MRS. MCDERMOTT WANTS HER MONEY
Squire Culpepper, was laid up with an attack of his old enemy the gout.
Thereby his temper was by no means improved. But to the ordinary pains
which attend podagra was superadded another source of irritation and
alarm. The shares of the Alcazar Silver Mining Company, in which
promising speculation the Squire had invested the whole of his savings,
had of late been going down slowly but steadily in the market. It was
altogether unaccountable. They had no sooner reached the high-water
point of value than they began to fall. But the difficulty had been to
know when the high-water mark was reached. The Squire had bought at a
low figure—at a remarkably low figure—and when, subsequently, the
shares had risen so tremendously in value, he had often been tempted to
sell out and realize. But the temptation to keep holding on, in the
hope of being able to realize still larger profits, had hitherto proved
the stronger of the two.
At first he had looked upon the decline as being merely one of those
ordinary market fluctuations such as even the best securities are
liable to at times. But at length he took alarm and wrote to his friend
Mr. Bird, the secretary of the company, and the man who had persuaded
him to invest so heavily in Alcazar securities.
To the Squire’s letter Mr. Bird replied as under:
“My Dear Mr. Culpepper,—Your note of yesterday did not surprise me in
the least. I quite expected to hear from you some days ago respecting
the fall in Alcazars. Several other shareholders have either written to
me or seen me on the same subject. The truth is that the partisans of a
rival company (a company, be it said, whose shares have never yet risen
to par, and are never likely to do so) have been doing their best to
injure us by spreading abroad a report that a sudden irruption of water
had put a stop to all our workings for an indefinite length of time.
The whole affair is an infamous canard, having no other object than to
discredit us in the opinion of the public. Unfortunately it is next to
impossible to bring such things home to any particular individual, but
I have every reason to believe that one or two who are most deeply
implicated in this scandalous affair have been buying heavily for the
rise which is sure to take place in a few days from the present time;
and I strongly advise you, my dear sir, to follow their example. You
cannot possibly do better. So satisfied am I on that point, that within
the last few days I have invested every spare shilling of my own in
Alcazars.
“In conclusion, I may just state that according to advices from our
South American managers up to the latest date, received by me per last
night’s mail, the mine was never in so flourishing a condition as at
the present moment.
“It is with the utmost confidence that I look forward to the
declaration of a dividend and a bonus equivalent in the gross to
seventy-five per cent. per annum, at the close of the current
half-year.
“I remain, my dear Mr. Culpepper,
“Very truly yours,
“Theodore Bird.”
This letter allayed the Squire’s fears and kept him quiet for several
days. Strange to say, however, the Alcazars still kept steadily
declining, and at length the old man became seriously alarmed. He wrote
again to Mr. Bird, but this time there came no answer. For five days he
waited in such a state of mental agony, as he had never known before.
He would have gone up to London himself, in order to see Mr. Bird, but
by this time the gout had laid hold of him so severely that it was
quite impossible for him to venture out of the house. What to do he
knew not. No one, not even his daughter, knew how, or in what
speculation, he had invested his money, and yet it was evident that he
must now take some one into his confidence in the matter, or else be
prepared to let the Alcazars go up or down at their own sweet will, and
accept the result, whatever it might be, when he should be sufficiently
recovered to attend to business himself. But in the face of matters, as
they now stood, that was more than he could afford to do—-it was more
than he dare do. Where, then, was the person on whose honour,
discretion, and good business knowledge he could safely rely to assist
him in the dilemma in which he now found himself? He had employed five
or six brokers at different times during the last eighteen months to
buy stock for him, but he had no particular knowledge of, or confidence
in, any of them. In Mr. Bird himself he had always placed the most
implicit confidence, but that confidence had been severely shaken of
late. Bird had originally been a protégé of his own, and had been
placed by him as a junior clerk in Mr. Cope’s bank. There he had
remained for years, gradually working his way up, and always very
grateful to the Squire for the interest that he had taken in his
welfare. Then came an advantageous removal to London, after which the
Squire lost sight of him for several years. When he next turned up it
was as secretary to the Alcazar Mining Company, and as promoter of
several other speculative schemes, with a fine house in the Regent’s
Park, a capital cellar of wines, and a pair of steppers in his brougham
that a duchess might have been proud of. The Squire went to dine with
him. Mr. Bird did not fail delicately to insinuate that to Mr.
Culpepper’s generous kindness in giving him such an excellent start in
life he attributed all his after success, and that the blessings by
which he was now surrounded owed their origin to the Squire alone.
Before the day was over, Mr. Culpepper had agreed to invest a very
considerable sum in Alcazar stock.
Squire Culpepper’s income, considering his position and influence, was
anything but a large one. It amounted in all to very little more than
three thousand a year. The estate itself was strictly entailed, all but
one corner of it, which had been bought by the present Squire and added
to it. It was in this corner that he had proposed to build his new
mansion. But unless the Alcazar shares should rise very much again in
public favour, there would be no funds forthcoming wherewith to build a
new mansion, or even to repair the old one.
Out of this income of three thousand a year the Squire had always
contrived to save something; and thus, little by little, he had
gradually accumulated some fifteen thousand pounds. This was to be
Jane’s dowry when she should marry. It was the hope of being able to
turn this fifteen thousand into sixty or seventy thousand that had been
his first inducement to speculate; and had he sold out when the
Alcazars were at the flood tide of their success, not only would this
hope have been realized, but what to many had seemed an idle boast,
that before long he would have built for him a new and a more
magnificent Pincote, would have become a substantial reality.
These golden prospects, however, these magnificent castles in the air,
had of late been losing their brightness and were fast resolving
themselves into the misty cloud-land from which they had sprung. Very
loath, indeed, was the Squire to let them go. Buoyed up by Mr. Bird’s
letter, he had deferred from day to day the painful act of selling out,
still clinging with desperate tenacity to his cloudy battlements, and
trying with all his might to believe that the frown which fortune had
of late put on had been merely assumed to frighten him for a little
while, and that behind it her golden smile was still lurking, and ready
at any time to shine on him again.
But, by-and-by, there came a day when the Alcazars, still bent on going
down, reached at one fell plunge a lower deep than they had ever
dropped to before. Next morning they were quoted in the lists at ten
shillings per share less than they had been on the day when Squire
Culpepper, allured by their fatal beauty, ventured on his first
investment.
The London papers reached Pincote about luncheon time; and on this
particular day the Squire, with his leg; swathed in flannel, was just
discussing a basin of chicken broth when the post came in. With eager
fingers that trembled with excitement he tore off the wrapper, turned
to the City article, and there read the fatal news. The blow was so
stunning that for a little while he could scarcely realize it. He
pushed away his basin of broth untasted. His head drooped into his
hands, and bitter tears sprang to his eyes. For the first time since
his wife’s death the old man cried.
With his newspapers had come several letters, but they all lay
untouched beside him for more than an hour. By-and-by he roused himself
sufficiently from his abstraction to turn them listlessly over, and
then to take them up one after another and stare at their
superscriptions with glazed, incurious eyes. There was only one, and it
was the last one that he took up, which roused his dull senses to any
sign of recognition. “This must be from Fanny,” he said. “I’d swear to
her writing anywhere. All the way from Ems, too. Still as fond of those
nauseous German waters as ever she was. No wonder she’s never well.”
Then his thoughts reverted to his loss, and with a sigh he dropped the
letter on the table.
Two or three minutes later a sudden colour flushed his cheeks, and with
nervous fingers he sought on the table for the letter from Ems.
“She—she can’t be writing for her money!” he said with a gasp. Then he
tore open the letter. This is what he read therein:—
“My Dear Brother,—
“I hope that this will find you quite well, although you were never the
man to give me the least credit for caring about your health. I hope to
be in England in the course of another fortnight, when I shall at once
make my way to Pincote. I presume that I shall not be looked upon as an
intruder if I ask you to find me a bed for a few nights. Goodness knows
it is not often I trouble you, and I am sure Jane must have many things
to talk about to me, who am her nearest living female relative. As
regards the five thousand pounds which I desired you to invest for me,
or make use of in any way that might seem most desirable under the
circumstances, I shall be glad if you will arrange to hand it over to
me together with any amount that may have accrued to it for interest,
immediately upon my arrival at Pincote. I have decided to invest all my
available funds in real estate: nothing else seems permanent and safe
in these days of chances and changes. For my part, I shan’t be a bit
surprised if within the next ten years we see the guillotine as hard at
work again as ever it was in the dreadful days of the First Revolution.
I think it right to let you know about the money so that you may be
prepared. Give my love to Jane. I hope her hair is no longer that
intolerable red that it used to be. The resources of art are many and
various, and something could doubtless be done for her. But I must talk
to her about all these matters when I see her, although I am afraid
that nothing can ever make her pretty. Believe me your loving sister,
“Fanny Mcdermott.
“P.S.—Don’t give me a bedroom that faces either the east or the north;
and not too many stairs to climb.”
Jane Culpepper, coming into the room a quarter of an hour later, found
her father lying in a sort of heap in his chair and quite unconscious.
He was carried to bed; and Dr. Davidson was quickly on the spot. The
attack, although sufficiently alarming, was pronounced to be not
immediately dangerous, and in about a couple of hours the Squire had
thoroughly recovered consciousness. His first words, whispered in
Jane’s ear, were, “Send for young Bristow.” Jane could hardly believe
that she had heard aright, and bent her head again that her father
might repeat his words. Then, wondering greatly, she sent off a brief
note to Tom, asking him to come up to Pincote with as little delay as
possible. Two hours later Tom was there.
By this time the Squire was sufficiently recovered to be able to sit up
in bed and talk in a feeble, querulous way, very different from his
ordinary bluff, hearty style. Why he had sent for Tom he could not have
told any one: he did not know himself. Tom’s name had sprung
instinctively to his lips while he was yet only half conscious—a pretty
sure proof that Tom’s image must have been in his thoughts previously.
“Bristow,” he said feebly as he held his hand out to Tom, “I want you
to do me a favour.”
“You may command me, sir, in any and every way,” was Tom’s hearty
answer.
“I have invested a considerable amount of money in the Alcazar Silver
Mining Company.”
“Ah!” interjected Tom, and his face lengthened visibly.
“The shares have been going down for this month past—not that I have by
any means lost confidence in them—and I want you to go up to London for
me, being laid up myself with this cursed gout, and inquire personally
into the stability of the concern. I won’t conceal from you that I am
slightly anxious and uneasy, although I have Bird’s word for it—clever
fellow, Bird, very: you ought to know him—that the present panic is
merely a temporary affair, and that the shares will go up again, in a
few days, higher than they have ever been yet. In any case, there can
be no harm in your making a few private inquiries on my behalf, and
reporting the result to me. You are not very busy, I suppose, and you
could go up to town—when?” His tone was very anxious as he asked this
question.
“By the next train,” answered Tom.
“Good boy—good boy!” said the Squire gratefully. “And you’ll telegraph
me, won’t you? Don’t wait to write, but telegraph to me.”
“Don’t think me impertinent if I ask you to tell me the extent of your
liabilities as regards the Alcazar Mining Company.”
“Why—ah—I cannot tell you to a fraction. A few thousands, I suppose.
But I don’t see how that fact can interest you.”
Tom’s long face grew still longer. “Don’t you think, sir,” he said,
“that it might be advisable for you to empower me to sell out your
stock in your behalf, should I find on inquiry to-morrow that there is
the least likelihood of its sinking any lower than it is now?”
“Sell out!” exclaimed the Squire in horror. “Certainly not. What next,
pray? Bird said the shares were sure to go up again, and I’ll pin my
faith to Bird through thick and thin.”
It was with a sad heart that Tom left Pincote. He knew something of the
Alcazar Mining Company, and he had no faith in its stability. He knew
something of Mr. Bird, the secretary, and he had no faith in his
honesty.
Mrs. McDermott was Squire Culpepper’s only sister. She had been a widow
for several years. She was perpetually travelling about, ostensibly in
search of health, but really in search of change and excitement. The
money about which she was writing to her brother was a sum of five
thousand pounds which she had put into his hands some two or three
years previously, with a request that he would invest it for her in
some way, or put it to whatever use he might deem most advisable. He
had managed her monetary affairs for her ever since her husband’s
death, and there was nothing strange in such a request. At first the
amount had been invested in railway debentures, which brought in a
modest four per cent. But when the Alcazar shares began to rise so
rapidly, it seemed to the Squire that he would have been wronging his
sister had he neglected to let her participate in the wonderful golden
harvest that lay so close to his hand. To have written to her on the
subject would have been the merest matter of form. She would only have
answered, “Don’t bother me, but do as you like with the money till I
want it for something else.” Then what a glorious surprise it would be
to her to find that her little fortune had actually trebled and
quadrupled itself in so short a space of time! Nothing venture, nothing
win. The railway debentures were at once disposed of and Alcazar shares
bought in their stead; and the Squire chuckled to himself many a time
when he thought of his happy audacity in acting as he had done without
consulting any one except his friend Mr. Bird.
But in proportion to his previous exultation was the dread which now
chilled his heart, that not only might his daughter’s dowry be lost to
her for ever, but that his sister’s money also—the savings of many
years—might be sunk beyond recovery in the wreck that now seemed so
close at hand. Most people under such circumstances would have
telegraphed to their brokers to sell out at every risk; but there was a
mixture of hopefulness and obstinacy in the Squire’s disposition that
made him cling to his purpose with a tenacity that would go far either
to ruin him or make his fortune, as the case might be.
Tom Bristow did not reach London till long after business hours, but so
anxious was he with regard to the matter which had taken him there,
that he could not sit down comfortably and wait till morning before
beginning his inquiries. After spending ten minutes at his hotel he
took a hansom and drove off at once to the offices of the Alcazar
Mining Company. The private watchman whose duty it was to look after
the premises at night at once supplied him with Mr. Bird’s address, and
half an hour later Tom found himself in the neighbourhood of the
Regent’s Park. Mr. Bird’s house was readily found, but Mr. Bird himself
was not at home, as a rough-looking man with a short pipe in his mouth
who, somewhat to Tom’s surprise, answered his impatient knock, at once
told him. “Where is Mr. Bird, and when can I see him?” asked Tom.
“As to where he is—I should say that by this time he’s some hundreds of
miles on his way to America or Australia. As to when you can see
him—why you can see him when you can catch him, and not before.”
“Then he’s gone?” said Tom incredulously.
“Yes, sir, he’s gone. The nest’s empty and the bird’s flown,” added the
man with a grin at his own witticism; “and the whole blessed concern
has gone to smash.”
“And the Squire will expect a telegram from me to-night!” muttered Tom.