A DANGEROUS GAME
There were whispers about Beaufort Chance, and nods and winks such as a
man in his position had better have given no occasion for; men told one
another things in confidence at the club; they were quite sure of them,
but at the same time very anxious not to be vouched as authority. For
there seemed no proof. The list of shareholders of the Dramoffsky
Concessions did not display his name; it did display, as owners of
blocks of shares, now larger, now smaller, a number of names unknown to
fame, social or financial; even Fricker's interest was modest according
to the list, and Beaufort Chance's seemed absolutely nothing. Yet still
the whispers grew.
Beaufort knew it by the subtle sense that will tell men who depend on
what people say of them what people are saying. He divined it with a
politician's sensitiveness to opinion. He saw a touch of embarrassment
where he was accustomed to meet frankness, he discerned constraint in
quarters where everything had been cordiality. He perceived the
riskiness of the game he played. He urged Fricker to secrecy and to
speed; they must not be seen together so much, and the matter must be
put through quickly; these were his two requirements. He was in
something of a terror; his manner grew nervous and his face careworn. He
knew that he could look for little mercy if he were discovered; he had
outraged the code. But he held on his way. His own money was in the
venture; if it were lost he was crippled in the race on which he had
entered. Trix Trevalla's money was in it too; he wanted Trix Trevalla
and he wanted her rich. He was so hard-driven by anxiety that he no
longer scrupled to put these things plainly to himself. His available
capital had not sufficed for a big stroke; hers and his, if he could
consider them as united, and if the big stroke succeeded, meant a decent
fortune; it was a fine scheme to get her to make him rich while at the
same time he earned her gratitude. He depended on Fricker to manage
this; he was, by himself, rather a helpless man in such affairs. Mrs.
Bonfill had never expected that he would rise to the top, even while she
was helping him to rise as high as he could.
Fricker was not inclined to hurry himself, and he played with the plea
for secrecy in a way that showed a consciousness of power over his
associate. He had been in one or two scandals, and to be in another
would have interfered with his plans--or at least with Mrs. Fricker's.
Yet there is much difference between a man who does not want any more
scandals and him who, for the sake of a great prize risking one, would
be ruined if his venture miscarried. Fricker's shrewd equable face
displayed none of the trouble which made Chance's heavy and careworn.
But there was hurry in Fricker's family, though not in Fricker. The
season was half-gone, little progress had been made, effect from Trix
Trevalla's patronage or favour was conspicuously lacking. Mrs. Fricker
did not hesitate to impute double-dealing to Trix, to declare that she
meant to give nothing and to take all she could. Fricker had a soul
somewhat above these small matters, but he observed honour with his
wife--for his oath's sake and a quiet life's. Moreover, be the affair
what it would, suggest to him that he was being 'bested' in it, and he
became dangerous.
A word is necessary about the position of Dramoffskys. They had
collapsed badly on Lord Farringham's pessimistic speech. Presently they
began to revive on the strength of 'inside buying'; yet their rise was
slow and languid, the Stock Exchange was distrustful, the public would
not come in. There was a nice little profit ('Not a scoop at present,'
observed Fricker) for those who had bought at the lowest figure, but
more rumours would stop the rise and might send quotations tumbling
again. It was all-important to know, or to be informed by somebody who
did, just how long to hold on, just when to come out. Dramoffskys, in
fine, needed a great deal of watching; the operator in them required the
earliest, best, and most confidential information that he could get.
Fricker was the operator. Beaufort Chance had his sphere. Trix, it will
be noticed, was inclined to behave purely as a sleeping partner, which
was all very well as regarded Dramoffskys themselves, but very far from
well as it touched her relations towards her fellows in the game.
Trix was praying for speed and secrecy as urgently as Beaufort Chance
himself; for secrecy from Mrs. Bonfill, from Mervyn, from all her
eminent friends; for speed that the enterprise might be prosperously
accomplished, the money made, and she be free again. No more ventures
for her, if once she were free, she declared. If once she were--free!
There she would pause and insist with herself that she had given
Beaufort Chance no reason to expect more than the friendship which was
all that he had openly claimed, nor the Frickers any right to look for
greater countenance or aid than her own acquaintance and hospitality
ensured them. Had she ever promised to marry Chance, or to take the
Frickers to Mrs. Bonfill's or the Glentorly's? She defied them to prove
any such thing--and looked forward with terror to telling them so.
At this point Mr. Liffey made entry on the scene with an article in 'The
Sentinel.' Mr. Liffey had a terribly keen nose for misdeeds of all sorts
and for secrets most inconvenient if disclosed. He was entirely
merciless and inexhaustibly good-natured. He never abused anybody; he
dealt with facts, leaving each person to judge those facts by his own
moral standard. He had no moral standard of his own, or said so; but he
had every idea of making 'The Sentinel' a paying property. He came out
now with an article whose heading seemed to harm nobody--since people
with certain names must by now be hardened to having their patronymics
employed in a representative capacity. 'Who are Brown, Jones, and
Robinson?' was the title of the article in 'The Sentinel.' As the reader
proceeded--and there were many readers--he found no more about these
names, and gathered that Mr. Liffey employed them (with a touch of
contempt, maybe) to indicate those gentlemen who, themselves unknown to
fame, figured so largely in the share list of Dramoffskys. With a
persistence worthy of some better end than that of making
fellow-creatures uncomfortable, or of protecting a public that can
hardly be said to deserve it, Mr. Liffey tracked these unoffending
gentlemen to the honourable, though modest, suburban homes in which they
dwelt, had the want of delicacy to disclose their avocations and the
amount of their salaries, touched jestingly on the probable claims of
their large families (he had their children by name!), and ended by
observing, with an innocent surprise, that their holdings in Dramoffskys
showed them to possess either resources of which his staff had not been
able to inform him, or, on the other hand, a commercial enterprise which
deserved higher remuneration than they appeared to be enjoying. He then
suggested that present shareholders and intending investors in
Dramoffskys might find the facts stated in his article of some interest,
and avowed his intention of pursuing his researches into this apparent
mystery. He ended by remarking, 'Of course, should it turn out that
these gentlemen, against whom I have not a word to say, hold their
shares in a fiduciary capacity, I have no more to say--no more about
them, at least.' And he promised, with cheerful obligingness, to deal
further with this point in his next number.
Within an hour of the appearance of this article Beaufort Chance entered
Fricker's study in great perturbation. He found that gentleman calm and
composed.
'How much does Liffey know?' asked Chance, almost trembling.
Fricker shrugged his shoulders. 'It doesn't much matter.'
'If he knows that I'm in it, that I've----'
'He won't know you're in it, unless one of the fellows gives us away.
Clarkson knows about you, and Tyrrwhitt--none of the rest. I think I can
keep them quiet. And we'll get out now. It's not as good as I hoped, but
it's pretty good, and it's time to go.' He looked up at Chance and
licked his cigar. 'Now's the moment to settle matters with the widow,'
he went on. 'You go and tell her what I want and what you want. I don't
trust her, and I want to see; and, Beaufort, don't tell her about
Dramoffskys till you find out what she means. If she's playing square,
all right. If not'--he smiled pensively--'she may find out for herself
the best time for selling Dramoffskys--and Glowing Stars too.'
'Glowing Stars? She's not deep in them, is she? I know nothing about
them.'
'A little private flutter--just between her and me,' Fricker assured
him. 'Now there's no time to lose. Come back here and tell me what
happens. Make her understand--no nonsense! No more shuffling! Be quick.
I shall hold up the market a bit while our men got out, but I won't let
you in for anything more.' Fricker's morals may have been somewhat to
seek, but he was a fine study at critical moments.
'You don't think Liffey knows----?' stammered Chance again.
'About those little hints of yours? I hope not. But I know, Beaufort, my
boy. Do as well as you can for me with the widow.'
Beaufort Chance scowled as he poured himself out a whisky-and-soda. But
he was Fricker's man and he must obey. He went out, the spectre of Mr.
Liffey seeming to walk with him and to tap him on the shoulder in a
genial way.
At eleven o'clock Beaufort Chance arrived at Trix Trevalla's and sent
up his name. Mrs. Trevalla sent down to say that she would he glad to
see him at lunch. He returned word that his business was important, and
would not bear delay. In ten minutes he found himself in her presence.
She wore a loose morning-gown, her hair was carefully dressed, she
looked very pretty; there was an air of excitement about her; fear and
triumph seemed to struggle for ascendancy in her manner. She laid a
letter down on the table by her as he entered. While they talked she
kept putting her hand on it and withdrawing it again, pulling the letter
towards her and pushing it away, fingering it continually, while she
kept a watchful eye on her companion.
'What's the hurry about?' she asked, with a languor that was not very
plausible. 'Dramoffskys?'
'Dramoffskys are all right,' said he deliberately, as he sat down
opposite her. 'But I want a talk with you, Trix.'
'Did we settle that you were to call me Trix?'
'I think of you as that.'
'Well, but that's much less compromising--and just as complimentary.'
'Business! business!' he smiled, giving her appearance an approving
glance. 'Fricker and I have been having a talk. We're not satisfied with
you, partner.' He had for the time conquered his agitation, and was able
to take a tone which he hoped would persuade her, without any need of
threats or of disagreeable hints.
'Am I not most amiable to Mr. Fricker, and Mrs., and Miss?' Trix's face
had clouded at the first mention of Fricker.
'You women are generally hopeless in business, but I expected better
things from you. Now let's come to the point. What have you done for the
Frickers?'
Reluctantly brought to the point, Trix recounted with all possible
amplitude what she considered she had done. Her hand was often on the
letter as she spoke. At the end, with a quick glance at Beaufort, she
said:--
'And really that's all I can do. They're too impossible, you know.'
He rose and stood on the hearthrug.
'That's all you can do?' he asked in a level smooth voice.
'Yes. Oh, a few more big squashes, perhaps. But it's nonsense talking of
the Glentorlys or of any of Mrs. Bonfill's really nice evenings.'
'It's not nonsense. You could do it if you liked. You know Mrs. Bonfill,
anyhow, would do it to please you; and I believe the Glentorlys would
too.'
'Well, then, I don't like,' said Trix Trevalla.
He frowned heavily and seemed as if he were going to break out
violently. But he waited a moment, and then spoke calmly again. The
truth is that Fricker's interests were nothing to him. They might go,
provided he could show that he had done his best for them; but doing his
best must not involve sacrificing his own chances.
'So much for Fricker! I must say you've a cool way with you, Trix.'
'The way you speak annoys me very much sometimes,' remarked Trix
reflectively.
'Why do you suppose he interested himself in your affairs?'
'I've done what I could.' Her lips shut obstinately. 'If I try to do
more I sha'n't help the Frickers and I shall hurt myself.'
'That's candid, at all events.' He smiled a moment. 'Don't be in a hurry
to say it to Fricker, though.'
'It'll be best to let the truth dawn on him gradually,' smiled Trix. 'Is
that all you wanted to say? Because I'm not dressed, and I promised to
be at the Glentorlys' at half-past twelve.'
'No, it's not all I've got to say.'
'Oh, well, be quick then.'
Her indifference was overdone, and Beaufort saw it. A suspicion came
into his mind. 'So much for Fricker!' he had said. Did she dare to think
of meting out the same cavalier treatment to him?
'I wish you'd attend to me and let that letter alone,' he said in a
sudden spasm of irritation.
'As soon as you begin, I'll attend,' retorted Trix; 'but you're not
saying anything. You're only saying you're going to say something.' Her
manner was annoying; perhaps she would have welcomed the diversion of a
little quarrel.
But Beaufort was not to be turned aside; he was bent on business.
Fricker, it seemed, was disposed of. He remained. But before he could
formulate a beginning to this subject, Trix broke in:--
'I want to get out of these speculations as soon as I can,' she said. 'I
don't mind about not making any more money as long as I don't lose any.
I'm tired of--of the suspense, and--and so on. And, oh, I won't have
anything more to do with the Frickers!'
He looked at her in quick distrust.
'Your views have undergone a considerable change,' he remarked. 'You
don't want to speculate? You don't mind about not making any more
money?'
Trix looked down and would not meet his eyes.
'Going to live on what you've got?' he asked mockingly. 'Or is it a case
of cutting down expenses and retiring to the country?'
'I don't want to discuss my affairs. I've told you what I wish.'
He took a turn across the room and came back. His voice was still calm,
but the effort was obvious.
'What's happened?' he asked.
'Nothing,' said Trix.
'That's not true.'
'Nothing that concerns you, I mean.'
'Am I to be treated like Fricker? Do you want to have nothing more to do
with me?'
'Nonsense! I want us to be friends, of course.'
'You seem to think you can use men just as you please. As long as
they're useful you'll be pleasant--you'll promise anything----'
'I never promised anything.'
'Oh, women don't promise only in words. You'll promise anything, hold
out any hopes, let anything be understood! No promises, no! You don't
like actual lying, perhaps, but you'll lie all the while in your actions
and your looks.'
People not themselves impeccable sometimes enunciate moral truths and
let them lose little in the telling. Trix sat flushed, miserable, and
degraded as Beaufort Chance exhibited her ways to her.
'You hold them off, and draw them on, and twiddle them about your
finger, and get all you can out of them, and make fools of them.
Then--something happens! Something that doesn't concern them! And, for
all you care, they may go to the devil! They may ruin themselves for
you. What of that? I daresay I've ruined myself for you. What of that?'
Trix was certainly no more than partly responsible for any trouble in
which Mr. Chance's dealings might land him; but we cannot attend to our
own faults in the very hour of preaching to others. Chance seemed to
himself a most ill-used man; he had no doubt that but for Trix Trevalla
he would have followed an undeviatingly straight path in public and
private morality.
'Well, what have you got to say?' he demanded roughly, almost brutally.
'I've nothing to say while you speak like that.'
'Didn't you lead me to suppose you liked me?'
'I did like you.'
'Stuff! You know what I mean. When I helped you--when I introduced
Fricker to you--was that only friendship? You knew better. And at that
time I was good enough for you. I'm not good enough for you now. So I'm
kicked out with Fricker! It's a precious dangerous game you play, Trix.'
'Don't call me Trix!'
'I might call you worse than that, and not do you any wrong.'
Among the temporal punishments of sin and folly there is perhaps none
harder to bear than the necessity of accepting rebuke from unworthy
lips, of feeling ourselves made inferior by our own acts to those
towards whom we really (of this we are clear) stand in a position of
natural superiority. Their fortuitous advantage is the most unpleasant
result of our little slips. Trix realised the truth of these reflections
as she listened to Beaufort Chance. Once again the scheme of life with
which she had started in London seemed to have something very wrong with
it.
'I--I'm sorry if I made you----' she began in a stammering way.
'Don't lie. It was deliberate from beginning to end,' he interrupted.
A silence followed. Trix fingered her letter. He stood there, motionless
but threatening. She was in simple bodily fear; the order not to lie
seemed the precursor of a blow--just as it used to be in early days when
her mother's nerves were very bad; but then Mrs. Trevalla's blows had
not been severe, and habit goes for something. This recrudescence of the
tone of the old life--the oldest life of all--was horrible.
Of course Beaufort Chance struck no blow; it would have been
ungentlemanly in the first place; in the second it was unnecessary;
thirdly, useless. Among men of his class the distinction lies, not in
doing or not doing such things, but in wanting or not wanting to do
them. Beaufort Chance had the desire; his bearing conveyed it to Trix.
But he spoke quietly enough the next minute.
'You'll find you can't go on in this fashion,' he said. 'I don't know
what your plan is now, though perhaps I can guess. You mean to start
afresh, eh? Not always so easy.' His look and voice were full of a
candid contempt; he spoke to her as a criminal might to his confederate
who had 'rounded on' him in consideration of favours from the police.
He did not strike her, but in the end, suddenly and with a coarse laugh,
he stooped down and wrenched the letter from her hand, not caring if he
hurt her. She gave a little cry, but sat there without a movement save
to chafe her wrenched fingers softly against the palm of the other hand.
Beaufort Chance read the letter; it was very short: 'I knew you would do
what I wish. Expect me to-morrow.--M.'
Trix wanted to feel horrified at his conduct--at its brutality, its
licence, its absolute ignoring of all the canons of decent conduct. Look
at him, as he stood there reading her letter, jeering at it in a
rancorous scorn and a derision charged with hatred! She could not
concentrate her indignation on her own wrong. Suddenly she saw his
too--his and Fricker's. She was outraged; but the outrage persisted in
having a flavour of deserved punishment. It was brutal; was it unjust?
On that question she stuck fast as she looked up and saw him reading her
letter. The next instant he tore it across and flung it into the grate
behind him.
'You'll do as he wishes!' he sneered. 'He knows you will! Yes, he knows
you're for sale, I suppose, just as I know it, and as Fricker knows it.
He can bid higher, eh? Well, I hope he'll get delivery of the goods he
buys. We haven't.'
He buttoned his frock-coat and looked round for his hat.
'Well, I've got a lot to do. I must go,' he said, with a curious
unconscious return to the ordinary tone and manner of society.
'Good-bye!'
'Good-bye, Mr. Chance,' said Trix, stretching out her hand towards the
bell.
'I'll let myself out,' he interposed hastily.
Trix rose slowly to her feet; she was rather pale and had some trouble
to keep her lips from twitching. Speak she could not; her brain would do
nothing but repeat his words; it would not denounce him for them, nor
impugn their truth; it would only repeat them. Whether they were just or
not was a question that seemed to fall into the background; it was
enough that anybody should be able to use them, and find her without a
reply.
Yet when he was gone her feeling was one of great relief. The thing had
been as bad as it could be, but it was done. It was over and finished.
The worst had come--was known, measured, and endured. At that price she
was free. She was degraded, bruised, beaten, but free. Chastened enough
to perceive the truths with which Beaufort Chance had assailed her so
unsparingly, she was not so changed in heart but that she still rejoiced
to think that the object towards which she worked, in whose interest she
had exposed herself to such a lashing, was still possible, really
unprejudiced, in fact hers if she would have it. The letter was gone;
but the promise of the letter lived.
Suddenly another thing occurred to her. What about Dramoffskys? What
about her precious money? There she was, in the hands of these men whom
she had flouted and enraged, so ignorant that she could do nothing for
herself, absolutely at their mercy. What would they do? Would they wash
their hands of her?
'Well, if they do--and I suppose they will--I must sell everything
directly, even if I lose by it,' she thought. 'That's the only thing,
and I sha'n't be quite ruined, I hope.'
Alas, how we misjudge our fellow-creatures! This trite reflection,
always useful as a corrective either to cynicism or to enthusiasm, was
to recur to Trix before the close of the day and to add one more to its
already long list of emotions. Wash their hands of her? Concern
themselves no more with her? That was not, it seemed, Mr. Fricker's
intention anyhow. The evening post brought her a letter from him; she
opened it with shrinking, fearing fresh denunciations, feeling herself
little able to bear any more flagellation. Yet she opened it on the
spot; she was unavoidably anxious about Dramoffskys.
Threats! Flagellation! Nothing of the sort. Fricker wrote in the
friendliest mood; he was almost playful:--
'My dear Mrs. Trevalla,--I understand from our friend Beaufort
Chance that he had an interview with you to-day. I have nothing to
do with what concerns you and him only, and no desire to meddle.
But as regards myself I fear that his friendly zeal may have given
you rather a mistaken impression. I am grateful for your kindness,
which is, I know, limited only by your ability to serve me, and I
shall think it a privilege to look after your interests as long as
you leave them in my charge. I gather from Chance that you are
anxious to sell your Dramoffskys at the first favourable moment. I
will bear this in mind. Let me, however, take the liberty of
advising you to think twice before you part with your Glowing
Stars. I hear good reports, and even a moderate rise would give you
a very nice little profit on the small sum which you entrusted to
me for investment in G. S.'s. Of course you must use your own
judgment, and I can guarantee nothing; but you will not have found
my advice often wrong. I may sell some of your Dramoffskys and put
the proceeds in G. S.'s.
'I am, dear Mrs. Trevalla,
'With every good wish,
'Very faithfully yours,
SYDNEY FRICKER.'
There was nothing wherewith to meet this letter save a fit of remorse, a
very kindly note to Mr. Fricker, and a regret that it was really
impossible to do much for the Frickers. These emotions and actions duly
occurred; and Trix Trevalla went to bed in a more tolerable frame of
mind than had at one time seemed probable.
The gentleman unknown to fame sold Dramoffskys largely that day, and at
last, in spite of Mr. Fricker, the price fell and fell. Fricker,
however, professed himself sanguine. He bought a few more; then he sold
a few for Trix Trevalla; then he bought for her a few Glowing Stars,
knowing that his friendly note would gain him a free hand in his
dealings. But his smile had been rather mysterious as he booked his
purchases, and also while he wrote the note; and----
'It's all right, my dear,' he said to Mrs. Fricker, in reply to certain
observations which she made. 'Leave it to me, my dear, and wait a bit.'
He had not washed his hands of Trix Trevalla; and Beaufort Chance was
ready to let him work his will. As a pure matter of business Mr. Fricker
had found that it did not pay to be forgiving; naturally he had
discarded the practice.