The Black Abbot
to reveal any successor to Arthur’s uncle, and apparently no trustee
had been appointed, the stocks being left in Arthur’s care. He would
of course have authority to sell and reinvest, and there would be no
trouble if shares of a corresponding value were handed over to Harry
Chelford’s new solicitors.
* * *
Arthur Gwyn had spent a very busy day in the seclusion of his study.
His task was not a pleasant one: he was putting in order the chaos of
his affairs, and as the list of his liabilities grew, he himself
seemed to grow older.
He had interrupted his work only to lunch with his sister, and Leslie,
who thought that the cause of his distress was her vanished fortune,
did her best to cheer him. His first act had been to gather on paper
the remnants of her vanished quarter of a million, and the remnant was
pitiably small, amounting to less than two thousand pounds. He told
her this at lunch.
“But that’s really a much larger amount than I expected, Arthur,” she
smiled. “We shall be able to live for two years on that.”
It was in his mind to say that he would possibly be living for five
years on less, but he wanted to avert that news until it was
inevitable that she should know.
At five o’clock she was having tea in solitary state when the maid
brought her a card. She had not heard the arrival of the visitor’s
motor car, for the drawing-room was at the back of the house. She took
the card and read it.
“I don’t think I want to see this gentleman,” she said. “Will you ask
Mr. Gwyn----”
And then she remembered the struggle on the lawn and Arthur’s damaged
eye.
“Yes, I’ll see him,” she said. “Ask him to come in.”
Gilder was dressed as for an official visit. He carried a glossy silk
hat, an incongruous sight in the country, in his gloved hand; his
morning coat sported a large yellow rose; his patent shoes shone
violently. Before he came to Willow House he had called at his own
cottage to refresh his memory on one or two points, but the house was
empty. Thomas had evidently gone up to town, as he had said he would.
At first he was annoyed, but later he was glad that the man was not
there. After all, he knew enough, more than enough for the comfort of
Leslie Gwyn.
She met him with a distant little bow.
“I’m afraid you will not regard me as a welcome visitor, Miss Gwyn,”
he said; “but I have a little business to discuss with you, and I
should be grateful if you would give me a few minutes of your time.”
“Will you sit down, please?” she said coldly.
He was gazing at her with that queer, hungry look she had seen in his
face before.
“I understand your engagement with Lord Chelford is broken off?” And,
when she did not answer: “It was partly that which brought me here,
and partly something much more serious--something,” he said, with
distinct deliberation, “which affects you very closely, Miss Gwyn.”
He paused, expecting a reply, but received none. She sat bolt upright
in one of the deep chairs that abounded in the room, her hands folded
lightly on her lap, her gaze fixed on his.
“I was, as you probably know, for many years your brother’s right-hand
man. In consequence, I have a very intimate knowledge of his affairs;
and not only his affairs but the affairs of his clients. I know, for
example, that your large fortune is mythical.”
If he had expected to shock her he was disappointed. She nodded
slightly.
“I know that also, Mr. Gilder,” she said. “I hope you haven’t made
this long journey to tell me this?”
For a second he was staggered. He had expected his announcement to be
the first of two tremendous sensations; she saw the disappointment in
his face and could have smiled.
“There is another matter,” he said, recovering himself, “which does
not directly affect you. Your brother administered the estate of the
late Lady Chelford, in the sense that he had in his charge stocks and
bonds to the value of fifty-one thousand pounds. That is quite usual
in an old-fashioned lawyer’s business, but to-day of course the stocks
would be in the hands of the bank, and the dividends automatically
credited.”
Her heart nearly stopped beating. He saw the colour fade from her face
and was very sure of himself.
“My brother has--that money?” she said.
“He _had_ it.” He emphasized the word. “I understand that the present
Lord Chelford is changing his lawyers, and in a week’s time those
stocks are to be handed over to another firm.”
She was speechless, knowing that he was telling the truth,
understanding only too well just all that this narrative implied.
“Fifty thousand pounds is a lot of money,” Gilder went on suavely; “a
very difficult sum to raise in a week. And in a week that money must
be in your brother’s hands.”
She raised her eyes, and, seeing the pain in them, he was almost sorry
for her.
“You mean--that the money--that Arthur hasn’t those stocks to
transfer?”
He nodded.
“Are you sure of this?”
“Absolutely sure.”
A long silence, when the ticking of the little French clock came so
loudly to their ears that instinctively both glanced at the
mantelpiece together.
“Why do you tell me all this?”
He cleared his voice.
“A few days ago I told you, rather uncouthly, I am afraid, that I
loved you,” he said. “You may not credit me with the--the affectionate
reverence I have for you--but I love you! There is nothing in the
world I would not do for you, no price that I would not pay.”
Her eyes did not waver; she seemed to be reading his very soul.
“Even to the extent of providing fifty thousand pounds in a week?” she
said in a low voice.
“Even to that extent,” he answered.
She rose slowly to her feet.
“Will you write down your address?”
So calm was her voice that she might have been discussing an ordinary
matter of business.
“I know where you live, but I have forgotten the name of the building
and the number.”
He wrote it down with an unsteady hand and left the paper where she
had placed it.
“I must know to-morrow,” he said, “yes or no.”
She dropped her head.
“You shall know to-morrow,” she said. “If I tell you I will marry you,
you can make the arrangement about the money--I will not fail you.”
Without another word, he walked to the door, turned, and favoured her
with a deep bow, and went out into the hall. She heard the whirr of
his car grow fainter and fainter. But still she did not move.
XXXVII
The door opened. It was Arthur.
“Was that Gilder who came?” he asked, and, when she nodded: “The
brute! Why didn’t you send for me?”
He saw her face, and, quickly:
“Is anything wrong, Leslie?”
“Yes,” she said, and marvelled herself at the evenness of her tone.
“He came about some money that was in your care--a part of the estate
of Lady Chelford.”
She saw from the quick change in his face that all that Gilder had
said was true; but then, she had never doubted that.
“Does Dick know?” she asked.
“Yes, he knows. I wonder what you think of me?” he asked huskily.
She shook her head.
“Does it matter, Arthur, what I think? What will happen if the money
isn’t found?”
“I’ve got a week yet,” he said. “How did he come to know?”
“Can you get the money?”
It was a useless question.
“Dick said he will do his best.”
“Nothing can be done with Harry, I suppose?” she asked. “No, that’s
too impossible to think about. What will happen when the truth comes
out?”
He drew a deep breath.
“I don’t know; imprisonment, I suppose. It’s horribly rough on you,
Leslie. I’ve said that before, but words mean very little, and I am at
the end of words.”
His voice broke for a second, but he caught hold of his weakness in
time, and, seeing the fight he was making, there came a look of
admiration to her eyes.
“You poor soul!” she said softly.
Another long pause.
“What did Gilder want--just to tell you that?”
“Partly that.”
“And to make you an offer?” There was just a hint of eagerness in his
tone; the drowning man was gripping hard on a straw. It made her heart
ache to think that, even at that moment, when he knew he deserved
nothing but her loathing, he could contemplate yet another sacrifice
upon her part without protest.
“He made me an offer--yes,” she said. “And I don’t know what I shall
do. I’m going to see Dick.”
“Is that necessary?” he asked anxiously.
She nodded.
“I’m going to see Dick,” she said. “I will ’phone him.”
She moved to the instrument and lifted the receiver from the hook,
when he caught her arm.
“I shouldn’t be guided--too much by Dick,” he said breathlessly.
“Gilder’s a brute, but you might be happier with him than with Harry.”
She shook off his arm and gave a number. The servant who replied told
her that Dick was out, that he had gone to London that afternoon, and
would not be back until late at night. She hung up the instrument,
went back to the drawing-room, and took up the paper on which Gilder
had written his address.
“You have six days, Arthur,” she said. “I have less than twenty-four
hours. I don’t know whose case is the worse, but I rather fancy it is
mine.”
He heard her go up to her room, and after a while followed and tried
the door. It was locked.
“Leslie!” he called anxiously, but she did not hear him.
With her face buried in the pillow, she was saying good-bye to Dick
Alford, and her heart was breaking.
XXXVIII
Passing down Wardour Street that afternoon, Dick Alford had seen a
familiar face. A man came out of a shop with a bundle under his arm,
and, recognizing the young man, turned on his tracks and walked
rapidly away. Dick grinned; there was no mistaking Thomas, and he
wondered what was the nature of his purchase.
He glanced at the window of the store and was puzzled; for Thomas did
not seem the kind of man who would indulge in the frivolities which
were exhibited behind the plate glass.
He was not in any very good spirits. He had made two calls, and on
each occasion had suffered a gentle rebuff. He was going now to see
his last hope. The big City bank was closed when he arrived, but a
porter admitted him to the presence of the old man who had been his
father’s best friend. The war had turned plain Mr. Jarvis, a country
banker of the ’eighties, into Lord Clanfield, the head of the greatest
banking corporation in Europe.
He gave Dick a hearty welcome, for the boy had been a favourite of
his.
“Sit ye down, Dick. What has brought you to this square mile of
trouble?”
Plainly and briefly Dick stated his business, and Lord Clanfield
frowned.
“Fifty thousand pounds, my dear boy! Do you want it for yourself?”
“No, I want it for a very dear friend of mine.” It required an effort
to describe Arthur in these flattering terms. “He has got into a
scrape.”
His lordship shook his head.
“It couldn’t be done, Dick. If it was for you, to get _you_ out of a
scrape--but then, you’re not the kind of lad who’d ever get into
one--I’d give it to you out of my own pocket.”
“You couldn’t lend it to me on my personal security?”
The banker smiled.
“Lending it to you, Dick, would be giving it to you! What chance have
you of repaying fifty thousand pounds? A second son! Harry is marrying
this year, and there will be an heir to the estate next year! No, no,
old boy, it would be impossible.”
Then, in his desperation, Dick Alford told the story, suppressing only
the names. The old man listened with a grave face.
“He has got to go through with it, Dick,” he said. “If you get him out
of this trouble he’ll probably get into worse. The poor little
girl--I’m sorry for her. Of course, you’re speaking about Gwyn? No,
no, you needn’t be afraid, I sha’n’t say a word. But I’ve had my
suspicions for a long time. Let him take his medicine, Dick, and do
what you can for the girl. Once that fellow is behind bars and the