He crossed the Channel by the night boat and came to London in the early hours of the morning. He drove straight away to his hotel, had a bath and shaved. His plan was fairly well formed. Everything depended upon the charity which Messrs. Solomon Brothers might display towards his strange lapse.
At breakfast he read in The Times that “Mr. Justice Maxell took his seat upon the Bench” on the previous day, and that paragraph, for some reason, seemed to cheer him.
At ten o’clock he was in the City. At half-past ten he was interviewing the senior partner of Solomon Brothers, a man with an expressionless face, who listened courteously to the somewhat lame excuses which Cartwright offered.
“It was a mistake of a blundering clerk,” said Cartwright airily. “As soon as I discovered the error, I came back to London to withdraw all the money which had been subscribed.”
“It is a pity you didn’t come back yesterday, Mr. Cartwright,” said Solomon.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” said the other, “that we have already placed this matter in the hands of our solicitors. I suggest that you had better interview them.”
Cartwright made a further pilgrimage to the solicitors of Solomon Brothers, and found them most unwilling to see him. That was an ominous sign, and he went back to his office in Victoria Street conscious that a crisis was at hand. At any rate, the girl was out of the way; but, what was more important, she, one of the principal witnesses in so far as Brigot and his property were concerned, was not available for those who might bring a charge against him. She was his wife, and her lips were sealed, and this consequence of his marriage was one which he had not wholly overlooked when he had contracted his strange alliance.
What a fool he had been! The property might have been transferred and in his hands, if he had not antagonised a wretched little Spanish theatrical manager. But, he reflected, if he had not antagonised that manager, he would not have possessed the instrument for extracting the transfer from the amorous Brigot.
At the top of a heap of letters awaiting him was one written in a firm boyish hand, and Cartwright made a little grimace, as though for the first time recognising his responsibility.