A NEW PERSECUTOR
Soon after Greythorpe's visit Mrs. Chudleigh went away, leaving
Challoner unpleasantly uncertain about the course she might take. He
was still without news of Blake; he could not question his son, whose
integrity he tried hard to believe in, and he spent a few anxious
weeks. Then one evening when he came home from a neighbour's house he
was told that a man who had called to see him some time earlier was in
the library. Challoner glanced at the card his servant gave him.
"Clarke? I don't know anybody of that name," he said and then started
as he saw the word Sweetwater in small type at the bottom of the card.
Taking off his coat he went up the staircase with some eagerness. The
lamps had been lighted in the library and a good fire burned on the
hearth, near which his visitor was comfortably seated in a big leather
chair. He rose as Challoner entered, and the latter was not favourably
impressed by him. There was a hint of grossness about the fellow which
repelled the Colonel, who was of an ascetic type; besides, he was badly
and carelessly dressed, and Challoner was fastidious in such matters.
Also the man had an irritating air of assurance.
"Colonel Challoner, I presume?" he said.
Challoner bowed. "You have brought me some news of my nephew, Richard
Blake?"
This disconcerted Clarke, who had not imagined that his object would be
known and had counted upon Challoner's being surprised when he heard it
and thrown off his guard. It, however, looked as if the Colonel had
been making inquiries about Blake, and Clarke wished he could guess his
reason, because it might affect the situation.
"That is correct," he said. "I have a good deal to tell you and it may
take some time."
Signing him to be seated, Challoner rang a bell, and wine and cigars
and hothouse fruit were brought in. These he offered his guest, who
helped himself freely and then said, "Your nephew spent a week in the
settlement where I live, preparing for a journey to the North. Though
his object was secret, I believe he went in search of something to make
varnish of, because he took a young American traveller for a colour
factory with him, besides another man."
"I know this," Challoner replied. "I heard about his American
companion; who was the other?"
"We will come to him presently. There is still something which I think
you do not know."
"Then I should be glad to be informed. But, first of all, could you
find Blake if it were necessary?"
"I'm doubtful; the thing would be difficult," Clarke answered in a
significant tone. "He hadn't returned when I left, and the country he
meant to cross is rugged and covered deep with snow all winter. Food
is hard to get and the temperature varies from forty to fifty degrees
below."
"I suppose it could be traversed by a properly equipped expedition?"
Though Challoner's face was calm, Clarke inferred some anxiety to find
his nephew, and answered cautiously: "It would be possible, but whether
a party sent up could strike the others' trail is a different matter."
"Very well," said Challoner; "we'll talk of it again. Go on with what
you wished to say."
He was suspicious, for his visitor's looks were not in his favour, and
the man gave him a keen glance.
"It concerns your nephew's earlier history."
"That is of most importance to himself and me. It can't interest you."
"It interests me very much," Clarke rejoined with an ironical smile.
"I must ask you to let me tell you what I know."
Challoner, who thought he had better learn it, consented, and Clarke
gave him what he admitted was a very accurate account of the action on
the Indian frontier.
"Now," he concluded, "the question, Who gave the order to retreat? is
of vital importance to you."
"In a sense, it has been answered."
"I think incorrectly."
"Then if you differ from the general opinion on the matter, you can let
me have your theory of what occurred."
It took Clarke some minutes to give it and Challoner's heart sank, for
the man carefully arranged his points and the damaging inference could
hardly be shirked. On the whole, his account agreed with Mrs.
Chudleigh's, although it was more cleverly worked out, but there was
nothing to be learned from Challoner's expression. He was now not
dealing with a woman who had the excuse that she was acting in her
lover's interest.
"Your suggestions are plausible, but you can't seriously expect me to
attach much weight to them," he remarked. "Besides, you seem to have
overlooked the important fact that at the regimental inquiry the
verdict was that nobody in particular was to blame.
"Oh! no," Clarke rejoined with a harsh laugh. "I merely question its
validity. I imagine that reasons which would not be officially
recognized led the court to take a lenient view; but what of that?
Blake had to leave the army, a ruined man, and I've good reason for
knowing what an acquittal like his is worth." He paused a moment. "I
may as well tell you candidly, because it's probable that you'll make
inquiries about me. Well, I'd won some reputation as a medical
specialist when I became involved in a sensational police case--you may
recollect it."
Challoner started. "Yes," he said. "So you are the man! I think
nothing was actually proved against you."
"No," said Clarke drily; "there was only a fatal suspicion. As it
happens, I was innocent, but I had to give up my profession and my life
was spoiled. There's no reason why you should be interested in this,
and I mentioned it merely because a similar misfortune has befallen
Richard Blake. The point, of course, is that it has done so
undeservedly. I think you must see who the real culprit is."
"I'll admit that you have told me a rather likely tale. As you don't
speak of having been in India, who gave you the information?"
"Blake's companion, the man I've mentioned, a former Indian officer
called Benson."
"His full name, please."
Clarke gave it him and Challoner, crossing the floor, took a book from
a shelf and turned it over by a lamp.
"Yes; he's here. What led him to talk of the thing to an outsider?"
"Drink," said Clarke. "I'll own to having taken advantage of the
condition he was often in."
Challoner, sitting down, coolly lighted a cigar. His position seemed a
weak one, but he had no thought of surrender.
"Well, you have given me some interesting information; but there's one
thing you haven't mentioned, and that is your reason for doing so."
"Can't you guess?"
"I shouldn't have suspected you of being so diffident, but I daresay
you thought this was a chance of earning some money easily."
"Yes," said Clarke. "For five thousand pounds I'll undertake that no
word of what I've told you will ever pass my lips again."
"You're not flattering. Do you suppose I'd pay five thousand pounds to
see my nephew wronged?"
"I believe you might do so to save your son."
Challoner, who wished to lead the man on and learn something about his
plans, made a negative sign.
"Out of the question."
"Then I'll make you an alternative offer, and it's worth considering.
Take, or get your friends to subscribe for, ten thousand pounds worth
of shares in a commercial syndicate I'm getting up, and you'll never
regret it. If you wish, I'll make you a director so you can satisfy
yourself that the money will be wisely spent. You'll get it back
several times over."
Challoner laughed. "This is to salve my feelings; to make the thing
look like a business transaction?"
"No," said Clarke, leaning forward and speaking eagerly. "It's a
genuine offer, and I'll ask your attention for a minute or two.
Canada's an undeveloped country; we have scarcely begun to tap its
natural resources, and there's wealth ready for exploitation all over
it. We roughly know the extent of the farming land and the value of
the timber, but the minerals still to a large extent await discovery,
while perhaps the most readily and profitably handled product is oil.
Now I know a belt of country where it's oozing from the soil and with
ten thousand pounds I'll engage to bore wells that will give a
remarkable yield."
His manner was impressive, and though Challoner had no cause to trust
him he thought the man sincere.
"One understands that in Canada all natural commodities belong to the
State and any person discovering them can work them on certain terms.
It seems to follow that if your knowledge of the locality is worth
anything, it must belong to you alone. How is it that nobody else
suspects the belt contains oil?"
"A shrewd objection, but easily answered. The country in question is
one of the most rugged tracts in Canada, difficult to get through in
summer, while the man who enters it in winter runs a serious risk. Now
I'll allow that what you know about me is not likely to prejudice you
in my favour, but on your promise to keep it secret I'll give you
information that must convince you."
"Why don't you make your offer to some company floater or stockjobber?"
Clarke smiled in a pointed manner. "Because I've a damaging record and
no friends to vouch for me. I came here because I felt I had some
claim on you."
"You were mistaken," said Challoner drily.
"Hear me out; try to consider my proposition on its merits. For a
number of years I've known the existence of the oil and have tried to
prospect the country. It was difficult; to transport enough food and
tools meant a costly expedition and the attracting of undesirable
attention. I went alone, living with primitive Russian settlers and
afterwards with the Indians. To gain a hold on them I studied the
occult sciences and learned tricks that impose upon the credulous. To
the white men I'm a crank, to the Indians something of a magician, but
my search for the oil has gone on, and now while I already know where
boring would be commercially profitable, I'm on the brink of tapping a
remarkable flow."
"What will you do if it comes up to your expectations?" Challoner
asked, for he had grown interested.
"Turn it over to a company strong enough to exact good terms from the
American producers or, failing that, to work the wells. Then I'd go
back to London where with money and the standing it would buy me I'd
take up my old profession. I believe I've kept abreast of medical
progress and could still make my mark and reinstate myself. It has
been my steadfast object ever since I became an outcast; I've schemed
and cheated to gain it, besides risking my life often in desolate
muskegs and the Arctic frost. Now I ask you to make it possible, and
you cannot refuse."
Challoner was silent for a minute or two while Clarke smoked
impassively. The former knew he had a determined man to deal with and
believed moreover that he had spoken the truth. Still, the fellow,
although in some respects to be pitied, was obviously a dangerous
rascal, embittered and robbed of all scruples by injustice. There was
something malignant in his face that testified against him, and, worse
than all, he had come there resolved to extort money as the price of
his connivance in a wrong.
"Well?" Clarke said, breaking the pause.
"So far as I can judge, your ultimate object's creditable, but I can't
say as much for the means you are ready to employ in raising the money.
If you go on with the scheme, it must be without any help of mine."
Clarke's face grew hard, and there was something forbidding in the way
he knitted his brows.
"Think! Have you gauged the consequences of your refusal?"
"It's more to the purpose that I've tried to estimate the importance of
your version of what happened during the night attack. It has one
fatal weakness which you seem to have overlooked."
"Ah!" said Clarke with ironical calm. "You will no doubt mention it."
"You suggest Blake's innocence, but you must be content with doing so.
You cannot prove it in the face of his denial."
To Challoner's surprise, Clarke smiled.
"So you have seen that! The trouble is that your nephew may never have
an opportunity of denying it. He left for the North very badly
equipped, and he has not come back yet." Then he rose with an
undisturbed air. "Well, as it seems we can't come to terms, I needn't
waste my time, and it's a long walk to the station. I must try some
other market, and while I think you have made a grave mistake that is
your affair."
Challoner let him go and afterwards sat down to think. There had been
nothing forcible or obviously threatening in the man's last few
remarks, but their effect was somehow sinister. Challoner wondered
whether he had done well in suggesting that Blake's denial would prove
Clarke's greatest difficulty. After all, he had a strong affection for
his nephew, who might be in danger, and knew that the wilds of Northern
Canada might prove deadly to a weak party unprovided with proper
sledges and stores. Still, something might, perhaps, be done, and by
and by he wrote a letter to a friend who had once made an adventurous
journey across the frozen land.