“It is no use, sir,” said the elder brother humbly, as they stood together encouraging each other to turn a brave face to misfortune, “we can do no more. We have little left, and it would be unfair to the others to pay you now. We can but hope that when our assets are realised no one will be the loser save ourselves.”
“I did not come to draw out, but to put in,” said Raffles Haw in his demure apologetic fashion. “I have in my bag five thousand hundred-pound Bank of England notes. If you will have the goodness to place them to my credit account I should be extremely obliged.”
“But, good heavens, sir!” stammered Rupert Garraweg, “have you not heard? Have you not seen? We cannot allow you to do this thing blindfold; can we Louis?”
“Most certainly not. We cannot recommend our bank, sir, at the present moment, for there is a run upon us, and we do not know to what lengths it may go.”
“Tut! tut!” said Raffles Haw. “If the run continues you must send me a wire, and I shall make a small addition to my account. You will send me a receipt by post. Good-morning, gentlemen!” He bowed himself out ere the astounded partners could realise what had befallen them, or raise their eyes from the huge black bag and the visiting card which lay upon their table. There was no great failure in Birmingham that day, and the house of Garraweg still survives to enjoy the success which it deserves.
Such were the deeds by which Raffles Haw made himself known throughout the Midlands, and yet, in spite of all his open-handedness, he was not a man to be imposed upon. In vain the sturdy beggar cringed at his gate, and in vain the crafty letter-writer poured out a thousand fabulous woes upon paper. Robert was astonished when he brought some tale of trouble to the Hall to observe how swift was the perception of the recluse, and how unerringly he could detect a flaw in a narrative, or lay his finger upon the one point which rang false. Were a man strong enough to help himself, or of such a nature as to profit nothing by help, none would he get from the master of the New Hall. In vain, for example, did old McIntyre throw himself continually across the path of the millionaire, and impress upon him, by a thousand hints and innuendoes, the hard fortune which had been dealt him, and the ease with which his fallen greatness might be restored. Raffles Haw listened politely, bowed, smiled, but never showed the slightest inclination to restore the querulous old gunmaker to his pedestal.
But if the recluse's wealth was a lure which drew the beggars from far and near, as the lamp draws the moths, it had the same power of attraction upon another and much more dangerous class. Strange hard faces were seen in the village street, prowling figures were marked at night stealing about among the fir plantations, and warning messages arrived from city police and county constabulary to say that evil visitors were known to have taken train to Tamfield. But if, as Raffles Haw held, there were few limits to the power of immense wealth, it possessed, among other things, the power of self-preservation, as one or two people were to learn to their cost.
“Would you mind stepping up to the Hall?” he said one morning, putting his head in at the door of the Elmdene sitting-room. “I have something there that might amuse you.” He was on intimate terms with the McIntyres now, and there were few days on which they did not see something of each other.
They gladly accompanied him, all three, for such invitations were usually the prelude of some agreeable surprise which he had in store for them.
“I have shown you a tiger,” he remarked to Laura, as he led them into the dining-room. “I will now show you something quite as dangerous, though not nearly so pretty.” There was an arrangement of mirrors at one end of the room, with a large circular glass set at a sharp angle at the top.