Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) (683 page)

‘I thought you might.  I have only just got back myself, and I saw by your wire that you had bought them all right.’

‘Yes, I thought I had better let you have your contract at once.  Settling day is on Monday, you know.’

‘All right.  Thank you.  I will let you have a cheque.  What - what’s this?’

The contract had been laid face upwards upon the table.  Frank Crosse’s face grew whiter and his eyes larger as he stared at it.  It ran in this way -

13a THROGMORTON STREET.

Bought for Francis Crosse, Esq.

(Subject to the Specific Rules and Regulations of the Stock Exchange.)

200 El Dorado Proprietaries at 4¾   
 
£950

 
0 
 
0

Stamps and Fees             

          4  17 
 
6

Commission               

           
 
7  10 
 
0

                                      £962

 
7 
 
6

For the 7th inst.

‘I fancy there is some mistake here, Harrison,’ said he, speaking with a very dry pair of lips.

‘A mistake!’

‘Yes, this is not at all what I expected.’

‘O Frank!  Nearly a thousand pounds!’ gasped Maude.

Harrison glanced from one of them to the other.  He saw that the matter was serious.

‘I am very sorry if there has been any mistake.  I tried to obey your instructions.  You wanted two hundred El Dorados, did you not?’

‘Yes, at four and ninepence.’

‘Four and ninepence!  They are four pound fifteen each.’

‘But I read that they were only ten shillings originally, and that they had been falling.’

‘Yes, they have been falling for months.  But they were as high as ten pounds once.  They are down at four pound fifteen now.’

‘Why on earth could the paper not say so?’

‘When a fraction is used, it always means a fraction of a pound.’

‘Good heavens!  And I have to find this sum before Monday.’

‘Monday is settling day.’

‘I can’t do it, Harrison.  It is impossible.’

‘Then there is the obvious alternative.’

‘No, I had rather die.  I will never go bankrupt - never!’

Harrison began to laugh, and then turned stonily solemn as he met a pair of reproachful grey eyes.

‘It strikes me that you have not done much at this game, Crosse.’

‘Never before - and by Heaven, never again!’

‘You take it much too hard.  When I spoke of an alternative, I never dreamed of bankruptcy.  All you have to do is to sell your stock to-morrow morning, and pay the difference.’

‘Can I do that?’

‘Rather.  Why not?’

‘What would the difference be?’

Harrison took an evening paper from his pocket.  ‘We deal in rails chiefly, and I don’t profess to keep in touch with the mining market.  We’ll find the quotation here.  By Jove!’  He whistled between his teeth.

‘Well!’ said Frank, and felt his wife’s little warm palm fall upon his hand under the table.

‘The difference is in your favour.’

‘In my favour?’

‘Yes, listen to this.  “The mining markets, both the South African and the Australian, opened dull, but grew more animated as the day proceeded, prices closing at the best.  Out crops upon the Rand mark a general advance of one-sixteenth to one-eighth.  The chief feature in the Australian section was a sharp advance of five-eighths in El Dorados, upon a telegram that the workings had been pumped dry.”  Crosse, I congratulate you.’

‘I can really sell them for more than I gave?’

‘I should think so.  You have two hundred of them, and a profit of ten shillings on each.’

‘Maude, we’ll have the whisky and the soda.  Harrison, you must have a drink.  Why, that’s a hundred pounds.’

‘More than a hundred.’

‘Without my paying anything?’

‘Not a penny.’

‘When does the Exchange open to-morrow?’

‘The rattle goes at eleven.’

‘Well, be there at eleven, Harrison.  Sell them at once.’

‘You won’t hold on and watch the market?’

‘No, no - I won’t have an easy moment until they are sold.’

‘All right, my boy.  You can rely upon me.  You will get a cheque for your balance on Tuesday or Wednesday.  Good evening!  I am so glad that it has all ended well.’

‘And the joke of it is, Maude,’ said her husband, after they had talked over the whole adventure from the beginning.  ‘The joke of it is that we have still to find an investment for our original fifty pounds.  I am inclined to put it into Consols after all.’

‘Well,’ said Maude, ‘perhaps it would be the patriotic thing to do.’

Two days later the poor old Broadwood with the squeaky treble and the wheezy bass was banished for ever from The Lindens, and there arrived in its place a ninety-five-guinea cottage grand, all dark walnut and gilding, with notes in it so deep and rich and resonant that Maude could sit before it by the hour and find music enough in simply touching one here and one there, and listening to the soft, sweet, reverberant tones which came swelling from its depths.  Her El Dorado piano, she called it, and tried to explain to lady visitors how her husband had been so clever at business that he had earned it in a single day.  As she was never very clear in her own mind how the thing had occurred, she never succeeded in explaining it to any one else, but a vague and solemn impression became gradually diffused abroad that young Mr. Frank Crosse was a very remarkable man, and that he had done something exceedingly clever in the matter of an Australian mine.

CHAPTER XVIII - A THUNDERCLOU
D

Blue skies and shining sun, but far down on the horizon one dark cloud gathers and drifts slowly upwards unobserved.  Frank Crosse was aware of its shadow when coming down to breakfast he saw an envelope with a well-remembered handwriting beside his plate.  How he had loved that writing once, how his heart had warmed and quickened at the sight of it, how eagerly he had read it - and now a viper coiled upon the white table-cloth would hardly have given him a greater shock.  Contradictory, incalculable, whimsical life!  A year ago how scornfully he would have laughed, what contemptuous unbelief would have filled his soul, if he had been told that any letter of hers could have struck him cold with the vague apprehension of coming misfortune.  He tore off the envelope and threw it into the fire.  But before he could glance at the letter there was the quick patter of his wife’s feet upon the stair, and she burst, full of girlish health and high spirits, into the little room.  She wore a pink crepon dressing-gown, with cream guipure lace at the neck and wrists.  Pink ribbon outlined her trim waist.  The morning sun shone upon her, and she seemed to him to be the daintiest, sweetest tiling upon earth.  He had thrust his letter into his pocket as she entered.

‘You will excuse the dressing-gown, Frank.’

‘I just love you in it.  No, you mustn’t pass.  Now you can go.’

‘I was so afraid that you would breakfast without me that I had no time to dress.  I shall have the whole day to finish in when you are gone.  There now - Jemima has forgotten to warm the plates again!  And your coffee is cold.  I wish you had not waited.’

‘Better cold coffee with Maude’s society.’

‘I always thought men gave up complimenting their wives after they married them.  I am so glad you don’t.  I think on the whole that women’s ideas of men are unfair and severe.  The reason is that the women who have met unpleasant men run about and make a noise, but the women who are happy just keep quiet and enjoy themselves.  For example, I have not time to write a book explaining to every one how nice Frank Crosse is; but if he were nasty my life would be empty, and so of course I should write my book.’

‘I feel such a fraud when you talk like that.’

‘That is part of your niceness.’

‘Oh don’t, Maude!  It really hurts me.’

‘Why, Frank, what is the matter with you to-day?’

‘Nothing, dear.’

‘Oh yes, there is.  I can tell easily.’

‘Perhaps I am not quite myself.’

‘No, I am sure that you are not.  I believe that you have a cold coming on.  O Frank, do take some ammoniated quinine.’

‘Good heavens, no!’

‘Please!  Please!’

‘My dear girlie, there is nothing the matter with me.’

‘But it is such splendid stuff.’

‘Yes, I know.  But really I don’t want it.’

‘Have you had any letters, Frank?’

‘Yes, one.’

‘Anything important?’

‘I have hardly glanced at it yet.’

‘Glance at it now.’

‘Oh, I will keep it for the train.  Good-bye, dearest.  It is time that I was off.’

‘If you would only take the ammoniated quinine.  You men are so proud and obstinate.  Good-bye, darling.  Eight hours, and then I shall begin to live again.’

He had a quiet corner of a carriage to himself, so he unfolded his letter and read it.  Then he read it again with frowning brows and compressed lips.  It ran in this way -

My Dearest Frankie, - I suppose that I should not address you like this now that you are a good little married man, but the force of custom is strong, and, after all, I knew you long before she did.  I don’t suppose you were aware of it, but there was a time when I could very easily have made you marry me, in spite of all you may know about my trivial life and adventures, but I thought it all over very carefully, and I came to the conclusion that it was not good enough.  You were always a dear good chap yourself, but your prospects were not quite dashing enough for your festive Violet.  I believe in a merry time even if it is a short one.  But if I had really wanted to settle down in a humdrum sort of way, you are the man whom I should have chosen out of the whole batch of them.  I hope what I say won’t make you conceited, for one of your best points used to be your modesty.

But for all that, my dear Frankie, I by no means give you up altogether, and don’t you make any mistake about that.  It was only yesterday that I saw Charlie Scott, and he told me all about you, and gave me your address.  Don’t you bless him?  And yet I don’t know.  Perhaps you have still a kindly thought of your old friend, and would like to see her.

But you are going to see her whether you like or not, my dear boy, so make up your mind to that.  You know how you used to chaff me about my whims.  Well, I’ve got a whim now, and I’ll have my way as usual.  I am going to see you to-morrow, and if you won’t see me under my conditions in London, I shall call at Woking in the evening.  Oh my goodness, what a bombshell!  But you know that I am always as good as my word.  So look out!

Now I’ll give you your orders for the day, and don’t you forget them.  To-morrow (Thursday, 14th, no excuses about the date) you will leave your office at 3.30.  I know that you can when you like.  You will drive to Mariani’s, and you will find me at the door.  We shall go up to our old private room, and we shall have tea together, and a dear old chat about all sorts of things.  So come!  But if you don’t, there is a train which leaves Waterloo at 6.10 and reaches Woking at 7.  I will come by it and be just in time for dinner.  What a joke it will be!

Good-bye, old boy!  I hope your wife does not read your letters, or this will rather give her fits.

- Yours as ever, VIOLET WRIGHT.

At the first reading this letter filled him with anger.  To be wooed by a very pretty woman is pleasant even to the most austere of married men (and never again trust the one who denies it), but to be wooed with a very dangerous threat mixed up with the wooing is no such pleasant experience.  And it was no empty threat.  Violet was a woman who prided herself upon being as good as her word.  She had laughingly said with her accustomed frankness upon one occasion that it was her sole remaining virtue.  If he did not go to Mariani’s, she would certainly come to Woking.  He shuddered to think of Maude being annoyed by her.  It was one thing to speak in a general way to his wife of prematrimonial experiences, and it was another to have this woman forcing herself upon her and making a scene.  The idea was so vulgar.  The sweet, pure atmosphere of The Lindens would never be the same again.

No, there was no getting out of it.  He must go to Mariani’s.  He was sufficiently master of himself to know that no harm could come of that.  His absolute love for his wife shielded him from all danger.  The very thought of infidelity nauseated him.  And then, as the idea became more familiar to him, other emotions succeeded that of anger.  There was an audacity about his old flame, a spirit and devilment, which appealed to his sporting instincts.  Besides, it was complimentary to him, and flattering to his masculine vanity, that she should not give him up without a struggle.  Merely as a friend it would not be disagreeable to see her again.  Before he had reached Clapham Junction his anger had departed, and by the time that he arrived at Waterloo he was surprised to find himself looking forward to the interview.

Mariani’s is a quiet restaurant, famous for its
lachryma christi spumante,
and situated in the network of sombre streets between Drury Lane and Covent Garden.  The fact of its being in a by-street was not unfavourable to its particular class of business.  Its customers were very free from the modern vice of self-advertisement, and would even take some trouble to avoid publicity.  Nor were they gregarious or luxurious in their tastes.  A small, simple apartment was usually more to their taste than a crowded salon, and they were even prepared to pay a higher sum for it.

It was five minutes to four when Frank arrived, and the lady had not yet appeared.  He stood near the door and waited.  Presently a hansom rattled into the narrow street, and there she sat framed in its concavity.  A pretty woman never looks prettier than in a hansom, with the shadows behind to give their Rembrandt effect to the face in front.  She raised a yellow kid hand, and flashed a smile at him.

‘Just the same as ever,’ said she, as he handed her down.

‘So are you.’

‘So glad you think so.  I am afraid I can’t quite agree with you.  Thirty-four yesterday.  It’s simply awful.  Thank you, I have some change.  All right, cabby.  Well, have you got a room?’

‘No.’

‘But you’ll come?’

‘Oh yes, I should like to have a chat.’

The clean-shaven, round-faced manager, a man of suave voice and diplomatic manner, was standing in the passage.  His strange life was spent in standing in the passage.  He remembered the pair at once, and smiled paternally.

‘Not seen you for some time, sir!’

‘No, I have been engaged.’

‘Married,’ said the lady.

‘Dear me!’ said the proprietor.  ‘Tea, sir?’

‘And muffins.  You used to like the muffins.’

‘Oh yes, muffins by all means.’

‘Number ten,’ said the proprietor, and a waiter showed them upstairs.  ‘All meals nine shillings each,’ he whispered, as Frank passed him at the door.  He was a new waiter, and so mistook every one for a new customer, which is an error which runs through life.

It was a dingy little room with a round table covered by a soiled cloth in the middle.  Two windows, discreetly blinded, let in a dim London light.  An armchair stood at each side of the empty fireplace, and an uncomfortable, old-fashioned, horsehair sofa lined the opposite wall.  There were pink vases upon the mantelpiece, and a portrait of Garibaldi above it.

The lady sat down and took off her gloves.  Frank stood by the window and smoked a cigarette.  The waiter rattled and banged and jingled with the final effect of producing a tea-tray and a hot-water dish.  ‘You’ll ring if you want me, sir,’ said he, and shut the door with ostentatious completeness.

‘Now we can talk,’ said Frank, throwing his cigarette into the fireplace.  ‘That waiter was getting on my nerves.’

‘I say, I hope you’re not angry.’

‘What at?’

‘Well, my saying I should come down to Woking, and all that.’

‘I should have been angry if I thought you had meant it.’

‘Oh, I meant it right enough.’

‘But with what object?’

‘Just to get level with you, Frankie, if you threw me over too completely.  Hang it all, she has three hundred and sixty-five days in the year!  Am I to be grudged a single hour?’

‘Well, Violet, we won’t quarrel about it.  You see I came all right.  Pull up your chair and have some tea.’

‘You haven’t even looked at me yet.  I won’t take any tea until you do.’

She stood up in front of him, and pushed up her veil.  It was a face and a figure worth looking at.  Hazel eyes, dark chestnut hair, a warm flush of pink in her cheeks, the features and outline of an old Grecian goddess, but with more of Juno than of Venus, for she might perhaps err a little upon the side of opulence.  There was a challenge and defiance dancing in those dark devil-may-care eyes of hers which might have roused a more cold-blooded man than her companion.  Her dress was simple and dark, but admirably cut.  She was clever enough to know that a pretty woman should concentrate attention upon herself, and a plain one divert it to her adornments.

‘Well?’

‘By Jove, Violet, you look splendid.’

‘Well?’

‘The muffins are getting cold.’

‘Frankie, what
is
the matter with you?’

‘Nothing is the matter.’

‘Well?’

She put out her two hands and took hold of his.  That well-remembered sweet, subtle scent of hers rose to his nostrils.  There is nothing more insidious than a scent which carries suggestions and associations.  ‘Frankie, you have not kissed me yet.’

She turned her smiling face upwards and sideways, and for an instant he leaned forward towards it.  But he had himself in hand again in a moment.  It gave him confidence to find how quickly and completely he could do it.  With a laugh, still holding her two hands, he pushed her back into the chair by the table.