AS SIR RALPH SAID, “BUSINESS IS BUSINESS”
T.B. Smith walked into his outer office.
“Any news of Mr. Pretherston?” he asked.
“No, sir,” was the reply.
“Any news of Barr?”
“No, sir.”
T.B. clicked his lips impatiently.
“Who’s looking after them?”
“Detective-sergeant Grey, sir,” was the reply. “You know we traced him
as far as Pinham Heights. After that he seems to have been lost sight
of.”
“Have you notified the chief constables of Hampshire, Sussex and
Surrey?” asked T.B.
“That has been done, sir,” said the officer. “The local constabulary
are making a search.”
T.B. bit his lips.
“I can understand Mr. Pretherston going,” he said, “but what has
happened to Barr?”
His subordinate very wisely offered no solution.
There were other anxious enquirers. Moya Felton had called that
morning. Sir Ralph had made two visits to headquarters though it was
doubtful whether his anxiety was in any way associated with the well
being of Michael Pretherston.
“I think Michael will find the gang,” said T.B., “though he may be too
late to get the gold.”
“What do I want the gang for?” demanded Sir Ralph wrathfully. “Will
the government give me £2,800,000 for them? The gang can go to the
devil so far as I am concerned. I want the gold.”
“You may get neither,” said T.B.; “at any rate, it ought to be very
pleasing to you, Sir Ralph, that Michael Pretherston is risking his
life to recover your property.”
“Isn’t he paid to do it?” demanded Sir Ralph. “Isn’t that the job of a
policeman? By Gad! Commissioner, one would imagine that Pretherston
was doing something out of the common! I take risks every day of my
life.”
“If you could see my mind,” said T.B. Smith suavely, “you would
realize that you are taking the biggest risk you have taken to-day. I
advise you to go home and get into a calmer frame of mind.”
“When shall I hear anything?” asked the truculent baronet.
“Whenever you are within earshot,” snapped the Commissioner. “Show Sir
Ralph out, constable.”
Lord Flanborough did not obtrude his enquiries. He was so far
reconciled to Moya that he could discuss the matter dispassionately,
without reference to the _mésalliance_ which threatened his family.
“I think on the whole, Moya,” he said, “I had better not see Ralph.
After all, business is business and friends are friends; but I
disclaim all responsibility for that gold after it left the ship. It
is Ralph’s business entirely and I simply won’t accept his suggestion
that I share his responsibility to the slightest degree.”
“Will he have to bear the loss?”
“Well, partially bear the loss. A portion will be borne by the
underwriters. Ralph, I am afraid, is a very mean man. I hate saying
anything about my friends but Ralph is really economical to a point of
meanness. I advised him to insure the gold and, to save a beggarly
premium, he only insured half of it. I am very sorry for him,” he
shook his head mournfully as a symbol of his sympathy. “I am very,
very sorry for him, but I think it is better that we do not meet until
this business matter is completely settled. On the whole,” he added
thoughtfully, “perhaps it is better that your engagement with Ralph is
broken off. He has said some very unkind things about you, Moya, which
aroused my anger. I do not think you have been wise but I cannot allow
any person to discuss you uncharitably.”
If the truth be told, Sir Ralph had said very little about the girl
and very much about his lordship, whom he had accused of deliberately
evading his responsibilities. This was at the one interview which they
had had. It pleased Lord Flanborough to pose as a devoted father, but
he did not deceive anybody but himself, for Moya had had a first hand
account of the interview from Ralph who had asked her to use her
influence to bring about a change in Lord Flanborough’s attitude.
It was the day after the disappearance of Michael Pretherston and Sir
Ralph’s nerves were a little shaky. It was unfortunate in the
circumstances that he had decided that afternoon to make a call upon
the man who, a week before, he had fondly believed was to be his
father-in-law. Lord Flanborough had not taken the precaution of
warning his servants that he was not at home to Sir Ralph, so he had
nobody to blame but himself when the door of his study was flung
violently open that afternoon and Ralph Sapson stalked in.
“My dear Sapson,” stammered his lordship, flabbergasted by the
unexpectedness of the visit. “Pray, do sit down.”
“I am not going to sit down. I tell you I am not going to sit down,”
roared, rather than said, Ralph.
“Let me close the door,” said his lordship in alarm. “My dear man,
please remember--”
“I remember nothing except that I am on the brink of ruin. That is
what it means. I am on the brink of ruin,” said Ralph, violently
thumping the desk. “It is going to cost me a million and a half, and
you must bear your share, Flanborough! You are responsible. If it had
not been for your infernal daughter this would not have occurred.”
“My daughter,” said Lord Flanborough and feeling himself on perfectly
safe ground he could speak with hauteur, “is not a matter for
discussion and if you cannot speak respectfully of her, I beg you to
leave this room.”
“If it had not been for your daughter we should have remembered to
send Griggs back.”
“I am not in charge of the railway,” said his lordship with mock
humility. “I cannot order engine-drivers to return to Seahampton. Be
reasonable, Sapson!”
“You have got to bear your share,” said the other doggedly, “you are
morally responsible. I wish I had never thought of bringing your
infernal ships to Seahampton.”
He was haggard and drawn of face. In two days he seemed to have shrunk
so that his usually well-fitting clothes hung on him loosely.
“Everything can be discussed in a quiet business-like way,” said Lord
Flanborough. “I am very sorry that you have this loss. It is by no
means certain that it is a loss, but business is business--you cannot
expect me to shoulder your responsibilities, my dear friend.”
“It is your responsibility as well as mine,” stormed Ralph, jumping up
from his chair and advancing upon the little man who stepped
cautiously backward, “and I insist upon your accepting your share.”
“Which would amount to?” suggested his lordship.
“About seven hundred thousand pounds,” growled the other.
“Seven hundred thousand pounds! Impossible!” said Lord Flanborough
emphatically.
Ralph turned livid.
“If you don’t,” he hissed, thumping his palm with his fist, “if you
don’t--”
At that moment help came in the shape of Moya. She nodded coolly to
Sir Ralph and crossed the room to her father.
“There is no news of Michael,” she said.
“Dear me,” sighed his lordship.
“Michael!” sneered Ralph. “There is no news of the money! That’s the
important thing, Moya!”
“We are not on the ‘Moya’ terms any more, Sir Ralph,” she said
quietly.
“Rub it in,” groaned the man.
“I don’t want to rub it in. We all have our troubles, but some of us
bear them less courageously than others. It won’t ruin you if you do
lose all this money. You know you are enormously rich.”
“I am not going to lose,” said Sir Ralph doggedly; “your father has to
bear his share.”
“If father is responsible he will bear his share,” said the girl, “but
it is not by any means certain that he is responsible, is it, papa?”
“Certainly not,” said Lord Flanborough, placing a table between
himself and his infuriated partner.
There was a tap at the door and Sibble came in, somewhat furtively.
He looked mysteriously at Moya and she went to him.
“What is it, Sibble?” she asked.
“There’s a man to see you, miss,” he said. “I think it is something
very special.”
“To see me? Who is he?”
“I don’t know who he is, miss, but he has a very special message for
you.”
She went out into the hall. A respectable looking man stood hat in
hand. By his thick coat she thought at first he was an omnibus driver.
In a sense, she was right.
“Are you Lady Moya Felton, madame?”
“Yes,” said the girl.
He handed her a card. She took it. It was a business card announcing
that Messrs. Acton and Arkwright, contractors, were prepared to remove
anything from machinery to furniture and that they had a “larger
number of motor lorries than any other firm doing business in the
south of England.”
“I am afraid there is a mistake,” she said. “I didn’t send for you.”
“No, miss, we’ve brought the goods.”
“The goods?” she said puzzled.
He led the way to the door.
Lining one side of the street and stretching from the house to the
corner of Gaspard Place were ten motor lorries.
“Here’s the name.”
He turned the card over.
“Lord Flanborough, Felton House, Grosvenor Avenue,” said the man
reading it over her shoulder.
“Have you any letter?”
“No, miss, these are all the instructions I had. I was told to bring
the chemicals to his lordship and ask for you.”
“Chemicals?” she said.
Her father had followed her to the door.
“What is it?” he asked.
“This man has brought some chemicals for you.”
“Oh, nonsense, there is some mistake,” said Lord Flanborough. “I am
not a chemist.”
He went down the steps with the girl to the first lorry. She looked
inside and apparently it was empty.
“What is it you have brought?” she asked in surprise.
“There they are, miss, on the floor.”
And then she saw a number of packages wrapped in sacking.
“They’re pretty heavy,” said the man, “considering their size.”
She reached out her hand and tried to draw one toward her. It defied
her efforts. Lord Flanborough tried and succeeded in moving it.
Something in its shape startled him.
“Have you a knife?” he asked the man.
The contractor produced a big clasp knife and opened it.
“Be careful, my lord,” he warned, “they’re dangerous--”
But Lord Flanborough had ripped the canvas package and exposed a dull
yellow ingot. He dropped the knife and stepped back.
“How many wagons are there?” he asked huskily.
“Ten, sir. They’ve all got the same number of packages--and are we to
take them to the Docks?”
Lord Flanborough made a rapid calculation.
“Take them into the basement and put them into the coal cellar,” he
said and went up the steps two at a time and back into his study.
Sir Ralph was still waiting. The rudeness of his host neither
increased nor decreased his irritation.
Lord Flanborough stepped up to him briskly.
“Look here, Sapson,” he said. “What responsibility do you want me to
bear in the matter of this gold?”
“I want you to bear half.”
“I will do more than that,” said his lordship. “I will assume the
whole responsibility for two hundred thousand pounds.”
Ralph swung round.
“You will?” he said incredulously.
“I will.”
“Done,” said Sir Ralph and pulled out his cheque book.
He wrote quickly and nervously but quite legibly enough and handed the
slip to Lord Flanborough, what time his lordship was writing with more
leisure but no less excitement on the other side of the table.
“There’s your cheque,” said Sir Ralph.
“And there’s my note freeing you from responsibility,” said his
lordship.
“I am sorry I have been so unpleasant,” said the baronet wiping his
steaming brow, “but you will understand.”
“I quite understand,” said Lord Flanborough.
“Business is business,” said Ralph.
“Business is business,” repeated his lordship and folding the cheque
slipped it into his pocket.