An African Millionaire: Episodes in the Life of the Illustrious Colonel Clay Page 4

  IV

  THE EPISODE OF THE TYROLEAN CASTLE

  We went to Meran. The place was practically decided for us byAmelia's French maid, who really acts on such occasions as ourguide and courier.

  She is _such_ a clever girl, is Amelia's French maid. Whenever weare going anywhere, Amelia generally asks (and accepts) her adviceas to choice of hotels and furnished villas. Cesarine has been allover the Continent in her time; and, being Alsatian by birth, she ofcourse speaks German as well as she speaks French, while her longresidence with Amelia has made her at last almost equally at homein our native English. She is a treasure, that girl; so neat anddexterous, and not above dabbling in anything on earth she may beasked to turn her hand to. She walks the world with a needle-casein one hand and an etna in the other. She can cook an omelette onoccasion, or drive a Norwegian cariole; she can sew, and knit, andmake dresses, and cure a cold, and do anything else on earth you askher. Her salads are the most savoury I ever tasted; while as for hercoffee (which she prepares for us in the train on long journeys),there isn't a chef de cuisine at a West-end club to be named in thesame day with her.

  So, when Amelia said, in her imperious way, "Cesarine, we want to goto the Tyrol--now--at once--in mid-October; where do you advise usto put up?"--Cesarine answered, like a shot, "The Erzherzog Johann,of course, at Meran, for the autumn, madame."

  "Is he ... an archduke?" Amelia asked, a little staggered at suchapparent familiarity with Imperial personages.

  "Ma foi! no, madame. He is an hotel--as you would say in England,the 'Victoria' or the 'Prince of Wales's'--the most comfortablehotel in all South Tyrol; and at this time of year, naturally, youmust go beyond the Alps; it begins already to be cold at Innsbruck."

  So to Meran we went; and a prettier or more picturesque place, Iconfess, I have seldom set eyes on. A rushing torrent; high hillsand mountain peaks; terraced vineyard slopes; old walls and towers;quaint, arcaded streets; a craggy waterfall; a promenade afterthe fashion of a German Spa; and when you lift your eyes from theground, jagged summits of Dolomites: it was a combination such asI had never before beheld; a Rhine town plumped down among greenAlpine heights, and threaded by the cool colonnades of Italy.

  I approved Cesarine's choice; and I was particularly glad shehad pronounced for an hotel, where all is plain sailing, insteadof advising a furnished villa, the arrangements for which wouldnaturally have fallen in large part upon the shoulders of thewretched secretary. As in any case I have to do three hours' worka day, I feel that such additions to my normal burden may wellbe spared me. I tipped Cesarine half a sovereign, in fact, forher judicious choice. Cesarine glanced at it on her palm in hermysterious, curious, half-smiling way, and pocketed it at once witha "Merci, monsieur!" that had a touch of contempt in it. I alwaysfancy Cesarine has large ideas of her own on the subject of tipping,and thinks very small beer of the modest sums a mere secretary canalone afford to bestow upon her.

  The great peculiarity of Meran is the number of schlosses (I believemy plural is strictly irregular, but very convenient to Englishears) which you can see in every direction from its outskirts. Astatistical eye, it is supposed, can count no fewer than forty ofthese picturesque, ramshackled old castles from a point on theKuechelberg. For myself, I hate statistics (except as an element infinancial prospectuses), and I really don't know how many ruinouspiles Isabel and Amelia counted under Cesarine's guidance; but Iremember that most of them were quaint and beautiful, and that theirvariety of architecture seemed positively bewildering. One would besquare, with funny little turrets stuck out at each angle; whileanother would rejoice in a big round keep, and spread on either sidelong, ivy-clad walls and delightful bastions. Charles was immenselytaken with them. He loves the picturesque, and has a poet hiddenin that financial soul of his. (Very effectually hidden, though, Iam ready to grant you.) From the moment he came he felt at oncehe would love to possess a castle of his own among these romanticmountains. "Seldon!" he exclaimed contemptuously. "They call Seldona castle! But you and I know very well, Sey, it was built in 1860,with sham antique stones, for Macpherson of Seldon, at market rates,by Cubitt and Co., worshipful contractors of London. Macphersoncharged me for that sham antiquity a preposterous price, atwhich one ought to procure a real ancestral mansion. Now, _these_castles are real. They are hoary with antiquity. Schloss Tyrol isRomanesque--tenth or eleventh century." (He had been reading it upin Baedeker.) "That's the sort of place for _me_!--tenth or eleventhcentury. I could live here, remote from stocks and shares, for ever;and in these sequestered glens, recollect, Sey, my boy, there areno Colonel Clays, and no arch Madame Picardets!"

  As a matter of fact, he could have lived there six weeks, and thentired for Park Lane, Monte Carlo, Brighton.

  As for Amelia, strange to say, she was equally taken with this newfad of Charles's. As a rule she hates everywhere on earth saveLondon, except during the time when no respectable person can beseen in town, and when modest blinds shade the scandalised face ofMayfair and Belgravia. She bores herself to death even at SeldonCastle, Ross-shire, and yawns all day long in Paris or Vienna. Sheis a confirmed Cockney. Yet, for some occult reason, my amiablesister-in-law fell in love with South Tyrol. She wanted to vegetatein that lush vegetation. The grapes were being picked; pumpkins hungover the walls; Virginia creeper draped the quaint gray schlosseswith crimson cloaks; and everything was as beautiful as a dream ofBurne-Jones's. (I know I am quite right in mentioning Burne-Jones,especially in connection with Romanesque architecture, because Iheard him highly praised on that very ground by our friend andenemy, Dr. Edward Polperro.) So perhaps it was excusable thatAmelia should fall in love with it all, under the circumstances;besides, she is largely influenced by what Cesarine says, andCesarine declares there is no climate in Europe like Meran inwinter. I do not agree with her. The sun sets behind the hills atthree in the afternoon, and a nasty warm wind blows moist overthe snow in January and February.

  However, Amelia set Cesarine to inquire of the people at the hotelabout the market price of tumbledown ruins, and the number of sucheligible family mausoleums just then for sale in the immediateneighbourhood. Cesarine returned with a full, true, and particularlist, adorned with flowers of rhetoric which would have delightedthe soul of good old John Robins. They were all picturesque, allRomanesque, all richly ivy-clad, all commodious, all historical,and all the property of high well-born Grafs and very honourableFreiherrs. Most of them had been the scene of celebrated tournaments;several of them had witnessed the gorgeous marriages of Holy RomanEmperors; and every one of them was provided with some choice andselected first-class murders. Ghosts could be arranged for or not,as desired; and armorial bearings could be thrown in with the moatfor a moderate extra remuneration.

  The two we liked best of all these tempting piles were SchlossPlanta and Schloss Lebenstein. We drove past both, and even Imyself, I confess, was distinctly taken with them. (Besides, whena big purchase like this is on the stocks, a poor beggar of asecretary has always a chance of exerting his influence and earningfor himself some modest commission.) Schloss Planta was the moststriking externally, I should say, with its Rhine-like towers, andits great gnarled ivy-stems, that looked as if they antedated theHouse of Hapsburg; but Lebenstein was said to be better preservedwithin, and more fitted in every way for modern occupation. Itsstaircase has been photographed by 7000 amateurs.

  We got tickets to view. The invaluable Cesarine procured them forus. Armed with these, we drove off one fine afternoon, meaning togo to Planta, by Cesarine's recommendation. Half-way there, however,we changed our minds, as it was such a lovely day, and went on upthe long, slow hill to Lebenstein. I must say the drive through thegrounds was simply charming. The castle stands perched (say ratherpoised, like St. Michael the archangel in Italian pictures) on asolitary stack or crag of rock, looking down on every side uponits own rich vineyards. Chestnuts line the glens; the valley ofthe Etsch spreads below like a picture.

  The vineyards alone make a splendid estate, by the way; they produc
ea delicious red wine, which is exported to Bordeaux, and therebottled and sold as a vintage claret under the name of ChateauMonnivet. Charles revelled in the idea of growing his own wines.

  "Here we could sit," he cried to Amelia, "in the most literal sense,under our own vine and fig-tree. Delicious retirement! For my part,I'm sick and tired of the hubbub of Threadneedle Street."

  We knocked at the door--for there was really no bell, but aponderous, old-fashioned, wrought-iron knocker. So deliciouslymediaeval! The late Graf von Lebenstein had recently died, weknew; and his son, the present Count, a young man of means, havinginherited from his mother's family a still more ancient andsplendid schloss in the Salzburg district, desired to sell thisoutlying estate in order to afford himself a yacht, after the mannerthat is now becoming increasingly fashionable with the noblemen andgentlemen in Germany and Austria.

  The door was opened for us by a high well-born menial, attired ina very ancient and honourable livery. Nice antique hall; suits ofancestral armour, trophies of Tyrolese hunters, coats of arms ofancient counts--the very thing to take Amelia's aristocratic andromantic fancy. The whole to be sold exactly as it stood; ancestorsto be included at a valuation.

  We went through the reception-rooms. They were lofty, charming, andwith glorious views, all the more glorious for being framed by thosegraceful Romanesque windows, with their slender pillars and quaint,round-topped arches. Sir Charles had made his mind up. "I must andwill have it!" he cried. "This is the place for me. Seldon! Pah,Seldon is a modern abomination."

  Could we see the high well-born Count? The liveried servant(somewhat haughtily) would inquire of his Serenity. Sir Charlessent up his card, and also Lady Vandrift's. These foreigners knowtitle spells money in England.

  He was right in his surmise. Two minutes later the Count enteredwith our cards in his hands. A good-looking young man, with thecharacteristic Tyrolese long black moustache, dressed in agentlemanly variant on the costume of the country. His air was ajager's; the usual blackcock's plume stuck jauntily in the side ofthe conical hat (which he held in his hand), after the universalAustrian fashion.

  He waved us to seats. We sat down. He spoke to us in French; hisEnglish, he remarked, with a pleasant smile, being a negligeablequantity. We might speak it, he went on; he could understand prettywell; but he preferred to answer, if we would allow him, in Frenchor German.

  "French," Charles replied, and the negotiation continued thenceforthin that language. It is the only one, save English and his ancestralDutch, with which my brother-in-law possesses even a noddingacquaintance.

  We praised the beautiful scene. The Count's face lighted up withpatriotic pride. Yes; it was beautiful, beautiful, his own greenTyrol. He was proud of it and attached to it. But he could endureto sell this place, the home of his fathers, because he had a finerin the Salzkammergut, and a pied-a-terre near Innsbruck. For Tyrollacked just one joy--the sea. He was a passionate yachtsman. Forthat he had resolved to sell this estate; after all, three countryhouses, a ship, and a mansion in Vienna, are more than one man cancomfortably inhabit.

  "Exactly," Charles answered. "If I can come to terms with you aboutthis charming estate I shall sell my own castle in the ScotchHighlands." And he tried to look like a proud Scotch chief whoharangues his clansmen.

  Then they got to business. The Count was a delightful man to dobusiness with. His manners were perfect. While we were talking tohim, a surly person, a steward or bailiff, or something of the sort,came into the room unexpectedly and addressed him in German, whichnone of us understand. We were impressed by the singular urbanityand benignity of the nobleman's demeanour towards this sullendependant. He evidently explained to the fellow what sort ofpeople we were, and remonstrated with him in a very gentle way forinterrupting us. The steward understood, and clearly regretted hisinsolent air; for after a few sentences he went out, and as he didso he bowed and made protestations of polite regard in his ownlanguage. The Count turned to us and smiled. "Our people," he said,"are like your own Scotch peasants--kind-hearted, picturesque, free,musical, poetic, but wanting, helas, in polish to strangers." Hewas certainly an exception, if he described them aright; for he madeus feel at home from the moment we entered.

  He named his price in frank terms. His lawyers at Meran held theneedful documents, and would arrange the negotiations in detail withus. It was a stiff sum, I must say--an extremely stiff sum; but nodoubt he was charging us a fancy price for a fancy castle. "He willcome down in time," Charles said. "The sum first named in all thesetransactions is invariably a feeler. They know I'm a millionaire;and people always imagine millionaires are positively made ofmoney."

  I may add that people always imagine it must be easier to squeezemoney out of millionaires than out of other people--which is thereverse of the truth, or how could they ever have amassed theirmillions? Instead of oozing gold as a tree oozes gum, they mop itup like blotting-paper, and seldom give it out again.

  We drove back from this first interview none the less very wellsatisfied. The price was too high; but preliminaries were arranged,and for the rest, the Count desired us to discuss all details withhis lawyers in the chief street, Unter den Lauben. We inquired aboutthese lawyers, and found they were most respectable and respectedmen; they had done the family business on either side for sevengenerations.

  They showed us plans and title-deeds. Everything quite en regle.Till we came to the price there was no hitch of any sort.

  As to price, however, the lawyers were obdurate. They stuck out forthe Count's first sum to the uttermost florin. It was a very bigestimate. We talked and shilly-shallied till Sir Charles grew angry.He lost his temper at last.

  "They know I'm a millionaire, Sey," he said, "and they're playingthe old game of trying to diddle me. But I won't be diddled. ExceptColonel Clay, no man has ever yet succeeded in bleeding me. Andshall I let myself be bled as if I were a chamois among theseinnocent mountains? Perish the thought!" Then he reflected a littlein silence. "Sey," he mused on, at last, "the question is, _are_they innocent? Do you know, I begin to believe there is no suchthing left as pristine innocence anywhere. This Tyrolese Count knowsthe value of a pound as distinctly as if he hung out in Capel Courtor Kimberley."

  Things dragged on in this way, inconclusively, for a week or two._We_ bid down; the lawyers stuck to it. Sir Charles grew half sickof the whole silly business. For my own part, I felt sure if thehigh well-born Count didn't quicken his pace, my respected relativewould shortly have had enough of the Tyrol altogether, and be proofagainst the most lovely of crag-crowning castles. But the Countdidn't see it. He came to call on us at our hotel--a rare honour fora stranger with these haughty and exclusive Tyrolese nobles--andeven entered unannounced in the most friendly manner. But when itcame to L. s. d., he was absolute adamant. Not one kreutzer wouldhe abate from his original proposal.

  "You misunderstand," he said, with pride. "We Tyrolese gentlemen arenot shopkeepers or merchants. We do not higgle. If we say a thing westick to it. Were you an Austrian, I should feel insulted by yourill-advised attempt to beat down my price. But as you belong to agreat commercial nation--" he broke off with a snort and shruggedhis shoulders compassionately.

  We saw him several times driving in and out of the schloss, andevery time he waved his hand at us gracefully. But when we tried tobargain, it was always the same thing: he retired behind the shelterof his Tyrolese nobility. We might take it or leave it. 'Twas stillSchloss Lebenstein.

  The lawyers were as bad. We tried all we knew, and got no forrarder.

  At last Charles gave up the attempt in disgust. He was tiring, as Iexpected. "It's the prettiest place I ever saw in my life," he said;"but, hang it all, Sey, I _won't_ be imposed upon."

  So he made up his mind, it being now December, to return to London.We met the Count next day, and stopped his carriage, and told himso. Charles thought this would have the immediate effect of bringingthe man to reason. But he only lifted his hat, with the blackcock'sfeather, and smiled a bland smile. "The Archduke Karl i
s inquiringabout it," he answered, and drove on without parley.

  Charles used some strong words, which I will not transcribe (I am afamily man), and returned to England.

  For the next two months we heard little from Amelia save her regretthat the Count wouldn't sell us Schloss Lebenstein. Its pinnacleshad fairly pierced her heart. Strange to say, she was absolutelyinfatuated about the castle. She rather wanted the place whileshe was there, and thought she could get it; now she thoughtshe couldn't, her soul (if she has one) was wildly set upon it.Moreover, Cesarine further inflamed her desire by gently hintinga fact which she had picked up at the courier's table d'hote atthe hotel--that the Count had been far from anxious to sell hisancestral and historical estate to a South African diamond king.He thought the honour of the family demanded, at least, that heshould secure a wealthy buyer of good ancient lineage.

  One morning in February, however, Amelia returned from the Row allsmiles and tremors. (She had been ordered horse-exercise to correctthe increasing excessiveness of her figure.)

  "Who do you think I saw riding in the Park?" she inquired. "Why,the Count of Lebenstein."

  "No!" Charles exclaimed, incredulous.

  "Yes," Amelia answered.

  "Must be mistaken," Charles cried.

  But Amelia stuck to it. More than that, she sent out emissaries toinquire diligently from the London lawyers, whose name had beenmentioned to us by the ancestral firm in Unter den Lauben astheir English agents, as to the whereabouts of our friend; andher emissaries learned in effect that the Count was in town andstopping at Morley's.

  "I see through it," Charles exclaimed. "He finds he's made amistake; and now he's come over here to reopen negotiations."

  I was all for waiting prudently till the Count made the first move."Don't let him see your eagerness," I said. But Amelia's ardourcould not now be restrained. She insisted that Charles shouldcall on the Graf as a mere return of his politeness in the Tyrol.

  He was as charming as ever. He talked to us with delight about thequaintness of London. He would be ravished to dine next evening withSir Charles. He desired his respectful salutations meanwhile toMiladi Vandrift and Madame Ventvorth.

  He dined with us, almost en famille. Amelia's cook did wonders. Inthe billiard-room, about midnight, Charles reopened the subject.The Count was really touched. It pleased him that still, amid thedistractions of the City of Five Million Souls, we should rememberwith affection his beloved Lebenstein.

  "Come to my lawyers," he said, "to-morrow, and I will talk it allover with you."

  We went--a most respectable firm in Southampton Row; old familysolicitors. They had done business for years for the late Count, whohad inherited from his grandmother estates in Ireland; and they wereglad to be honoured with the confidence of his successor. Glad, too,to make the acquaintance of a prince of finance like Sir CharlesVandrift. Anxious (rubbing their hands) to arrange matterssatisfactorily all round for everybody. (Two capital families withwhich to be mixed up, you see.)

  Sir Charles named a price, and referred them to his solicitors.The Count named a higher, but still a little come-down, and leftthe matter to be settled between the lawyers. He was a soldier anda gentleman, he said, with a Tyrolese toss of his high-born head;he would abandon details to men of business.

  As I was really anxious to oblige Amelia, I met the Countaccidentally next day on the steps of Morley's. (Accidentally,that is to say, so far as he was concerned, though I had beenhanging about in Trafalgar Square for half an hour to see him.)I explained, in guarded terms, that I had a great deal of influencein my way with Sir Charles; and that a word from me-- I brokeoff. He stared at me blankly.

  "Commission?" he inquired, at last, with a queer little smile.

  "Well, not exactly commission," I answered, wincing. "Still, afriendly word, you know. One good turn deserves another."

  He looked at me from head to foot with a curious scrutiny. For onemoment I feared the Tyrolese nobleman in him was going to raise itsfoot and take active measures. But the next, I saw that Sir Charleswas right after all, and that pristine innocence has removed fromthis planet to other quarters.

  He named his lowest price. "M. Ventvorth," he said, "I am a Tyroleseseigneur; I do not dabble, myself, in commissions and percentages.But if your influence with Sir Charles--we understand each other, dowe not?--as between gentlemen--a little friendly present--no money,of course--but the equivalent of say 5 per cent in jewellery, onwhatever sum above his bid to-day you induce him tooffer--eh?--c'est convenu?"

  "Ten per cent is more usual," I murmured.

  He was the Austrian hussar again. "Five, monsieur--or nothing!"

  I bowed and withdrew. "Well, five then," I answered, "just to obligeyour Serenity."

  A secretary, after all, can do a great deal. When it came to thescratch, I had but little difficulty in persuading Sir Charles, withAmelia's aid, backed up on either side by Isabel and Cesarine, toaccede to the Count's more reasonable proposal. The Southampton Rowpeople had possession of certain facts as to the value of the winesin the Bordeaux market which clinched the matter. In a week or twoall was settled; Charles and I met the Count by appointment inSouthampton Row, and saw him sign, seal, and deliver the title-deedsof Schloss Lebenstein. My brother-in-law paid the purchase-moneyinto the Count's own hands, by cheque, crossed on a first-classLondon firm where the Count kept an account to his high well-bornorder. Then he went away with the proud knowledge that he was ownerof Schloss Lebenstein. And what to me was more important still,I received next morning by post a cheque for the five per cent,unfortunately drawn, by some misapprehension, to my order on theself-same bankers, and with the Count's signature. He explained inthe accompanying note that the matter being now quite satisfactorilyconcluded, he saw no reason of delicacy why the amount he hadpromised should not be paid to me forthwith direct in money.

  I cashed the cheque at once, and said nothing about the affair, noteven to Isabel. My experience is that women are not to be trustedwith intricate matters of commission and brokerage.

  Though it was now late in March, and the House was sitting, Charlesinsisted that we must all run over at once to take possession of ourmagnificent Tyrolese castle. Amelia was almost equally burning witheagerness. She gave herself the airs of a Countess already. We tookthe Orient Express as far as Munich; then the Brenner to Meran,and put up for the night at the Erzherzog Johann. Though we hadtelegraphed our arrival, and expected some fuss, there was nodemonstration. Next morning we drove out in state to the schloss,to enter into enjoyment of our vines and fig-trees.

  We were met at the door by the surly steward. "I shall dismissthat man," Charles muttered, as Lord of Lebenstein. "He's toosour-looking for my taste. Never saw such a brute. Not a smileof welcome!"

  He mounted the steps. The surly man stepped forward and murmured afew morose words in German. Charles brushed him aside and strode on.Then there followed a curious scene of mutual misunderstanding. Thesurly man called lustily for his servants to eject us. It was sometime before we began to catch at the truth. The surly man was the_real_ Graf von Lebenstein.

  And the Count with the moustache? It dawned upon us now. ColonelClay again! More audacious than ever!

  Bit by bit it all came out. He had ridden behind us the first daywe viewed the place, and, giving himself out to the servants asone of our party, had joined us in the reception-room. We askedthe real Count why he had spoken to the intruder. The Countexplained in French that the man with the moustache had introducedmy brother-in-law as the great South African millionaire, while hedescribed himself as our courier and interpreter. As such he hadhad frequent interviews with the real Graf and his lawyers inMeran, and had driven almost daily across to the castle. The ownerof the estate had named one price from the first, and had stuck toit manfully. He stuck to it still; and if Sir Charles chose to buySchloss Lebenstein over again he was welcome to have it. How theLondon lawyers had been duped the Count had not really the slightestidea. He regretted the incident, and (coldly) wished u
s a very goodmorning.

  There was nothing for it but to return as best we might to theErzherzog Johann, crestfallen, and telegraph particulars to thepolice in London.

  Charles and I ran across post-haste to England to track down thevillain. At Southampton Row we found the legal firm by no meanspenitent; on the contrary, they were indignant at the way we haddeceived them. An impostor had written to them on Lebensteinpaper from Meran to say that he was coming to London to negotiatethe sale of the schloss and surrounding property with thefamous millionaire, Sir Charles Vandrift; and Sir Charles haddemonstratively recognised him at sight as the real Count vonLebenstein. The firm had never seen the present Graf at all, andhad swallowed the impostor whole, so to speak, on the strength ofSir Charles's obvious recognition. He had brought over as documentssome most excellent forgeries--facsimiles of the originals--which,as our courier and interpreter, he had every opportunity ofexamining and inspecting at the Meran lawyers'. It was a deeply-laidplot, and it had succeeded to a marvel. Yet, all of it dependedupon the one small fact that we had accepted the man with the longmoustache in the hall of the schloss as the Count von Lebenstein onhis own representation.

  He held our cards in his hands when he came in; and the servant had_not_ given them to him, but to the genuine Count. That was the oneunsolved mystery in the whole adventure.

  By the evening's post two letters arrived for us at Sir Charles'shouse: one for myself, and one for my employer. Sir Charles's ranthus:--

  "HIGH WELL-BORN INCOMPETENCE,--

  "I only just pulled through! A very small slip nearly lost meeverything. I believed you were going to Schloss Planta that day,not to Schloss Lebenstein. You changed your mind en route. Thatmight have spoiled all. Happily I perceived it, rode up by the shortcut, and arrived somewhat hurriedly and hotly at the gate beforeyou. Then I introduced myself. I had one more bad moment when therival claimant to my name and title intruded into the room. Butfortune favours the brave: your utter ignorance of German saved me.The rest was pap. It went by itself almost.

  "Allow me, now, as some small return for your various welcomecheques, to offer you a useful and valuable present--a Germandictionary, grammar, and phrase-book!

  "I kiss your hand.

  "No longer

  "VON LEBENSTEIN."

  The other note was to me. It was as follows:--

  "DEAR GOOD MR. VENTVORTH,--

  "Ha, ha, ha; just a W misplaced sufficed to take you in, then! AndI risked the TH, though anybody with a head on his shoulders wouldsurely have known our TH is by far more difficult than our W forforeigners! However, all's well that ends well; and now I've gotyou. The Lord has delivered you into my hands, dear friend--on yourown initiative. I hold my cheque, endorsed by you, and cashed at mybanker's, as a hostage, so to speak, for your future good behaviour.If ever you recognise me, and betray me to that solemn old ass, youremployer, remember, I expose it, and you with it to him. So now weunderstand each other. I had not thought of this little dodge; itwas you who suggested it. However, I jumped at it. Was it not wellworth my while paying you that slight commission in return for aguarantee of your future silence? Your mouth is now closed. Andcheap too at the price.--Yours, dear Comrade, in the greatconfraternity of rogues,

  "CUTHBERT CLAY, Colonel."

  Charles laid his note down, and grizzled. "What's yours, Sey?"he asked.

  "From a lady," I answered.

  He gazed at me suspiciously. "Oh, I thought it was the same hand,"he said. His eye looked through me.

  "No," I answered. "Mrs. Mortimer's." But I confess I trembled.

  He paused a moment. "You made all inquiries at this fellow's bank?"he went on, after a deep sigh.

  "Oh, yes," I put in quickly. (I had taken good care about that,you may be sure, lest he should spot the commission.) "They saythe self-styled Count von Lebenstein was introduced to them bythe Southampton Row folks, and drew, as usual, on the Lebensteinaccount: so they were quite unsuspicious. A rascal who goes aboutthe world on that scale, you know, and arrives with such credentialsas theirs and yours, naturally imposes on anybody. The bank didn'teven require to have him formally identified. The firm was enough.He came to pay money in, not to draw it out. And he withdrew hisbalance just two days later, saying he was in a hurry to get backto Vienna."

  Would he ask for items? I confess I felt it was an awkward moment.Charles, however, was too full of regrets to bother about theaccount. He leaned back in his easy chair, stuck his hands in hispockets, held his legs straight out on the fender before him, andlooked the very picture of hopeless despondency.

  "Sey," he began, after a minute or two, poking the fire,reflectively, "what a genius that man has! 'Pon my soul, Iadmire him. I sometimes wish--" He broke off and hesitated.

  "Yes, Charles?" I answered.

  "I sometimes wish ... we had got him on the Board of the CloetedorpGolcondas. Mag--nificent combinations he would make in the City!"

  I rose from my seat and stared solemnly at my misguidedbrother-in-law.

  "Charles," I said, "you are beside yourself. Too much Colonel Clayhas told upon your clear and splendid intellect. There are certainremarks which, however true they may be, no self-respectingfinancier should permit himself to make, even in the privacy ofhis own room, to his most intimate friend and trusted adviser."

  Charles fairly broke down. "You are right, Sey," he sobbed out."Quite right. Forgive this outburst. At moments of emotion thetruth will sometimes out, in spite of everything."

  I respected his feebleness. I did not even make it a fittingoccasion to ask for a trifling increase of salary.