A FORTUNE FOR THE PAIR OF US.
Mr. Theodore Shelf’s carriage and pair drew up at the smartest house in
Park Lane, and Mr. Theodore Shelf went up the steps and entered the door
which a man servant opened for him. He was a stout, middle-aged man,
with a clean-shaven face, and a short frock-coat of black broadcloth.
He allowed himself to be eased of his hat and umbrella, and then
passed through the gorgeous hall to the rosewood billiard-room at the
back. There he found his guest, Mr. Patrick Onslow, in shirt-sleeves,
practising fancy shots by himself.
“What, alone, Mr. Onslow?”
“Why, yes. I did have a hundred up with your niece earlier, but some one
came for her.”
“Niece? Oh, Amy, you mean—Miss Rivers? Ah, my dear sir! from the love we
have for her in this household, and the way we treat her, you naturally
fancy she is a blood relation. It is a graceful compliment for you to
pay, Mr. Onslow; but it is my duty to correct you. Miss Rivers is legally
only my ward.”
“Ward? Oh, see that? Red hard against the cushion, and white bang over
the bottom pocket. Neat cannon, wasn’t it, considering the long time
since I’ve handled a cue?”
“The only child of my late partner. You know, the firm still stands as
Marmaduke Rivers and Shelf. We call ourselves on the billheads, ‘Agents
to the Oceanic Steam Transport Co.,’ though, of course, we really own the
whole line. You see our flag, sir, in every sea.”
“I know. Nagasaki to Buenos Ayres; gin and gunpowder on the West Coast;
coals and cotton at New Orleans.”
“And we do not send our steamers for the business of trade alone, Mr.
Onslow. We pick our captains and officers with an eye to a holier
purpose. We trust that they spread a Christian influence in all their
ports of call,” observed Mr. Shelf unctuously.
“Yes; I saw them at work once at Axim, on a tramp steamer you sent down
there. They were taking Krooboys on board. The skipper received them
on one of the bridge-deck ladders with a knuckleduster, and kicked ’em
along. The chief stood by with a monkey-wrench and tickled them with that
as they passed down to the lower deck aft. They mentioned at the time
that this process had a fine Christianizing influence; prevented the boys
from being uppish; showed ’em what the white man could do when he liked;
taught ’em humility, in fact. I say, there’s a pull towards this bottom
pocket. People have been sitting on the table.”
“Mr. Onslow—Mr. Onslow, you are making a very serious accusation against
one of my ship’s companies.”
“Accusations? I? Never a bit of it. The fellows only acted according to
their lights. That’s the only way sailormen know of getting Krooboys to
work; and it was a case of squeezing the work out of them or having the
natural sack from you. And so, as they didn’t know another method, they
fell back on knuckleduster and monkey-wrench. I’ll play you fifty up.”
Mr. Shelf put up a large white hand. “No; I don’t play billiards myself.
So many young men have been ruined by the pursuit, that I refrain from it
by way of setting an example. But my friends who visit here are not so
scrupulous, and I have the table for them.”
“Beautiful!” said Onslow. He might have been referring to his own play,
or to Mr. Shelf’s improving sentiment.
“You see, Mr. Onslow, from my position, so many people look up to me
that it is nothing short of my bounden duty to deprive myself of certain
things, and be, so far as possible, a humble model for them to form
themselves by. Long before a constituency sent me to Parliament, I
devoted my best energies to Christianizing the lower classes, and I hope
not without success. If appreciation is any criterion, I may say that I
was elected president of no less than twelve improvement societies. It
took me much time and thought to attend to them. Yet I wish I could have
given more.”
“Yes—that pocket does pull; there’s a regular tram-line towards it. H’m,
mighty good work of yours. But doesn’t it sour on you sometimes? Don’t
you want a day off occasionally? A run down to Monte Carlo, for instance?”
“Monte Carlo! You horrify me, Mr. Onslow. You are my guest, and I cannot
speak strongly; but this is a very poor jest of yours.”
“Well, perhaps you know best about that place. Monte Carlo is risky at
the best of times for some folks, because you’re bound to meet crowds of
people you know; and if they aren’t on the razzle-dazzle too, and pinned
to decent silence through their own iniquities, some of them are apt
to split when they get home again. But I don’t know why you should be
horrified, seeing that we are _entre quatre yeux_ here, and not on one of
your pious example platforms. You know you’ve been in a far hotter shop
than Monte Carlo.—See me pot that red? Ah, _rouge perd_—Barcelona, to
wit. If you remember, you were staying at the Cuatro Naciones, and at
nights you used to cross the Rhambla, and——”
“Mr. Onslow, how did you know all this?”
“Do you remember objecting to take a sheaf of obvious spurious notes,
and there was a row, and somebody whipped out a knife, and somebody else
floored the knife-man with a chair?”
“Yes—no.”
“After which you very sensibly bolted. Well, I had only just that moment
come in, but I saw you were a fellow-islander, and that’s why I handled
the chair. You don’t remember me, and I didn’t know your name, but I
recognized you the moment your wife introduced us, because I never forget
a face.”
“You’re mistaken. I never was in such a place in my life, sir. Think of
the position I occupy. Why, the thing’s absurd!”
“Now, my good sir, why waste lies? I’m not going to show you up. No
fear. Why should I? It would probably ruin you, and I should stand
self-convicted of being in the lowest and most desperate gambling hell
in Europe, without being made a sixpence richer by the transaction. Only
you didn’t know me, and you thought I didn’t know you; and I thought it
would be handier if we were open about one another’s little ways at once
before we went any further. Who knows but what we might be partners in
some profitable business together?” Onslow put his cue down and faced
his host, with hands deep in his trousers pockets. “It’s worth thinking
about,” he observed.
Mr. Theodore Shelf stood before the fireplace and drew a handkerchief
across his forehead with trembling fingers. “What business do you refer
to?” he asked at length.
“None whatever. I’m not a business man. I make discoveries and don’t know
how to use them. You are a business man and may be able to see where the
money profit comes in. If you can, why then we’ll share the plunder. If
you can’t, we’re neither of us worse off than before.”
“But this is vague. What sort of discoveries? Have you found a mine?”
“No, sir; in the present instance a channel!”
“A channel?—I don’t understand you.”
“A deep-water channel leading in to a certain coast, where everybody else
supposes there is nothing but shallow water. The Government charts put
down the place as partly unsurveyed, but all impossible for navigation.
The upgrowth of coral, they say, is turning part of the sea into dry
land. In a large measure this is true; but at one point—which I have
discovered—a river comes down from the interior, and the scour of this
river has cut a deep narrow channel out through the reefs to the deep sea
water beyond.”
“Well,” Shelf broke in, “I see no value in that.”
“Wait a minute! In confidence I’ll tell you it is on the West Coast of
Florida—on the Mexican Gulf coast. The interior of southern Florida
is called the Everglades. It’s partly lake, partly swamp; built up of
mangroves, saw-grass, cypress trees, and water; tenanted by snakes,
alligators, wild beasts, and a few Seminole Indians. Only one expedition
of whites has been across it—or rather only one expedition known to
history. But I’ve been there, right into the heart of the Everglades; in
fact, I’ve just come from there; and I netted £1000 out of the trip.”
“How?” asked Shelf, eagerly.
“Never mind exactly how. That’s partly another man’s business. Shall we
say the other man gave me a commission there, and I carried it out, and
got duly paid? Anyway, that’s sufficient explanation. But now about this
channel I’ve found. If one gives it to the chart people, they’ll simply
say, ‘Thank you,’ and publish your name in one number of an official
magazine which nobody reads. I don’t long for fame of that kind. I’ve the
sordid taste to much prefer gold.”
“I think I understand you,” said Shelf. “Give me a minute to think it
out.”
“A week if you like,” said the other; and, picking up his cue, again
returned to the billiard-table.
The balls clicked lazily, and the rosewood clock marked off the seconds
with firmness and precision. Shelf lay back in his chair, his finger-tips
together beneath the square chin, his eyes watching the shadows which
the lamps cast on the frescoed ceiling. He looked entirely placid. No
one would have guessed the simmer of thoughts which were poppling and
bubbling in his brain. A stream of projects came before him, flashed into
detail, and were dismissed as impracticable. It was the great trait of
this man’s genius that he could think with the speed of a hurricane, and
clear his head of an unprofitable idea a moment after it was born.
Twenty schemes occurred to him, all to be dismissed: and then came the
twenty-first; and that stayed. He ran a mental finger through all its
leading details: he conned over a thousand minutiæ. It was the thing to
suit his purpose.
A bare minute had passed, but he needed no more time for his
deliberations. The scheme seemed perfect to him, without flaw, without
chance of improvement. The hugeness of it thrilled him like a draught of
spirit. He was betrayed away from his unctuous calm; his hands dropped on
to the arms of the chair.
With a heavy start he clambered to his feet, strode forward, and seized
Onslow by the arm. “If your channel and Everglades will answer a purpose
I want, there’s half a million of English sovereigns to be made out of
it.”
Onslow turned and faced him with a long, thin-drawn whistle. “£500,000!
Phew!”
“Hush! there’s somebody coming. But it’s to be had if you’re not afraid
of a little risk.”
“I fear nothing on this earth,” said Onslow, “when it’s to my interest
not to fear. Moreover, though I’m not a saint, my standard of morality
is probably a shade higher than yours. I don’t mind doing some sorts of
dirty things; but there are shades in dirtiness, and at some tints I draw
the line. It’s dangerous to—er—have the tips of these cues glued on so
badly. They fly off and hit people.”
The billiard-room door had opened, and Amy Rivers had come in, with
Fairfax at her heels. Hence Onslow’s digression. The matter had not been
put in so many words; but he felt sure that the commission of a great
robbery had been proposed to him, and he had more than half a mind to
drive his knuckles into Theodore Shelf’s lying, hypocritical face on the
spot.