At the same moment as Simon Lock spoke a window opened in the upper
story of Queen’s Farm, and Raphael Craig showed his head. Raphael Craig
was fully dressed, and his face had the freshness of morning. Richard
looked apprehensively from one to the other of these old men and old
enemies, expecting from either or both an outburst of wrath--such a
terrible outburst as twenty years might have prepared; but nothing of
the kind happened.
‘Good-morning, Mr. Lock,’ said Raphael Craig blandly.
Simon Lock, equally with Richard, was astonished by the mildness of this
greeting.
‘Good-day to you,’ said Simon Lock. ‘You do not seem surprised to see
me,’ he added.
‘Not in the least,’ said Craig. ‘On the contrary, I was expecting you.’
Simon Lock started.
‘Ah!’ was all he said.
‘Excuse me one instant,’ said Craig. ‘I will be down immediately to
welcome you to my house. You will, I trust, take breakfast with us. And
you, too, Redgrave, will breakfast with us. Let me beg you not to run
away as you did yesterday morning.’
The bank manager had positively turned courtier!
On his way down he intercepted Mrs. Bridget between the dining-room and
the kitchen, and told her to have breakfast ready for five within half
an hour.
‘But----’ began Mrs. Bridget, raising her bony hands.
‘For five,’ repeated Raphael Craig, ‘in half an hour.’
Then he went forward, and invited Simon Lock to enter, and led him to
the drawing-room, and Richard also. His attitude towards his guests,
though a shade formal, was irreproachably hospitable. Anyone could see
that Simon Lock felt himself at a disadvantage. The great and desperate
financier had anticipated a reception utterly different; this suavity
and benignity did not fit in with the plan of campaign which he had
schemed out, and he was nonplussed.
Once he did manage to put in:
‘I called to see you, Craig----’
‘After breakfast, I pray----’ the other cut him short.
A gong rang. Raphael Craig rose and opened the drawing-room door, and
the three men passed into the dining-room. Coffee, bacon, and eggs were
on the table. The two girls--Teresa in a light summer frock and Juana
still in her dark habit--stood by the mantelpiece. They were evidently
in a state of great curiosity as to the stranger, the rumour of
whose advent had reached them through Mrs. Bridget. Juana was, beyond
question, perturbed. The fact was that at Teresa’s instigation she had
meant that morning to approach her father amicably, and was fearful of
the upshot. Raphael Craig, however, cut short her suspense. He kissed
both girls on the forehead, and then said:
‘Mr. Lock, let me introduce my daughter Juana, my daughter Teresa. My
dears, this is Mr. Simon Lock, who has run down to see me on a matter of
business, and will do us the honour of breakfasting with us.’
The meal, despite the ordinariness of its service, had the deadly
and tremendous formality of a state dinner at Buckingham Palace.
Conversation, led judicially by the host himself, was kept up without
a break, but Simon Lock distinctly proved that the social arts were not
his forte. The girls talked timidly, like school misses on their best
behaviour, while Richard’s pose and Richard’s words were governed by
more than his characteristic caution. Only Raphael Craig seemed at ease,
and the old man appeared to take a ferocious but restrained delight
in the unnatural atmosphere which he had created. It was as if he saw
written on every face the expectation of some dreadful sequel, and
rejoiced in those signs of fear and dread. His eyes said: ‘Yes, I can
see that you are all desperately uncomfortable. It is well. You are
afraid of something happening, and you shall not be disappointed.’
‘Now, girls,’ he said lightly, after the meal was finished, ‘go and
amuse yourselves, and don’t forget your poor patient upstairs.’
‘You have someone ill in the house?’ Simon Lock ventured.
‘Yes,’ said Craig; ‘a fool of a Scotland Yard detective who got himself
into trouble up here by ferreting about.’
Simon Lock turned pale.
‘He was nearly killed,’ Raphael Craig went on. ‘We are nursing him back
to life,’ The old man laughed. ‘And now for our business,’ he said, and
turned to Richard. ‘I will see Mr. Lock in the drawing-room, and I shall
ask you, Mr. Redgrave, to be present at our interview.’
‘Is that necessary?’ asked Simon Lock pompously.
‘I have omitted to tell you,’ said Raphael Craig, ‘that Mr. Richard
Redgrave is my prospective son-in-law, engaged to my daughter Teresa. I
have no secrets from him.’
Simon Lock bowed. They returned to the drawing-room, and at a sign from
Raphael Craig Richard closed the door.
‘Now, Mr. Lock,’ said Raphael Craig when they were seated, ‘what can I
do for you?’
‘You said from your bedroom window that you were expecting me,’ Simon
Lock replied. ‘Therefore you are probably aware of the nature of my
business, since I have given you no warning of my arrival.’
Mr. Lock’s face disclosed the fact that he had summoned all his
faculties--and he was a man of many faculties--to the task that lay
before him. Various things had irked and annoyed him that morning, but
in order to retain the mien of diplomacy he was compelled to seem to
ignore them. There could be no doubt, for example, that he bitterly
resented the presence of Richard at this interview, but what could he do
save swallow the affront? The whole situation was a humiliating one for
Simon Lock, who was much more accustomed to dictate terms than to have
terms dictated to him. Still, it was to his credit as a man of nerve
and a man of resource that he was able to adapt himself to unusual
circumstances. He had a triple feat to perform--to keep his dignity, to
be diplomatic, and to be firm. He had come with a precise end in view,
and he was willing to sacrifice everything to that end. Behold him,
therefore, in the drawing-room at Queen’s Farm--him, the demi-god of
the City, trying to show a pleasant and yet a formidable face under
extraordinary trials.
‘It is true,’ said Raphael Craig, ‘that I expected you. But it was my
instinct more than anything else that led me to expect you. You come, I
presume, about the shares of La Princesse Mine.’
‘Exactly,’ said Simon Lock.
‘You have contracted to sell more of these shares than you can supply,
and the price has risen?’
‘Exactly,’ said Simon Lock, smiling cautiously.
Raphael Craig was, so far, courtesy itself.
‘And you wish to get the bargain cancelled?’
‘I am prepared to pay for the accommodation.’
‘And to get the bargain cancelled,’ Craig pursued, ‘you come to me.’
‘I come to you,’ repeated Simon Lock.
‘Yet you could have no direct knowledge that I had any influence over
these shares.’
‘No direct knowledge,’ said Lock; ‘but an indirect knowledge. Perhaps,’
he added, in a peculiar tone, ‘I know more than you guess.’
‘As for example?’
‘Perhaps I could answer the question, which certainly demands an answer,
how you, a mere manager of a branch of our bank, in receipt of a not
excessive salary, found the money to become a power on the Westralian
market. As the chairman of the directors of the bank I have, I think,
Mr. Craig, the right to put that question.’
‘You have first to prove that I indeed am a power on the Westralian
market.’
‘The proof of that is in the mere fact that I--I--am here at the present
moment.’
Raphael Craig smiled.
‘You are correct,’ he said. ‘That fact is a proof in itself. I admit
that I am a power. To save unnecessary words, I frankly admit that I
hold La Princesse Mine in the hollow of my hand. You have come to the
proper person, Mr. Lock. We meet at last. And am I to understand that
one object of your visit here is to discover how I became possessed of
the means which a manipulator of markets must possess?’
‘I confess I should like to know from your own lips.’
‘Well, Mr. Lock, I shall not tell you. It is no business of yours. The
sole fact that concerns you is that I am in a position to control this
particular market, not how I arrived at that position.’
Raphael Craig’s tone had suddenly become inimical, provocative, almost
insolent.
Simon Lock coughed. The moment had come. He said:
‘On the night before his decease the late Mr. Featherstone, whose death
we all lament, wrote out a sort of confession----’
‘You are mistaken,’ said Raphael Craig, with absolute imperturbability;
‘it was on the last night but one before his death. After writing it
out, he changed his mind about killing himself instantly. He came up
here to see me instead. He told me he had put everything on paper. He
made an urgent request, a very urgent request, to me to reconsider a
certain decision of mine. I declined to reconsider it. On the other
hand, I thoughtfully offered him a bed. He accepted it, left the next
morning, and killed himself. I merely mention these circumstances for
the sake of historical exactitude. I suppose you have somehow got hold
of Featherstone’s document.’
At this point Richard rose and walked to the window. The frosty
coldness, the cynical carelessness, of Raphael Craig’s manner made him
feel almost ill. He was amazed at this revelation of the depth of the
old man’s purpose to achieve his design at no matter what cost.
‘I have got hold of it--somehow,’ said Simon Lock. ‘You may judge what
I think of its value when I tell you that I paid ten thousand pounds for
it.’
‘Hum!’ murmured Craig. ‘What surprises me is that the police did not get
hold of it long ago. They must be very careless searchers. My opinion of
Scotland Yard is going down rapidly.’ He paused, and then continued:
‘It was indiscreet of you, Mr. Lock, to pay ten thousand pounds for that
document. It is quite useless to you.’
‘I fear you cannot be aware what is in it,’ said Simon Lock. ‘It is
indisputable evidence that during many years past you have been in the
habit of coining large quantities of silver money.’
‘What of that?’
‘It means penal servitude for you, Mr. Craig, if I give it up to the
police. But I trust you will not compel me to such an extreme course.’
‘How can I persuade you to have mercy on me?’ laughed Raphael Craig.
The other evidently did not appreciate the full extent of the old man’s
sarcasm.
‘It will not be difficult,’ said Simon Lock, ‘provided you are
reasonable. I will tell you without any circumlocution what my terms
are.’ Simon was feeling firm ground under feet at last, as he thought.
‘What my terms are.’ He repeated the phrase, which seemed to give him
satisfaction. ‘You must instruct your agents to agree to a cancellation
of the contracts to sell La Princesse shares. They must let go.’
‘As those contracts stand, Mr. Lock, how much do you reckon you would
lose on them?’
‘I cannot say,’ said Lock stiffly.
‘I will tell you,’ said Raphael Craig. ‘You would lose something between
two and a half and three millions of money. What you ask is that I
should make you a present of this trifling sum.’
‘In return I will give you Featherstone’s document.’
‘Nothing else? Nothing in solid cash?’
Simon Lock reflected.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I will give you a hundred thousand in cash.’
‘Make it a quarter of a million,’ Raphael Craig affected to plead.
‘I will make it a quarter of a million,’ said Simon Lock, ‘though I
am condoning a felony. I will give you the document and a quarter of
a million in exchange for a cancellation of all the La Princesse
contracts. That is a clear and business-like offer.’
‘It is,’ said Craig. ‘And I refuse it.’
‘You want more? I decline to give it.’
‘I don’t want more. If you offered me ten millions I wouldn’t accept
it.’
‘You prefer to go to prison? You prefer that I should give the document
to the police?’
‘I care not,’ said Craig. ‘I shall be perfectly content to end my days
in prison. I have ruined you, Simon Lock.’ He jumped up, and almost
shouted, ‘I have ruined you, Simon Lock, and I can die happy--whether
in prison or out of it makes no matter. In four days hence the contracts
must be fulfilled--you must deliver the shares, or you are a ruined man.
And you cannot deliver the shares. I have seen to that. Let happen what
may, the contracts are in safe hands. You will have noticed that my name
does not appear on them, and you are ruined. You are ruined, Simon, you
are ruined--unless I choose to be merciful.’
He spoke the last words in low, deliberate tones, quite different from
the rest of the speech, and this change evidently puzzled Simon Lock,
who was now undecided whether still to maintain a peaceful attitude or
to threaten and bluster.
Raphael Craig went on, looking at Richard: ‘These great financiers,
Redgrave--you see they are not so great after all. The genius of
Simon Lock in juggling with other people’s money is supposed to be
transcendent, yet how easily I have juggled with his! It is not more
than three months ago that I first saw my opportunity of working on
a big scale. I obtained information about the probable tactics of
the people in charge of Princesse shares, and I took my measures
accordingly. By the way, it is surprising the number of people in the
City who were delighted to assist me in ruining Simon Lock. The most
staid persons seemed to take a fiendish glee in it.’
Simon Lock smiled rather grimly, and Raphael Craig pursued his way:
‘I knew that the great Lock group were selling Princesse shares for the
fall. It was very silly of them, though, to sell more than they could
deliver, especially as there doesn’t happen to have been a fall.’
‘I am sure,’ said Simon Lock, ‘that you won’t mind telling me who
disclosed the nature of our operations in the matter of the Princesse
shares.’
‘With the greatest pleasure in the world,’ said Raphael Craig. ‘It was
one of your own intimate gang--your private secretary, Oakley. I bought
him, body and soul, for a thousand pounds.’
‘And he sold you to me for ten thousand,’ murmured Simon Lock, half to
himself. ‘I am well rid of him. And now’--he turned to Craig, and put
some firmness into his voice--do, please, come to some arrangement.’
‘Arrangement!’ exclaimed Raphael. ‘A good joke! Certainly we will come
to some arrangement. But first I must tell Redgrave, who has the right
to know, the history of the girl he is about to marry. I will tell him
in your presence, and when I make any error of fact you can correct me.
Many years ago, Richard, I was engaged to a beautiful girl, a native of
Limerick. She was an orphan, and had lived with friends until she became
a school-teacher, when she lived by herself. She had some aristocratic
Spanish blood in her veins through her mother’s father, who had married
her grand-mother in Buenos Ayres. I met her in Limerick when I was a
clerk in the bank there. I fell in love with her. I asked her to be my
wife, and she consented. We were to be married as soon as my salary
had sufficiently increased. I then had an offer of a situation in the
British and Scottish, just starting on its successful career, and I
removed to London. We arranged that I should save every possible penny,
and that we should get married in about two years’ time. It was
from motives of economy that I allowed a whole year to pass without
revisiting Limerick. I continually received letters from my fiancee, and
though their tone was never excessively warm, it was always tender, and
it satisfied me. As for me, I was passionately in love. I had never seen
such an adorable creature as my betrothed--her name was Juana--and I
have never since seen her equal. For me she was, and always will be,
the world’s jewel.... Well, a change came over the scene. I noticed
something in her letters--something which I could not define. Then,
after an interval of silence, came a letter saying she could not marry
me. I got leave of absence--not without a great deal of difficulty--and
hastened over to Limerick. Juana had left Limerick. I found her at
length in a remote mountain village, and I drew from her her story. It
was a shocking one. A man--a stranger from London--who must have been a
highly plausible person in those days, whatever he is now--had dazzled
her by his professions of admiration and love. He was a rich man even
then, and he made her a brilliant offer of marriage. The poor girl was
carried off her feet. Unduly urged, and her mind poisoned by his lies
concerning myself, her faith in me shaken by the stoppage for some weeks
of my letters, she consented to marry this man. She married him. They
lived together for a brief period. And all this time she had not courage
to write and confess to me the truth. Then the man left her, and coolly
informed her that the marriage was a bogus marriage from beginning to
end--that he was, in fact, already married. He said he wished to have
nothing more to do with her, and gave her a bank-note for a thousand
pounds to solace her wounded feelings, which bank-note she flung into
the fire. You may ask why this man was not prosecuted for bigamy. I will
tell you. The matter was kept quiet in order to spare the feelings of
my poor deluded Juana. Think what the trial would have meant to her. I
myself arranged with the priest and one or two other officials that
the whole thing should be buried in oblivion. I had reserved my own
punishment for the villain who thus escaped the law. To proceed, Juana
had two children--twins. They were named Juana and Teresa. Shortly after
their birth their mother died. But before she died--on her death-bed--I
married her. I had begged to do so before, but she had declined. I swore
to her that I would regard Juana and Teresa as my own children, but of
my intended vengeance against her murderer I said nothing. Hers was
a gentle heart, and she might have put me on my oath to abandon that
vengeance. From the day of her death I lived for nothing save the
punishment of a villain. It was my one thought. I subordinated
everything to it. It made my temper uncertain; it involved me in endless
difficulties; it estranged me from my dear one’s elder daughter, and
often I felt that I was harsh to Teresa, my favourite and the last-born.
But I could not do otherwise. I was a monomaniac. I dreamt only of the
moment when I should see my enemy at my feet, begging for mercy. That
moment has come. He is here. Watch him. He could only be wounded in one
place--his pocket. His pocket is the heel of this noble Achilles, and it
is his pocket that my sword has pierced.’
With outstretched finger Raphael Craig pointed with passionate scorn at
the figure of Simon Lock.
‘Beg for my mercy,’ Craig commanded.,
And to Richard’s amazement Simon Lock answered:
‘I entreat your mercy, Craig.’
‘That is well. I am satisfied,’ said Craig.
‘They say that revenge turns to ashes in the mouth. I don’t think it
does.’
‘Mr. Craig,’ said Lock suavely to Richard, ‘has given a highly-coloured
account of a somewhat ordinary affair. But to appease him I do certainly
ask his mercy. I do admit that he has the upper hand.’
‘And I will see you eternally damned, Simon Lock,’ said Raphael Craig,
‘before I grant you an ounce of mercy! There is no mercy for such as
you, who are never merciful yourselves. I only wanted to hear you beg,
that was all. I hadn’t the slightest intention of letting you off.’
Simon Lock got up.
‘It is as well,’ he said, ‘that this farce should end. In asking
your mercy I was only using a form of words in order to pacify you. I
recognised that you were suffering, as you yourself have admitted, from
a sort of mania, and I took what I thought was the easiest course with
you. As to the past, we will not go into that. Your version of it is
ridiculously overstated. I shall now leave. In twenty-four hours you
will be in prison. You say that the fact of your being in prison will
not affect the Princesse contracts. I think it will. I think that when
I inform the Stock Exchange Committee that the real mover of those
contracts is awaiting his trial as a coiner, the Committee will do
something drastic. I might have told you this before, but I wished,
if possible, to arrive at an amicable settlement. In offering you two
hundred and fifty thousand pounds I fancy I was meeting you more
than half-way. Good-day, Mr. Craig; good-day, Mr. Redgrave. And, Mr.
Redgrave, have a care how you mix yourself up with this Craig, and,
above all, do not take for gospel everything that he says as to my past
history.’
Simon Lock made his exit from the room with immense dignity.
‘He is bluffing,’ said Raphael Craig. ‘He is at the end of his tether,
and he knows it; but he has bluffed it out very well. The old man smiled
happily. ‘You are still prepared to marry Teresa?’ he asked.
Richard took Mr. Craig’s hand.