"I'm sorry I lost my temper, Chris."
"My dear, if you lose nothing else, I shall be happy."
"I hate your insinuations, Christina! Some day you will find out
what a splendid man Ronnie is--and then you'll be surprised."
"I shall," admitted Christina, and later, when Evie was dropping into
sleep, "Who did Ambrose kill?"
"Eh--? I don't know. Somebody in Paris--" Another long silence.
"He must have been a terrible villain!"
"Who, Sault?"
"No, the man he killed," said Christina.
She lay awake for a long time. It was two o'clock when she heard his
key in the lock. She raised her head, listening to the creaking of
the stairs as he came up. He had to pass her room and she whispered:
"Good night, Ambrose!"
"Good night, Christina."
She blew a kiss at the door.
V
Mr. Steppe, with a gardenia in his buttonhole, leaned out of the
window of his car and waved his yellow glove in greeting and Beryl,
who was just about to enter her own machine, stepped back upon the
sidewalk and waited. She felt a little twinge of impatience, for she
was on her way to the Horse Show and Ronald.
"Is the doctor in--good! He can wait--where are you off to, Beryl,
huh? Looking perfectly lovely too. I often wonder what those old
back-veld relations of mine would say if they ever saw a girl like
you. Their women are just trek-oxen--mustn't say 'cows,' huh? Are
you in a great hurry?"
"Not a great hurry," she smiled, "but I think father is expecting
you."
"I know. But he'll not be worried if I'm late. Drive me somewhere.
I want to talk."
She jumped at the opportunity of placing a time-limit on the
conversation.
"Drive to Regents Park, round the inner circle and back to the
house," she ordered, and Mr. Steppe handed her into the car.
"I want to have a little chat about your father," he said, greatly to
her surprise. He had never before spoken more than two consecutive
sentences in reference to Dr. Merville.
"What I tell you, Beryl, is in confidence," he said. "I'm not sure
whether I ought to tell you at all, but you're a sensible girl, huh?
No nonsense. That is how a woman should be. The doctor has lost a
lot of money--you know that?"
"I didn't know," she answered in alarm, "but I thought father
confined his investments to your companies?"
"Yes--so he has. He has taken up a lot of shares--against my advice.
He is carrying--well I wouldn't like to tell you the figure. He
bought them--against my advice. Most of my stock is only partly paid
up. He is carrying nearly a million shares in one concern or
another. That is all right. You can carry millions, always
providing there is a market, and that you can sell at a profit, or
else that there isn't any need to call up the remainder of the
capital. That need has arisen in the case of two companies in which
he is heavily involved. Now, Beryl, you are not to say a word about
what I have told you."
"But--I don't quite follow what you have said. Does it mean that
father will be called upon to pay large sums of money?" He nodded.
"Or else--?"
"There is no 'or else'," said Steppe. "The capital has to be called
in, in justice to the shareholders and the doctor must pay. Somebody
must pay. In fact, I am going to pay. That was the reason I was
calling on him today."
"He has been very worried lately," said Beryl in a troubled tone. "I
don't know how to thank you, Mr. Steppe. Is it a big sum?"
"It runs to hundreds of thousands," said Steppe. "Very few can lay
their hands on that amount, huh? Jan Steppe! They know me in the
city, hate me, would slaughter me, but they don't despise me. I can
sign cheques for a million and they'd be honored."
"But father must make some arrangement to pay you, Mr. Steppe--" she
began.
"That is nothing. The shares may rise in value--there is no telling
what may happen with the market in an optimistic mood. But I thought
I would let you know. Steppe isn't a bad fellow, huh?"
She heaved a long sigh. "No--you are kind, most kind. I wish father
wouldn't touch the stock market. Temperamentally, he is unfitted for
a gambler. He is so easily depressed. Can't you persuade him, Mr.
Steppe?"
"If you say the word, I'll stop him," said Steppe. "There is nothing
I wouldn't do for you, Beryl." She was silent.
"I'm grateful," she said, as the car was heading for the house. "I
cannot put myself under any bigger obligation--father must do as he
wishes. But if you could help him with advice--?"
It occurred to her then, that if he could, at a word, arrest the
speculative tendencies of Dr. Merville, why had he contented himself
with "advice" when her father had made his disastrous investments?
Saying good-bye to him at the door of the house, Beryl drove on to
Olympia a disturbed and anxious girl. Steppe watched the car out of
sight before he mounted the steps and rang the bell.
"You saw us, huh? Yes, I wanted to talk to Beryl and I knew that you
wouldn't mind waiting. I've got to call up the unpaid capital of
Brakpan Mines and Toledo Deeps."
The doctor moved uneasily. "Couldn't you wait a little while?" he
asked nervously. "The shares are moving. They went up a fraction
yesterday--which means that there are buyers."
"I was the buyer," said Steppe. "I took a feeler at the market. I
bought five hundred--and I could have had five hundred thousand at
the price. They were falling over one another to sell. No, I'm
afraid I've got to make a call and you'll have to take up your
shares, huh? Well, I'm going to let you have the money."
"That is good of you--"
"Not at all. I must keep your name sweet and clean, Merville. I am
going to marry Beryl."
The doctor opened a silver box and took out a cigar with a shaking
hand. "Beryl is a very dear girl," he said. "Have you spoken to
her?"
"No, there is plenty of time. I don't want to scare her--let her get
used to me, Merville, huh? That's that. You are crossing with me
tonight, huh? Good, I hate the Havre route, but you can sleep on
board and that saves time. Abrahams is coming from Vienna with the
Bulgarian concession. I'm inclined to float it."
Ronnie was waiting in the main entrance when the girl arrived. In
some respects he was a model escort. He never expected a woman to be
punctual and had trained himself in the art of patient waiting.
"No, really, I haven't been here very long," he replied to her
apology, "and you, of all women, are worth waiting for."
"You are a dear. I don't believe you, but still you are a dear. I'm
so sick of life today, Ronnie--don't ask me why. Amuse me."
"How is the doctor?" he queried, as they were shown into their seats.
"He is going to Paris tonight with Mr. Steppe," she said. "I'm
rather glad. Two or three days abroad will do him a lot of good.
There aren't many people here this afternoon, Ronnie."
"Most of the swells are at Ascot," he explained, "the night seance is
crowded. Gone to Paris, eh?" The news made him thoughtful.
She drove him back to the house to tea. Dr. Merville was out and was
not returning to dinner. The maid said he had left a letter in his
study. Beryl found it to be a note saying he was unlikely to see her
before he went; his bag would be called for, he added.
"My hard-hearted parent has gone without saying good-bye," she said.
"Take me out to dinner, Ronnie. After, I would like to see a revue.
I feel un-intellectual today; I'm in the mood when I want to see
people with red noses and baggy trousers. And I want to be in a box.
I love boxes, since--"
Ronald Morelle walked home from Park Crescent stopping at a messenger
office to scribble a note.
"It is at a drug store in Knightsbridge," he said. "I want the boy
to give it to the young lady in the pay desk. Perhaps he had better
make a purchase--a cake of soap, if that is the boy," he smiled upon
the diminutive messenger, "and let him hand the letter to the lady
when he puts in his bill."
He came to the flat to find François laying out his dress-clothes.
"Finish what you are doing and go home. I shall not want you this
evening," he said. "Stay--have a bottle put on ice. You can lay the
small table. You might have bought some flowers. I hate flowers,
but--get some. You can throw them away tomorrow."
"Yes, m'sieur," said his imperturbable man, "for how many shall I lay
supper?"
"For three," answered Ronnie.
It was a convention that he invariably entertained two guests, but
François had never had to wash more than two used glasses.