CHAPTER I.

Transcriber's Note:

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(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)

THE YELLOW FLAG.

THE YELLOW FLAG.

A Novel.

By EDMUND YATES.

AUTHOR OF 'A WAITING RACE.' 'BROKEN TO HARNESS,' ETC.

'That single effort by which we stop short in the downhill path to

perdition is itself a greater exertion of virtue than an hundred acts

of justice.' OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. III.

LONDON:

TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18 CATHERINE ST. STRAND.

1872.

[_The right of translation and reproduction is reserved_.]

LONDON

ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME III.

CHAP.

I. Rose Cottage to let.

II. Duly presented.

III. Thinking it out.

IV. Humphrey Statham grows uneasy.

V. Martin Gurwood's Reckoning with Himself.

VI. An Explosion.

VII. Thou art the Man.

VIII. The sealed Packet.

IX. Hagar's Visit.

X. Mr. Wetter is interviewed.

XI. Recompense.

XII. L'Envoi.

THE YELLOW FLAG.

CHAPTER I.

ROSE COTTAGE TO LET.

It was probably not without a certain amount of consideration and

circumspection that John Calverley had fixed upon Hendon as the place

in which to establish his second home, to which to take the pretty

trusting girl who believed herself to be his wife. It was a locality

in which she could live retired, and in which there was very little

chance of his being recognised. It offered no advantages to gentlemen

engaged in the City--it was not accessible by either boat, 'bus, or

rail; the pony-carriages of the inhabitants were for the most part

confined to a radius of four miles in their journeys, and Davis's

coach and the carrier's wagon were the sole means of communication

with the metropolis.

Also, in his quiet, undemonstrative way, Mr. Calverley had taken

occasion to make himself acquainted with the names, social position,

and antecedents of all the inhabitants, and to ascertain the chances

of their ever having seen or heard of him, which he found on inquiry

were very remote. They were for the most part Hendon born and bred,

and the few settlers amongst them were retired tradesmen, who had some

connection with the place, and who were not likely, from the nature of

the business they had pursued while engaged in commerce, to have

become acquainted with the person, or even to have heard the name of

the head of the firm in Mincing-lane. About the doctor and the

clergyman, as being the persons with whom he would most likely be

brought into contact, he was specially curious. But his anxiety was

appeased on learning that Mr. Broadbent was of a Devonshire family,

and had practised in the neighbourhood of Tavistock previous to his

purchase of old Doctor Fleeme's practice; while the vicar, Mr.

Tomlinson, after leaving Oxford, had gone to a curacy near Durham,

whence he had been transferred to Hendon.

So, when he had decided upon the house, and Alice had taken possession

of it, John Calverley congratulated himself on having settled her down

in a place where not merely he was unknown, but where the spirit of

inquisitiveness was unknown also. He heard of no gossiping, no

inquiries as to who they were, or where they had come from. Comments,

indeed, upon the disparity of years between the married couple reached

his ears; but that he was prepared for, and did not mind, so long as

Alice was loving and true to him. What cared he how often the world

called him old, and wondered at her choice?

It must be confessed that concerning the amount of gossip talked about

him and his household, John Calverley was very much deceived. The

people of Hendon was not different from the people of any other place,

and though they lived remote from the world, they were just as fond of

talking about the affairs of their neighbours as fashionable women

round the tea-table in their boudoirs, or fashionable men in the

smoking-room of their clubs. They discussed Mrs. A.'s tantrums and

Mrs. B.'s stinginess, the doctor's wife's jealousy, and the parson's

wife's airs; all each others' shortcomings were regularly gone

through, and it was not likely that the household at Rose Cottage

would be suffered to escape. On the contrary, it was a standing topic,

and a theme for infinite discussion. Not that there was the smallest

doubt amongst the neighbours as to the propriety of Alice's conduct,

or the least question about her being the old gentleman's wife, but

the mere fact of Mr. Claxton's being an old gentleman, and having such

a young and pretty wife, excited a vast amount of talk; and when it

was found that Mr. Claxton's business caused him to be constantly

absent from home, there was no end to the speculation as to what that

absence might not give rise. There seemed to be some sort of notion

among the inhabitants that Alice would some day be carried bodily

away, and many an innocent artist with his sketch-book in his

breast-pocket, looking about him in search of a subject, has been put

down by Miss M'Craw and her friends as a dangerous character, full of

desperate designs upon Mr. Claxton's domestic happiness.

Miss M'Craw was a lady who took great interest in her neighbours'

affairs, having but few of her own to attend to, and being naturally

of an excitable and inquiring disposition, she had made many advances

towards Alice, which had not been very warmly reciprocated, and the

consequence was that Miss M'Craw devoted a large portion of her time

to espionage over the Rose Cottage establishment, and to commenting on

what she gleaned in a very vicious spirit. Early in the year in which

the village was startled by the news of Mr. Claxton's death, Miss

M'Craw was entertaining two or three of her special friends at tea in

her little parlour, from the window of which she could command a

distant view of the Rose Cottage garden gate, when the conversation,

which had been somewhat flagging, happened to turn upon Alice, and

thenceforth was carried on briskly.

'Now, my dear,' said Miss M'Craw, in pursuance of an observation she

had previously made, 'we shall see whether he comes back again to-day.

This is Wednesday, is it not? Well, he has been here for the last

three Wednesdays, always just about the same time, between six and

seven o'clock, and always doing the same thing.'

'Who is he? and what is it all about, Martha?' asked Mrs. Gannup, who

had only just arrived, and who had been going through the ceremony

known as 'taking off her things' in the little back parlour, while the

previous conversation had been carried on.

'O, you were not here, Mrs. Gannup, and didn't hear what I said,' said

Miss M'Craw. 'I was mentioning to these ladies that for the last three

Wednesdays there has come a strange gentleman to our village, quite a

gentleman too, riding on horseback, and with a groom behind him,

well-dressed, and really,' added Miss M'Craw, with a simper, 'quite

good-looking!'

She was the youngest of the party, being not more than forty-three

years old, and in virtue of her youth was occasionally given to

giggling and blushing in an innocent and playful manner.

'Never mind his good looks, Martha,' said one of the ladies, in an

admonitory tone, 'tell Mrs. Gannup what you saw him do.'

'Always the same,' said Miss M'Craw. 'He always leaves the groom at

some distance behind him, and rides up by the side of the Claxtons'

hedge, and sits on his horse staring over into their garden. If you

wind up that old music-stool to the top of its screw,' continued the

innocent damsel, 'and put it into that corner of the window, and move

the bird-cage, by climbing on to it you can see a bit of the Claxtons'

lawn; and each time that I have seen this gentleman coming up the hill

I have put the stool like that and looked out. Twice Mrs. Claxton was

on the lawn, but directly she saw the man staring at her she ran into

the house.'

'Who,' said Mrs. Gannup, 'who is she that she should not be looked at

as well as anybody else? I hate such mock modesty!'

'And what I was saying before you came in, dear,' cried Miss M'Craw,

who fully agreed with the sentiment just enunciated, 'was, that this

being Wednesday, perhaps he will come again to-day. I fixed our little

meeting for to-night, in order that you might all be here to see him

in case he should come. It is strange, to say the least of it, that a

young man should come for three weeks running and stare in at a garden

belonging to people whom he does not know, at least, whom I suppose he

does not know, for he has never made an attempt to go to the front

gate to be let in.'

'There is something about these Claxtons--' said Mrs. Gannup.

And the worthy lady was not permitted to finish her sentence, for Miss

M'Craw, springing up from her chair, cried, 'There he is again, I

declare, and punctual to the time I told you. Now bring the

music-stool, quick!'

Her visitors crowded round the window, and saw a tall man with a long

fair beard ride up to the hedge of the Claxtons' garden, as had been

described by Miss M'Craw, rein-in his horse, and stand up in his

stirrups to look over the hedge.

So far the programme had been carried out exactly, to the intense

delight of the on-lookers.

'Tell us,' cried Mrs. Gannup to Miss M'Craw, who was mounted on a

music-stool, 'tell us, is she in the garden?'

'She! No,' cried Miss M'Craw, from her coigne of vantage, 'she is not,

but he is. Mr. Claxton is walking up and down the lawn with his hands

behind his back, and directly the man on horseback saw him he ducked

down. See, he is off already!'

And as she spoke the rider turned his horse's head, and, followed by

his groom, cantered slowly away.

When he had gone for about a mile he reduced his horse's pace to a

walk, and sitting back in his saddle, indulged in a low, noiseless,

chuckling laugh.

'It was John Calverley; no doubt about that,' he said to himself. 'I

thought it was he a fortnight ago, but this time I am sure of it.

Fancy that sedate old fellow, so highly thought of in the City, one of

the pillars of British commerce, as they call him, spending his spare

time in that pretty box with that lovely creature. From the glance I

had of her at the window just now she seems as bewitching as ever.

What a life for her, to be relegated to the society of an old fogey

like that!--old enough to be her father, at the very least, and

knowing nothing except about subjects in which she can scarcely be

expected to take much interest. Not much even of that society, I

should say; for old Calverley still continues to live with his wife in

Walpole-street, and can only come out here occasionally, of course.

What a dull time she must have of it, this pretty bird! how she must

long for some companionship! for instance, that of a man more of her

own age, who has travelled, and who knows the world, and can amuse

her, and treat her as she ought to be treated.'

Thus communing with himself, the good-looking, light-bearded gentleman

rode on towards London, crossing the top of Hampstead Heath, and

making his way by a narrow path, little frequented, but apparently

well known to him, into the Finchley-road. There, close by the Swiss

Cottage, he was joined by another equestrian; a gentleman equally well

mounted and almost equally good-looking. This gentleman stared very

much as he saw the first-named rider pass by the end of the side-road

up which he was passing, and sticking spurs into his horse quickly

came up with him.

'My dear Wetter,' he cried, after they had exchanged salutations,

'what an extraordinary fellow you are! You have still got the chestnut

thoroughbred, I see; do you continue to like him?'

'I still have the chestnut thoroughbred, and I continue to like him,'

said Mr. Wetter with a smile, 'though why I am an extraordinary fellow

for that I am at a loss to perceive.'

'Not for that, of course,' said his friend; 'that was merely said par

parenthèse. You are an extraordinary fellow because one never sees you

in the Park, or in any place of that sort, and because one finds you

riding alone here, evidently on your way back from some outlandish

place in the north-west. After grinding away in the City, and wearying

your brain, as you must do, with your enormous business, one would

think you would like a little relaxation.'

'It is precisely because I do grind away all the day in the City, I do

weary my brain, I do want a little relaxation, that you do not see me

in the Park, where I should have to ride up and down that ghastly Row,

and talk nonsense to the fribbles and the fools I meet there. It is

precisely in search of the relaxation you speak of that I ride out to

the north-west or the south-east; it little matters to me where, so

long as I can find fresh air and green trees, and the absence of my

fellow-creatures.'

'You are polite, by Jove,' said his friend with a laugh, 'considering

that I have just joined you.'

'O, I don't mean you, Lingard,' said Mr. Wetter; 'my ride is over for

the day. When I reach the turnpike yonder, I look upon myself as

within the confines of civilisation, and behave myself accordingly.'

'You certainly are a very extraordinary fellow,' said Mr. Lingard, who

was one of those gushing creatures whom nothing could silence. 'They

were talking of you only yesterday at the Darnley Club.'

'Indeed,' said Wetter, without betraying the slightest interest in his

manner; 'and what were they pleased to say of me?'

'They were saying what a wonderful fellow you were, considering that

whereas, three years ago, you had scarcely been heard of in London,

you had made such a fortune and held such a leading position.'

'Yes,' said Mr. Wetter, with a pleasant smile; 'they said that, did

they?'

'What Mr. Sleiner wondered was, that you did not get yourself made a

baronet, like those other fellows.'

'Ah, that was Sleiner,' said Mr. Wetter, still with his smile.

'And Mopkinson said you would not care about that. He believed you

intended to marry a woman of high family.'

'Ah, that was Mopkinson,' said Mr. Wetter, still smiling.

'Podlinbury said marriage was not in your way at all, and then they

all laughed.'

'Did Podlinbury say that?' said Mr. Wetter, grinning from ear to ear.

'Now I really cannot conceive what should have made them all laugh.'

'I cannot imagine myself,' said Mr. Lingard, 'and I told them so, and

then they all roared worse than ever.'

'Let me make amends for your having been laughed at on my account, my

dear Lingard, by asking you to dinner. Come and dine with me at the

club to-night. We shall have time to wash our hands and to get to

table by half-past eight.'

'No, not to-night, thanks,' said Mr. Lingard; 'I am engaged, and I

must push on, by the way, for I dine at eight. Shall we meet on

Friday?'

'Friday! Where?'

'At the house of one of your City magnates. You know him, I

suppose--Mr. Calverley?'

'Mr. Calverley! Is there a dinner at his house in Great Walpole-street

on Friday?'

'O, yes,' said Mr. Lingard; 'a grand spread, I should imagine. A case

of fortnight's invitation. Sorry you are not going; thought I should

be sure to meet you there. Ta, ta!' And the young man kissed his hand

in adieu and cantered away.

'That's a delightful young creature,' said Mr. Wetter to himself, as

he watched his friend's departing figure. 'If there were only a few

more like him in the City, it would not take me long to complete that

fortune which I am piling together. With what frankness and innocence

he repeats all that is said about one by one's friends; and how

refreshingly he confides to one everything concerning himself,

even to his dinner-engagements. By the way, that reminds me of that

dinner-party at Calverley's on Friday. At that dinner-party Calverley

will necessarily be present. Friday would not be a bad day, therefore,

for me to ride up again to Hendon, make some excuse for calling at the

nest, and see if I can manage to get a sight of the bird. I will make

a mem. to that effect when I go in.'

The world was right in declaring Mr. Wetter to be a very wealthy man.

He was the second partner in, and English representative of, the great

Vienna banking-house of Wetter and Stutterheim, with branches in

Paris, London, Frankfort, and New York. He came to London quite

unknown, save to a few of his countrymen; but he was speedily spoken

of as a man of immense capacity, and as a financier of the first rank.

Perfectly steady-going people were Wetter and Stutterheim, doing a

straight-forward banking and agency business, with its quintupled

operations, based upon the principles laid down by the old house of

Krebs et Cie. to whom they had succeeded. Wetter and Stutterheim

smiled with scorn at the wonderful schemes which were daily brought

forward upon the Stock Exchange, and at the status and supposed

success of the persons by whom they were 'promoted' and 'financiered.'

They knew well enough how those matters were worked, and knew, too,

what was generally the fate of those involved in them. Wetter and

Stutterheim were quite content with the state of their balance on the

thirty-first of every December, and content with the status which they

occupied in the eyes of the chief merchant princes of the various

cities where their banking business was carried on.

Mr. Stutterheim managed the parent house in Vienna--the parent house,

however, did not do a fourth of the business transacted by its London

offspring--and only came to London once or twice a year. He was an

elderly man, steady and responsible, but did not combine dash and

energy with his more solid business qualifications as did Mr. Henrich

Wetter, the head of the London house.

Mr. Wetter lived in pleasant rooms in South Audley-street; that is to

say, he slept in them, and drank a hurried cup of coffee there in the

morning when he did not breakfast at his club; but in general he

followed the continental fashion, and took his first meal at about

twelve o'clock in his private room at the bank, after he had gone

through, and given his instructions upon, the morning's letters. He

returned to his lodging to dress for dinner; he dressed always

punctiliously, whether he dined in society or by himself at the club,

and was seldom out of his bed after midnight. A man whom no one could

accuse of any positive excess, who lived strictly within his means,

and who was never seen in any disreputable company; yet a man at the

mention of whose name in certain society there went round winks and

shoulder-shrugs, and men hinted 'that they could, and if they would,'

&c. Henrich Wetter did not pay much attention to these hints, or

rather to the men from whom they came. They were not the style of men

whose good or bad words were likely to have the smallest influence on

his career; his position was far too secure to be affected by anything

they might say.

By anything any one might say, for the matter of that. He was full of

that thought as he rode home after leaving Mr. Lingard. He had played

his cards well in his wildest dreams, but he had never hoped to climb

to the height at which he had actually arrived. Wealth? He did not

spend a fifth part of his income. His old mother had her villa at

Kreuznech, where she lived with his sister Lisbett, while Ernestine

was married to Domhardt, who, thanks to him and his lent capital, was

doing so well as a wine-grower at Hochheim. Fritz seemed to have

settled down at last, and to be establishing for himself a business as

Domhardt's agent in Melbourne. There was no one else of his own blood

to support. There were others who had claims on him, but those claims

were allowed and provided for, and there was still more money than he

knew with what to do. Position? Not much doubt about that. Men of the

highest rank in the City allowed his status to be equal to their own;

and as to his own house, the other partners had practically

acknowledged that he was its backbone and their superior. For

instance, when there was that question, a month ago, about the manner

in which their New York agency was conducted, to whom did they refer

but to him? If Rufus P. Clamborough had turned out a rogue, he would

have had to go out, he thought, to settle the business there. Yes, to

have the money and to have the position were both pleasant things. To

gain them he sacrificed nearly all his life, and certainly he needed

some little recreation. What a wonderful pretty girl that was at Rose

Cottage, and how extraordinary that he should have discovered old John

Calverley there! How lucky, too, that he should have met Lingard! The

great dinner-party in Great Walpole-street was to be on Friday. On

Friday, then, he would ride out by Hendon once again.

But Mr. Wetter did not ride out to Hendon on Friday, as he intended.

On that Friday night he slept at the Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool, going

off in the tender at 8.30 the next morning to the Cunard steamer

China, lying in the Mersey, and not returning to England for nearly

six months. On the evening of his meeting Mr. Lingard, on his arrival

at South Audley-street, he found a telegram which had been forwarded

to him from the City, informing him that Rufus P. Clamborough had by

no means come out as rightly as was anticipated, and that it was

imperative that some one should go out at once and look after the New

York agency. Mr. Wetter was, above all things, a man of business, and

he knew that that some one was himself, so he packed his portmanteau

and went off. And finding an immense deal of business to be done, and

life in New York city anything but disagreeable, he remained there

until he had placed the affairs of Stutterheim and Wetter on a

satisfactory footing, and then, and not till then, he took ship and

came home.

Three weeks after Mr. Wetter's return to England, Miss M'Craw saw him

once again in the Hendon lane. It was spring time when she had last

seen him, but now it was deep autumn, and the dead leaves were

whirling through the air, and being gathered into heaps by the old men

employed as scavengers by the parish. Miss M'Craw was alone in her

little parlour, and had no friends to share her watch. Nevertheless,

she did not allow her attention to be diverted from Mr. Wetter for an

instant. She saw him ride up, followed by his groom, but instead of

gazing over the hedge he rode straight to the front gate, over which

appeared a painted board announcing the house as to let, and referring

possible inquirers to the village agent and to the auctioneers in

London.

Miss M'Craw saw Mr. Wetter yield up his horse to his groom, dismount,

ring the bell, and pass out of her sight up the garden. When he

reached the door it was already opened by the servant, who was

standing there, to whom he intimated his desire to see the house. The

girl asked him into the dining-room, and withdrew. Five minutes

afterwards the door opened, and Pauline entered the room. The sun had

set about five minutes previously, and there was, but little daylight

left, so little that Mr. Wetter, glancing at the new comer, thought he

must have been deceived, and made a step forward, staring hard at her.

There was something in the movement which put Pauline on her mettle

instantly.

'May I ask your business?' said she, in a hard, dry tone.

'The voice, the accent--no doubt about it now,' said Mr. Wetter to

himself. Then he said aloud, 'I see this house is to let; I ask to be

permitted to look over it.'

'The house cannot be seen without a card from the agent in the

village, Mr. Bowles,' said Pauline, in her former tone. 'And I may as

well remark that Mr. Bowles will not give a card to every one. He will

expect a reference.'

'I shall be very happy to give him one,' said Mr. Wetter, with a

sardonic smile. 'My name is Henrich Wetter, formerly clerk to Monsieur

Krebs, the banker, of Marseilles; and I shall be happy to refer him to

an old acquaintance of mine, Madame Pauline Lunelle, dame du comptoir

at the Restaurant du Midi in that city.'