CHAPTER XXX. ON THE QUEEN'S CANAL.
“There's not a crime—
But takes its proper change still out in crime
If once rung on the counter of this world.”
Cornish went back to The Hague immediately after Lord Ferriby's funeral because it has been decreed that for all men, this large world shall sooner or later narrow down to one city, perhaps, or one village, or a single house. For a man's life is always centred round a memory or a hope, and neither of those requires much space wherein to live. Tony Cornish's world had narrowed to the Villa des Dunes on the sandhills of Scheveningen, and his mind's eye was always turned in that direction. His one thought at this time was to protect Dorothy—to keep, if possible, the name she bore from harm and ill-fame. Each day that passed meant death to the malgamite workers. He could not delay. He dared not hurry. He wrote again to Percy Roden from London, amid the hurried preparations for the funeral, and begged him to sever his connection with Von Holzen.
“You will not have time,” he wrote, “to answer this before I leave for The Hague. I shall stay on the Toornoifeld as usual, and hope to arrive about nine o'clock to-morrow evening. I shall leave the hotel about a quarter-past nine and walk down the right-hand bank of the Koninginne Gracht, and should like to meet you by the canal, where we can have a talk. I have many reasons to submit to your consideration why it will be expedient for you to come over to my side in this difference now, which I cannot well set down on paper. And remember that between men of the world, such as I suppose we may take ourselves to be, there is no question of one of us judging the other. Let me beg of you to consider your position in regard to the Malgamite scheme—and meet me to-morrow night between the Malie Veld and the Achter Weg about half-past nine. I cannot see you at the works, and it would be better for you not to come to my hotel.”
The letter was addressed to the Villa des Dunes, where Roden received it the next morning. Dorothy saw it, and guessed from whom it was, though she hardly knew her lover's writing. He had adhered firmly to his resolution to keep himself in the background until he had finished the work he had undertaken. He had not written to her; had scarcely seen her. Roden read the letter, and put it in his pocket without a word. It had touched his vanity. He had had few dealings with men of the standing and position of Cornish, and here was this peer's nephew and peer's grandson appealing to him as to a friend, classing him together with himself as a man of the world. No man has so little discretion as a vain man. It is almost impossible for him to keep silence when speech will make for his glorification. Roden arrived at the works well pleased with himself, and found Von Holzen in their little office, put out, ill at ease, domineering. It was unfortunate, if you will. Percy Roden was always ready to perceive his own ill-fortune, and looked back later to this as one of his most untoward hours. Life, however, should surely consist of seizing the fortunate and fighting through the ill moments—else why should men have heart and nerve?
In such humours as they found themselves it did not take long for these two men to discover a question upon which to differ. It was a mere matter of detail connected with the money at that time passing through their hands.
“Of course,” said Roden, in the course of a useless and trivial dispute—“of course you think you know best, but you know nothing of finance—remember that. Everybody knows that it is I who have run that part of the business. Ask old Wade, or White—or Cornish.”
The argument had, in truth, been rather one-sided. For Roden had done all the talking, while Von Holzen looked at him with a quiet eye and a silent contempt that made him talk all the more. Von Holzen did not answer now, though his eye lighted at the mention of Cornish's name. He merely looked at Roden with a smile, which conveyed as clearly as words Von Holzen's suggestion that none of the three men named would be prepared to give Roden a very good character. “I had a letter, by the way, from Cornish this morning,” said Roden, lapsing into his grander manner, which Von Holzen knew how to turn to account.
“Ah—bah!” he exclaimed sceptically. And that lurking vanity of the inferior to lessen his own inferiority did the rest.