IT was shortly after nine o’clock in the morning that young Lord
Stranleigh of Wychwood, in a most leisurely fashion, descended the front
steps of his town house into the street. The young man was almost too
perfectly dressed. Every article of his costume, from his shiny hat to
the polished boots, was so exactly what it should he, that he ran
some danger of being regarded as a model for one of those beautiful
engravings of well-dressed mankind which decorate the shops of
Bond-Street tailors. He was evidently one who did no useful work in the
world, and as a practical person might remark, why should he, when his
income was more than thirty thousand pounds a year? The slightly bored
expression of his countenance, the languid droop of his eyelids, the
easy but indifferent grace of motion that distinguished him, might have
proclaimed to a keen observer that the young man had tested all
things, and found there was nothing worth getting excited about. He was
evidently a person without enthusiasm, for even the sweet perfection of
his attire might be attributed to the thought and care of his tailor,
rather than to any active meditation on his own part. Indeed, his
indolence of attitude made the very words “active” or “energetic” seem
superfluous in our language. His friends found it difficult, if not
impossible, to interest Lord Stranleigh in anything, even in a horse
race, or the fling of the dice, for he possessed so much more money
than he needed, that gain or loss failed to excite a passing flutter of
emotion. If he was equipped with brains, as some of his more intimate
friends darkly hinted, he had hitherto given no evidence of the fact.
Although well set up, he was not an athlete. He shot a little, hunted a
little, came to town during the season, went to the Continent when the
continental exodus took place, always doing the conventional thing, but
not doing it well enough or bad enough to excite comment. He was the
human embodiment of the sentiment: “There is nothing really worth
while.”
In marked contrast to him stood, undecided, a man of his own age, with
one foot on the lower stone step which led up to the front door of his
lordship’s town house. His clothes, of undistinguished cut, were worn so
carelessly that they almost gave the impression of being ready-made. His
flung-on, black slouch hat suggested Western America or Southern Africa.
His boots were coarse and clumsy.
But if the attire was uninspiring, the face merited, and usually
received, a second glance. It was smooth-shaven, massive and strong,
tanned to a slight mahogany tinge by a more eager sun than ever shines
on England. The eyes were deep, penetrating, determined, masterful.
Lord Stranleigh’s delicate upper lip supported a silken mustache
carefully tended; his eyes were languid and tired, capable of no such
gleam of intensity as was now turned upon him from the eyes of the
other.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but are you Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood?”
His lordship paused on the upper steps, and drawled the one word “Yes.”
“My name is Peter Mackeller, and the Honorable John Hazel gave me a
letter of introduction to you, saying I should probably catch you in at
this hour. It seems he underestimated your energy, for you are already
abroad.”
There was an undercurrent of resentment in the impatient tone Mackeller
had used. He was manifestly impressed unfavorably by this modern
representative of a very ancient family, but the purpose he had in view
caused him to curb his dislike, although he had not been tactful
enough to prevent a hint of it appearing in his words. If the other had
gathered any impression of that hint, he was too perfectly trained to
betray his knowledge, either in phrase or expression of countenance. The
opinion of his fellows was a matter of complete indifference to him. A
rather engaging smile stirred the silken mustache.
“Oh, Jack always underestimates my good qualities, so we won’t trouble
about his note of introduction. Besides, a man cannot read a letter in
the street, can he?”
“I see no reason against it,” replied the other sharply.
“Don’t you really? Well, I am going across to my club, and perhaps as we
walk along together, you will be good enough to say why you wish to see
me.”
Lord Stranleigh was about to proceed down another step when the other
answered “No” so brusquely that his lordship paused once more, with a
scarcely perceptible elevation of the eyebrows, for, as a rule, people
did not say “No” to Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood, who was known to enjoy
thirty thousand pounds a year.
“Then what do you propose?” asked his lordship, as though his own
suggestion had exhausted all the possibilities of action.
“I propose that you open the door, invite me in, and give me ten minutes
of your valuable time.”
The smile on his lordship’s countenance visibly increased.
“That’s not a bad idea,” he said, with the air of one listening to
unexpected originality. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Mackeller?” and with
his latchkey he opened the door, politely motioning the other to precede
him.
Young Mackeller was ushered into a small room to the left of the hall.
It was most severely plain, paneled somberly in old oak, lit by one
window, and furnished with several heavy leather-covered chairs. In the
center stood a small table, carrying a huge bottle of ink, like a great
dab of black metal which had been flung while soft on its surface,
and now, hardened, sat broad and squat as if it were part of the table
itself. On a mat lay several pens, and at one end of the table stood a
rack such as holds paper and envelopes, but in this case of most minute
proportions, displaying three tiers, one above the other, of what
appeared to be visiting cards; twelve minute compact packs all in all,
four in each row.
“This,” said Lord Stranleigh, with almost an air of geniality, “is my
business office.”
The visitor looked around him. There were no desks; no pillars of
drawers; no japanned-metal boxes that held documents; no cupboards; no
books; no pictures.
“Pray be seated, Mr. Mackeller,” and when the young man had accepted the
invitation, Lord Stranleigh drew up opposite to him at the small table
with the packets of cards close to his right hand.
“And now, if you will oblige me with Jack’s letter, I will glance over
it, though he rarely writes anything worth reading.”
Mackeller handed him the letter in an open envelope. His lordship
slowly withdrew the document, adjusted an eyeglass, and read it; then he
returned it to the envelope, and passed it back to its owner.
“Would it be too much if I asked you to replace it in your pocket, as
there is no waste-paper basket in this room?”
Mackeller acted as requested, but the frown on his broad brow deepened.
This butterfly seemed to annoy him with his imperturbable manner, and
his trifling, finicky, childish insincerity. Confronted with a real man,
Mackeller felt he might succeed, but he had already begun to fear that
this bit of mental thistle-down would evade him, so instead of going on
with his recital, he sat there glowering at Lord Stranleigh, who proved
even more of a nonentity than the Honorable John Hazel had led him to
believe. He had been prepared to meet some measure of irresponsible
inanity, but not quite so much as this. It was Lord Stranleigh himself
who broke the silence.
“What do you want?” he asked, almost as if some of his opponent’s
churlishness had hypnotically permeated into his own being.
“Money,” snapped the other shortly.
“Ah, they all do,” sighed his lordship, once more a picture of indolent
nonchalance.
He selected from the rack beside him four cards, one from each of the
little packs in the lower range. These he spread face upward on the
table before him.
“I never trouble about money,” said his lordship, smiling.
“You probably don’t need to, with thirty thousand a year,” suggested
Mackeller.
“Ah, that’s exaggerated,” explained his lordship. “You forget the
beastly income tax. Still, I was not referring to the amount; I merely
wished to explain my methods of dealing with it. Here are the names and
addresses of four eminent solicitor persons in the city. There is little
use of my keeping four dogs and barking myself, is there? I’ve really
twelve dogs altogether, as represented in this cardcase, but one or
other of these four will doubtless suit our purpose. Now, this firm of
solicitors attends to one form of charity.”
“I don’t want charity,” growled Mackeller.
“Quite so. I am merely explaining. This firm attends to all the
charities that are recognized in our set; the hospitals, the--well
whatever they happen to be. When applied to personally in these matters,
I write my name on the card of these solicitors, and forward it.
Application is then made to them. They look into the matter, and save
me the fatigue of investigation. The next firm”--holding up a second
card--“deals with charities that are our of our purview; halfdays at
the seaside, and that sort of thing. Now I come to business. This
firm”--showing the third card--“looks after permanent investments,
while this”--lifting the fourth--“takes charge of anything which is
speculative in its nature. The applicant receives the particular card
which pertains to his particular line of desire. He calls upon the
estimable firm of solicitors, and either convinces them, or fails:
gets his money, or doesn’t. So you see, my affairs are competently
transacted, and I avoid the emotional strain of listening to
explanations which probably I have not the mental grasp of business to
understand. Now, which of these four cards may I have the pleasure of
autographing for you?”
“Not one of them, my lord,” replied Mackeller. “The Honorable John Hazel
said that if you would listen to me, he thought I might interest you.”
“Oh, impossible,” drawled his lordship, sitting back languidly in his
chair.
“Yes, he said it would be a hard task, but I am accustomed to
difficulties. I asked you, as we came in, to give me ten minutes. Will
you do it?”
“Why,” protested his lordship, “we have already spent ten minutes at
least.”
“Yes, fooling with cards.”
“Ah, I’m more accustomed to handling cards than listening to a financial
conversation; not these kind of cards, either.”
“Will you, for the sake of John Hazel, who tells me he is a friend of
yours, give me ten minutes more of your time?”
“What has Jack Hazel to do with this? Are you going to share with him?
Is he setting you on to me for loot, and then do you retire into a dark
corner, and divide? Jack Hazel’s always short of money.”
“No, we don’t divide, my lord. Mr. Hazel has been speculating in the
city, and he stands to win a bit if I can pull off what I’m trying to
do. So, if you agree to my proposal, he will prove a winner, so will I,
so will you, for you will share in the profits.”
“Oh, but I don’t need the money.”
“Well, we do.”
“So I understand. Why doesn’t Jack confine himself to the comparative
honesty of the dice? What does he want to muddle about in the city for?”
“I suppose because he hasn’t got thirty thousand a year.”
“Very likely; very likely. Yes, that strikes me as a sufficient
explanation. All right, Mr. Mac-keller, take your ten minutes, and try
to make your statement as simple as possible. I hope statistics do not
come into it. I’ve no head for figures.”
“My father,” began the young man, with blunt directness, “is a
stockbroker in the city. The firm is Mackeller and Son. I am the son.”
“You don’t look to me like a stockbroker. That is, what I’ve always
expected such a person to be: I’ve never met one.”
“No, I’m in reality a mining engineer.”
“But, my dear sir, you have just said you were a stockbroker.”
“I said my father was.”
“You said Mackeller and Son, and that you were the son.”
“Yes, I am a partner in the firm, but, nevertheless, a mining engineer.”
“Do stockbrokers make mining engineers of their sons?”
“One of them did. My father is a rigidly honest man, and preferred me to
be an engineer.” His lordship’s eyebrows again elevated themselves.
“An honest man and a stockbroker? Ah, you _do_ interest me, in spite of
my pessimism.”
“The great difficulty,” went on Mackeller, unheeding, “is to obtain an
honest estimate of the real value of any distant mining property which
is offered for sale in London. There has never been a mining swindle
floated on the public which has not had engineer’s reports by men of
high standing, showing it to possess a value which after events proved
quite unreliable. So my father made me a mining engineer, and before he
touches any property of this nature, or advises his clients to invest,
he compels the promoters to send me out to the mine, and investigate.”
“I see,” said his lordship, with almost a glimmer of comprehension in
his eyes. “Rather a shrewd old man, I take it. He protects himself and
his customers, provides a good livelihood for you, his son, and that at
the expense of the promoters. Excellent. Go on.”
For the first time young Peter Mackeller smiled. “Yes,” he said, “my
father is very shrewd. He comes from the North, but for once he has got
nipped, and the next few hours will decide whether the accumulations of
a lifetime are swept away or not. Indeed,” he continued, glancing at his
watch, “that will be decided within eight minutes, depending on whether
I interest you or not.”
“Continue,” commanded his lordship.
“Early in the year a property called the Red Shallows, situated in
West Africa, was brought to him by a syndicate of seven men, able, but
somewhat unscrupulous financiers. Their story appeared incredible on
its face, for it was no less than that the gold was on the surface, in
estimated value a thousand times the amount for which they wished the
company formed. They wished my father to underwrite the company for a
hundred thousand pounds, and they stipulated that the shares should
be sold, not by public subscription, but taken up privately among my
father’s clients. Afterwards, when the value of the property was fully
proved, there would be an immense flotation running into millions, and
the profit of this my father was to share.”
“Pardon my interruption,” said his lordship.
“If what these men stated was true, why didn’t they send some one with
a basket, and gather the gold they needed, without going to any
stockbroker and sharing with him.”
“That, my lord, is practically what my father thought, although, of
course, he did not believe a word of their story. Still, he understood
that these men were not mine magnates in the proper sense of the word;
they were merely financiers, speculators, who did not wish to wait for
the full development of their property, but simply intended, so they
said, to go as far as was necessary to convince the public that this was
an even bigger thing than the wealthiest mine of the Rand, and so loot
their gold, not from the bosom of the earth, but from the pockets of the
British public; but, as I have said, he did not believe a word of their
story. However, he made the usual proviso that they should send me out
there, and the seven men instantly placed in his hands the necessary
amount for my expenses, and I sailed away.”
“Why should sane financiers spend good money when they knew they would
be found out if they were not telling the truth?”
“Well, my lord, that thought occurred to both my father and myself. I
reasoned it out in this way. These seven men had acquired the goldfields
from a party of explorers, or from a single explorer, who had discovered
it. They probably paid very little money to the discoverer, perhaps not
buying it outright, but merely securing an option. Whoever had parted
with his rights had evidently succeeded in convincing the syndicate that
he spoke the truth. Whether the syndicate hadn’t sufficient capital
to develop the property, or preferred to risk other people’s cash in
opening the mine, I do not know, but they evidently thought it worth
while to spend some of their own money and send me out there, that they
might receive an independent and presumably honest opinion on its value.
Be that as it may, there was no exposure forthcoming. The property
proved even richer than they had stated. It so seldom happens in the
city that anything offered for sale greatly exceeds in value the
price asked for it, that the members of the syndicate were themselves
surprised when they read my report. It had been arranged, and the
document signed before I left England, that my father should get
for them not less than fifty thousand pounds nor more than a hundred
thousand, for working capital to send out an expedition, buy machinery,
and so forth. Now, however, the syndicate proposed that the company
should be formed for something like a million pounds. My father pointed
out to them the impossibility of getting this sum, for the property was
in a locality not hitherto known as a gold-bearing region. Then again,
my own standing as a mining engineer carried no particular weight.
Although my father believed implicitly in my reports, I was so lacking
in celebrity in my profession, it would be folly to attempt to raise any
considerable sum on my unsupported word, and rather unsafe to make this
discovery public by sending out more eminent engineers. Besides, as I
have said, the papers were all signed and stamped, and my father, having
a good deal of northern stubbornness in his nature, insisted on the
project being carried out as originally projected, so the syndicate was
compelled to postpone its onslaught upon the purse of the public.
“My father’s compensation was to be a large allotment of paid-up shares
in the company, but in addition to this, so great was his faith in
my report he himself subscribed, and paid for stock to an extent that
rather narrowed his resources. However, his bank agreed, the manager
knowing him well, to advance money on his Red Shallows as soon as they
had received a quotation on the Stock Exchange.
“The flotation was carried out successfully, my father’s friends
subscribing largely on his mere word that Red Shallows was a good
thing. Only fifty thousand pounds’ worth of shares were sold, that
being considered enough to purchase the machinery, and send out men in a
chartered steamer, with materials for the erection of whatever buildings
and appliances as were supposed to be necessary. The rest of the stock
was held by the syndicate, with the exception of the amount allotted
to my father as compensation for his work. I was to have been appointed
engineer of the mine, and had gone to Southampton to charter a suitable
steamer, when suddenly an attack was opened upon the new company.
Several of the financial papers led this attack, saying that the public
had been grossly misled; that there was no gold or other minerals within
hundreds of miles of the spot, and that all who had invested in the
venture would lose their money. Immediately after this the syndicate
dumped its shares on the market, and their price went down with a run.”
“Wait a moment,” interrupted his lordship. “I think I have given you
more than the promised ten minutes, but I believe I have been able to
follow you up to the present point. Now, I should like to ask a question
or two. Didn’t the seven men know that throwing their shares on the
market would lower the price?”
“Oh, they knew it perfectly well.”
“Then why should they wish to disparage their own property?”
“To freeze out my father and his friends.”
“How could they do that if your father and his friends refused to sell?”
“As a matter of fact many of my father’s friends have sold. They became
frightened, and preferred to lose part rather than the whole. You see,
my father had placed every security he possessed into the bank, but with
the persistent pounding down of the stock it’s going lower and lower
every day; in fact, it is unsalable at the present moment. The bank has
called upon him to put in further securities, or cash, otherwise it will
sell all his possessions for what they will bring.”
“But in ruining your father, does not this syndicate ruin itself?”
“No. The financiers have held their annual meeting, appointed a
president, board of directors, and all that, and this board is securely
in office for a year. As soon as my father and his friends are wiped out
the syndicate will quietly buy back the stock at a much lower price than
that at which they sold it, and even in crushing my father they will
have made a pot of money for themselves.”
“Killing two birds with one stone, eh? Isn’t there such a thing as
gratitude in the City at all?”
“I fear, my lord, there isn’t very much of it.”
“What amount of money do you need to protect your father’s stock?”
“I think five thousand pounds would do.”
“I don’t pretend to know much about business, Mr. Mackeller, but it
seems to me that would merely be the thin end of the wedge. Suppose they
keep on, and lower the price of stock still further? Should not I need
to put a second five thousand pounds into your hands to protect the
first?”
“That is true, Lord Stranleigh, but I don’t see how the shares can go
much lower than they are. They closed yesterday at two and nine per
one-pound share. But in any case the bank will stand by my father if
it can. The manager believes in him, although this official, of course,
must look after his own employers, but the very fact that my father can
put in five thousand pounds this morning will do much to maintain his
credit with the manager, and within a very few days we will have time
to turn round. I have already seen one or two financiers, and told them
what the property is, but they are city-wise, and shake their heads at
what they regard as an attempt to unload upon them. So I went to Mr.
Hazel, and asked him for an introduction to some one who was rich, and
who knew nothing of the ways of the city.”
For the first time during the interview, his lordship leaned back and
laughed a little.
“You are playing on my ignorance, then?”
“No, I thought perhaps I could get you to believe me.”
His lordship did not say whether he believed him or not, but he pressed
a button underneath the desk, and there entered to him a solemn-faced
man, who stood like a statue, awaiting orders.
“Perkins, will you bring me four check books?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And, Perkins, tell Henri to be at the door with my red automobile
within six minutes.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The man departed, and returned a few moments later, placing on the desk
four very thin check books, finally retiring as noiselessly as he had
entered.
“An ordinary check book,” said his lordship to Mackeller, “does so
distort one’s coat when placed in an inside pocket, that I cause my
books to be made with only one check each inside. I shall now write you
out one for five thousand pounds, so that I shall not need to carry its
cover with me.”
With great leisureliness the young man wrote out a check, tore it from
its attachment, and handed it to Mackeller.
“I lend this to you, but I don’t think it will be of the slightest use,
you know.”
“I am quite positive it will protect my father’s stock, my lord, and as
I am sure that stock will be worth a hundred sovereigns on the pound, if
you will accept half my father’s holding for this check, I can promise
you this will be the biggest day’s work you’ve ever done.”
“Ah, that wouldn’t be saying very much. Of course, as I told you, I
don’t pretend to understand business, but where the weak point in your
defense lies seems to be in this. Your seven wise men have a year to
play about in. I think you said the president and board of directors had
been elected only the other day?”
“Yes, my lord, that is so.”
“Very well, don’t you see they have nearly twelve months during which
they can still further press down your stock. The bank will tire of
holding what they consider worthless securities, and unless your father
can get enough money to redeem all that he has placed in the bank, this
five thousand will not even prove a stop-gap.”
“I don’t agree with your lordship. You see, I shall now keep hammering
away on my side. I shall print my report, and post it to every big
financier in the city. I shall tell the whole sordid story of this
syndicate’s action.”
“People won’t believe you, Mackeller.”
“A great many will not, but several may, and these will say ‘The stock
is so cheap, we might as well take a flutter on a quantity of it.’ Then
the members of the syndicate are shrewd enough to know that they will
excite curiosity, and that some other engineer may be sent out to the
property. No, I am convinced that if they do not manage to ruin my
father before the end of next week, they will never risk what they now
know to be a valuable property by letting its shares lie round loose for
anyone to pick up.”
“Ah, you are optimistic, I see. That’s because you have been out in the
open so much, instead of haunting your father’s office.”
At this moment the arrival of the automobile was announced, and his
lordship rose slowly to his feet.
“I’m going to give you a lift as far as your father’s office, and I want
you to introduce him to me. I have been looking at this question merely
from the mining engineer’s standpoint. I should like to know what the
city point of view is, and that I shall get from your father, if he
is the honest man you say he is. So we will run down into the city
together. I suppose the sooner my check is in your bank the better.”
“Yes, the bank opens at ten, and it is past that hour now.”
“We have taken a little more than our ten minutes,” said his lordship,
beaming on his guest with that inane smile of his, as they stepped
together into the tonneau of a very large red automobile, which was soon
humming eastward.
Into the private room of the stockbroker, Mac-keller ushered Lord
Stranleigh of Wychwood, and there they found at his desk a rugged-faced,
white-haired, haggard-looking man, who glanced up at them with lowering
brows.
“I’ve got five thousand pounds,” said the son at once.
“Then run with it to the bank.”
“I will, as soon as I have introduced to you Lord Stranleigh of
Wychwood. Your lordship will excuse me, I am sure.”
“Oh, yes. I stipulated for your absence, you remember, because I do not
in the least rely upon your plan,” but the young man had departed before
his lordship’s sentence was finished.
The elder Mackeller looked intently at the newcomer. Being offered a
chair, his lordship sat down.
“Is it from you that my son got the money?”
“Yes.”
“If you did not believe in his plan, why did you give him the cash?”
“Well, Mr. Mackeller, that is just the question I have been asking
myself. I suppose I rather took to him, and in spite of my determination
not to, I became interested in the story he told me. I think your seven
syndicate men must be rather exceptional, are they not?”
“No. I am exceptional in allowing myself to be caught like a schoolboy.”
“I am quite unversed in the ways of the city, Mr. Mackeller, and I
should like to know the _modus operandi_ of a case like this. Are your
seven men personally selling their stock?”
“How do you mean personally? They don’t go on the market and trade, of
course.”
“Then they must employ some one else?”
“Oh, they are employing a score of brokers, all offering the shares with
no takers.”
“Do you know these brokers, Mr. Mackeller?”
“Every man jack of them.”
“Are they enemies of yours?”
“There is neither enmity nor friendship in the city, Lord Stranleigh.”
“Your most intimate acquaintance, then, would smash you up all in the
way of business?”
“Of course.”
“What a den of wild beasts you are!”
“Yes, I have long thought so, and, indeed, with this transaction I had
intended to withdraw from the business and settle on my farm. You see, I
did not bring up my son--he’s the only boy I have--to this business, but
unluckily I got nipped just at the moment I intended to stop, as is so
often the case. I expected that my holding in this mine would leave
me not only well off, but rich, for I have the utmost confidence in
my son’s report, and my certainty of a fortune caused me to relax my
natural caution at exactly the moment when I should have been most wide
awake.”
“Do you think the five thousand pounds will clear you?”
“I don’t know. There’s been a panic among those whom I induced to go in
with me on this deal, but if I say it myself, my reputation is good, and
I think if I can hold on for a week or two longer, the tide will turn.
All my life I have endeavored to conduct this business strictly on a
truth-telling plan, and that is bound to tell in my favor the moment the
panic ceases.”
“Do you mean, then, Mr. Mackeller, that the hammering of this mine has
caused a financial panic in the city?”
“Oh, no, no! When I refer to a panic, I mean only among those few that
have gone in with me; that believed me when I told them this was one of
the best things I ever had offered to me. The Red Shallows flotation
is too small an affair to cause even a flutter in the city, yet it
threatens to grind me to pieces.”
“There are, you say, twenty stockbrokers selling these shares, and you
know their names. Where do they offer the shares?”
“On the Stock Exchange, in their offices, in the street, anywhere.”
“Is there another twenty stockbrokers whom you could trust?”
“Yes.”
“Suppose at twelve o’clock to-day, exactly to the minute, your twenty
went to the offices of the other twenty, would they find in those
offices some one to sell them this stock?”
“Yes.”
“Even if the principal were absent?”
“Yes.”
“Before selling, would the syndicate score of stockbrokers communicate
with each other, or with their principals?”
“I don’t know. It would depend on their instructions.”
“Suppose they refused to sell when a _bona fide_ offer was made?”
“Then the stock would instantly rise, and your five thousand pounds
would not be needed. I see what you mean, Lord Stranleigh. You are going
to make what they call a bluff. But, you see, they’d instantly unload
the stock on you. They wouldn’t refuse to sell.”
“Ah, I was afraid they would. Very well, Mr. Mackeller, take this
commission from me, the first I have ever given in the city. I am more
accustomed to gambling in my club, or at Monte Carlo, so I must depend
on you to look after the details. Quietly but quickly select your twenty
men; give them _carte blanche_, but make it a sure proviso that they
each attack the stockbroker you direct them to, at exactly the same
moment. Let there be no intercommunication if possible, and tell
your twenty to buy everything in sight so far as the Red Shallows are
concerned.”
“But, my lord, that may take a fortune, and the sellers will insist on
immediate payment.”
“They will get it, Mr. Mackeller. I am naturally a plunger, and this
game fascinates me, because I don’t understand it.”
“I think you understand it a great deal better than you pretend, my
lord, but this may require half a million of money.”
“Very well. Get whatever papers ready that are necessary to protect
you. I’ll place the money at your disposal, and we ought to have all the
stock that’s for sale by ten minutes after twelve. Your son and I have
been doing business on a ten-minutes’ basis, but in this case we’ll
allow half an hour, and see what happens.”
The elder Mackeller looked sternly at this dapper young man of the
bandbox, so beautiful, so neat, so debonair, so well-groomed, and the
young man became so uncomfortable under the fierce scrutiny of those
hawklike eyes, that his own drooped modestly like those of a girl, and
with the thin, elegant glove which he held loosely in his right hand
Stranleigh flicked an invisible particle of dust from his trouser leg.
One need not be deeply versed in human nature to understand the
temptation which now assailed the gray-haired stockbroker. It was as if
a fawn-colored dove had made an appeal to a bald eagle that had swooped
down from its eyrie in the crags where its young lay starving. It was
as if a bleating lamb, all alone, were making courteous suggestions to
a hungry wolf. Here was reproduced the situation of which city men dream
when they enjoy a good night. Here, into the den of a stockbroker had
innocently walked a West-end clubman, a titled person, almost shamefully
rich, concealing beneath the culture of the colleges an arrogance and
an ignorance equally colossal. Here was a fowl to be plucked, and its
feathers were not only abundant but of the most costly eiderdown nature,
and here the astute Mackeller had the victim entirely to himself, with
none to protect or interfere. The aged stockbroker, wise in the ways
of the city, and yet but now entrapped by them, drew a long breath and
heaved a deep sigh ere he spoke.
“Lord Stranleigh,” he said at last, with severity, “it is my duty to
warn you that you are putting your foot into a quagmire which may be
so bottomless that it will overwhelm you. No man can say what this
syndicate has up its sleeve, and once you involve yourself, you may be
drawn in and stripped of all your possessions, great as I am told they
are. You have given a check for five thousand pounds to my boy, and you
say it is because you believed in him. That expression touches my flinty
heart. I believe in him, and this belief is about everything of value
I retain in the world to-day. Now, if you wish to protect that five
thousand, do it by giving him another five, or another. My boy is all
I’ve got left. I’m fighting for him more than for myself. Now here
are you, about his own age, yet completely inexperienced in financial
trickery, so I cannot allow you to walk blindly into this financial
turmoil.”
The young man looked up at the speaker, and his smile was singularly
winning. The usual vacant expression of his countenance had given place
to pleasurable animation.
“But you are experienced, Mr. Mackeller?”
“Yes, and see where my experience has landed me. I’m up to the neck,
yes, to the very lips, in this foul quagmire; a bankrupt at a word from
my banker.”
“Are you a college man, Mr. Mackeller?”
“No.”
“Perhaps you have little faith in a college training?”
“I have none at all for a practical man. It is the worst training in the
world for a person who is to be engaged in business.”
“In that case, Mr. Mackeller, I hesitate to cite a historical instance
which occurred to my mind when your son was talking to me of your
syndicate of seven. As the incident is six hundred years old, it is
unlikely to impress a modern city man. Nevertheless, there was once upon
this earth a syndicate of seven much more powerful and important than
your johnnies. The chief of this syndicate was Jaques de Molay, Grand
Master of the Templars, and the other six were his powerful, pious
officers. They were arrogant people, and their wealth was enormous.
Kings and noblemen had deposited their treasures with the Templars, the
bankers of that time, and the Order was so rich it had become a menace
to the world. Why, your seven nonentities, with which you try to
frighten me, are mere helpless puppets compared with those seven giants
of finance, and besides money this notable seven had an armed force
of veterans at their back before whom even a king with his army might
tremble. But Philippe le Bel, King of France, did not tremble. He worked
in on the seven the twelve-o’clock rule that I am recommending to
you. At high noon, on the 13th October, 1307 (please note the fatal
conjunction of the two thirteens) every Templar in France was arrested.
He gave them no chance of communicating with each other. The army of the
Templars lay helpless and officerless. The wealth of the Templars was at
the mercy of the king. The syndicated seven were burned at the stake in
Paris.
“I imagine that your son thought my attention wandered two or three
times during his narrative. I saw him set his jaw as one who says
‘I will interest this man in spite of his brainlessness.’ But I was
thinking of the magnificent simultaneousness of the king’s action, and
I have no doubt the Mackeller of his day warned him of his danger in
meddling with the Templars. An unholy desire filled me to try this
six-century-old method, the king’s move, as we would say at chess, on
our modern and alert city. I have some loose cash in the bank, and don’t
need to sell any securities. For the last ten years my income has been
thirty thousand pounds annually, and very seldom have I spent more than
five thousand of that sum in one twelvemonth. My automobile is at your
door, and at your disposal. You and I will drive first to my bankers,
and arrange that there will be no hitch so far as cash is concerned;
then I shall take a cab to my club. Telephone number, 15760 Mayfair.
Just note that down, please. Now what are the shares of Red Shallows
selling for this morning?”
“They opened at two shillings and sevenpence on the pound share, but
have dropped several points since.”
“Ah, well, a few hundred thousand pounds will buy quite a quantity of
half-crown shares, and if we act simultaneously, as the king struck, we
will acquire everything in sight before the stuff has time to rise. Come
along, Mr. Mackeller, there’s not a moment to lose. If you organize
this sortie in silence and effectively, you will show the savage seven
there’s life in the old dog yet.”
At ten minutes after one that day a large red automobile drew up in
front of the Camperdown Club on Pall Mall, and Mackeller with his son
stepped out of it. Lord Stranleigh met them in the hall apparently cool
and unexcited, but he was coming away from the tape machine, which was
recording that Red Shallows were leaping up toward par. Lord Stranleigh
led his visitors in to the Strangers’ Room, which was empty, and closed
the door.
“Well, my lord,” said Mackeller, “those fools have sold some fifty
thousand shares more of stock than there is in existence.”
“It seems to me,” drawled his lordship, “although I know nothing of city
ways, that such overselling is injudicious.”
“Injudicious!” shouted young Mackeller, “why, you’ve got them like
that,” and he raised his huge fist into the air and clenched it with
a force resembling hydraulic pressure. “You can smash them. They can’t
deliver. They’ve not only lost the mine, but you can ruin them by
placing any price you please on the shares they’ve sold and cannot
produce.”
“That’s true,” corroborated old Mackeller, nodding his head, “and the
bank didn’t use your five-thousand-pound check after all.”
“Here it is,” said the young man, producing it.
“Ah, well,” said Lord Stranleigh, slipping the paper into his waistcoat
pocket. “Let us be thankful you two are just in time to join me at an
excellent meal. I’ve been expecting you, and I’ve ordered a French lunch
in honor of the late Philippe le Bel. He burned his syndicate of seven
at the stake, but we’ll merely burn our syndicate’s fingers.”