Fatal Venture (5 page)

It was now Bristow’s turn to hesitate. “I hope, sir,” he went on more deprecatingly, “that you won’t think me discourteous if I say that the vital figures are confidential. When I tell you that we’ve got ideas for running the affair cheaply and that these are our capital, you’ll appreciate the point. I should be delighted to put everything before you if we first had your guarantee of secrecy.”

“Damn it all, what do you take me for?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I know you won’t misunderstand me. Now I took the liberty of bringing down a draft agreement for your consideration. This pledges you to secrecy, whether you have anything to do with us or not, and if you sign I’ll put all the figures before you.”

“Damn your impertinence!”

“It really isn’t that, sir. This agreement does more than record your promise of secrecy. It also lays down terms on which, if you chose, we might collaborate.”

Stott chuckled grimly. “You’re more than impertinent: you’re refreshing. If cheek pulls people through, you ought to succeed.”

Bristow grinned. “I hope so, sir. The terms suggested here are tentative, and if you were interested we should be prepared to modify them to meet your wishes. The agreement covers two cases. First, if you’re not interested. It goes without saying that in this case you’re committed to nothing except secrecy. Second, if you should care to put up all or part of the capital, thus yourself owning or having part control of the business. In this case I suggest that you pay me fifty percent of your nett income.”

For some time Stott did not answer. Then silently he stretched out his hand for the agreement and began slowly to read it.

Morrison, though for him comparatively little was at stake, felt almost painfully eager, and he could see that, in spite of his efforts to hide it, Bristow was equally affected.

The episode recalled vividly one of the thrills of his youth, when through clear water he had watched fish swim up to and begin investigating his bait. Would Stott nibble? And if he did, would Bristow hook him? Bristow had done well so far, but Stott was obviously the more wily.

Presently Stott looked up. “This gives you the right to proceed against me for damages if you can prove that I gave any of your ideas away.”

“You can’t object to that, sir,” Bristow submitted. “It’s a purely formal requirement, because there’s no fear of your giving us away.”

Stott grinned ruefully. “You’re a solicitor, aren’t you? I congratulate you. It’s a good bait. You’ve succeeded by not trying for too much. I’ll sign.”

Bristow manfully repressed any sign of jubilation as he rose to his feet. ‘I don’t think you’ll be sorry, sir, and I’m certain we shall not. Just a moment, if you please.”

Stott looked almost alarmed. “What’s it now?” he demanded.

“Agreement valueless without a witness. I’ve got one waiting.”

Stott looked after him with rueful admiration as Bristow disappeared towards the gate. “Your friend deserves to succeed,” he said in a somewhat subdued tone. “I’ll be interested to learn his scheme.”

The ceremony of signing in duplicate was put through quickly and Salmon and Nickleby were despatched to call on friends at Eton. Then Bristow got down to business. He first stressed the desire of the man in the street for the big-ship cruises he could not at present afford. Next he pointed out that this was not because of owners’ profiteering, but because of the high running costs of great ships. Then he put forward his scheme, claiming that interest and depreciation on his ship should come to less than 15 percent, of that of a new vessel, while running expenses should be little more than 60 percent. Finally, he gave estimates of passenger fares and probable profits.

It was obvious that Stott was impressed. As Bristow proceeded, the mocking condescension gradually faded from his manner and a growing interest took its place. He heard the statement without interruption, then sat in silence, evidently thinking deeply.

“I admit that sounds plausible enough at first hearing,” he said at length, “and yet I cannot help feeling there’s a flaw somewhere. What practical men have gone into it?”

Bristow moved uneasily. “I think, sir,” he answered, “that I must tell you the exact truth. I’m afraid you’ll be displeased, but here it is. No one knows anything of this except our three selves. I admit that my talk about others was only to try and get you interested. No practical authority has gone into it, and the experts I spoke of were Morrison and myself.”

Stott looked at him for some moments, then broke into a laugh. “I hand it to you, Bristow,” he declared. “I will say you’ve played your cards well. I was doubtful of you before, but now I believe you. Is that all you have to tell me?”

Bristow looked relieved. “That’s all, sir, except about Morrison. Morrison – and I’m sure he’d be the first to admit it – hadn’t until now put anything material into this thing. I didn’t think therefore that he was entitled to a share, but, now, since he’s aroused your interest, I’ve changed my mind, I suggest each of us give him five percent of the nett profits, off our shares: that will be ten percent for him. I also propose, if the scheme goes ahead, to offer him the job of agent on board to deal with the transport of passengers between their homes and the ship at a salary of five hundred, all found. Would you be agreeable to that if you came in?”

“If I came in, yes,” Stott returned, “but you mustn’t count on that.”

“No, sir. But if you did, the clause would then read: ‘The nett profits of the said undertaking shall be divided between the said three partners to this agreement in the estimated proportions that their ideas money and help shall have contributed to its success, this being at present estimated as follows: to the said John Mottram Stott forty-five percent, to the said Charles Bristow forty-five percent, and to the said Harry Morrison ten percent.’ That all right, sir?”

“Yes – if I go in. I admit I’m interested, but I’d have to think the thing over and get real expert opinion on the various points before I could decide.”

“It’s extraordinarily decent of you both,” Morrison exclaimed warmly. “I don’t expect to be worth all that money, but I’ll do my best.”

He was overwhelmed with delight. This was more than in his wildest flights he had expected. Optimistic in his pleasure, he told himself that the scheme would be a success and began to estimate to what 10 percent of the profits, added to his
£
500 a year, might amount.

He was also astonished and pleased at the change in Stott’s manner. If the man were really like this, working with him would be a pleasure and not a nightmare, as it had been up to the present.

But he was losing some of the conversation.

“I think we’d have no difficulty about the certificate,” Bristow was saying, “for our purpose: cruising at half speed in sheltered waters in summer. But if the Board of Trade refused, we might try abroad. I somehow imagine they’d be more accommodating than here.”

Stott shook his head. “I doubt it,” he said. “And, of course, if there’s a hitch there, the whole scheme falls.”

“I know, sir, but my difficulty has been that enquiries would give away the idea. Therefore before making them I wanted to have an option on the ship.”

“What ship had you in mind?”

“The
Hellenic
, forty-seven thousand tons. She’s lying at Southampton waiting to be sold for breaking up.”

“Yes, that’s correct. I’ve crossed to New York in her several times and I will say she’s a comfortable ship. She’d be the very ship for this job, if we could get her.”

This phrase fell happily on Morrison’s ears. For another hour they discussed the affair, then Stott brought the interview to an end. That was as far, he said, as they could go at present. He would think over what he had heard, consult various experts, and let them know his decision.

On their way back to Town both young men felt as if they were travelling on air.

“He’s as good as hooked,” Bristow declared when, after dinner that evening, he and Morrison resumed their discussion in the former’s rooms.

Morrison agreed. “What he wants, as I said before, is an interest. I believe he’d put up the whole of the money if he thought he’d have a say in the running of the thing: just for the interest of it.”

“Well, he understands that. I made it clear enough.”

“You know,” Morrison pursued his own train of thought, “we’ve touched him at the right moment. He’s bored and wants something to do. Two or three hundred thousand is nothing to him. He’ll put it up all right.”

The subject of Stott and his reactions to the proposal eventually became exhausted, Bristow turned to another point. “We’ve been taking the cost of the ship at a hundred thousand, but we mayn’t be right. I mentioned it because the
Berengaria
is supposed to have been sold for that. I wonder if we should make some tentative enquiries about the
Hellenic?”

“I thought you’d done so.”

“No. I assumed the two ships would cost about the same.”

Morrison thought this was scarcely satisfactory. “We should surely be able to say to Stott: she’s to be had for so much? How should we find out?”

“Go to the Lilac Star people, I suppose. Their offices are in Cockspur Street.”

“What about after lunch tomorrow? I could get leave for an hour.”

Bristow agreed enthusiastically. Though neither realised it, what they both wanted was action, and for this they would have jumped at any excuse.

Their interview, however, did not work out exactly as they had planned. Bristow’s professional card gave them immediate access to the secretary, a polite man named Amberley.

“We shall not keep you long, Mr Amberley,” Bristow assured him. “We called to make some enquiries about the sale of the
Hellenic
. I’m acting for some parties who might wish to buy her, and I should like any details which are available as to cost and conditions of sale.”

“Well,” the Secretary smiled, “perhaps the point which will interest you most is that she’s practically sold.”

Bristow’s jaw dropped. “Sold!” he ejaculated in evident dismay.

“Not exactly sold,” Amberley qualified. “As a matter of fact, a company has got an option on her. They’re not quite certain yet whether they will buy.”

“Oh,” said Bristow, with some relief, “then the matter’s not finally closed. I’m glad to hear that, for I shall probably be able to make an offer on behalf of my clients. I suppose,” he smiled deprecatingly, “it would be indiscreet to enquire if it’s for breaking-up that she’s wanted?”

Amberley hesitated. “I don’t think so,” he said presently. “As a matter of fact, it’s for popular cruising: a new venture altogether.”

Bristow’s eyes goggled. For a moment he did not speak, then his brows drew together and Morrison could see that he was thinking deeply. Presently he slapped his thigh and broke into a laugh.

“Don’t tell me,” he said with every appearance of amusement, “that it’s Home Waters Cruising Limited?”

Amberley looked surprised. “Why, that’s just what it is. Do you know them?”

Bristow laughed again. “Do I know them?” he repeated. “Well I should think so! Why, it’s for Home Waters Cruising Limited that I’m acting! I’m their secretary.” He turned to Morrison. “That’s Malthus, or I’m a Dutchman. You can’t get ahead of Mr Malthus. Our Chairman, Mr Amberley. He’s stolen a march on me. A misunderstanding, of course. It was Mr Malthus, I suppose?”

The secretary seemed a little perplexed at this method of doing business, but evidently considered it was nothing to him and smiled politely. “Yes, it was Mr Malthus. He called to see me himself. He said he hadn’t all the money he wanted yet, but he expected to get the balance in a day or two.”

“That’s correct,” Bristow declared. “We have promises for practically the whole sum.” He grinned realistically at Morrison. “Now, isn’t that like him! To call here without telling me –
me
, the secretary – and fix up an option and then go off and get influenza without saying a word about it! I suppose you know something about chairmen, too, Mr Amberley?” Bristow did not wink, but he looked facetious.

The secretary shook his head lugubriously, suggesting melancholy experiences of an unpleasant side of life.

“And I don’t even know the figure you finally agreed on,” went on Bristow. “Perhaps you could tell me that? It would help me at our meeting tomorrow.”

“A hundred and twenty-five thousand,” Amberley returned promptly. “The option lasts for a month, but I was expecting a firm reply this week.”

“You’ll have it,” Bristow assured him, “and unless I’m greatly mistaken you’ll have the money also. And I” – once again he smiled knowingly – “shall have something polite but pointed to say to my esteemed Chairman.”

“As a brother secretary, I wish you luck with it,” Amberley said gloomily. “Then we shall see you again, Mr Bristow, if the deal goes through?”

“You certainly will, Mr Amberley.”

Morrison was seething with wrath and indignation against their fellow traveller in the Calais express. But when they reached the street he found that his feelings were lukewarm compared to Bristow’s. The solicitor’s manner remained quiet, but there was a look of cold, implacable hate in his eye that startled Morrison. With his pale face gone almost white, his lips in a thin line, the strong outline of his set jaw and that almost ferocious gleam in his eye, he looked capable of anything. Certainly at that moment Morrison would not have cared to cross him.

“You were right, Morrison,” he said quietly, as they began to cross Trafalgar Square. “That swine must have heard the whole thing. It’s lucky you noticed his name.”

Morrison was astonished at his coolness. “I thought you dealt with it magnificently,” he said with truth, “and without any preparation, too.”

“It mayn’t be any use,” Bristow answered in a small, cold voice. “If Stott won’t act at once we’re sunk.”

“What could he do? Malthus has an option, you see.”

Bristow glanced round and his voice rose as if in spite of himself. “I don’t know what he could do, but if there’s any way of putting that dirty thief where he belongs, I’ll not rest until I find it.”