Without offending Mr. Van Torp, Lady Maud managed not to see him again
for some time, and when he understood, as he soon did, that this was
her wish, he made no attempt to force himself upon her. She was
probably thinking over what he had said, and in the end she would
exert her influence as he had begged her to do. He was thoroughly
persuaded that there was nothing unfair in his proposal and that, when
she was convinced that he was right, she would help him. In a
chequered career that had led to vast success, he had known people who
called themselves honest and respectable but who had done unpardonable
things for a hundredth part of what he offered. Like all real
financiers, he knew money as a force, not as a want, very much as any
strong working man knows approximately how much he can lift or carry,
and reckons with approximate certainty on his average strength. To
speak in his own language, Mr. Van Torp knew about how many
horse-power could be got out of any sum of money, from ten cents to
more millions than he chose to speak of in his own case.
And once more, before I go on with this tale, let me say that his
friendship for Lady Maud was so honest that he would never have asked
her to do anything he thought 'low down.' To paraphrase a wise saying
of Abraham Lincoln's, some millionaires mean to be bad all the time,
but are not, and some are bad all the time but do not mean to be, but
no millionaires mean to be bad all the time and really are. Rufus Van
Torp certainly did not mean to be, according to his lights, though in
his life he had done several things which he did not care to remember;
and the righteous had judged him with the ferocious integrity of men
who never take a penny unjustly nor give one away under any
circumstances.
But when he had taken the first step towards accomplishing his
purpose, he was very much at a loss as to the next, and he saw that he
had never undertaken anything so difficult since he had reorganised
the Nickel Trust, trebled the stock, cleared a profit of thirty
millions and ruined nobody but the small-fry, who of course deserved
it on the principle that people who cannot keep money ought not to
have any. Some unkind newspaper man had then nicknamed it the Brass
Trust, and had called him Brassy Van Torp; but it is of no use to
throw mud at the Golden Calf, for the dirt soon dries to dust and
falls off, leaving the animal as beautifully shiny as ever.
Mr. Van Torp did not quite see how he could immediately apply the
force of money to further his plans with effect. He knew his
adversary's financial position in Europe much too well to think of
trying to attack him on that ground; and besides, in his rough code
it would not be fair play to do that. It was 'all right' to ruin a
hostile millionaire in order to get his money. That was 'business.'
But to ruin him for the sake of a woman was 'low down.' It would be
much more 'all right' to shoot him, after fair and due warning, and to
carry off the lady. That was impossible in a civilised country, of
course; but as it occurred to him, while he was thinking, that he
might find it convenient to go somewhere in a hurry by sea, he bought
a perfectly new yacht that was for sale because the owner had died of
heart disease the week after she was quite ready to take him to the
Mediterranean. The vessel was at least as big as one of the ocean
liners of fifty years ago, and had done twenty-two and one-tenth knots
on her trial. Mr. Van Torp took her over as she was, with her
officers, crew, cook and stores, and rechristened her. She had been
launched as the _Alwayn_; he called her the _Lancashire Lass_--a bit
of sentiment on his part, for that was the name of a mare belonging to
Lady Maud's father, which he had once ridden bareback when he was in
an amazing hurry.
He had one interview with the Captain.
'See here, Captain,' he said, 'I may not want to take a trip this
season. I'm that sort of a man. I may or I may not. But if I do want
you, I'll want you quick. See?'
With the last word, he looked up suddenly, and the Captain 'saw,' for
he met a pair of eyes that astonished him.
'Yes, I see,' he answered mechanically.
'And if you're in one place with your boat, and I wire that I want you
in another, I'd like you to get there right away,' said Mr. Van Torp.
'Yes, sir.'
'They say she'll do twenty-two and a tenth,' continued the owner, 'but
when I wire I want you I'd like her to do as much more as she can
without bursting a lung. If you don't think you've got the kind of
engineer who'll keep her red-hot, tell me right off and we'll get
another. And don't you fuss about burning coal, Captain. And see that
the crew get all they can eat and not a drop of drink but tea and
coffee, and if you let 'em go on shore once in a way, see that they
come home right side up with care, Captain, and make each of 'em say
"truly rural" and "British Constitution" before he goes to bed, and if
he can't, you just unship him, or whatever you call it on a boat.
Understand, Captain?'
The Captain understood and kept his countenance.
'Now, I want to know one thing,' continued the new owner. 'What's the
nearest sea-port to Bayreuth, Bavaria?'
'Venice,' answered the Captain without the least hesitation, and so
quickly that Mr. Van Torp was immediately suspicious.
'If that's so, you're pretty smart,' he observed.
'You can telephone to Cook's office, sir, and ask them,' said the
Captain quietly.
The instrument was on the table at Mr. Van Torp's elbow. He looked
sharply at the Captain, as he unhooked the receiver and set it to his
ear. In a few seconds communication was given.
'Cook's office? Yes. Yes. This is Mr. Van Torp, Rufus Van Torp of New
York. Yes. I want to know what's the nearest sea-port to Bayreuth,
Bavaria. Yes. Yes. That's just what I want to know. Yes. I'll hold the
wire while you look it up.'
He was not kept waiting long.
'Venice, you say? You're sure you're right, I suppose? Yes. Yes. I was
only asking. No thank you. If I want a ticket I'll look in myself.
Much obliged. Good-bye.'
He hung the receiver in its place again, and turned to his Captain
with a different expression, in which admiration and satisfaction were
quite apparent.
'Well,' he said, 'you're right. It's Venice. I must say that, for an
Englishman, you're quite smart.'
The Captain smiled quietly, but did not think it worth while to
explain that the last owner with whom he had sailed had been
Wagner-mad and had gone to Bayreuth regularly. Moreover, he had judged
his man already.
'Am I to proceed to Venice at once, sir?' he asked.
'As quick as you can, Captain.'
The Englishman looked at his watch deliberately, and made a short
mental calculation before he said anything. It was eleven in the
morning.
'I can get to sea by five o'clock this afternoon, sir. Will that do?'
Mr. Van Torp was careful not to betray the least surprise.
'Yes,' he said, as if he were not more than fairly satisfied, 'that'll
do nicely.'
'Very well, sir, then I'll be off. It's about three thousand miles,
and she's supposed to do that at eighteen knots with her own coal. Say
eight days. But as this is her maiden trip we must make allowance for
having to stop the engines once or twice. Good-morning, sir.'
'Good-day, Captain. Get in some coal and provisions as soon as you
arrive in Venice. I may want to go to Timbuctoo, or to Andaman Islands
or something. I'm that sort of a man. I'm not sure where I'll go.
Good-bye.'
The Captain stopped at the first telegraph office on his way to the
Waterloo Station and telegraphed both to his chief engineer, Mr.
M'Cosh, and his chief mate, Mr. Johnson, for he thought it barely
possible that one or the other might be ashore.
'Must have steam by 4 P.M. to-day to sail at once long voyage. Coming
next train. Owner in hurry. Send ashore for my wash. Brown, Captain.'
When the clocks struck five on shore that afternoon, and the man at
the wheel struck two bells from the wheel-house, and the look-out
forward repeated them on the ship's bell, all according to the most
approved modern fashion on large steamers, the beautiful _Lancashire
Lass_ was steaming out upon Southampton Water.
Out of the merest curiosity Mr. Van Torp telegraphed to Cowes to be
informed of the exact moment at which his yacht was under way, and
before six o'clock he had a message.
'Yacht sailed at four thirty-nine.'
The new owner was so much pleased that he actually smiled, for Captain
Brown had been twenty-one minutes better than his word.
'I guess he'll do,' thought Mr. Van Torp. 'I only hope I may need
him.'
He was not at all sure that he should need the _Lancashire Lass_ and
Captain Brown; but it has often been noticed that in the lives of born
financiers even their caprices often turn out to their advantage, and
that their least logical impulses in business matters are worth more
than the sober judgment of ordinary men.
As for Captain Brown, he was a quiet little person with a rather pink
face and sparkling blue eyes, and he knew his business. In fact he had
passed as Extra Master. He knew that he was in the service of one of
the richest men in the world, and that he commanded a vessel likely to
turn out one of the finest yachts afloat, and he did not mean to lose
such a berth either by piling up his ship, or by being slow to do
whatever his owner wished done, within the boundaries of the possible;
but it had not occurred to him that his owner might order him to
exceed the limits of anything but mere possibility, such, for
instance, as those of the law, civil, criminal, national, or
international.
Mr. Van Torp had solid nerves, but when he had sent his yacht to the
only place where he thought he might possibly make use of it, he
realised that he was wasting valuable time while Logotheti was making
all the running, and his uncommon natural energy, finding nothing to
work upon as yet, made him furiously impatient. It seemed to hum and
sing in his head, like the steam in an express engine when it is
waiting to start.
He had come over to England on an impulse, as soon as he had heard of
Cordova's engagement. Until then he had not believed that she would
ever accept the Greek, and when he learned from Lady Maud's letter
that the fact was announced, he 'saw red,' and his resolution to
prevent the marriage was made then and there. He had no idea how he
should carry it out, but he knew that he must either succeed or come
to grief in the attempt, for as long as he had any money left, or any
strength, he would spend both lavishly for that one purpose.
Yet he did not know how to begin, and his lack of imagination
exasperated him beyond measure. He was sleepless and lost his
appetite, which had never happened to him before; he stayed on in
London instead of going down to his place in Derbyshire, because he
was always sure that he meant to start for the Continent in a few
hours, with an infallible plan for success; but he did not go.
The most absurd schemes suggested themselves. He was disgusted with
what he took for his own stupidity, and he tried to laugh at the
sentimental vein that ran through all his thoughts as the thread
through a string of beads. He grew hot and cold as he recalled the
time when he had asked Margaret to marry him, and he had frightened
her and she had fled and locked herself into her own room; his heart
beat faster when he thought of certain kindly words she had said to
him since then, and on which he built up a great hope now, though they
had meant nothing more to her than a general forgiveness, where she
really had very little to forgive. A genuine offer of marriage from a
millionaire is not usually considered an insult, but since she had
chosen to look at it in that light, he was humble enough to be
grateful for her pardon. If he had not been so miserably in love he
would have been even more amazed and alarmed at his own humility, for
he had not shown signs of such weakness before. In a life which had
been full of experience, though it was not yet long, he had convinced
himself that the 'softening' which comes with years, and of which kind
people often speak with so much feeling, generally begins in the
brain; and the thought that he himself was growing less hard than he
had been, already filled him with apprehension. He asked himself why
he had withdrawn from the Nickel Trust, unless it was because his
faculties were failing prematurely. At the mere thought, he craved the
long-familiar excitement of making money, and risking it, and he
wished he had a railway or a line of steamers to play with; since he
could not hit upon the scheme for which he was racking his brains. For
once in his life, too, he felt lonely, and to make it worse he had not
received a line from his friend Lady Maud since she had abruptly left
him in her own drawing-room. He wondered whether she had yet made up
her mind to help him.
He was living in a hotel in London, though he did not like it.
Americans, as a rule, would a little rather live in hotels than in
houses of their own, perhaps because it is less trouble and no dearer,
at least not in American cities. Housekeeping in New York can be done
with less risk by a company than by an individual, for companies do
not succumb to nervous prostration, whatever may happen to their
employees.
But Mr. Van Torp was an exception to the rule, for he liked privacy,
and even solitude, and though few men were better able to face a
newspaper reporter in fair fight, he very much preferred not to be
perpetually on the look-out lest he should be obliged to escape by
back stairs and side doors, like a hunted thief. He felt safer from
such visits in London than in New York or Paris, but only relatively
so.
He was meditating on the future one morning, over an almost untouched
breakfast, between nine and ten o'clock, when his man Stemp brought a
visiting card.
'Reporter?' he inquired, without looking up, as he leaned far back in
his chair, his gaze riveted on the cold buttered toast.
'No, sir. It's some sort of a foreigner, and he talks a heathen
language.'
'Oh, he does, does he?' The question was asked in a tone of far-away
indifference.
'Yes, sir.'
A long silence followed. Mr. Van Torp still stared at the buttered
toast and appeared to have forgotten all about the card. Stemp
endeavoured very tactfully to rouse him from his reverie.
'Shall I get you some more hot toast, sir?' he inquired very gently.
'Toast? No. No toast.'
He did not move; his steady gaze did not waver. Stemp waited a long
time, motionless, with his little salver in his hand. At last Van Torp
changed his position, threw his head so far back that it rested on the
top of the chair, thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his
trousers and stared at the ceiling as intently as he had gazed at the
plate. Then he spoke to his man again.
'Stemp.'
'Yes, sir.'
'What do you suppose that fellow wants, now, Stemp? Do you suppose he
thinks I speak his heathen language? What does he come bothering me
for? What's the good?'
'Well, sir,' answered Stemp, 'I can't quite say, but I believe there's
something written on the card if you care to look at it, sir, and he
has a person with him that speaks a little English. Shall I throw him
out, sir?'
Stemp asked the question with such perfect gravity that, being an
Englishman, he might very well have been thought to mean the words
literally. But he did not. He merely adopted Mr. Van Torp's usual way
of expressing that the master was not at home.
'I'll look at the card, anyway.'
He stretched out one hand without turning his eyes towards it; the
careful Stemp promptly brought the little salver into contact with the
large fingers, which picked up the card and raised it deliberately to
the line of vision. By this means Mr. Van Torp saved himself the
trouble of turning his head.
It was a rather large card, bearing in the middle two or three
odd-looking signs which meant nothing to him, but underneath them he
read in plain characters the single work 'Barak.'
'Barrack!' grumbled the American. 'Rubbish! Why not "teapot," or
"rocking-horse," or anything else that's appropriate?'
As he paused for an answer, Stemp ventured to speak.
'Can't say, sir. P'rhaps it's the only word he knows, sir, so he's had
it printed.'
Van Torp turned his head at last, and his eyes glared unpleasantly as
he examined his valet's face. But the Englishman's features were
utterly impassive; if they expressed anything it was contempt for the
heathen person outside, who only knew one word of English.
Mr. Van Torp seemed satisfied and glanced at the card again.
'I guess you didn't mean to be funny,' he said, as if acknowledging
that he had made a mistake.
'Certainly not, sir,' answered Stemp, drawing himself up with an air
of injured pride, for he felt that his professional manners were
suspected, if not actually criticised.
'That's all right,' observed Mr. Van Torp, turning the card over. 'Oh,
the writing's on the back, I see. Yes. Now, that's very curious, I
must say,' he said, after reading the words. 'That's very curious,' he
repeated, laying strong and equal emphasis on the last two words. 'Ask
him to walk in, Stemp.'
'Yes, sir. With the man who speaks English for him, I suppose, sir?'
'No. He can wait outside till I want him, and you can go away too.
I'll see the man alone.'
'Very good, sir.'
As the valet went out Mr. Van Torp turned his chair half round without
getting up, so that he sat facing the door. A moment later Stemp had
ushered in the visitor, and was gone.
A slim youth came forward without boldness, but without the least
timidity, as if he were approaching an equal. He had an oval face, no
moustache, a complexion like cream, short and thick black hair and
very clear dark eyes that met the American's fearlessly. He was under
the average height, and he wore rather thin, loose grey clothes that
had been made by a good tailor. His hands and feet were smaller than a
European's.
'So you're Mr. Barrack,' Mr. Van Torp said, nodding pleasantly.
The young face smiled, and the parted lips showed quite perfect
teeth.
'Barak,' answered the young man, giving the name the right sound.
'Yes, I understand, but I can't pronounce it like you. Take a chair,
Mr. Barrack, and draw up to the table.'
The young man understood the gesture that explained the speech and sat
down.
'So you're a friend of Mr. Logotheti's, and he advised you to come to
me? Understand? Logotheti of Paris.'
Barak smiled again, and nodded quickly as he recognised the name. The
American watched his face attentively.
'All right,' he continued. 'You can trot out your things now, right on
the table-cloth here.'
He had seen enough of Indians and Mexicans in his youth to learn the
simple art of using signs, and he easily made his meaning clear to his
visitor. Barak produced a little leathern bag, not much bigger than an
ordinary purse, and fastened with thin thongs, which he slowly untied.
Mr. Van Torp watched the movements of the delicate fingers with great
interest, for he was an observant man.
'With those hands,' he silently reflected, 'it's either a lady or a
thief, or both.'
Barak took several little twists of tissue paper from the bag, laid
them in a row on the table-cloth, and then began to open them one by
one. Each tiny parcel contained a ruby, and when the young man counted
them there were five in all, and they were fine stones if they were
genuine; but Mr. Van Torp was neither credulous nor easily surprised.
When Barak looked to see what impression he had produced on such a
desirable buyer, he was disappointed.
'Nice,' said the American carelessly; 'nice rubies, but I've seen
better. I wonder if they're real, anyway. They've found out how to
make them by chemistry now, you know.'
But Barak understood nothing, of course, beyond the fact that Mr. Van
Torp seemed indifferent, which was a common trick of wily customers;
but there was something about this one's manner that was not assumed.
Barak took the finest of the stones with the tips of his slender young
fingers, laid it in the palm of his other hand, and held it under Mr.
Van Torp's eyes, looking at him with an inquiring expression. But the
American shook his head.
'No rubies to-day, thank you,' he said.
Barak nodded quietly, and at once began to wrap up the stones, each in
its own bit of paper, putting the twists back into the bag one by one.
Then he drew the thongs together and tied them in a neat sort of knot
which Mr. Van Torp had never seen. The young man then rose to go, but
the millionaire stopped him.
'Say, don't go just yet. I'll show you a ruby that'll make you sit
up.'
He rose as he spoke, and Barak understood his smile and question, and
waited. Mr. Van Torp went into the next room, and came back almost
immediately, bringing a small black morocco case, which he set on the
table and unlocked with a little key that hung on his watch-chain. He
was not fond of wearing jewellery, and the box held all his
possessions of that sort, and was not full. There were three or four
sets of plain studs and links; there were half a dozen very big gold
collar-studs; there was a bit of an old gold chain, apparently cut off
at each end, and having one cheap little diamond set in each link; and
there was a thin old wedding-ring that must have been a woman's;
besides a few other valueless trinkets, all lying loose and in
confusion. Mr. Van Torp shook the box a little, poked the contents
about with one large finger, and soon found an uncut red stone about
the size of a hazel-nut, which he took out and placed on the white
cloth before his visitor.
'Now that's what I call a ruby,' he said, with a smile of
satisfaction. 'Got any like that, young man? Because if you have I'll
talk to you, maybe. Yes,' he continued, watching the Oriental's face,
'I told you I'd make you sit up. But I didn't mean to scare you
bald-headed. What's the matter with you, anyway? Your eyes are popping
out of your head. Do you feel as if you were going to have a fit? I
say! Stemp!'
Barak was indeed violently affected by the sight of the uncut ruby,
and his face had changed in a startling way; a great vein like a
whipcord suddenly showed itself on his smooth forehead straight up and
down; his lids had opened so wide that they uncovered the white of the
eye almost all round the iris; he was biting his lower lip so that it
was swollen and blood-red against the little white teeth; and a moment
before Mr. Van Torp had called out to his servant, the young man had
reeled visibly, and would perhaps have collapsed if the American had
not caught the slender waist and supported the small head against his
shoulder with his other hand.
Stemp was not within hearing. He had been told to go away, and he had
gone, and meant to be rung for when he was wanted, for he had suffered
a distinct slight in being suspected of a joke. Therefore Mr. Van Torp
called to him in vain, and meanwhile stood where he was with his arm
round Barak, and Barak's head on his shoulder; but as no one came at
his call, he lifted the slim figure gently and carried it towards the
sofa, and while he was crossing the large room with his burden the
palpable truth was forced upon him that his visitor's slimness was
more apparent than real, and an affair of shape rather than of pounds.
Before he had quite reached the lounge, however, Barak stirred,
wriggled in his arms, and sprang to the floor and stood upright,
blinking a little, like a person waking from a dream, but quite
steady, and trying to smile in an apologetic sort of way, though
evidently still deeply disturbed. Mr. Van Torp smiled, too, as if to
offer his congratulations on the quick recovery.
'Feel better now?' he inquired in a kindly tone, and nodded. 'I wonder
what on earth you're up to, young lady?' he soliloquised, watching
Barak's movements.
He was much too cautious and wise to like being left alone for many
minutes with a girl, and a good-looking one, who went about London
dressed in men's clothes and passed herself for a ruby merchant. Mr.
Van Torp was well aware that he was not a safe judge of precious
stones, that the rubies he had seen might very well be imitation, and
that the girl's emotion at the sight of the rough stone might be only
a piece of clever acting, the whole scene having been planned by a
gang of thieves for the purpose of robbing him of that very ruby,
which was worth a large sum, even in his estimation; for it was nearly
the counterpart of the one he had given Lady Maud, though still uncut.
Therefore he returned to the table and slipped the gem into his pocket
before going to the door to see whether Stemp was within hail.
But Barak now understood what he was going to do, and ran before him,
and stood before the door in an attitude which expressed entreaty so
clearly that Mr. Van Torp was puzzled.
'Well,' he said, standing still and looking into the beautiful
imploring eyes, 'what on earth do you want now, Miss Barrack? Try and
explain yourself.'
A very singular conversation by signs now began.
Barak pointed to the waistcoat-pocket into which he had put the stone.
The matter concerned that, of course, and Van Torp nodded. Next,
though after considerable difficulty, she made him understand that she
was asking how he had got it, and when this was clear, he answered by
pretending to count out coins with his right hand on the palm of his
left to explain that he had bought it. There was no mistaking this,
and Barak nodded quickly and went on to her next question. She wanted
to know what kind of man had sold him the ruby. She improvised a
pretty little dumb show in which she represented the seller and Mr.
Van Torp the buyer of the ruby, and then by gestures she asked if the
man who sold it was tall.
Van Torp raised his hand several inches higher than his own head. He
had bought the ruby from a very tall man. Putting both hands to her
chin and then drawing them down as if stroking a long beard, she
inquired if the man had one, and again the answer was affirmative. She
nodded excitedly and pointed first to Van Torp's sandy hair and then
to her own short black locks. The American pointed to his own, and
then touched his watch-chain and smiled. The man's hair was fair, and
even golden. By a similar process she ascertained that his eyes were
blue and not black, and her excitement grew. Last of all she tried to
ask where the man was, but it was some time before she could make Mr.
Van Torp understand what she meant. As if to help her out of her
difficulty, the sun shone through the clouds at that moment and
streamed into the room; she pointed to it at once, turned her back to
it, and then held out her right hand to indicate the east, and her
left to the west.
'Oh, yes,' said Van Torp, who had seen Indians do the same thing, 'it
was west of here that I bought it of him, a good way west.'
He pointed in that direction, and thrust out his arm as if he would
make it reach much further if he could. At this Barak looked deeply
disappointed. Several times, to show that she meant London, or at
least England, she pointed to the floor at her feet and looked
inquiringly at Van Torp, but he shook his head and pointed to the
west again, and made a gesture that meant crossing something. He spoke
to her as if she could understand.
'I've got your meaning,' he said. 'You're after the big man with the
yellow beard, who is selling rubies from the same place, and has very
likely gone off with yours. He looked like a bad egg in spite of his
handsome face.'
He turned his eyes thoughtfully to the window. Barak plucked gently at
his sleeve and pretended to write in the palm of her left hand, and
then went through all the descriptive gestures again, and then once
more pretended to write, and coaxingly pushed him towards a little
table on which she saw writing materials.
'You'd like to have his address, would you, Miss Barrack? I wonder why
you don't call in your interpreter and tell me so. It would be much
simpler than all this dumb crambo.'
Once more he made a step towards the door, but she caught at his
sleeve, and entreated him in her own language not to call any one; and
her voice was so deliciously soft and beseeching that he yielded, and
sat down at the small table and wrote out an address from memory. He
handed her the half-sheet of paper when he had dried the writing and
had looked over it carefully.
'Poor little thing!' he said in a tone of pity. 'If you ever find him
he'll eat you.'
[Illustration: "'You want my blessing, do you, Miss Barrack?'"]
Barak again showed signs of great emotion when she put the address
into an inside pocket of her man's coat, but it was not of the same
kind as before. She took Van Torp's big hand in both her own, and,
bending down, she laid it on her head, meaning that he might
dispose of her life ever afterwards. But he did not understand.
'You want my blessing, do you, Miss Barrack? Some people don't think
Brassy Van Torp's blessing worth much, young lady, but you're welcome
to it, such as it is.'
He patted her thick hair and smiled as she looked up, and her eyes
were dewy with tears.
'That's all right, my dear,' he said. 'Don't cry!'
She smiled too, because his tone was kind, and, standing up, she took
out her little leathern bag again quickly, emptied the twists of paper
into her hand, selected one by touch, and slipped the rest back. She
unwrapped a large stone and held it up to the light, turning it a
little as she did so. Van Torp watched her with curiosity, and with an
amused suspicion that she had perhaps played the whole scene in order
to mollify him and induce him to buy something. So many people had
played much more elaborate tricks in the hope of getting money from
him, and the stones might be imitations after all, in spite of
Logotheti's pencilled line of recommendation.
But Barak's next action took Van Torp by surprise. To his amazement,
she pressed the ruby lightly to her heart, then to her lips, and last
of all to her forehead, and before he knew what she was doing she had
placed it in his right hand and closed his fingers upon it. It was a
thank-offering.
'Nonsense!' objected the millionaire, smiling, but holding out the
stone to her. 'It's very sweet of you, but you don't mean it, and I
don't take presents like that. Why, it's worth a thousand pounds in
Bond Street any day!'
But she put her hands behind her back and shook her head, to show that
she would not take it back. Then with her empty hand she again touched
her heart, her lips, and forehead, and turned towards the door.
'Here, stop!' said Mr. Van Torp, going after her. 'I can't take this
thing! See here, I say! Put it back into your pocket!'
She turned and met him, and made a gesture of protest and entreaty, as
if earnestly begging him to keep the gem. He looked at her keenly, and
he was a judge of humanity, and saw that she was hurt by his refusal.
As a last resource, he took out his pocket-book and showed her a
quantity of folded bank-notes.
'Well,' he said, 'since you insist, Miss Barrack, I'll buy the stone
of you, but I'll be everlastingly jiggered if I'll take it for
nothing.'
Barak's eyes suddenly flashed in a most surprising way, her lower lip
pouted, and her cheek faintly changed colour, as a drop of scarlet
pomegranate juice will tinge a bowl of cream.
She made one step forwards, plucked the stone from his fingers, rather
than took it, and with a quick, but girlishly awkward movement, threw
it towards the window as hard as she could, stamping angrily with her
little foot at the same moment. Mr. Van Torp was extremely
disconcerted, as he sometimes was by the sudden actions of the sex he
did not understand. Fortunately the stone hit the wall instead of
going out of the window.
'I'm really very sorry, Miss Barrack,' he said in a tone of humble
apology, and he went quickly and picked up the gem. 'I hadn't quite
understood, you see.'
She watched him, and drew back instinctively towards the door, as if
expecting that he would again try to give it back to her. But he shook
his head now, bowed with all the grace he could affect, which was
little, and by way of making her feel that he accepted the gift, he
pressed it to his heart, as she had done, and to his lips, but not to
his forehead, because he was afraid that might cause some new mistake,
as he did not know what the gesture meant.
Barak's face changed instantly; she smiled, nodded, and waved her hand
to him, to say that it was all right, and that she was quite
satisfied. Then she made a sort of salute that he thought very
graceful indeed, as if she were taking something from near the floor
and laying it on her forehead, and she laughed softly and was out of
the room and had shut the door before he could call her back again.
He stood still in the middle of the room, looking at the gem in his
hand with an expression of grave doubt.
'Well,' he said to himself, and his lips formed the words, though no
sound articulated them, 'that's a queer sort of a morning's work,
anyway.'
He reflected that the very last thing he had ever expected was a
present of a fine ruby from a pretty heathen girl in man's clothes,
recommended to him by Logotheti. Though he almost laughed at the
thought when it occurred to him, he did not like the idea of keeping
the stone; yet he did not know what to do with it, for it was more
than probable that he was never to see Barak again, and if he ever
did, it was at least likely that she would refuse to take back her
gift, and as energetically as on the first occasion.
At that moment it occurred to him that he might sell it to a dealer
and give the proceeds to Lady Maud for her good work. His
recollections of Sunday School were very misty, poor man, but a story
came back to him about some one who had observed that something
valuable might have been sold and the money given to the poor. If he
had remembered the rest, and especially that the person who made the
suggestion had been Judas Iscariot, he would certainly have hesitated,
for he would have been sure that there was something wrong with any
advice that came from that quarter. But, happily for the poor, the
name of Judas had dropped out of his memory in connexion with the
incident.
'At least it will do some good to somebody, and I shall not be keeping
what I've no right to.'
A mere acquaintance, judging him by his hard face and his
extraordinary financial past, would not have believed that such a
simple and highly moral reflexion could occur to him. But Lady Maud,
who knew him, would have given him credit for this and much more, even
though she felt that he had lately tempted her to do something which
her father would call dishonourable, and that the temptation had not
yet quite taken itself off to the bottomless pit, where temptations
are kept in pickle by the devil's housekeeper.
Mr. Van Torp took his hat and gloves, but as he was really a good
American, he had no stick to take; and he went out without even
telling Stemp that he was going. In spite of what Londoners were
calling the heat, he walked, and did not even feel warm; for in the
first place he had lately come from Washington and New York, where a
Hottentot would be very uncomfortable in July, and, moreover, he had
never been at all sensitive to heat or cold, and lived as soberly as
an Arab in the desert. Therefore London seemed as pleasantly cool to
him with the thermometer at eighty as it seems to a newly landed
Anglo-Indian who has lately seen the mercury at a hundred and
thirty-five on the shady side of the verandah.
He walked up at a leisurely pace from his hotel by the river to
Piccadilly and Bond Street, and he entered a jeweller's shop of modest
appearance but ancient reputation, which had been in the same place
for nearly a century, and had previously been on the other side of the
street.
Outside, two well-dressed men were looking at the things in the
window; within, a broad-shouldered, smart-looking man with black hair
and dressed in perfectly new blue serge was sitting by the counter
with his back to the door, talking with the old jeweller himself. He
turned on the chair when he heard the newcomer's step, and Mr. Van
Torp found himself face to face with Konstantin Logotheti, whom he had
supposed to be in Paris.
'Well,' he said, without betraying the surprise he felt, 'this is
what I call a very pleasant accident, Mr. Logotheti.'
The Greek rose and shook hands, and the American did not fail to
observe on the counter a small piece of tissue paper on which lay an
uncut stone, much larger than the one he had in his pocket.
'If you are in any hurry,' said Logotheti politely, 'I don't mind
waiting in the least. Mr. Pinney and I are in the midst of a
discussion that may never end, and I believe neither of us has
anything in the world to do.'
Mr. Pinney smiled benignly and put in a word in the mercantile plural,
which differs from that of royalty in being used every day.
'The truth is, we are not very busy just at this time of the year,' he
said.
'That's very kind of you, Mr. Logotheti,' said Van Torp, answering the
latter, 'but I'm not really in a hurry, thank you.'
The stress he laid on the word 'really' might have led one to the
conclusion that he was pretending to be, but was not. He sat down
deliberately at a little distance, took off his hat, and looked at the
gem on the counter.
'I don't know anything about such things, of course,' he said in a
tone of reflexion, 'but I should think that was quite a nice ruby.'
Again Mr. Pinney smiled benignly, for Mr. Van Torp had dealt with him
for years.
'It's a very fine stone indeed, sir,' he said, and then turned to
Logotheti again. 'I think we can undertake to cut it for you in
London,' he said. 'I will weigh it and give you a careful estimate.'
As a matter of fact, before Van Torp entered, Logotheti had got so far
as the question of setting the gem for a lady's ring, but Mr. Pinney,
like all the great jewellers, was as discreet and tactful as a
professional diplomatist. How could he be sure that one customer might
like another to know about a ring ordered for a lady? If Logotheti
preferred secrecy, he would only have to assent and go away, as if
leaving the ruby to be cut, and he could look in again when it was
convenient; and this was what he at once decided to do.
'I think you're right, Mr. Pinney,' he said. 'I shall leave it in your
hands. That's really all,' he added, turning to Mr. Van Torp.
'Really? My business won't take long either, and we'll go together, if
you like, and have a little chat. I only came to get another of those
extra large collar-studs you make for me, Mr. Pinney. Have you got
another?'
'We always keep them in stock for your convenience, sir,' answered the
famous jeweller, opening a special little drawer behind the counter
and producing a very small morocco case.
Mr. Van Torp did not even open it, and had already laid down the
money, for he knew precisely what it cost.
'Thanks,' he said. 'You're always so obliging about little things, Mr.
Pinney.'
'Thank you, sir. We do our best. Good-morning, sir, good morning.'
The two millionaires went out together. Two well-dressed men stood
aside to let them pass and then entered the shop.
'Which way?' asked Logotheti.
'Your way,' answered the American. 'I've nothing to do.'
'Nor have I,' laughed the Greek. 'Nothing in the world! What can
anybody find to do in London at this time of year?'
I'm sure I don't know,' echoed Van Torp, pleasantly. 'I supposed you
were on the Continent somewhere.'
'And I thought you were in America, and so, of course, we meet at old
Pinney's in London!'
'Really! Did you think I was in America? Your friend, the heathen girl
in boy's clothes, brought me your card this morning. I supposed you
knew I was here.'
'No, but I thought you might be, within six months, and I gave her
several cards for people I know. So she found you out! She's a born
ferret--she would find anything. Did you buy anything of her?'
'No. I'm not buying rubies to-day. Much obliged for sending her, all
the same. You take an interest in her, I suppose, Mr. Logotheti? Is
that so?'
'I?' Logotheti laughed a little. 'No, indeed! Those days were over
long ago. I'm engaged to be married.'
'By the bye, yes. I'd heard that, and I meant to congratulate you. I
do now, anyway. When is it to be? Settled that yet?'
'Some time in October, I think. So you guessed that Barak is a girl.'
'Yes, that's right. I guessed she was. Do you know anything about
her?'
'What she told me. But it may not be true.'
'Told you? Do you mean to say you understand her language?'
'Oh, yes. Tartar is spoken all over the East, you know. It's only a
sort of simplified Turkish, and I picked it up in the Crimea and the
Caucasus when I was travelling there some years ago. She comes from
some place in Central Asia within a possible distance of Samarkand and
the Transcaucasian railway, for that was the way she ultimately got to
the Caspian and to Tiflis, and then to Constantinople and Paris. How a
mere girl, brought up in a Tartar village, could have made such a
journey safely, carrying a small fortune with her in precious stones,
is something nobody can understand who has not lived in the East,
where anything is possible. A woman is practically sacred in a
Mohammedan country. Any man who molests her stands a good chance of
being torn to ribands by the other men.'
'It used to be something like that in the West, when I punched
cattle,' observed Mr. Van Torp, quietly. 'A man who interfered with a
lady there was liable to get into trouble. Progress works both ways,
up and down, doesn't it? Bears at one end and rots at the other. Isn't
that so?'
'It's just as true of civilisation,' answered the Greek.
'They're the same thing, I should say,' objected Mr. Van Torp.
'Oh, not quite, I think!'
Logotheti smiled at his own thoughts. To his thinking, civilisation
meant an epigram of Meleager, or Simonides' epitaph on the Spartans
who fell at Thermopylæ, or a Tragedy of Sophocles, or the Aphrodite of
Syracuse, or the Victory of the Louvre. Progress meant railways, the
Paris Bourse, the Nickel Trust, and Mr. Van Torp.
'Well,' said the latter, 'you were telling me about Miss Barrack.'
'Is that what you call her?' Logotheti laughed lightly.
He seemed to be in very good humour. Men often are, just before
marriage; and sometimes, it is said, when they are on the eve of great
misfortunes which they cannot possibly foresee. Fate loves unexpected
contrasts. Logotheti told his companion the story of the ruby mine,
substantially as it was narrated at the beginning of this tale, not
dreaming that Van Torp had perhaps met and talked with the man who had
played so large a part in it, and to find whom Baraka had traversed
many dangers and overcome many difficulties.
'It sounds like the _Arabian Nights_,' said Mr. Van Torp, as if he
found it hard to believe.
'Exactly,' assented Logotheti. 'And, oddly enough, the first of these
stories is about Samarkand, which is not so very far from Baraka's
native village. It seems to have taken the girl about a year to find
her way to Constantinople, and when she got there she naturally
supposed that it was the capital of the world, and that her man, being
very great and very rich, thanks to her, must of course live there. So
she searched Stamboul and Pera for him, during seven or eight months.
She lived in the house of a good old Persian merchant, under the
protection of his wife, and learned that there was a world called
Europe where her man might be living, and cities called Paris and
London, where people pay fabulous prices for precious stones. Persian
merchants are generally well-educated men, you know. At last she made
up her mind to dress like a man, she picked up an honest Turkish
man-servant who had been all over Europe with a diplomatist and could
speak some French and English as well as Tartar, she got a letter of
recommendation to me from a Greek banker, through the Persian who did
business with him, joined some Greeks who were coming to Marseilles by
sea, and here she is. Now you know as much as I do. She is perfectly
fearless, and as much more sure of herself than any man ever was, as
some young women can be in this queer world. Of course, she'll never
find the brute who thought he was leaving her to be murdered by her
relations, but if she ever did, she would either marry him or cut his
throat.'
'Nice, amiable kind of girl,' remarked Mr. Van Torp, who remembered
her behaviour when he had refused her proffered gift. 'That's very
interesting, Mr. Logotheti. How long do you count on being in London
this time? Three or four days, maybe?'
'I daresay. No longer, I fancy.'
'Why don't you come and take dinner with me some night?' asked the
American. 'Day after to-morrow, perhaps. I'd be pleased to have you.'
'Thank you very much,' Logotheti answered. 'Since you ask me, I see no
reason why I should not dine with you, if you want me.'
They agreed upon the place and hour, and each suddenly remembered an
engagement.
'By the way,' said Mr. Van Torp without apparent interest, 'I hope
Madame Cordova is quite well? Where's she hiding from you?'
'Just now the hiding-place is Bayreuth. She's gone there with Mrs.
Rushmore to hear _Parsifal_. I believe I'm not musical enough for
that, so I'm roving till it's over. That's my personal history at this
moment! And Miss Donne is quite well, I believe, thank you.'
'I notice you call her "Miss Donne" when you speak of her,' said Van
Torp. 'Excuse me if I made a mistake just now. I've always called her
Madame Cordova.'
'It doesn't matter at all,' answered Logotheti carelessly, 'but I
believe she prefers to be called by her own name amongst friends.
Good-bye till day after to-morrow, then.'
'At half after eight.'
'All right--half-past--I shall remember.'
But at two o'clock, on the next day but one, Logotheti received a
note, brought by hand, in which Mr. Van Torp said that to his very
great regret he had been called away suddenly, and hoped that
Logotheti would forgive him, as the matter was of such urgent
importance that he would have already left London when the note was
received.
This was more than true, if possible, for the writer had left town two
days earlier, very soon after he had parted from Logotheti in Pall
Mall, although the note had not been delivered till forty-eight hours
later.