"I confess to having been a little startled. Your secretary brought me
in here and I was talking to Miss Morse in the conservatory when--" I
hesitated for a moment.
He saved me the trouble of going on.
"I guess," he said, "you and I had better have a little drink now," and
he went to the wall.
I don't pretend to know how the service was managed--I suppose there was
a sergeant-major somewhere in the background who drilled the host of
personal and hotel attendances who ministered to the wants of Gideon
Morse. At any rate, this time no one entered but one of the hotel
footmen, and he brought the usual tray of cut-glass bottles, etc.
Morse mixed us both a brandy and soda and I noticed two things. First,
his hand was steady again; secondly, the brandy was not decanted but
came out of a bottle, on which was the fleur-de-lys of ancient, royal
France, blown into the glass.
There was a twinkle in his eye when he saw I had spotted that.
"Yes," he said, "there are only three dozen bottles left, even in the
Ritz. They were found in a bricked-up cellar of the Tuileries," and he
tossed off his glass with relish.
So did I--Cleopatra's pearls were not so expensive.
"Now look here, Sir Thomas," Morse said, sitting down by me and drawing
up his chair, "you've seen something to-night of a very unfortunate
nature. You've seen it quite by accident. If news of it got about, if it
were even whispered through a certain section of London, then the very
gravest harm might result, not only to me but to many other persons
also."
"My dear sir, I have seen nothing. I have heard nothing. You may place
implicit reliance upon that," and I held out my hand to him, which he
took in a firm grip.
"Thank you, Sir Thomas," he replied simply. "It was a question," he
hesitated for the fraction of a second, and I knew he was lying, "it was
a question of impudent blackmail. I had expected something of the sort
and was prepared. You saw how the cowardly hound ran away."
"Quite so, Mr. Morse. Of course a man in your position must be subject
to these things occasionally."
"Ah, you see that," he said briskly, and I knew he was relieved. "You
are a man of the world, and you see that. Well, I am thankful for your
promise of silence. I am the more annoyed, though, that Juanita should
have been present at a scene which, though really burlesque, must have
seemed to her one of violence."
I had my own opinion about the burlesque nature of the incident, but I
made haste to reassure him.
"Of course," I said, "it must have been distressing for any lady, but it
was the suddenness that upset her, and I'm sure Miss Morse's nerves are
far too good for it to have any permanent effect."
"Yes," he answered, and in his voice there was a caress, "I can explain
it all to Juanita, and the memory of this evening will soon go from
her."
Again I had my own private opinion, which I forbore to state.
Personally, I had very little doubt but that Juanita would remember this
evening as long as the darling lived! It would not be my fault if she
didn't! But I saw that this was no moment to tell him that I loved her.
Perhaps, if we had been granted five minutes more in the conservatory
and I had said all I meant, and heard from her all I hoped, I should
have spoken then. As it was I could not, though in my own mind I was
certain she cared for me.
We were silent for a few moments, and then Morse seemed to recall
himself from private thought.
"I had nearly forgotten!" he said. "You specially wanted to see me
to-night, Sir Thomas, and you've very kindly waited in order to do so."
Then I remembered the errand upon which I had come, and pulled myself
together mentally. I liked Morse. He was of tremendous importance to me,
and yet at the same time it behooved me to be wary. Already I was
certain that he was playing a game with me in the matter of Mark Antony
Midwinter, whose name I kept rigidly to myself. I must play my cards
carefully.
Please understand me, I don't for a moment mean that I felt he was my
enemy, or inimical to me in any way. Far from it. I knew that he liked
me and wouldn't do me a bad turn if he could help it. At the same time I
was perfectly sure that if necessary he would use me like a pawn in a
mysterious game that I couldn't fathom, and I didn't mean to be used
like a pawn if I could help it. My hope and ambition was to serve him,
but I wanted a little reserve of power also, for reasons I need not
indicate.
"Yes," I said, "I telephoned you."
"And you mentioned a certain word which rather puzzled me."
"I did. 'Towers' was the word."
"I believe we are going to meet at The Towers at Cerne in Norfolk," said
Mr. Morse. "Sir Walter Stileman told me that you were to be of the
shooting party in September."
At that I laughed frankly, really he was a little underestimating me. He
grinned and understood in a second.
"Tell me, Sir Thomas, exactly what you _do_ mean," he said.
"Well, you know I am a newspaper proprietor and editor."
"Of the best written and most alive journal in London!"
I bowed, and produced from an inside pocket Master Bill Rolston's
astonishing piece of copy.
"An unknown journalist who was introduced to me to-day," I said,
"brought a piece of news which would be of absorbing interest to the
country if it were published and if it were true. Perhaps you would like
to read this."
I handed him the typewritten copy and prepared to watch his face as he
read it, but he was too clever for that. He took it and perused it,
walking up and down the room, and I began to realize some of the
qualities which had made this man one of the powers of the world.
More especially so when he came and sat down again, his face wreathed
in smiles, though I could have sworn fury lurked in the depths of his
black eyes.
"Well, now," he said, "this is interesting, very interesting indeed. I
am going to be quite frank with you, Sir Thomas. There's an amount of
truth in this manuscript that would cause me colossal worry if it were
published at present. Another thing it would do would be to quite upset
a financial operation of considerable magnitude. Personally, I should
lose at the very least a couple of million sterling, though that
wouldn't make any appreciable difference to my fortune, but a lot of
other people would be ruined and for no possible benefit to any one in
the world except yourself and the _Evening Special_."
"Thank you," I said, "that's just why I came. Of course nothing shall be
published, though I'm quite in the dark as to the nature of the whole
thing."
"I call that generous, generous beyond belief, Sir Thomas, for I know
that it is the life of a newspaper to get hold of exclusive news. I
would offer you a large sum not to publish this story did I not know
that you would indignantly refuse it. I am a student of men, my young
friend, if I may be allowed to call you so, and even if you were a poor
man instead of being a rich one as ordinary wealth goes, I should never
make such a proposition."
I glowed inwardly as he said it. It was a downright compliment, coming
from him under the circumstances, at which any one would have been
warmed to the heart. For here was a great man, a Napoleon of his day,
one who, if he chose, could upset dynasties and plunge nations into
war. Yet, as I knew quite well, Gideon Mendoza Morse wasn't a member of
the great financial groups who control and sway politics. In a sense he
was that rare thing, a pastoral millionaire. He owned vast tracts of
country populated by lowing steers for the food of the world. In the
remote mountains of Brazil brown Indians toiled to wrest precious metals
and jewels from the earth for his advantage. But from the feverish
plotting of international finance I knew him to stand aloof.
"I very much appreciate your remarks," was what I told him, "and you may
rest assured that nothing shall transpire."
"Thanks. But all the generosity mustn't be on your side. You shall have
your scoop, Sir Thomas, if you will wait a little while."
"I am entirely at your service."
"Very well then," he said, and his manner grew extraordinarily cordial,
"let's put a period to it! I hope that, from to-day, I and my daughter
are going to see a great deal of you--a great deal more of you than
hitherto. You know how we are"--he gave a little annoyed laugh--"run
after in London; and what a success Juanita has had over here. What I
hope to do is to form a little inner circle of friends, and you must be
one of them--if you will?"
How my luck held! I thought. Here, offered freely and with open hands,
was the only thing I wanted. I am glad to think that I found a moment in
which to be sorry for Arthur and dear old Pat Moore.
"It's awfully good of you," I stammered.
He made a little impatient gesture with his hand.
"Please don't talk nonsense," he said. "And now about the towers on
Richmond Hill. I have told you that I cannot explain fully until
September. I will tell you, though, that your clever little
journalist--what, by the way, did you say his name was?"
"Rolston."
"Of course--has ferreted out much that I wished to conceal, but he isn't
entirely upon the right track. I _am_, Kirby, at the bottom of the whole
thing, and I have spent goodness knows how much to keep that quiet."
He lit another cigarette, leant back in his chair and laughed like a
boy.
"I've bribed, and bribed, and bribed, I've managed to put pressure,
actually to put pressure upon the British Government. I've employed an
untold number of agents, in short I've exercised the whole of my
intellect, and the pressure of almost unlimited capital to keep my name
out of it. And now, you tell me, some little journalist has found out
one thing at least that I was determined to conceal until September
next! The plans of men and mice gang oft agley, Kirby! This little man
of yours must be a sort of genius. I hope there are no more people like
him prowling about Richmond Hill."
I was quite certain that there was not another Bill Rolston anywhere,
and I amused Morse immensely by detailing the circumstances of the
little, red-haired man's arrival in Fleet Street. I never realized till
now how human and genial the great man could be, for he even expanded
sufficiently to offer to toss me a thousand pounds to nothing for the
services of Julia Dewsbury!