XXXVI
Mr. Gilder arrived at his cottage in the evening and found his “tenant” sitting on the doorstep smoking a pipe. Fortunately, the cottage was in the middle of a thin plantation of trees, and the river at the back made an approach from that direction impossible. Nevertheless, Mr. Gilder was alarmed at the lack of precaution the man showed.
“If you’re going to stay here you’ve got to keep inside the house. I tell you I don’t want people to know that you’re living here. Now, what is the big news?”
“Come inside,” said Thomas, with a grin, and his host felt that the invitation into his own house was a little superfluous.
Thomas was not a good story-teller, and it was with many “You see what I mean’s” and at inordinate length that he unravelled his tangled narrative.
“I’d been hanging round the house all the morning. I wanted to have a talk with the young lady——”
“What about?” demanded the other.
“About a certain thing——”
“Now, see here, Thomas: you’re not to speak to Miss Gwyn—do you understand? You’re not to approach her and you’re not to go anywhere near the house.”
“Well, it’s not a bad thing that I was there this morning,” grinned Thomas. “Because I heard something that will make you jump!”
It took half-an-hour for him to repeat, with more or less accuracy, the conversation he had heard on the lawn. When he came to the vital point, Mr. Gilder whistled.
Arthur Gwyn had managed the Chelford estate without his assistance, and Gilder was as ignorant of the particulars of the property as if it were in some other office.
“Fifty thousand, eh?” he mused. “Well, that’s more than Arthur Gwyn will collect in a hurry.”
“That’s what he said himself,” said Thomas. “He said to Alford: ‘Friends? Well, I haven’t got fifty thousand pounds’ worth’—those were his very words. He said, ‘I’ll go to Dartmoor, and that doesn’t worry me. What worries me is Leslie.’”
“Did you hear when the transfer was to be completed—I mean, when the stocks were to be handed over to the other lawyers?”
“In a week,” said Thomas. “Mr. Alford said, ‘I can hold it up for a week but I can’t keep it any longer. And once those papers are in the other bloke’s hands, your name is mud.’”
Fifty thousand pounds! Gilder paced up and down the narrow room, his hands behind him.
“You say that the engagement with his lordship is broken off?”
“He didn’t say so,” said the man, “but that’s how I took it. He said ‘Was Harry very annoyed?’ That’s his lordship. And Alford said ‘Yes, and he’s going to change his lawyers.’ And he said, ‘What about Leslie’s fortune?’——”
“Call her Miss Gwyn, will you?” interrupted Gilder roughly.
“He didn’t say Miss Gwyn, he said ‘Leslie.’ But to oblige you I’ll say Miss Gwyn,” said Thomas. “He said, ‘What about Miss Gwyn’s fortune? Is that gone?’ And Gwyn said, ‘Yes, every penny.’”
This was no news to Gilder—Arthur had told him as much.
“And here, Mr. Gilder—the Black Abbot was around last night. I’ve got an idea about him! His lordship’s scared to death of the Black Abbot. Did you know that?”
“Don’t talk to me about the Black Abbot!” snapped the man. He wanted to work this thing out, and the chatter of his guest disturbed him. “You keep inside and out of sight. I think you’d better go to London to-night. You’ve got money?”
“I’ve got a bit of money. I was a fool! There’s an old-fashioned diary in that library that his lordship would give a couple of thousand pounds to get back, and I had it in my hand! That is the thing I ought to have pinched.”
“And if it was found on you, you’d have been in prison. As it was, you had taken money and you got away with it.”
This point of view had not struck the ex-convict before.
“That’s true,” he agreed. “Lord! what a headpiece you’ve got, Mr. Gilder! If I had your brains——”
But Mr. Gilder was not in a mood for flattery.
“I’ve got an idea,” Thomas went on, unconscious of the distraction he was causing. “Let me go up to London to-night and come down to-morrow.”
But Gilder did not hear him. Fifty thousand pounds! And for that price he could buy—Leslie Gwyn! His pulse quickened at the thought. There were no “ifs” or “buts.” She would gladly make that sacrifice for her brother’s sake. This time he had them all in the hollow of his hand: Leslie, Arthur Gwyn, and last, but not least in dislike, Dick Alford.
Mentally he reviewed his financial position. He had considerably more than a hundred thousand pounds in gilt-edged securities, which were easily realizable—or transferable. He had house property in the north of London, and a fairly large fluid balance at the bank. And he was fifty. There were fifteen years of life ahead of him—fifteen happy years. How could he better use his money than in buying happiness? The life companionship of that fragrant thing, and afterward a will whereby she lost all interest in his property if she married again—Mr. Gilder thought a long way ahead. And his marriage would be a knife in the heart of the Second Son, for he guessed Dick Alford’s secret.
He saw his way now; the plan was foolproof and invincible. Nothing stood between him and the realization of what had once been a wild and foolish hope.
“A week? You’re sure of that?”
Thomas nodded. His cunning eyes had not left Gilder’s face. Unconscious of the curious scrutiny, Fabrian asked:
“Why do you think this news is interesting to me?”
The man grinned and closed his right eye in a significant wink.
“Didn’t you ask me to tell you how often the young lady went to Fossaway Manor? Didn’t you tell me to write everything that happened between her and his lordship?”
Gilder was silent.
It was not a comfortable thought that he had employed such a man as this to watch the girl he loved.
“You’d better keep close here,” he said. “I don’t want you to be seen by the villagers or by the people from Fossaway Manor. Does anybody know you’re here?”
“No, sir. Not even Miss Gwyn: she never asked——”
Gilder interrupted him brusquely.
“If you’re going to town, go by night, and come back by night. I’m not so sure that it won’t be a good idea to stay here after all.”
He got back to London late in the evening and spent the night in a strict examination of his finances. He had dismissed from his mind all thoughts of the Chelford treasure. Mary Wenner had certainly justification for her confidence. He himself had been deceived when he had looked through the grating and seen those cylinders neatly arranged on the stone bench. Who had moved them—the Black Abbot? There must be some explanation for him. But he had his own ideas on the subject, and the moment had not yet arrived when he could test his theory.
The next morning he spent in the City and at Somerset House, examining the will of the late Lady Chelford. Her legacies were set forth in detail, and the character of the shares and stocks with which Arthur Gwyn had been entrusted were particularized, and John Henry Gwyn, Arthur’s uncle, named as trustee. A search of the court files failed to reveal any successor to Arthur’s uncle, and apparently no trustee had been appointed, the stocks being left in Arthur’s care. He would of course have authority to sell and reinvest, and there would be no trouble if shares of a corresponding value were handed over to Harry Chelford’s new solicitors.
Arthur Gwyn had spent a very busy day in the seclusion of his study. His task was not a pleasant one: he was putting in order the chaos of his affairs, and as the list of his liabilities grew, he himself seemed to grow older.
He had interrupted his work only to lunch with his sister, and Leslie, who thought that the cause of his distress was her vanished fortune, did her best to cheer him. His first act had been to gather on paper the remnants of her vanished quarter of a million, and the remnant was pitiably small, amounting to less than two thousand pounds. He told her this at lunch.
“But that’s really a much larger amount than I expected, Arthur,” she smiled. “We shall be able to live for two years on that.”
It was in his mind to say that he would possibly be living for five years on less, but he wanted to avert that news until it was inevitable that she should know.
At five o’clock she was having tea in solitary state when the maid brought her a card. She had not heard the arrival of the visitor’s motor car, for the drawing-room was at the back of the house. She took the card and read it.
“I don’t think I want to see this gentleman,” she said. “Will you ask Mr. Gwyn——”
And then she remembered the struggle on the lawn and Arthur’s damaged eye.
“Yes, I’ll see him,” she said. “Ask him to come in.”
Gilder was dressed as for an official visit. He carried a glossy silk hat, an incongruous sight in the country, in his gloved hand; his morning coat sported a large yellow rose; his patent shoes shone violently. Before he came to Willow House he had called at his own cottage to refresh his memory on one or two points, but the house was empty. Thomas had evidently gone up to town, as he had said he would. At first he was annoyed, but later he was glad that the man was not there. After all, he knew enough, more than enough for the comfort of Leslie Gwyn.
She met him with a distant little bow.
“I’m afraid you will not regard me as a welcome visitor, Miss Gwyn,” he said; “but I have a little business to discuss with you, and I should be grateful if you would give me a few minutes of your time.”
“Will you sit down, please?” she said coldly.
He was gazing at her with that queer, hungry look she had seen in his face before.
“I understand your engagement with Lord Chelford is broken off?” And, when she did not answer: “It was partly that which brought me here, and partly something much more serious—something,” he said, with distinct deliberation, “which affects you very closely, Miss Gwyn.”
He paused, expecting a reply, but received none. She sat bolt upright in one of the deep chairs that abounded in the room, her hands folded lightly on her lap, her gaze fixed on his.
“I was, as you probably know, for many years your brother’s right-hand man. In consequence, I have a very intimate knowledge of his affairs; and not only his affairs but the affairs of his clients. I know, for example, that your large fortune is mythical.”
If he had expected to shock her he was disappointed. She nodded slightly.
“I know that also, Mr. Gilder,” she said. “I hope you haven’t made this long journey to tell me this?”
For a second he was staggered. He had expected his announcement to be the first of two tremendous sensations; she saw the disappointment in his face and could have smiled.
“There is another matter,” he said, recovering himself, “which does not directly affect you. Your brother administered the estate of the late Lady Chelford, in the sense that he had in his charge stocks and bonds to the value of fifty-one thousand pounds. That is quite usual in an old-fashioned lawyer’s business, but to-day of course the stocks would be in the hands of the bank, and the dividends automatically credited.”
Her heart nearly stopped beating. He saw the colour fade from her face and was very sure of himself.
“My brother has—that money?” she said.
“He had it.” He emphasized the word. “I understand that the present Lord Chelford is changing his lawyers, and in a week’s time those stocks are to be handed over to another firm.”
She was speechless, knowing that he was telling the truth, understanding only too well just all that this narrative implied.
“Fifty thousand pounds is a lot of money,” Gilder went on suavely; “a very difficult sum to raise in a week. And in a week that money must be in your brother’s hands.”
She raised her eyes, and, seeing the pain in them, he was almost sorry for her.
“You mean—that the money—that Arthur hasn’t those stocks to transfer?”
He nodded.
“Are you sure of this?”
“Absolutely sure.”
A long silence, when the ticking of the little French clock came so loudly to their ears that instinctively both glanced at the mantelpiece together.
“Why do you tell me all this?”
He cleared his voice.
“A few days ago I told you, rather uncouthly, I am afraid, that I loved you,” he said. “You may not credit me with the—the affectionate reverence I have for you—but I love you! There is nothing in the world I would not do for you, no price that I would not pay.”
Her eyes did not waver; she seemed to be reading his very soul.
“Even to the extent of providing fifty thousand pounds in a week?” she said in a low voice.
“Even to that extent,” he answered.
She rose slowly to her feet.
“Will you write down your address?”
So calm was her voice that she might have been discussing an ordinary matter of business.
“I know where you live, but I have forgotten the name of the building and the number.”
He wrote it down with an unsteady hand and left the paper where she had placed it.
“I must know to-morrow,” he said, “yes or no.”
She dropped her head.
“You shall know to-morrow,” she said. “If I tell you I will marry you, you can make the arrangement about the money—I will not fail you.”
Without another word, he walked to the door, turned, and favoured her with a deep bow, and went out into the hall. She heard the whirr of his car grow fainter and fainter. But still she did not move.