It was rarely that Derek Kettering allowed his temper to get the better
of him. An easy-going insouciance was his chief characteristic, and it
had stood him in good stead in more than one tight corner. Even now, by
the time he had left Mirelle's flat, he had cooled down. He had need of
coolness. The corner he was in now was a tighter one than he had ever
been in before, and unforeseen factors had arisen with which, for the
moment, he did not know how to deal.
He strolled along deep in thought. His brow was furrowed, and there was
none of the easy, jaunty manner which sat so well upon him. Various
possibilities floated through his mind. It might have been said of
Derek Kettering that he was less of a fool than he looked. He saw
several roads that he might take--one in particular. If he shrank
from it, it was for the moment only. Desperate ills need desperate
remedies. He had gauged his father-in-law correctly. A war between
Derek Kettering and Rufus Van Aldin could end only one way. Derek
damned money and the power of money vehemently to himself. He walked
up St. James's Street, across Piccadilly, and strolled along it in the
direction of Piccadilly Circus. As he passed the offices of Messrs.
Thomas Cook & Sons his footsteps slackened. He walked on, however,
still turning the matter over in his mind. Finally, he gave a brief nod
of his head, turned sharply--so sharply as to collide with a couple of
pedestrians who were following in his footsteps, and went back the way
he had come. This time he did not pass Cook's, but went in. The office
was comparatively empty, and he got attended to at once.
"I want to go to Nice next week. Will you give me particulars?"
"What date, sir?"
"The 14th. What is the best train?"
"Well, of course, _the_ best train is what they call the 'Blue Train.'
You avoid the tiresome Customs business at Calais."
Derek nodded. He knew all this, none better.
"The 14th," murmured the clerk; "that is rather soon. The Blue Train is
nearly always all booked up."
"See if there is a berth left," said Derek. "If there is not--" He left
the sentence unfinished, with a curious smile on his face.
The clerk disappeared for a few minutes, and presently returned.
"That is all right, sir; still three berths left. I will book you one
of them. What name?"
"Pavett," said Derek. He gave the address of his rooms in Jermyn Street.
The clerk nodded, finished writing it down, wished Derek good morning
politely, and turned his attention to the next client.
"I want to go to Nice--on the 14th. Isn't there a train called the Blue
Train?"
Derek looked round sharply.
Coincidence--a strange coincidence. He remembered his own
half-whimsical words to Mirelle, "_Portrait of a lady with grey eyes.
I don't suppose I shall ever see her again._" But he _had_ seen her
again, and, what was more, she proposed to travel to the Riviera on the
same day as he did.
Just for a moment a shiver passed over him; in some ways he was
superstitious. He had said, half-laughingly, that this woman might
bring him bad luck. Suppose--suppose that should prove to be true. From
the doorway he looked back at her as she stood talking to the clerk.
For once his memory had not played him false. A lady--a lady in every
sense of the word. Not very young, not singularly beautiful. But with
something--grey eyes that might perhaps see too much. He knew as he
went out of the door that in some way he was afraid of this woman. He
had a sense of fatality.
He went back to his rooms in Jermyn Street and summoned his man.
"Take this cheque, Pavett, cash it first thing in the morning, and
go around to Cook's in Piccadilly. They will have some tickets there
booked in your name, pay for them, and bring them back."
"Very good, sir."
Pavett withdrew.
Derek strolled over to a side-table and picked up a handful of letters.
They were of a type only too familiar. Bills, small bills and large
bills, one and all pressing for payment. The tone of the demands was
still polite. Derek knew how soon that polite tone would change if--if
certain news became public property.
He flung himself moodily into a large, leather-covered chair. A damned
hole--that was what he was in. Yes, a damned hole! And ways of getting
out of that damned hole were not too promising.
Pavett appeared with a discreet cough.
"A gentleman to see you--sir--Major Knighton."
"Knighton, eh?"
Derek sat up, frowned, became suddenly alert. He said in a softer tone,
almost to himself: "Knighton--I wonder what is in the wind now?"
"Shall I--er--show him in, sir?"
His master nodded. When Knighton entered the room he found a charming
and genial host awaiting him.
"Very good of you to look me up," said Derek.
Knighton was nervous.
The other's keen eyes noticed that at once. The errand on which the
secretary had come was clearly distasteful to him. He replied almost
mechanically to Derek's easy flow of conversation. He declined a drink,
and, if anything, his manner became stiffer than before. Derek appeared
at last to notice it.
"Well," he said cheerfully, "what does my esteemed father-in-law want
with me? You have come on his business, I take it?"
Knighton did not smile in reply.
"I have, yes," he said carefully. "I--I wish Mr. Van Aldin had chosen
some one else."
Derek raised his eyebrows in mock dismay.
"Is it as bad as all that? I am not very thin skinned, I can assure
you, Knighton."
"No," said Knighton; "but this--"
He paused.
Derek eyed him keenly.
"Go on, out with it," he said kindly. "I can imagine my dear
father-in-law's errands might not always be pleasant ones."
Knighton cleared his throat. He spoke formally in tones that he strove
to render free of embarrassment.
"I am directed by Mr. Van Aldin to make you a definite offer."
"An offer?" For a moment Derek showed his surprise. Knighton's opening
words were clearly not what he had expected. He offered a cigarette to
Knighton, lit one himself, and sank back in his chair, murmuring in a
slightly sardonic voice:
"An offer? That sounds rather interesting."
"Shall I go on?"
"Please. You must forgive my surprise, but it seems to me that my dear
father-in-law has rather climbed down since our chat this morning. And
climbing down is not what one associates with strong men, Napoleons of
finance, etc. It shows--I think it shows that he finds his position
weaker than he thought it."
Knighton listened politely to the easy, mocking voice, but no sign of
any kind showed itself on his rather stolid countenance. He waited
until Derek had finished, and then he said quietly:
"I will state the proposition in the fewest possible words."
"Go on."
Knighton did not look at the other. His voice was curt and
matter-of-fact.
"The matter is simply this. Mrs. Kettering, as you know, is about to
file a petition for divorce. If the case goes undefended you will
receive one hundred thousand on the day that the decree is made
absolute."
Derek, in the act of lighting his cigarette, suddenly stopped dead.
"A hundred thousand!" he said sharply. "Dollars?"
"Pounds."
There was dead silence for at least two minutes. Kettering had his
brows together thinking. A hundred thousand pounds. It meant Mirelle
and a continuance of his pleasant, carefree life. It meant that Van
Aldin knew something. Van Aldin did not pay for nothing. He got up and
stood by the chimney-piece.
"And in the event of my refusing his handsome offer?" he asked, with a
cold, ironical politeness.
Knighton made a deprecating gesture.
"I can assure you, Mr. Kettering," he said earnestly, "that it is with
the utmost unwillingness that I came here with this message."
"That's all right," said Kettering. "Don't distress yourself; it's not
your fault. Now then--I asked you a question, will you answer it?"
Knighton also rose. He spoke more reluctantly than before.
"In the event of your refusing this proposition," he said, "Mr. Van
Aldin wished me to tell you in plain words that he proposes to break
you. Just that."
Kettering raised his eyebrows, but he retained his light, amused manner.
"Well, well!" he said, "I suppose he can do it. I certainly should not
be able to put up much of a fight against America's man of millions. A
hundred thousand! If you are going to bribe a man there is nothing like
doing it thoroughly. Supposing I were to tell you that for two hundred
thousand I'd do what he wanted, what then?"
"I would take your message back to Mr. Van Aldin," said Knighton
unemotionally. "Is that your answer?"
"No," said Derek; "funnily enough it is not. You can go back to my
father-in-law and tell him to take himself and his bribes to hell. Is
that clear?"
"Perfectly," said Knighton. He got up, hesitated, and then flushed.
"I--you will allow me to say, Mr. Kettering, that I am glad you have
answered as you have."
Derek did not reply. When the other had left the room he remained for a
minute or two lost in thought. A curious smile came to his lips.
"And that is that," he said softly.