In the Board room of the British and Imperial Granaries, Limited, were
four vacant chairs and four unoccupied desks, each of the latter piled
with a mass of letters. Outside was disquietude, in the street almost a
riot. Callers were compelled to form themselves into a queue,--and left
with scanty comfort. Wingate, by what seemed to be special favour, was
passed through the little throng and ushered by Harrison himself into the
deserted Board room.
"So you have no news of any of your directors, Harrison?" the
former observed.
"None whatever, sir."
The two men exchanged long and in a way searching glances. Harrison was,
as always, the lank and cadaverous nonentity, the man of negative
suspicions and infinite reserves. His eyes were fixed upon the carpet. He
was a study in passivity.
"What happens to the business, eh--to your big operations?"
Wingate enquired.
"The business suffers to some extent, of course," Harrison admitted.
"Your banking arrangements?"
"I have limited powers of signature. So far the bank has been lenient."
"I see," Wingate ruminated,--and waited.
"The general policy of the firm is, as you are aware, to buy," Harrison
continued thoughtfully. "That policy has naturally been suspended during
the last forty-eight hours. There are rumours, too, of a large shipment
of wheat from an unexpected source, by some steamers which we had failed
to take account of. Prices are dropping every hour."
"Materially?"
The confidential clerk shook his head.
"Only by points and fractions. The market is never sure of our
principals. Sometimes when they have bought, most largely they have
remained inactive for a few days beforehand, on purpose to depress
prices."
"Do people believe in--their disappearance?"
"Not down here--in the City, I mean," Harrison replied grimly. "To be
frank with you, the market suspects a plant."
"Let me," Wingate suggested, "give you my impression as to the
disappearance of three of your directors."
"It would be very interesting," Harrison murmured, his eyes following the
hopeless efforts of a huge fly to escape through the closed window.
"I picture them to myself," his visitor went on, "as indulging in a
secret tour through the north of England---a tour undertaken in order
that they may realise personally whether their tactics have really
produced the suffering and distress reported."
"Ah!"
"I picture them convinced. I ask myself what would be their natural
course of action. Without a doubt, they would sell wheat."
"Sell wheat" Harrison repeated. "Yes!"
"They would be in a hurry," Wingate continued. "They would not wish to
waste a moment. They would probably telephone their instructions."
From the great office outside came the hum of many voices, the shrill
summons of many telephones, a continued knocking and shouting at the
locked door. To all these sounds Harrison remained stoically indifferent.
He was studying once more the pattern of the carpet.
"Telephone," he repeated thoughtfully.
"It would be sufficient, if you recognized the voice?"
"Confirmation--from a fellow director, I might have to ask for,"
Harrison decided.
"Nothing else?"
"Nothing!"
"And how long would it take you to sell, say--"
"I should prefer not to have quantities mentioned," Harrison
interrupted. "When we start to sell in a dozen places, the thing is
beyond exact calculation. The brake can be put on if necessary."
"I understand," Wingate replied---"but I should think it probable, if the
truth dawns upon our friends--that no brake will be necessary.--As
regards your own affairs, Harrison?"
"I received your letter last night, sir."
"You found its contents satisfactory?"
"I found them generous, sir."
Wingate took up his hat and stick a moment or so later.
"My visit here," he remarked, "might easily be misconstrued. Would it be
possible for me to leave without fighting my way through that mob?"
Harrison led the way through an inner room to a door opening out upon a
passage. Dark buildings frowned down upon them from either side. The
place was a curious little oasis from the noonday heat. In the distance
was a narrow vista of passing men and vehicles. Harrison stood there with
the handle of the door in his hand. There was no farewell between him and
his departing visitor, no sign of intelligence in his inscrutable face.
"Presuming that the disappearance of Mr. Phipps, Mr. Rees and Lord
Dredlinton is accounted for by this supposed journey to the North,"
he ventured, "when should you imagine that they might be communicating
with me?"
"About dawn to-morrow," Wingate replied. "You will be here."
"I never leave," was the quiet answer. "About dawn to-morrow?"
"Or before."
Josephine asked the same question in a different manner when Wingate
entered her little sitting room a few hours later.
"They are obstinate?" she enquired curiously.
He sipped the tea which she had handed to him.
"Very," he admitted, "yet, after all, why not? If we succeed, it is, at
any rate, the end of their private fortunes, of Phipps' ambitions and
your husband's dreams of wealth."
"So much the better," she declared sadly. "More money with Henry has only
meant a greater eagerness to get rid of it."
A companionship which had no need of words seemed to have sprung up
between them. They sat together for some minutes without speech, minutes
during which the deep silence which reigned throughout the house seemed
curiously accentuated. Josephine shivered.
"I shall never know what happiness is," she declared, "until I have left
this house--never to return!"
"That will not be long," he reminded her gravely.
She placed her hand on his.
"It is full of the ghosts of my sorrows," she went on. "I have known
misery here."
"And I one evening of happiness," he said, smiling.
Her eyes glowed for a moment, but she was disturbed, tremulous, agitated.
"I listen for footsteps in the streets," she confessed. "I am afraid!"
"Needlessly," he assured her. "I know for a fact that Shields is off
the scent."
"But he is not a fool," she answered hastily.
Wingate's smile was full of confidence.
"Dear," he said, "I do not believe that you have anything to fear. There
have been no loose ends left. Behind your front door is safety."
"The man Shields--I only saw him for a few minutes, but he impressed me,"
she sighed.
"Shields is, without doubt, a capable person," Wingate admitted, "but he
could only succeed in this case by blind guessing. Stanley Rees was
brought into this house through the mews, without observation from any
living person. Phipps, when he received that supposed message from you,
was only too anxious to come the same way. They left their respective
abodes for here in a secrecy which they themselves encouraged, for Rees
imagined that your husband had urgent need of him, and Phipps was ass
enough to believe that your summons meant what he wished it to mean.
There has been no leakage of information anywhere.--Honestly, Josephine,
I think that you may banish your fears."
"A woman's fears only, dear," she admitted, as she gave him her hands.
"Why did nature make my sex pessimists and yours optimists, I wonder? I
would so much rather look towards the sun."
"Soon," he promised her with a smile, "I shall dominate your subconscious
mind. You shall see the colours of life through my eyes. You will find
your long-delayed happiness."
The tears which stood in her eyes were of unalloyed content,--the drama
so close at hand was forgotten. Their hands remained clasped for a
moment. Then he left her.
Back into that room with its strange mystery of shadows, its odour of
mingled tragedy and absurdity. Grant rose from a high-backed chair
guarding the table, as Wingate approached. The latter glanced towards the
three men crouching around the table. Their white faces gleamed weirdly
against the background of shaded light. There were black lines under
Dredlinton's eyes. He made a gurgling effort at speech,--his muttered
words were only partly coherent.
"I resign! I resign!"
Wingate shook his head.
"I am afraid, Lord Dredlinton," he said, "that you are in the hands of
your fellow directors. One may not be released without the others.
Directly you can induce Mr. Phipps and Mr. Rees to see reason, you
will all three be restored to liberty. Until then I am afraid that you
must share the inevitable inconveniences connected with your enforced
stay here."
Phipps lurched towards him with a furious gesture. Wingate only smiled as
he threw himself into his easy-chair.
"Wheat is falling very slowly," he announced. "Every one is waiting for
the B. & I. to sell.--You can go now, Grant," he added, "I will take up
the watch myself."