“Why—ah—I cannot tell you to a fraction. A few thousands, I suppose. But I don’t see how that fact can interest you.”
Tom’s long face grew still longer. “Don’t you think, sir,” he said, “that it might be advisable for you to empower me to sell out your stock in your behalf, should I find on inquiry to-morrow that there is the least likelihood of its sinking any lower than it is now?”
“Sell out!” exclaimed the Squire in horror. “Certainly not. What next, pray? Bird said the shares were sure to go up again, and I’ll pin my faith to Bird through thick and thin.”
It was with a sad heart that Tom left Pincote. He knew something of the Alcazar Mining Company, and he had no faith in its stability. He knew something of Mr. Bird, the secretary, and he had no faith in his honesty.
Mrs. McDermott was Squire Culpepper’s only sister. She had been a widow for several years. She was perpetually travelling about, ostensibly in search of health, but really in search of change and excitement. The money about which she was writing to her brother was a sum of five thousand pounds which she had put into his hands some two or three years previously, with a request that he would invest it for her in some way, or put it to whatever use he might deem most advisable. He had managed her monetary affairs for her ever since her husband’s death, and there was nothing strange in such a request. At first the amount had been invested in railway debentures, which brought in a modest four per cent. But when the Alcazar shares began to rise so rapidly, it seemed to the Squire that he would have been wronging his sister had he neglected to let her participate in the wonderful golden harvest that lay so close to his hand. To have written to her on the subject would have been the merest matter of form. She would only have answered, “Don’t bother me, but do as you like with the money till I want it for something else.” Then what a glorious surprise it would be to her to find that her little fortune had actually trebled and quadrupled itself in so short a space of time! Nothing venture, nothing win. The railway debentures were at once disposed of and Alcazar shares bought in their stead; and the Squire chuckled to himself many a time when he thought of his happy audacity in acting as he had done without consulting any one except his friend Mr. Bird.
But in proportion to his previous exultation was the dread which now chilled his heart, that not only might his daughter’s dowry be lost to her for ever, but that his sister’s money also—the savings of many years—might be sunk beyond recovery in the wreck that now seemed so close at hand. Most people under such circumstances would have telegraphed to their brokers to sell out at every risk; but there was a mixture of hopefulness and obstinacy in the Squire’s disposition that made him cling to his purpose with a tenacity that would go far either to ruin him or make his fortune, as the case might be.
Tom Bristow did not reach London till long after business hours, but so anxious was he with regard to the matter which had taken him there, that he could not sit down comfortably and wait till morning before beginning his inquiries. After spending ten minutes at his hotel he took a hansom and drove off at once to the offices of the Alcazar Mining Company. The private watchman whose duty it was to look after the premises at night at once supplied him with Mr. Bird’s address, and half an hour later Tom found himself in the neighbourhood of the Regent’s Park. Mr. Bird’s house was readily found, but Mr. Bird himself was not at home, as a rough-looking man with a short pipe in his mouth who, somewhat to Tom’s surprise, answered his impatient knock, at once told him. “Where is Mr. Bird, and when can I see him?” asked Tom.
“As to where he is—I should say that by this time he’s some hundreds of miles on his way to America or Australia. As to when you can see him—why you can see him when you can catch him, and not before.”
“Then he’s gone?” said Tom incredulously.
“Yes, sir, he’s gone. The nest’s empty and the bird’s flown,” added the man with a grin at his own witticism; “and the whole blessed concern has gone to smash.”