A COMBINED FORCE.
“Hear, but be faithful to your interest still.
Secure your heart, then fool with whom you will.”
Mrs. Vansittart walked to the gate of the malgamite works, thinking
that Von Holzen was following her on the noiseless sand. At the gate,
which the porter threw open on seeing her approach, she turned and
found that she was alone. Von Holzen was walking quietly back towards
the factory. He was so busy making his fortune that he could not give
Mrs. Vansittart more than a few minutes. She bit her lip as she went
towards her horse. Neglect is no balm to the wounds of the defeated.
She mounted her horse and looked at her watch. It was nearly five
o'clock, and Percy Roden was doubtless waiting for her in Park Straat.
It is a woman's business to know what is expected of her. Mrs.
Vansittart recalled in a very matter-of-fact way the wording of her
letter to Roden. She brushed some dust from her habit, and made sure
that her hair was tidy. Then she fell into deep thought, and set her
mind in a like order for the work that lay before her. A man's deepest
schemes in love are child's play beside the woman's schemes that meet
or frustrate his own. Mrs. Vansittart rode rapidly home to Park Straat.
Mr. Roden, the servant told her, was awaiting her return in the
drawing-room. She walked slowly upstairs. Some victories are only to be
won with arms that hurt the bearer. Mrs. Vansittart's mind was warped,
or she must have known that she was going to pay too dearly for her
revenge. She was sacrificing invaluable memories to a paltry hatred.
“Ah!” she said to Roden, whose manner betrayed the recollection of her
invitation to him, “so I have kept you waiting--a minute, perhaps, for
each day that you have stayed away from Park Straat.”
Roden laughed, with a shade of embarrassment, which she was quick to
detect.
“Is it your sister,” she asked, “who has induced you to stay away?”
“Dorothy has nothing but good to say of you,” he answered.
“Then it is Herr von Holzen,” said Mrs. Vansittart, laying aside her
gloves and turning towards the tea-table. She spoke quietly and rather
indifferently, as one does of persons who are removed by a social
grade. “I have never told you, I believe, that I happen to know
something of your--what is he?--your foreman. He has probably warned
you against me. My husband once employed this Von Holzen, and was, I
believe, robbed by him. We never knew the man socially, and
I have always suspected that he bore us some ill feeling on that
account. You remember--in this room, when you brought him to call soon
after your works were built--that he referred to having met my husband.
Doubtless with a view to finding out how much I knew, or if I was in
reality the wife of Charles Vansittart. But I did not choose to
enlighten him.”
She had poured out tea while she spoke. Her hands were unsteady still,
and she drew down the sleeve of her habit to hide the discoloration of
her wrist. She turned rather suddenly, and saw on Roden's face the
confession that it had been due to Von Holzen's influence that he had
absented himself from her drawing-room.
“However,” she said, with a little laugh, and in a final voice, as if
dismissing a subject of small importance--“however, I suppose Herr von
Holzen is rising in the world, and has the sensitive vanity of persons
in that trying condition.”
She sat down slowly, remembering her pretty figure in its smart habit.
Roden's slow eyes noted the pretty figure also, which she observed, one
may be sure.
“Tell me your news,” she said. “You look tired and ill. It is hard work
making one's fortune. Be sure that you know what you want to buy before
you make it, or afterwards you may find that it has not been worth
while to have worked so hard.”
“Perhaps what I want is not to be bought,” he said, with his eyes on
the carpet. For he was an awkward player at this light game.
“Ah!” she exclaimed. “Then it must be either worthless or priceless.”
He looked at her, but he did not speak, and those who are quick to
detect the fleeting shade of pathos might have seen it in the glance of
the tired eyes. For Percy Roden was only clever as a financier, and
women have no use for such cleverness, only for the results of it.
Roden was conscious of making no progress with Mrs. Vansittart, who
handled him as a cat handles a disabled mouse while watching another
hole.
“You have been busier than ever, I suppose,” she said, “since you have
had no time to remember your friends.”
“Yes,” answered Roden, brightening. He was so absorbed in the most
absorbing and lasting employment of which the human understanding is
capable that he could talk of little else, even to Mrs. Vansittart.
“Yes, we have been very busy, and are turning out nearly ten tons a day
now. And we have had trouble from a quarter in which we did not expect
it. Von Holzen has been much worried, I know, though he never says
anything. He may not be a gentleman, Mrs. Vansittart, but he is a
wonderful man.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Vansittart, indifferently; and something in her manner
made him all the more desirous of explaining his reasons for
associating himself with a person who, as she had subtly and
flatteringly hinted more than once, was far beneath him from a social
point of view. This desire rendered him less guarded than it was
perhaps wise to be under the circumstances.
“Yes, he is a very clever man--a genius, I think. He rises to each
difficulty without any effort, and every day shows me new evidence of
his foresight. He has done more than you think in the malgamite works.
His share of the work has been greater than anybody knows. I am only
the financier, you understand. I know about bookkeeping and
about--money--how it should be handled--that is all.”
“You are too modest, I think,” said Mrs. Vansittart, gravely. “You
forget that the scheme was yours; you forget all that you did in
London.”
“Yes--while Von Holzen was doing more here. He had the more difficult
task to perform. Of course I did my share in getting the thing up. It
would be foolish to deny that. I suppose I have a head on my shoulders,
like other people.” And Mr. Percy Roden, with his hand at his
moustache, smiled a somewhat fatuous smile. He thought, perhaps, that a
woman will love a man the more for being a good man of business.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Vansittart, softly.
“But I should like Von Holzen to have his due,” said Roden, rather
grandly. “He has done wonders, and no one quite realizes that except
perhaps Cornish.”
“Indeed! Does Mr. Cornish give Herr von Holzen his due, then?”
“Cornish does his best to upset Von Holzen's plans at every turn. He
does not understand business at all. When that sort of man goes into
business he invariably gets into trouble. He has what I suppose he
calls scruples. It comes, I imagine, from not having been brought up to
it.” Roden spoke rather hotly. He was of a jealous disposition, and
disliked Mrs. Vansittart's attitude towards Cornish. “But he is no
match for Von Holzen,” he continued, “as he will find to his cost. Von
Holzen is not the sort of man to stand any kind of interference.”
“Ah?” said Mrs. Vansittart again, in the slightly questioning and
indifferent manner with which she received all defence of Otto von
Holzen, and which had the effect of urging Roden to further
explanation.
“He is not a man I should care to cross myself,” he said, determined to
secure Mrs. Vansittart's full attention. “He has the whole of the
malgamiters at his beck and call, and is pretty powerful, I can tell
you. They are a desperate set of fellows; men engaged in a dangerous
industry do not wear kid gloves.”
Mrs. Vansittart was watching him across the low tea-table; for Roden
rarely looked at his interlocutor. He had more of her attention than he
perhaps suspected.
“Ah,” she said, rather more indifferently than before, “I think you
exaggerate Herr von Holzen's importance in the world.”
“I do not exaggerate the danger into which Cornish will run if he is
not careful,” retorted Roden, half sullenly.
There was a ring of anxiety in his voice. Mrs. Vansittart glanced
sharply at him. It was borne in upon her that Roden himself was afraid
of Von Holzen. This was more serious than it had at first appeared.
There are periods in every man's history when human affairs suddenly
appear to become unmanageable and the course of events gets beyond any
sort of control--when the hand at the helm falters, and even the
managing female of the family hesitates to act. Roden seemed to have
reached such a crisis now, and Mrs. Vansittart; charm she never so
wisely, could not brush the frown of anxiety from his brow. He was in
no mood for love-making, and men cannot call up this fleeting humour,
as a woman can, when it is wanted. So they sat and talked of many
things, both glancing at the clock with a surreptitious eye. They were
not the first man and woman to go hunting Cupid with the best will in
the world--only to draw a blank.
At length Roden rose from his chair with slow, lazy movements.
Physically and morally he seemed to want tightening up.
“I must go back to the works,” he said. “We work late to-night.”
“Then do not tell Herr von Holzen where you have been,” replied Mrs.
Vansittart, with a warning smile. Then, on the threshold, with a
gravity and a glance that sent him away happy, she added, “I do not
want you to discuss me with Otto von Holzen, you understand!”
She stood with her hand on the bell, looking at the clock, while he
went downstairs. The moment she heard the street door closed behind him
she rang sharply.
“The brougham,” she said to the servant, “at once.”
Ten minutes later she was rattling down Maurits Kade towards the Villa
des Dunes. A deep bank of clouds had risen from the west, completely
obscuring the sun, so that it seemed already to be twilight. Indeed,
nature itself appeared to be deceived, and as the carriage left the
town behind and emerged into the sandy quiet of the suburbs, the
countless sparrows in the lime-trees were preparing for the night. The
trees themselves were shedding an evening odour, while, from canal and
dyke and ditch, there arose that subtle smell of damp weed and grass
which hangs over the whole of Holland all night.
“The place smells of calamity,” said Mrs. Vansittart to herself, as she
quitted the carriage and walked quickly along the sandy path to the
Villa des Dunes.
Dorothy was in the garden, and, seeing her, came to the gate. Mrs.
Vansittart had changed her riding-habit for one of the dark silks she
usually wore, but she had forgotten to put on any gloves.
“Come,” she said rapidly, taking Dorothy's hand, and holding it--“come
to the seat at the end of the garden where we sat one evening when we
dined alone together. I do not want to go indoors. I am nervous,
I suppose. I have allowed myself to give way to panic like a child in
the dark. I felt lonely in Park Straat, with a house full of servants,
so I came to you.”
“I think there is going to be a thunderstorm,” said Dorothy.
And Mrs. Vansittart broke into a sudden laugh. “I knew you would say
that. Because you are modern and practical--or, at all events, you show
a practical face to the world, which is better. Yes, one may say that
much for the modern girl, at all events--she keeps her head. As to her
heart--well, perhaps she has not got one.”
“Perhaps not,” admitted Dorothy.
They had reached the seat now, and sat down beneath the branches of a
weeping-willow, trimly trained in the accurate Dutch fashion. Mrs.
Vansittart glanced at her companion, and gave a little, low, wise
laugh.
“I did well to come to you,” she said, “for you have not many words.
You have a sense of humour--that saving sense which so few people
possess--and I suspect you to be a person of action. I came in a panic,
which is still there, but in a modified degree. One is always more
nervous for one's friends than for one's self. Is it not so? It is for
Tony Cornish that I fear.”
Dorothy looked steadily straight in front of her, and there was a short
silence.
“I do not know why he stays in Holland, and I wish he would go home,”
continued Mrs. Vansittart. “It is unreasoning, I know, and foolish, but
I am convinced that he is running into danger.” She stopped suddenly,
and laid her hand upon Dorothy's; for she had caught many foreign ways
and gestures. “Listen,” she said, in a lower tone. “It is useless for
you and me to mince matters. The Malgamite scheme is a terrible crime,
and Tony Cornish means to stop it. Surely you and I have long suspected
that. I know Otto von Holzen. He killed my husband. He is a most
dangerous man. He is attempting to frighten Tony Cornish away from
here, and he does not understand the sort of person he is dealing with.
One does not frighten persons of the stamp of Tony Cornish, whether man
or woman. I have made Tony promise not to leave his room to-day. For
to-morrow I cannot answer. You understand?”
“Yes,” answered Dorothy, with a sudden light in her eyes, “I
understand.”
“Your brother must take care of himself. I care nothing for Lord
Ferriby, or any others concerned in this, but only for Tony Cornish,
for whom I have an affection, for he was part of my past life--when I
was happy. As for the malgamiters, they and their works may--go hang!”
And Mrs. Vansittart snapped her fingers. “Do you know Major White?” she
asked suddenly.
“Yes; I have seen him once.”
“So have I--only once. But for a woman once is often enough--is it not
so?--to enable one to judge. I wish we had him here.”
“He is coming,” answered Dorothy. “I think he is coming to-morrow. When
I saw Mr. Cornish yesterday, he told me that he expected him. I believe
he wrote for him to come. He also wrote to Mr. Wade, the banker, asking
him to come.”
“Then he found things worse than he expected. He has, in a sense, sent
for reinforcements. When does Major White arrive--in the morning?”
“No; not till the evening.”
“Then he comes by Flushing,” said Mrs. Vansittart, practically. “You
are thinking of something. What is it?”
“I was wondering how I could see some of the malgamite workers
to-morrow. I know some of them, and it is from them that the danger may
be expected. They are easily led, and Herr von Holzen would not scruple
to make use of them.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Vansittart, “you have guessed that, too. I have more
than guessed it--I know it. You must see these men to-morrow.”
“I will,” answered Dorothy, simply.
Mrs. Vansittart rose and held out her hand. “Yes,” she said, “I came to
the right person. You are calm, and keep your head; as to the other,
perhaps that is in safe-keeping too. Good night and come to lunch with
me to-morrow.”