"I shall want him to help me when young Homfray gets the concession in
his possession."
The woman looked him straight in the face, and then, after another
pause, asked in a whisper: "What! Do you intend that an--an accident
shall happen to him--eh?"
"Perhaps," replied the man with a grim smile. "Who knows?"
"Ah! I see!" she exclaimed quickly. "There cannot be two candidates
for the hand of Elma Sandys!"
And he nodded in the affirmative, a few moments later leading her back
to the two young men who had been entertaining her, and then he left the
place.
The ill-suppressed jealousy which his accomplice had expressed
considerably perturbed him. He saw that if he intended to attain
success with Elma he must first propitiate Freda. A single word from
her as an enemy would ruin all his chances.
He was not blind to the fact either that Elma had no great liking for
him, and that, on the other hand, the girl was deeply in love with the
late rector's son. Though he had declared to Freda that all was plain
sailing, he viewed the situation with considerable misgiving. As Rex
Rutherford he had made a very favourable impression upon Mr Sandys, but
women being gifted with an often uncanny intuition, Elma had from the
first viewed him with suspicion. His studied attentions had annoyed
her. And now that Freda had shown jealousy, a further difficulty, and
even danger, had arisen.
Since their hurried departure from Willowden Freda had taken another
furnished house called The Elms, not far from Laleham, on the Thames,
and there old Claribut had again been installed as butler and general
factotum, while Gray, under the name of Rutherford, occupied a handsome
suite of chambers in Dover Street, to which his new chauffeur eventually
drove him that night.
Next day the village of Little Farncombe was plunged into grief at the
astounding news that their popular rector was dead. Old Mr Sandys'
valet told his master the sad truth when he took up his early cup of
tea, and within an hour the old financier called at the Rectory and
offered his sincere condolences to Roddy, while later he sent a telegram
to Elma at Harrogate announcing the tragic fact.
Not a soul had apparently seen the dead man's visitor either arrive or
depart. Mrs Bentley had, as was her habit, gone to bed without wishing
her master "Good-night." Nobody, therefore, discovered that the poor
old gentleman had been taken ill in consequence of violent anger
expressed to a visitor, for the latter had been clever enough to slip
away without being seen.
Before noon Roddy received a long telegram from Elma, among many others,
and three days later the body of the Reverend Norton Homfray was laid to
rest in the quiet old churchyard which almost joined the Rectory garden.
From far and near came crowds of mourners, and many were the beautiful
wreaths placed upon the coffin by loving hands, though none was more
beautiful than that which Elma herself brought from the Towers.
That evening, when the funeral was over, and all the mourners had gone,
Roddy stood in the wireless-room with his loved one clasped in his
strong arms.
He was pale, serious, and grief-stricken. She saw it, and kissed him
upon the lips in mute sympathy.
He held his breath as his eyes wandered over the long row of
experimental instruments which had been his chief hobby and delight.
But with his father's death all the interest in them had been swept
away.
This he declared to Elma in a tone of deep and poignant sorrow.
"No, Roddy dear," she exclaimed, her hand tenderly placed on his
shoulder. "You must strive to bear your loss, great as it is. I know
how you loved your dear father, but the parting must always come for all
of us. The blow is great--to us all, to the village--and to you more
especially, but you must not allow it to interfere with your future
interests."
She saw in his eyes the light of unshed tears, and taking his strong
hand, softly added:
"Face the world anew, dear--face it with greater spirit and energy than
you have done before, so that you may become a son worthy of a splendid
and revered father."
"I know!" he said. "It is very good of you to speak like that, Elma,
but my grief seems to have altered the face of the world for me. The
Moroccan Government has suddenly changed, it appears, and the Kaid
Ahmed-el-Hafid is now no longer in power. The Minister of the Interior
has been replaced by Mohammed ben Mussa, who was grand chamberlain to
the Sultan, and who is now at the Ritz Hotel. My friend Barclay has
arranged with him that I shall receive the concession for the ancient
emerald mines, and I have to be introduced to him to-morrow. He
promises me every facility and protection."
"Then you will go, dearest," she said, standing with her little black
"pom" in her arms. "It will mean a great fortune for you. Father was
only remarking about it the other day."
Roddy paused and looked fondly at her sweet face.
"Yes. If you really wish it, darling, I'll go."
"That's right," she exclaimed brightly. "Come up to the Towers with me
in the car. Father asked me to bring you. You can't stay here alone
this evening."
He demurred, and tried to excuse himself, but the girl was insistent.
"There's the news broadcast!" she exclaimed next second, glancing at the
big, round-faced ship's clock. "Let's listen for a moment before we
go--eh? The broadcast always fascinates me."
In obedience to her desire Roddy switched on the aerial, lit the valves,
and giving her one pair of head-'phones, took another. Then adjusting a
tuning-coil and turning the knobs of the two condensers one after the
other, a deep, sonorous voice was heard announcing the results of
certain races held that afternoon, followed by a number of items of
general news, which included a railway accident in France and the facts,
that the King had left Buckingham Palace for Windsor, and that yet
another conference of the Allies was contemplated.
The news was followed by the announcement:
"Mr George Pelham will now tell you all one of the famous bedtime
stories for the children. Hulloa! C.Q. Hulloa! C.Q.? Listen! A
bedtime story."
Elma removed the telephones from her ears, and said:
"I think we may go now." And then together they went forth to the car
awaiting them.
Mr Sandys had asked Roddy to fit for him a wireless transmitting set so
that he could speak to his office by wireless telephone. This he had
done, though not without considerable difficulties with the authorities.
It was eleven o'clock before the young man returned to the silent, empty
house, and on entering his dead father's study he saw that upon the
blotting-pad old Mrs Bentley had placed several letters.
He took them up thoughtfully.
"Poor old dad!" he exclaimed aloud. "These have been written by people
who still believe him to be alive!"
He turned them over in his hand, and then began to open them. The first
was a polite intimation from a moneylender, who expressed himself
anxious to lend the reverend gentleman a loan of anything from two
pounds to two thousand pounds at practically a nominal interest. The
next was from a second-hand bookseller of whom his father frequently
dealt, the third a bill, and the fourth was thin and bore a foreign
stamp, the address being written in a small, angular hand.
He opened it with some curiosity, and read as follows:
"Dear Mr Homfray,--Though we have not met for nearly two years, you
will probably recollect me. I have of late been very ill, and in a
most mysterious manner. I am, however, fast recovering, and am at
last able to write to you--having recollected only yesterday your name
and address.
"I have been suffering from blindness and a peculiar loss of memory;
indeed, so much that I could not, until yesterday, tell people my own
name. Here I am known as Betty Grayson, and I am living with some
good, honest Normandy folk called Nicole.
"I need not recall the tragedy which befell my _fiance_, Mr Willard,
but it is in that connexion that I wish to see you--and with all
urgency, for your interests in the affair coincide with my own. I
feel that I dare not tell you more in this letter than to say that I
feel grave danger threatening, and I make an appeal to you to come
here and see me, so that we may act together in clearing up the
mystery and bringing those guilty to the justice they deserve.
"The situation has assumed the greatest urgency for action, so will
you, on receipt of this letter, telegraph to me: chez Madame Nicole,
104, Rue des Chanoines, Bayeux, France, and tell me that you will come
at once to see me. I would come to you, but as an invalid I am in the
charge of those who are doing their best to ensure my rapid recovery.
You are a clergyman, and I rely upon your kind and generous aid.--
Yours very sincerely,
"Edna Manners."
"Edna Manners?" gasped Roddy when he saw the signature. "Can she
possibly be the girl whom I saw dead in Welling Wood?"
CHAPTER TWENTY.
CONCERNS THE CONCESSION.
Next morning Roddy was compelled to leave Haslemere by the early train,
and having met Barclay at Waterloo station, they drove in a taxi to the
Ritz, where in a luxurious suite of apartments they found the
white-bearded intellectual old Moor, Mohammed ben Mussa. His dark,
deep-set eyes sparkled when in French Mr Barclay introduced the young
man as "one of the most active and enthusiastic mining engineers in
London," and from beneath his white robe he put forth his hand and
grasped Roddy's.
"I am very pleased, Monsieur Homfray, to think that you contemplate
prospecting in the Wad Sus. Our mutual friend Mr Barclay is well known
to us in Fez, and at his instigation I am granting you the necessary
concession on the same conditions as my predecessor proposed to you,
namely, that one-eighth of the profits be paid to me privately."
"To those terms, Your Excellency, we entirely agree," Roddy said.
"Good. Then I have the agreement ready for your signature."
Upon the writing-table stood a small steel dispatch-case, from which His
Excellency brought out a document which had been drawn up by a French
notary in Tangiers, and, having read it, both Barclay and Homfray
appended their signatures. Replacing it in the box, he then drew out a
formidable-looking document written in Arabic with a translation in
French.
Both Roddy and his friend sat down and together digested the contents of
the document by which "Son Majeste Cherifiane," through "his trusted
Minister Mohammed ben Mussa," granted to Roderick Charles Homfray, of
Little Farncombe, in Surrey, the sole right to prospect for and to work
the emerald mines in the Wad Sus region of the Sahara on payment of
one-eighth of the money obtained from the sale of the gems to the
Sultan's private account at the Credit Lyonnais in Paris.
It was a long and wordy screed, couched in the quaint and flowery
language of the Moors, but the above was the gist of it. The Sultan and
his Minister were sharing between themselves a quarter of the spoils,
while Morocco itself obtained no benefit whatever.
The two Englishmen having expressed their acceptance, His Excellency,
the slow-moving Moorish Minister, bestirred himself again, and taking a
large piece of scarlet sealing-wax, produced a huge silver seal--his
seal of office as Minister--and with considerable care and with a great
show of formality, he heated the wax until he had a round mass about
three inches in diameter, into which he pressed the all-important seal.
Then, ascertaining that the impression was a good one, he took out a red
pen and signed it with long, sprawly Arabic characters, afterwards
signing his name in French as Minister of His Majesty the Sultan.
"And now, my young friend," said the patriarchal-looking man in French,
as he handed the document to Roddy hardly dry, "I want to give you some
little advice. You will go to Mogador, and there you will meet Ben
Chaib Benuis, who will bear a letter from me. He will conduct you
safely through very unsafe country which is held by our veiled Touaregs,
the brigands of the Great Desert. While you are with him you will have
safe conduct into the Wad Sus, one of the most inaccessible regions
south of the Atlas Mountains."
"I am much indebted to Your Excellency," said the young man. "I have
had some little experience of mining operations in South America, and up
to the present I am glad to say that I have been successful. I hope I
may be equally successful in Morocco."
"You will surely be," the old man assured him. "Already Ben Chaib
Benuis knows where to find the entrance to the workings, and the rest
will be quite easy for you. You have only to raise the necessary
capital here, in your city of London, and then we go ahead. And may
Allah's blessing ever rest upon you!" concluded the mock-pious old man,
who saw in the concession a big profit to himself and to his royal
master.
Roddy folded the precious document into four and placed it in the breast
pocket of his dark-blue jacket with an expression of thanks and a
promise to do his utmost to carry out his part of the contract.
"We have every hope of floating a very important company to carry out
the scheme," said Andrew Barclay enthusiastically, even then in
ignorance that the plan given him by the Minister's predecessor in
Marseilles was no longer in his possession. "I saw the beautiful dark
emerald which has been only recently taken from one of the mines. It is
a glorious stone, finer, they say, than any that have ever come from the
Urals into the treasury of the Romanoffs."
"Emeralds and rubies are the most precious stones of to-day," Roddy
declared. "Diamonds do not count. They are unfashionable in these
post-war days of the ruined aristocracy and the blatant profiteer. A
big emerald worn as a pendant upon a platinum chain is of far greater
notoriety than a diamond tiara. Nobody wears the latter."
It was eleven o'clock, and His Excellency rang for a cup of black
coffee, while Barclay and Roddy each took a glass of French vermouth.
Then, when they sat down to chat over their cigarettes, Roddy glanced
casually at the morning newspaper, and saw the announcement that the
Moorish Minister was in London "upon a matter of international
importance concerning the port of Mogador."
The young fellow smiled. The matter upon which old Mohammed was "doing
himself well" at the Ritz concerned his own pocket--the same matter
which affects nine-tenths of the foreign political adventurers who visit
Paris and London. They make excuses of international "conversations,"
but the greed of gain to themselves at the expense of their own country
is ever present.
Later, when he walked with Barclay along Piccadilly towards the Circus,
the concession safely in his pocket, Roddy turned to his friends and
said:
"Do you know, Andrew, I'm not quite easy in my own mind! I fear that
somebody might try to do me out of this great stroke of good fortune for
which I am indebted to you."
"Why? Who could contest your right to the concession? The future is
all plain sailing for you--and for Miss Sandys, I hope. I congratulate
you, my boy. You'll end by being a pillar of finance!"
"Never, old chap," laughed Roddy. Then, after a few moments' pause, he
added: "I'm going over to France to-morrow. I must go."
"Why?"
"I have a little matter to see after that brooks no delay. When I'm
back I'll tell you all about it. I'll be away only two or three days at
most. But in the meantime I shall place the concession with old
Braydon, my father's solicitor, in Bedford Row. I have to see him this
afternoon regarding some matters concerning the poor old governor's
will."
"Yes. Perhaps it may be just as well, Roddy," said his friend. "But as
soon as you have recovered from the blow of your poor father's death we
ought to take up the concession and see what business we can do to our
mutual advantage. There's a big fortune in it. Of that I'm quite
convinced."
"So am I--unless there are sinister influences at work, as somehow I
fear there may be."
But Barclay laughed at his qualms. The pair took lunch in a small
Italian restaurant in Wardour Street, and while Andrew returned to
Richmond, Roddy went along to see his father's old friend, Mr Braydon,
and asked him to put the sealed concession into safe keeping.
"I'm just sending along to the Safe Deposit Company's vaults in Chancery
Lane," said the grey-haired, clean-shaven old man who was so well known
in the legal world. "I'll send the document for you. Perhaps you will
like a copy? I'll have a rough copy made at once." And, touching a
bell, he gave the order to the lady clerk who entered in response.
When Roddy left Bedford Row he felt that a great weight had been lifted
from his shoulders.
Perhaps he would not have been so completely reassured if he had known
that Gordon Gray himself had been very cleverly keeping watch upon his
movements all the morning. He had been idling in the corridor of the
Ritz while Roddy had been engaged in the negotiations, and he had been
standing on the opposite pavement in Bedford Row while he had sought Mr
Arnold Braydon.
When Roddy had walked down towards Holborn the silent watcher had turned
upon his heel and left, with a muttered expression of dissatisfaction,
for he knew that young Homfray had placed the official document in
keeping so safe that theft would now be impossible.
"We must change our tactics," growled the king of international crooks
to himself. "That concession would be worthless to us even if we had it
at this moment. No; we must devise other means."
And, hailing a passing taxi, he entered and drove away.
Gordon Gray had been foiled by Roddy's forethought. Yet, after all, the
concession had been actually granted and stamped by the official seal of
the Moorish Minister of the Interior. Therefore, the dead rector's son
was in possession of the sole right to prospect in the Wad Sus, and it
only now remained for him to start out on his journey into the Sahara
and locate the mines, aided by the plan which his friend Barclay had
been given.
As far as Roddy was concerned the concession was an accomplished fact.
But uppermost in his mind was that curious letter addressed to his
father from the girl, Edna Manners. Something impelled him to
investigate it--and at once.
Therefore, he dashed back to Little Farncombe, and before going home
called at the Towers, intending to show the strange letter to Mr Sandys
before leaving for Bayeux. James, the footman, who opened the door to
him, replied that both his master and Miss Elma had left at twelve
o'clock, Mr Sandys having some urgent business in Liverpool. They had
gone north in the car.
Disappointed, Roddy went home and packed a suit-case, and that evening
left for Southampton, whence he crossed to Havre, as being the most
direct route into Normandy.
At midday he alighted from the train at Bayeux, and drove in a
ramshackle _fiacre_ over the uneven cobbles of the quaint old town,
until at the back of the magnificent cathedral he found the address
given in the letter.
Ascending to the first floor, he knocked at the door, and Madame Nicole
appeared.
"I am in search of Mademoiselle Grayson," he said inquiringly in French.
"Mademoiselle lives here," answered the woman, "but, unfortunately, she
is not at home. She went out last evening to post a letter, and,
strangely enough, she has not returned! We are much distressed. Only
an hour ago my husband informed the commissary of police, and he is
making inquiries. Mademoiselle has recovered her sight and, to a great
extent, her proper senses. It is a mystery! She promised to return in
a quarter of an hour, but she has not been seen since!"
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
THE BLOW.
Purcell Sandys was seated at his writing-table in his fine spacious
library in Park Lane engrossed in the intricacies of some
formidable-looking accounts.
Hughes, the grave-faced old butler, opened the door softly, and asked:
"Shall you be wanting anything more to-night, sir?"
His master raised his head wearily, and Hughes at once noticed how very
pale and changed he seemed.
"No, nothing, Hughes," he replied in an unusual voice. "But leave word
that when Miss Elma comes in I wish to see her here at once. She's at
Lady Whitchurch's dance, but she ought to be back very soon."
"Yes, sir," answered the old servant. "But--excuse me, sir, you don't
look very well. Can't I get you something? A little brandy--perhaps?"
"Well, yes, Hughes. Just a liqueur-glass full," was his master's reply;
and then he turned again to his accounts.
Hughes, a moment later, placed the thin little Venetian liqueur-glass
upon a silver salver at his elbow, and retired noiselessly.
Mr Sandys had not heard him. He was far too engrossed in his work of
examination of the accounts and three bankers' pass-books.
Now and then he drew long breaths and snapped his fingers in fierce
impatience.
"To think of this! Only to think of it!" escaped his pale, thin lips.
Then he rose, and with his hand on the edge of the table he slowly
surveyed his room.
"And I trusted Hornton! He was so sound that I would have entrusted to
him Elma's life and future. And she is all I have in the world. And
he's let me down!"
He reseated himself at the table, and, taking up a telegram, re-read it,
as he had done a dozen times before.
It was dated from Stowmarket, and said:
"Much regret to tell you that poor Charles has been found dead. Very
distressed.--Lady Hornton."
His partner was dead! Upon his table lay a letter he had received by
the last post that evening. A letter of apology it was. On the
previous night at eight o'clock the two partners had met alone in
Lombard Street, and Sir Charles had confessed that he had been gambling
heavily in Paris, at Deauville, at Aix, at Madeira, at the Jockey Club,
at Buenos Ayres, as well as at a private gambling-hell called Evans' in
West Kensington, and that the result had been that he had lost
everything. He could not face the music.
So he had made his bow to the world and ended his life. Purcell Sandys
was left to bear the brunt of the whole of the gigantic liabilities of
them both!
The great financier left the little glass of brandy untouched. He was
never addicted to spirits. A man of strong and outstanding personality,
he had studied, as so many of our greatest Englishmen have done, the
practically unknown philosophy of Yogi--that science of "I am"--of the
"Great Ego," which by our modern world is so little understood.
Purcell Sandys, at that moment when he knew that ruin had befallen him,
stood erect, and presently a curious smile crossed his lips. He had
studied the old Indian science of "Raja Yogi" thoroughly and well. He
knew the nature of Real Self, as every strong man does. He knew the
power of the Will, which power underlies the entire teachings of Raja
Yogi, and he was master of his Real Self. The great strong men through
all the ages have studied the Yogi science perhaps unconsciously. Even
as Purcell Sandys stood there, a ruined man in that millionaire's palace
in Park Lane, he spoke aloud and repeated the mantrams or affirmations
of the candidates presenting themselves to the Yogi masters for their
first lesson.
"I am a Centre," he said in a low, distinct voice. "Around me revolves
the world. `I' am a Centre of Influence and Power. `I' am a Centre of
Thought and Consciousness. `I' am independent of the Body. `I' am
Immortal and cannot be destroyed. `I' am Invincible and cannot be
injured. Mastery is with me."
Then he returned to his chair and fell to studying and adding up his
liabilities. They were colossal. He had known that Hornton was very
fond of games of chance and often played for high stakes at a certain
gaming-club in Paris, but he had never dreamed he was gambling away the
firm's securities. The blow had staggered him, for it had brought him
in a day from luxury to ruin. The financial operations they had in
progress throughout the world were now simply bubbles. There was
nothing behind them. The Paris house had been depleted, and yet so high
was the standing of the firm that nobody had expected such a crisis.
The failure would inevitably bring down with it other smaller houses,
and hundreds of small investors, war widows, clergymen, artisans, and
people who earned weekly wages, both in England and in France, would
lose their all.