The Yellow Snake (10 page)

    He glanced at his watch, rubbed his mouth vigorously with his serviette and got up from the table, and with his departure to town events at Sunni Lodge looked as though they would settle down to normal. But he had not been gone more than two hours when his car came up the drive and the chauffeur brought in a note to Joan, who was deep in her household accounts. Wonderingly she opened the letter.

    Dear Joan,—Can you come up straight away? I want to see you. I shall be at Peking House.

    "Where is Peking House, Jones?" asked the girl.

    The man looked at her oddly.

    "It's near the Tower, miss," he said, "not a quarter of a mile from Mr Narth's office."

    Letty and her sister were in the village, and, putting on her hat, the girl entered the waiting car. At the far end of Eastcheap, and within sight of that grim old pile that William the Conqueror had built upon Saxon foundations, was a new and handsome stone-fronted building that differed from its neighbours in that it towered six stories above the tallest. A broad flight of marble steps led up to the handsome portico and the marble-lined hall. But its real difference, to the girl, was the character and nationality of its occupants. A stalwart Chinese janitor in a perfectly-fitting uniform ushered her into a lift that was worked by another Chinaman, and as the lift ascended she saw that the marble corridors were alive with little yellow men hurrying from room to room. When she got out of the lift she saw, through a door, a large room where, behind serried lines of desks, sat row upon row of spectacled young Chinamen busy with ink, brush and paper.

    "Queer, isn't it?" The Cockney clerk who had been her companion in the lift grinned as they stepped out. "It's the only place in the City of London run entirely by Chinks! Peking Enterprise Corporation—heard of it?"

    "I'm afraid I haven't," confessed the girl with a smile.

    "There isn't a white clerk in the building," said the young man disgustedly; "and the girl typists—my God! you ought to see some of their faces!"

    The lift man was waiting impatiently.

    "Come along, miss," he said, almost peremptorily, she thought, and followed him down the corridor to the end, where he opened a door marked 'Private.' A yellow-faced girl rose from her typist's chair.

    "You Mrs Bray?" she asked, with the awkwardness of one who was not versed in the language she was speaking, and, when Joan nodded, the girl opened a second door. "You go in," she said, in the same tone of command that Joan had noticed in the liftman.

    The first impression the girl had as she entered the room was that she had strayed by mistake into a musical comedy palace. The luxury of marble and satin, of cut glass and mossy carpet, the evidence of vulgar wealth in gilded furniture and silken tapestry, struck her dumb. The high ceiling was crossed with scarlet rafters on which golden Chinese characters had been superimposed in relief. The variety of colours almost blinded her; the only tasteful thing in the room was a great stained-glass window facing her. Beneath this, at a table which seemed to have been carved from solid ebony, sat Fing-Su, who rose as she appeared and came mincingly across the room to greet her.

    "Your uncle will be here in a few moments, my dear Miss Bray," he said. "Pray be seated."

    He pushed forward something that was not quite as big as a settee, yet was more imposing than the average throne.

    "I feel rather like the Queen of Sheba on a visit to Solomon," she said, amusement for the moment quietening her unease.

    He bowed low. Evidently he took this as a compliment.

    "You are indeed more beautiful than the Queen of Sheba, and more worthy of Sehlomon, the son of David. Had I the wealth of Sennacherib, the King of Ashkelon, I would give you the spoils of Azur and Bethdacon."

    She was taken aback by the extravagance of his speech.

    "Mr Narth is coming?" she asked.

    He looked at her, biting his thin lower lip thoughtfully.

    "No, he is not coming," he said. "The truth is, Miss Bray, that he thought it advisable that I should see you in reference to our friend Lynne. The last time we met, if you will remember, there was rather an awkward scene, not of my seeking. Mr Lynne has conceived an unkindly sentiment for me which is largely due to my race. I will not say 'unfortunate race,'" he went on, "because I do not regard ours as in any way inferior to yours. We are human; we have been for thousands of years on a higher intellectual level. And Mr Lynne has no reason to dislike us. My revered father"—he made an almost imperceptible genuflexion—"did much to found the fortune of the Yun Nan Syndicate—indeed, but for his help the concessions would never have been secured and certainly never worked."

    She was not prepared to listen to the story of the Yun Nan Concession and its beginnings. She was in truth in a state bordering upon fear, and she rose from her voluminous chair.

    "I hardly know Mr Lynne well enough to discuss him——" she began.

    "And yet you are going to marry him?"

    The flush which came to her cheeks was rather of annoyance than embarrassment.

    "That is a matter which concerns me entirely, Mr Fing," she said, and he smiled.

    "Fing-Su? Well, I prefer that name. St Clay is cumbersome and a little stupid."

    He was regarding her absently.

    "You are a clever girl. There is intelligence in your face; you are sensitive to impressions; you have indeed all the qualities which I desire in an assistant—and I have many assistants, yellow and white."

    "I don't quite understand you," she said.

    "Let me put it clearly to you. I have a reason for wishing the friendship—at least the non-antagonism—of Clifford Lynne. You are in a position to help me very considerably. Do you know anything about the Stock Exchange, Miss Bray?"

    "The Stock Exchange?" she said in astonishment. "No, I know very little."

    "You know this much—that there is a company called the Yun Nan Concessions?"

    She nodded.

    "Yes; Mr Narth was telling me yesterday morning that the shares stood at two and three-quarters."

    "The ordinary shares," he corrected gently. "You have never seen the founders' shares in the market."

    She smiled.

    "I don't think I should recognize them if I saw them," she said frankly. "The Stock Exchange is a mystery to me."

    "Yet there are forty-nine founders' shares." He spoke with great deliberation. "And I wish to buy one!"

    She stared at him in astonishment.

    "One?" she repeated.

    He nodded.

    "Just one. They have no market quotation. Originally they were worth one pound. Today for that one share I am prepared to pay a million!"

    She could only shake her head helplessly.

    "I'm afraid I can't help you—unless," as a thought struck her, "you would be able to buy one from Mr Narth."

    He was amused.

    "My dear young lady, Joseph Bray has left no founders' shares to Mr Narth; he has left ordinary shares. The only person from whom such a share is purchasable is your fiancé, Clifford Lynne. Get me that certificate and I will give you a million pounds! You shall have no reason to marry a man who has been forced upon you by your stupid relations. A million pounds! Think of that, Miss Bray—an enormous fortune which will make you as free as the air and independent of Narth and Lynne! Think this matter over! I would not like you to make a decision at this moment. And please remember that in doing this you would be pleasing my dearest friend and patron, now, alas! dead."

    He walked to the door and opened it with a flourish. Evidently the interview was at an end.

    "You will think of this? And will you be good enough to regard all I have said in this room as confidential? And please remember that, the day you hand me that share certificate, I will give you a cheque on the Bank of England for a million pounds. I will ask no questions——"

    Her steady eyes met his.

    "There will be no questions to ask," she said quietly, "for I shall never bring the share. If it is worth a million to you, it is surely worth a million to Mr Lynne."

    He smiled his inscrutable smile.

    "The cheque will be ready for you. This may mean a great deal for you. Miss Bray," he said.

    Joan hastened to her relative's office, and with every turn of the car wheels her anger grew.

    Mr Stephen Narth was obviously uncomfortable.

    "I hope you didn't mind, Joan?" he said, as he faced the indignant girl. "The truth is, I am rather under an obligation to the fellow, and he was so keen on seeing you about this business that I simply had to get the thing over. Why he wants to buy a founders' share in the company, heaven only knows. They're not worth a penny."

    She was staggered by this intelligence.

    "Not worth a penny——?" she began.

    "Not worth a penny," said Narth. "Well, perhaps that is an exaggeration. They're entitled to a nominal dividend of 2½ per cent, which means that they're worth about eight shillings per share. They've never been on the market and never will be. I don't believe old Joe had many, either. But I'll make sure."

    He rang a bell, and to the patient Perkins:

    "Get me the Articles of Association of the Yun Nan Concessions Corporation," he said.

    In a few minutes the clerk came back with a thick, blue-covered volume, which he laid on the desk. Mr Narth turned the dusty sheets and stopped at the first page with an exclamation.

    "That's queer! I didn't know Lynne was a director." He frowned. "A sort of nominee, I expect," he said, as he turned page after page.

    Five minutes' silence, broken only by the rustle of the leaves, and then:

    "Well, I'm damned!" gasped Mr Narth. "Listen to this: 'The policy of the Company and the direction of its reserves shall be determined by a Board of Administration which shall be nominated by ballot. At the ballot only holders of the aforesaid founders' shares shall vote. Notwithstanding anything contained in these articles which may be construed otherwise, the Board of Directors shall be the nominees of such a majority——'"

    He looked up, startled.

    "That means that the ordinary shareholders have no voice at all in the management of the company," he said, "and that of forty-nine shares issued, Fing-Su has twenty-four—phew!"

    He looked at the girl open-eyed.

    "Somebody told me today that the Yun Nan Company had a reserve of eight millions!" he said. "Got it out of coal and a gold-field and the money they had sent them after the Russian revolution..."

    He was a little incoherent.

    "And the majority are held by Clifford Lynne," he said slowly, and for the first time he became conscious of the ruthless struggle that was in progress for the control of this great reserve.

    His hand went up to his trembling lips.

    "I wish to God I was out of it!" he said huskily, and something of his fear was communicated to the girl.

    Driving back to Sunningdale, Mr Narth's car, in which she was travelling, overtook a very ordinary-looking taxicab, and it was only by accident that she glanced at its occupant. It was Clifford Lynne, and at his signal she stopped the car.

    He got out of the cab, walked to the car and, without even asking permission, he opened the door of the car and stepped in.

    "I'll travel with you as far as the end of my street," he said. "The fact is, my cab is rather uncomfortably loaded with grub! I'm taking possession of my new domain."

    He was looking at her keenly.

    "You have been to town. I won't presume to anticipate the rights of a loving husband and ask you why you are traveling in this splendour, but I presume that you have been visiting friend Narth?" And then, quickly: "You didn't see Fing-Su, did you?"

    She nodded.

    "Yes, I saw him," she said. "I had an interview with him this morning."

    "The devil you did!"

    If he was angry he did not betray his emotions.

    "And what did that naïve and ingenious child of nature say to you?" he asked banteringly. "I'll bet it was something pretty crude! There never was a Europeanized Chinaman who did not go through life under the delusion that he was a diplomat!"

    Should she tell him? She had given no promise, and only had Fing-Su's request that the character of the interview should be secret.

    He saw her hesitation, and with uncanny shrewdness leapt straight at the truth.

    "He didn't want to buy a founders' share of the YNC, did he?"

    And, when she went red, he slapped his knee and laughed long and riotously.

    "Poor old Machiavelli!" he said at last drying his eyes. "I never dreamt he would be satisfied with his tenth!"

    "His tenth?"

    He nodded.

    "Yes; Fing-Su owns a tenth of our property. That is news to you? Joe Bray held another tenth."

    "But who has the remainder?" she asked in amazement.

    "Your future lord, but I doubt master," he said. "Our Chinese friend is more than a millionaire, but isn't satisfied. In a moment of temporary aberration Joe parted with a block of founders' shares to Fing-Su's father, and on top of that he handed most of the remainder to Fing-Su himself! Honestly, I don't believe Joe was ever sane; and the maddest thing he ever did——" Here he checked himself. "Maybe he didn't do that

    ...but I have my suspicions, and I shall know for certain tonight."

    She did not ask him what those suspicions were and he went on: