A man was going through the street with his pole extinguishing the gas
lamps, as the hansom cab bearing Clive Reed went along at a sharp trot
toward Russell Square. The waning light looked ghastly and strange, and
well in keeping with his anxious state of mind, for in spite of all his
genuine love for Dinah, it was impossible not to feel a thrill of misery
akin to despair when reminded of one with whom so much of his boyhood
and the later past had been mingled.
"Poor, passionate, weak girl!" he said to himself again and again, as he
journeyed on, and his heart was full of sympathy for her and indignation
against his brother, whom he connected with the trouble, whatever it
might be.
"Sick unto death," he muttered. "Heartbroken and despairing after
finding him out. Oh, how can a man be so base?"
Then all kinds of projects had flashed across his mind as to what might
be done. Janet would certainly separate sooner or later from Jessop,
and when she did, as the Doctor had intimated, she would return to her
old home, and then why should not Dinah help him to soften her hard lot?
"No," he said, directly after. "It would be madness--impossible.
Janet's is not the nature to assimilate with Dinah's. I am not so weak
and blind to all her faults as I was then. Poor girl! Poor girl! Her
life wrecked, and by my own brother too."
At last!
The cab drew up at the great blank-looking door of the Doctor's house,
and Clive leaped out, paid the man, and hurried up the broad steps in
the cold, grey morning. How many times, full of expectation and
delight, he had hurried to that door bearing presents or bouquets; and
now he was there once more--to hear what news of the bright, handsome
girl whom he had made his idol from a boy?
His hand was upon the heavy knocker, but it dropped to his side, and he
rang the night-bell, and then stood listening to the distant wheels of
the cab in which he had come.
"Who is it?" came in a husky whisper from the mouth of the
speaking-tube, and he answered back--
"I: Clive Reed."
"Down directly."
Five minutes later the door was opened by the Doctor himself, and quite
at home there, Clive Reed sprang in to face his old friend standing in
dressing-gown and slippers.
"How is she?" he cried, in a low excited whisper. "How is she?"
repeated the Doctor, as he closed the door. "Here, come this way."
He took a chamber candlestick from where he had set it down on the hall
table, and led on into his consulting-room, with its walls adorned with
grim-looking engravings of medical magnates, and its table with books
and inkstand, two stethoscopes standing upright on the chimneypiece like
a pair of very ancient attenuated vases.
"You came up at once, then?" said the Doctor grimly.
"Of course. I caught the mail; but don't keep me--in suspense," Clive
was about to say, but he checked himself, for positions had altered now,
and he had no right to be in suspense, so he used the word "waiting."
"Waiting!" said the Doctor. "What do you mean?"
"Your telegram--about Janet. Is she very bad?"
"Confound Janet for a weak-minded idiot!" cried the Doctor testily.
"Nothing of the kind. I wired to you to come up about this cursed
mine."
"Oh!" ejaculated Clive, with a feeling of relief. "Your telegram
explained nothing, and I thought the poor girl was ill."
"Ill! No: I wish she were. Be a lesson to her--a hussy. Now, then,
what am I to do? Nice business this, sir. Here, on the strength of
your representations, I put a life's savings in that cursed mine, and
they're pretty well all swept away."
Clive looked at him, as if doubting his old friend's sanity.
"Don't stand staring at me like a confounded stock-fish, sir. You've
got me into this scrape, now tell me how to get out of it. Hang it all,
Clive, I've been like a second father to you, and the least you could
have done would have been to give me fair warning, so that I might
have--have--hedged--yes, that's the word my lovely son-in-law would have
used. Now, then, before it is too late. I daresay I could get them
back from him, as I only saw him to-night. Can you help me to make a
better price?"
Clive seated himself, for he was weary, and the Doctor, after setting
down his candlestick, was walking up and down the room as he talked.
"My dear Doctor," said Clive, "will you explain what you mean? Cursed
mine--too late--get them back from him. To begin with, who is `him'?"
"Who is `him'?" cried the Doctor furiously. "Why, that confounded
brother of yours. After all that has passed, I was obliged to go to him
hat in hand, and humble myself so as to try and save what I could out of
the fire."
"In heaven's name, what fire, sir?" cried Clive, who, after his
sleepless night and anxiety, was growing more and more confused.
"For," continued the Doctor, without heeding the question, "I said to
myself: He's cursedly knowing on 'Change, and for the sake of Janet and
his expectations of what he may get from me, he'll do his best, and he
may know where to get a good price."
"My dear sir, have you taken leave of your senses?"
"Almost, you scoundrel. Money spoils all men. Sucks all the honesty
out of them. You're as bad as the rest. But I didn't think you would
put me in such a hole. Now then: shall I leave them in Jessop's hands
or place them in yours, to cheat somebody else with the cursed rubbish.
I'm a bit reckless now, for it's ruin nearly, and drudgery to the end of
my days."
"Look here," said Clive excitedly; "do I understand that you have given
your shares in the `White Virgin' to Jessop to sell?"
"Of course you do, sir. Was I to wait till they were worth nothing?"
"Look here, Doctor: speak plainly. Are you all right?"
"Confound you, no: I'm all wrong."
"But explain yourself. Those shares are worth double what you gave for
them."
"I tell you they're hardly worth their weight as waste-paper," roared
the Doctor. "Don't stare at me with that miserable assumption of
innocency about your cursed bankrupt old mine."
Clive burst out laughing.
"Why, what do you mean, Doctor? What precious mare's nest have you been
discovering in the dark?"
"Mare's nest?" cried the Doctor, snatching up a heap of newspapers from
a side table, and throwing them in the young man's lap, "look at that,
sir, and that, and that. Four days now has this been going on. I was
down in the country at a consultation, and I came back to find myself a
ruined man."
"What!" roared Clive, as his eyes fell upon a notice with a full
heading--"`Collapse of the "White Virgin" scheme--bubble cleverly
inflated--burst at last--serious loss.' Good heavens!"
"Good other place!" growled the Doctor. "Oh, Clive Reed! You are a
broken Reed indeed to lean on, and enter into a poor man's hand. But
there, don't stop over those papers; they are alike, and the price has
gone down to nothing. Tell me; can you sell my shares better than
Jessop can? I must have a little back for my outlay."
"What did Jessop tell you?"
"What does every man tell you when he has you at his mercy? That the
paper was worthless, but he might get some speculative fool to buy them;
and if I waited there at his office he would try, but I must expect the
merest trifle for them."
"Well?" said Clive, frowning.
"Don't take it so confoundedly cool, sir. I was obliged to do the best
I could, and I put myself in his hands."
"Well?"
"And he went out and brought the speculative person--a Mr Wrigley, a
solicitor."
"Well?"
"Well! Ill, man, ill!"
"But what did my worthy brother's friend say?"
"Shrugged his shoulders--said it was throwing money away--mere gambling.
He did not want them, but to oblige his old friend, Mr Jessop Reed, he
would take them at a pound apiece, and the chance of making an eighth
out of them."
"And you laughed at him?"
"Laughed? I nearly cried at him, and was only too glad to get the
little bit of salvage from a man who bought as a speculation, and would
not care so much if he lost."
"But you said you had let Jessop have them to try and sell."
"Did I? Yes, I think I did."
"And asked me if you got them back, whether I could deal better with
them."
"Yes, I suppose I did, but I don't want to swindle any one into buying
worthless stock."
"Look here, Doctor, you are not yourself."
"Not myself? How can a man be himself under such circumstances.
Suppose, though, that I could get them back from the man. He only took
them as a favour."
"Did he pay you?" said Clive eagerly.
"Yes."
"A cheque?"
"No," said the Doctor. "I was not going to run any more risks. No
cheque: for the residue I insisted upon Bank of England notes and gold."
"And you were paid like that?"
"Yes."
"Then you have gone too far to retreat."
"Oh no, not if we offer the man what he said he would be content with--
an eighth. That's half-a-crown to the hundred pounds, isn't it?"
"Half-a-crown to the hundred pounds!" said Clive furiously. "Why, as
soon as the truth's known--"
"They won't be worth that, eh?" said the Doctor dolefully.
"Oh, Doctor Praed!" cried Clive furiously. "You telegraph to me to come
and help you when you have thrown your money into the gutter, and it has
been picked up and is gone. It is a swindle--an imposition."
"Yes, I've found out that," said the Doctor bitterly. "But what are the
shares worth then, really?"
"What I told you, sir--double the price they were when so many were
apportioned to you. This is some cursed jugglery: a trick--a scare--a
false alarm to influence the price of the `White Virgin' shares in the
market."
"What!"
"There isn't a word of truth in the report."
"Not a word of truth in the report?"
"No, sir. The mine is exceeding my greatest hopes. She teems with ore
which grows richer in silver every day. In six months' time the shares
will be worth four times what they are now."
"But--but--the papers!--look at the papers," cried the Doctor.
"What for? They only give the reports on 'Change--the facts that the
mine is reported to be in a state of collapse, and that consequently
every one has rushed to realise, and make what little he could for what
is supposed to be nearly worthless paper."
"But--tell me again--are you sure that the report is false?"
"Who could know better than I, who have been down every day, who have
watched every working, examined each skep of ore that came up, and
assayed every pig of lead and ingot of silver. Doctor, I should have
thought that you could have trusted me."
The Doctor sank down into his patients' chair, and stared at his visitor
aghast.
"Clive Reed--Clive, my boy--is--is this true?"
"You know it is true, sir!" cried the young man savagely, as he now took
up the Doctor's role of patrolling the room. "Do you, who have known me
from a boy, ask me whether I would have deliberately swindled you into
putting your savings into a worthless venture?"
"No, no, not wilfully, my boy, but by a mistake."
"Mistake! There was no mistake. Doctor, an enemy hath done this thing,
and people are only too ready to believe the evil instead of the good.
Well, I'm glad I know. But how is it that no report has reached me at
the mine? Why, of course: I have seen no paper for days. I am so busy
that I often do not open them when they come over from the town."
"Then--then this really is a false report, Clive?"
"Literally false, sir, and you have thrown your thousands away."
The Doctor groaned.
"No, no: not yet. There is hope. Look here. I must buy those shares
back at once."
"Bah!" exclaimed Clive. "Look here, Doctor: if I were dangerously ill I
would sooner trust you than any man in London; but in money matters I
think just as my poor father thought."
"That I was a mere baby? Yes, he always told me so," said the Doctor,
with a sigh. "But I made a lot of money, too."
"Yes, sir, but couldn't keep it," cried the young man angrily.
"Don't--don't jump on me now I'm down, Clive, my boy," cried the Doctor
piteously. "I have been an old fool. I ought to have trusted you that
you would warn me. But you were away; all London was ringing with the
business, and in my rage and disappointment I thought I was doing
right."
"I suppose so," said Clive bitterly.
"But it is not too late. We'll go up to your brother at once."
"My brother will only be too glad to triumph over you."
"But this Mr Wrigley?"
"Knew perfectly well what he was about, or he would not have bought."
"But I must buy again, if not from him--from some one else."
"You cannot. As soon as the truth is known the shares will go back to
their old place at a bound, and then in the reaction rise rapidly, for
the public will grasp that the mine must be as it is, exceedingly
valuable."
"But before the truth is known."
"I shall go and get it made known on 'Change the moment it is open,
sir."
"But--but if you waited a little while, Clive, to give me time, I--"
"My old friend--my father's trusted companion would not ask me to wait
an instant before crushing a blackguardly conspiracy, sir. I cannot
wait, and if I can trace this business to the source, I'll do it, if it
costs me thousands."
"You--you don't think that Jessop--"
"No!" cried Clive fiercely. "I don't--I won't think such a thing of my
own brother. He ousted me in one great aim of my life; he is a
spendthrift, and dishonourable enough; but, hang it, no, I won't give
him the credit for this."
There was a tap at the door.
"Yes. Come in."
The Doctor's quiet, grave servant in spotless black, looking as if he
had been up for hours, entered with a tray, bearing hot tea and dry
toast, placing it upon the table without a word, and leaving at once.
"Take some tea, Clive, my boy," said the Doctor, going quietly now to
his visitor, placing his hands upon his shoulders, and pressing him down
into a chair. "Forgive me, my dear boy. No; of course, you could not
do such a dishonourable act. I beg your pardon."
"Granted, Doctor."
"Confound the money, my boy! It's my savings, but I should never have
spent a penny on myself. Let it go, I won't stir a peg about it, and
I'll never try to save again. I can always earn guineas enough to pay
my way, and that must do for the while I live. There; I'm better now,"
he continued, as he took a seat and helped himself to some tea.--"Hah!
capital cup this. I'm very particular about my tea. And so you're
doing well down in Derbyshire?"
"Wonderfully, sir."
"That's right. I'm very glad of it. Clive, my boy, I've been studying
up the digestive functions a good deal, and I've had to read a paper
upon it. I'm getting honourable mention."
Clive looked at him wonderingly, and the Doctor saw it.
"It's all right, my boy. I have no business to dabble in money affairs.
That's all over now. I have too much to do in assuaging human ills to
think any more about my losses; but I'm afraid that some people among
your father's old friends will be very hard hit."
"Good heavens!" cried Clive, starting up.
"What is the matter?"
"I have a friend down at the mine, who has bought pretty largely--for
him--and if this cursed rumour reaches his ears,--here, I must go back
by the next train. No, I cannot. I must stop in town, and have this
report thoroughly contradicted by letters in the papers, and
advertisements, as well as by personal visits to our old friends. Have
you a telegram form?"
"Yes, plenty, my dear boy. There: in the drawer."
Clive hastily wrote a telegram for the Major, telling him that if any
report reached him, or he saw anything in the papers respecting the
stability of the "White Virgin" mine and its shares, he was to pay no
heed whatever.
"Can your man take this for me?"
"Of course," cried the Doctor, ringing, and the quiet, grave-looking
servant appeared.
"Take a cab and go to the Charing Cross Post Office. That is open all
night. You will pay for a special messenger to ride or drive over with
it at once. The town is ten miles from Major Gurdon's cottage. Quick,
please: it is important."
He handed the man some money, and in two minutes the front door was
closed.
"Hah! That is a relief," said Clive, with a sigh. "A quiet old officer
who lives retired there, Doctor. He too has put his all into the mine.
We have become very intimate."
"And has he a pretty daughter, too, like this old fool?"
Clive started, and his cheeks flushed as he remained silent for a few
moments.
"Yes, Doctor, he has a daughter."
Doctor Praed held out his hand, and shook Clive's warmly.
"I'm very glad, my boy," he said gently. "The wisest thing. I hope she
is very nice. There, I will not ask you. It is quite right--quite
right."
They sat sipping their tea for a few minutes, the Doctor looking
perfectly content now, Clive thoughtful; and the black marble clock on
the chimneypiece struck six.
"Doctor," said Clive at last, "I am bitterly grieved about this
business: more so than I can express."
"Then now throw it over as far as I am concerned. It was an error. I
committed it, and I am punished. I have too much to think about to
worry any more; so have you."
"But I must make it up to you, sir."
"What! Give me the money?"
"Yes."
"Rubbish, boy! It is of no use to me. I should only go and lose that
too."
"But I feel to blame."
"More fool you, sir. There, not another word. The money has gone.
Jolly go with it. I should like you to read my pamphlet."
"But, my dear sir--"
"Clive Reed, I will not have another word. Look here. I tell you
what," he said, with a chuckle; "have you made your will?"
"No, sir; not yet."
"Make it then, and leave me to be paid at your death the amount I have
lost. I won't poison you to get it, my lad. There, no more talk about
money. Now then, go upstairs and have three hours' good sleep.
Breakfast at nine."
"No: I could not sleep," said Clive. "I'll go on now to Guildford
Street. They will be getting up there by this time. Then I'm in for a
busy day."