“H’m, well, no; not at the time.”
“Was the Skerne investment authorised by the terms of the will?”
“Really I cannot say, and I don’t see that it matters. Of course, whatever I have is, or will be, my daughter’s some day.”
“Quite so,” assented Beaumont. “Well?”
“The shareholders made me a director,” continued the Archdeacon, “and for a time I took quite an eager interest in the work of the concern. It was quite delightful to drive over—it is but ten miles from here—and see the various processes. But after the first twelve months or so, instead of dividend warrants, I got calls, and that was not so pleasant, you know.”
“Naturally,” agreed Edward. “What became of the three most respectable brothers?”
“Two of them retired on the formation of the company. The elder continued for a time as managing director; but gradually, as I have ascertained, he, too, has almost entirely severed his connection, and his financial interest in the works is very slender. In fact, whilst I was eagerly acquiring more and more of the shares, Allcroft, that’s his name, was quietly but steadily getting rid of his.”
“‘Unloading,’ I think it is called,” said Edward.
“And a very good term, too. The worst of it is, in a sense, I not only put my own and my daughter’s money into the company, but persuaded a number of my brother clergymen to do the same. You see, Mr. Beaumont, an archdeacon has naturally a great deal of confidence reposed in him, and, I’m sure I can’t tell why, my brethren credited me with an amount of business capacity and astuteness, which it is quite clear I don’t possess.”
“You ought to have smelt a rat when the Allcrofts unloaded. Depend upon it, they knew what they were about.”