Act 5: The husband and father of the two ladies, whom "Lord Loveland" met on the Mauretania, attacked and knocked down in the street, by the "Difficult Young Man to Approach."
Now, at last, Loveland understood everything that had happened to him in New York, even to the mystery of the bank. Again he seemed to see Cadwallader Hunter bending to talk with the good-looking, dark young man who had dined with the Coolidges. Mr. van Cotter had doubtless been one of those who had received the warning cablegrams, and naturally he had passed on the interesting news to the Coolidges and Miltons. Cadwallader Hunter, who had stopped to chat with the party, had been just in time to glean the information, and had taken revenge for the Englishman's rudeness of the morning by advising the hotel people to get rid of an undesirable client.
Oh, yes, it was easy enough to see it all now, even the reason why his mother and the London bankers had failed to answer his appeals for money. They had thought that Foxham was cabling, and had accordingly refused to be taken in. Apparently Foxham had absconded—somewhere—and his misdoings had been discovered on the other side before his late master had found him out. Perhaps Foxham had taken the ticket for the Baltic which he—Val—had instructed him to sell, and used it for himself, booking as a passenger for America in the name of Lord Loveland.
In that case the fellow had doubtless arrived in New York by this time, on the Baltic—the ship on which his master had originally intended to sail; and Heaven alone knew what new mischief he might have been working on this side of the water.
The thought of what might have happened was almost as infuriating as the knowledge of what certainly had happened. It all came from accepting the chance offered by Jim Harborough to sail on the Mauretania; but in spite of everything he had suffered, Loveland told himself that he would not have it different. If he had come over on the Baltic he would probably by this time be engaged to some American heiress, and would never have met Lesley Dearmer.
Just now, his acquaintance with her, combined with all the other extraordinary results of his sailing on the Mauretania, was putting him to the torture; and he was gloomily convinced that nothing would ever make things come right; nevertheless, he was dimly, subconsciously aware even in this bitter moment that he wouldn't choose release from torture at the price of not knowing the girl.
"All this is a surprise to you, then?" her voice broke into the midst of his reflections over the newspaper cutting.
"Completely."
"How very odd that you didn't read the papers," exclaimed Lesley.