ones, a woman always seemed what she was not, a goddess, a saint, or a sort of glorified sister; to the rest, she was an instrument of amusement and pleasure, more or less necessary and more or less purchasable. Perhaps an Englishman or an American, judging Greeks from what he could learn about them in ordinary intercourse, would get about as near the truth as Logotheti did. In his main conclusion the latter was probably right; Mr. Van Torp's affections might be of such exuberant nature as would admit of being divided between two or three objects at the same time, or they might not. But when he spoke of having the 'highest regard' for Madame Cordova, without denying the facts about the interview in which he had asked her to marry him and had lost his head because she refused, he was at least admitting that he was in love with her, or had been at that time.
Mr. Van Torp also confessed that he had entertained a 'high regard' for the beautiful Mrs. Bamberger, now unhappily insane. It was noticeable that he had not used the same expression in speaking of Lady Maud. Nevertheless, as in the Bamberger affair, he appeared as the chief cause of trouble between husband and wife. Logotheti was considered 'dangerous' even in Paris, and his experiences had not been dull; but, so far, he had found his way through life without inadvertently stepping upon any of those concealed traps through which the gay and unwary of both sexes are so often dropped into the divorce court, to the surprise of everybody. It seemed the more strange to him that Rufus Van Torp, only a few years his senior, should now find himself in that position for the second time. Yet Van Torp was not a ladies' man; he was hard-featured, rough of speech, and clumsy of figure, and it was impossible to believe that any woman could think him good-looking or be carried away by his talk. The case of Mrs. Bamberger could be explained; she might have had beauty, but she could have had little else that would have appealed to such a man as Logotheti. But there was Lady Maud, an acknowledged beauty in London, thoroughbred, aristocratic, not easily shocked perhaps, but easily disgusted, like most women of her class; and there was no doubt but that her husband had found her under extremely strange circumstances, in the act of receiving from Van Torp a large sum of money for which she altogether declined to account. Van Torp had not denied that story either, so it was probably true. Yet Logotheti, whom so many women thought irresistible, had felt instinctively that she was one of those who would smile serenely upon the most skilful and persistent besieger from the security of an impregnable fortress of virtue. Logotheti did not naturally feel unqualified respect for many women, but since he had known Lady Maud it had never occurred to him that any one could take the smallest liberty with her. On the other hand, though he was genuinely in love with Margaret and desired nothing so much as to marry her, he had never been in the least afraid of her, and he had deliberately attempted to carry her off against her will; and if she had looked upon his conduct then as anything more serious than a mad prank, she had certainly forgiven it very soon.
The only reason for his flying visit to Derbyshire had been his desire to keep Margaret's name out of an impending scandal in which he foresaw that Mr. Van Torp and Lady Maud were to be the central figures, and he believed that he had done something to bring about that result, if he had started the millionaire on the right scent. He judged Van Torp to be a good hater and a man of many resources, who would not now be satisfied till he had the anonymous writer of the letter and the article in his power. Logotheti had no means of guessing who the culprit was, and did not care to know.
He reached town late in the afternoon, having covered something like three hundred miles since early morning. About seven o'clock he stopped at Margaret's door, in the hope of finding her at home and of being asked to dine alone with her, but as he got out of his hansom and sent it away he heard the door shut and he found himself face to face with Paul Griggs.
'Miss Donne is out,' said the author, as they shook hands. 'She's been spending the day with the Creedmores, and when I rang she had just telephoned that she would not be back for dinner!'
'What a bore!' exclaimed Logotheti.
The two men walked slowly along the pavement together, and for some time neither spoke. Logotheti had nothing to do, or believed so because he was disappointed in not finding Margaret in. The elder man looked preoccupied, and the Greek was the first to speak.
'I suppose you've seen that shameful article about Van Torp,' he said.
'Yes. Somebody sent me a marked copy of the paper. Do you know whetherMiss Donne has seen it?'
'Yes. She got a marked copy too. So did I. What do you think of it?'
'Just what you do, I fancy. Have you any idea who wrote it?'
'Probably some underling in the Nickel Trust whom Van Torp has offended without knowing it, or who has lost money by him.'
Griggs glanced at his companion's face, for the hypothesis struck him as being tenable.
'Unless it is some enemy of Countess Leven's,' he suggested. 'Her husband is really going to divorce her, as the article says.'
'I suppose she will defend herself,' said Logotheti.
'If she has a chance.'
'What do you mean?'
'Do you happen to know what sort of man the present Patriarch ofConstantinople is?'
Logotheti's jaw dropped, and he slackened his pace.
'What in the world—' he began, but did not finish the sentence.'That's the second time to-day I've been asked about him.'
'That's very natural,' said Griggs calmly. 'You're one of the very few men in town who are likely to know him.'
'Of course I know him,' answered Logotheti, still mystified. 'He's my uncle.'
'Really? That's very lucky!'
'Look here, Griggs, is this some silly joke?'
'A joke? Certainly not. Lady Maud's husband can only get a divorce through the Patriarch because he married her out of Russia. You know about that law, don't you?'
Logotheti understood at last.
'No,' he said, 'I never heard of it. But if that is the case I may be able to do something—not that I'm considered orthodox at the Patriarchate! The old gentleman has been told that I'm trying to revive the worship of the Greek gods and have built a temple to Aphrodite Xenia in the Place de la Concorde!'
'You're quite capable of it,' observed Griggs.
'Oh, quite! Only, I've not done it yet. I'll see what I can do. Are you much interested in the matter?'
'Only on general principles, because I believe Lady Maud is perfectly straight, and it is a shame that such a creature as Leven should be allowed to divorce an honest Englishwoman. By the bye—speaking of her reminds me of that dinner at the Turkish Embassy—do you remember a disagreeable-looking man who sat next to me, one Feist, a countryman of mine?'
'Rather! I wondered how he came there.'
'He had a letter of introduction from the Turkish Minister inWashington. He is full of good letters of introduction.'
'I should think they would need to be good,' observed Logotheti. 'With that face of his he would need an introduction to a Port Said gambling-hell before they would let him in.'
'I agree with you. But he is well provided, as I say, and he goes everywhere. Some one has put him down at the Mutton Chop. You never go there, do you?'
'I'm not asked,' laughed Logotheti. 'And as for becoming a member, they say it's impossible.'
'It takes ten or fifteen years,' Griggs answered, 'and then you won't be elected unless every one likes you. But you may be put down as a visitor there just as at any other club. This fellow Feist, for instance—we had trouble with him last night—or rather this morning, for it was two o'clock. He has been dropping in often of late, towards midnight. At first he was more or less amusing with his stories, for he has a wonderful memory. You know the sort of funny man who rattles on as if he were wound up for the evening, and afterwards you cannot remember a word he has said. It's all very well for a while, but you soon get sick of it. Besides, this particular specimen drinks like a whale.'
'He looks as if he did.'
'Last night he had been talking a good deal, and most of the men who had been there had gone off. You know there's only one room at the Mutton Chop, with a long table, and if a man takes the floor there's no escape. I had come in about one o'clock to get something to eat, and Feist poured out a steady stream of stories as usual, though only one or two listened to him. Suddenly his eyes looked queer, and he stammered, and rolled off his chair, and lay in a heap, either dead drunk or in a fit, I don't know which.'
'And I suppose you carried him downstairs,' said Logotheti, for Griggs was known to be stronger than other men, though no longer young.
'I did,' Griggs answered. 'That's usually my share of the proceedings. The last person I carried—let me see—I think it must have been that poor girl who died at the Opera in New York. We had found Feist's address in the visitors' book, and we sent him home in a hansom. I wonder whether he got there!'
'I should think the member who put him down would be rather annoyed,' observed Logotheti.
'Yes. It's the first time anything of that sort ever happened at the Mutton Chop, and I fancy it will be the last. I don't think we shall see Mr. Feist again.'
'I took a particular dislike to his face,' Logotheti said. 'I remember thinking of him when I went home that night, and wondering who he was and what he was about.'
'At first I took him for a detective,' said Griggs. 'But detectives don't drink.'
'What made you think he might be one?'
'He has a very clever way of leading the conversation to a point and then asking an unexpected question.'
'Perhaps he is an amateur,' suggested Logotheti. 'He may be a spy. IsFeist an American name?'
'You will find all sorts of names in America. They prove nothing in the way of nationality, unless they are English, Dutch, or French, and even then they don't prove much. I'm an American myself, and I feel sure that Feist either is one or has spent many years in the country, in which case he is probably naturalised. As for his being a spy, I don't think I ever came across one in England.'
'They come here to rest in time of peace, or to escape hanging in other countries in time of war,' said the Greek. 'His being at the Turkish Embassy, of all places in the world, is rather in favour of the idea. Do you happen to remember the name of his hotel?'
'Are you going to call on him?' Griggs asked with a smile.
'Perhaps. He begins to interest me. Is it indiscreet to ask what sort of questions he put to you?'
'He's stopping at the Carlton—if the cabby took him there! We gave the man half-a-crown for the job, and took his number, so I suppose it was all right. As for the questions he asked me, that's another matter.'
Logotheti glanced quickly at his companion's rather grim face, and was silent for a few moments. He judged that Mr. Feist's inquiries must have concerned a woman, since Griggs was so reticent, and it required no great ingenuity to connect that probability with one or both of the ladies who had been at the dinner where Griggs and Feist had first met.
'I think I shall go and ask for Mr. Feist,' he said presently. 'I shall say that I heard he was ill and wanted to know if I could do anything for him.'
'I've no doubt he'll be much touched by your kindness!' said Griggs. 'But please don't mention the Mutton Chop Club, if you really see him.'
'Oh no! Besides, I shall let him do the talking.'
'Then take care that you don't let him talk you to death!'
Logotheti smiled as he hailed a passing hansom; he nodded to his companion, told the man to go to the Carlton, and drove away, leaving Griggs to continue his walk alone.
The elderly man of letters had not talked about Mr. Feist with any special intention, and was very far from thinking that what he had said would lead to any important result. He liked the Greek, because he liked most Orientals, under certain important reservations and at a certain distance, and he had lived amongst them long enough not to be surprised at anything they did. Logotheti had been disappointed in not finding the Primadonna at home, and he was not inclined to put up with the usual round of an evening in London during the early part of the season as a substitute for what he had lost. He was the more put out, because, when he had last seen Margaret, three or four days earlier, she had told him that if he came on that evening at about seven o'clock he would probably find her alone. Having nothing that looked at all amusing to occupy him, he was just in the mood to do anything unusual that presented itself.
Griggs guessed at most of these things, and as he walked along he vaguely pictured to himself the interview that was likely to take place.
Opinion was strongly against Mr. Van Torp. A millionaire is almost as good a mark at which to throw mud as a woman of the world whose reputation has never before been attacked, and when the two can be pilloried together it is hardly to be expected that ordinary people should abstain from pelting them and calling them bad names.
Lady Maud, indeed, was protected to some extent by her father and brothers, and by many loyal friends. It is happily still doubtful how far one may go in printing lies about an honest woman without getting into trouble with the law, and when the lady's father is not only a peer, but has previously been a barrister of reputation and a popular and hard-working member of the House of Commons during a long time, it is generally safer to use guarded language; the advisability of moderation also increases directly as the number and size of the lady's brothers, and inversely as their patience. Therefore, on the whole, Lady Maud was much better treated by the society columns than Margaret at first expected.
On the other hand, they vented their spleen and sharpened their English on the American financier, who had no relations and scarcely any friends to stand by him, and was, moreover, in a foreign country, which always seems to be regarded as an aggravating circumstance when a man gets into any sort of trouble. Isidore Bamberger and Mr. Feist had roused and let loose upon him a whole pack of hungry reporters and paragraph writers on both sides of the Atlantic.
The papers did not at first print his name except in connection with the divorce of Lady Maud. But this was a landmark, the smallest reference to which made all other allusions to him quite clear. It was easy to speak of Mr. Van Torp as the central figure in acause célèbre: newspapers love the French language the more as they understand it the less; just as the gentle amateur in literature tries to hide his cloven hoof under the thin elegance of italics.
Particular stress was laid upon the millionaire's dreadful hypocrisy. He taught in the Sunday Schools at Nickelville, the big village which had sprung up at his will and which was the headquarters of his sanctimonious wickedness. He was compared to Solomon, not for his wisdom, but on account of his domestic arrangements. He was indeed a father to his flock. It was a touching sight to see the little ones gathered round the knees of this great and good man, and to note how an unconscious and affectionate imitation reflected his face in theirs. It was true that there was another side to this truly patriarchal picture. In a city of the Far West, wrote an eloquent paragraph writer, a pale face, once divinely beautiful, was often seen at the barred window of a madhouse, and eyes that had once looked too tenderly into those of the Nickelville Solomon stared wildly at the palm-trees in the asylum grounds. This paragraph was rich in sentiment.
There were a good many mentions of the explosion in New York, too, and hints, dark, but uncommonly straight, that the great Sunday School teacher had been the author and stage-manager of an awful comedy designed expressly to injure a firm of contractors against whom he had a standing grudge. In proof of the assertion, the story went on to say that he had written four hours before the 'accident' happened to give warning of it to the young lady whom he was about to marry. She was a neurasthenic young lady, and in spite of the warning she died very suddenly at the theatre from shock immediately after the explosion, and his note was found on her dressing-table when she was brought home dead. Clearly, if the explosion had not been his work, and if he had been informed of it beforehand, he would have warned the police and the Department of Public Works at the same time. The young lady's untimely death had not prevented him from sailing for Europe three or four days later, and on the trip he had actually occupied alone the same 'thousand dollar suite' which he had previously engaged for himself and his bride. From this detail the public might form some idea of the Nickelville magnate's heartless character. In fact, if one-half of what was written, telegraphed, and printed about Rufus Van Torp on both sides of the Atlantic during the next fortnight was to be believed, he had no character at all.
To all this he answered nothing, and he did not take the trouble to allude to the matter in the few letters he wrote to his acquaintances. Day after day numbers of marked papers were carefully ironed and laid on the breakfast-table, after having been read and commented on in the servants' hall. The butler began to look askance at him, Mrs. Dubbs, the housekeeper, talked gloomily of giving warning, and the footmen gossiped with the stable hands; but the men all decided that it was not derogatory to their dignity to remain in the service of a master who was soon to be exhibited in the divorce court beside such a 'real lady' as Lord Creedmore's daughter; the housemaids agreed in this view, and the housekeeper consulted Miss More. For Mrs. Dubbs was an imposing person, morally and physically, and had a character to lose; and though the place was a very good one for her old age, because the master only spent six weeks or two months at Oxley Paddox each year, and never found fault, yet Mrs. Dubbs was not going to have her name associated with that of a gentleman who blew up underground works and took Solomon's view of the domestic affections. She came of very good people in the north; one of her brothers was a minister, and the other was an assistant steward on a large Scotch estate.
Miss More's quiet serenity was not at all disturbed by what was happening, for it could hardly be supposed that she was ignorant of the general attack on Mr. Van Torp, though he did not leave the papers lying about, where little Ida's quick eyes might fall on a marked passage. The housekeeper waited for an occasion when Mr. Van Torp had taken the child for a drive, as he often did, and Miss More was established in her favourite corner of the garden, just out of sight of the house. Mrs. Dubbs first exposed the situation, then expressed a strong opinion as to her own respectability, and finally asked Miss More's advice.
Miss More listened attentively, and waited till her large and sleek interlocutor had absolutely nothing more to say. Then she spoke.
'Mrs. Dubbs,' she said, 'do you consider me a respectable young woman?'
'Oh, Miss More!' cried the housekeeper. 'You! Indeed, I'd put my hand into the fire for you any day!'
'And I'm an American, and I've known Mr. Van Torp several years, though this is the first time you have seen me here. Do you think I would let the child stay an hour under his roof, or stay here myself, if I believed one word of all those wicked stories the papers are publishing? Look at me, please. Do you think I would?'
It was quite impossible to look at Miss More's quiet healthy face and clear eyes and to believe she would. There are some women of whom one is sure at a glance that they are perfectly trustworthy in every imaginable way, and above even the suspicion of countenancing any wrong.
'No,' answered Mrs. Dubbs, with honest conviction, 'I don't, indeed.'
'I think, then,' said Miss More, 'that if I feel I can stay here, you are safe in staying too. I do not believe any of these slanders, and I am quite sure that Mr. Van Torp is one of the kindest men in the world.'
'I feel as if you must be right, Miss More,' replied the housekeeper. 'But they do say dreadful things about him, indeed, and he doesn't deny a word of it, as he ought to, in my humble opinion, though it's not my business to judge, of course, but I'll say this, Miss More, and that is, that if the butler's character was publicly attacked in the papers, in the way Mr. Van Torp's is, and if I were Mr. Van Torp, which of course I'm not, I'd say "Crookes, you may be all right, but if you're going to be butler here any longer, it's your duty to defend yourself against these attacks upon you in the papers, Crookes, because as a Christian man you must not hide your light under a bushel, Crookes, but let it shine abroad." That's what I'd say, Miss More, and I should like to know if you don't think I should be right.'
'If the English and American press united to attack the butler's character,' answered Miss More without a smile, 'I think you would be quite right, Mrs. Dubbs. But as regards Mr. Van Torp's present position, I am sure he is the best judge of what he ought to do.'
These words of wisdom, and Miss More's truthful eyes, greatly reassured the housekeeper, who afterwards upbraided the servants for paying any attention to such wicked falsehoods; and Mr. Crookes, the butler, wrote to his aged mother, who was anxious about his situation, to say that Mr. Van Torp must be either a real gentleman or a very hardened criminal indeed, because it was only forgers and real gentlemen who could act so precious cool; but that, on the whole, he, Crookes, and the housekeeper, who was a highly respectable person and the sister of a minister, as he wished his mother to remember, had made up their minds that Mr. V.T. was Al, copper-bottomed—Mrs. Crookes was the widow of a seafaring man, and lived at Liverpool, and had heard Lloyd's rating quoted all her life—and that they, the writer and Mrs. Dubbs, meant to see him through his troubles, though he was a little trying at his meals, for he would have butter on the table at his dinner, and he wanted two and three courses served together, and drank milk at his luncheon, like no Christian gentleman did that Mr. Crookes had ever seen.
The financier might have been amused if he could have read this letter, which contained no allusion to the material attractions of Torp Towers as a situation; for like a good many American millionaires, Mr. Van Torp had a blind spot on his financial retina. He could deal daringly and surely with vast sums, or he could screw twice the normal quantity of work out of an underpaid clerk; but the household arithmetic that lies between the two was entirely beyond his comprehension. He 'didn't want to be bothered,' he said; he maintained that he 'could make more money in ten minutes than he could save in a year by checking the housekeeper's accounts'; he 'could live on coffee and pie,' but if he chose to hire the chef of the Cafe Anglais to cook for him at five thousand dollars a year he 'didn't want to know the price of a truffled pheasant or a chaudfroid of ortolans.' That was his way, and it was good enough for him. What was the use of having made money if you were to be bothered? And besides, he concluded, 'it was none of anybody's blank blank business what he did.'
Mr. Van Torp did not hesitate to borrow similes from another world when his rather limited command of refined language was unequal to the occasion.
But at the present juncture, though his face did not change, and though he slept as soundly and had as good an appetite as usual, no words with which he was acquainted could express his feelings at all. He had, indeed, consigned the writer of the first article to perdition with some satisfaction; but after his interview with Logotheti, when he had understood that a general attack upon him had begun, he gathered his strength in silence and studied the position with all the concentration of earnest thought which his exceptional nature could command.
He had recognised Feist's handwriting, and he remembered the man as his partner's former secretary. Feist might have written the letter to Logotheti and the first article, but Van Torp did not believe him capable of raising a general hue and cry on both sides of the Atlantic. It undoubtedly happened sometimes that when a fire had been smouldering long unseen a single spark sufficed to start the blaze, but Mr. Van Torp was too well informed as to public opinion about him to have been in ignorance of any general feeling against him, if it had existed; and the present attack was of too personal a nature to have been devised by financial rivals. Besides, the Nickel Trust had recently absorbed all its competitors to such an extent that it had no rivals at all, and the dangers that threatened it lay on the one hand in the growing strength of the Labour Party in its great movement against capital, and on the other in its position with regard to recent American legislation about Trusts. From the beginning Mr. Van Torp had been certain that the campaign of defamation had not been begun by the Unions, and by its nature it could have no connection with the legal aspect of his position. It was therefore clear that war had been declared upon him by one or more individuals on purely personal grounds, and that Mr. Feist was but the chief instrument in the hands of an unknown enemy.
But at first sight it did not look as if his assailant were Isidore Bamberger. The violent attack on him might not affect the credit of the Nickel Trust, but it was certainly not likely to improve it and Mr. Van Torp believed that if his partner had a grudge against him, any attempt at revenge would be made in a shape that would not affect the Trust's finances. Bamberger was a resentful sort of man, but on the other hand he was a man of business, and his fortune depended on that of his great partner.
Mr. Van Torp walked every morning in the park, thinking over these things, and little Ida tripped along beside him watching the squirrels and the birds, and not saying much; but now and then, when she felt the gentle pressure of his hand on hers, which usually meant that he was going to speak to her, she looked up to watch his lips, and they did not move; only his eyes met hers, and the faint smile that came into his face then was not at all like the one which most people saw there. So she smiled back, happily, and looked at the squirrels again, sure that a rabbit would soon make a dash over the open and cross the road, and hoping for the rare delight of seeing a hare. And the tame red and fallow deer looked at her suspiciously from a distance, as if she might turn into a motor-car. In those morning walks she did not again see his lips forming words that frightened her, and she began to be quite sure that he had stopped swearing to himself because she had spoken to him so seriously.
Once he looked at her so long and with so much earnestness that she asked him what he was thinking of, and he gently pushed back the broad-brimmed hat she wore, so as to see her forehead and beautiful golden hair.
'You are growing very like your mother,' he said, after a little while.
They had stopped in the broad drive, and little Ida gazed gravely up at him for a moment. Then she put up her arms.
'I think I want to give you a kiss, Mr. Van Torp,' she said with the utmost gravity. 'You're so good to me.'
Mr. Van Torp stooped, and she put her arms round his short neck and kissed the hard, flat cheek once, and he kissed hers rather awkwardly.
'Thank you, my dear,' he said, in an odd voice, as he straightened himself.
He took her hand again to walk on, and the great iron mouth was drawn a little to one side, and it looked as if the lips might have trembled if they had not been so tightly shut. Perhaps Mr. Van Torp had never kissed a child before.
She was very happy and contented, for she had spent most of her life in a New England village alone with Miss More, and the great English country-house was full of wonder and mystery for her, and the park was certainly the Earthly Paradise. She had hardly ever been with other children and was rather afraid of them, because they did not always understand what she said, as most grown people did; so she was not at all lonely now. On the contrary, she felt that her small existence was ever so much fuller than before, since she now loved two people instead of only one, and the two people seemed to agree so well together. In America she had only seen Mr. Van Torp at intervals, when he had appeared at the cottage near Boston, the bearer of toys and chocolates and other good things, and she had not been told till after she had landed in Liverpool that she was to be taken to stop with him in the country while he remained in England. Till then he had always called her 'Miss Ida,' in an absurdly formal way, but ever since she had arrived at Oxley Paddox he had dropped the 'Miss,' and had never failed to spend two or three hours alone with her every day. Though his manner had not changed much, and he treated her with a sort of queer formality, much as he would have behaved if she had been twenty years old instead of nine, she had been growing more and more sure that he loved her and would give her anything in the world she asked for, though there was really nothing she wanted; and in return she grew gratefully fond of him by quick degrees, till her affection expressed itself in her solemn proposal to 'give him a kiss.'
Not long after that Mr. Van Torp found amongst his letters one from Lady Maud, of which the envelope was stamped with the address of her father's country place, 'Craythew.' He read the contents carefully, and made a note in his pocket-book before tearing the sheet and the envelope into a number of small bits.
There was nothing very compromising in the note, but Mr. Van Torp certainly did not know that his butler regularly offered first and second prizes in the servants' hall, every Saturday night, for the 'best-put-together letters' of the week—to those of his satellites, in other words, who had been most successful in piecing together scraps from the master's wastepaper basket. In houses where the post-bag has a patent lock, of which the master keeps the key, this diversion has been found a good substitute for the more thrilling entertainment of steaming the letters and reading them before taking them upstairs. If Mrs. Dubbs was aware of Mr. Crookes' weekly distribution of rewards she took no notice of it; but as she rarely condescended to visit the lower regions, and only occasionally asked Mr. Crookes to dine in her own sitting-room, she may be allowed the benefit of the doubt; and, besides, she was a very superior person.
On the day after he had received Lady Maud's note, Mr. Van Torp rode out by himself. No one, judging from his looks, would have taken him for a good rider. He rode seldom, too, never talked of horses, and was never seen at a race. When he rode he did not even take the trouble to put on gaiters, and, after he had bought Oxley Paddox, the first time that his horse was brought to the door, by a groom who had never seen him, the latter could have sworn that the millionaire had never been on a horse before and was foolishly determined to break his neck. On that occasion Mr. Van Torp came down the steps, with a big cigar in his mouth, in his ordinary clothes, without so much as a pair of straps to keep his trousers down, or a bit of a stick in his hand. The animal was a rather ill-tempered black that had arrived from Yorkshire two days previously in charge of a boy who gave him a bad character. As Mr. Van Torp descended the steps with his clumsy gait, the horse laid his ears well back for a moment and looked as if he meant to kick anything within reach. Mr. Van Torp looked at him in a dull way, puffed his cigar, and made one remark in the form of a query.
'He ain't a lamb, is he?'
'No, sir,' answered the groom with sympathetic alacrity, 'and if I was you, sir, I wouldn't—'
But the groom's good advice was checked by an unexpected phenomenon. Mr. Van Torp was suddenly up, and the black was plunging wildly as was only to be expected; what was more extraordinary was that Mr. Van Torp's expression showed no change whatever, the very big cigar was stuck in his mouth at precisely the same angle as before, and he appeared to be glued to the saddle. He sat perfectly erect, with his legs perpendicularly straight, and his hands low and quiet.
The next moment the black bolted down the drive, but Mr. Van Torp did not seem the least disturbed, and the astonished groom, his mouth wide open and his arms hanging down, saw that the rider gave the beast his head for a couple of hundred yards, and then actually stopped him short, bringing him almost to the ground on his haunches.
'My Gawd, 'e's a cowboy!' exclaimed the groom, who was a Cockney, and had seen a Wild West show and recognised the real thing. 'And me thinkin' 'e was goin' to break his precious neck and wastin' my bloomin' sympathy on 'im!'
Since that first day Mr. Van Torp had not ridden more than a score of times in two years. He preferred driving, because it was less trouble, and partly because he could take little Ida with him. It was therefore always a noticeable event in the monotonous existence at Torp Towers when he ordered a horse to be saddled, as he did on the day after he had got Lady Maud's note from Craythew.
He rode across the hilly country at a leisurely pace, first by lanes and afterwards over a broad moor, till he entered a small beech wood by a bridle-path not wide enough for two to ride together, and lined with rhododendrons, lilacs, and laburnum. A quarter of a mile from the entrance a pretty glade widened to an open lawn, in the middle of which stood a ruin, consisting of the choir and chancel arch of a chapel. Mr. Van Torp drew rein before it, threw his right leg over the pommel before him, and remained sitting sideways on the saddle, for the very good reason that he did not see anything to sit on if he got down, and that it was of no use to waste energy in standing. His horse might have resented such behaviour on the part of any one else, but accepted the western rider's eccentricities quite calmly and proceeded to crop the damp young grass at his feet.
Mr. Van Torp had come to meet Lady Maud. The place was lonely and conveniently situated, being about half-way between Oxley Paddox and Craythew, on Mr. Van Torp's land, which was so thoroughly protected against trespassers and reporters by wire fences and special watchmen that there was little danger of any one getting within the guarded boundary. On the side towards Craythew there was a gate with a patent lock, to which Lady Maud had a key.
Mr. Van Torp was at the meeting-place at least a quarter of an hour before the appointed time. His horse only moved a short step every now and then, eating his way slowly across the grass, and his rider sat sideways, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at nothing particular, with that perfectly wooden expression of his which indicated profound thought.
But his senses were acutely awake, and he caught the distant sound of hoofs on the soft woodland path just a second before his horse lifted his head and pricked his ears. Mr. Van Torp did not slip to the ground, however, and he hardly changed his position. Half a dozen young pheasants hurled themselves noisily out of the wood on the other side of the ruin, and scattered again as they saw him, to perch on the higher boughs of the trees not far off instead of settling on the sward. A moment later Lady Maud appeared, on a lanky and elderly thoroughbred that had been her own long before her marriage. Her old-fashioned habit was evidently of the same period too; it had been made before the modern age of skirted coats, and fitted her figure in a way that would have excited open disapproval and secret admiration in Rotten Row. But she never rode in town, so that it did not matter; and, besides, Lady Maud did not care.
Mr. Van Torp raised his hat in a very un-English way, and at the same time, apparently out of respect for his friend, he went so far as to change his seat a little by laying his right knee over the pommel and sticking his left foot into the stirrup, so that he sat like a woman. Lady Maud drew up on his off side and they shook hands.
'You look rather comfortable,' she said, and the happy ripple was in her voice.
'Why, yes. There's nothing else to sit on, and the grass is wet. Do you want to get off?'
'I thought we might make some tea presently,' answered Lady Maud.'I've brought my basket.'
'Now I call that quite sweet!' Mr. Van Torp seemed very much pleased, and he looked down at the shabby little brown basket hanging at her saddle.
He slipped to the ground, and she did the same before he could go round to help her. The old thoroughbred nosed her hand as if expecting something good, and she produced a lump of sugar from the tea-basket and gave it to him.
Mr. Van Torp pulled a big carrot from the pocket of his tweed jacket and let his horse bite it off by inches. Then he took the basket from Lady Maud and the two went towards the ruin.
'We can sit on the Earl,' said Lady Maud, advancing towards a low tomb on which was sculptured a recumbent figure in armour. 'The horses won't run away from such nice grass.'
So the two installed themselves on each side of the stone knight's armed feet, which helped to support the tea-basket, and Lady Maud took out her spirit-lamp and a saucepan that just held two cups, and a tin bottle full of water, and all the other things, arranging them neatly in order.
'How practical women are!' exclaimed Mr. Van Torp, looking on. 'Now I would never have thought of that.'
But he was really wondering whether she expected him to speak first of the grave matters that brought them together in that lonely place.
'I've got some bread and butter,' she said, opening a small sandwich-box, 'and there is a lemon instead of cream.'
'Your arrangements beat Hare Court hollow,' observed the millionaire.'Do you remember the cracked cups and the weevilly biscuits?'
'Yes, and how sorry you were when you had burnt the little beasts! Now light the spirit-lamp, please, and then we can talk.'
Everything being arranged to her satisfaction, Lady Maud looked up at her companion.
'Are you going to do anything about it?' she asked.
'Will it do any good if I do? That's the question.'
'Good? What is good in that sense?' She looked at him a moment, but as he did not answer she went on. 'I cannot bear to see you abused in print like this, day after day, when I know the truth, or most of it.'
'It doesn't matter about me. I'm used to it. What does your father say?'
'He says that when a man is attacked as you are, it's his duty to defend himself.'
'Oh, he does, does he?'
Lady Maud smiled, but shook her head in a reproachful way.
'You promised me that you would never give me your business answer, you know!'
'I'm sorry,' said Mr. Van Torp, in a tone of contrition. 'Well, you see, I forgot you weren't a man. I won't do it again. So your father thinks I'd better come out flat-footed with a statement to the press. Now, I'll tell you. I'd do so, if I didn't feel sure that all this circus about me isn't the real thing yet. It's been got up with an object, and until I can make out what's coming I think I'd best keep still. Whoever's at the root of this is counting on my losing my temper and hitting out, and saying things, and then the real attack will come from an unexpected quarter. Do you see that? Under the circumstances, almost any man in my position would get interviewed and talk back, wouldn't he?'
'I fancy so,' answered Lady Maud.
'Exactly. If I did that, I might be raising against another man's straight flush, don't you see? A good way in a fight is never to do what everybody else would do. But I've got a scheme for getting behind the other man, whoever he is, and I've almost concluded to try it.'
'Will you tell me what it is?'
'Don't I always tell you most things?'
Lady Maud smiled at the reservation implied in 'most.'
'After all you have done for me, I should have no right to complain if you never told me anything,' she answered. 'Do as you think best. You know that I trust you.'
'That's right, and I appreciate it,' answered the millionaire. 'In the first place, you're not going to be divorced. I suppose that's settled.'
Lady Maud opened her clear eyes in surprise.
'You didn't know that, did you?' asked Mr. Van Torp, enjoying her astonishment.
'Certainly not, and I can hardly believe it,' she answered.
'Look here, Maud,' said her companion, bending his heavy brows in a way very unusual with him, 'do you seriously think I'd let you be divorced on my account? That I'd allow any human being to play tricks with your good name by coupling it with mine in any sort of way? If I were the kind of man about whom you had a right to think that, I wouldn't deserve your friendship.'
It was not often that Rufus Van Torp allowed his face to show feeling, but the look she saw in his rough-hewn features for a moment almost frightened her. There was something Titanic in it.
'No, Rufus—no!' she cried, earnestly. 'You know how I have believed in you and trusted you! It's only that I don't see how—'
'That's a detail,' answered the American. 'The "how" don't matter when a man's in earnest.' The look was gone again, for her words had appeased him instantly. 'Well,' he went on, in his ordinary tone, 'you can take it for granted that the divorce will come to nothing. There'll be a clear statement in all the best papers next week, saying that your husband's suit for a divorce has been dismissed with costs because there is not the slightest evidence of any kind against you. It will be stated that you came to my partner's chambers in Hare Court on a matter of pure business, to receive certain money, which was due to you from me in the way of business, for which you gave me the usual business acknowledgment. So that's that! I had a wire yesterday to say it's as good as settled. The water's boiling.'
The steam was lifting the lid of the small saucepan, which stood securely on the spirit-lamp between the marble knight's greaved shins. But Lady Maud took no notice of it.
'It's like you,' said she. 'I cannot find anything else to say!'
'It doesn't matter about saying anything,' returned Mr. Van Torp. 'The water's boiling.'
'Will you blow out the lamp?' As she spoke she dropped a battered silver tea-ball into the water, and moved it about by its little chain.
Mr. Van Torp took off his hat, and bent down sideways till his flat cheek rested on the knight's stone shin, and he blew out the flame with one well-aimed puff. Lady Maud did not look at the top of his head, nor steal a furtive glance at the strong muscles and sinews of his solid neck. She did nothing of the kind. She bobbed the tea-ball up and down in the saucepan by its chain, and watched how the hot water turned brown.
'But I did not give you a "business acknowledgment," as you call it,' she said thoughtfully. 'It's not quite truthful to say I did, you know.'
'Does that bother you? All right.'
He produced his well-worn pocket-book, found a scrap of white paper amongst the contents, and laid it on the leather. Then he took his pencil and wrote a few words.
'Received of R. Van Torp £4100 to balance of account.'
He held out the pencil, and laid the pocket-book on his palm for her to write. She read the words with out moving.
'"To balance of account"—what does that mean?'
'It means that it's a business transaction. At the time you couldn't make any further claim against me. That's all it means.'
He put the pencil to the paper again, and wrote the date of the meeting in Hare Court.
'There! If you sign your name to that, it just means that you had no further claim against me on that day. You hadn't, anyway, so you may just as well sign!'
He held out the paper, and Lady Maud took it with a smile and wrote her signature.
'Thank you,' said Mr. Van Torp. 'Now you're quite comfortable, I suppose, for you can't deny that you have given me the usual business acknowledgment. The other part of it is that I don't care to keep that kind of receipt long, so I just strike a match and burn it.' He did so, and watched the flimsy scrap turn black on the stone knight's knee, till the gentle breeze blew the ashes away. 'So there!' he concluded. 'If you were called upon to swear in evidence that you signed a proper receipt for the money, you couldn't deny it, could you? A receipt's good if given at any time after the money has been paid. What's the matter? Why do you look as if you doubted it? What is truth, anyhow? It's the agreement of the facts with the statement of them, isn't it? Well, I don't see but the statement coincides with the facts all right now.'
While he had been talking Lady Maud had poured out the tea, and had cut some thin slices from the lemon, glancing at him incredulously now and then, but smiling in spite of herself.
'That's all sophistry,' she said, as she handed him his cup.
'Thanks,' he answered, taking it from her. 'Look here! Can you deny that you have given me a formal dated receipt for four thousand one hundred pounds?'
'No—'
'Well, then, what can't be denied is the truth; and if I choose to publish the truth about you, I don't suppose you can find fault with it.'
'No, but—'
'Excuse me for interrupting, but there is no "but." What's good in law is good enough for me, and the Attorney-General and all his angels couldn't get behind that receipt now, if they tried till they were black in the face.'
Mr. Van Torp's similes were not always elegant.
'Tip-top tea,' he remarked, as Lady Maud did not attempt to say anything more. 'That was a bright idea of yours, bringing the lemon, too.'
He took several small sips in quick succession, evidently appreciating the quality of the tea as a connoisseur.
'I don't know how you have managed to do it,' said Lady Maud at last. 'As you say, the "how" does not matter very much. Perhaps it's just as well that I should not know how you got at the Patriarch. I couldn't be more grateful if I knew the whole story.'
'There's no particular story about it. When I found he was the man to be seen, I sent a man to see him. That's all.'
'It sounds very simple,' said Lady Maud, whose acquaintance with American slang was limited, even after she had known Mr. Van Torp intimately for two years. 'You were going to tell me more. You said you had a plan for catching the real person who is responsible for this attack on you.'
'Well, I have a sort of an idea, but I'm not quite sure how the land lays. By the bye,' he said quickly, correcting himself, 'isn't that one of the things I say wrong? You told me I ought to say how the land "lies," didn't you? I always forget.'
Lady Maud laughed as she looked at him, for she was quite sure that he had only taken up his own mistake in order to turn the subject from the plan of which he did not mean to speak.
'You know that I'm not in the least curious,' she said, 'so don't waste any cleverness in putting me off! I only wish to know whether I can help you to carry out your plan. I had an idea too. I thought of getting my father to have a week-end party at Craythew, to which you would be asked, by way of showing people that he knows all about our friendship, and approves of it in spite of what my husband has been trying to do. Would that suit you? Would it help you or not?'