RAYMOND COPLEY went back into the house in a thoughtful mood. The much-envied and much-talked-of millionaire was not particularly happy. He had a good deal to occupy his attention and had reached a crisis in his affairs which was likely to prove awkward unless something turned up speedily. It was easy, as he often cynically observed, to obtain almost unlimited credit upon the strength of his fictitious wealth, but exceedingly difficult to raise even a hundred pounds in the City. He had practically no security to offer his bankers, and dared not do anything that would suggest to an outsider that he was in want of ready cash. One or two of his schemes lately had ended in failure, and, so far as he could see, it was almost impossible for him to hold out for the month which intervened between now and the next meeting at Mirst Park.
Now here was a fresh cause of annoyance which he had not anticipated. Unfortunately for the ultimate success of Copley's schemes, they necessitated the employment of more than one subordinate, and these subordinates had to be paid. Moreover, they were drawn unavoidably from the refuse of the population, so that they were a standing source of danger, for it is hazardous to depend upon people who are usually ready to sell their services to the highest bidder. One of them had been so audacious as to turn up at the very gates of Seton Manor and demand money. Luckily, he had not said enough to rouse suspicions. His remarks to Fielden might easily be ignored as the ravings of a drunken wretch. Certainly they did not convey much intelligence. So far all was safe.
But it was a warning, and a warning that Copley did not care to disregard. Happily, he thought, Fielden was not a curious man, or he might have inquired farther into the incident. He might even have been disposed to speculate a sovereign or two, and the tramp might have been in a sufficiently reckless mood to sell information at that price. The thing must be looked into at once.
Foster sprawled in the library with a copy of the Sportsman in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. He looked up carelessly at his employer, but seeing there was something amiss put down the paper and waited for Copley to speak.
"What has gone wrong?" he asked.
"Oh, everything," Copley said savagely. "Has a single thing gone straight since the Mirst Park meeting? Here am I in a big house, furnished regardless of expense, with scores of tradesmen tumbling over one another to serve me, and yet I haven't a ten-pound note to call my own. As if that was not bad enough, that blackguard Chaffey has turned up here."
"I suppose he wants money," Foster asked.
"Well, that was the idea, no doubt. I didn't see him myself, but I understand he was drunk and objectionable, and Field turned him out. They had a bit of a scrimmage, and I hope Field gave the fellow a lesson. At any rate, he went off quietly in the end."
"Then why worry?" Foster said.
"Why worry? What a question! I forgot to tell you the worst. Chaffey came here demanding money. He said if I had been at home he could have got as much as he wanted. Imagine what Field must have thought. He would conclude that I was under obligations to the scamp, but, as you know, I haven't exchanged a dozen words with him. Everything has been done through you, and I must say I can't congratulate you on your choice."