"After all, there's something in presentiment."
This was the first thought that took shape in Will's whirling mind. The
second was, that he might rationally have foreseen disaster. All the
points of strangeness which had struck him in Sherwood's behaviour came
back now with such glaring significance that he accused himself of
inconceivable limpness in having allowed things to go their way--above
all in trusting Godfrey with the St. Neots cheque. On this moment of
painful lucidity followed blind rage. Why, what a grovelling imbecile
was this fellow! To plunge into wild speculation, on the word of some
City shark, with money not his own! But could one credit the story? Was
it not more likely that Sherwood had got involved in some cunning
thievery which he durst not avow? Perhaps he was a mere liar and
hypocrite. That story of the ten thousand pounds he had lent to
somebody--how improbable it sounded; why might he not have invented it,
to strengthen confidence at a critical moment? The incredible baseness
of the man! He, who knew well all that depended upon the safe
investment of the St. Neots money--to risk it in this furiously
reckless way. In all the records of City scoundrelism, was there a
blacker case?
Raging thus, Warburton became aware that Mrs. Hopper spoke to him. She
had just laid breakfast, and, as usual when she wished to begin a
conversation, had drawn back to the door, where she paused.
"That Boxon, the grocer, has had a bad accident, sir."
"Boxon?--grocer?"
"In the Fulham Road, sir; him as Allchin was with."
"Ah!"
Heedless of her master's gloomy abstraction, Mrs. Hopper continued. She
related that Boxon had been at certain races where he had lost money
and got drunk; driving away in a trap, he had run into something, and
been thrown out, with serious injuries, which might prove fatal.
"So much the worse for him," muttered Warburton. "I've no pity to spare
for fools and blackguards."
"I should think not, indeed sir. I just mentioned it, sir, because
Allchin was telling us about it last night. He and his wife looked in
to see my sister, Liza, and they both said they never see such a change
in anybody. And they said how grateful we ought to be to you, sir, and
that I'm sure we are, for Liza'd never have been able to go away
without your kindness."
Listening as if this talk sounded from a vague distance, Warburton was
suddenly reminded of what had befallen himself; for as yet he had
thought only of his mother and sister. He was ruined. Some two or three
hundred pounds, his private bank account, represented all he had in the
world, and all prospect of making money had been taken away from him.
Henceforth, small must be his charities. If he gained his own living,
he must count himself lucky; nothing more difficult than for a man of
his age and position, unexpectedly cut adrift, to find work and
payment. By good fortune, his lease of this flat came to an end at
Michaelmas, and already he had given notice that he did not mean to
renew. Mrs. Hopper knew that he was on the point of leaving London, and
not a little lamented it, for to her the loss would be serious indeed.
Warburton's habitual generosity led her to hope for some signal
benefaction ere his departure; perhaps on that account she was
specially emphatic in gratitude for her sister's restoration to health.
"We was wondering, sir," she added, now having wedged herself between
door and jamb, "whether you'd be so kind as to let my sister Liza see
you just for a minute or two, to thank you herself as I'm sure she
ought? She could come any time as wouldn't be ill-convenient to you."
"I'm extremely busy, Mrs. Hopper," Will replied. "Please tell your
sister I'm delighted to hear she's done so well at Southend, and I hope
to see her some day; but not just now. By the bye, I'm not going out
this morning, so don't wait, when you've finished."
By force of habit he ate and drank. Sherwood's letter lay open before
him; he read it through again and again. But he could not fix his
thoughts upon it. He found himself occupied with the story of Boxon,
wondering whether Boxon would live or die. Boxon, the grocer--why, what
an ass a man must be, a man with a good grocery business, to come to
grief over drink and betting! Shopkeeping--what a sound and safe life
it was; independent, as far as any money-earning life can be so. There
must be a pleasure in counting the contents of one's till every night.
Boxon! Of course, a mere brute. There came into Will's memory the
picture of Boxon landed on the pavement one night, by Allchin's fist or
toe--and of a sudden he laughed. When he had half-smoked his pipe,
comparative calmness fell upon him. Sherwood spoke of at once raising
the money he owed, and, if he succeeded in doing so, much of the
mischief would be undone. The four thousand pounds might be safely
invested somewhere, and life at The Haws would go on as usual. But was
it certain that Sherwood could "raise" such sums, being himself, as he
declared, penniless? This disclosure showed him in an unpleasantly new
light, as anything but the cautious man of business, the loyal friend,
he had seemed to be. Who could put faith in a money-market gambler?
Why, there was no difference to speak of between him and Boxon. And if
his promise proved futile--what was to be done?
For a couple of hours, Will stared at this question. When the clock on
his mantelpiece struck eleven, he happened to notice it, and was
surprised to find how quickly time had passed. By the bye, he had never
thought of looking at his newspaper, though Sherwood referred him to
that source of information on the subject of Biggles, Thorpe and
Biggles. Yes, here it was. A firm of brokers; unfortunate speculations;
failure of another house--all the old story. As likely as not, the
financial trick of a cluster of thieves. Will threw the paper aside. He
had always scorned that cunning of the Stock Exchange, now he thought
of it with fiery hatred.
Another hour passed in feverish waiting; then, just at mid-day, a knock
sounded at the outer door. Anything but a loud knock; anything but the
confident summons of a friend. Will went to open. There stood Godfrey
Sherwood, shrunk together like a man suffering from cold; he scarcely
raised his eyes.
Will's purpose, on finding Sherwood at his door, was to admit him
without a word, or any form of greeting; but the sight of that changed
face and pitiful attitude overcame him; he offered a hand, and felt it
warmly pressed.
They were together in the room; neither had spoken. Will pointed to a
chair, but did not himself sit down.
"I suppose it's all true, Warburton," began the other in a low voice,
"but I can't believe it yet. I seem to be walking in a nightmare; and
when you gave me your hand at the door, I thought for a second that I'd
just woke up."
"Sit down," said Will, "and let's have it out. Give me the details."
"That's exactly what I wish to do. Of course I haven't been to bed, and
I've spent the night in writing out a statement of all my dealings for
the past fifteen months. Here it is--and here are my pass-books."
Will took the paper, a half-sheet of foolscap, one side almost covered
with figures. At a glance he saw that the statement was perfectly
intelligible. The perusal of a few lines caused him to look up in
astonishment.
"You mean to say that between last September and the end of the year
you lost twenty-five thousand pounds?"
"I did."
"And you mean to say that you still went on with your gambling?"
"Things were getting bad in Ailie Street, you know."
"And you did your best to make them desperate." Sherwood's head seemed
trying to bury itself between his shoulders; his feet hid themselves
under the chair, he held his hat in a way suggestive of the man who
comes to beg.
"The devil of the City got hold of me," he replied, with a miserable
attempt to look Warburton in the face.
"Yes," said Will, "that's clear. Then, a month ago, you really
possessed only nine thousand pounds?"
"That was all I had left, out of nearly forty thousand."
"What astonishes me is, that you won from time to time."
"I did!" exclaimed Godfrey, with sudden animation. "Look at the fifth
of February--that was a great day! It's that kind of thing that tempts
a man on. Afterwards I lost steadily but I might have won any day. And
I had to make a good deal, if we were to come to terms with Applegarth.
I nearly did it. I was as cautious as a man could be--content with
small things. If only I hadn't been pressed for time! It was only the
want of time that made me use your money. Of course, it was criminal.
Don't think I wish to excuse myself for one moment. Absolutely
criminal. I knew what was at stake. But I thought the thing was sure.
It promised at the least twenty-five per cent. We should have started
brilliantly at Bristol--several thousands for advertisement, beyond our
estimate. I don't think the Biggles people were dishonest--"
"You don't _think_ so!" interrupted Will, contemptuously. "If there's
any doubt we know on which side it weighs. Just tell me the facts. What
was the security?"
Sherwood replied with a brief, clear, and obviously honest account of
the speculation into which he had been drawn. To the listener it seemed
astounding that any responsible man should be lured by such gambler's
chance; he could hardly find patience to point out the manifest risks
so desperately incurred. And Sherwood admitted the full extent of his
folly; he could only repeat that he had acted on an irresistible
impulse, to be explained, though not defended, by the embarrassment in
which he found himself.
"Thank Heaven, this is over!" he exclaimed at last, passing his
handkerchief over a moist forehead. "I don't know how I got through
last night. More than once, I thought it would be easier to kill myself
than to come and face you. But there was the certainty that I could
make good your loss. I may be able to do so very soon. I've written
to--"
He checked himself on the point of uttering a name; then with eyes
down, reflected for a moment.
"No; I haven't the right to tell you, though I should like to, to give
you confidence. It's the story of the ten thousand pounds, you
remember? When I lent that money, I promised never to let any one know.
Even if I can't realise your capital at once, I can pay you good
interest until the money's forthcoming. That would be the same thing to
you?"
Warburton gave him a keen look, and said gravely--
"Let's understand each other, Sherwood. Have you any income at all?"
"None whatever now, except the interest on the ten thousand; and
that--well, I'm sorry to say it hasn't been paid very regularly. But in
future it must be--it _shall_ be. Between two and three thousand are
owing to me for arrears."
"It's a queer story."
"I know it is," admitted Godfrey. "But I hope you don't doubt my word?"
"No, I don't--What's to be done about Applegarth?"
"I must see him," replied Sherwood with a groan. "Of course you have no
part in the miserable business. I must write at once, and then go and
face him."
"Of course I shall go with you."
"You will? That's kind of you. Luckily he's a civilised man, not one of
the City brutes one might have had to deal with."
"We must hope he'll live up to his reputation," said Warburton, with
the first smile, and that no cheery one, which had risen to his lips
during this interview.
From that point the talk became easier. All the aspects of their
position were considered, without stress of feeling, for Will had
recovered his self-control; and Sherwood, soothed by the sense of
having discharged an appalling task, tended once more to sanguine
thoughts. To be sure, neither of them could see any immediate way out
of the gulf in which they found themselves; all hope of resuming
business was at an end; the only practical question was, how to earn a
living; but both were young men, and neither had ever known privation;
it was difficult for them to believe all at once that they were really
face to face with that grim necessity which they had thought of as
conquering others, but never them. Certain unpleasant steps, however,
had at once to be taken. Sherwood must give up his house at Wimbledon;
Warburton must look about for a cheap lodging into which to remove at
Michaelmas. Worse still, and more urgent, was the duty of making known
to Mrs. Warburton what had happened.
"I suppose I must go down at once," said Will gloomily.
"I see no hurry," urged the other. "As a matter of fact, your mother
and sister will lose nothing. You undertook to pay them a minimum of
three per cent. on their money, and that you can do; I guarantee you
that, in any case."
Will mused. If indeed it were possible to avoid the disclosure--? But
that would involve much lying, a thing, even in a good cause, little to
his taste. Still, when he thought of his mother's weak health, and how
she might be affected by the news of this catastrophe, he began
seriously to ponder the practicability of well-meaning deception. That,
of course, must depend upon their difficulties with Applegarth
remaining strictly private; and even so, could Mr. Turnbull's scent for
disaster be successfully reckoned with?
"Don't do anything hastily, Warburton, I beg of you," continued the
other. "Things are never so bad as they look at first sight. Wait till
I have seen--you know who. I might even be able to--but it's better not
to promise. Wait a day or two, at all events."
And this Warburton resolved to do; for, if the worst came to the worst,
he had some three hundred pounds of his own still in the bank, and so
could assure, for two years at all events, the income of which his
mother and Jane had absolute need. For himself, he should find some way
of earning bread and cheese; he could no longer stand on his dignity,
and talk of independence, that was plain.
When at length his calamitous partner had gone, he made an indifferent
lunch on the cold meat he found in Mrs. Hopper's precincts, and then
decided that he had better take a walk; to sit still and brood was the
worst possible way of facing such a crisis. There was no friend with
whom he could discuss the situation; none whose companionship would
just now do him any particular good. Better to walk twenty miles, and
tire himself out, and see how things looked after a good night's sleep.
So he put on his soft hat, and took his walking-stick, and slammed the
door behind him. Some one was coming up the stairs; sunk in his own
thoughts he paid no heed, even when the other man stood in front of
him. Then a familiar voice claimed his attention.
"Do you want to cut me, Warburton?"