Soon after breakfast, on the following morning, Doctor Bardolf was
shown into Jacob's sitting-room. He held his watch in his hand.
Outside the house, the engine of his great automobile was purring
gently.
"No change, Mr. Pratt," he announced. "All the symptoms, however,
continue to be decidedly favourable."
"Capital!" Jacob exclaimed. "When shall you be here again?"
"I am coming in this afternoon, simply in case that slight alteration
in my patient's condition should have occurred, which will enable you
to visit him. I rather gather, from certain indications, that the
change is close at hand."
"Very considerate of you, I am sure, Doctor," Jacob observed
gratefully.
"In the meantime, Mr. Pratt," the physician enquired, replacing his
watch in his waistcoat pocket, "can I be of any service to you? Your
brother is a personal friend of mine as well as a patient, and I
should like to show you any attention agreeable to you. Would you
care, for instance, to see over one of our big hospitals?"
"I'm not keen about it," Jacob admitted frankly. Doctor Bardolf
smiled.
"Like your brother, Mr. Jacob," he remarked, "you're candid, I see.
I'm afraid I sometimes let my professional predilections run away with
me. I'll send you cards, if you will allow me, for two clubs I think
you would like to see something of, and if you'll do me the honour of
dining with me one night, as soon as your brother's condition has
shown the change we are waiting for, I shall be honoured."
"Very kind of you--delighted," Jacob murmured.
Whereupon the physician took his leave and was succeeded within a very
few moments by Morse. The latter bowed to Jacob and rather ignored
Felixstowe's frivolous salutation.
"Mr. Pratt," he begged, "can I have a few words with you on business?"
"Certainly," Jacob assented. "That's what I'm here for. Sit down, do."
The secretary accepted an easy-chair but waved away the proffered
cigar.
"I guess you fully understand, sir," he began, "how important it is to
keep your brother's condition absolutely secret. The moment the change
that the doctor is looking for takes place, we shall give it out that
he has returned from the Adirondacks with a slight fever and is
compelled to rest for a day or two. Until then, we've got to bluff for
all we are worth."
"I am rather taking your word for this," Jacob said. "In my country,
the stock market is not quite so sensitive as regards personalities."
"Mighty good thing, too," Morse remarked approvingly. "Down in Wall
Street, some one only has to start a rumour that the chairman of one
of the great railway companies is sick, and the stock of that company
slides a notch or two before you know where you are. However, to
return to my point," he continued, leaning forward in his chair and
becoming more earnest in his manner, "your brother, Mr. Pratt, is a
very prominent figure in Wall Street. As his partner, you can form a
pretty fair idea as to what his monthly profits are. At first he was
absolutely driven by circumstances to be a large operator upon the
stock markets. Nowadays, this has become one of his favourite
hobbies."
"Does he gain or lose by it?" Jacob enquired.
"He makes money," Morse replied. "But then he never gambles--what we
should call gambling in this country. He only deals in the sound
things, and if the market sags he simply holds on. That brings me,
sir, to the principal reason why I was glad to see you over on this
side. Three days before he was taken ill, your brother cleaned up a
little deal by which he made the best part of half a million dollars
and opened a very large account in railroads. The last word he said
to me on business was that he guessed he'd have to find the best part
of a million dollars before he began to draw in the profits, for,
owing to conditions with which you don't need to worry, all railway
stocks have fallen during the last two weeks."
"I noticed that in the papers," Jacob admitted.
"Last week," Morse continued, "I went around to see the brokers,
Worstead and Jones of Wall Street, and they agreed to carry over
without hesitation. This week the differences come to six hundred and
twenty-eight thousand dollars, and by an inviolable law of Exchange
the money has to be found. The stocks, as you will see from the list
which I have here, are the best in the States. Your brother himself
knew that the recovery would not be till the beginning of next month.
This illness of his was so unexpected, however, that he had no time to
make any provision for paying these differences. We have a matter of
seven million dollars on deposit at various banks in the city, but I
can't touch those amounts and no more could you, as they are part of
Mr. Samuel's private fortune. What I want you to do, sir, if you don't
mind being so kind, is to take up these differences this week, and if
a further drop should take place before next settlement, you and I and
Mr. Samuel's legal adviser can apply to the Courts for a power of
attorney."
"I came over to help in every possible way," Jacob reflected, "and I
have credit for about that amount at the First National Bank. You want
a cheque, then, for--"
"Dear me, no, Mr. Pratt!" the other interrupted. "I don't figure in
this. To-morrow, by the first mail, we shall get the stockbroker's
note showing the exact difference. If you will draw your cheque then,
payable to the stockbrokers, they will give you a receipt. The moment
Mr. Samuel can hold a pen, we can transfer the amount back again to
your credit. The only point is that your cheque must be on an American
bank, so that the actual cash can be handled."
"As it happens, that can be arranged," Jacob promised. "You can rely
upon me, Mr. Morse."
"That's very kind of you indeed, Mr. Pratt," Morse declared heartily.
"I have a heavy mail to attend to this morning, so if you'll excuse me
I'll be getting on with it now," he added, rising to his feet. "I have
ordered the car for you and Lord Felixstowe. You will find the
chauffeur an exceedingly intelligent man, and he will take you around
New York and show you some of the things you ought to see. I should
suggest luncheon at the Ritz-Carlton or the Plaza."
"That sounds all right," Jacob assented. "I beg that you won't worry
about us. We can look after ourselves quite well."
"And you'll be back by four o'clock to see Doctor Bardolf," Morse
enjoined. "You won't forget that he is an exceedingly punctual man."
"We'll be back on time without fail," Jacob promised.
Jacob and his companion spent the morning very much in the manner
suggested. The latter was much quieter than usual, so much so that in
the lounge after luncheon at the Ritz-Carlton, Jacob commented upon
his silence.
"Lose your heart last night, Felix?" he enquired.
"I'm a slow-mover with the fillies, worse luck!" the young man
answered, shaking his head. "I wasn't as blind as I seemed, either. I
am going to try and get our demure friend with the blinkers out on the
razzle-dazzle again to-night."
"Not sure that I approve," Jacob said. "I don't think Morse cares much
about that sort of thing, either."
"I'm not entirely convinced, you know," Felixstowe observed, "that
we've quite got the hang of that fellow."
"In what way?" Jacob enquired.
"Well," his young companion continued, stretching himself out in the
chair and lighting a fresh cigarette, "between you and me, Mr. Morse
was pretty well-known at the low haunts we dropped in at last night.
You can tell when a Johnny's at home and when he isn't, you know, and
I saw him looking at me once or twice when they called him by his
Christian name, for instance, as though he hoped I wasn't catching
on."
"That seems quite reasonable," Jacob observed. "Sam's a pretty
broadminded chap, but I dare say he wouldn't like the idea of his
secretary being a frequenter of all sorts of night haunts."
"One for yours truly, eh?"
"Not at all. You are more a companion than a secretary, so far, and
besides, you haven't control over my finances. What have you been
studying that directory for?"
Lord Felixstowe laid down the massive volume which he had just
borrowed from the office clerk.
"Been looking 'em all up," he confided. "Doctor Brand Bardolf,
Physician, Number 1001 West Fifty-seventh Street--he's there, with
letters enough after his name to make a mess of the whole alphabet.
Sydney Morse--he's there, same address as Samuel Pratt. And the
stockbrokers, Worstead and Jones, Number 202 Wall Street."
"What made you look them all up?" Jacob asked curiously.
"I'm damned if I know," was the candid reply. "All the same, I'm here
to look after you a bit, you know, old dear, and when you're parting
with the dibs to the tune of a hundred thousand quid, you need some
one around with his weather eye open."
Jacob smiled tolerantly.
"That's all right, Felix," he agreed, "but remember I'm parting with
it under my brother's roof, to his own stockbrokers, on the advice of
his own private secretary and physician. Morse wouldn't even have the
cheque made payable to him."
"Looks as right as a trivet," the young man assented, "but I'm one of
those chaps with instincts, you know, and I'm damned if I like Morse.
I shall try and get him canned to-night."
"I beg that you won't do any such thing," Jacob objected hastily. "It
is probably most necessary for my brother's interests that he should
remain in good health. Besides, you'll get into trouble yourself if
you don't mind."
A smile almost of pity parted the young man's lips.
"Don't you worry," he murmured. "It'd take half a dozen Morses, and
then some, to sew me up."