HE saw the girl down to her waiting auto, and went back to his rooms
to think. It was curious that at that hour, when the big trouble on his
mind seemed likely to roll away, that his thoughts flew instantly to
Maxell. What would the prim Maxell say, if he knew? He was satisfied
that Maxell would not only disapprove, but would instantly and without
notice sever all connection with the adventurous company promoter.
Maxell would be outraged, appalled. Cartwright smiled at the thought.
He was under no illusion as to his own conduct. He knew he was acting
despicably; but this view he dismissed from his mind as being too
unpleasant for contemplation. Maxell was a prig—a necessary prig, but
none the less priggish. He was necessary, at any rate, to Cartwright.
Anyway, Maxell stood to win if the scheme went through.
Cartwright had reached nearly the end of his financial tether, and his
whole future was bound up in the success or failure of the new
promotion. He had exhausted every bit of his credit in order to take up
the Angera property which he knew was rich in gold, and offered
possibilities which no project of his had offered before.
He had milked his other companies dry, he had played with reserves; all
except his Anglo-Parisian Finance Company, where the directors were too
strong to allow him his own way; and, although Maxell was not aware of
the fact, his “partner” had spent fabulous sums, not only in acquiring
the land itself but in purchasing other gold-mining property in the
region. It was a gamble, and a dangerous gamble. He was risking the
substance of his fortune for the shadow of unlimited wealth.
Yet, was it a risk? he asked himself; with the properties that he could
include in his new North Morocco Gold Mining Association—that was to be
the title of the new company—there could be no doubt as to the result
of the public issue. The British public dearly love a gamble, and a
gold-mining gamble, with all its mysteries and uncertainties, more
dearly than any.
He went to bed late, but was taking his chocolate and roll before a
little café on the boulevard before nine. At half-past nine he was
joined by the girl.
Cartwright had been undecided as to whether he should take his _petit
déjeuner_ outside or inside the café, and had decided, since the morning
was bright and warm, to breakfast under the striped awning in full view
of the street. Such great events hang upon slight issues.
Scarcely had the girl seated herself opposite to him, when a pedestrian,
passing on the other side of the boulevard, halted and stared. Mr.
Ferreira had sharp eyes and a wit not altogether dulled by his
monotonous occupation.
Cartwright produced a bulky package from his pocket and laid it on the
table before the girl.
“Put that in your bag and be careful with it,” he said; “there are three
hundred thousand francs in notes. When the property is transferred to
you, you must bring the transfer along to me.”
“What about your promise?” she asked suspiciously.
“That I will keep,” he said. “Don’t forget that you have the best
guarantee in the possession of the transfer. Legally, it is your
property until it is made over to me.”
She sat looking at the package absently, and presently she said:
“You’ve got to get me out of Paris at once. Otherwise I am due to leave
by the Sud Express—with Brigot.”
He nodded.
“There is a train for Havre at two-fifteen,” he said.
He saw her into her car—another indiscretion since it brought him out
of the shadow which the awning afforded, and gave the observer on the
other side of the road an unmistakable view.
Brigot was waiting for her—a heavy-eyed, weary-looking man, whose hand
shook whenever it rose to stroke his short, pointed beard.
His lawyer watched him curiously as he stepped forward to meet the girl
with hands outstretched. It was not the first time that he had seen his
client overwhelmed by a pretty face.
“Everything is ready, Nanette,” said the eager M. Brigot. (“Nanette” was
the newfound name which Sadie O’Grady employed for this adventure.) “See
here, I have all the documents ready!”
“And I have the money,” smiled the girl as she put the package down on
the table.
“The money!” Señor Brigot waved such sordid matters out of existence
with a magnificent flourish. “What is money?”
“Count it,” said the girl.
“I will do no such thing,” said the other extravagantly. “As a
caballero, it hurts me to discuss money in connection——”
But his lawyer had no sentiment, and had slipped the string from the
package and was now busily counting the thousand-franc notes. When he
had finished, he put them on the desk.
“Can I see you one moment, M. Brigot?” he asked.
Brigot, holding the girl’s hand and devouring her with his eyes, turned
impatiently.
“No, no,” he said. “The document, my friend, the document! Give me a
pen!”
“There is one point in the deed I must discuss,” said the lawyer firmly,
“if mademoiselle will excuse us for a moment——” He opened the door of
his inner office invitingly and with a shrug M. Brigot followed him in.
“I have told you, monsieur,” said the lawyer, “that I do not think your
action is wise. You are surrendering a property for a sum less than a
quarter of what you paid for it to a perfectly unknown woman——”
“M. l’Avocat,” said the other gravely, “you are speaking of a lady who
to me is more precious than life!”
The lawyer concealed a smile.
“I have often spoken to you about ladies who have been more precious to
you than life,” he said dryly, “but in their cases, no transfer of
valuable property was involved. What do you know of this lady?”
“I know nothing except that she is adorable,” said the reckless
Spaniard. “But for the fact that, alas! my wife most obstinately refuses
to die or divorce me, I should be honoured to make madame my wife. As it
is, what a pleasure to give her the land on which to build a beautiful
villa overlooking my gorgeous Tangier—I am moving to Tangier very soon
to look after my other property—and to know that her blessed
presence——”
The lawyer spread out despairing hands.
“Then there is nothing to be done,” he said. “I only tell you that you
are transferring a valuable property to a lady who is comparatively
unknown to you, and it seems to me a very indiscreet and reckless thing
to do.”
They returned again to the outer apartment, where the girl had been
standing nervously twisting the moiré bag in her hand.
“Here is the document, madame,” said the lawyer to her relief. “Señor
Brigot will sign here”—he indicated a line—“and you will sign there. I
will cause these signatures to be witnessed, and a copy of the document
will be forwarded for registration.”
The girl sat down at the table, and her hand shook as she took up the
pen. It was at that moment that Jose Ferreira dashed into the room.
He stood open-mouthed at sight of the girl at the table. He tried to
speak, but the sound died in his throat. Then he strode forward, under
the glaring eye of his employer.
“This woman—this woman!” he gasped.
“Ferreira,” cried Brigot in a terrible voice, “you are speaking of a
lady who is my friend!”
“She—she”—the man pointed to her with shaking finger—“she is the
woman! She escaped! . . . The woman I told you of, who ran away with an
Englishman from Tangier!”
Brigot stared from one to the other.
“You’re mad,” he said.
“She is the woman,” squeaked Ferreira, “and the man also is in Paris. I
saw them together this morning at the Café Furnos! The man who was in
Tangier, of whom I told the señor, and this woman, Sadie O’Grady!”
Brigot looked at the girl. She had been caught off her guard, and never
once had the keen eyes of the lawyer left her. Given some warning, she
might have dissembled and carried the matter through with a high hand.
But the suddenness of the accusation, the amazingly unexpected vision of
Jose, had thrown her off her guard, and Brigot did not need to look
twice at her to know that the charges of his subordinate were justified.
She was not a born conspirator, nor was she used to intrigues of this
character.
Brigot gripped her by the arm and pulled her from the chair. He was half
mad with rage and humiliation.
“What is the name of this man?” he hissed. “The name of the man who took
you from Tangier and brought you here?”
She was white as death and terribly afraid.
“Benson,” she stammered.
“Benson!”
The lawyer and Brigot uttered the words together, and the Spaniard,
releasing his hold stepped back.
“So it was Benson!” he said softly. “Our wonderful Englishman who wanted
to swindle me out of my property, eh? And I suppose he sent you, my
beautiful American widow, to purchase land for your villa! Now, you can
go back to Mr. Benson and tell him that, if my property is good enough
for him to buy, it is good enough for me to keep. You—you!”
He made a dart at her with upraised hand, but the lawyer was before him
and gently pushed him back.
He jerked his head to the girl and, shaking like a leaf, she stepped to
the door and went stumbling down the stairs, which she had mounted with
such confidence a few minutes before.
Cartwright received the news with extraordinary equanimity.
“It has saved us the bother of going out of Paris,” he said
thoughtfully. “And it was my own fault. I never connected that infernal
fellow Ferreira with Brigot’s enterprises. And anyway, we should not
have met in public. He said he saw us at the café, did he?”
The girl nodded.
“I did my best,” she faltered.
“Of course you did your best,” said Cartwright, patting her hand. “It is
tough luck, but it can’t be helped.”
“There was a long silence, then:
“What about me?” asked the girl. “Where do I come in? I suppose you have
no further use for my services?”
Cartwright smiled.
“Of course I have,” he said genially. Then, after a longer pause, “Do
you know that you’re the only person in this world that I have ever
taken so completely into my confidence and shown what, for a better
expression, I will call the seamy side of my business? I’d like to tell
you a lot more, because it would be a relief to me to get it off my
chest. But I’m telling you this, that if I marry you to-day, you’ll have
to play your part to save me from everlasting ruin.”
“Ruin?” she said, startled, and he laughed.
“Not the kind of ruin that means you’ll go short of food,” he said, “but
the sort of ruin that may mean—well, ruin from my point of view. Now
you must understand this thing clearly, Sadie. I’m out for a big stake,
and if I don’t pull it off, it’s as likely as not that I’ll go out.
You’re a clever, useful sort of kid, and I have an idea that you may be
even more useful. But there’s to be no sentiment in this marriage, mind!
You have just to sit here and hold tight and do as you’re told, and you
haven’t got to pry into my business any further than I want you to. And
if I go away and don’t come back, you must reckon me as dead. I’ve a lot
of business in America and elsewhere, which often takes me away for
months at a time, and you’re not to get uneasy. But if you don’t hear
from me—why, you can go down to the Lafayette and buy yourself the
grandest little suit of mourning that you can afford!”
“Shall I be able to afford it?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I shall put some Rentes to your credit at the Lyonnais. That will give
you a steady income in case anything happens.”
The girl was troubled.
“I don’t quite like this idea,” she said. “What will happen?”
Mr. Cartwright flicked away the ash from the end of his cigar and said
cheerfully:
“That depends entirely upon the view which is taken of a certain
prospectus issued in London this morning.”