Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: Luncheon at 94 Grosvenor Square was an exceedingly
simple meal. FRONTISPIECE. _See page 92_.]
THE WICKED MARQUIS
BY
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
WILL GREFE
MCCLELLAND & STEWART PUBLISHERS
TORONTO
_Copyright, 1919,_
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Luncheon at Grosvenor Square was an exceedingly
simple meal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
"Richard Vont was head-keeper at Mandeleys when
I succeeded to the title and estates"
"I expect we are all as bad, though," she went
on rather gloomily, "even if we are not
quite so blatant"
"You're very hard, father," she said simply
THE WICKED MARQUIS
CHAPTER I
Reginald Philip Graham Thursford, Baron Travers, Marquis of Mandeleys,
issued, one May morning, from the gloomy precincts of the Law Courts
without haste, yet with certain evidences of a definite desire to leave
the place behind him. He crossed first the pavement and then the
street, piloted here and there by his somewhat obsequious companion,
and turned along the Strand, westwards. Then, in that democratic
thoroughfare, for the first time since the calamity had happened, his
lips were unlocked in somewhat singular fashion.
"Well, I'm damned!" he exclaimed, with slow and significant emphasis.
His companion glanced up furtively in his direction. The Marquis, as
Marquises should be, was very tall and slim, with high well-shaped
nose, very little flesh upon his face, a mouth of uncertain shape and
eyes of uncertain colour. His companion, as solicitors to the
aristocracy should be, was of a smaller, more rotund and insignificant
shape. He had the healthy complexion, however, of the week-end golfer,
and he affected a certain unlegal rakishness of attire, much in vogue
amongst members of his profession having connections in high circles.
In his heart he very much admired the ease and naturalness with which
his patron, in the heart of professional London, strode along by his
side in a well-worn tweed suit, a collar of somewhat ancient design,
and a tie which had seen better days.
"The judge's decision was, without doubt, calamitous," he confessed
gloomily.
The Marquis turned in at the Savoy courtyard with the air of an habitue.
"I am in need of a brief rest and some refreshment," he said. "You
will accompany me, if you please, Mr. Wadham."
The lawyer acquiesced and felt somehow that he had become the tail end
of a procession, the Marquis's entrance and progress through the
grillroom towards the smoking-room bar was marked by much deference on
the part of porters, cloak-room attendants and waiters, a deference
acknowledged in the barest possible fashion, yet in a manner which his
satellite decided to make a study of. They reached a retired corner of
the smoking room, where the Marquis subsided into the only vacant easy
chair, ordered for himself a glass of dry sherry, and left his
companion to select his own refreshment and pay for both.
"What," the former enquired, "is the next step?"
"There is, alas!" Mr. Wadham replied, "no next step."
"Exactly what do you mean by that?" the Marquis demanded, knitting his
brows slightly as he sipped his sherry.
"We have reached the end," the lawyer pronounced. "The decision given
by the Court to-day is final."
The Marquis set down his glass. The thing was absurd!
"Surely," he suggested, "the House of Lords remains?"
"Without a doubt, your lordship," Mr. Wadham assented, "but it is of no
use to us in the present instance. The judge of the Supreme
Court--this is, by-the-by, our third appeal--has delivered a final
decision."
The Marquis seemed vaguely puzzled.
"The House of Lords," he persisted, "remains surely a Court of Appeal
for members of my order whose claims to consideration are not always
fully recognised in the democracy of the common law court."
"I fear," Mr. Wadham replied, with a little cough, "that the House of
Lords is supposed to have other functions."
"Other functions?"
"In an indirect sort of fashion," Mr. Wadham continued, "it is supposed
to assist in the government of the country."
"God bless my soul!" the Marquis exclaimed.
There was a queer, intangible silence. The lawyer was quite aware that
a storm was brewing, but as his distinguished client never lost his
temper or showed annoyance in any of the ordinary plebeian ways, he was
conscious of some curiosity as to what might happen next.
"You mean to say, then," the Marquis continued, "that for the rest of
my days, and in the days of those who may succeed me, that edifice,
that cottage which for generations has sheltered one of the family
retainers, is to remain the property of--of an alien?"
"I fear that that is the decision of the court," the lawyer admitted.
"The deed of gift was exceptionally binding."
The Marquis shook his head. The thing was incomprehensible.
"I can stand upon the roof of Mandeleys," he said, "and I can look
north, south, east and west, and in no direction can I look off my own
land. Yet you mean to tell me that almost in my garden there is to
remain a demesne which can be occupied by any Tom, Dick or Harry which
its nominal owner chooses to place in possession?"
The lawyer signed to the waiter for their glasses to be replenished.
"It is certainly not justice, your lordship," he admitted,--"it is not
even reasonable--but it is the law."
The Marquis produced a gold cigarette case, absently lit a cigarette,
and returned the case to his pocket without offering it to his
companion. He smoked meditatively and sipped his second glass of
sherry.
"A state of things," he declared, "has been revealed to me which I
cannot at present grasp. I must discuss the matter with Robert--with
my son-in-law, Sir Robert Lees. He is an intensely modern person, and
he may be able to suggest something."
"Sir Robert is a very clever man," the lawyer acknowledged, "but
failing an arrangement with the tenant himself, I cannot see that there
is anything further to be done. We have, in short, exhausted the law."
"A process," the Marquis observed sympathetically, "which I fear that
you must have found expensive, Mr. Wadham."
"The various suits into which we have entered on behalf of your
lordship, and the costs which we have had to pay," the latter hastened
to announce, "amount, I regret to say, to something over eighteen
thousand pounds."
"Dear me!" his companion sighed. "It seems quite a great deal of
money."
"Since we are upon the subject," the lawyer proceeded, "my firm has
suggested that I should approach your lordship with regard to some
means of--pardon me--reducing the liability in question."
So far as the face of Mr. Wadham's client was capable of expressing
anything, it expressed now a certain amount of surprise.
"It appears to me, Mr. Wadham," he remarked, "that you are asking me to
attend to your business for you."
The lawyer knitted his brows in puzzled fashion.
"I am not sure that I quite follow your lordship," he murmured.
"Do I employ you," his patron continued, "to manage my estates, to
control my finances, to act as agent to all my properties, and yet need
to keep a perspective myself of my various assets? If eighteen
thousand pounds is required, it is for your firm to decide from what
quarter the money should come. Personally, as you know, I never
interfere."
Mr. Wadham coughed in somewhat embarrassed fashion.
"As a matter of fact, your lordship," he confessed, with a most
illogical sense that it was his duty to apologise for his client's
impecuniosity, "as a matter of fact, neither my partners nor I can at
the present moment see where a sum of eighteen thousand pounds can be
raised."
The Marquis rose to his feet and shook the cigarette ash carefully from
his coat.
"Our conversation, Mr. Wadham," he said, "is reaching a stage which
bores me. I have just remembered, too," he added, with a glance at the
clock, "that my daughter is entertaining a few friends to lunch. You
must write to Merridrew. He is really a most excellent agent. He will
tell you what balances are likely to be available during the next few
months."
Mr. Wadham received the suggestion without enthusiasm.
"We made an application to Mr. Merridrew some few weeks ago," he
remarked, "as we needed some ready money for the purpose of briefing
the barristers. Mr. Merridrew's reply was not encouraging."
"Ah!" the Marquis murmured. "Merridrew is a gloomy dog sometimes. Try
him again. It is astonishing how elastic he can be if he is squeezed."
"I am afraid your lordship has done all the squeezing," the solicitor
observed ruefully.
A little trill of feminine laughter rang through the room. Two smartly
attired young ladies were seated upon a divan near the door, surrounded
by a little group of acquaintances. One of them leaned forward and
nodded as the Marquis and his companion passed.
"How do you do, Marquis?" she said, in distinctly transatlantic accents.
The behaviour of his client, under such circumstances, remained an
object lesson to Mr. Wadham for the rest of his life. The Marquis
gazed with the faintest expression of surprise at, or perhaps through,
the young person who had addressed him. Fumbling for a moment in his
waistcoat pocket, he raised a horn-rimmed monocle to his eye, dropped
it almost at once, and passed on without the flicker of an eyelid. On
their way to the outside door, however, he shook his head gravely.
"What a singular exhibition," he murmured,--"demonstration, perhaps I
should say--of the crudeness of modern social intercourse! Was it my
fancy, Wadham, or did the young person up there address me?"
"She certainly did," the other assented. "She even called you by name."
They were standing in the courtyard now, waiting for a taxi, and the
Marquis sighed.
"In a public place, too!" he murmured. "Wadham, I am afraid that we
are living in the wrong age. I came to that conclusion only a few days
ago, when I was invited, actually invited, to dine at the house of--
But I forget, Wadham, I forget. Your grandfather would appreciate
these things. You yourself are somewhat imbued, I fear, with the
modern taint. A handful of silver, if you please," he added, holding
out his hand. "I am not accustomed to these chance conveyances."
The lawyer searched his trousers pockets, and produced a couple of pink
notes and a few half-crowns. In some mysterious fashion, the whole
seemed to pass into the Marquis's long, aristocratic hand. He turned
to the porter who was standing bare-headed, and slipped a ten-shilling
note into his palm.
"Well, good morning, Wadham," he said, stepping into his taxicab. "I
have no doubt that you did your best, but this morning's unfortunate
happening will take me some time to get over. My compliments to your
senior partner. You can say that I am disappointed--no more."
The Marquis crossed his legs and leaned back in the vehicle. Mr.
Wadham remained upon the pavement, gazing for a moment at his empty
hand.
"Taxi, sir?" the hall porter asked obsequiously.
Mr. Wadham felt in all his pockets.
"Thank you," he replied gloomily, "I'll walk."