The _Nadine_ had been lying for a fortnight in Southampton Water, and
all that was mortal of the man who might have been master of the world
was resting in a nameless grave in the cemetery.
In the oak-panelled dining-room of Orrel Court, an old rambling
mansion, dating partly from Reformation times, and standing on the
lower slopes of the South Downs overlooking the distant Solent, there
was a little dinner-party in the process of eating, drinking, and
chatting, which was a good deal more pregnant with the fate of nations
than many a Cabinet meeting.
At the head of the long, massive table sat a man of a little over
fifty, tall and rather squarely built, and still erect. A man, still
handsome and capable of attracting the attention and even the
admiration of many fair ladies, who would have been only too glad to
occupy the place at the other end of the table which was now occupied
by the owner of the _Nadine_, for Harry Shafto Hardress, eighth Earl
of Orrel, came of one of the oldest and proudest stocks in the
country, and, thanks to the millions which his dead American wife had
brought him, the broad, fat acres that he owned in half-a-dozen
counties were absolutely unencumbered, and he possessed a personal
fortune that yielded more than twice his goodly rent-roll.
Miss Chrysie Vandel sat at his right hand, and, next to her, Doctor
Lamson, faced by Lady Olive and a tall, angular, square-headed,
keen-featured man of about the Earl's own age, with a heavy,
well-trained, iron-grey, moustache, and an equally well-ordered,
little tuft of hair on the square chin. This was Clifford K. Vandel,
President of the Empire State Electric Storage and Transmission Trust
of New York and Buffalo. He was commonly known throughout the States
and Europe as the Lightning King; and he controlled not only the power
distribution, but also the whole system of Etherography or wireless
telegraphy throughout the Continent of North America.
He had come over post-haste from New York in response to an urgent
cable from Lord Orrel. He was an uncle of the late Lady Orrel, and he
and the Earl had already done a good deal of business together on both
sides of the Atlantic. The cablegram had contained the words "urgent
business," so he had taken the first available steamer and arrived in
Southampton that afternoon.
During dinner only ordinary topics had been touched upon, but when the
cloth was removed and the butler, with a ceremonious care that was
almost reverential, had placed the ancient decanters and jugs
containing the port and claret and Madeira, for which the cellars of
Orrel Court had long been famous, his lordship told him that they were
not to be disturbed until he rang; and, when the door had closed
behind him, he said:
"Well, now, Vandel, we can talk. Miss Chrysie, a glass of port--allow
me--and, if you will, pass the decanter. Mr Lamson, this is the same
seal as before. Olive, you will make the coffee later on, won't you,
in that patent concern of yours? You certainly do it much better than
they do downstairs; and I don't see why for once we shouldn't have our
smoke here, since our--what is it they say?--revolting daughters both
indulge."
"Revolted, if you don't mind, my lord," remarked Miss Chrysie across
her wine-glass. "Though I don't see much what Olive and I want to
revolt for; and I guess if two girls ever had more easily managed
poppas they'd be curiosities. What do you say poppa? You haven't tried
to run me much, have you?"
The iron-faced man of millions, the commander-in-chief of armies of
hand and brain workers, the ruthless wrecker of industries which stood
in the way of the realisation of his gigantic schemes, looked
smilingly at the living likeness of his dead wife, and said, with that
soft intonation and hardly perceptible accent which evidenced his old
Southern descent:
"Well, Chrysie, I don't know that either of you ever wanted very much
running; and as for smoking, well, your mothers and grandmothers did
it down South two generations ago, and I guess what was good enough
for the South in those days is good enough for anywhere else."
From which speech it may be gathered that Clifford Kingsley Vandel was
one of those Americans who, although he had come in with the Union,
and made many millions out of it, still cherished the traditions of
the old Southern aristocracy. In fact, in his heart of hearts, no man,
saving only perhaps Louis Xavier de Conde and his present host, had a
greater contempt for all democratic institutions than he had; a
contempt which is amply shared by nine out of ten of the dollar
despots of the great Republic.
He helped himself to a glass of the pale ruby-coloured port, and
passed the decanter to Hardress. Lady Olive was taking claret.
"And now," said Lord Orrel, raising his glass, "suppose we begin in
the good old-fashioned way. Here's success to the Storage Trust and
all its future developments."
"Which, from what I've heard of them, will be big and go far," said
the Lightning King.
"Even unto the running of the earth, and all that therein is. Is that
good American, Chrysie?"
"Not quite," she laughed, in reply. "I must say that your ladyship
seems to have considerable difficulty in picking up the American
language. However, the sentiment's all right, so we'll let it go at
that. What do you say, Doctor? Somehow you don't seem quite as
enthusiastic about this as a man who knows everything might be."
"If a man knew everything, Miss Vandel," replied Lamson, rather
gravely, "he would probably be enthusiastic about nothing. Still, I
confess that, as I said at first on board the yacht, I do look upon
this scheme, splendid and all as it is, and perfectly feasible from
the scientific point of view, as something just a little too splendid
for human responsibility. After all, you know, to make oneself the
arbiter of human destiny, supreme lord of earth and air, dispenser of
life and death, health and sickness, is what is popularly described as
a somewhat large order."
"Well," chimed in Miss Chrysie, "I guess if it enables you to reform
the British climate, by way of a start, and give this unhappy country
some weather instead of just a lot of ragged-edged samples, you'll not
begin badly."
"And if we can also do something with the furious, untamed, American
blizzard," laughed Hardress, nodding at her over his glass, "we shall
also confer a certain amount of blessing upon a not inconsiderable
proportion of the Anglo-Saxon race. What's your idea, Mr Vandel?"
"We could do about as well without them as London could do without
fog, or the British farmer do without a week of January shifted on
into May," replied the Lightning King. "I've often thought that a
syndicate which could control the British climate, and educate your
farmers and railroads into something like commonsense, would make
quite big money. Maybe that's what we'll do later on."
"An excellent idea," laughed Lord Orrel. "I have suffered from both of
them--as well as from our free-trading amateur politicians who make it
as expensive for me to bring a ton of my own wheat from Yorkshire to
London as to import a ton of yours from Chicago. However, we shall be
able to alter that later on. And now, suppose Olive brews the coffee,
and we have a cigar, and then, perhaps, Mr Lamson will oblige us by
shedding the light of his knowledge on the subject before the meeting.
I suppose, Mr Lamson, you have not found, on more mature study of the
question, that there are any serious objections to the scheme, saving,
of course, the one which your modesty has created?"
"No, Lord Orrel," he replied, with one of his grave smiles. "During
the last week or so I have worked out, I think, every possible
development of the scheme, and I am bound to say that the unknown
genius whom we buried the other day has left nothing to chance. There
is not even a speculation. Everything is fact, figure, and
demonstration. Given the capital, and the concessions from the
Canadian Government, there does not appear to me the remotest chance
of failure. The ultimate consequences of putting the scheme into
practice are, of course, quite another affair--but on that subject you
already have my opinion."
"My dear Lamson," said Hardress, "that, if you will pardon me saying
so, is merely one of the characteristic failings of the scientific
intellect. It has too much imagination, and therefore looks too far
ahead."
"I'm with you there, Viscount," said the Lightning King. "This is just
a question of dollars first, last, and all the time. Of course, we've
got to see the other side of it; but we're not concerned much with
what there is beyond--or back of beyond, for that matter. So, as
practical men, we'll just respect the doctor's scruples all they
deserve, and take all the help he can give us."
"Exactly," said Lord Orrel; "you put the case with your usual
terseness, Vandel. And now, if you won't have any more wine, Olive
will give us some coffee, and we may light up and get to business."
"And, Lamson, you will consider yourself on deck for the present,"
added Hardress. "I can see that Mr Vandel is just dying to know the
details, in spite of that cast-iron self-control of his."
"My dear Viscount," laughed the multi-millionaire, "I'm among friends,
and I'm not controlling any just now. Still, I'll admit that I'm just
about as anxious to know the details of this scheme as Chrysie was to
try on her first ball-dress, and that was no small circumstance, I
tell you."
"I should think not," laughed Lady Olive. "There's only one thing more
important in life than that, and that's a wedding-dress. But if these
people are going to immerse themselves in facts and figures, Chrysie,
suppose we have our coffee up in my room. I want to have a good talk
with you about the presentation dresses."
"An even more weighty subject," laughed Hardress, "than the
wedding-dress--which may never be worn. I mean, of course----"
"I guess I wouldn't try and explain, Viscount," said Miss Chrysie, as
she got up and went towards the door. "Wasn't it your Lord
Beaconsfield who said that the most dreary duty of humanity was
explanation? Reckon you'll find it pretty dreary work explaining that
remark away."
Hardress looked distinctly uncomfortable, for there was a flush on
Miss Chrysie's cheeks, and a glint in her eyes which, although they
made her look distractingly pretty, were not of great promise to him.
"I'm awfully sorry----" he began.
"My dear Shafto," laughed Lady Olive, as Lamson opened the door for
them, "don't attempt it. A man who could make a remark like that could
not possibly improve the situation by an apology."
With that they disappeared, and Lamson shut the door. When he got back
to his seat he took a lot of papers out of the breast-pocket of his
coat, put his plate aside, laid them on the table, and said:
"Well, then, since I am in the chair, I may as well get to business.
As Mr Vandel has not yet been made fully acquainted with the details
of the scheme, perhaps it will be as well if I begin at the
beginning."
"Quite so," said Lord Orrel, with a nod; "and your kindness will have
the additional effect of refreshing my own memory, which, I must
admit, is not a particularly good one for technicalities."
Then Doctor Lamson began, and for a couple of hours or so expounded
with every possible exactness of detail the discovery made by the
man whose mangled remains had been picked up by the _Nadine_ in
mid-Channel, and which might have made France mistress of the world.
When he had finished, they went into the library, where they were
joined by Lady Olive and Miss Chrysie, and the conversation gradually
drifted away into topics more socially interesting, but of less
imperial importance. But when Clifford Kingsley Vandel went to bed
that night he spent half-an-hour or more walking up and down his big,
thickly-carpeted bedroom, with his hands clasped behind his back, his
eyes fixed on the floor, and his lips shaping inarticulate words which
would have been worth millions to anyone who could have heard them.
Then he stopped his promenade, undressed, and got into bed, and just
before he dismissed the whole subject from his perfectly-trained
intellect and addressed himself to the necessary business of sleep, he
said:
"Well, that's just about the biggest scheme that mortal man ever had a
chance of bringing to a head; and I guess we'll do it. Masters of the
world, givers of life or death, lords of the nations, makers of peace
or war as we please! That's so, and now, Clifford Vandel, I have the
honour to wish you a very good night--a very good night indeed--about
the best night you've ever had."
And then the masterful brain ceased working, like an engine from which
the steam had been shut off, and he fell asleep as quickly and as
peacefully as a little child.