"Well?"
"Weel?" asked Duncan Macgregor, who was seated in an easy attitude in
Sam Statham's library. At the table sat the millionaire himself, while
near by, in the enjoyment of a cigar, sat old Levi. The latter was
still in his garb of service, but his attitude was certainly more like
that of his master's intimate friend than that of butler.
It was from his thin lips that the query had escaped in response to a
fact which the Scot had emphasised with his hairy fist.
"Well," exclaimed Statham after a pause, "and what do you suppose should
be done, Mr--"
"Macgregor--still Duncan Macgregor," exclaimed the bearded man,
concluding the millionaire's sentence. "That's the verra thing that
puzzles me, mon. P'raps we'd best wait a wee bittie an' see."
Levi dissented. He knew that whatever his position in that strange
household, his master always listened to him and took his advice--
sometimes when it involved the risk of many thousands. He was a kind of
oracle, for generally when Ben came there to consult his brother upon
some important point, the old servant remained in the room to hear the
discussion and to give his dry but candid opinion.
"My own opinion is that we should act at once--without fear. The
slightest hesitation now will be our undoing, depend upon it," he said.
"Ah! Mr Levi," exclaimed the Scot, "I'm a'ways for caution. Hasna'
our ain Bobbie said that facts are chiels that winna ding, and downa be
disputed?"
"Yes; but we've not yet quite established the facts yet, you see,"
Statham said.
"Why, mon, isn't it as plain as plain can be? What mair d'ye want?"
"A good deal," Levi chimed in in his squeaky voice. "We can't act on
that. It's too shadowy altogether."
"I tell ye it isn't!" cried Duncan, shaking his clenched fist again.
"Mr Statham is in sair peril, I tell ye he is, an' I've proved it."
"Mr Statham must be allowed to be the best judge of that," Levi said,
placing his hands together, and holding his cigar between his teeth.
"Mr Statham knows me weel. He knows I'd nae tell him what I didn't ken
ma'sel'."
The great financier rose thoughtfully and stood with his back to the
mantelshelf.
"Look here, Macgregor," he said, fixing his eyes upon the man seated
before him. "When you called at the office and was fool enough not to
give your proper name you had a difficulty in getting an interview with
me. I hadn't any idea till I received your note that--well, that you
were in the land of the living. When we met before it was under
different circumstances--very different, weren't they?" and the
millionaire smiled. "Shall I recall to your memory one scene--long
ago--a scene that lives in my memory this moment as though the events
happened but yesterday. We were both younger, and more active then--you
and I--and--"
"Nae, Mr Statham. We're better not bearin' it," he protested, holding
up his hands. "I jalouse what you're again' to say."
"To you, my friend, I owe much," the old man went on. "The place was in
a sun-baked South American city, the time was sunset, fierce and
blood-red like the deeds of that never-to-be-forgotten day. There was
war--a revolution was in progress, and the Government forces had been
that day driven back into the capital followed by us. I remember you,
with that great bullet furrow down your cheek and the blood streaming
from it as you fought at my side. I see you bear the scar even now."
Then, with a quick movement he pulled up his sleeve and showed on his
right forearm a great cicatrice, asking: "Do you remember how I received
this?"
"Nae, nae, Mr Statham, enough!" cried the Scot. "Our days of war are
long since past. They'll come again nae mair."
"You remember how we followed the troops of Hernandez into the capital,
shooting and killing as we drove them before us, and how you and I and a
few more of the younger bloods made a dash for the Palace to secure the
President himself. I recollect the wild excitement of those moments. I
was tearing along the street shouting and urging on my men, when of a
sudden I found myself surrounded by a dozen soldiers of Hernandez. I
fought for life, though well knowing I was lost. As a prisoner I should
be tortured, for they had long sworn to serve me as they had served our
friends Jose and Manuel. This recollection flashed across me, and with
my back to the wall I fired my pistol full in a man's face and blew it
out of all recognition. A man had raised his rifle and covered me, but
next moment I gave him an upward cut with my sword.
"At the same instant I felt a sharp twinge upon my right arm, and my
sword dropped from my grasp. I was maimed, and stood there at their
mercy. A dark-faced, beetle-browed fellow raised his sabre with a
fierce Spanish oath to cut me down, but in the blood-red sunlight
another blade flashed high, and the man sank dying in the dust.
"It was you, Macgregor--you alone had come to my aid, and four of my
attackers fell beneath your blows in that hand-to-hand struggle as you,
with your own body placed before mine, fought on, keeping them back and
yet without assistance. Shall I ever forget those moments, or how near
both of us were to death? I was already half-fainting, but you shouted
to me to keep courage, and in the end we were discovered by our men and
saved. If ever a deed deserved the Victoria Cross, yours did. You,
Macgregor--as you now call yourself--saved my life."
"An' I'm here, Mr Statham, to save it again, if ye'll only let me," was
the Scot's dry reply.
"Years have gone since that day," the millionaire went on, with a
distinct catch in his voice. "I lost sight of you soon afterwards, and
heard once that you were in Caracas. Then there was no further news of
you. We drifted apart--our lives lay in opposite directions. Yet to
you--and to you alone--I owe my present life, for were it not for your
aid at that moment I should have been put to the torture in that
terrible castle where Hernandez did his prisoners to death, and my body
given to the rats like others of our friends."
"Eh, mon, ye really make me blush," laughed Macgregor. "So please don't
talk of it. That's all over the noo. Let the past take care of itsel'.
We've got the present to face."
"I have never ceased reflecting upon the past," Sam declared in a rather
low and husky voice. "I never dreamed that the man Macgregor, in the
employ of the Clyde and Motherwell Works, was the same man to whom I am
indebted for my life."
"Ah! man's a problem that puzzles the devil hissel'," laughed Macgregor.
"I'd nae ha kenned ye were the Statham I knew out there in the old days
till I saw the picture of ye in the _Glasgie News_ one nicht when I
bought it at the corner of Polmadie Street on me way hame. An' there
was a biography of ye--which didn't mention very much. But it was the
real Sam Statham--and Sam Statham was my friend of long ago."
"Most extraordinary!" remarked Levi, who had been smoking quietly and
listening to the conversation. "I had so idea of all this!"
"There are many incidents in my career, Levi, of which you are unaware,"
remarked his master drily.
"I have no doubt," retorted the servant in a tone quite as dry as that
of his master's. This was Duncan Macgregor's first visit to Park Lane,
and Levi did not approve of him. He always looked askance at any friend
of Mr Samuel's of the old days. Everybody who had ever known him in
the unknown and struggling period, now claimed his acquaintance as his
intimate friend, and various and varied were the ruses adopted in order
to endeavour to obtain an interview.
He suspected this hairy Scot--whose bravery in his youth had saved Sam's
life--of working for his own ends.
"This is a strange story of yours, Duncan," remarked the millionaire a
few moments later, his eyes fixed upon the seated man--"so strange that
I should not believe it, but for one thing."
"An' what's that?"
"Other information in my possession goes to prove that your surmise is
actually correct, and that your apprehension has foundation. I know
that Adam is in London. I've seen him!"
"An' he's seen you--eh?" cried Macgregor, starting up in alarm.
"Yes, he's seen me."
"Did he speak to ye?"
"No. He watched me through the window from yonder pavement outside."
A silence fell in that warm room where the blinds were still down to
exclude the sun, a silence unbroken save by the buzzing of the flies and
the low, solemn ticking of the clock.
At last the Scot spoke.
"He means mischief. Depend on it."
"I quite believe he does," Statham admitted.
"That is why we should act at once," Levi chimed in.
"And perhaps by a premature move spoil the whole of our chance of
victory!" remarked the millionaire, very thoughtfully.
"Remember that Adam holds very strong cards in the game," the butler
urged, knocking the ash slowly from his cigar. Surely it was a queer,
unusual scene, this conference of three!
"I have suspected something for some time past, Levi," was his master's
response. "And I took steps to combat my enemies; but, unfortunately, I
was not sufficiently wary, and I failed."
"What, mon!" gasped the man from Glasgow; "ye don't say ye're at the
mercy of those devils?"
"I tell you, Macgregor, that my position is more insecure than even you
believe it to be," was the response, in a low voice, almost of despair.
Levi and Duncan exchanged glances. The millionaire's words were
somewhat enigmatical, but the truth was apparent. Samuel Statham was in
fear of some revelation which could be made by that shabby stranger whom
he had seen idling at the Park railings.
"Tell me, Macgregor. Does Adam know you?"
"No."
"You've seen him, and you know him?"
"Perfectly weel. I kept ma eye on him when he didn't dream that anybody
was nigh him."
"And what you told me in the City you are prepared to stand by?"
The Scot put out his big hands, saying:
"Mr Statham, what I've told ye I stick to."
"Duncan," said the great man, clasping the hand offered him. "You were
my friend once--my best friend--and you will be so again."
"If ye'll let me be," answered the other warmly. Statham could read a
man's innermost character at a glance. He was seldom, if ever,
mistaken. He looked into Macgregor's eyes, and saw truth and friendship
there.
As Levi watched the two men his lip curled slightly. He was a cynic,
and did not approve of this outburst of sentimentality on the part of
his master. Samuel Statham, the man of millions and the controller of
colossal interests, should, he declared within himself, be above such an
exhibition of his own heart.
"Is it not strange," remarked Statham, as though speaking to himself,
"that you should actually have been engaged in my works without knowing
that it was the head of the firm who was indebted to you for his life?"
"Ay, the world's only a sma' space, after all," Duncan replied. "I was
apprenticed to the firm, but soon got sick of a humdrum life. So I went
out to South America to try ma fortune, an' we met. After the war I
went to Caracas, and then back to Glasgie to the old firm, where I've
been ever since. I thought that when the new company took the place
over I'd be discharged as too old. Indeed, more than once Mr Rolfe has
hinted at it."
"I don't think you'd need fear that, Duncan. Both you and I recollect
scenes set in strong remembrance--scenes that are never to return. I
had no idea it was you to whom the creditable work turned out at Glasgow
was due until Rolfe told me all about you," and as he uttered those
words a twinge of conscience shot through his mind as he recollected how
he had ordered the man to be summarily discharged for daring to seek an
interview. And then how, when he had entered his presence, he had
handed him something that was far better destroyed. They had indeed
destroyed it together.
He saw that Macgregor had no great love for Rolfe, but put it down to
the fact that his secretary, being practically in charge of the works,
had become out of favour with the men over the question of labour. The
Scot had said nothing derogatory regarding Charlie, but merely expressed
surprise that he had not been accorded an interview at once. Then he
had urged that he had something of importance and of interest to impart.
"Well, you see, Macgregor," replied the millionaire, half
apologetically; "the fact is I have to make it a rule to see nobody. Of
course, to old friends, like yourself, I am always accessible, and
delighted to have a chat, but if it were known that I received people, I
should be besieged here all day long. I make it a rule not to allow
anybody here in my house."
"Why?" asked the Scot, quite unconscious of the gravity of his inquiry.
He was in entire ignorance of the strange stories concerning the house
wherein he was at that moment. The papers never mentioned them for fear
of an action for libel. As far as he had seen there was nothing
peculiar or extraordinary about the place. The hall and the library
were very handsomely furnished, as befitted the home of one of England's
wealthiest men. The fact that Levi had been called into conference even
was not remarkable, for the reason had already been explained to him
briefly, in half-a-dozen words.
"But you have your ain circle of good friends here, I suppose?"
suggested the Scot, as the great man had not replied to his question.
"No," replied Statham. "Nobody comes here--nobody enters my door."
"But why?"
Master and servant exchanged glances. It was a direct question to which
it was impossible to give a truthful reply without the revelation of a
secret.
And so Samuel Statham lied to his best, humble yet most devoted friend.