A CAB from the London terminus speedily deposited Lord Stranleigh at his favorite club in Pall Mall. Two acquaintances coming down the steps nodded to him casually, so casually that the salutation, taken in conjunction with the lack of all interest displayed in the smoking room when he entered, caused him to realize that he had never been missed, and this indifference keeps a man from becoming too conceited when he has victoriously pitted his intelligence against bears or brigands in far-away corners of the earth, and lives to tell the tale, or keep quiet about it, as the case may be. As he was attired in the ordinary business suit that had done two days’ hard duty at Southampton, he could not commit the solecism of entering the dining room. Indeed, gleaming, snowy shirt fronts were so prevalent in the smoking room itself that he experienced the unaccustomed, but rather enjoyable feeling of being a wild and woolly pioneer, who had strayed by mistake into a stronghold of fashionable civilization. The dining room being forbidden ground, Stranleigh contented himself with a couple of sandwiches and a tankard of German beer. As he partook of this frugal fare, a broad shirt front bore down upon him that reminded him of the sail of a racing yacht.
“Hello, Stranleigh,” said Sir William Grainger, the owner of the shirt front. “Remember me telling you last week that Flying Scud was sure of a place in the Maple-Durham stakes?”
“I don’t remember having received that information from you,” replied Stranleigh. “Did Flying Scud pull it off, then?”
“Pull it off? Why, the race isn’t run till tomorrow.”
“Oh, I beg pardon, I had forgotten the date.”
“Well, Stranleigh, I’ve got it straight that Flying Scud will romp in a winner. It’s a sure thing. Don’t you give it away, but act on the hint, and you won’t be sorry. Odds are twenty-five to one at the present moment, and for every blooming quid you put up, you’ll get a pony.”
“That’s very attractive, Billy.”
“Attractive? Why, it’s simply found money.”
“Ah, well, such chances are not for me, Billy. I’ve had to pawn my evening togs in order to get a sandwich and a glass of beer. I’m a hornyhanded son of toil trying to pick up an honest living. Why don’t you follow my example, Billy, and do something useful? This deplorable habit of betting on the races will lead you into financial straits by and by, and what is worse, the gambling fever may become chronic if you don’t check it in time.”
Sir William Grainger laughed joyously at this. He was a young man who had already run through a large patrimony left him by his father, and since that time had developed a genius for borrowing which would have done credit to Harriman, the railway king.
“Come, Stranleigh, don’t preach, or at least, if you do preach, don’t hedge. You know what I want. Lend me a pony till next Monday, there’s a good fellow. That sum will bring me in six hundred and twenty-five pounds before to-morrow night. I’ve figured it all out on a sheet of club paper, but I’m stony broke, so fork over the twenty-five, Stranleigh.”
Lord Stranleigh, without demur, took from his pocketbook some Bank of England notes of ten pounds each, selected three of them, and passed them on to Sir William, who thus getting five pounds more than he had asked for, lovingly fingered the tenacious, crisp pieces of paper, then put forward a bluff of getting one of them changed, that he might return the extra money.
“Oh, don’t trouble about that,” said Stranleigh, somewhat wearily. He had had a tiring day at Southampton, and beer and sandwiches were not a very inspiring meal at the end of it. “Don’t trouble about that. If you take another sheet of club paper, you may be able to calculate how much more the extra five pounds will bring you in to-morrow night.”
“By Jove, that’s true,” said Sir William, much relieved, and then the ease with which he had made the haul seemed to stir up his covetousness and still further submerge all self-respect.
“Talking of the extra amount I will gain reminds me, Stranleigh, that if you will give me one more ten-pound note, the whole loot will be an even thousand at twenty-five to one, you know. I’ll pay it all back on Monday, but it seems a pity to miss such a chance, doesn’t it?”
“How wonderfully you can estimate the odds, Billy. If forty pounds will bring you a thousand, then, as you say, it would be a pity to miss such an opportunity. Well, here you are,” and he passed the fourth ten-pound note into the other’s custody.
Still Sir William lingered. Perhaps it would have been more merciful if his lordship had demurred rather strenuously against accommodating him with the so-called loan. The sight of the other’s notes now returning to his pocket filled him with envy. He felt some remnant of reluctance in attempting to increase his acquisition, so he put it in another form:
“I say, Stranleigh, if you’d like me to lay a bit on for you, so far as Flying Scud is concerned, I’ll do it with pleasure.”
“Thanks, old man, but I shan’t trouble you. I intend to put on some money, but it will be against Flying Scud.”
“What! have you heard anything?” cried Sir William in alarm, but the other interrupted——
“I know nothing about the horse at all, but I know a good deal about your luck, and I’ll have that forty pounds back on Monday, without troubling you, except by betting against you.” Sir William laughed a little, shrugged his shoulders, and walked away with the loot.
“Yes,” murmured Stranleigh to himself, “this is dear old London again, sure enough. The borrowing of money has begun.”
In spite of being touched for varying amounts, Lord Stranleigh enjoyed to the full his return to the Metropolis, and for many days strolled down Piccadilly with the easy grace of a man about town, the envy of less fortunate people who knew him. This period of indolence was put an end to by the receipt of a telegram from Mackeller. That capable young man had sent his message from the northwest corner of Brittany, having ordered the Rajah to be run into the roadstead of Brest. The communication informed Stranleigh that Mackeller had hoisted up a portion of the cargo, and placed it aboard a lugger, which was to sail direct for Portreath. This transhipment of part of the cargo had brought Plimsoll’s mark on the side of the Rajah into view once more, and the steamer might now enter the harbor of Plymouth without danger of being haled before the authorities, charged with overloading. He expected to reach Plymouth next day.
Stranleigh was lunching at home that day because in the morning he had been favored with a telephone call, and on putting the receiver to his ear, had distinguished the still, small voice of Conrad Schwartzbrod, who appeared to be trying to say something with reference to the Rajah. Stranleigh was afflicted with a certain dislike of the telephone, and often manifested an impatience with its working which he did not usually show when confronted with the greater evils of life, so after telling the good Mr. Schwartzbrod to stand farther away from the transmitter, to come closer, to speak louder, he at last admitted he could not understand what was being said, and invited the financier to call upon him at his house that afternoon at half past two, if what he had to say was important enough to justify a journey from the city to the West End.
At the luncheon table Mackeller’s long telegram was handed to him, and, after he had read it, Stranleigh smiled as he thought how nearly its arrival had coincided with Schwartzbrod’s visit, and he wondered how much the latter would give for its perusal if he knew of its existence. He surmised that the Stock Exchange magnate was becoming a little anxious because of the nonarrival of the Rajah at Lisbon, where, doubtless, his emissaries awaited her. In spite of his pretense of misapprehension, he had heard quite distinctly at the telephone receiver that Schwartz-brod had just learned he was the owner of the Rajah, and that he wished to renew his charter of that slow-going, deliberate steam vessel, but he could not deny himself the pleasure of crossquestioning so crafty an opponent face to face. He had been expecting an application from Conrad Schwartzbrod for some days, and now it had arrived almost too late, for he directed Ponderby to secure him a berth on the Plymouth express for that night.
The young nobleman did not receive the elderly capitalist in his business office downstairs, as perhaps would have been the more suitable, but greeted him instead in the ample and luxurious drawing-room on the first floor, where Stranleigh, enjoying the liberty of a bachelor, was smoking an after-luncheon cigar, and he began the interview by offering a similar one to his visitor, which was declined. Mr. Schwartzbrod, it seemed, never smoked.
The furtive old man was palpably nervous and ill at ease. He sat on the extreme edge of an elegant chair, and appeared not to know exactly what to do with his hands. The news which had reached him from Sparling & Bilge in Southampton, that Lord Stranleigh was the new owner of the Rajah, had disquieted Schwartzbrod, and his manner showed this to his indolent host, who lounged back in an easy-chair, calmly viewing the newcomer with an expression of countenance that was almost cherublike in its innocence.
“Sorry you don’t smoke,” drawled the younger man. “You miss a great deal of pleasure in life by your abstention.”
“It is a habit I never acquired, my lord, and so perhaps I do not feel the lack of it so much as one accustomed to tobacco might suppose. I lead a very busy life, and, indeed, a somewhat anxious one, since times are so bad in the city, therefore I have little opportunity of cultivating what I might call—I hope with no offense—the smaller vices.”
“Ah, there speaks a large trader. You go in for the big things in life, whether in finance or in vice.”
“I hope I may say without vanity, my lord, that I have always avoided vice, large or small.”
“Lucky man; I wish I could make the same confession. So times are bad in the city, are they?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Then why don’t you chuck the city, and come and live in the West End where life is easy?”
“A rich man may live where he pleases, my lord, but I have been a hard worker all my life.”
“Poor, but honest, eh? Still, when all’s said and done, Mr. Schwartzbrod, I really believe that you hard workers enjoy your money better when you get it than we leisurely people who have never known the lack of it. I believe in honesty myself, and if I were not of so indolent a nature, I think I might perhaps have become an honest man. But a busy laborer like yourself, Mr. Schwartzbrod, has not come to the West End to hear me talk platitudes about honesty. In America the man goes West who intends to work hard. In London a man comes west when he has made money.
“‘You miss a great deal of pleasure in life.’”
“He has his pile in the city, and expects to cease work. You have come west temporarily to see me about some matter which the telephone delighted in mixing up with buzzings and rattlings and intermittent chattering that made your theme difficult to comprehend. Perhaps you will be good enough to let me know in what way I may serve you.”
“At the time when I expected to operate the gold field, which you know of, my lord, I chartered a steamer, named the Rajah, at Southampton.”
“Oh, the Rajah!” interrupted his lordship, sitting up, a gleam of intelligent comprehension animating his face. “The Rajah was what you were trying to say? I thought you were speaking of a Jolly Roger. Roger was the word that came over to me, and ‘Jolly Roger’ means the flag of a pirate ship, or something pertaining to piracy, so I, recognizing your voice, thinks to myself: ‘What, in the name of Moses and the Prophets, can a respectable city personage mean by speaking of the Jolly Roger, as if he were a captain of buccaneers.’ Oh, yes, the Rajah! Now I understand. Proceed, Mr. Schwartzbrod.”
The personage seemed to turn a trifle more sallow than usual as the other went on enthusiastically talking of pirate ships and buccaneers, but he surmised that the young nobleman meant nothing in particular, as he sank back once more in his easy-chair, and again half closed his eyes, blowing the smoke of his cigar airily aloft. Presently, moistening his lips, Conrad Schwartzbrod found voice, convinced that the other’s allusion to marine pillage was a mere coincidence, and not a covert reference to Frowningshield and his merry men, or to the mission of the Rajah herself.
“I was about to say, my lord, that I had chartered the Rajah from a firm of shipping people in Southampton, intending to use her in the development of the mineral property in West Africa. That property having passed from the hands of myself and my associates into yours, my lord, I determined to employ the Rajah in the South American cattle trade, as we own an extensive tract of territory in the Argentine, the interests of which we are endeavoring to forward with the ultimate object of floating a company.”
Again the prospective company promoter moistened his lips when they had safely delivered this interesting piece of fiction.
“So the Rajah has gone to the Argentine Republic, has she?” said Stranleigh.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Filled with dynamite and mining machinery, eh? Surely a remarkable cargo for a herdsman to transport, Mr. Schwartzbrod?”
“Well, you see, my lord, the dynamite and machinery was on our hands, and as there are many mines in South America, we thought we could sell the cargo there to better advantage than in Southampton.”
“Of course I don’t in the least doubt, Mr. Schwartzbrod, that you own large ranches in South America, but I strongly suspect——”
He paused, and opened his eyes to half width, looking quizzically at his vis-à-vis.
“You strongly suspect what, my lord?” muttered Schwartzbrod.
“I suspect that you own a mine in South America that you are keeping very quiet about.”
“Well, my lord,” confessed Schwartzbrod, with apparent diffidence, “it is rarely wise to speak of these things prematurely.”
“That is quite true, and I have really no wish to pry into your secrets, but to tell the truth, I felt a little sore about your action with regard to the Rajah.”
“My action? What action?”
“You must admit, Mr. Schwartzbrod, that when I acquired those so-called gold fields, I became possessor of everything the company owned, or at least I thought I did. Now, in the company was vested the charter of the Rajah, and it was the company’s money which bought all the materials with which you have sailed away to South America. It therefore seemed to me—I don’t wish to put it harshly—that you had, practically, made off with a portion of my property.”
“You astonish me, my lord. It never occurred to me that such a view could be held by any one, especially one like yourself, so well acquainted with facts.”
Stranleigh shrugged his shoulders.
“Acquainted with the facts? Oh, I don’t know that I’m so very well versed in them. I’m not a business man, Mr. Schwartzbrod, and although I engage business men to look after my interests, it seems to me that sometimes they are not as sharp as they might be. I thought, after the acquisition of the company’s property, that the charter of the Rajah and the contents of her hold belonged to me, just as much as the company’s money in the bank did, or as its gold in West Africa.”
“I assure you, my lord, you are mistaken. The Rajah and her charter were not mentioned in the documents of agreement between you and me, while the money in the bank was. But aside from all that, my lord, you gave me a document covering all that had been done previous to its signing, and the Rajah had sailed from South America several days before that instrument was completed. Everything was done legally, and under the advice of competent solicitors—yours and mine.”
“Do not mistake me, Mr. Schwartzbrod; I am not complaining at all, nor even doubting the legality of the documents to which you refer. I am merely saying that I thought the Rajah and her cargo was to be turned over to me. There, doubtless, I was mistaken. It seems to me after all, Mr. Schwartzbrod, that there is a higher criterion of action than mere legality. You, probably, would be the first to admit that there is such a thing as moral right which may not happen to coincide with legal right.”
“Assuredly, assuredly, my lord. I should be very sorry indeed to infringe upon any moral law, but, unfortunately, in this defective world, my lord, experience has shown that it is always well to set down in plain black and white exactly what a man means when a transfer is made, otherwise your remembrance of what was intended may differ entirely from mine, and yet each of us may be scrupulously honest in our contention.”
“Yes, you have me there, Mr. Schwartzbrod. I see the force of your reasoning, and a man has only himself to blame if he neglects those necessary precautions which you have mentioned, so we will say nothing more about that phase of the matter, but you will easily understand that having thought myself entitled to the use of the Rajah, I may not feel myself inclined to renew your charter now.”
“Ah, there again, my lord, it is all set down in black and white. The charter distinctly states that I am to have the option of renewal for a further three months when the first three months has expired.”
“You corner me at every point of the game, Mr. Schwartzbrod. I take it, then, that my purchase of the Rajah does not invalidate the arrangement made with you by her former owners?”
“Certainly not, my lord. If you buy a property, you take over all its liabilities.”
“That seems just and reasonable. So your application for renewal is a mere formality, against which any objection of mine would be futile?”
“Did not Sparling & Bilge explain to you, my lord, that the steamer was under charter?”
“I never saw those estimable gentlemen, Mr. Schwartzbrod. The purchase was made by an agent of mine, and I have no doubt Sparling & Bilge made him acquainted with all the liabilities I was acquiring. If you insist on exercising your option, Mr. Schwartzbrod, I suppose I must either postpone the development of my gold-bearing property, or charter another steamer?”
“I should be sorry to put you to the trouble and expense of chartering another boat when the Rajah is so well suited to your purpose, my lord. It is possible that, even before the first charter is completed, the Rajah may have returned to Southampton, and our experiments in the cattle trade may end with the first voyage. In that case I shall be very pleased to relinquish my claim upon your steamer.”
“That is very good of you, Mr. Schwartzbrod. By the way, where is the Rajah now?”
“She is probably in some port along the Argentine coast, south of Buenos Ayres.”
“Really? Then perhaps you can tell me where Mackeller is?”
“Mackeller? You mean the mining engineer, son of the stockbroker?”
“Yes, I thought he was in my employment, and sent him down to attend the loading of the Rajah, but he has disappeared. Did you engage him?”
“No, I know nothing of him.”
“I thought perhaps he had sailed with the Rajah.”
“Not to my knowledge. Doesn’t his father know where he is?”
“His father appears to know no more than I do. Just as much, or just as little, whichever way you like to put it.”
“He’s no employee of mine, my lord.”
“I think he should have given me notice if he intended to quit my service. Probably he has gone hunting a gold mine for himself.”
“I think there are many mining engineers more valuable than young Mackeller, my lord. He always seemed to me a stubborn, unmannerly person.”
“Yes, he lacked the polish which the city gives to a man. I suppose his life in the various wildernesses he has visited has not been conducive to the acquirement of the art of politeness. Still, as you say, there is no lack of mining engineers in London, and doubtless, when the time comes that I need one, I shall find a suitable man for the vacancy.”
“I shall be very glad to help you in the selection, my lord, if you care to consult me.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that. I take it with regard to this charter that I have to sign something, haven’t I, although I suppose I shouldn’t sign until my solicitors are consulted; still, I feel quite safe in your hands, Mr. Schwartzbrod, and if you will send me the document, and mark with a lead pencil where my signature is to go, I shall attend to it.”
“I have brought the papers with me, my lord,” said the financier eagerly, extracting them from his pocket.
“Could you also oblige me with a fountain pen? Ah, thanks. You go about fully equipped for business, Mr. Schwartzbrod. That’s what it is to be a methodical man.”
His lordship cleared a little space on the table, and wrote his name at the bottom of two documents, which, however, he took the precaution to read with some care before attaching his autograph to them, in spite of his disclaimer that he understood nothing about these things. He complained languidly of the obscure nature of the papers, and said it was no wonder lawyers were so much needed to elucidate them. Schwartzbrod put the papers in his pocket with a satisfaction he could scarcely conceal, then, standing up, he buttoned his coat, ever so much more alert than the weary young man, half his age, who stood up from his writing as if the exertion had almost exhausted him. He, however, made a quiet, casual remark in parting that suddenly electrified the room and made his guest shiver and turn pale.
“When did you say you expected the Rajah from Lisbon, Mr. Schwartzbrod?”
For a few moments there was intense stillness. Stranleigh was lighting another cigar, and did not look up at the terror-stricken man, whose bulging eyes were filled with fear.
“Lisbon—Lisbon?” he gasped, trying to secure control of his features. “I—I never mentioned Lisbon.”
“Oh, yes, you did. You said she was at some point south of Lisbon, didn’t you?”
“I said Buenos Ayres.”
Stranleigh made a gesture of impatience as if he were annoyed with himself.
“Why, of course you said Buenos Ayres. How stupid of me. I am always mixing these foreign places up. I suppose it is because the Argentine Republic is one of those former Spanish possessions, and Lisbon being in Spain, I confused the two.”
“Lisbon is in Portugal, my lord; the capital of Portugal.”
“You are right. It was Madrid I was thinking of Madrid is in Spain, isn’t it?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And it isn’t a port, either?”
“No, my lord.”
“And is Lisbon on the sea?”
“On the river Tagus, my lord.”
“I am an ignoramus, that’s what I am. I ought really to go to school again. I have forgotten everything I learned there. Well, good afternoon, Mr. Schwartzbrod. Anything else I can do for you, you know, don’t hesitate to call on me. We financiers must stand by one another, while times are so bad in the city.”
The young man stood at the head of the stairs, a cigar between his lips, and his hands deep in his trousers pockets, seeing which Mr. Schwartzbrod, who had tentatively made a motion to shake hands in farewell, thought better of it, and went down the stairs, at the bottom of which the silent Ponderby waited to open the door for him. When he reached the floor below Schwartzbrod cast one look over his shoulder up the stairs. The young man still stood on the landing, gazing contemplatively down upon his parting guest. He nodded pleasantly, and “Ta-ta,” he said, but the expression on Schwartzbrod’s face could not have shown greater perturbation if Satan himself had occupied Stranleigh’s place.
“A very uncomfortable companion is an uneasy conscience, even in the city,” said Stran-leigh to himself, as he turned away.
Schwartzbrod hailed a cab, and drove to his office in the city; anxious about the Rajah; glad he had secured the renewal of the charter without protest or investigation; uneasy regarding Stranleigh’s apparently purposeless remarks about pirates and Lisbon. Arriving at his office, he rang for his confidential clerk.
“Any word from Lisbon?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir. The same code word. No sign of the Rajah there, sir.”
“How long is it since you sent warning to all our agents along the Atlantic coast and the Mediterranean to look out for her?”
“Just a week to-day, sir, and a wire came in shortly after you left, from our man at Brest. I’d have telephoned you, sir, if I had known where you had gone.”
“Give it to me, give it to me, give it to me,” repeated Schwartzbrod impatiently. He clutched it in his trembling hands, and read:
“Steamer flying English flag, named Rajah Wilkie captain, in roadstead to-day. Unloading ore into lugger.”
The moral Mr. Schwartzbrod now gave way to a paroxysm of bitter language that was dreadful to hear, but his stolid clerk seemed used to it, and bent his head before the storm. During a lull for lack of breath he ventured one remark:
“It can’t be our ship, sir. Our man is Captain Simmons.”
“What has that to do with it, you fool?” roared Schwartzbrod. “That old scoundrel Simmons can easily change his name. He’s sold me out, the sanctimonious hound. Very likely he and Frowningshield are both in the plot against me. Simmons is a thief, for all his canting objections when we were striking a bargain. I don’t believe Frowningshield’s any better, and he’s got more brains. They’ll smelt the ore in France, after carrying it to some suitable spot along the coast in sailing boats. But it’ll take two or three days to unload, and I’ll give old Simmons a fright before that is done. See if there’s a steamer from Southampton to St. Malo to-night. If not I must go to Brest by way of Paris. I can’t trust this job to any one else.”
As it happened there was a boat that evening for St. Malo, and so the two persons who had indulged in a long conversation regarding the Rajah that afternoon were each in pursuit of her, moving westward; Schwartzbrod in his berth on board the St. Malo boat, Stranleigh in his berth on the Plymouth express, while between the two the stanch old Rajah was threshing her way across the Channel between Brest and Plymouth, heading for the latter seaport.
Next day Stranleigh greeted Mackeller with something almost approaching enthusiasm. Neither of them entertained the least suspicion that the stop at Brest might put Conrad on the trail; but even if they had, they must have known that the arrival of the Rajah at Plymouth would have entailed similar consequences if Schwartzbrod’s minions were looking sharply after his interests.
The Rajah’s stay at Plymouth was very short, merely giving time for the crew of the yacht to take its station aboard the Rajah, under command of Captain Wilkie, while the crew that had brought the Rajah into port was placed in the care of Captain Simmons, whose big steamer, the Wychwood, was not yet ready to sail. The Rajah then rounded the southwest corner of England, and found a berth in the little haven of Portreath, within easy distance of the smelting furnace. The Rajah was unloaded with the utmost speed, and the ore conveyed as quickly as possible to the inclosure which surrounded the smelting furnace. Stranleigh thought it just as well to get his raw material under cover with the least possible delay, for, although Portreath was not a tourist center, one could never be quite certain that some scientific chap might not happen along, who, picking up a specimen, would know that it contained gold and not copper. Besides this, the engineer of the Rajah reported certain defects in engines and boilers that needed to be seen to and amended before it was safe to face so long a voyage again; therefore, that no time should be lost, the Rajah was hurried back to Plymouth to undergo the necessary repairs.
When, after its long abandonment, Lord Stranleigh, with the aid of Mackeller, restarted his ancient copper mine in Cornwall, he, knowing nothing of figures, as he said, turned over the mathematical department of the business to an accountant, one of the twelve business men who kept his affairs in order. Just before leaving London for Plymouth, he requested this accountant to furnish him with a statement of profit and loss, so far as the mine was concerned. This statement he merely glanced at, saw with satisfaction that the working had resulted in a deficit, and put the document into his pocket. When the Rajah left Plymouth to worry her way round the toe of England to Portreath, Lord Stranleigh and Mackeller took train from Plymouth, and reached Redruth in two hours and fifteen minutes, from which station they drove together to the copper mine, Stranleigh having given Mackeller the statement of profit and loss, and instructing him what he should say when he met the manager of the mine, whom Peter himself had installed in that position.
Arriving at the office of the works, Mackeller consulted with the manager, while Lord Stranleigh, beautifully attired in fine garments quite unsuitable for such a locality, strolled round, taking such intelligent interest in his environment as a casual tourist displays in unaccustomed surroundings. The grimy, hard-working smelters gazed with undisguised contempt at this dandified specimen of humanity, who had so unexpectedly wandered in among them, and made remarks on his personal appearance more distinguished for force than courtesy. To these uncomplimentary allusions the young man paid not the slightest attention, but dawdled about, one of the men complained, as if he owned the place. At last the manager and Mackeller came out of the office together, and word was sent down the pit that all the miners were to come up. Ribald comment ceased, and an uneasy feeling spread among the employees that something unpleasant was about to happen. Their intuition was justified when all the men were gathered together, and the manager began to speak. He informed them that the reopening of the mine had been merely an experiment, and he regretted to add that this experiment had failed through the simple elementary fact that the amount of copper produced cost more than it would fetch in the metal market of the world. Operations had been conducted at a loss, and the proprietor was thus reluctantly compelled to disband his forces, all except four smelters, who would remain to assist in converting into ingots the remnant of the ore which had been mined. This intelligence was received in doleful silence by those whom it affected. Each of them before now had faced the tragedy caused by lack of work, but custom had made its recurrence none the more welcome for all that.
The manager, after a pause, continued. The proprietor, he said, was Lord Stranleigh, and he had given orders which, for generosity, the manager in all his experience thought was unexampled. Each man was to receive a year’s pay. At this announcement the gloom suddenly lifted, and a resounding cheer went up from the men. The manager added that he himself had been given an important position in one of his lordship’s coal mines in the north, whereupon the good-natured crowd cheered the manager, who appeared to be popular with them.
“And now,” concluded the manager, “as Lord Stranleigh is himself present, he will perhaps choose from the six smelters the four whom he wishes to employ.”
Stranleigh had been standing apart from the group, listening to the eloquence of the manager, and now every one turned and looked at him with more than ordinary interest. His hands, as usual, were in his pockets, a cigarette between his lips, which nevertheless did not conceal the humorous smile with which his lordship regarded the six smelters, who were quite evidently panic-stricken to learn that they had been exercising their robustious wit on the man with the money; the important boss who paid the wage. Lord Stranleigh slowly removed his left hand from his pocket, and took the cigarette from between his lips.
“I think, Mr. Manager,” he said, “we will retain all six,” and so the congregation was dismissed.
The hoisting gang was retained until all tools and movable ore were hoisted from the bottom of the mine to the surface of the earth. Stranleigh himself went down when the cage made its last trip, and there, by torchlight, examined the workings, listening to explanations by Mackeller. When he reached daylight again he ordered the dismantling of the hoisting apparatus, which work of destruction was taken to mean the final abandonment of the copper mine. Mackeller, thrifty person, protested against this demolition.
Stranleigh smiled, but did not countermand the order. He and Mackeller took up their quarters in the manager’s house, its late occupant having taken his departure for the north. The six smelters were rude, unintelligent, uneducated men, who saw no difference between one yellow bar and another, so there was little risk of discovery through their detection.
“What are you going to do with the gold ingots?” asked Mackeller.
“I was thinking of placing them in a safe deposit vault.”
“You will need to look well to its locks, bolts, and bars,” said the cautious engineer.
“There will be no bolts and bars,” said Stranleigh. “I shall leave the ingots open to the sky, without lock or latch. Nobody will interfere with them.”
“Bless my soul, you’ll never be so foolish as that?” cried Mackeller. “Why, even the copper was protected by the strongest and safest locks I could secure.”
Lord Stranleigh merely shrugged his shoulders, and made no further explanation of his intentions.
At the first smelting the gold was run into ingots weighing about a hundred pounds each. When the smelters had departed for the day, and the gates were closed, Stranleigh said to Mackeller:
“Come along, and I’ll show you my safe deposit vault.”
With this he hoisted to his shoulder one of the ingots; still warm, walked to the mouth of the pit, and flung it into space.
“Not a bad idea,” growled Mackeller, as he followed the example of his chief, until between them all the gold from the first smelting rested on the deep and dark floor of the mine.
One day, as the two were sitting together consuming the frugal lunch that Peter had prepared, a telegram was brought in to Lord Stranleigh. The young man laughed when he read it, and tossed it across the table to Mackeller, who read:
“Rajah ready to sail, but to-day was taken possession of by legal authorities under action of a man named Schwartzbrod. I am under arrest charged with stealing the Rajah. No objection going to prison, but await instructions. Wilkie, captain.”
“By Jove, the enemy has tracked her,” ejaculated Peter. “I wonder how they did it!”
“That isn’t the point to wonder over, Peter, when you remember that the arrival and departure of shipping is announced in every morning paper. The wonder is that they didn’t get hold of her some days ago. Oh, dear me, how I am pestered by obstreperous men! Here are you constantly trying to involve me in a fight, and now here is Schwartzbrod entangling me in the meshes of the law, while, peaceful man that I am, I detest equally battles or lawsuits, but the righteous have always been persecuted, and I suppose I must accept my share of trouble. Nevertheless, I anticipate some amusement with my friend Schwartzbrod. If you don’t help me, Peter, don’t help the bear, and you’ll see the funniest legal fight that ever happened.”
With this Stranleigh retired to dress for town.
“Peter,” he said, on emerging from his bedroom, attired as if he intended a dawdle down Piccadilly rather than a scramble over Cornish hills, “Peter, I am going to desert you. Continue the smelting as if we had not parted, and fling as many bars of gold down that pit as you can, thankful that for our purposes it is not bottomless, even though the possession of too much gold may lead to such. It is not that I like your cooking less, but that I love the cuisine of my club more.”
“You are going to London, then?”
“Ultimately to London, my son, but first to Redruth station; then to Plymouth. I cannot allow my captain courageous to be flung into prison merely to please Conrad Schwartzbrod, who ought to be there himself. I must foregather at Plymouth with some one learned in the law, and so disconcert, delay, annoy, and at least partially beggar that old thief Schwartzbrod; therefore, ta-ta, my son, and be as good as you can during my absence, and when you feel proud because of your ever accumulating wealth, remember how difficult it is for a rich man to enter heaven, and thus resume your natural modesty. Good-by.”
ARRIVING at Redruth, Stranleigh sent off three telegrams, one instructing his chief solicitors in London to request the leading marine lawyer of Plymouth to call upon him at once at the Grand Hotel in that town. The second telegram bade Captain Wilkie cheer up, as ample bail was approaching him by the next train from the west, requesting him, if at liberty, to call at the Grand Hotel about six o’clock. The third telegram secured a suite of rooms at the Grand Hotel, and this task finished, Stranleigh had just time to catch the 2.49 train for Plymouth.
On driving up to the Grand Hotel shortly after six o’clock, he found both Captain Wilkie and Mr. Docketts, the marine lawyer, waiting for him, and the three went together up to the engaged apartments.
“So they haven’t put you in quod, captain,” said the young man, as he shook hands with him.
“No, sir; they thought better of that. In fact, there seems to be a good deal of hesitation about their procedure. They placed men in possession, and then have taken them out again. Just before I left the ship a fresh lot came aboard. At first they were going to put handcuffs on me, then they consulted about it, and asked if I could provide bail. Not knowing whether you wished me to go to prison or not, I refused to answer.”
“Safest thing in the absence of instructions,” put in Mr. Docketts. “What is it all about, my lord?”
“It’s rather a complicated case, Mr. Docketts,” said Stranleigh, throwing himself into the easiest chair he could find, “and it is not necessary to go into the whole story at the present time.”
The lawyer shook his head doubtfully.
“If I am to be of any assistance, Lord Stranleigh, I think you should tell me everything. A point that may seem unimportant to the lay mind, often proves of the utmost significance to the legal student.”
“You are wrong, Mr. Docketts. What you are thinking of is the detective story. It is the detective that the slightest incident furnishes with an important clew. You mustn’t insult my intellect by calling it a lay mind, Mr. Docketts, because I take my marine law from that excellent practitioner, Clark Russell; therefore, when it comes to ships I know what I am talking about. The first point I wish to impress on you is that I am not to appear in this case. No one is to know who engages you. The second point is that no action will be fought in the courts. I could settle the case in ten minutes merely by going to the venerable Conrad Schwartzbrod, who has heedlessly set the law in action; but such a course on my part would be most unfair to an eminent limb of the law like yourself, who wishes to earn honest fees.”
Mr. Docketts bowed rather gravely, an inclination of the head which contrived subtly to convey respect for his lordship’s rank in life, and yet mild disapproval of his flippant utterances.
“I always advise my clients, my lord, to avoid litigation if they can.”
“Quite right, Mr. Docketts. That is good legal etiquette, so long as the advice is conveyed in such a manner that it does not convince the client. Now this steamer, the Rajah, belongs to me, but it has been chartered for a number of months by the aforesaid Conrad Schwartzbrod—I trust I am using correct legal phraseology—and the aforesaid Conrad Schwartzbrod is one of the rankest, most unscrupulous scoundrels that the city of London has ever produced, which statement is regrettably libelous, but without prejudice, and uttered solely in the presence of friends. The law, of course, is designed to settle, briefly and inexpensively, such disputes as may be brought before it, nevertheless it is my wish that the law shall be twisted and turned from its proper purpose, so that this case may be dragged on as long as may be, with injunctions, and restraints, and cross pleas, and demurrers, and mandamuses, or any other damus things you can think of. Whenever you find you are cornered, Mr. Docketts, and must come into the light of day before a judge, you telegraph to me, and you will be astonished to know how speedily everything will be quashed.”
Again the lawyer bowed very solemnly.
“I think I understand your lordship,” he said impressively.
“I am sure of it, and I hope you will do me the pleasure of remembering your quickness of comprehension, so that you may charge extra for it when you send in the bill. I assure you, quite candidly, that nothing gives me such delight as the paying of an adequate fee to a competent man. If these people should attempt any further molestation of Captain Wilkie, you are to protect him, and I will furnish bail to any amount, reasonable or the reverse. And now, Mr. Docketts, if you will let me have your card, with your address on it, I shall leave the case in your hands.”
Mr. Docketts complied with the request, and took his deferential departure. Captain Wilkie also rose, but Stranleigh waved him to his seat again.
“Sit you down, captain. Has the Wychwood sailed yet?”
“No, sir, she has not. I met Captain Simmons yesterday. He came across to the Rajah to take away some of his belongings that were still in his cabin. He said the Wychwood might be ready for sea to-morrow or next day.”
“Well, I think I’ll go over and call on him. I can do that before dinner. The estimable Mackeller has been my cook for some time past, and if this lucky action had not been begun by that public benefactor, Schwartzbrod, I do not know what would have become of me, for I did not wish to cast any reflection upon Mackeller’s kitchen skill by desertion. But now that I have been compelled by law to desert him, I hope, captain, you will take pity on a lonesome man, and dine here with me at eight o’clock. I’ll order such a dinner as will make this tavern sit up. You’ll stand by, won’t you, captain?”
“Thank you, sir, I’ll be delighted.”
“Well, that’s settled. Now, if you will guide me to the Wychwood, I’ll go aboard for a chat with Captain Simmons, and you will meet me in the dining room at eight o’clock.”
The two parted alongside that huge steamer, the Wychwood, and Stranleigh climbed aboard, greeting Captain Simmons on deck.
“Well, captain, you haven’t got off yet?”
“No, sir—my lord, not yet,” said the astonished captain. “If you’d sent word you was coming, earl, I’d have had dinner prepared for you. As it is, there’s nothing fit to eat aboard.”
“I am accustomed to that, captain. I was just complaining to Wilkie, who brought me here, that Mackeller was my cook, and he seemed to sympathize. No, it’s the other way about. You’re coming to dine with me. I’ve invited Captain Wilkie, and we will form a hungry trio about a round table at the Grand Hotel to-night at eight. Three Plymouth brethren, as you may call us: you two practical salts, and me an amateur. Have you been back to that little cottage on Southampton water?”
“No, my lord—sir, but I keep a-thinking of it all the time with great pleasure, and the wife or one of the girls writes to me every day. They are delighted, sir—my lord. I didn’t know till after you left that ’twas you had bought all that furniture, but you must let me pay for that, earl, on the instalment plan.”
“Oh, that’s all right, captain. You wait till I send round a collector. Never worry about payment till it’s asked for. That’s been my rule in life. Now, captain, take me down to your cabin. I wish to have a quiet chat with you, and on deck, with men about, is a little too public.”
The captain led the way, and Stranleigh, standing, gazed about him.
“Ah, this is something like. This beats the Rajah, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does, my lord—I mean sir. I never expected to find myself in a cabin like this, sir, and a fine ship she is, too; well found and stanch. I’d like to sail her into Southampton water some day, just to let the missus and the kids see her.”
“I’ll tell you what you must do, captain. Send a telegram to Mrs. Simmons and the girls, asking them to lock up the shop, and come at once to Plymouth. I’ll make arrangements for them at the Grand Hotel and they’ll stay here until you sail, which can’t be for some days yet. And now to business, captain. Old Schwartzbrod has discovered where the Rajah is, and has jumped aboard with a blooming injunction or some such lawyer’s devilment as that: tried to habeas corpus innocent old Wilkie, or whatever they call it; anyhow, something that goes with handcuffs, but the old boy was game right through to the backbone, and was willing to go to the Bastile itself if his doing so would accommodate me, but I’ve invited him to dinner instead.”
“Then Schwartzbrod will be trying to find me, very likely?” said Captain Simmons, in no way pleased with the prospect.
“I shouldn’t wonder, so I’d keep my weather eye abeam, if I were you, for very likely Schwartzbrod is in Plymouth. Still, I’ve told an eminent lawyer to go full speed ahead, and I anticipate Schwartzbrod will have quite enough to occupy his mind in a few days. Now, Captain Simmons, although our acquaintance has been very short, I am going to trust you fully. Since this action was taken by Schwartzbrod, it has occurred to me that the proper person to go to the Paramakaboo River is the redoubtable captain who has already been there, and that person is yourself.”
“Well; sir, Captain Wilkie has also been there, in your yacht, and perhaps he’d like this new ship. I’m sure he doesn’t care about the Rajah.”
“Oh, he doesn’t need to care about the Rajah. He’s off the Rajah for good, and will take command of my yacht again. No, you are the man for the Paramakaboo. You know Frowningshield, and you know his gang, and he knows you. Now, I leave everything to your own discretion. If you tell Frowningshield how everything stands, there is one chance in a thousand he may seize the Wychwood, and compel you to sail for Lisbon, or wherever he likes. It all depends how deeply he is in with that subtle rogue, Schwartzbrod.”
“I’ll tell him nothing about it, sir.”
“That’s my own advice. I should say nothing except that they have furnished you with a larger steamer, so that you can get away with double the quantity of ore, all of which is true enough. But if circumstances over which you have no control compel you to divulge the true state of affairs, get Frowningshield alone here in the cabin, and talk to him as I talked to you on the high seas. He’s engaged in a criminal business, whether he is under the jurisdiction of the British flag or not; but the main point I wish you to impress upon him is this: I shall stand in Schwartzbrod’s place; that is to say, I shall make good to him, as I made good to you, every promise that rascal has given. I know that virtue is its own reward, yet I sometimes wish that virtue would oftener deal in the coin of the realm in addition. It doesn’t seem fair that all the big compensations are usually on the devil’s side. Anyhow, I trust this ship and this business entirely to you. You act as you think best, and if they compel you to sail to Lisbon or anywhere else, telegraph fully to me whenever you get into touch with a wire. I don’t anticipate any trouble of that kind, however. Frowningshield will know on which side his bread is buttered, even if he is a villain, which I don’t believe. Now, Schwartzbrod promised you five thousand pounds extra for three trips to Lisbon, and two thousand pounds for every additional voyage. How many additional voyages could you have made?”
“I couldn’t have made one, sir, with the Rajah.”
“Well, let us call it two. That amounts to nine thousand pounds. I’ll give you a check for that amount to-morrow, and you can hand it to the missus to put in the bank when she returns to Southampton.”
“I couldn’t think of taking that from you, sir,” said the captain, with an unfeigned look of distress.
“It’s not from me at all, Captain Simmons. I am going to make Schwartzbrod hand over that amount to my bank. I am merely anticipating his payments; passing it on from him to you, as it were. In a similar way I shall recompense Frowningshield, and I shall give you a sufficient number of gold sovereigns with which to pay all his men, and this will create a certain satisfaction in the camp, even although there is no spot within a thousand miles where they can spend a penny. So, captain, you will load up your ship with an ample supply of provisions for those in camp, and take out to them anything that you think they may need, charging the same to me, which account I shall pass on to Schwartzbrod.”
“But isn’t there a chance, sir, that Schwartzbrod may charter another steamer, in which case we may have to fight?”
“No, I don’t think so. I am having old Schwartzbrod watched, and from the latest report he has not even chartered a rowboat. No, I have extended his charter of the Rajah for an extra three months, and he will hope to get possession of her. It will take him a few days to realize the extent of the law’s delay, and with such a start, together with the speed of the Wychwood you will find no difficulty about filling this ship, and getting away without encountering any opposition. No, I don’t want any fight. You see, I can’t spare Mackeller, and it would break his heart to think there was a ruction and he not in it.
“Here is a suggestion which has just occurred to me, and you may act on it or not as circumstances out there dictate. When the Wychwood is fully loaded with ore, and ready to sail, you might ask Frowningshield to come aboard with you for that twelve-mile run down the river. The steam launch could follow and take him back. Inform him that you have something important to say which cannot be told ashore, then get him down here into your cabin, and relate to him everything that has happened. He cannot stop the Wychwood then if he wanted to. Your crew will obey you, and no matter what commands he gave them to put about, they would pay no attention to him. Show him that he can make more money by being honest than by following the lead of old Schwartzbrod. Tell him you have received your nine thousand pounds—and, by the way, that reminds me I had better give you the check tonight before dinner, so that you can post it to your bank at Southampton, and receive the bank’s receipt for it before you sail. The deposit receipt will be just as cheering to Mrs. Simmons as the check would be—and then you can tell Frowningshield, quite conscientiously, that the money is already in your hands. I always believe in telling the truth to a pirate like Frowningshield if it is at all possible. Don’t imagine I’m preaching, captain. What I mean is that the truth is ever so much more convincing than even the cleverest of lies. We will suppose, then, that Frowningshield comes to the same decision that you did, and agrees to join me in preserving my own property from an unscrupulous thief. In that case tell him that Schwartzbrod will very likely send some other steamer to carry away the ore, as soon as he realizes he cannot again get hold of the Rajah, and that I shall expect Frowningshield and his merry men not to allow such a vessel to take away any of my ore.”
“Shall I tell him to sink Schwartzbrod’s steamer?”
“Sink her? No, bless my soul, no. What would you sink her for? Tell him to use gentle persuasion, and not give up the ore. An ordinary crew cannot fill the hold with ore which a hundred and fifty men refuse to allow them to touch. You don’t need to fight. If Frowning-shield will just line up his hundred and fifty men along that reef, one glance at their interesting faces will convince any ship’s captain that he’d be safer out at sea.
“I think the Wychwood will answer our purposes very well. She is large and fast. Try to find out, if you can, exactly what Schwartzbrod promised Frowningshield and his men, and let me know when you return. Now, captain, I think you understand pretty well what your new duties are, so get off for the south just as quickly as you can. Meanwhile we must be moving on toward the Grand Hotel. I’m rather anxious to meet that dinner, and on the way we will send a telegram to Mrs. Simmons and the family. After that we three roisterers will make a night of it, for I must go up to London to-morrow.”
Mackeller worked industriously at his smelting, dumping the gold down into the abandoned mine after his assistants had left him for the night. He was anxious to hear what had become of the Rajah, and what had happened to Captain Wilkie threatened with imprisonment, but no letter came from Lord Stranleigh, which was not to be wondered at, for all Stranleigh’s friends knew his dislike of writing.
The third morning after Stranleigh’s departure Mackeller received a long telegram which had evidently been handed in at London the night before. At first Mackeller thought it was in cipher, but a close study of the message persuaded him that no code was necessary for its disentanglement. It ran as follows:
“Take half a pound of butter, one pound of flour, half a pound of moist sugar, two eggs, one teaspoonful of essence of lemon, one fourth glass of brandy or sherry. Rub the butter, flour, and sugar well together, mix in the eggs after beating them, add the essence of lemon and the brandy. Drop the cakes upon a frying pan, and bake for half an hour in a quick oven.”
Mackeller muttered some strenuous remarks to himself as at last he gathered in the purport of this communication. He detained the telegraph boy long enough to write a line which he sent to Lord Stranleigh’s residence at a cost of sixpence.
“What have you done about the Rajah—Mackeller.”
Late in the afternoon the telegraph boy returned, and bestowed upon the impatient and now irascible Mackeller the following instructions:
“For two persons alone at the mouth of a pit take one plump fowl, add white pepper and salt to suit the taste, one half spoonful of grated nutmeg, one half spoonful of pounded mace, a few slices of ham, three hard-boiled eggs, sliced thin, half a pint of water, and some puff paste crust to cover. Stew for half an hour, and when done strain off the liquor for gravy. Put a layer of fowl at the bottom of a pie dish, then a layer of ham, then the slices of hard-boiled egg, with the mace, nutmeg, pepper and salt between the layers. Put in half a pint of water, cover with puff paste, and bake for an hour and a half.”
“I suppose,” growled Mackeller to himself, “he thinks that’s funny, but it will cost him a pretty penny if he keeps it up every day.”
“Any answer?” said the telegraph boy.
“Yes,” answered Mackeller, and being made reckless by example, he wrote a more lengthy message than was customary with him:
“Everything going on well here. The cooking I am doing consists in the production of hardbake cake, and the receipt is as follows: Take ore from Africa, salt and pepper to suit the taste, mix it with hard coal from the north, quick fire and a hot oven. When completely baked run into molds of sand, and place in a deep cellar to cool. Save the money you are wasting on the postoffice department by sending me, through parcel post, the cook book from which you are stealing those items, and use a telegram to let me know what has happened to the Rajah and Captain Wilkie.”
In the evening an answer came.
“That’s not a bad receipt of yours, Mackeller. I didn’t think so serious a man as you was capable of such frivolity. The Rajah is in Chancery, in litigation, in irons, in Plymouth harbor, in-junctioned. I expect it will be a long time before the Rajah gets out of court. Captain Wilkie is all right, and back on my yacht. The Wychwood, with Simmons in command, is off to Paramakaboo. I expect to be with you after you have had time to study the volume which at your suggestion I send to-day by parcel post; ‘Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management’; bulky but useful.”
Lord Stranleigh did not return, however, as promised, to the Cornish mine. Although apparently leading an aimless life at home, or in one or other of his clubs, or at an interesting race meeting, he was keeping his eye on Schwartzbrod by means of an efficient secret agent. He wondered how soon so shrewd a man as the financier would come to the knowledge that the Rajah was tied up with the red tape of the law, as immovable in her berth as if she had been chained to the breakwater by cables of steel. He was determined that Schwartzbrod should not further complicate the situation by sending out another steamer on an ore-stealing expedition to West Africa; and when at last he received a report from his agent that Schwartzbrod’s men were in negotiation once more with Sparling & Bilge of Southampton, the indolent young man thought it time to strike, so he telephoned to Schwartz-brod, asking him to call at his town house next morning at half past ten, bringing his check book with him.
Schwartzbrod, spluttering at his end of the telephone, wished further explanation about the request for the check book. The charter money, he said, was not due. Nothing had been said in the document signed about payment in advance, but Stranleigh rang off, and left the financier guessing. When, some minutes later, Schwartzbrod got once more into communication with the house, the quiet-voiced Ponderby told him that his lordship had left for his club, but would expect to see him promptly at half past ten next day.
When Schwartzbrod arrived, he was shown this time into Lord Stranleigh’s scantily furnished business office on the ground floor. He had been so anxious to know what the cause of the summons was that he found himself ten minutes before the half hour, and that ten minutes he spent alone in the little room. As the clock in the hall chimed the half hour, the door opened, and Lord Stranleigh entered.
“Good morning, Mr. Schwartzbrod. There are several little business matters which I wish to discuss with you and, as I expect to leave London shortly, I thought we might as well get it over.” Stranleigh sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the table from the keen-eyed city man, who watched him with furtive sharpness.
“As I was telling you, my lord, there is nothing in the papers you signed saying that any payment was to be made in advance on account of the Rajah.”
“You object, then, to paying in advance?”
“I don’t object, my lord, if it’s any accommodation to you. The first payment, you see, was made to Messrs. Sparling & Bilge.”
“Of course, I’ve nothing to do with that.”
“Well, the second amount I did not expect to be called on to pay until the steamer had earned some money.”
“Ah, yes, I see. That seems quite just. The steamer, then, hasn’t been earning money, I take it.”
“It is too soon yet to say, my lord, whether she is earning money or not.”
“Is she still at South America?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Has she not returned since I saw you last?”
“No, my lord.”
“That’s very strange,” murmured Stranleigh, more to himself than to the other. “Shows how blooming inaccurate those newspapers are.”
He took out from his inside pocket a thin memorandum book, searched slowly among some slips of loose paper, and at last took out a cutting from some daily journal.
“The paper from which I clipped this was issued a day or two after we last met. My attention was called to the item by the fact that so shortly before we had been in negotiation regarding the Rajah; successful and pleasant negotiation, if I remember rightly, and I signed the papers you presented to me without consulting a solicitor, and the impression left on my mind is that you went away satisfied.”
“Oh, I was perfectly satisfied, my lord, perfectly satisfied. Yes, you very kindly signed the renewal of the charter.”
“You said, if I remember rightly, that the trip of the Rajah was merely an experiment. It had something to do with the cattle business; a ranch, or several ranches, in the Argentine Republic.”
“Quite right, my lord. I regret to say the business has not been as prosperous as I had hoped.”
“I am sorry to hear that. I have always looked on ranching as a sure way to wealth, but it seems there are exceptions. Now, you said to me that if the experiment did not prove successful, which, regrettably, seems to be the case, you would turn the Rajah over to me when she returned.”
“But she has not returned, my lord.”
“Then what does this journal mean by stating that a few days after we foregathered in this house the Rajah arrived at Plymouth from Brest, in France?”
“That must be a mistake, my lord. Would you let me read the item?”
Schwartzbrod extended his hand, trembling slightly, and took the slip of paper, adjusting his glasses to see the better, visibly gaining time before committing himself further.
“The item is very brief,” commented Stranleigh, “still, it is definite enough. ‘Steamer Rajah, Captain Wilkie, arrived at Plymouth from Brest.’”
“That cannot have been our Rajah,” said Schwartzbrod at last, having collected his wits. “The captain on your steamer, my lord, is named Simmons.”
“Simmons? Oh, Captain Simmons of Southampton? Why, I know the man. A fine, bluff old honest tar, one of the bulwarks of Britain. So Simmons was the captain of the Rajah, was he? Still, he may have resigned.”