CHAPTER XI.—‘STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL.’
That was the best news Martin Wrentham had heard for a long time. Gribble & Co. were commission agents, and undertook any kind of business which promised a profit. Shipping, stocks, landed estates and house property; cargoes of wine, of tea, and of wool, were all equally welcome to the best attention of Gribble & Co. Mr Wrentham was the sole partner and representative of this impartial firm. There never had been a Gribble or a Co.; but there was a highly respectable and old established firm known as Gribble, Hastings, & Co., who had nothing to do with the house in Golden Alley. There were, however, people in the colonies and on the continent who made mistakes, and entered into business relations with Mr Wrentham under the impression that they were dealing with the firm whose designation was so nearly the same as the one under which he traded.
The mistake was of course discovered by some, and rectified as soon as possible; but still there were others who continued to blunder, and Wrentham appeared to prosper. There were envious City men who said that he made more out of the betting ring than out of his professed business; and he certainly was well known in sporting circles. He frequently had the ‘straight tip’ for the Derby, the Oaks, Ascot, the St Leger, and other important racing events of the year. This information he was good-naturedly ready to impart to his friends, claiming only what he called a ‘comfortable’ percentage on the winnings, whilst he had no share in the losses.
It had long been his ambition to open an account with the great house of Hadleigh & Co. With this object in view, he had taken infinite pains to ingratiate himself with Mr Hadleigh, and succeeded so far that he became an occasional guest at the Manor: but no business came of it. He had courted the society of Coutts Hadleigh, flattered him, spent time and money in amusing him, endured his cynical jokes, and had even given him ‘straight tips’ without seeking a commission: still no business came of it.
But he did not give up hope. He was cool, patient, and good-humoured, and his perseverance was rewarded. See, here is the chief partner of the firm come to him at last with the announcement that his visit was on ‘important business.’
‘Upon my word, Mr Hadleigh, you give me such an agreeable surprise, that I can only say we shall have pleasure in doing the utmost in our power to serve you satisfactorily.’
Wrentham was always frank, always eager to say the thing which he supposed would please his listener most. If he was pleased, he said so, and showed it; if displeased, he showed it, although he did not always say so. But then he was very seldom displeased; for he had the happy knack of turning the most offensive words or acts into a joke or ridicule, so that he never quarrelled with anybody—not even with the tax-collector.
‘I may tell you at once,’ said Mr Hadleigh in his cold way, ‘that the business is entirely private at present, and has nothing to do with the firm.’
‘I shall have the more pleasure in attending to it as a friend,’ was the cordial reply.
‘Thank you; but I give you credit for knowing enough of me to be aware that I shall not take advantage of your generosity. You have heard the saying—there is no friendship in business.’
‘Happily, there are many exceptions to the rule,’ said Wrentham cheerfully.
‘This is not to be one of them. You are to regard the transaction as one coming to you in the ordinary course of business, but to be dealt with as a strictly confidential matter. Your clerks are to have nothing to do with it.’
There was something in his manner, calm and quiet as it was, which attracted Wrentham’s attention, puzzled him, and modified the enthusiasm with which he had begun the interview.
‘If you will explain, Mr Hadleigh, you will find me willing to do whatever you require, if it is possible.’
Mr Hadleigh looked steadily in the speaker’s face, and the latter leaned back on his chair, as if to afford a better light for the inspection. He endured the gaze with the placid smile of one who was prepared for the closest scrutiny into his character and motives. Apparently satisfied, Mr Hadleigh, speaking with much deliberation, proceeded:
‘I want in the first place a little information. You have been for some time doing business for Mr Austin Shield?’
The placid smile faded from the countenance of Gribble & Co., and the plural pronoun came into use again.
‘That is correct. He has intrusted us with various small commissions; but they are mere trifles, I believe, compared with those he has given to others. Indeed, I do not think he has treated us quite so liberally as he ought to have done.’
There was no irritation in the last remark: it simply implied that Mr Shield had not acted wisely. Mr Hadleigh did not appear to have observed it.
‘You are aware of his relationship to my children?’
‘Yes; and that your son, Philip, is going out to him. Lucky for your son, I should say.’
‘I do not wish him to go.’
‘Wh—at!’ The exclamation was long drawn out, and its modulations were suggestive of a rapid series of speculations, in which curiosity and doubt were more predominant than surprise.
‘I do not wish him to go,’ repeated Mr Hadleigh, each word passing his lips like the measured stroke of a funeral bell.
‘You take my breath away. Such a chance—such prospects! Shield is reported to be enormously wealthy, and he has no direct heirs.... Pardon me, Mr Hadleigh, but I must say that you would be doing the young man a serious injury if you interfered with his uncle’s wishes.’
In sickness and in sorrow there are people who feel called upon to offer you their sympathy; but there is too often a conventional ring in the expression of it which there is no mistaking, and even bare politeness in the acknowledgment of it becomes irksome. It was in this conventional way that Wrentham uttered his virtuous warning to the parent who was opposing his son’s best interests.
The parent understood, and smiled.
‘Strange as it may seem to you, Mr Wrentham, my desire is that not one of my children should be mentioned in that man’s will.’
‘Extraordinary! But you were always peculiar in your views of things. To be sure, your views generally turned out to be the right ones. Everybody in the City is aware of that. But I do not see yet how my services can be of any use to you in this matter.’
‘The service I require will not be difficult to render. You have been for some years in correspondence with Mr Shield, and you know more about his affairs than any one in London except his solicitors. I want you to tell me all that you have learned regarding his intentions concerning Philip.’
‘That is easily done. I have learned absolutely nothing.’
Wrentham was quite cheerful again as he gave this reply.
Mr Hadleigh was disappointed: he was silent and thoughtful for a few moments. Then: ‘I begin to see his purpose.’
‘I should be glad if you would enlighten me,’ said Wrentham eagerly: ‘it might be useful to me.’
‘I am quite sure it will be. But first you must give me a full explanation of his affairs, so far as you are acquainted with them, and the nature of this business which has brought him such sudden wealth, and which he is at so much pains to keep secret.’
Wrentham’s cheerfulness disappeared, and he rose uneasily.
‘I am sorry, Mr Hadleigh, that you should ask me for information which I am not at liberty to give.’
‘You mean that his business is of so much value that you cannot risk the loss of it?’
‘Of course—of course, his business is of some importance to us, although, as I have already mentioned, he has not treated us quite so liberally as we think he ought to have done. Besides, we have only a small part of his patronage.’
‘All the same you would not like to lose it?’
‘Well, not unless something better offered itself,’ replied Wrentham, recovering a degree of his jaunty manner, as he recollected that he was speaking to the head of a great firm whose influence might bring him thousands a year. It would never do to display to such a man either too much weakness or too much indifference.
‘But if that something better did not present itself, you would be sorry to lose the connection. I suppose it is necessary to tell you what my surmise is as to his intentions. He intends to establish Philip as his sole representative in England, and everything will be taken out of your hands. I may be able to help you, if you will give me the information which will put it in my power to do so.’
Wrentham walked to the window, stared at the blank wall opposite, and frowned at it.
Mr Hadleigh smiled at his evident alarm, and attempted to relieve it.
‘You need not be afraid to trust me; I am not inviting you to enter into a conspiracy against Mr Shield. I have no evil design in my inquiries.’
‘I am sure of that,’ responded Wrentham, wheeling round. Every sign of alarm had vanished from his visage. ‘But of what use could the information be to you? Giving it might do me a great deal of harm, whilst it could not serve you.’
‘Of that you cannot judge. But we need not discuss the point further at present. Take time and consider. Meanwhile, you can have no objection to do this for me—telegraph to him that you learn from me that Philip goes out to him against my will.’
‘It shall be done immediately, and I will bring you the answer myself.’
There was a tap at the door, and the clerk entered with a slip of paper which he handed to his master.
‘All right, Perkins. Shall be disengaged in a few minutes.’
As the clerk closed the door behind him, Wrentham handed the paper to his visitor, who read on it, ‘Mr Philip Hadleigh,’ and instantly rose to go.
‘Perhaps—you will excuse me—but perhaps it would be as well if you did not meet each other here at present. Here is my private door.’
‘I expect to see you this evening with the answer to the telegram,’ said Mr Hadleigh quietly as he went out.
‘You shall see me whether the answer has arrived or not.’
When he had closed the door, Wrentham stood still, unconscious, apparently, that he was resting on the handle, although it seemed as if he were half-inclined to call Mr Hadleigh back. His expression had changed to a frown at some invisible object on the floor, and his head was slightly bowed. This was his thought:
‘Have I lost a chance, or opened the way to one?... Eminently unsatisfactory, if I have not. He must have some game on.... No designs! As if he could gammon me into the notion that he was the sort of man to bother himself about other people’s affairs without good reason for it. A hundred to one on that event. But if Shield does mean to take everything out of my hands’——
He frowned still more darkly at the invisible object on the floor, and the speculation ended in a chaos of disagreeable reflections. With a quick jerk of the head he roused himself.
‘We’ll see,’ he muttered as he advanced to the table and touched a hand-bell twice.
The habitual smile had returned to his face when Philip entered the room.
‘I shall not keep you many minutes to-day, Mr Wrentham. But I suppose you will have to give me an hour or so on the earliest date you can appoint.’
‘It will be a pleasure to me whatever it may be to you. I suppose it is business. I shall make it as easy for you as I can. What is it?’
‘I have just got this from Hawkins and Jackson, which, they tell me, my uncle inclosed to them with instructions that they were to see that I gave personal attention to the matter.’
Wrentham read the note, placed it in a clip bearing the word ‘Immediate’ in large capitals, and looked up again.
‘Your uncle might have sent this to me direct—I should have liked it better; but he has a curious way of doing things. You are to have a full statement of my accounts with him, and it is to be duly audited by a professional accountant. This looks as if he intended to close the account altogether.’
‘I hope not.’
‘Well, the statement will be ready for you on Wednesday next week, and you shall have every assistance and explanation you may require from me.’
‘Thank you. At what hour shall I call?’
‘Ten o’clock. I expect you will have a long day of it.’
‘We cannot help that, I suppose, and I need not take up more of your time at present.’
‘Are you in a hurry? Because I am going out to have some luncheon, and you might join me.’
The invitation was given so cordially, that Philip could not decline, and they went out by the private door together. At the mouth of the alley they were passed by a smart little man with thin clean-shaved face, wearing a soft felt hat, a loose black frock-coat, and gray tweed trousers. He carried in his hand a folding trestle and a well-filled green bag, and under his arm was a small circular table top covered with green baize.
He lifted his hat to Philip, who acknowledged the salute with a pleasant nod. Wrentham’s attention was attracted by something in another direction, and the little man went swiftly on his way.
‘That’s the juggler Bob Tuppit,’ said Philip to his companion. ‘Haven’t you seen him down our way? I suppose he has just had a successful performance in some quiet court, he looks so cheery. Clever fellow; works ten and twelve hours a day, and tells me he makes a decent income out of it.’
‘Is he an acquaintance of yours?’ inquired Wrentham, somewhat drily.
‘I have had several chats with him, and found him a most interesting and intelligent fellow.’
‘Has he told you anything about his family?’
‘Nothing more than that he is married; has a troop of children, and a comfortable home.’
‘Ah, that is not like the ordinary tramp. But I wouldn’t cultivate his acquaintance, if I were you. No doubt he told you all about his birth and parentage, and got a sovereign out of you on the strength of being a poor orphan.’
‘He told me that he had been born and brought up in London; but he has travelled over the whole country in his professional capacity. He speaks of his juggling as a “profession.” He is an orphan, as you guessed; but he has a brother somewhere.’
‘And what might his profession be?’ said Wrentham with a quick side-glance at Philip.
‘I don’t know. Tuppit is shy of talking about him; and from his sorrowful way of mentioning the fact that he had a brother, I came to the conclusion that the fellow was in prison, or something of that sort. So I did not put any disagreeable questions.’
They had entered the dining-room of the Gog and Magog Club by this time; and amidst the clatter of plates and knives and forks, and the loud hum of voices, Wrentham pointed to the bill of fare, which was hung up beside the clerk’s desk, and said hastily: ‘What are you to have?’
Mr Hadleigh had been much more disappointed by the result of his interview with Wrentham than he had allowed to appear. He had gone to him with the vague hope that he might learn something about Austin Shield, which should give him an excuse for making another appeal to Madge. He had learned nothing. There was, however, a probability that when his objection was made known to Shield, the latter would himself withdraw the invitation he had sent to Philip.
In the evening, Wrentham presented himself at the Manor. No answer to the telegram had yet arrived: the conversation in the library occupied an hour notwithstanding. Shortly after noon on the following day, Wrentham brought the expected answer to Mr Hadleigh, who was waiting for it in his private room in the office of his firm.
‘My sister’s son must decide for himself.’
‘It is like the man,’ muttered Mr Hadleigh, as he tore up the paper. ‘Now, you can make your choice—his business or mine.’
‘I shall give you an answer in half an hour.’
Wrentham returned to his office, and entered it by the private door. He took a half-crown from his pocket and balanced it on his forefinger and thumb. He gazed at it steadily for a moment, then tossed it up.
‘Heads for Hadleigh—tails for Shield and sudden death.... Heads it is, and Hadleigh’s my man.’
He picked up the coin, seated himself at his writing-table, and proceeded to communicate his decision to Mr Hadleigh with as much gravity as if he had arrived at it after serious deliberation.