SAUVE QUI PEUT.
When Mr. Swanland had sold off all the plant of Homewood, and got the
best prices he could for Mortomley's carts and horses, Black Bess
included, who had for months been so badly groomed that the auctioneer
entered her as "One Brown Mare, Black Bess,"--he began to cast about him
how anything more could be got out of Mortomley.
He knew he had about squeezed the orange dry, but he knew a considerable
amount of juice had been lost--through "no fault of his own,"--and he
consequently set his wits to work to see how that spilled liquor could
be replaced.
It was not long before inspiration came to him, and when it did he
summoned another meeting of the committee.
At that meeting he gravely proposed that Mortomley should be invited to
bid for the remaining book debts, the books, and his discharge. The
question was discussed gravely--and as gravely agreed to--though three,
at all events, of the committee intended Mortomley never should have his
discharge; and accordingly the same evening Mr. Swanland, who really
could not dictate to a shorthand-writer, did something which passed
muster for dictation, so that eventually Mortomley received a letter
asking him to make an offer for the purchase of all the good things duly
mentioned.
Now considering that Mortomley had been stripped as clean of all worldly
belongings as the Biblical traveller who fell among thieves; considering
a man in process of liquidation is in the same state as regards the
inability to make personal contracts as a bankrupt; considering Dolly
had not a halfpenny left of her fortune, and that friends possessed of
great wealth are not in the habit of rushing forward at such times as
these with frantic entreaties for their purses to be made use of,--there
was a humour about this letter which might have excited the risible
muscles of a looker-on.
But there was no looker-on--there were only the players; there were only
Dolly and Mr. Swanland in fact, and arrayed in her grey silk skirt, in
her black velvet puffings, in her great plaits of hair, in her atom of a
bonnet, in light gloves, in the smallest of jackets, and the largest of
what then did service for _pouffs_, Dolly went to have her quarrel out
with the trustee.
In which laudable design she was frustrated. Mr. Swanland chanced to be
at home laid up with bronchitis, so Dolly saw instead Mr. Asherill, and
expressed to him her opinion about the demerits of the firm.
She was not at all reticent in what she said, and Mr. Asherill, spite of
his hypocritical manners and suave address, got the worst of it.
He tried quoting Scripture, but Dolly outdid him there. He tried
platitudes, but Dolly ridiculed both them and him. He tried
conciliation, and she defied him.
"That is a dreadful woman," thought Mr. Asherill, when she finally
sailed out of the office, leaving a general impression of silk, velvet,
flowers, lace, feathers, and eau-de-cologne behind her. "I'll never see
her again."
Poor Dolly, she must have been less or more than woman had she failed to
array herself in her most gorgeous apparel when she went forth to do
battle with her enemies.
There had been a latent hope in Mr. Swanland's mind that the Mortomleys
either were possessed of money or knew of those who would advance it,
and he felt, therefore, proportionably disappointed when Mr. Asherill
assured him it was all "no good."
"She has her clothes and he has his brains if it ever please the
Almighty to restore him his full faculties," summed up Mr. Asherill,
"but they have nothing else; on that point you may give yourself no
further trouble. Have you heard about Kleinwort?"
"Kleinwort, no! What about him?"
"He has gone."
"Gone! Where?"
"Ah! now you puzzle me. He has left England, at all events."
"And Forde?"
"I suppose we shall know more about Forde three months hence."
Was it true? Aye, indeed, it was. The little foreigner who loved his so
dear Forde, the clever adventurer, sworn to see that devoted friend safe
at all events,--the gross humbug, who had for years and years been
cheating, not more honest, perhaps, but slower English folks, as only
foreigners can, had performed as neat a dance upon horseshoes as that
other celebrated foreigner who posted to Dover whilst an audience that
had paid fabulous prices in expectation of seeing the performance sat in
a London theatre waiting his advent.
Mr. Kleinwort was gone.
In spite of that half-yearly meeting already mentioned, where every
person connected with St. Vedast Wharf made believe to be so pleased
with everything, Mr. Forde found, as the weeks and months went by, that
matters were becoming very difficult for him to manage--horribly
difficult in fact.
His directors grew more captious and more interfering. They wanted to
know a vast deal too much of the actual working of the concern. Instead
of spreading out their arms any further, they were inclined to narrow
the limits of their operations. They thought it was high time to put
several transactions of the Company upon a more business footing, and
words were dropped occasionally about their intention for the future, of
placing their trade upon some more solid basis, which words filled Mr.
Forde with misgiving.
Amongst other persons with whom the directors desired to curtail their
dealings, was Mr. Kleinwort, and about the same period Mr. Agnew
casually observed that he thought the various mining speculations in
which the Company were so largely engaged, might, with advantage, be
gradually and with caution closed.
He remarked that he thought such outside transactions were calculated to
divert attention from their more legitimate operations, and said he
considered unless the capital of the Company could be largely increased,
it would be more prudent, in the then state of the money-market and
general want of confidence in the public in limited companies, to
confine themselves to a different, if apparently less remunerative,
class of business. Of these words of wisdom Mr. Forde spoke scoffingly
to Mr. Kleinwort, but they made him uneasy nevertheless; and he proposed
to Kleinwort that he and Werner and the German should take Mortomley's
works, the lease of which--it was after the sale of plant at
Homewood--could be had for a nominal price, so that they might have
something to fall back on, in case the directors at St. Vedast Wharf
should at any time take it into their heads to close transactions with
Mr. Kleinwort, and, as a natural consequence, to dismiss Mr. Forde.
"They are ungrateful enough, for anything," finished the manager, and to
this Kleinwort agreed.
"They have hearts as the nether millstone," he said, "and, what is
worse, their brains are all soft, addled; but still we will not take the
colour-works yet. I have one plan, but the pear is not ripe quite. When
it is, you will know, and then you shall exclaim--'Oh! what a clever
little fellow is that Kleinwort of mine.'"
Whatever opinions Mr. Forde might entertain about Mr. Kleinwort's
cleverness, his directors were becoming somewhat doubtful concerning his
solvency.
"He is expecting a bill from a correspondent of his in Germany for a
large amount in a few days, and he has promised to let me have it,"
explained Mr. Forde, and then, after his tormentors left him free, he
sent round to Mr. Kleinwort, saying, "You _must_ let me have that
foreign bill without delay," to which Kleinwort turning down a piece of
the paper, wrote "Tomorrow," and putting the manager's note in a fresh
envelope returned it to him.
In fault of any better security then obtainable, this bill would next
day have been placed to Mr. Kleinwort's credit on the books of the firm,
had Mr. Agnew not chanced to take it in his hand. After looking at it
for a moment, his eye fell on the date of the stamp, and he at once
wrote a few words on a scrap of paper and pushed the memorandum and the
acceptance over to the chairman.
"Had not we better request Mr. Kleinwort to attend and explain," he
asked.
To which the chairman agreeing, Mr. Forde, who had left the board-room
for a moment, and now reappeared, was asked to send to Mr. Kleinwort and
say the directors would be glad if he could come round for a few
minutes.
"There is something wrong about that acceptance," wrote the manager in
pencil. "For God's sake think what it can be, and show yourself at
once."
Round came the German to show himself. He entered the board-room wiping
his forehead, and after smiling and bowing, said,
"You did wish to see me, gentlemen," and he stole a quick look at the
faces turned to his. "Yes, about this bill," suggested Mr. Agnew. "May
I inquire on what date you sent it to Germany?"
"I never sent that bill to Germany at all," answered Kleinwort. "I did
send one, his fellow, ten days' back, but he have not returned; he will
not now. My good friend and correspondent turned up last night at mine
house from Denmark, where he had business, and he gave me his signature
not ten minutes before it was despatched to this your place."
Hearing which the chairman nodded to Mr. Agnew, and said, "That explains
the matter," adding, "thank you, Mr. Kleinwort; we are very sorry to
have given you so much trouble."
"No, no, no, not trouble, by no means," declared the German vehemently,
and he passed out of the board-room and left the wharf as he had entered
it, wiping the perspiration off his forehead.
"Pouf!" he exclaimed, as he re-entered his office, and after pulling off
his coat poured out half-a-tumbler of neat brandy, and swallowed it at
a draught. "There has been too much of this, Kleinwort, my dear fellow,
a few straws more would break even thy camel's back."
During the remainder of that day Mr. Kleinwort was too busy to spare
more than a minute even to Mr. Forde, when that gentleman called to see
him. The next morning he was too ill to come to business, and Mr. Forde,
who felt anxious naturally concerning the health of a man, bound to
stand by him through all chances and changes, went up to his house to
ascertain what was the matter.
"I must get away for a week," declared the invalid, who looked ill
enough to have warranted his saying he must get away for three months.
"It has all been too much for me. A few days' quiet, and the sea, and
the shells, and the bright ships sailing by, and I come back better than
well. I go on Monday to Hastings, and you must so manage as to come to
spend Saturday and Sunday in that peace so profound. Promise that it be
we see you."
In perfect good faith Mr. Forde did promise that Kleinwort should be
gratified thus far, but it was not in his nature to let a man go away
from town and fail to remind him by means of every night's post about
the trouble and anxiety he had left behind him. To these communications
the manager received no reply whatever until the fourth day, when having
despatched a more pressing and irritable note than usual there arrived
this telegram.
"Monday will not be long. All suspense for you then over. Till then
torment not me with business. We expect you for Saturday."
But it so happened that when Saturday came Mr. Forde found himself
unable to leave London, and was compelled to telegraph apologies and
regrets to his friend.
He waited at the wharf for an hour after the clerks left, expecting a
reply to this communication, but at the end of that time wended his way
home, thinking that most probably Mr. Kleinwort would address his answer
there. Night closed, however, and no telegram arrived.
"He was out, no doubt," considered Mr. Forde, "and, as he is to be in
London so soon, did not think it worth while to send a message till his
return;" and with these comforting reflections, and the still more
comforting fact of Monday, which was to end all suspense, being close at
hand, Mr. Forde went to bed and slept soundly.
Monday came, and Mr. Forde was at Mr. Kleinwort's office so early that
the head clerk was just turning the key in the lock as he reached the
landing.
"Mr. Kleinwort come yet?" asked Mr. Forde.
"I have not seen him, sir. I should scarcely think he could be here
yet."
"Any letter from him?" asked the manager, entering the office, and
taking the letters out of the clerk's unresisting hands he looked at
each superscription curiously.
"I will look round again shortly," he remarked, after he had examined
the correspondence once more, and felt in the letter-box to make sure no
missive had been overlooked.
"Very well, sir," said Mr. Kleinwort's clerk.
The day wore on, and Mr. Forde looked "round again" often, but still
with the same result. He telegraphed to Hastings, but elicited no reply.
By the evening's post he wrote requesting that a telegram might be sent
to the wharf immediately on receipt of his letter to say by which train
Mr. Kleinwort might be expected in town.
He received no telegram; nothing had been heard from Mr. Kleinwort at
that gentleman's office; the head clerk feared he could not be so well;
and Mr. Forde started off by the next train to Hastings.
Arrived there, he ascertained Mr. and Mrs. Kleinwort had left for London
on the previous Friday evening.
By the time Mr. Forde again reached the City all business was over for
the day, and the offices closed for the night, therefore the unhappy
manager, dreading he knew not what, fearing some evil to which he felt
afraid to give a shape or a name, repaired to Mr. Kleinwort's private
residence.
He looked up at the house, and as he did so his heart sank within him;
not a light was to be seen in any one of the windows, the lower
shutters were closed, there was straw littering about the garden. His
worst enemy might have pitied him as he stood there hoping he was
dreaming, hoping he should wake to find that he had been struggling with
some horrible nightmare.
When he could gather strength to do it, he began knocking at the
door--knocking till he woke the deserted house with echoes that
simulated the sound of hurrying feet--knocking till the neighbours
opened their doors, and put their heads out of the windows to ascertain
what was the matter.
"There is no one in that house, sir," shouted an irascible gentleman
from the next balcony.
"There is no use in your trying to knock the door down. The house is
empty, sir. The family left a week ago, and the last of the furniture
was removed on Saturday."
"Where have they gone?" asked Mr. Forde in a weak husky voice, which
sounded to his own ears like that of some different person.
"To South America. Mr. Kleinwort has got an appointment there under his
own government."
That was enough. The manager knew for certain Kleinwort had thrown him
over, that he had eight days' start of any one who might try to follow.
How it had been managed; how the Hastings juggle was performed; who had
helped him to hoodwink those who might be interested concerning his
whereabouts, he felt too sick and dizzy even to imagine.
There was only a single fact he was able to realise; namely, that
between him and ruin there stood now but one man, and that man Henry
Werner.