CHAPTER I_The Duke of York's steps

The Duke of York’s Steps

by Henry Wade

published by Payson & Clarke Ltd (New York)

CONTENTS

I. The Two Bankers

II. At Queen Anne’s Gate

III. The Victory Finance Company

IV. The Expected Happens

V. Sir Leward Marradine Takes Interest

VI. Inspector John Poole

VII. Significant Information

VIII. Ryland Fratten

IX. Silence

X. The Inquest

XI. The Intervention of Inez

XII. “Breath of Eden”

XIII. Eye-Witnesses

XIV. Sir Garth’s Papers

XV. “Eau D’Enfer”

XVI. Reconstruction

XVII. This Way and That

XVIII. The Method

XIX. The Ethiopian and General Development Company

XX. The Rotunda Mine

XXI. General Meets General

XXII. Miss Saverel

XXIII. The Hotel “Antwerp”

XXIV. Alibi

XXV. Justice

XXVI. . . . May Be Blind

CHAPTER I

The Two Bankers

“A glass of the Dow for Mr. Hessel, please, Rogers, and I’ll have

brown sherry.”

The wine waiter retired to execute the order and Sir Garth Fratten

turned to his guest.

“Too much vintage port last night, I’m afraid, Leo. Old Grendonian

dinner. ‘Hair of the dog that bit you’ may be all right with

champagne, but port—no.”

His companion laughed.

“I should have thought you were too old a Grendonian to fall into that

trap,” he said. “Where was it? The Grandleigh? They generally give you

pretty good stuff there. I hate those functions myself—not that there

are any Old-Boy dinners of the school I went to.”

There was a trace of bitterness in Hessel’s voice, but his companion

ignored it.

“I don’t like them myself,” he said. “I haven’t been to one for years,

but this was a ter-centenary affair and I rather had to go. The wine

was all right—it was the speeches that were the trouble—they kept at

it till nearly eleven. I got mine over early—and shortly—but some of

them took the opportunity to let off steam. Pretty indifferent steam

most of it was, too. One has to drink something—toasts and general

boredom. I couldn’t drink the brandy—1812 on the bottle and 1912

inside it—the usual Napoleon ramp. But the Cockburn was genuine

stuff—’96. Must have got outside the best part of a bottle—not wise in

these soft days. Have some coffee, old man. Shall we have it here? The

guests’ smoking-room is sure to be packed now, and it’s after two—we

can smoke in here.”

The two men were sitting at a small corner table in the handsome

dining-room of the City Constitutional Club, of which the elder, Sir

Garth Fratten, was a member. Chairman of the well-known “family” bank

which bears his name, Sir Garth occupied an assured position in the

esteem, not only of this exclusive club, but of the “City” generally.

Still well on the right side of seventy, the banker was commonly

regarded as being at the peak of a long and honourable financial

career. He had kept his mind abreast of the rapidly changing

conditions of post-war finance, and this faculty, coupled with his

great practical knowledge and experience, caused his opinion and his

approval to be valued very highly, not only by individuals, but even

at times by the Treasury. He had been knighted for his services,

financial and otherwise, to the country in the Great War and it was

thought not unlikely that his specialized knowledge might lead him to

a seat in the Upper House.

His companion, Leopold Hessel, was about eight years his junior,

though his scanty hair was at least as grey as Fratten’s—probably

because his path in life had been less smooth. His skin, however, was

clean and, apart from the eyes, unlined, and his figure slim. He had

the dark eyes and sensitive hands, but none of the more exaggerated

features of his race, and the charm of his appearance was confirmed by

the fact of his close friendship with a man of Sir Garth Fratten’s

discrimination. This friendship had been of untold value to Hessel in

the war, when the position of men of even remote German descent had

been extremely difficult. Fratten, however, had insisted upon Hessel

retaining his position upon the directorate of the bank and this

action by so prominent a citizen, being regarded as a certificate of

Hessel’s patriotism, had saved him the worst of the ignominies that

were the lot of many less fortunate than himself. None the less, the

scar of those harrowing years remained and was probably reflected in

the conversation that was now taking place.

“I wish you’d let me put you up for this place, Leo,” Fratten was

saying. “I hate having to treat you as a guest—you know what I

mean—and take you into that poky little smoking-room on the rare

occasions when you consent to lunch with me.”

Hessel smiled rather bitterly and shook his head.

“It’s good of you, Fratten,” he said. “In many ways I’d like to belong

here, but . . .” he paused, as if seeking how best to express a

refusal that might appear ungracious. “Perhaps I haven’t the courage

to risk a licking now,” he concluded.

Fratten’s gesture of denial was emphatic.

“You’re not still thinking of that damned war business, are you?

That’s all forgotten long ago—not that it ever applied to you. Or is

it Wendheim and Lemuels? They weren’t blackballed because they

were . . . because of their religion. It was simply that this club has

always asked for other qualifications besides wealth and business

success. That ass Erdlingham didn’t realize it, or they’d got the whip

hand of him or something—he’s in all their things—and he put them up

and of course they just got pilled—not the sort we want here. You

are—you’d get in without the least doubt.”

Hessel’s hand lightly touched his companion’s sleeve. “You are a good

friend, Fratten,” he said, “a good deal better than I deserve. Don’t

you see that that’s one reason why I won’t risk this—you know what

your position would be if it didn’t come off. No, don’t go on. I’m

more grateful than I can say, but I shall not change my mind.”

Fratten sighed.

“All right, Leo,” he said. “I’m really sorry, but I respect your

attitude. It’s more my loss than yours, anyway. Come on; we must be

off. I’ve got a Hospital Board meeting at three and I must look in at

the bank first.”

The two men made their way out into the wide hall, with its handsome

double staircase, recovered their overcoats (it was October) and hats

from the pegs where they had hung them, and were soon in the street.

As they turned into Cornhill Fratten threw away the cigar that he had

been smoking, and cleared his throat.

“I’ve got something in the way of a confession to make to you, Leo,”

he said. “I ought to have made it before, but I’m not sure that I’m

not rather ashamed of myself. I told you that I’d been to an old

Grendonian dinner last night. Well, I met a fellow there who was a

great friend of mine at school, though I hadn’t seen him since. He was

a soldier, did damn well in the war, commanded a division in France

towards the end and a district in India afterwards. I don’t think he’d

ever lived in London till he retired a couple of years ago—anyhow we’d

never met. When he left the army he didn’t settle down in the country

to grow moss and grouse at the Government like most of them do.

He . . . are you listening, old chap?”

Hessel had been looking straight in front of him with an expression

that suggested that his thoughts might be on some other and more

important subject, but he emphatically repudiated the implied charge

of inattention.

“Yes, yes, of course I am. Go on—interesting career. Who is he? What

does he do?”

Sir Garth, as other and lesser men, liked to tell his story in his own

way. He paid no attention to the questions.

“As I was saying, he didn’t settle down to a life of promenades and

old ladies at Cheltenham; he set up as a bold bad company promoter—and

with no mean success.”

“Who is he?—What’s his name?” repeated Hessel.

“Lorne. Major-General Sir Hunter Lorne, K.C.B., K.C. This and K.C.

That. He asked me to . . .”

But his companion had stopped.

“Look here, Fratten,” he said. “What is this? What is the confession?

I can’t hear you in this racket. Come down here.”

He took his companion’s arm and pulled him into an alley-way that led

through towards Lombard Street. It was comparatively quiet after the

roar of the traffic in Cornhill.

“What on earth is this story?” repeated Hessel, with a note of

agitation in his voice.

“I’ll tell you if you’ll give me half a chance. He’s Chairman of a

Finance Company—the Victory Finance Company, I think he called

it. . . . He has asked me to join his Board. He thinks my name would

be a help—I suppose it would. Apparently they’re thinking of extending

their scope; they . . .”

“But you didn’t consent?” ejaculated Hessel sharply.

“I warned you it was a confession, Leo. I’d had, as I told you at the

club just now, more port than was strictly wise. I wasn’t quite so—so

guarded as I usually am—we were very great friends at school. I was a

fool, I suppose, but I promised him I’d look into the thing—he’s

sending me the details tonight.”

Hessel’s usually calm face was flushed. He was evidently deeply moved

by Sir Garth’s information.

“Good Heavens!” he exclaimed. “You can’t do that. Your doctor . . .

You told us—the Board—only two or three meetings ago that your doctor

had absolutely ordered you to do less work! Your heart . . . you said

your heart was unsound! You’ve gone off the Board of the British

Tradings—I thought you were going off your Hospital Board too.

Besides, this Victory Trust; what is it? You can’t—with your

reputation—you can’t go on to the Board of a tin-pot company like

that! It’s probably not sound. It’s . . .”

“Ah, that’s another point,” interrupted Fratten. “If it’s not sound,

of course I can’t go into it. Apart from my own reputation it wouldn’t

be fair to the public; they might take my name—for what it’s worth—as

a guarantee. That I shall go into very carefully before I consent. As

to health, what you say is quite true. My ‘tragic aneurism’ or

whatever it is old Spavage calls it, is rather serious. I don’t deny

that I’m worried about it. It isn’t heart really, you know—I only call

it that because it sounds prettier. But after all, this Victory

Finance Company ought not to mean much work. I gather that it’s my

name and perhaps some general advice on the financial side of the

business that Lorne wants.”

Hessel had by this time calmed down and he now spoke quietly, though

none the less definitely.

“I think you are misleading yourself, Fratten. You tell me that this

company contemplates extending its scope. I know you well enough to be

certain that if you go on to this Board and it starts developing fresh

fields you will throw your whole energy into the work. You may deceive

yourself about that but not me. Now, apart from your own point of

view, I want to put two others to you—your family’s and the bank’s. If

you break down, if you over-strain yourself and collapse—that’s what

happens, you know—is that going to be pleasant for Inez and Ryland?”

“It certainly wouldn’t spoil Ryland’s sleep,” answered Fratten

bitterly. “I can’t imagine anything suiting him better.”

“Oh, come, Fratten; you’re unjust to the boy. But Inez—you know well

enough that she adores you. I should say that you were the centre of

her whole universe. Can’t you think of her? Doesn’t she come before

this school friend?—a friend who means so much to you that you haven’t

seen him, and probably haven’t thought of him, for forty years.”

The banker’s expression had softened at the mention of his daughter

but he made no comment. Hessel renewed his attack from a fresh

direction.

“And the bank,” he said. “What about that? Thousands of people depend

upon the success of Fratten’s Bank. All your shareholders—it’s been

your policy—our policy—for generations to distribute the shares widely

and in small holdings—mostly to small people. Small tradesmen, single

ladies, retired soldiers and sailors, your own employees. Many of them

have all their savings in Fratten’s Bank. You know well enough that

the position of the private banks is anything but secure in these

days—half a slip, and the ‘_big five_’ swallow them. We’re doing well

now, we’re even prosperous—why?—because of you. Your knowledge, your

experience, your flair—you _are_ the bank, the rest of us are dummies.

I don’t plead for myself, but my own position, my financial and social

position are entirely dependent upon Fratten’s.”

Sir Garth shook his head impatiently.

“You exaggerate,” he said. “The Board is perfectly capable of running

the bank without me—probably better. You yourself are worth in fact,

though possibly not in the eyes of the public, every bit as much to

the welfare of the bank as I am. You may have less experience but you

have a quicker, a more acute, financial brain than I ever had and I’m

past my prime—I’m depreciating in value every day. No, no, Leo; you’ve

over-stated your case, and that’s fatal. I’ll take care, of course,

but that appeal _ad misericordiam_—weeping widows and trusting

orphans—is all bunkum. Anyway I must get along now—I can’t stand here

arguing all day.”

Hessel’s expression was grim.

“You’ve definitely decided?” he asked.

“If it’s sound, yes. I’ve taken a leaf out of your book, Leo, about

the club. I’m grateful to you for your consideration, for your advice,

much of it very sound, but—I shan’t change my mind.”

He moved off down the alley, and Hessel, after a moment’s hesitation,

followed him in silence. They turned into Lombard Street, both

evidently wrapped in deep and probably anxious thought—so much so that

Sir Garth, omitting for once the fixed habit of years, stepped into

the roadway to cross the street without glancing over his shoulder at

the traffic. As he did so, a motor-bicycle combination swooped from

behind a van straight at him. With a violent start, Fratten awoke to

his danger and stepped back on to the pavement, untouched, while the

cyclist, with a glance back to see that all was well, sputtered on his

way.

But though there had been no collision, all was very far from being

well. The banker took two or three shaky steps forward and then

tottered to the inner side of the pavement and leant, gasping, against

the wall. His face was very pale, and he pressed his hand against his

chest.

A crowd had gathered at the first sight of the unusual and now pressed

closely round the sick man, adding its heedless quota to his distress.

Hessel, who had come quickly to his companion’s side, did his best to

drive off the sensation-vultures, but it was not till a majestic City

policeman appeared that their victim was given a chance to breathe in

comfort. After loosening his collar, the constable and Hessel guided

Fratten into the office outside which the mishap had occurred. Quickly

recovering himself and declining the manager’s offer to send for some

brandy, Sir Garth brushed aside the constable’s desire to trace the

motor-cyclist.

“No, no. No need to make a fuss,” he said. “It was as much my fault as

his, and anyway you people have got more important work to do than

that. I’m quite all right now; it would have been nothing if I hadn’t

happened to have a dicky heart. I’d like a taxi though. I shan’t come

to the bank now, Leo; it’s getting late. Ask Ruslett to send me round

the papers about that Hungarian issue to my house. I shall be there by

five.”

“But you’re going straight home, aren’t you?” exclaimed Hessel.

“No, I told you I’d got a Hospital Board this afternoon. It’s nearly

three now.”

“But good heavens, man, are you out of your wits today? You’ve had a

severe shock. You must get straight to bed and send for your doctor.”

“Rubbish. I’m quite all right now. I must go to this Board meeting—I’m

in the Chair and I’ve got to report on an amalgamation scheme.

Besides, if I’m ill, what better place to go to than a hospital?

They’ve even got a mortuary I believe, if the worst comes to the

worst!”

Fratten laughed at his companion’s harassed expression and took his

arm.

“Now then, lead me out to the ambulance, old man,” he said.

Hessel watched his friend drive off in the taxi, and then turned and

walked slowly off towards the bank, an anxious and very thoughtful

expression on his face.

The police-constable established himself against a convenient wall,

took out his note-book and wetted his pencil.

“At 2.45 p. m., I . . .”