A BARGAIN
There was no Sunday delivery of letters, and one Monday morning
Williamson sat rather anxiously watching the road outside a small
country house beside the Tweed. One of the tall gateposts at the end
of the drive had sunk to a slant and the gravel had not been rolled or
raked for some time. The borders round the lawn hinted at economy in
bedding out and gardener's hire, and the old house had a dilapidated
look. These things were significant and explained why Williamson had
been received there as a paying guest, with the privilege of some
rough shooting and salmon-fishing.
He could have found cheaper quarters, but the place suited him. For
one thing, his residence there gave him a certain standing in the
country, and his host, a decayed Scottish gentleman, was getting old
and left him alone. He could go and come as he liked without exciting
remark, and the people he met were well bred and not imaginative.
Since he had been received by his host, they took it for granted that
he was a man one could be friendly with.
The postman at last dismounted from his bicycle at the gate. It is
customary in that neighborhood to meet the post, but Williamson sat
still, as if he did not expect any letters. The man gave him three
before he went on to the house, and Williamson put them down and
carelessly lighted his pipe. He had learned to exercise caution in
such details, though he felt disturbed as he recognized the writing.
The first curtly reminded him that payment for the hire of a motor car
was two months overdue. The second enclosed a statement of a
fashionable tailor's account, which included an expensive fur coat;
but there was no difference in the hand. Williamson knew it well;
indeed, he had two or three similar demands in his pocket. Each ended
with an intimation that unless payment were made within a specified
time, proceedings would be taken to enforce it.
Williamson put down the notes and vacantly looked about. Not far away,
the Tweed, sparkling in the sunshine, ran through a wooded hollow
where beeches gleamed ruddy-brown among somber firs. Two men with guns
upon their shoulders were crossing the steep stubble that glittered
with melting hoar frost on the breast of a neighboring hill, and a
keeper with a couple of setters stood at the gate. Williamson was to
have gone shooting with his host; but now he must excuse himself, for
he had something of importance to think about.
His expenses were heavy, for it was important that he should pass for
a sporting man of means, and he was a good shot and skilful with the
salmon rod. As a rule, he had money enough for his needs, but his
supplies had been irregular since the war began, and as he had
luxurious tastes his debts had mounted up. Of late, his creditors had
grown impatient, but it was curious they should all have asked the
same lawyer to enforce their claims. This could not have happened by
coincidence. It looked as if somebody, who must have taken a good
deal of trouble to investigate his affairs, meant to put some pressure
on him. This was alarming, for several reasons; and as he could not
pay his debts in the time allowed, he determined to call upon the
lawyer and see what he could find out.
There was, however, another matter that demanded attention, and as he
took up a letter with the Newcastle postmark the Tweed drew his eyes
again. It reminded him of a wider river with older associations; a
river where terraced vineyards rose steeply from the waterside,
instead of the rounded Scottish hills, and barges slowly floating past
ancient towns. His expression changed and grew resolute as he thought
of it.
Opening the envelope he found, as he expected, a short note folded
round a letter. The note said that he would, no doubt, like to hear
how Jack was getting on in Holland, and ended with a few references to
mutual acquaintances. The letter was of some length, and narrated in
gossiping style its writer's business journey to several Dutch towns.
Williamson, however, knew that there was more in it than met the eye,
and he went to excuse himself from joining the shooting party. After
this, he spent some time studying the letter in his room, and when he
had burned it he went at once to the station.
Leaving the train at an old country town, he called at the lawyer's
office and was received by a suave elderly gentleman.
"It was my unpleasant duty to send you these notices," the lawyer said
with an apologetic air. "I appreciate your prompt response, and expect
the little matter will now be put right. You must admit that the
creditors have exercised some patience."
"But don't mean to do so any longer, eh? That is really what I came to
see about."
"Of course you understand that the war has made money tight. My
clients inform me that they find themselves compelled to press for
outstanding accounts and to take a course that in a happier state of
things they would not employ."
"Then I am to understand that these notices will be acted upon?"
"I think you can take that for granted," the lawyer answered in a
deprecatory tone. "However, there is a way in which you can obviate
all trouble to yourself and me--I mean by paying what is due at once."
Williamson looked at him with a grim smile.
"It sounds simple, but there are difficulties. Now, I can pay these
bills, but not in the time mentioned. Have you power to extend it?"
"No; but if you will make me an offer I will consult my clients."
"That would cause some delay. As I want the matter settled, I would
prefer to call upon the man who has brought it to a head. Will you
tell me his name?"
Williamson had hoped to catch the lawyer off his guard, but his amused
expression showed him that he had failed.
"There are several names. You know the people."
"Of course; but suppose you admit that I have some intelligence and
try to look at the matter from my point of view."
"It would be difficult, for the want of practise," the lawyer answered
dryly. "I have no debts."
"Still, if you had several creditors who lived in different places and
simultaneously put their claims into the hands of one particular
lawyer, what would you think?"
"It might be accounted for very simply. I believe I am known as a
businesslike, trustworthy man."
"I don't doubt it; but I suspect another explanation. There is
somebody behind these people who has persuaded them to stop my credit
or has bought up the debts. He must have a reason for this, and if I
could talk it over privately with him, it would simplify things."
"I'm not so sure that follows," said the lawyer. "All I can tell you
is that the bills have been sent to me for collection and unless they
are met I shall reluctantly be forced to--"
"Just so," Williamson interrupted. "At present, I cannot say whether
they will be met or not. I'm afraid we must leave it at that. And now,
good day."
A clerk politely showed him out; and he reached the station in time to
catch an Edinburgh train. There was no one else in the compartment he
entered, and he sat in a corner, thinking hard. Though he had not
learned much he felt that he was right in his surmise. Some one was
trying to put pressure on him through his creditors. His first guess
at his unknown antagonist's object caused him serious alarm; but after
some reflection he dismissed it with relief as improbable and sought
for another explanation.
To begin with, he must first discover the identity of his enemy. His
suspicions centered on Appleyard. Andrew Johnstone was certainly
hostile, on his cousin's account; and it was possible that he had been
helped by Mackellar, whom Williamson had met at Appleyard. He
determined to see Mackellar; but he could not do so until next day,
for a more important matter demanded attention first.
Getting out at the Waverley station, he took a cable tram, and,
leaving it on the outskirts of the city, walked on to Leith. Here at
dusk he met a man dressed like a sailor, and spent an hour with him in
the back room of a public house. When they came out the sailor
disappeared in the darkness and Williamson returned to Edinburgh,
where he dined and slept at a fashionable hotel. The next morning he
went to Glasgow, and left it shortly after his arrival by a train
which took him to Dumfries. It was not without a reason he had
traveled by three different railways. Williamson generally tried to
cover his tracks.
After lunch at the station hotel, he walked down the narrow High
Street and stopped at a garage, to order a motorcycle to be ready in
half an hour. Then, by an indirect route, he went to Mackellar's
offices.
As it happened, Mackellar was then talking to Andrew and Whitney in
his private room, and he smiled as he showed them Williamson's card.
"Maybe ye had better ask Mr. Davies to let ye out by the back," he
said. "If ye call again in half an hour, I may have some news."
"I wonder how Williamson got here?" Andrew said when they reached the
street. "There's no train that connects with the North British."
"Came in a car, perhaps," Whitney suggested. "Somehow, I'd like to
know. Let's try our garage; everybody puts up there."
They went to the garage and Whitney began to make an unnecessary
adjustment to the engine of his side-car.
"I suppose Mr. Williamson comes here when he's in town?" he said to a
man at work near by.
"Yes," the man answered. "He's in town the noo."
"Did Mr. Staffer bring him in his car?"
"She's no' in the yard, and Mr. Williamson's for Castle Douglas." The
man indicated the motorcycle on which he was working. "I'm tightening
her up for the run; no' that she needs it much. Mr. Williamson kens a
good machine and always asks for her."
"Is there anything doing at Castle Douglas to-day?"
"No' that I've heard of. He's for the moors, I'm thinking. There's a
gun-case to be strapped on the carrier; but if ye're wanting to see
him ye must leave word at the office. I'll be away at another job
before he comes in."
"It doesn't matter; we may meet him," Whitney answered carelessly; and
he and Andrew strolled away.
"Well," he said, "we have learned something! It seems Williamson's in
the habit of hiring a motorcycle here. Has he any friends in Galloway
who might give him some shooting?"
"None that I know of," Andrew replied with a puzzled look.
"I guess you noted that he makes a curious choice of a machine. She's
good--I know that make--but I can't see why he picks a single-cylinder
lightweight when they've several full-powered machines on the stand.
Looks as if he expected he'd have to wheel her. What's the Castle
Douglas road like?"
"It's the highway to the west, and we keep our main roads in good
order."
"You certainly do," Whitney agreed. "But I stick to my opinion that
he has some particular reason for choosing a light machine." He
hesitated a moment. "I don't want to butt in, and as the fellow's a
family friend, it's delicate ground; but if you feel you'd like a run
through Galloway--"
"Perhaps we'd better go; but we'll see first what Mackellar has to
say."
They walked down to the bridge foot, to pass the time; and in the
meanwhile Mackellar received Williamson.
"You wished to see me?" he said.
Williamson took out the bills and the lawyer's letters and put them on
Mackellar's desk.
"I wonder whether you know anything about these?"
"I know the gentleman who seems to have charge of the matter. Why do
you ask?"
"Because I prefer to deal with the principal instead of an agent. It
saves time, and one arrives at an understanding easier."
"In this case there's no great difficulty. Ye have only to pay the
bills."
"Precisely," agreed Williamson. "They can be paid--that's worth
noting--but not just yet."
Mackellar understood this as a hint that the power Williamson's debts
gave his antagonist was only temporary.
"In the meantime, ye might be put to some inconvenience," he replied.
"One cannot proceed against a man for debt without publicity, which is
apt to be damaging, and unpleasant to his friends."
"Exactly. That is what I want to avoid."
"And yet ye cannot pay the bills! Weel, ye are doubtless aware that
one gets nothing for nothing, and since ye must ask for some delay,
what could ye offer by way of consideration?"
"To begin with, I should like to hear what the principal, the man who
stands behind my creditors, wants." Williamson paused and added
meaningly: "I think you know."
Mackellar was silent for a few moments.
"I'll no' deny it," he then said. "Would ye be willing to produce the
notes of hand and the long-date bills Dick Johnstone has given ye and
cancel them on payment of the money lent with current interest up to
date? If ye insist, we might allow a little more interest, because ye
took some risk."
"I'd be willing to give up one or two," Williamson answered with some
hesitation.
"But no' the rest, which are no' in your hands?"
"I suppose I must admit that. But what did you mean by saying I took a
risk?"
"We'll talk of that again. Are ye willing to give your word that ye'll
lend Mr. Johnstone no more money, make no fresh bet with him, and no'
help him to negotiate a loan?"
"Is that all?" Williamson asked with a touch of sarcasm.
"I think the matter could be arranged on the terms I have laid down."
On the whole Williamson was conscious of relief. To do as Mackellar
asked would place him in an embarrassing position, but he had been
afraid of something much worse.
"It needs thought," he said.
"Then I will give ye five minutes; but it may help ye to decide if I
explain why ye took a risk. Ye're maybe aware that there's legislation
about a minor's debts."
"Dick Johnstone would not make that excuse for disowning his
obligations."
"I'm no' sure ye would have to deal with him," said Mackellar
meaningly. "Dick has no doubt been borrowing money on promises to pay
when Appleyard is his. Weel, it's no' certain that he'll live until he
gets possession."
"Nor may the lenders, for that matter!"
"Verra true," Mackellar agreed. "For a' that, the chances against
Dick's reaching twenty-one are greater than usual. It seems ye do not
know that two doctors would not pass him for the army."
"On what grounds?" Williamson asked with some sharpness.
"A weak heart that might stop the first time he was over-excited or
over-exerted himself."
Williamson was silent for some moments. He knew Dick was not strong;
but Staffer, who must have known the truth, had not told him how grave
the danger was.
"Still, suppose the worst happened. The new owner would not repudiate
his kinsman's debts."
"Who do ye take the heir to be?"
"Staffer."
Mackellar looked at him with dry amusement.
"Did he tell ye so?"
"No," Williamson said thoughtfully. "I can't remember that he ever did
say that exactly, but I was led to understand from the beginning
that--"
"Appleyard would be his? Weel, perhaps I may tell ye something about
the family's affairs. Dick's father left the house and land to the
lad, with a reversion to the next o' kin, in case he died before
inheriting. Mistress Johnstone got a separate portion and power to
manage the estate for her son's benefit until he came of age, subject
to the approval of the executors. She could appoint a guardian for the
lad, to superintend his education, but she could not alienate a yard
of land. It was not a will that I approved of, but Mr. Johnstone was
very ill when he made it and did not listen to my objections. Maybe he
hardly expected his widow to marry again. Mr. Staffer, who acted as
steward for his wife, now acts for Dick; but there his interest ends."
"Then, in the event of Dick's death, who gets the estate?"
"Andrew Johnstone."
Williamson got a double shock. Staffer, whom he had regarded as the
next heir, had not been straight with him; and he knew that Andrew
would be difficult to deal with. Besides, if Dick did reach twenty-one
Staffer's influence would cease. Mackellar was right: a serious risk
attended the discounting of bills by which Dick raised money for
gambling and similar extravagances. Since Staffer had played him a
shabby trick in leaving him in ignorance, Williamson need not consider
him and could look after his own interests.
"Very well," he said, "I'm ready to give you the promise you want if
we can come to terms."
"Then I'll pay off any notes of Dick's that ye may bring me, with
interest at two per cent. above the bank rate. If this will not enable
ye to satisfy your creditors, I'll engage that they will give ye
another six months."
"It's enough," said Williamson. "But of course you see that when I
have satisfied them your hold on me has gone."
Mackellar smiled.
"Verra true; but I believe I've shown ye that it would be wiser to
leave Dick alone. I'm thinking ye have sense enough to take a hint and
keep your word."
"You'll find that I mean to do so," Williamson replied.
Soon after he went out, Andrew and Whitney returned. Mackellar told
them what Williamson had promised, and added:
"The man might have been dangerous, but we need not fear any further
trouble from him. There are two points worth noting, though I cannot
tell whether they concern us or not. He's anxious to avoid anything
that might damage his credit and make him leave this part of the
country; and he expects some money before long. Can ye account for
this?"
They discussed the matter for a few minutes; and then Andrew and
Whitney hurried back to the garage.
"Our man must be some distance ahead," Whitney said. "We may even lose
him."