Читать книгу The Strangers' Gate - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 5

Table of Contents

There were times when Nigel Beverley, even-tempered man though he was, found his prospective father-in-law a distinct nuisance. As a frivoler in life he was an easy and pleasant companion. Directly he took himself seriously, however, he became troublesome. He was very serious indeed when Beverley returned to his office late that afternoon and heard with surprise that Lord Portington had been waiting for him for nearly an hour.

“I am terribly sorry,” Beverley apologised. “If I had had any idea that you were coming back, I’d have left word where I was. Is it the little violinist who is still on your conscience?”

Portington had worked himself into a state of great solemnity. He hitched up his trousers and leaned across the desk.

“My dear Nigel,” he began, “you are taking this matter much too lightly. I will admit that our luncheon started upon a more frivolous note but since then I have had a long conversation with the young lady and she has convinced me of two things.”

Beverley rose from his usual seat at his desk and threw himself into a luxurious easy chair.

“She was not here for long,” he remarked, “but she certainly had a convincing way with her.”

“She is to be taken seriously,” Portington declared. “I believe her story.”

“Brother in prison and all that sort of thing?” Beverley queried.

“I believe that every word she said was the truth. I believe that bauxite is to be discovered in another part of the country. I believe that her brother has found out about it, and that there is serious danger of his approaching one of these German fellows on the matter.”

“Disastrous, if it is true,” Beverley admitted.

“I have had an interview with Mr. Patterson, our lawyer,” Portington continued. “I am only a junior director of the company, of course, but upon the strength of what the young lady told me I felt it to be my duty. I have examined a copy of the charter, Nigel. It is as I supposed. The concession refers only to the mine at Klast. If any other deposit of bauxite has been discovered in the kingdom, it does not come within the scope of our activities. The Government of the country or the King himself, if the bauxite is upon Crown Lands, could grant another concession, and down would go the price and another country, possibly an enemy one, would be able to turn out the same stuff.”

“Well, what do you propose that we do about it?” Beverley enquired, tapping a cigarette and lighting it. “By the by, I wonder if you would like a drink, sir? I am thinking of one myself. I have had rather a strenuous afternoon.”

“A whisky-and-soda,” Lord Portington admitted, “would be most acceptable.”

Beverley unlocked a beautiful mahogany wine chest, produced a decanter of whisky and siphon of soda water, and served his guest and himself. They nodded to one another and Beverley took what was for him an unusually long gulp.

“You ask me,” Portington continued, “what action I suggest that we should take. I think, to begin with, Nigel, you should realise the seriousness of this matter. You should get it into your head that this girl, although she is naturally at a loss with our language, is thoroughly straightforward instead of being the little fly-by-night piece I thought she was myself. We should decide upon a course of action at once.”

“I am willing to presume that she was telling the truth straight away,” Beverley agreed. “Now what about that plan of action?”

“Well, I think, whether he is in prison or not, we ought to get in touch with the brother,” Portington suggested.

“Capital! And then?”

“I think we should approach either the Prime Minister of the country or the King. We should sound them as regards a further concession, if bauxite is found in any other part of the kingdom.”

“You ought to be permanently in the City,” Beverley observed.

“Just common sense, all this, my boy,” Portington pointed out with a pleased smile. “Nothing but sheer common sense. We are making a large profit, I know, with this bauxite, but that is because the supply is so limited. If there is another lot coming onto the market and new competition to face, what will become of those profits? What will become, too, of the advantage we gain over any other country by having the control of this material?”

“That is the question,” Beverley agreed. “Well now, tell me how you got on with the young lady.”

Portington for a moment lost his air of extreme confidence and his tone became a little dubious.

“I had an exceedingly pleasant time, Nigel,” he said. “I found the girl intelligent but remarkably stand-offish. She seemed very much hurt indeed at her reception here. She appears to have a personal grievance against you, and I’m afraid that she will take any opportunity that comes her way of getting her own back.”

“In other words,” Beverley suggested, “you think that she’s not likely to help us in this matter if it turns out to be serious?”

“She’s much more likely,” Portington declared impressively, “to enter into negotiations with this fellow Treyer. You know what that will mean, Nigel. Not only shall we lose our monopoly, but we shall lose it to Germany.”

Beverley, who was at all times a very moderate drinker, replenished his glass. He glanced across at Portington but shook his head.

“To prove to you, sir, how thoroughly I am in accord with you,” he began, “I will tell you how I have spent my afternoon. I, too, have been to the lawyers. I have read over the charter and taken counsel’s opinion upon a portion of it. I have ascertained the exact whereabouts of His Majesty King Nicolas and where he is likely to be for the next few days. I have wired to Klast, to our Consul there, to ascertain whether Mauranesco is still in prison, what is the length of his sentence and whether there is any truth in these rumours of a political upheaval in the country. I have ordered a plane to be ready for me at eight o’clock to-morrow and I have already telegraphed to Will Hayter, the assistant engineer at the mine, whom we have used once or twice before as a confidential inquiry-man out at Klast, and begged him to let me know the exact position of affairs. You see, sir, how right you are. I am admitting it and doing my best to make amends.”

“There is just one thing you have not done which you will have to do,” Portington told him. “You will have to make friends with the girl.”

Beverley was silent for a moment or two. His eyes had wandered to the empty chair in which she had sat. He chased away a somewhat disturbing memory.

“My dear beau-père-that-is-to-be,” he expostulated, “do you think that it is seemly on my part to be chasing a lady of her youth, beauty and poverty, bearing in mind the fact that I am an engaged man?”

“Ursula is very sensible,” her father reminded him. “You will have me on your side. I shall be able to explain.”

“That’s all very well,” Beverley objected, “but I have not the gift for this sort of thing which you have. I never was a gay dog with the other sex, you know. A slow starter and never a finalist.”

“You have got to get your nose down to it this time, my boy,” Portington persisted. “I tell you frankly, I can’t make any headway myself. The little devil even refused a shopping expedition. I have paved the way for you all right, though. She confessed that she was anxious to see you again. That’s something, anyway.”

“Perhaps so,” Beverley assented. “What am I to do? Ring her up somewhere, call at her rooms? Shall I—”

“Nothing of that sort,” Portington interrupted. “The poor child is living in the utmost poverty. I’ll swear she hasn’t a telephone. She has one room, a bed sitting-room I suppose, on the top floor of a newly erected block of flats in Chelsea. I don’t believe she’d receive you there if you went.”

“Tell me how you suggest that I approach her, then? I’m perfectly willing, up to a certain point.”

“Well, I have discovered for one thing,” Lord Portington confided, “that you are off duty to-night. Ursula is dining and going on to a committee meeting at the Copleys’. I believe that you are supposed to fetch her afterwards, but that would be considerably later.”

“Quite true,” Beverley agreed. “And so?”

“We don’t want to advertise ourselves too much,” Portington went on, “and I shall only accompany you in order to give the affair a start-off. The young lady will be more outspoken if I am not there. Besides—er—my presence would naturally cramp your style. I propose that you and I dine together quietly in the Grill at the Germanic, and that during the interval you do your best to get on terms with the girl.”

There was a distinct frown, indicated by the contraction of his very fine eyebrows, upon Beverley’s face.

“Rather vague,” he commented.

“Any sort of terms; what’s it matter? You and I are men of the world. She can’t do the company much harm between now and ten o’clock, and when you do get a chance to talk to her it is up to you to convince her that we are the Johnnies to keep in with.”

“I don’t fancy,” Beverley commented, “that Ursula would altogether approve.”

“She’s got to approve,” the young lady’s father said firmly. “Fifty per cent dividend on hoisting that infernal mineral out of the earth is making life a different thing for me. Don’t you worry about Ursula. Leave it to me. You could start by making it entirely a matter of business with the girl. If you can’t succeed that way you must take a chance.”

“A trifle modern, aren’t you, in the way of prospective fathers-in-law?” Beverley grunted.

“Never you mind about that, my lad,” was the prompt retort. “It is you who got us into this hole by putting the girl’s back up. You will have to set the matter right at any cost. I have shown you the way and I will give you a start-off, Nigel. I can’t say fairer than that.”

Beverley frowned doubtfully. Again he was glancing at that empty chair and seeing visions.

“I suppose not,” he acquiesced.

“Of course if she had been one of the ordinary sort,” Portington conceded, “it would not have been your job at all. I might have figured in your expense account rather heavily but I would have got the concession. As it is, the world is full of fascinating young women nowadays but there’s only one other bauxite mine!”

Beverley rose from his chair and walked the length of the office and back again. His pleasant expression and debonair carriage had almost completely disappeared. His hands were deep in his trousers’ pockets. His lips were pursed for a whistle which never materialized. He came to a standstill upon the hearthrug and looked across at Portington.

“Listen,” he said. “I will do my best. I must warn you of this much, though. If I find for any reason, probably for no reason you would ever understand, that I want to back out, I shall—and it will be for you to carry on.”

Portington’s fingers once more strayed to the neighbourhood of his upper lip.

“You have plenty of common sense, Nigel,” he admitted. “I will say that. If you decide to pass the business back again to me, well, all I can say is that I, too, will do my best.”

Beverley rang the bell.

“I have some letters to write,” he confided a little shortly, “and I must have a few words with my head clerk. What time do we meet to-night?”

“Half-past eight at the Germanic grill,” Lord Portington replied, accepting the hint and rising to his feet. “I should suggest dinner coats and black ties, and a cocktail at Black’s en route.”

“I will be there,” Nigel Beverley promised.