Читать книгу The Mysterious Investment - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 5

Table of Contents

About midday a persistent rapping on the panels of my door aroused me. My greatest treasures at that time were perfect health and a joyous disposition. Naught I could do or leave undone seemed able to impair the former, and I had already successfully defied two sorts of ruin to rob me of the latter. I awoke, therefore, nothing to my surprise, with a clear head and a gay heart. I thought the knocker, without, a creditor, so I lay still for a great while, wagering right hand against left in vast sums as to how long it would take to tire him. But it was I that tired in the end; and, calling all bets off, I got up and donned dressing-gown and slippers.

He was a messenger boy. "You young imp!" I remarked severely, "a nice hour to call respectable citizens from their beds. What d'ye mean by it?"

The youngster grinned. "Are you Sir Francis Coates, sir? If you are I have a letter for you, sir. I am to wait and take back an answer, sir."

The letter ran as follows:—

"Dear Sir Francis Coates,—If you have ten minutes to spare this afternoon between the hours of two and four, you might employ them to your own advantage by spending them with me.

Yours faithfully,

J. Stelfox-Steel"

Having mastered the plain sense of this effusion, a whimsical impulse induced me to reply to the great American financier, as follows:—

"Dear Mr. Stelfox-Steel,—It is so rarely an opportunity occurs for a pauper to patronise a millionaire that, in common gratitude, I cannot refrain from answering your letter.—I am, dear Sir,

Yours leisurely,

Francis Coates."

When the boy had gone, I bathed and dressed and examined my pass-book. I was overdrawn, of course, but I doubt if that circumstance troubled me as much as it did my banker, judging from a letter that the postman brought a moment later; for I had all of ten sovereigns saved up against a rainy day reposing snugly in my dressing-case. When the milkman came I tossed him doubles or quits, and he won. Thus went the first sovereign. The milkman, a true sport, offered to go on, but a spasm of prudence saved me from the workhouse for the time; and four o'clock found me in the Park, still, comparatively speaking, a rich man.

My star being in the ascendant, I was presently seated in Gloria Hammond's victoria. She is about the only American woman English married I know who hasn't a title; but to compensate, she owns a hundred thousand pounds a year and the best chef in London. "I was just dying to meet you, Frank," she announced.

"Everybody is talking about your clever old darling of a Russian and the cute way you and he roped in everybody last night at Lady Adela's. I could just lean back and pass away, I'm so angry I wasn't there. But never mind, you shall tell me all about it and exactly how you worked the oracle."

I found that I had been unconsciously anticipating this verdict of society on my connection with M. Rovenski. Ever since I retired from Eton for elevating baccarat to the dignity of an inexact science, society had been laboriously picking my most innocent actions to pieces and discovering in the process almost diabolically ingenious underlying motives. It was one of the penalties I paid for having translated a Russian novel into English in my teens. Society never completely trusts a person, it suspects of brains.

"Look here, Gloria," I responded (calmly, because I had long ago recognised the futility of resenting misconstruction—and it is my habit to sit silent when accused of doing anything but good), "what have you ever done for me that I should bare my soul to you?"

She pursed up her pretty lips and gave me a sidelong glance that would have floored me five years earlier. "Oh!" she gasped. "The ungrateful creatures that men are! Haven't I done my best to marry you a dozen times to——"

"To other girls!" I interrupted gloomily. "D'ye expect me to be grateful for that?"

She laughed, but her eyes brightened, and she gave a gushing bow to Helen Fortescue, who cantered past us, attended by a groom.

"You're a base deceiver, Frank," she said. "But you're not going to put me off with blarney. I insist that you shall tell me all about it."

"Well," said I, "if I must, I must. But first tell me what folks say. I've only left my diggings half an hour ago, and have seen no one."

She bowed to a Cabinet Minister and his wife. "Oh," she answered airily. "That you supplied the old sorcerer with the information necessary. We are all wondering, though, how you obtained it. Lord Huxham, for instance, is so notoriously close. Who was she—that woman—Frank? My word, you are a deep one! They say Huxham has left town and gone abroad. But really, Frank, I never dreamed that you could be so terribly malicious. Poor Huxham wouldn't hurt a fly. Why ever do you hate him, Frank?"

With something of an effort I refrained from fainting.

"My dear Gloria," said I, "I like the fellow—but I have my reputation to consider. People have been quite neglecting me of late, and I had to shake them up or go under. It was a mere fluke that Huxham was my first victim. Almost anybody would have done."

Mrs. Hammond's look of startled wonderment faded into a loving smile as she nodded to a female enemy. "What an atrocious hat," she muttered; then aloud, and with a shocked expression, "but how did you know about him and the woman?"

"Oh!" I answered glibly, "that's easy. I happened quite by chance to be under the bed when Huxham's brother lay dying (Huxham never had a brother) and—er—of course——"

But Gloria stopped the carriage instantly. "Thank you," she said freezingly, "that's quite enough for one afternoon—Sir Francis. Good-bye!"

"Good evenin', ma'am!" I replied. "Sorry I can't suit you to-day. Some other day; good day!" And I hopped out upon the footpath, narrowly escaping a collision with a cyclist as I did so. When I looked back Gloria was abandonedly laughing, and the carriage hadn't moved. She waved her hand and I went up to the wheel. Gloria is an insatiably curious daughter of Eve, but she has the saving grace of humor.

"I've just thought of something," she announced. "Mr. Stelfox-Steel dines with us to-night. Are you game to come?"

"Game? Have you just hired a new cook?"

"Brute!" she said, then added, "Till eight!" and drove away.

I lit a cigarette, for the suggestion of dinner had given me an appetite, and sauntered on, chewing the cud of my reflections, that is to say, puffing vigorously. A moment later I met Lady Harris, Huxham's sister, and—she gave me the dead cut, in the most approved and fashionable style, looking straight into my left eye. Then someone coming up behind me linked his arm with mine. It was Reggie Horne. "There's the deuce and all to pay over that business of last night, Frank," he began at once. "You are the talk of London. Everyone swears that the old Russian was your catspaw. I can tell you I am tired of wagging my tongue in your defence."

"Everybody's awfully good to me," I hummed softly. "Don't bother to defend me, Reggie. The thing will make my fortune if only people won't forget it too quickly and stop vilifying me too soon. Bet you a cigar there are at least a dozen interested invitations in my letter-box already!"

But Reggie declined to be frivolous. "It's serious," he declared. "That old owl of a Huxham is awfully popular, you know—and I saw his sister cut you as I came along. Have you been to the club to-day?"

"Only in spirit, Reggie. Have they been sandbagging my reputation there?"

"Not exactly; But Sampson said it was bad taste on your part to deliver Rovenski's message to Huxham aloud, even if the mind-reading was a true bill and no fake. And you know what influence he carries, Frank."

"So long as they don't ask me to resign," I answered cheerfully. "Isn't it a glorious day, Reg? Mark the aureole about those poplar heads. I feel——"

"Frank!" cried Reggie, with real indignation, "please stop being frivolous for five minutes—I want——"

"Can't afford it just now," I interjected. "Here comes Helen Fortescue. If I were serious for five seconds I'd stop her horse and propose to her! By Jove, isn't she looking bonnie, Reg?"

Reggie said "Damn!" and Miss Fortescue pulled up beside us. "Mr. Horne," said she, "I am, after all, not going to the Dacre's dance to-night, so you may take some other girl to supper."

"How did you find out I wasn't going to the Dacre's?" I demanded modestly. "I don't remember telling anyone."

"Oh!" flashed Helen. "Aren't you going? I did so hope to escape you for one evening. Don't tell me I shall meet you at the Hammond's."

I slowly shook my head, and said sepulchrally, "I can see how it will end. My name will be hopelessly compromised soon, and I shall have to marry you. Such persecution. It's my fatal beauty, I suppose."

Helen Fortescue is always grandly armed against surprise and prepared with a riposte, however smart the rally. That's why my dearest delight has ever been a verbal fencing bout with her. She turned to Reggie. "If he was worth powder and shot I'd ask you to remember his exact words, Mr. Horne. They perilously resembled a proposal—don't you think?"

"He's just an idiot," growled Reggie. "He's always trying to be funny—and never succeeds in being anything but rude. But look here, Miss Fortescue, you'll have to pay me for that dance with two waltzes at least at the Reid's. I know you're going, for your aunt told me."

Miss Fortescue considered. "I'm afraid I can't—I'm awfully sorry," she said gently, and with real regret; "I thought, but I——"

"Oh, that's all right," I cut in. "I'm down for one—ain't I? Well, I owe Reggie a fiver. You can give him the waltz and we'll call it square all round."

"Done with you!" cried Reggie.

Helen smiled into my eyes. "So glad to have been of service!" she said lightly, and, raising her whip, cantered on.

"Nasty one for you, my boy, and richly you deserved it!" commented Reggie gratingly.

"Even the most unselfish disciplinarian," I observed, "is never thanked by those he rods. That girl was getting dangerously conceited. She absolutely needed the correction I gave her, and yet——"

"You infernal coxcomb!" Reggie cried. "Upon my soul, I feel inclined to kick you!" and, swinging on his heel, he stamped off in high dudgeon. I began to wonder if I had a single bachelor acquaintance left who was not in love with Helen Fortescue. It was too absurd. And for the life of me I couldn't understand why so many men were at her feet. She was clever, certainly. But I knew a dozen women more beautiful. And she hadn't a penny of her own. Her father was a pauper Irish baronet, from whom she could only hope to inherit debts. Perhaps it was her personality. That, I confess, possessed a charm peculiarly its own. She had a captivating trick of fitting herself to the mood of each person she companioned; and yet she never flattered. Then, too, she impressed one with a conviction of sincerity; and her big, earnest grey eyes seemed always asking pardon for somebody else's sins. I liked her best because she kept her kindliest thoughts for the unfortunate, and because no one had ever heard her say a word in condemnation of even the worst specimens of our species.

These reflections brought me to Bruton Street and my rooms. As I had expected, my letter-box was crammed with cards.