Lord Nassington drove his big red sixty horse-power six-cylinder
"Napier" slowly up the Corso in Rome.
By his side was his smart chauffeur, Garrett, in dark-green livery with
the hand holding a garland proper, the crest of the Nassingtons, upon
his bright buttons.
It was four o'clock, the hour of the _passeggiata_, the hour when those
wintering in the Eternal City go forth in carriages and cars to drive up
and down the long, narrow Corso in order to see, and be seen, to
exchange bows with each other, and to conclude the processional drive at
slow pace owing to the crowded state of the street by a tour of the
Pincian hill whence one obtains a magnificent view of Rome and the Tiber
in the sunset.
Roman society is the most exclusive in the world. Your Roman princess
will usually take her airing in her brougham with the windows carefully
closed, even on a warm spring afternoon. She holds herself aloof from
the crowd of wealthy foreigners, even though her great gaunt palazzo has
been denuded of every picture and work of art years ago, and she lives
with a _donna di casa_ in four or five meagre rooms on the first floor,
the remainder of the great place being unfurnished and untenanted.
There is more pitiful make-believe among the aristocracy of Rome than in
any other city in the world. The old principessa, the marchesa, and the
contessa keep themselves within their own little circle, and sneer at
the wealthy foreigner and his blatant display of riches. One hears
girls of the school-room discussing the social scale of passers-by, and
disregarding them as not being "of the aristocracy" like themselves.
Truly the Eternal City is a complex one in winter, and the Corso at four
o'clock, is the centre of it all. You know that slowly-passing almost
funereal line of carriages, some of them very old and almost
hearse-like, moving up and down, half of them emblazoned with coronets
and shields--for the Italian is ever proud of his heraldry--while the
other half hired conveyances, many of them ordinary cabs in which sit
some of the wealthiest men and women in Europe who have come south to
see the antiquities and to enjoy the sunshine.
Behind the lumbering old-fashioned brougham of a weedy marchesa, Lord
Nassington drove his big powerful car at snail's pace, and almost
silently. In such traffic the flexibility of the six-cylinder is at
once appreciated.
Both Garrett and his master had their eyes about them, as though in
search of some one.
A dozen times pretty women in furs bowed to Lord Nassington, who raised
his motor-cap in acknowledgment. The smart, good-looking young peer had
spent a couple of months there during the previous winter and had become
immensely popular with the cosmopolitan world who gather annually in the
Italian capital. Therefore, when he had arrived at the Excelsior, a
week before, word had quickly gone round the hotels, clubs, pastrycooks,
and _cafes_ that the young English motoring milord had returned.
Upon the table of his luxurious little sitting-room at the hotel were
lying a dozen or so invitations to dinners, receptions, the opera, and a
luncheon-party out at Tivoli, while Charles, his man, had been busy
spreading some picturesque gossip concerning his master.
For the nonce his Highness Prince Albert of Hesse-Holstein was
_incognito_, and as was the case sometimes, he was passing as an English
peer, about whose whereabouts, position, and estates Debrett was
somewhat vague. According to that volume of volumes, Lord Nassington
had let his ancestral seat in Northamptonshire, and lived in New
Orleans. Therefore, his Highness had but little to fear from unwelcome
inquiry. He spoke English as perfectly as he could speak German when
occasion required, for to his command of languages his success had been
in great measure due.
Such a fine car as his had seldom, if ever, been seen in Rome. It was
part of his creed to make people gossip about him, for as soon as they
talked they began to tumble over each other in their endeavour to make
his acquaintance. Both Garrett and Charles always had some interesting
fiction to impart to other servants, and so filter through to their
masters and mistresses.
The story running round Rome, and being passed from mouth to mouth along
the Corso, in Aregno's, in the Excelsior, and up among the idlers on the
Pincio, was that that reckless devil-may-care young fellow in motor-coat
and cap, smoking a cigar as he drove, had only a fortnight before played
with maximums at Monte Carlo, and in one day alone had won over forty
thousand pounds at roulette.
The rather foppishly dressed Italians idling along the Corso--every man
a born gambler--were all interested in him as he passed. He was a
favourite of fortune, and they envied him his good luck. And though
they wore yellow gloves and patent-leather boots they yearned for a
_terno_ on the Lotto--the aspiration of every man, be he _conte_ or
_contadino_.
As his lordship approached the end of the long, narrow street close to
the Porta del Popolo, Garrett gave him a nudge, and glancing at an
oncoming carriage he saw in it two pretty dark-haired girls. One, the
better looking of the pair, was about twenty-two, and wore rich sables,
with a neat toque of the same fur. The other about three years her
senior, wore a black hat, a velvet coat, and a boa of white Arctic fox.
Both were delicate, refined-looking girls, and evidently ladies.
Nassington raised his cap and laughed, receiving nods and merry laughs
of recognition in return.
"I wonder where they're going, Garrett?" he remarked after they had
passed.
"Better follow them, hadn't we?" remarked the man.
A moment later, however, a humble cab passed, one of those little open
victorias which the visitor to Rome knows so well, and in it was seated
alone a middle-aged, rather red-faced English clergyman.
His lordship and he exchanged glances, but neither recognised each
other.
"Good!" whispered the man at the wheel to his servant beside him. "So
the Parson's arrived. He hasn't been long on the way from Berlin. I
suppose he's keeping his eye upon the girls."
"Trust him," laughed the chauffeur. "You sent him the snap-shot, I
suppose?"
"Of course. And it seems he's lost no time. He couldn't have arrived
before five o'clock this morning."
"When Clayton's on a good thing he moves about as quickly as you do,"
the smart young English chauffeur remarked.
"Yes," his master admitted. "He's the most resourceful man I've ever
known--and I've known a few. We'll take a run up the Pincio and back,"
and, without changing speed, he began to ascend the winding road which
leads to the top of the hill.
Up there, they found quite a crowd of people whom Nassington had known
the previous season.
Rome was full of life, merriment and gaiety. Carnival had passed, and
the Pasqua was fast approaching; the time when the Roman season is at
its gayest and when the hotels are full. The court receptions and balls
at the Quirinale had brought the Italian aristocracy from the various
cities, and the ambassadors were mostly at their posts because of the
weekly diplomatic receptions.
Surely it is a strange world--that vain, silly, out-dressing world of
Rome, where religion is only the cant of the popular confessor and the
scandal of a promenade through St Peter's or San Giovanni.
At the summit of the Pincio Lord Nassington pulled up the car close to
the long stone balustrade, and as he did so a young Italian elegant, the
Marquis Carlo di Rimini, stepped up and seizing his hand, was profuse in
his welcome back to Rome.
The Englishman descended from the car, lit one of his eternal
"Petroffs," and leaned upon the balustrade to chat and learn the latest
scandal. The Marquis Carlo and he were fellow members of the Circolo
Unione, one of the smartest clubs in Rome, and had played bridge
together through many a night.
A whisper had once gone forth that the source of the over-dressed young
noble's income was cards, but Nassington had always given him his due.
He had never caught him cheating, and surely if he had cheated the
Englishman would have known it.
As they stood there, gazing across the city below, the sky was aflame in
all the crimson glory of the Roman sunset, and even as they spoke the
Angelus had, of a sudden, clashed forth from every church tower, the
bells clanging discordantly far and near.
It was the hour of the _venti-tre_, but in the city nobody cared. The
patient toilers in the Campagna, however, the _contadini_ in the fields
and in the vineyards who had been working on the brown earth since the
dawn, crossed themselves with a murmured prayer to the Madonna and
prodded their ox-teams onward. In Rome itself nowadays, alas! the bells
of the _venti-tre_ of spring and winter only remind the gay, giddy
cosmopolitan crowd that it is the hour for tea in the halls of the
hotels, or the English tea-rooms in the Corso.
An hour later, when his lordship entered his room at the Excelsior, he
found the Reverend Thomas Clayton seated in his armchair patiently
smoking and awaiting him.
"By Jove! old chap. You got through quick," cried his lordship throwing
off his coat and cap. "Well?"
"It's a soft thing--that's my opinion, the girl Velia is devilish
pretty, and the cousin isn't half bad-looking. I haven't been idle.
Got in at six--an hour late, of course, had a bath and breakfast and
out. Saw a dozen people I know before noon, lunched at that little
_trattoria_ behind the post office where so many of the Deputies go, and
learnt a lot. I'm no stranger here you know--lived here a year once--
did a splendid bit of business, but had to slip. That was the year
before we joined our forces."
"Well, what do you know?"
"Boncini, her father is, of course, Minister of the Interior, and a
pretty slick customer. Made pots of money, they say, and only keeps in
office by bribery. Half the money subscribed by charitable people on
behalf of the sufferers from the recent earthquake down in Calabria went
into his pocket. He bought a big villa, and fine estate, close to
Vallombrosa a month or so afterwards."
His lordship grunted.
"Picks up what he can?" he remarked. "One of us--it seems!"
"Exactly. And to do any business, we'll have to be pretty cute. He's
already seen and heard a lot of you, and he knows that you've met his
pretty daughter. Perhaps he fancies you'll marry her."
"The only use of marriage to a man, my dear Clayton," exclaimed the
devil-may-care adventurer blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke from his
lips, "is to enable him to make a settlement upon his wife, and so
wriggle from the clutches of his creditors." The Parson laughed.
Regarding the marriage tie his Highness, or "his lordship" rather as he
was at that moment called, was always sarcastic.
"Really, old chap, you spread your fame wherever you go. Why, all Rome
is talking about this wonderful coup of yours at Monte."
"It was Garrett's idea. He told them down in the garage, and Charles
told a lady's maid or two, I think. Such things are quite easy when one
starts out upon a big bluff. But if what you've discovered about his
Excellency the Minister Boncini is really true, then I shall alter my
tactics somewhat. I mean that I must make the dark-haired daughter a
stepping-stone to her father."
"With care--my dear fellow," exclaimed the Parson in that calm, clerical
drawl habitual to him. "The girl's cousin, Miss Ethel Thorold, is
English. The sister of the Signora Boncini married a man on the London
Stock Exchange, named Thorold."
"That's awkward," exclaimed his lordship thoughtfully, "upsets my
plans."
"But he's dead," the Parson declared. His companion nodded
satisfaction.
"Now Miss Ethel is, I've found, a rather religiously inclined young
person--all praise to her. So I shall succeed very soon in getting to
know her. Indeed, as you've already made her acquaintance you might
introduce me as the vicar of some living within your gift."
"Excellent--I will."
"And what's your plans?"
"They're my own secrets at present, Tommy," was the other's quick
answer. "You're at the Grand, aren't you? Well, for the present, we
must be strangers--till I approach you. Understand?"
"Of course. Give me five hundred francs will you. I'm short?"
His lordship unlocked his heavy steel despatch-box and gave his friend
five one-hundred franc notes without a word.
Then they reseated themselves, and with Charles, the faithful valet,
leaning against the edge of the table smoking a cigarette with them,
their conversation was both interesting and confidential.
A fortnight went by, and Rome was in the middle of her Pasqua _fetes_.
The night was perfect, bright and star-lit.
The great gilded ballroom of the huge old Peruzzi Palace, in the Via
Nazionale, the residence of his Excellency the Minister Boncini, was
thronged by a brilliant crowd, among whom Lord Nassington made his way,
ever and anon bowing over some woman's hand.
The bright uniforms, the glittering stars and coloured ribbons worn by
the men, and the magnificent toilettes of the women combined to form a
perfect phantasmagoria of colour beneath the huge crystal electroliers.
The political and social world of Rome had gathered there at the monthly
reception of his Excellency, the rather stout grey-bearded man with the
broad cerise-and-white ribbon of the Order of the Crown of Italy across
his shirt-front, and the diamond star upon his coat. His Lordship
strode through the huge painted _salons_ with their heavy gilt mirrors
and giant palms, and approached the man of power in that complex nation,
modern Italy.
At that moment his Excellency was chatting with the French Ambassador,
but on the Englishman's approach he turned to him exclaiming in French:
"Ah! Lord Nassington! I am so pleased you could come. Velia told me
of the slight accident to your car yesterday. I hope you were not hurt
at all?"
"Oh! no," laughed the debonair young man. "I had perhaps a close shave.
My car is a rather fast one, and I was driving recklessly on the
Maremma Road--a sharp turn--and I ran down a bank, that's all. The car
will be all right by to-morrow."
"Ah, milord. The automobile is an invention of the future, without a
doubt."
"Most certainly. Indeed, as a matter of fact, I thought of making a
suggestion to your Excellency--one which I believe would be most
acceptable to the Italian nation. But, of course, here it's quite
impossible to talk."
"Then come to-morrow morning to my private cabinet at the Ministry--or
better still, here to luncheon, and we can chat."
His Lordship expressed his thanks, and then moved off in search of the
pretty Velia.
For the greater part of the evening he dangled at the side of the
good-looking girl in turquoise chiffon, having several waltzes with her
and afterwards strolling out upon the balcony and sitting there beneath
the starlight.
"What a charming man your friend Mr Clayton is!" exclaimed the girl in
English, as they were sitting together apart from the others. "Papa is
delighted with him."
"Oh, yes--a most excellent fellow for a parson," his Lordship laughed,
and then their conversation turned upon motors and motoring.
"How is your shoulder this evening?" she inquired.
"Not at all painful," he declared. "It's nearly all right again. The
car will be ready for the road to-morrow afternoon. I'm lunching with
you here, and I wonder if you and your cousin will come with me for a
run out to Tivoli afterwards?"
"I should be delighted," she said. "Our car is only a sixteen `Fiat'
you know, and we never travel faster than a cab. It would be such fun
to have a run in your beautiful `sixty'! I don't suppose papa would
object."
"I'll ask him to come, too," laughed the man by whom she had become so
attracted, and then they returned for another dance. Her ears were
open, and so were those of the shrewd old man who controlled the
internal affairs of the kingdom. There were whisperings everywhere,
regarding the young man's wealth, his good fortune, and his aristocratic
family.
His Excellency had not failed to notice the attraction which the young
English peer held for his daughter, and also that he paid her marked
attention. Therefore the old man was extremely self-satisfied.
Next day after the little family luncheon at the Peruzzi Palace at which
only the Signora Boncini, Velia, and her cousin Ethel were present, his
Excellency took his guest aside in his small private room for their
coffee and cigarettes.
Nassington offered the Minister one of his "Petroffs" which was
pronounced excellent.
Then, after a brief chat, his Lordship came to the point.
"The fact is, your Excellency," he said, "a suggestion has occurred to
me by which the Italian Government could, while benefiting the country
to an enormous extent, at the same time secure a very handsome sum
annually towards the exchequer."
"How?" inquired the shrewd old statesman.
"By granting to a group of substantial English financiers a monopoly for
the whole of the motor-transport of Italy," his Lordship replied,
blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips. "You have, in every part of the
kingdom, great tracts of productive country without railways or
communications. At the same time you have excellent roads everywhere.
The concession, if granted, would be taken up by a great firm who handle
motor-traction, and certain districts, approved by your government,
would be opened up as an experiment. Would not that be of national
benefit?"
"I see," replied the statesman stroking his beard thoughtfully. "And
you propose that the earnings of the syndicate should be taxed by our
Department of Finance?"
"Exactly."
A keen, eager look was in the old man's eyes, and did not pass
unrecognised by the man lounging in the armchair in picturesque
indolence.
"And suppose we were to go into the matter," the Minister said. "What
attitude would your Lordship adopt?"
"Well--my attitude would be this," Nassington replied. "You give me the
proper concession, signed by the Ministers, and I guarantee to find the
capital among my personal friends in financial circles in London. But
on one condition," he added. "That the whole matter is kept secret.
Afterwards, I venture to think the whole country, and especially the
rural population will be grateful to your Excellency."
Boncini instantly saw that such a move would increase his popularity
immensely in the country. The idea appealed to him. If Lord
Nassington's friends were ready with capital, they would also be ready,
he foresaw, with a very substantial sum for bribery. Personally he
cared not a rap for the progress of Italy. While in office, he intended
to amass as much as he could. He was the all-powerful man in Italy at
the moment. But next year he might be--well where more than one
Minister as powerful as he, had found himself--in prison!
"There are difficulties," his Excellency said with some hesitation. "My
colleagues in the Cabinet may raise objections. They may not see
matters in the light that I do. And the Senate, too--they--"
"I know. I quite understand your Excellency," exclaimed his Lordship,
lowering his voice into a confidential whisper. "Let us speak quite
frankly. In a gigantic matter of this sort--a matter of millions--
certain palm-oil has to be applied--eh?"
The old man smiled, placed his hands together and nodded.
"Then let us go further," Lord Nassington went on. "I submit in all
deference--and, of course, this conversation is strictly in private
between us, that should you think favourably of the scheme--my friends
should secretly place a certain sum, say one hundred thousand pounds
sterling at your Excellency's command, to apply in whatever way you may
think best to secure the success of the proposition. Are you willing?"
The old man rose from his chair, and standing before the younger man
stretched forth his hand.
"Perfectly," he said as the other grasped it. "We agree."
"And if I frame the form of the concession you will agree to it and, in
return for an undertaking of the payment of one hundred thousand pounds
into--where shall we say--into the head office of the Credit Lyonnais in
Paris in the name of your nominee, you will hand me the legal concession
confirmed by the Italian Government?"
"I agree to hand you the necessary documents within a fortnight,"
responded his Excellency. "The adoption of motor-traction in the remote
districts for bringing wine and produce to the nearest railways will be
of the greatest boon to our country."
"Of course, my friends will leave the whole of the details, as far as
finance on your side is concerned, to you," his Lordship said. "You can
administer the official backsheesh so much better than any one else."
"Within a fortnight you shall be able, my lord, to hand your friends the
actual concession for motor-transport throughout the kingdom of Italy."
For another half-hour they discussed certain details, Lord Nassington
talking big about his wealthy friends in London. Then, with his
daughter and his niece, his Excellency accepted his guest's invitation
for a run out to Tivoli to take tea.
The "sixty" ran splendidly, and the Minister of the Interior was
delighted. Before the girls, however, no business was discussed.
Velia's father, who, by the way had once been a clever advocate in
Milan, knew better than to mention affairs of State before women.
During the run, however, he found himself counting upon the
possibilities of Velia's marriage with the amiable young English
aristocrat who, upon his own initiative, had offered to place one
hundred thousand sterling unreservedly in his hands. At most the
present Cabinet could last another year, and then--well, oblivion if
before then he did not line his nest snugly enough. The thought of the
poor widows and orphans and starving populace down in Calabria sometimes
caused him a twinge of conscience. But he only laughed and placed it
aside. He had even been unscrupulous, and this young English peer was
his friend, he would use to best advantage.
Though Lord Nassington was an eligible husband for his daughter, yet,
after all, he was not a business man, but a wealthy "mug." As such he
intended to treat him.
At the little _cafe_, near the falls, where they took tea the
conversation ran on motors and motoring, but his Excellency could not
disguise from himself that the young peer was entirely fascinated by his
good-looking daughter.
They lingered there until the mists began to rise and the red afterglow
was fast disappearing; then they ran past the sulphur springs and on the
broad highway back to the Eternal City at such a pace that his
Excellency's breath was taken away. But Lord Nassington drove, and
notwithstanding the accident of two days previously, the Minister felt
himself perfectly safe in his hands.
Three weeks went by. His Lordship took a flying visit to London, and
quickly returned. Both he and the highly respectable clergyman of the
English church, the Reverend Thomas Clayton, became daily visitors at
the Peruzzi Palace. In the Corso the pretty Signorina Boncini and her
cousin were often seen in his Lordship's car, and already the
gossip-loving world of Rome began to whisper that an engagement was
about to take place.
The valet, Charles, also made a quick journey to London and back, and
many telegrams were exchanged with a registered cable address in London.
One afternoon, in the private cabinet of that colossal building, the
Ministry of the Interior, his Excellency handed his English friend a
formidable document bearing many signatures with the official seal of
the Government embossed, a document which gave Lord Nassington the
exclusive right to establish motor-transport for both merchandise and
passengers upon every highway in the kingdom. In exchange, his
Excellency received an undertaking signed by a responsible firm in the
City of London to place to the account of Madame Boncini at the Credit
Lyonnais in Paris the respectable sum of one hundred thousand pounds
within seven days.
"I shall return at once to London," his Lordship said replacing the
formidable document in its envelope, "and in exchange for this, the
financial group will at once pay in the sum to Madame's account in
Paris, while the actual sum for the concession will be paid here, in
Rome, to the Department of Finance, on the date stipulated."
"Benissimo," replied the grey-bearded statesman, holding one of his long
Toscano cigars in the candle which he had lit for that purpose. "It is
all settled. You will dine with us at home to-night."
His Lordship accepted, and after further discussion regarding several
minor details of the concession he rose and left.
That night he dined at the Peruzzi Palace, seated next his Excellency's
charming daughter, and next morning left the Excelsior in his big red
car, to run as far as Bologna and thence return to London by rail.
With her father's consent Velia her cousin and Signora Ciullini, her
aunt, accompanied him and they set out across the Maremma for
marble-built Pisa, where the girls were to return home by rail.
The more direct road was by Orvieto, but it is not so good as that wide,
open road across the fever-marshes of the Maremma, therefore his
Lordship resolved on taking the latter.
The day was glorious, and travelling for all they were worth with only
two stops to refill with petrol, they ran into Pisa late that same
night. The sleeping-car express from Paris to Rome was due in half an
hour, therefore after a scrambling meal at the Victoria the aristocratic
motorist saw the girls and their aunt safely into the train--kissing
Velia in secret by the way--and waving them "addio," watched the train
glide out of the big echoing station again.
Then, with Garrett at his side, he turned the big car with its glaring
head-lights out of the big gates through the town along the Lung' Arno
and into the high road for Florence.
In the early morning he passed through the dimly-lit deserted streets of
the City of the Medici, and away beyond, through Prato, to the
foot-hills of the Appenines where he began to ascend that wonderfully
engineered military road which runs, with many dangerous turns for
motorists, high up across the mountain range, and ends in the long
colonnaded street of old Bologna.
It was noon ere he drew into the Piazza before the station, and giving
Garrett instructions to continue on to Milan and north to Berlin where
the car was to be garaged, he took the afternoon express for the
frontier at Chiasso, travelling thence _via_ Bale to Ostend and London.
On entering his snug chambers at five o'clock one afternoon, he found
Charles and the Parson smoking and awaiting him. That evening the trio
held a long and earnest consultation. The official document was
carefully examined, and the names of many city firms mentioned. The
Parson seemed to possess a remarkable intimate knowledge of city life.
"Old Boncini is a clever old thief," remarked the reverend gentleman.
"He's feathering his nest finely--all the money in his wife's name."
"My dear fellow, half the Cabinet Ministers of Europe only use their
political influence in order to gain fortune. Except the British
Government there isn't a single one which isn't corrupt."
"Well, Albert, my dear boy, you certainly seem to have got hold of a
good thing," the Parson remarked. "His Corrupt Excellency seems to
place every faith in you. Your four-flush was admirable all the time."
"It took a bit of working, I can tell you. He's as slick as a rat."
"But he doesn't suspect anything wrong?"
"Hasn't the slightest idea of it, my dear Tommy. He fancies I'm going
to marry his daughter. The fat old mother is already imagining herself
mother-in-law of a British peer."
"Yes. All Rome knows that you've fallen in love with the pretty Velia,
and that you've told her the tale. What a fellow you are with the
ladies."
"Why?" he laughed taking a cigarette. "They are all very charming and
delightful. But in my career I generally manage to make them useful.
It's really remarkable what a woman will do in the interests of the man
whom she fancies is in love with her. Fortunately, perhaps, for me,
I've only been in love once."
"And it resulted in a tragedy," remarked the Parson quietly, knowing
that he referred to the Princess.
His Lordship sighed, flinging himself down in his armchair, worn out by
long travel.
"My dear boy," he said with a weary sigh, "if I ever got married I'd
soon go mothy--everybody does. Married people, whatever their position
in life, settle down into the monotonous groove that is the death of all
romance. Before a man marries a girl they have little dinners together
at restaurants, and little suppers, and all seems so bright and gay
under the red candle-shades. We see it on every hand. But why should
it all be dropped for heavy meals and dulness, just because two people
who like one another have the marriage service read over them?"
The Parson laughed. His friend was always amusing when he discussed the
question of matrimony.
During the next four days his Lordship, in the character of Mr
Tremlett--as he was known in certain circles in the City--was busy with
financiers to whom he offered the concession. His story was that it had
been granted by the Italian Government to his cousin, Lord Nassington,
and that the latter had given it into his hands to negotiate.
In the various quarters where he offered it the concession caused a
flutter of excitement. The shrewdest men in the City saw that it was a
good thing, and one after the other craved a day to think it over. It
really was one of the best things that had been offered for a long time.
The terms required by the Italian Government were not at all heavy, and
huge profits were certain to be made out of such a monopoly.
The great tracts of fertile land in central and southern Italy would, by
means of motor-transport, be opened up to trade, while Tremlett's
picturesque story of how the concession had been snatched away from a
strong group of German financiers was, to more than one capitalist, most
fascinating.
Indeed he saw half a dozen of the most influential men in the City, and
before a week was out he had got together a syndicate which could
command a couple of millions sterling.
They were all of them shrewd men, however, and he saw that it behoved
him to be on the alert. There is such a thing in the City as to be
"frozen out" of a good thing, even when one holds it in one's hand.
By dint of close watching and clever observation, he discovered
something, and this caused him to ponder deeply. The syndicate
expressed themselves ready to treat, but for the present he was rather
unwilling.
Some hitches occurred on technicalities, and there were a number of
meetings to consider this point and that. By all this Mr Tremlett saw
that he was losing time, and at the same moment he was not keeping faith
with the old statesman concerning the amount to be paid into Madame's
account in Paris. At last one morning, after the Parson had left for an
unknown destination, he took a taxi-cab down to the City with a bold
resolve.
The five prominent financiers were seated together in an office in Old
Broad Street when Mr Tremlett, leaning back in his chair, said:
"Well, gentlemen, it seems that we are as far away as ever from coming
to terms, and I think it useless to discuss the matter further. I must
take the business elsewhere."
"We admit," exclaimed an old bald man, a director of one of London's
largest banks, "that it is a good thing, but the price you ask is
prohibitive."
"I can get it in Paris. So I shall go there," was Tremlett's prompt
reply.
"Well," exclaimed the bald man, "let's get straight to facts. Your
cousin, Lord Nassington, wants sixty thousand pounds in cash for the
concession and a percentage of shares, and that, we have decided, is far
too much."
"Those are his figures," remarked Tremlett.
"Well, then all we can offer is one-half--thirty thousand in cash and
ten per cent, of shares in the company," said the other, "and," he
added, "I venture to say that ours is a very handsome offer." Tremlett
rose from the table with a sarcastic smile.
"Let us talk of something else," he said. "I haven't come down here to
the City to play at marbles."
"Well," asked the old man who was head of the syndicate. "What are your
lowest terms?"
"I've stated them."
"But you don't give us time to inquire into the business," he
complained.
"I have shown you the actual concession. Surely you are satisfied with
it!"
"We are."
"And I've told you the conditions of the contract. Yet you postpone
your decision from day to day!"
The five men glanced at each other, rather uneasily Tremlett thought.
"Well," he went on. "This is the last time I shall attend any meeting.
We come to a decision this morning, or the matter is off. You,
gentlemen, don't even show _bona fides_!"
"Well, I think you know something of the standing of all of us," the
banker said.
"That is so. But my cousin complains that he, having offered the
concession, you on your part do not attempt to show your intention to
take it up."
"But we do. We wish to fix a price to-day," remarked another of the
men.
"A price, gentlemen, which is ridiculous," declared Tremlett.
The five men consulted together in undertones, and in the end advanced
their offer five thousand pounds. At this Tremlett only shook his
shoulders. A further five thousand was the result, and a long
discussion followed.
"Have you your cousin's authority to accept terms?" asked one of the
capitalists.
"I have."
"Then forty thousand is all we can offer."
Tremlett hesitated.
"I have a number of payments to make for bribery," he declared. "It
will take half that sum."
"That does not concern us, my dear sir," said the bald-headed banker.
"We know that a concession such as this can only be obtained by the
judicious application of palm-oil."
"But I must pay out nearly twenty thousand almost immediately," Tremlett
said.
At this there was another long discussion, whereupon at last the
bald-headed man said:
"If the payment of the bribes is imperative at once, we will, on
consideration of the business being to-day concluded on a forty thousand
pound basis, hand you over half the sum at once. That is our final
decision."
Tremlett was not at all anxious. Indeed he took up his hat and cane,
and was about to leave, when two of the men present exercising all their
powers of persuasion, got him at last to reseat himself and to accept
the sum of twenty thousand pounds down, and twenty thousand thirty days
from that date, in addition to a percentage of shares in the company to
be formed.
Memoranda were drawn up and signed by all parties, whereupon Tremlett
took from his pocket the official concession and handed it to the head
of the syndicate.
That same afternoon, before four o'clock, he had received a draft for
twenty thousand pounds, with which he had opened an account in Charles's
name at a branch bank in Tottenham Court Road.
At nine o'clock that same evening he left for Paris, putting up at a
small obscure hotel near the Gare du Nord where he waited in patience
for nearly a week.
Once or twice he telegraphed, and received replies.
Late one night the Parson arrived unexpectedly and entered the shabby
bedroom where his Lordship was lounging in an armchair reading a French
novel.
He sprung up at the entrance of the round-faced cleric, saying:
"Well, Tommy? How has it gone? Tell me quick."
"You were quite right," exclaimed the clergyman. "The crowd in London
were going behind your back. They sent two clever men to Rome, and
those fellows tried to deal with Boncini direct. They arrived the day
after I did, and they offered him an extra twenty thousand if he would
rescind your concession, and grant them a new one. Boncini was too
avaricious and refused, so they then treated with you."
"I got twenty thousand," remarked his Lordship, "got it in cash safe in
the bank."
"Yes. I got your wire."
"And what did you do?" asked his friend.
"I acted just as you ordered. As soon as I was convinced that the
people in London were working behind our backs, I laid my plans. Then
when your wire came that you'd netted the twenty thousand, I acted."
"How?"
"I took all the signed proof you gave me of old Boncini's acceptance of
the bribe, and of Madame's banking account at the Credit Lyonnais, to
that scoundrel Ricci, the red-hot Socialist deputy in the Chamber."
"And what did he say?" asked his Lordship breathlessly.
"Say!" echoed the other. "He was delighted. I spent the whole evening
with him. Next day, he and his colleagues held a meeting, and that
afternoon he asked in the Chamber whether his Excellency, the Minister
of the Interior, had not been bribed by an English syndicate and put a
number of similarly awkward questions. The Government had a difficulty
in evading the truth, but imagine the sensation when he waved proofs of
the corruptness of the Cabinet in the face of the House. A terrible
scene of disorder ensued, and the greatest sensation has been caused.
Look here,"--and he handed his friend a copy of _Le Soir_.
At the head of a column on the front page were the words in French,
"Cabinet Crisis in Italy," and beneath, a telegram from Rome announcing
that in consequence of the exposure of grave scandals by the Socialists,
the Italian Cabinet had placed their resignations in the hands of his
Majesty.
"Serve that old thief Boncini right," declared his Lordship. "He was
ready to sell me for an extra few thousands, but I fortunately got in
before him. I wonder if the pretty Velia has still any aspirations to
enter the British peerage?"
And both men laughed merrily at thought of the nice little nest-egg they
had managed to filch so cleverly from the hands of five of the smartest
financiers in the City of London.