THE DERELICT
Raymond Copley went back into the house in a thoughtful mood. The
much-envied and much-talked-of millionaire was not particularly happy.
He had a good deal to occupy his attention and had reached a crisis in
his affairs which was likely to prove awkward unless something turned up
speedily. It was easy, as he often cynically observed, to obtain almost
unlimited credit upon the strength of his fictitious wealth, but
exceedingly difficult to raise even a hundred pounds in the City. He had
practically no security to offer his bankers, and dared not do anything
that would suggest to an outsider that he was in want of ready cash. One
or two of his schemes lately had ended in failure, and, so far as he
could see, it was almost impossible for him to hold out for the month
which intervened between now and the next meeting at Mirst Park.
Now here was a fresh cause of annoyance which he had not anticipated.
Unfortunately for the ultimate success of Copley's schemes, they
necessitated the employment of more than one subordinate, and these
subordinates had to be paid. Moreover, they were drawn unavoidably from
the refuse of the population, so that they were a standing source of
danger, for it is hazardous to depend upon people who are usually ready
to sell their services to the highest bidder. One of them had been so
audacious as to turn up at the very gates of Seton Manor and demand
money. Luckily, he had not said enough to rouse suspicions. His remarks
to Fielden might easily be ignored as the ravings of a drunken wretch.
Certainly they did not convey much intelligence. So far all was safe.
But it was a warning, and a warning that Copley did not care to
disregard. Happily, he thought, Fielden was not a curious man, or he
might have inquired farther into the incident. He might even have been
disposed to speculate a sovereign or two, and the tramp might have been
in a sufficiently reckless mood to sell information at that price. The
thing must be looked into at once.
Foster sprawled in the library with a copy of the _Sportsman_ in his
hand and a cigarette in his mouth. He looked up carelessly at his
employer, but seeing there was something amiss put down the paper and
waited for Copley to speak.
"What has gone wrong?" he asked.
"Oh, everything," Copley said savagely. "Has a single thing gone
straight since the Mirst Park meeting? Here am I in a big house,
furnished regardless of expense, with scores of tradesmen tumbling over
one another to serve me, and yet I haven't a ten-pound note to call my
own. As if that was not bad enough, that blackguard Chaffey has turned
up here."
"I suppose he wants money," Foster asked.
"Well, that was the idea, no doubt. I didn't see him myself, but I
understand he was drunk and objectionable, and Field turned him out.
They had a bit of a scrimmage, and I hope Field gave the fellow a
lesson. At any rate, he went off quietly in the end."
"Then why worry?" Foster said.
"Why worry? What a question! I forgot to tell you the worst. Chaffey
came here demanding money. He said if I had been at home he could have
got as much as he wanted. Imagine what Field must have thought. He would
conclude that I was under obligations to the scamp, but, as you know, I
haven't exchanged a dozen words with him. Everything has been done
through you, and I must say I can't congratulate you on your choice."
"You never do when things go wrong," Foster retorted. "Would you have
had me employ a gentleman? Did you want a man of intelligence, who would
have asked many questions of himself. Chaffey is the man for us. But you
are making a great fuss about nothing."
"Well, what do you think of this? Chaffey told Field that if he had any
more of this sort of thing I could get somebody else to monkey with my
fruit baskets in Covent Garden. Ah, I thought you would change your
tune. Imagine a remark like that in a sporting public-house! Scores of
people would smell a rat instantly. They would get on the track of
money-making, especially if Chaffey happened to mention my name in
connexion with the affair. If they only found him with money and plied
him with drink, he would tell them all he knew."
"Which is precious little," Foster said coolly, as he lighted a fresh
cigarette. "Chaffey doesn't really know anything. Still, we must make
him understand that we won't stand this kind of thing. What do you
propose to do?"
"Why, follow him, of course. He can't be far away. He is sure to have
gone to some pothouse. He went down the London Road, and the best thing
is to go after him at once. Let us take the car and make excuses that we
shan't be back in time for dinner. You think I am making much ado about
nothing. But my nerves are not what they used to be. Come along."
Foster made no objection. In truth he was almost as uneasy as his
employer. By and by they were rolling along the road in a car, stopping
under some pretext or other at every public-house. They came presently
to a small place where they heard news of the man they were after. He
had left a short time before; in fact, he had been violently ejected,
because he had no money to pay for the drink he had consumed. Half a
mile farther on the motorists espied a shadowy outline staggering down
the middle of the road and lurching from side to side, singing as he
went.
"That's the man," Foster whispered. "Stop the car and I'll get out and
tackle him."
The tramp paused when he found himself within the radius of the powerful
lights. He stood trying to collect his scattered senses, until, finally,
he got some hazy idea of whom he was talking to. His face grew hard and
sullen, and he looked none the better for a swollen eye and a cut
forehead.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" he said. "This is a nice way to treat a
gentleman. Here am I, miles away from my happy home and not a penny in
my pocket."
"What are you doing here?" Foster asked.
"That, sir," said the tramp with great dignity, "is my business. I have
private occupations of which you know nothing. You are taking advantage
of my poverty. Don't forget that I was in as good a position as yourself
at one time."
"You might easily be better," Foster said contemptuously. "Still, you
haven't told me what brings you here, and why you made a disturbance at
Seton Manor."
"I was at the Lington Meeting," Chaffey answered. "I lost all I had and
was tramping back to London when I recollected that Mr. Copley lived
close by. I thought I would borrow a pound or two from him, and that's
why I called. It would have been all right but for those stable men.
Would you care to be treated like a dog? I lost my temper. You'd have
lost yours if you had been in my place. And that's all about it. I don't
want to make any trouble if you treat me properly. Give me a few pounds
and I'll go back to London the first thing in the morning."
"I'll give you money if you return to-night," Foster said curtly. "Get
in the car and we'll drive you as far as Maley Junction. Come on."
"I will not come on," Chaffey said with an assumption of his old
dignity. "You give me the money and I'll go to town early in the
morning. I can't go before, because I have heard something. There's a
trial coming off here to-morrow morning, and I am bound to see it. You
don't suppose I live on what I get from you. If the trial turns out as I
hope it will, it will put a lump in my pocket. Now what is the good of
standing frowning at me like that? I tell you I'm not going back to
London to-night. I won't go till eight o'clock to-morrow morning. If you
don't help me, I know a man who will give me a tenner cheerfully to hear
how I monkey with the fruit baskets in Covent Garden. But do as you
please. I don't mind lying in a ditch till morning, and I don't mind
tramping to town to-morrow. It wouldn't be the first time I've done
both. Not that I want to quarrel with you, Mr. Foster; if you do the
fair thing by me, I'll do the fair thing by you. Give me a quid or two
so that I can get some supper and a bed, and I'll promise not to come
near Seton Manor again. What's more, if the trial turns out all right,
I'll send a message to Mr. Copley."
"Oh, give him money and let him have his way," Copley cried impatiently.
"There isn't much chance of drumming sense into him to-night."
A whispered conversation between Copley and Foster followed, then three
sovereigns changed hands and Chaffey departed along the road with the
air of a man who has an object in life.
"You have done the right thing," he said. "I knew you would, when you
came to think of it, and I'll let Mr. Copley know all about the trial.
Good-night, gentlemen, and good luck to you."
So Chaffey vanished into the darkness.