Mr. Littleham, in a remarkably thick voice, intervened.
“I can run ’em up six-roomers at three hundred quid; eight and ten at five; and a country villa, with half an acre of garden, for a thousand,” he announced, relapsing at the conclusion of his sentence into his former state of sombre watching.
“There’s a very fair profit to be made, you see,” Mr. Dane Montague pointed out, “on the sale of the land and houses, without going more closely into the figures, but we want to be dead straight with you, Mr. Pratt. There should be an additional profit on the electric light and water which we supply from the Cropstone Wood Company.”
“I see,” Jacob remarked thoughtfully. “When they’ve bought their land, and the houses are beginning to materialise, you can charge them what you like for the water and lighting.”
Mr. Dane Montague beamed, with the air of one whose faith in the shrewdness of a fellow creature has been justified.
“You’ve hit the bull’s-eye,” he declared. “We’ve got the cost of service all worked out, and, added to the price we’ll have to pay for the Company, it don’t come to more than forty thousand pounds. Then we shall have the whole thing in our own hands and can charge what we damned well please.”
Jacob leaned back in his chair and surveyed his two visitors. There was a gleam in his eyes which might have meant admiration – or possibly something else. Neither of the two men noticed it.
“It’s quite a scheme,” he remarked.
“It’s a gold mine,” Mr. Dane Montague pronounced enthusiastically.
“There’ll be pickings every way,” the builder murmured thickly, with a covetous gleam in his eyes.
Jacob glanced at his watch.
“I’ll see the property this afternoon,” he promised. “If your statement is borne out by the facts, I am willing to come in with you. How much money do you require from me?”
Mr. Dane Montague coughed. Mr. Littleham looked more stolid than ever.
“The fact of the matter is,” the former explained, “Mr. Littleham here is tied up with so much land that he has very little of the ready to spare at present. Personally, I have been so fortunate lately in the City, had so many good things brought to me by my pals, that I am pretty well up to the neck until things begin to move.”
Jacob studied the speaker thoughtfully. He was an observant person, and he noticed that Mr. Dane Montague’s glossy hat showed signs of frequent ironing, that there were traces of ink at the seams of his black coat, and the suggestion of a patch on the patent boot which lingered modestly under his chair.
“You mean, I suppose, that you wish me to provide the whole of the capital?” Jacob remarked.
Mr. Dane Montague coughed.
“You happen to be the only one of the trio who has it in fluid form,” he pointed out. “It would suit us better to recognise you a little more generously in the partition of the profits as the land is sold, and for you to finance the whole thing.”
“I have no objection to that,” Jacob decided, “provided I am satisfied in other respects. How far is this delectable spot by road?”
“Twenty-two miles,” Mr. Littleham replied. “Barely that if you know the way.”
“I will inspect the property this afternoon,” Jacob announced.
“Capital!” Mr. Dane Montague exclaimed. “You are a man after my own heart, Mr. Pratt. You strike while the iron’s hot. Now what about a little lunch, say at the Milan, before starting?”
“On condition that I am allowed to be host,” Jacob stipulated, “I shall be delighted.”
Mr. Dane Montague chuckled. The suggestion relieved him of a certain disquietude regarding the contents of his pocketbook.
“No objection to that, I am sure, Mr. Pratt,” he declared. “Eh, Littleham? At one o’clock at the Milan Grill, then.”
“You can rely upon me,” Jacob promised.
He entertained his two new friends to a very excellent lunch, but he insisted upon bidding them au revoir on the threshold of the restaurant. Jacob had views of his own about inspecting the Cropstone Wood Estate.
“I wish to form a wholly unbiased opinion as regards the value of the property,” he declared, “and I should much prefer to walk over it alone. Besides, if we are all of us seen there together – ”
“I quite understand,” Mr. Dane Montague interrupted. “Not another word, Mr. Pratt. Littleham, direct Mr. Pratt’s driver,” he added. “I have never been down by road myself.”
Littleham entered into explanations with the chauffeur, and Mr. Montague conversed in low but earnest tones with Jacob upon the pavement.
“Don’t think, Mr. Pratt,” he said, “that we are asking you to take part in a speculation, because we are not. That land at forty pounds an acre is a gift. You could buy it and forget all about it for ten years, and I wouldn’t mind guaranteeing that you doubled your capital. It’s just one of those amazing chances which come now and then in a man’s lifetime. The only thing that rather put us in a corner was the fact that the money has to be found within forty-eight hours. That won’t worry you, Mr. Pratt.”
“It will make no difference to me,” Jacob admitted.
“Then good luck to you and a pleasant journey,” was Mr. Montague’s valediction.
Jacob called for Dauncey, and after an hour’s ride they had tea in a small country town and walked along the edge of the common which Mr. Dane Montague had described. From the top of the ridge they obtained a fair view of the entire property. Jacob sat upon a boulder, lit a cigarette and contemplated it thoughtfully. He confessed himself puzzled.
“They look wrong ’uns, those two,” he observed, “but this land’s all right, Dauncey. It’s a capital building site.”
Dauncey plucked at his lower lip.
“I don’t know anything about property,” he admitted. “Never owned a yard of land in my life. Yet it seems to me there must be a hitch somewhere.”
A young man came strolling along the path, apparently on his way to the town. Jacob accosted him politely.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening,” the other replied, a little gloomily.
“Fine view here,” Jacob observed.
“Not bad,” the newcomer answered, without enthusiasm.
Jacob produced his case, and the young man accepted a cigarette.
“Are you a resident in these parts, may I ask?” Jacob enquired.
“For my sins. I’ve just set up an office in Cropstone.”
“Are you, by any chance, a lawyer?”
The young man laughed.
“Do I carry my profession about with me to that extent? Yes, I’m a lawyer. Mark Wiseman, my name is.”
“Not too many clients yet, eh?” Jacob asked kindly.
The aspirant to legal fame made a grimace.
“Too near London.”
Jacob looked down the ridge.
“Fine building property this seems,” he observed.
The other assented. “It’s for sale, I believe.”
“I happen to know that it’s for sale,” Jacob continued, “and at a very low price, too. What’s the drawback? The soil looks all right.”
“The soil’s good,” the young man acquiesced. “Everything’s good, I believe. The great drawback is that it’s just over three miles from Cropstone, where the lighting and water would have to come from.”
“And what about that?”
“They won’t supply it, that’s all.”
Jacob pointed to where an ornamental chimney, a power shed and a gleam of water appeared on the other side of a small wood.
“Isn’t there a private company there?” he asked.
“Practically defunct. They used to supply Cropstone, but the Urban Council there are running a show of their own.”
“Water good?” Jacob enquired.
“I’ve never heard any complaints.”
Jacob glanced at his watch.
“If you would be so good as to call at the White Hart Hotel at half past six this evening,” he said, “and ask for Mr. Jacob Pratt, there is a small matter of business I should like you to undertake for me in this neighbourhood.”
The young lawyer’s alacrity was not to be mistaken.
“I will be there without fail,” he promised.
At eleven o’clock precisely, the next morning, Mr. Dane Montague presented himself for the second time at Jacob’s offices, accompanied this time by a smaller, darker and glossier duplicate of himself, whom he introduced as Mr. Sharpe, his solicitor. Jacob did not keep them long in suspense.
“I have inspected the Cropstone Wood Estate,” he announced, “and I am willing to advance the twenty thousand pounds for its purchase.”
Mr. Montague moistened his already too rubicund lips.
“I felt certain that you would not neglect such an opportunity,” he said.
“The profits on the sale of the land in lots,” Jacob continued, “are, I presume, to be divided equally amongst the three of us. As regards the houses which Mr. Littleham proposes to build, I will advance whatever money is necessary for these, on mortgage, at six per cent interest, but the profit on the sale of these I should expect to divide.”
Mr. Montague showed some signs of haste.
“I don’t object,” he assented suavely. “Littleham and I will take the other half. It is a great relief to me to get this matter settled quickly,” he continued, “as I have an exceedingly busy day. There just remains one rather important point, Mr. Pratt. My offer of the property expires to-morrow, and the vendors might or might not be disposed to extend the time. In any case, it would be better not to ask them. Would it be possible to clinch this matter to-day?”
“Bring your agreement here,” Jacob directed, “at three o’clock, and I will give you my cheque for the amount.”
Mr. Sharpe reached for his hat.
“I can manage it,” he said, in reply to a look from Montague, “but I shall have to get along at once.”
At a quarter past three that afternoon, Jacob wrote his cheque for twenty thousand pounds, received a signed copy of the agreement with Messrs. Littleham and Montague, and sat by himself, whistling softly and listening to their retreating footsteps. Dauncey came in, a few moments later, with a perplexed frown upon his forehead.
“Please may I look through the agreement?” he begged.
Jacob passed it over to him. He read it through slowly and carefully.
“Anything troubling you?” Jacob asked.
“I don’t know what it is,” Dauncey confessed. “The agreement seems all right, but I saw their faces when I let ’em out. I can’t see the flaw, Jacob, but it’s not an honest deal. They’ve got something up their sleeve.”
Jacob smiled.
“Perhaps you’re right, Dick,” he answered. “Anyway, lock the agreement up in the safe and don’t worry.”
CHAPTER VII
Jacob found life, for the next few months, an easy and a pleasant thing. He took a prolonged summer holiday and made many acquaintances at a fashionable French watering place, where he devoted more time to golf than gambling, but made something of a reputation at both pursuits. He came back to London bronzed and in excellent health, but always with a curious sense of something wanting in his life, an emptiness of purpose, which he could never altogether shake off. He was a liberal patron of the theatres, but he had no inclinations towards theatrical society, or the easy Bohemian circles amongst which he would have been such a welcome disciple. He was brought into contact with a certain number of wealthy men in the city, who occasionally asked him to their homes, but here again he was conscious of disappointment. He enjoyed wine, cigars and good food, but he required with them the leaven of good company and good fellowship, which somehow or other seemed to evade him. Dauncey remained his chief and most acceptable companion, a rejuvenated Dauncey, who had developed a dry fund of humour, a brightness of eye and speech wholly transforming. There were many others who offered him friendship, but Jacob’s natural shrewdness seemed only to have increased with his access of prosperity, and he became almost morbidly conscious of the attractions to others of his ever-growing wealth. He had joined a club of moderate standing, where he met a certain number of men with whom he was at times content to exchange amenities. He had a very comfortable flat in the Milan Court, a country cottage at Marlingden, now his own property, with a largely increased rose garden, and half an acre of forcing houses, over which domain Mr. and Mrs. Harris reigned supreme. He possessed a two-seater Rolls-Royce, which was the envy of all his acquaintances, and a closed car of the same make. He belonged to a very good golf club near London, where he usually spent his week-ends, and his handicap was rapidly diminishing. And he had managed to preserve entirely his bland simplicity of manner. Not a soul amongst his acquaintance, unless specially informed, would have singled him out as a millionaire.
It was about six months after his first visit from Mr. Dane Montague, when Dauncey one morning brought in a card to his chief. Jacob was no longer under the necessity of resorting to imaginary labours on such occasions. There were tiers of black boxes around the room, reaching to the ceiling, on which were painted in white letters —The Cropstone Wood Estates Company, Limited. There were two clerks in the outside office, in addition to an office boy.
“Young lady to see you,” Dauncey announced quietly.
Jacob glanced at the card and forgot all about the Cropstone Wood Estates Company, Limited. His fingers shook, and he looked anxiously at his secretary.
“Did she ask for me by name?”
“No. She asked for the Chairman of the Company.”
“You don’t think she knows who I am, then?”
“From her manner, I should imagine not,” Dauncey replied. “As a matter of fact, she asked first to whom she should apply for information respecting the Company. I thought you might like to see her yourself, so I told her the Chairman.”
“Quite right,” Jacob approved. “Show her in and be careful not to mention my name.”
Jacob’s precaution was obviously a wise one. The young lady who was presently ushered into the office paused abruptly as she recognised him. Her expression was first incredulous, then angry. She turned as though to leave.
“Miss Bultiwell,” Jacob said calmly, as he rose to his feet, “I understand that you desire information respecting the Cropstone Wood Estates. I am Chairman of the Company and entirely at your service.”
She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders, swung across the room, and threw herself into the client’s chair with a touch of that insolent grace which he had always so greatly admired.
“I had no idea whom I was coming to see,” she told him.
“Or you would not have come?”
“I most certainly should not.”
The light died from his eyes. He felt the chill of her cold, contemptuous tone.
“Can you not remember,” he suggested, “that you are here to see an official connected with the Cropstone Wood Estates Company and forget the other association?”
“I shall try,” she agreed. “If I had not made up my mind to do that, I should have walked straight out of your office directly I recognised you.”
“You will pardon my saying,” he ventured, “that I consider your attitude unnecessarily censorious.”
She ignored his remark and turned to the business in hand.
“My mother and I,” she said, “have of course left the Manor House. We are in lodgings now and looking for a permanent abode near London. The idea of a residence at Cropstone Wood appeals to my mother. She has friends in the neighborhood.”
Jacob inclined his head.
“I assure you the Estate is everything that we claim for it.”
“Most of the enquiries I have made have been satisfactorily answered,” she admitted. “I have found only one person who has had any criticism to make. He says that, before buying property there, one ought to have definite information about the water and lighting.”
“He is a very sensible man,” Jacob agreed.
“I have come here to ask about them.”
“The water and lighting,” Jacob announced, “will be undertaken by the Cropstone Wood, Water and Electric Light Company, a private enterprise close at hand. The charges will be normal and the supply adequate.”
“Thank you,” the girl said. “If you are sure of that it is all I came to ascertain.”
She rose to her feet. Jacob was desperately unwilling to let her go.
“Any direct transactions, of course, are undertaken with the city office,” he explained, “but if you will accept a letter from me to the manager, he will see that your application is promptly dealt with, and that you have all the choice of site that is possible. There is, as you may know, a great demand for the land.”
“Thank you,” she replied, “I will not trouble you.”
“Then again,” he went on, “there is the question of whether you want simply to buy the land and employ your own builder, or place the contract with Littleham, who has an office on the Estate. My advice to you would be to go to Littleham. He can show you a dozen plans of various sized residences, he has a stock of material close at hand – ”
“I am very much obliged,” she interrupted. “My mother and I have already decided upon one of Mr. Littleham’s cottages. It was simply because we found his answers as regards the water and electric lighting a little indefinite, that I decided to come to you.”
“Indefinite?” Jacob murmured.
“Yes. He told us that the water and lighting were to be supplied by the private company you spoke of, but he seemed to have no idea as to what price they would be likely to charge.”
Jacob inclined his head thoughtfully.
“I think you may rest assured,” he told her, “that the charge will be normal.”
She turned away.
“You have given me the information I require,” she said. “Thank you once more, and good morning.”
Jacob lost his head for a moment. It was impossible to let her drift away like this.
“Miss Bultiwell,” he protested, “you are very hard on me. I wish you would allow me a few words of explanation. Will you – will you lunch with me?”
She looked him up and down, and not even the consciousness of those well-chosen and suitable clothes, of his very handsome bachelor flat at the Milan, his wonderful Rolls-Royce, and his summer retreat at Marlingden, with its acre of roses, helped him to retain an atom of self-confidence. He was no longer the man to whom the finger of envy pointed. The glance withered him as though he had indeed been a criminal.
“Certainly not,” she answered.
She made her way towards the door, and Jacob watched her helplessly. In her plain tweed coat and skirt, her sensible but homely shoes, her cheap little grey tam-o’-shanter hat, with its single yellow quill, she was just as attractive as she had been in the days when the first modiste in London had taken a pride in dressing her. She reached the door and passed out before Jacob had been able to make up his mind to step forward and open it for her. He gazed at the spot where she had disappeared, with blank face and unseeing eyes. Suddenly the door was reopened and closed again. She came towards him very deliberately.
“Mr. Pratt,” she said, “I am a very selfish and a very greedy person. I have lunched most days, for the last three months, at an A. B. C. shop opposite the office where I am working, and I hate the food and everything about that sort of place. If I accept your invitation, will you allow me to order exactly what I please, and remember that it is sheer greed which induces me even to sit down in the same room with you?”
Jacob sighed as he rose and stretched out his hand for his hat.
“Come on any terms you please,” he answered, with eager humility.
CHAPTER VIII
Miss Sybil Bultiwell showed that she had a very pretty taste in food even if her weaknesses in other directions were undiscoverable. Seated at a table for two in Jacob’s favourite corner at the Ritz grill-room, she ordered langouste with mayonnaise, a French chicken with salad, an artichoke, a vanilla ice, and some wonderful forced strawberries. She drank a cocktail and shared to a moderate extent the bottle of very excellent dry champagne which her companion insisted upon. The aloofness of her general attitude was naturally modified a little, in deference to appearances, but at no time did she give Jacob the slightest hope of breaking down the barrier of icy reserve with which she had chosen to surround herself. He made one great effort about midway through the meal.
“Miss Bultiwell,” he said, “when I visited once at the Manor House – the first time it was, I think – you were very kind to me.”
“I have forgotten the circumstance.”
“I have not. I never could. I remember that I arrived on a bicycle, very hot and somewhat – er – inappropriately dressed. Your father, who had invited me over because at that time I was a useful business connection, took no particular pains to set me at my ease. I was very uncomfortable. You were exceedingly kind to me that evening.”
“Was I?” she asked indifferently.
Jacob took a sip of champagne and went on valiantly.
“I had never met any one like you before. I have never met any one like you since. Why should you treat me as though I were something entirely contemptible, because I refused to accept your father’s fraudulent balance sheet and put money into a ruined business?”
Sybil’s blue eyes, which, as he knew, alas! too well, were capable of holding such sweet and tender lights, flashed upon him with a single moment’s anger.
“I had hoped,” she said severely, “that you would have had the good taste to avoid this subject. Since you have opened it, however, let me remind you that I am a woman, and that feelings count for far more with me than arguments. You may have been perfectly justified in what you did. At the same time, you were the immediate cause of the tragedy surrounding my father’s death. For that I shall never forgive you.”
“It doesn’t seem quite fair, does it?” he complained, with a strange little quiver of his underlip.
“Women seldom are fair in their likes and dislikes,” she pronounced. “I hope you will not pursue the subject.”
“Is it permitted to ask you any questions with regard to your present avocation?” he ventured, a few minutes later.
“I have no objection to telling you what I am doing,” she replied. “I am taking a course of shorthand and typewriting at an office in Fleet Street.”
The horror of it chilled Jacob to the very soul. He had only that morning received a cheque from his brother for an unexpected bonus, which amounted to more than she would ever be able to earn in the whole course of her life.
“Is that absolutely necessary?” he asked.
“We have two hundred a year between us, my mother and I,” she answered drily. “Perhaps you can understand that an extra two or three pounds a week is desirable.”
“Damn!” Jacob muttered, under his breath.
“I really don’t see why you should be profane,” she remonstrated.
“It’s too absurd, your going out to work,” he insisted. “I had business connections in the old days with the house of Bultiwell, by which I profited. Why cannot I be allowed, out of the money I can’t ever dream of spending, to settle – ”
“If you are going to be impertinent,” she interrupted coolly, “I shall get up and go out.”
Jacob groaned and cast about in his mind for a less intimate topic of conversation. The subject of theatre-going naturally presented itself. A momentary gleam of regret passed across her face as she answered his questions.
“Yes, I remember telling you how fond I always was of first nights,” she admitted. “Nowadays, naturally, we do not go to the theatre at all. My mother and I live very quietly.”
Jacob cleared his throat.
“If,” he suggested, “a box at the theatre could be accepted on the same terms as this luncheon – for your mother and you, I mean,” he went on hastily, “I am always having them given me. I’d keep out of the way. Or we might have a little dinner first. Your mother – ”
“Absolutely impossible!” she interrupted ruthlessly. “I really feel quite ashamed enough of myself, as it is. I know that I have not the slightest right to accept your very delicious luncheon.”
“You could pay for anything in the world I could give you, with a single kind word,” he ventured.
She sighed as she drew on her gloves.
“I have no feeling of kindness towards you, Mr. Pratt,” she said, “and I hate hypocrisy. I thank you very much for your luncheon. You will forgive my shaking hands, won’t you? It was scarcely in the bargain. And I must say good-by now. I am due back at the office at half-past two.”
So Jacob derived very little real pleasure from this trip into an imaginary Paradise, although many a time he went over their conversation in his mind, trying to find the slenderest peg on which he could hang a few threads of hope. He rang up the city office and made sure that Miss Bultiwell should be offered the most desirable plot of land left, at the most reasonable price, after which he invited Dauncey, who was waiting impatiently for an interview, to take an easy-chair, and passed him his favourite box of cigars.
