Blind Policy Part 31

"Never mind; let's do what we can. A little's more than none. Half a loaf's better than no bread, old man."

"Very well, my boy; I'll take what I can to-night."

"I say, you're sure this'll turn out all right?"

"Certain. It's as safe as safe. I'll make him let me have a little more--put something else up--and then we'll take all the shares we can get."

"And about selling out at the right time?"

"You leave that to me," said the butler, smiling confidently. "Look here."

He took out a letter and held it to his companion, who read it with his face lighting up, and clapped it back in the butler's hands.

"That's right, isn't it?" said Roach.

"Splendid, old man. But stop; why, that's your writing."

"Of course it is; I copied it."

"Oh, I see. Well, then, that's all right. Go on ahead."

"But I wish it wasn't that centre-piece again. I'm always afraid of its being wanted."

"Oh, it won't be wanted," said the footman, impatiently.

"If you could only have managed about that key."

"Well, give me time. I say, that was a narrow squeak, when the old woman nearly caught us."

"Yes, it was horrible," said the butler, wiping his forehead. "Fancy her telling Jemmy, and him sending for us to come up in the lib'ry afore the lot of them!"

"Easy enough for him to send," said the footman, with a grin, "but it would have taken a lot of pulling to get us there."

"Yes, Orthur, my boy, the game would have been up."

"And before we'd made our pile, old man. There, you want a gla.s.s of wine to pull you together. You mustn't go and see our dear old relative looking like that."

"No," said Roach, brightening up; "that would not do, Orthur. The old woman did not find us out."

"I held the door too fast for her, and a miss is as good as a mile, eh, guv'nor? I say, old man, don't you think we might wet it?"

The butler smiled blandly.

"Well, just one gla.s.s wouldn't be amiss, my boy. What shall it be?"

"Can't beat a gla.s.s o' port, old man. What do you say?"

"I say ditto, my dear boy," and the butler, smiling, drew out his keys, unlocked a cupboard, lifted out a cobwebby bottle with a dab of whitewash on its end, and with a great deal of ceremony drew the cork, while Arthur fetched and gave a finishing touch to a couple of gla.s.ses as the cork was presented to him.

But it was only to smell, and Arthur inhaled the fragrance and sighed.

Then the rich wine came gurgling out into the gla.s.ses, and these latter were raised.

"Well, old man, here's success to speculation," said Arthur.

"Suck-cess to speculation," said the butler, and the gla.s.ses were slowly drained. Lips were smacked and the gla.s.ses refilled. "A very fine wine, Orthur."

"Tip-top. How much is there of it?"

"Over six hundred dozen, my lad."

"Well, we'll help 'em drink it, old man. It's fine. Sets a fellow thinking. Now, look here. We're not going to stand still, eh?"

"Not a bit of it, dear boy. We'll make our hay while the sun shines."

"Ah, yes," said the butler, filling another gla.s.s of the port; "and some people shoot a long time before folks get hit, eh, Orthur?"

"That's so, guv'nor; you've only to keep going, and the chances are that they can't hit you at all."

The result of the emptying of that bottle of wine was that the gold epergne and several other pieces of plate went into the charge of the none too particular descendant of the Medici, a gentleman who, having been exceedingly unfortunate in carrying on what he called a square trade, had of late gone in for the risky and round, with the result that he was making money fast, and calming his conscience by chuckling to himself and saying--

"What harm is there, so long as you're not found out?"

That evening Mr Roach returned with a sufficient amount to dip slightly into the new speculation in which the Clareboroughs were engaged, but he did not sleep any better for that. He dreamed about brokers who dealt in stock, and by a steady descent of thought he went on to brokers who put executions into houses. They suggested debtors' prisons--debtors'

prisons brought up Holloway, and Holloway the criminal side--the criminal side, penal Portland, with irons, and costumes ornamented with broad arrows, shortcut hair, chain-gangs, and an awakening in a violent perspiration.

Mr Roach had no appet.i.te next morning, but on behalf of footman Arthur and himself, a couple of hundred pounds were invested in the shares of the gaseous company which had nothing whatever to do with gas.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

MAN MASTERS.

"At last!" muttered Chester, as he stood, pale and careworn, leaning upon the iron rail in the Row, watching the carriages slowly filing by, or stopping from time to time.

For after days and days of watching, he was once more about to give up in despair and venture, in spite of all rebuffs, upon another call at the house, when in the distance he caught sight of the Clareborough's light victoria approaching, and to his great delight he found that it only contained one occupant.

He hesitated for a few moments as to what he should do--wait, or advance to meet it, and decided now upon a bold attack, for every nerve was on the strain.

"I will not be put off this time," he said to himself. "She shall acknowledge me."

As he approached his heart began to beat fast and he gazed upon the elegantly-dressed figure leaning carelessly back with her face shaded by the tinted parasol she held, and, as yet un.o.bserved, Chester saw that she looked pale, troubled and weary, her half-closed eyes dreamy and thoughtful.

Fate favoured him, for there was a block somewhere ahead, and the horses were stopped only a few yards away.

He pa.s.sed under the rail, walked up quickly, still un.o.bserved, till his hand was upon the carriage door.

"Marion!" he whispered.