CHAPTER II
A yearpassed and John Gaunt left his house in Park Lane to go to his office in the City. It was a joy to him—this daily battle of wits, and although he was as rich as mortal man could desire, there had been no thought of giving up his work.
During the drive his thoughts were with his wife, for there was naturally a little anxiety at such a time, but he remembered that Lady Mildred was physically a strong woman, and there was but little chance of any complication arising.
His secretary, Michael Foster, rose to receive him and placed on the table a pile of letters.
“I have dealt with all the rest, sir. That letter from Brussels seems to be rather important.”
A frown appeared on Gaunt’s face as he read.
“There is no end to the sickly sentimentality of the English. Why can’t they mind their own business and leave the Congo to work out its own salvation?” he said irritably.
“I don’t think that this will make much difference, sir. It’s all talk, and none of the Powers dare make any practical move. It’s England’s jealousy of Germany, andvice versa, that ties their hands. But are things really so bad as people make out?”
“Do you mean—are the niggers compelled to work? If so, the answer is—yes, and the means used to make them are severe. But then, severity is necessary.”
“But the cruelty and torture. I think——”
“Then don’t think; but if you must, pray keep your thoughts to yourself. I will answer this letter. About the Amanti Mine—has any cable been published yet?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. What time is the appointment with Weiss and his crowd?”
“Eleven o’clock, sir.”
Gaunt glanced at the clock and then thought for a few moments.
“Put out the cigars and you can go. Send them in as soon as they arrive.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alone, John Gaunt paced restlessly to and fro, and the expression on his face was not a pleasant one. To all intents and purposes the foundation of his vast fortune rested on “red rubber.” It was the Congo that had supplied him with the capital necessary for his first financial schemes; and the revelations of the methods employed in that country annoyed him.
Punctually at the time appointed Weiss arrived. The man was a typical German-Jew, who had made a fortune on the Rand, and with him there came two other men of his race. The latter were also financiers and usually followed where Weiss led, greatly to the advantage of their pockets.
“Good-morning, Gaunt. There’s a cable from the manager of the Amanti Mine just come in.”
Weiss’ accent was not that of the Jew of fiction and the stage, for he spoke slowly and correctly, and it was only by intonation that he showed his race.
“So ithasarrived?” Gaunt answered quickly.
“Yes—and we thought it would be just as well to come to an understanding. To our joint account you have bought about twenty thousand shares at an average of seven and six.”
“That is so, Weiss.”
“Good. But may I point out to you that we—I and my two friends—have no evidence that they were bought to our joint account?” Weiss continued suavely.
“What do you want?” Gaunt demanded, and there was an ugly expression in his eyes, which the Jew did not observe.
“Just a little piece of paper, setting out the facts, and with your name to it.”
“So that’s your errand. Well, you won’t have it, for I’m not quite a fool, Weiss. Let us suppose that the sending of this cable was traced to one of your instruments.”
Weiss rose to his feet and gesticulated furiously.
“What do you mean?”
“I repeat that I am not quite a fool. I know that this cable is a fraud. That the shares will be rushed up—are being rushed up at the present moment—and that we shall reap a handsome profit. You and your friends will get your share of it. So you thought that you could hoodwink me, did you?”
“I don’t admit that the cable is a fraud. But that doesn’t matter. What concerns me is that we are entirely in your hands. You need give us nothing, if you don’t want to.”
“Quite right, Weiss; but you must remember that I happen to be honest according to my lights. No mancan say that John Gaunt ever went back on his word. If I make a promise I carry it out. Isn’t that my reputation in the City?”
“Yes—but it isn’t business,” Weiss answered grudgingly.
“It happens to be my way of doing business on this occasion. I propose to sell when the shares are above a pound, and you shall have a check directly the deal is through. Good-morning.”
As soon as Weiss and his friends had gone, Michael Foster entered carrying in his hand a slip of paper.
“Amantis have risen to twelve shillings, sir,” he announced.
“Let me know when they reach a pound. Are there any more appointments this morning?”
“No. But Mr. George Braithwaite wishes to see you.”
“Is he here now?”
“Yes, sir. Shall I send him in?”
John Gaunt nodded his head and dipped his hand into the box from which he took a big cigar. The end was cut neatly and the match applied with great care.
“Well, Braithwaite, what can I do for you?” he asked sharply.
There was a shamefaced expression on the face of the newcomer that gave him almost a shifty look, and his clothes showed many signs of wear.
“I am sorry to trouble you again, old chap; but things are very bad. I haven’t a penny in the world and the family are——”
“That is quite sufficient. You came to me a year agowith a similar sort of story. I gave you a hundred pounds.”
“You were very generous——”
“And I told you that it would be the last time you got any money from me,” Gaunt said curtly.
“I know that; but things are really bad. There’s no food in the house, and the wife——”
“I am a man of my word. Surely you should have realized the uselessness of this call. Have you ever known me change when I have once made up my mind?”
“I am desperate, Gaunt. We are starving——”
There was truth in the man’s voice. The words carried conviction with them, but Gaunt showed no sign of weakening.
“I once did you a good turn,” Braithwaite said appealingly.
“You did—and I have repaid it many times over.”
As he spoke his fingers pressed the button of the electric bell.
“Foster, my private ledger.”
The secretary brought the book, and then disappeared in silence.
“You did me a good turn—it’s quite true—and on no less than six occasions you have come to me for assistance. The last time I told you that it should end—have a cigar?”
Braithwaite rose to his feet and his body swayed a little.
“Look at that. It’s a pawn-ticket for my wife’s wedding ring,” he said hoarsely.
“I don’t wish to be rude, but I’m really busy. I am sorry for you but I can do nothing. You should have understood that the last hundred pounds was the end of my assistance. I told you so, and I am a man of my word. Good-morning.”
“Gaunt, remember that we were boys together. You with your millions—and I starving. You can’t refuse me. Only a sovereign. It will buy food. Ten shillings—even a shilling will get us bread.”
“Not one penny.”
“Curse you!” Braithwaite cried hysterically.
“Don’t be melodramatic—just go—for I’m busy.”
Gaunt felt a little regret when he was alone, but the feeling quickly passed. The fact that he had said that he would do no more for Braithwaite rendered anything but refusal impossible.
Soon he was again interrupted by the entrance of Foster, who announced that Amantis were still rising steadily. Afterwards lunch was brought to his room for he had found it impossible to eat in any public place. His face was so well known in the City that he was liable to be interrupted by the many people who sought favors.
After the meal was over his secretary came in to announce a visitor.
“The Reverend Edward Drake would like to see you, sir.”
“Isn’t that the parson who is working in the East End?” Gaunt asked.
“Yes, sir. There is an article by him in to-day’sTimes.”
“Bring it to me.”
Gaunt took the paper and rapidly scanned the column and a half.
“It reads all right. Quite straightforward and no whining. Send him in.”
It was with some interest that Gaunt examined the clergyman’s face, and he was not disappointed. Clean-cut features, noble in outline, steady eyes that regarded one frankly. The lips firm, but rather full; and the expression of the mouth was winning.
“What do you want? Money?” Gaunt demanded bluntly.
“You have guessed it, Mr. Gaunt. I see you have theTimesthere. If you have read my article, there is no need to say a word. I know you are a busy man,” Mr. Drake said with a smile.
While he spoke the two men were regarding one another with overt curiosity and suddenly they both smiled. Gaunt’s hand had gone to a drawer and he drew forth a check-book.
“Will that do?” he asked, as he handed over the pink slip of paper.
“You are more than generous. I am very grateful.”
“Show your gratitude by keeping your mouth shut. I am not buying a baronetcy.”
Mr. Drake had risen. There was a flush on his face, and he seemed to have some difficulty in speaking. Just then a bell tinkled on the writing-table, and Gaunt took up the receiver.
“Yes. Put me through.”
He listened for a while, and his face became very white.
“I’ll come at once,” he said and threw down the receiver.
“Mr. Gaunt, I must thank you most——”
“Get out of the way, man. My wife’s ill,” Gaunt cried roughly, and seizing his hat, hastened from the room.