Chapter IV: Book I: A Society Scandal (4)

“Precisely! Well, what are you going to do now? Are you satisfied with your first reverse, or are you going to renew the experiment?”

“I’ve had enough,” was the dogged answer. “I’ve been made a fool of. I can see that. I shall return home by the next steamer. I never ought to have got mixed up in this.”

“I am inclined to agree with you,” Wingrave remarked calmly. “Do I understand that if I choose to forget this little episode, you will return to England by the next steamer?”

“I swear it,” Richardson declared.

“And in the meantime, that you make no further attempt of a similar nature?”

“Not I!” he answered with emphasis. “I’ve had enough.”

“Then,” Wingrave said, “we need not prolong this conversation. Forgive my suggesting, Mr. Richardson, that whilst I am on deck, the other side of the ship should prove more convenient for you!”

The young man rose, and without a word staggered off. Wingrave watched him through half-closed eyes, until he disappeared.

“It was worth trying,” he said softly to himself. “A very clever woman that! She looks forward through the years, and she sees the clouds gathering. It was a little risky, and the means were very crude. But it was worth trying!”

THE MOTH AND THE CANDLE

“Tomorrow morning,” Aynesworth remarked, “we shall land.”

Wingrave nodded.

“I shall not be sorry,” he said shortly.

Aynesworth fidgeted about. He had something to say, and he found it difficult. Wingrave gave him no encouragement. He was leaning back in his steamer chair, with his eyes fixed upon the sky line. Notwithstanding the incessant companionship of the last six days, Aynesworth felt that he had not progressed a single step towards establishing any more intimate relations between his employer and himself.

“Mrs. Travers is not on deck this afternoon,” he remarked a trifle awkwardly.

“Indeed!” Wingrave answered. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Aynesworth sat down. There was nothing to be gained by fencing.

“I wanted to talk about her, sir, if I might,” he said.

Wingrave withdrew his eyes from the sea, and looked at his companion in cold surprise.

“To me?” he asked.

“Yes! I thought, the first few days, that Mrs. Travers was simply a vain little woman of the world, perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and heartless enough to flirt all day long, if she chose, without any risk, so far as she was concerned. I believe I made a mistake!”

“This is most interesting,” Wingrave said calmly, “but why talk to me about the lady? I fancy that I know as much about her as you do.”

“Very likely; but you may not have realized the same things. Mrs. Travers is a married woman, with a husband in Boston, and two little children, of whom, I believe, she is really very fond. She is a foolish, good-natured little woman, who thinks herself clever because her husband has permitted her to travel a good deal, and has evidently been rather fascinated by the latitudinarianism of continental society. She is a little afraid of being terribly bored when she gets back to Boston, and she is very sentimental.”

“I had no idea,” Wingrave remarked, “that you had been submitting the lady and her affairs to the ordeal of your marvelous gift of analysis. I rather fancied that you took no interest in her at all.”

“I did not,” Aynesworth answered, “until last night.”

“And last night?” he repeated questioningly.

“I found her on deck--crying. She had been tearing up some photographs, and she talked a little wildly. I talked to her then for a little time.”

“Can’t you be more explicit?” Wingrave asked.

Aynesworth looked him in the face.

“She gave me the impression,” he said, “that she did not intend to return to her husband.”

Wingrave nodded.

“And what have you to say to me about this?” he asked.

“I have no right to say anything, of course,” Aynesworth answered. “You might very properly tell me that it is no concern of mine. Mrs. Travers has already compromised herself, to some extent, with the people on board who know her and her family. She never leaves your side for a moment if she can help it, and for the last two or three days she has almost followed you about. You may possibly derive some amusement from her society for a short time, but--afterwards!”

“Explain yourself exactly,” Wingrave said.

“Is it necessary?” Aynesworth declared brusquely. “Talk sensibly to her! Don’t encourage her if she should really be contemplating anything foolish!”

“Why not?”

“Oh, hang it all!” Aynesworth declared. “I’m not a moralist, but she’s a decent little woman. Don’t ruin her life for the sake of a little diversion!”

Wingrave, who had been holding a cigar case in his hand for the last few minutes, opened it, and calmly selected a cigar.

“Aren’t you a little melodramatic, Aynesworth?” he said.

“Sounds like it, no doubt,” his companion answered, “but after all, hang it, she’s not a bad little sort, and you wouldn’t care to meet her in Piccadilly in a couple of years’ time.”

Wingrave turned a little in his chair. There was a slight hardening of the mouth, a cold gleam in his eyes.

“That,” he remarked, “is precisely where you are wrong. I am afraid you have forgotten our previous conversations on this or a similar subject. Disconnect me in your mind at once from all philanthropic notions! I desire to make no one happy, to assist at no one’s happiness. My own life has been ruined by a woman. Her sex shall pay me where it can. If I can obtain from the lady in question a single second’s amusement, her future is a matter of entire indifference to me. She can play the repentant wife, or resort to the primeval profession of her sex. I should not even have the curiosity to inquire which.”

“In that case,” Aynesworth said slowly, “I presume that I need say no more.”

“Unless it amuses you,” Wingrave answered, “it really is not worth while.”

“Perhaps,” Aynesworth remarked, “it is as well that I should tell you this. I shall put the situation before Mrs. Travers exactly as I see it. I shall do my best to dissuade her from any further or more intimate intercourse with you.”

“At the risk, of course,” Wingrave said, “of my offering you--this?”

He drew a paper from his pocket book, and held it out. It was the return half of a steamer ticket.

“Even at that risk,” Aynesworth answered without hesitation.

Wingrave carefully folded the document, and returned it to his pocket.

“I am glad,” he said, “to find that you are so consistent. There is Mrs. Travers scolding the deck steward. Go and talk to her! You will scarcely find a better opportunity.”

Aynesworth rose at once. Wingrave in a few moments also left his seat, but proceeded in the opposite direction. He made his way into the purser’s room, and carefully closed the door behind him.

Mrs. Travers greeted Aynesworth without enthusiasm. Her eyes were resting upon the empty place which Wingrave had just vacated.

“Can I get your chair for you, Mrs. Travers,” Aynesworth asked, “or shall we walk for a few minutes?”

Mrs. Travers hesitated. She looked around, but there was obviously no escape for her.

“I should like to sit down,” she said. “I am very tired this morning. My chair is next Mr. Wingrave’s there.”

Aynesworth found her rug and wrapped it around her. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

“I shall try to sleep,” she said. “I had such a shocking night.”

He understood at once that she was on her guard, and he changed his tactics.

“First,” he said, “may I ask you a question?”

She opened her eyes wide, and looked at him. She was afraid.

“Not now,” she said hurriedly. “This afternoon.”

“This afternoon I may not have the opportunity,” he answered. “Is your husband going to meet you at New York, Mrs. Travers?”

“No!”

“Are you going direct to Boston?”

She looked at him steadily. There was a slight flush of color in her cheeks.

“I find your questions impertinent, Mr. Aynesworth,” she answered.

There was a short silence. Aynesworth hated his task and hated himself. But most of all, he pitied the woman who sat by his side.

“No!” he said, “they are not impertinent. I am the looker-on, you know, and I have seen--a good deal. If Wingrave were an ordinary sort of man, I should never have dared to interfere. If you had been an ordinary sort of woman, I might not have cared to.”

She half rose in her chair.

“I shall not stay here,” she began, struggling with her rug.

“Do!” he begged. “I am--I want to be your friend, really!”

“You are supposed to be his,” she reminded him.

He shook his head.

“I am his secretary. There is no question of friendship between us. For the rest, I told him that I should speak to you.”

“You have no right to discuss me at all,” she declared vehemently.

“None whatever,” he admitted. “I have to rely entirely upon your mercy. This is the truth. People are thrown together a good deal on a voyage like this. You and Mr. Wingrave have seen a good deal of one another. You are a very impressionable woman; he is a singularly cold, unimpressionable man. You have found his personality attractive. You fancy--other things. Wingrave is not the man you think he is. He is selfish and entirely without affectionate impulses. The world has treated him badly, and he has no hesitation in saying that he means to get some part of his own back again. He does not care for you, he does not care for anyone. If you should be contemplating anything ridiculous from a mistaken judgment of his character, it is better that you should know the truth.”

The anger had gone. She was pale again, and her lips were trembling.

“Men seldom know one another,” she said softly. “You judge from the surface only.”

“Mine is the critical judgment of one who has studied him intimately,” Aynesworth said. “Yours is the sentimental hope of one fascinated by what she does not understand. Wingrave is utterly heartless!”

“That,” she answered steadfastly, “I do not believe.”

“You do not because you will not,” he declared. “I have spoken because I wish to save you from doing what you would repent of for the rest of your days. You have the one vanity which is common to all women. You believe that you can change what, believe me, is unchangeable. To Wingrave, women are less than playthings. He owes the unhappiness of his life to one, and he would see the whole of her sex suffer without emotion. He is impregnable to sentiment. Ask him and I believe that he would admit it!”

She smiled and regarded him with the mild pity of superior knowledge.

“You do not understand Mr. Wingrave,” she remarked.

Aynesworth sighed. He realized that every word he had spoken had been wasted upon this pale, pretty woman, who sat with her eyes now turned seawards, and the smile still lingering upon her lips. Studying her for a moment, he realized the danger more acutely than ever before. The fretfulness seemed to have gone from her face, the weary lines from her mouth. She had the look of a woman who has come into the knowledge of better things. And it was Wingrave who had done this! Aynesworth for the first time frankly hated the man. Once, as a boy, he had seen a keeper take a rabbit from a trap and dash its brains out against a tree. The incident flashed then into his mind, only the face of the keeper was the face of Wingrave!

“DEVIL TAKE THE HINDMOST”

Wingrave and Aynesworth were alone in a private room of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. The table at which the former was seated was covered with letters and papers. A New York directory and an atlas were at his elbow.

“I propose,” Wingrave said, leaning back in his chair, “to give you some idea of the nature of my business in this country. You will be able then, I trust, to carry out my instructions more intelligibly.”

Aynesworth nodded.

“I thought,” he said, “that you came here simply to remain in seclusion for a time.”

“That is one of my reasons,” Wingrave admitted, “but I had a special purpose in coming to America. During my--enforced seclusion--I made the acquaintance of a man called Hardwell. He was an Englishman, but he had lived in America for some years, and had got into trouble over some company business. We had some conversation, and it is upon his information that I am now going to act.”

“He is trustworthy?” Aynesworth asked.

“I take the risk,” Wingrave answered coolly. “There is a small copper mine in Utah called the Royal Hardwell Copper Mine. The shares are hundred dollar ones, and there are ten thousand of them. They are scarcely quoted now, as the mine has become utterly discredited. Hardwell managed this himself with a false report. He meant to have the company go into liquidation, and then buy it for a very small amount. As a matter of fact, the mine is good, and could be worked at a large profit.”

“You have Hardwell’s word for that,” Aynesworth remarked.

“Exactly!” Wingrave remarked. “I am proceeding on the assumption that he told me the truth. I wish to buy, if possible, the whole of the shares, and as many more as I can get brokers to sell. The price of the shares today is two dollars!”

“I presume you will send out an expert to the mine first?” Aynesworth said.

“I shall do nothing of the sort,” Wingrave answered. “The fact that I was buying upon information would send the shares up at once. I mean to buy first, and then go out to the mine. If I have made a mistake, I shall not be ruined. If Hardwell’s story is true, there will be millions in it.”

Aynesworth said nothing, but his face expressed a good deal.

“Here are the names of seven respectable brokers,” Wingrave continued, passing a sheet of paper towards him. “I want you to buy five hundred shares from each of them. The price may vary a few points. Whatever it is, pay it. Here are seven signed checks. I shall buy myself as many as I can without spoiling the market. You had better start out in about a quarter of an hour and see to this. You have my private ledger?”

“Yes.”

“Open an account to Hardwell in it; a quarter of all the shares I buy are to be in his name, and a quarter of all the profits I make in dealing in the shares is to be credited to him.”

“A fairly generous arrangement for Mr. Hardwell,” Aynesworth remarked.

“There is nothing generous about it,” Wingrave answered coldly. “It is the arrangement I made with him, and to which I propose to adhere. You understand what I want you to do?”

“Perfectly,” Aynesworth answered; “I still think, however, that much the wiser course would be to send an expert to the mine first.”

“Indeed!” Wingrave remarked politely. “That is all, I think. I shall expect to see you at luncheon time. If you are asked questions as to why you are dealing in these shares to such an extent, you can say that the friend for whom you are acting desires to boom copper, and is going on the low price of the metal at the moment. They will think you a fool, and perhaps may not trouble to conceal their opinion after they have finished the business. You must endeavor to support the character. I have no doubt but that you will be successful.”

Aynesworth moved towards the door.

Once more Wingrave called him back. He was leaning a little forward across the table. His face was very set and cold.

“There is a question which I wish to ask you, Aynesworth,” he said. “It concerns another matter altogether. Do you know who sent the Marconigram to Dr. Travers, which brought him to New York to meet his wife?”

“I do not,” Aynesworth answered.

“It was sent by someone on board the ship,” Wingrave continued. “You have no suspicion as to whom it could have been?”

“None!” Aynesworth answered firmly. “At the same time, I do not mind telling you this. If I had thought of it, I would have sent it myself.”

Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.

“It is perhaps fortunate for the continuation of our mutual relations that you did not think of it,” he remarked quietly. “I accept your denial. I shall expect you back at one o’clock.”

At a few minutes after that hour the two men sat down to luncheon. Wingrave at that time was the possessor of six thousand shares in the Royal Hardwell Copper Mine, which had cost him, on an average, two dollars twenty-five. The news of the dealing, however, had got about, and although derision was the chief sentiment amongst the brokers, the price steadily mounted. A dozen telegrams were sent out to the mine, and on receipt of the replies, the dealing became the joke of the day. The mine was still deserted, and no fresh inspection had been made. The price dropped a little. Then Wingrave bought a thousand more by telephone, and it rose again to four. A few minutes before closing time, he threw every share of which he was possessed upon the market, and the next morning Royal Hardwells stood at one dollar seventy-five.

For a week Wingrave pursued the same tactics, and at the end of that time he had made twenty thousand dollars. The brokers, however, now understood, or thought they understood, the situation. No one bought for the rise; they were all sellers. Wingrave at once changed his tactics. He bought five thousand shares in one block, and sold none. Even then, the market was only mildly amused. In a fortnight he was the nominal owner of sixteen thousand shares in a company of which only ten thousand actually existed. Then he sat still, and the panic began. The shares in a company which everyone believed to be worthless stood at thirty dollars, and not a share was offered.

A small pandemonium reigned in Wingrave’s sitting room. The telephone rang all the time; the place was besieged with brokers. Then Wingrave showed his hand. He had bought these shares to hold; he did not intend to sell one. As to the six thousand owed to him beyond the number issued, he was prepared to consider offers. One broker left him a check for twenty thousand dollars, another for nearly forty thousand. Wingrave had no pity. He had gambled and won. He would accept nothing less than par price. The air in his sitting room grew thick with curses and tobacco smoke.

Aynesworth began by hating the whole business, but insensibly the fascination of it crept over him. He grew used to hearing the various forms of protest, of argument and abuse, which one and all left Wingrave so unmoved. Sphinx-like he lounged in his chair, and listened to all. He never condescended to justify his position, he never met argument by argument. He had the air of being thoroughly bored by the whole proceedings. But he exacted always his pound of flesh.

On the third afternoon, Aynesworth met on the stairs a young broker, whom he had come across once or twice during his earlier dealings in the shares. They had had lunch together, and Aynesworth had taken a fancy to the boy--he was little more--fresh from Harvard and full of enthusiasm. He scarcely recognized him for a moment. The fresh color had gone from his cheeks, his eyes were set in a fixed, wild stare; he seemed suddenly aged. Aynesworth stopped him.

“Hullo, Nesbitt!” he exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”

The young man would have passed on with a muttered greeting, but Aynesworth turned round with him, and led the way into one of the smaller smoking rooms. He called for drinks and repeated his question.

“Your governor has me six hundred Hardwells short,” Nesbitt answered curtly.

“Six hundred! What does it mean?” Aynesworth asked.

“Sixty thousand dollars, or thereabouts,” the young man answered despairingly. “His brokers won’t listen to me, and your governor--well, I’ve just been to see him. I won’t call him names! And we thought that some fool of an Englishman was burning his fingers with those shares. I’m not the only one caught, but the others can stand it. I can’t, worse luck!”

“I’m beastly sorry,” Aynesworth said truthfully. “I wish I could help you.”

Nesbitt raised his head. A sudden light flashed in his eyes; he spoke quickly, almost feverishly.

“Say, Aynesworth,” he exclaimed, “do you think you could do anything with your governor for me? You see--it’s ruin if I have to pay up. I wouldn’t mind--for myself, but I was married four months ago, and I can’t bear the thought of going home--and telling her. All the money we have between us is in my business, and we’ve got no rich friends or anything of that sort. I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to be hammered. I’ve been so careful, too! I didn’t want to take this on, but it seemed such a soft thing! If I could get off with twenty thousand, I’d keep my head up. I hate to talk like this. I’d go down like a man if I were alone, but--but--oh! Confound it all--!” he exclaimed with an ominous break in his tone.

Aynesworth laid his hand upon the boy’s arm.

“Look here,” he said, “I’ll try what I can do with Mr. Wingrave. Wait here!”

Aynesworth found his employer alone with his broker, who was just hastening off to keep an appointment. He plunged at once into his appeal.

“Mr. Wingrave,” he said, “you have just had a young broker named Nesbitt on.”

Wingrave glanced at a paper by his side.

“Yes,” he said. “Six hundred short! I wish they wouldn’t come to me.”

“I’ve been talking to him downstairs,” Aynesworth said. “This will break him.”

“Then I ought not to have done business with him at all,” Wingrave said coolly. “If he cannot find sixty thousand dollars, he has no right to be in Wall street. I daresay he’ll pay, though! They all plead poverty--curs!”

“I think Nesbitt’s case is a little different from the others,” Aynesworth continued. “He is quite young, little more than a boy, and he has only just started in business. To be hammered would be absolute ruin for him. He seems such a decent young fellow, and he’s only just married. He’s in an awful state downstairs. I wish you’d have another talk with him. I think you’d feel inclined to let him down easy.”

Wingrave smiled coldly.

“My dear Aynesworth,” he said, “you astonish me. I am not interested in this young man’s future or in his matrimonial arrangements. He has gambled with me and lost. I presume that he would have taken my money if I had been the fool they all thought me. As it is, I mean to have his--down to the last cent!”

“He isn’t like the others,” Aynesworth protested doggedly. “He’s only a boy--and it seems such jolly hard luck, doesn’t it, only four months married! New York hasn’t much pity for paupers. He looks mad enough to blow his brains out. Have him up, sir, and see if you can’t compromise!”

“Fetch him,” Wingrave said curtly.

Aynesworth hurried downstairs. The boy was walking restlessly up and down the room. The look he turned upon Aynesworth was almost pitiful.

“He’ll see you again,” Aynesworth said hurriedly. “Come along.”

The boy wrung his hand.

“You’re a brick!” he declared.

THE HIDDEN HAND

Wingrave glanced up as they entered. He motioned Nesbitt to a chair by his side, but the young man remained standing.

“My secretary tells me,” Wingrave said curtly, “that you cannot pay me what you owe.”

“It’s more than I possess in the world, sir,” Nesbitt answered.

“It is not a large amount,” Wingrave said. “I do not see how you can carry on business unless you can command such a sum as this.”

Nesbitt moistened his dry lips with his tongue.

“I have only been doing a very small business, sir,” he answered, “but quite enough to make a living. I don’t speculate as a rule. Hardwells seemed perfectly safe, or I wouldn’t have touched them. I sold at four. They are not worth one. I could have bought thousands last week for two dollars.”

“That is beside the question,” Wingrave answered. “If you do not pay this, you have cheated me out of my profits for I should have placed the commission with brokers who could. Why did you wish to see me again?”

“I thought that you might give me time,” Nesbitt answered, raising his head and looking Wingrave straight in the face. “It seems rather a low down thing to come begging. I’d rather cut my right hand off than do it for myself, but I’ve--someone else to think about, and if I’m hammered, I’m done for. Give me a chance, Mr. Wingrave! I’ll pay you in time.”

“What do you ask for?” Wingrave said.

“I thought that you might give me time,” Nesbitt said, “and I’ll pay you the rest off with the whole of my profits every year.”

“A most absurd proposal,” Wingrave said coolly. “I will instruct my brokers to take twenty thousand dollars down, and wait one week for the balance. That is the best offer I can make you. Good day!”

The young man stood as though he were stunned.

“I--I can’t find it,” he faltered. “I can’t indeed.”

“Your resources are not my affair,” Wingrave said. “I shall instruct my broker to do as I have said. If the money is not forthcoming, you know the alternative.”

“You mean to ruin me, then?” Nesbitt said slowly.

“I mean to exact the payment of what is due to me,” Wingrave said curtly. “If you cannot pay, it seems to me that I am the person to be pitied--not you. Show Mr. Nesbitt out, Aynesworth.”

Nesbitt turned towards the door. He was very pale, but he walked steadily. He did not speak another word to Wingrave.

“I’m beastly sorry,” Aynesworth said to him on the stairs. “I wish I could help you!”

“Thank you,” Nesbitt answered. “No one can help me. I’m through.”

Aynesworth returned to the sitting room. Wingrave had lit a cigarette and watched him as he arranged some papers.

“Quite a comedy, isn’t it?” he remarked grimly.

“It doesn’t present itself in that light to me,” Aynesworth answered.

Wingrave blew the smoke away from in front of his face. “Ah!” he said, “I forgot that you were a sentimentalist. I look upon these things from my own point of view. From yours, I suppose I must seem a very disagreeable person. I admit frankly that the sufferings of other people do not affect me in the slightest.”

“I am sorry for you,” Aynesworth said shortly. “If there is going to be much of this sort of thing, though, I must ask you to relieve me of my post. I can’t stand it.”

“Whenever you like, my dear fellow,” Wingrave answered. “I think that you would be very foolish to leave me, though. I must be a most interesting study.”

“You are--what the devil made you!” Aynesworth muttered.

Wingrave laid down his cigarette.

“I am what my fellows have made me,” he said slowly. “I tasted hell for a good many years. It has left me, I suppose, with a depraved taste. Ring up my brokers, Aynesworth! I want to speak to Malcolmson. He had better come round here.”

The day dragged on. Aynesworth hated it all, and was weary long before it was half over. Everyone who came was angry, and a good many came whom Wingrave refused to see. Just before five o’clock, young Nesbitt entered the room unannounced. Aynesworth started towards him with a little exclamation. The young man’s evident excitement terrified him, and he feared a tragedy. Malcolmson, too, half rose to his feet. Wingrave alone remained unmoved.

Nesbitt walked straight up to the table at which Malcolmson and Wingrave were sitting. He halted in front of the latter.

“Mr. Wingrave,” he said, “you will give me my receipt for those shares for fifty-seven thousand six hundred dollars.”

Wingrave turned to a paper by his side, and ran his forefinger down the list of names.

“Mr. Nesbitt,” he said. “Yes! sixty thousand dollars.”

The young man laid a slip of paper upon the table.

“That is a certified check for the amount,” he said. “Mr. Malcolmson, please give me my receipt.”

“Ah!” Mr. Wingrave remarked. “I thought that you would find the money.”

Nesbitt bit his lip, but he said nothing till he had the receipt and had fastened it up in his pocket. Then he turned suddenly round upon Wingrave.

“Look here!” he said. “You’ve got your money. I don’t owe you a cent. Now I’m going to tell you what I think of you.”

Wingrave rose slowly to his feet. He was as tall as the boy, long, lean, and hard. His face expressed neither anger nor excitement, but there was a slight, dangerous glitter in his deep-set eyes.

“If you mean,” he said, “that you are going to be impertinent, I would recommend you to change your mind.”

Nesbitt for a moment hesitated. There was something ominous in the cool courage of the older man. And before he could collect himself, Wingrave continued:--

“I presume,” he said, “that you chose your own profession. You knew quite well there was no place in it for men with a sense of the higher morality. It is a profession of gamblers and thieves. If you’d won, you’d have thought yourself a smart fellow and pocketed your winnings fast enough. Now that you’ve lost--don’t whine. You sat down willingly enough to play the game with me. Don’t call me names because you lost. This is no place for children. Pocket your defeat, and be more careful next time.”

Nesbitt was silent for a moment. Wingrave, cool and immovable, dominated him. He gave a little laugh, and turned towards the door.

“Guess you’re right,” he declared; “we’ll let it go at that.”

Aynesworth followed him from the room.

“I’m awfully glad you’re out of the scrape,” he said.

Nesbitt caught him by the arm.

“Come right along,” he said. “I haven’t had a drink in the daytime for a year, but we’re going to have a big one now. I say, do you know how I got that money?”

Aynesworth shook his head.

“On easy terms, I hope.”

They sat down in the American Bar, and a colored waiter in a white linen suit brought them whisky and Apollinaris in tall tumblers.

“Listen,” Nesbitt said. “My brain is on the reel still. I went back to my office, and if it hadn’t been for the little girl, I should have brought a revolver by the way. Old Johnny there waiting to see me, no end of a swell, Phillson, the uptown lawyer. He went straight for me.

“‘Been dealing in Hardwells?’ he asked.

“I nodded.

“‘Short, eh?’

“‘Six hundred shares,’ I answered. There was no harm in telling him for the Street knew well enough.

“‘Bad job,’ he said. ‘How much does Wingrave want?’

“‘Shares at par,’ I answered. ‘It comes to close on fifty-seven thousand six hundred dollars.’

“‘I’m going to find you the money,’ he said.

“Then I can tell you the things in my office began to swim. I’d an idea somehow that he was there as a friend, but nothing like this. I couldn’t answer him.

“‘It’s a delicate piece of business,’ he went on. ‘In fact, the fewer questions you ask the better. All I can say is there’s a chap in Wall Street got his eye on you. Your old dad once helped him over a much worse place than this. Anyhow, I’ve a check here for sixty thousand dollars, and no conditions, only that you don’t talk.’

“‘But when am I to pay it back?’ I gasped.

“‘If my client ever needs it, and you can afford it, he will ask for it.’ Phillson answered. ‘That’s all.’

“And before I could say another darned word, he was gone, and the check was there on my desk.”

Aynesworth sipped his whisky and Apollinaris, and lit a cigarette.

“And they say,” he murmured, “that romance does not exist in Wall Street. You’re a lucky chap, Nesbitt.”

“Lucky! Do you think I don’t realize it? Of course, I know the old governor had lots of friends on the Street, but he was never in a big way, and he got hit awfully hard himself before he died. I can’t understand it anyway.”

“I wouldn’t try,” Aynesworth remarked, laughing. “By the bye, your friend, whoever he was, must have got to know pretty quickly.”

Nesbitt nodded.

“I thought of that,” he said. “Of course, Phillsons are lawyers for Malcolmson, Wingrave’s broker, so I daresay it came from him. Say, Aynesworth, you don’t mind if I ask you something?”

“Not at all,” Aynesworth answered. “What is it?”

“Why the devil do you stop with a man like Wingrave? He doesn’t seem your sort at all.”

Aynesworth hesitated.

“Wingrave interests me,” he answered. “He has had a curious life, and he is a man with very strange ideas.”

Nesbitt finished his drink, and rose up.

“Well,” he said, “he’s not a man I should care to be associated with. Not but what I daresay he was right upstairs. He’s strong, too, and he must have a nerve. But he’s a brute for all that!”

Nesbitt went his way, and Aynesworth returned upstairs. Wingrave was alone.

“Have we finished this miserable business?” Aynesworth asked.

“For the present,” Wingrave answered. “Mr. Malcolmson will supply you with a copy of the accounts. See that Hardwell is credited with a quarter share of the profits. Our dealings are over for the present. Be prepared to start on Saturday for the West. We are going to look for those bears.”

“But the mine?” Aynesworth exclaimed. “It belongs to you now. Aren’t you going out to examine it?”

Wingrave shook his head.

“No,” he said, “I know nothing about mines. My visit could not teach me anything one way or the other. I have sent a commission of experts. I am tired of cities and money-making. I want a change.”

Aynesworth looked at him suddenly. The weariness was there indeed--was it his fancy, or was it something more than weariness which shone out of the dark, tired eyes?