The Pauper of Park Lane Part 39

"Then why not go to them?" repeated Max, a little surprised and yet a little flattered.

"As I have told you, I would rather take you into partnership. We have already decided to do the thing on a sound business basis. Indeed, I went to my lawyers only yesterday and gave orders for the agreement to be drawn up between us. You'll receive it to-night or to-morrow."

"Well," replied Max with some hesitation, "if it is to be done, it must be done later. At present I cannot get away. My place is in London."

"Beside the lady to whom you are so devoted, eh?" the Frenchman laughed.

Max was irritated by the man's veiled sarcasm.

"No. Because I have a duty to perform towards a friend, and even the temptation of a fortune shall not cause me to neglect it."

"A friend. Whom?"

"The matter is my own affair. It has nothing to do with our business,"

was Max's rather sharp response.

"Very well," said the other, quite unruffled. "I can only regret. I will wire to-night to Muhil Pasha, and endeavour to obtain a postponement of the agreement."

"As you wish," Max said, still angered at this importation of the woman he loved into the discussion. "I may as well say that it is quite immaterial."

"To you it may be so. But I am not rich like yourself," the other said.

"I have to obtain my income where I can by honest means, and this is a chance which I do not intend to lose. I look to you--I hold you to your promise, Barclay--to a.s.sist me."

"I do not intend to break my promise. I merely say that I cannot go out to Turkey at once."

"But you will come--you will promise that in a few days--in a week--or when you have finished this mysterious duty to your friend, that you will come with me?" he urged. "Come, give me your hand. I don't want to approach anybody else."

"Well, if you really wish it," Max replied, and he gave the tempter his hand in pledge.

When, a few seconds later, Jean Adam turned to light a fresh cigarette there was upon his thin lips a smile--a sinister smile of triumph.

Max Barclay had played dice with the Devil, and lost. He had, in his ignorance of the net spread about him, in that moment pledged his own honour.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

OLD SAM HAS A VISITOR.

It was past midnight.

At eleven o'clock old Sam Statham had descended from the mysterious upper regions, emerged from the green baize door upon the stairs, which concealed another white-enamelled door--a door of iron, and, pa.s.sing down to the study, had switched on the electric light, thrown himself wearily into an armchair, and lit a cigar.

Upon his grey, drawn countenance was a serious apprehensive look, as of a man who antic.i.p.ated serious trouble, and who was trying in vain to brave himself up to face it. For nearly half an hour he had smoked on alone, now and then muttering to himself, his bony fingers clenched as though antic.i.p.ating revenge. The big room was so silent at that hour that a pin if dropped might have been heard. Only the clock ticked on solemnly, and striking the half-hour upon its silvery bell.

The old millionaire who, on pa.s.sing through that baize-covered door, had locked the inner door so carefully after him, seemed strangely agitated.

So apprehensive was he that Levi, entering some time afterwards, said in his sharp, brusque manner:

"I thought you had retired long ago. What's the matter?"

"I have an appointment," snapped his master; "an important one."

"Rather late, isn't it?" suggested the old servant. "Remember that there are spies about. That little affair the other night aroused some curiosity--I'm certain of it."

"Among a few common pa.s.sers-by. Bah! my dear Levi, they don't know anything."

"But they may talk! This house has already got a bad name, you know."

"Well, that's surely not my fault," cried the old man with a fiery flash in his eyes. "It's more your fault for acting so infernally suspiciously and mysteriously. I know quite well what people say of me."

"A good deal that's true," declared old Levi in open defiance of the man in whose service he had been so long.

Sam Statham grinned. It was a subject which he did not wish to discuss.

"You can go to bed, Levi. I'll open the door," he said to the man who was his janitor.

"Who's coming?" inquired Levi abruptly.

"A friend. I want to talk to him seriously and alone."

"What's his name?"

"Don't be so infernally inquisitive, Levi. Go to bed, I tell you," he croaked with a commanding wave of the hand.

The servant never thwarted his master's wishes. He knew Sam Statham too well. A strange smile played about the corners of his mouth, and he looked around to see that the whisky, syphons and gla.s.ses were on the side table. Then with a rather ill-grace said:

"Very well--good-night," and, bowing, he retired.

When the door had closed the old millionaire ground his teeth, muttering:

"You must always poke your infernal long nose into my affairs. But this matter I'll keep to myself just for once. I'm tired of your constant interference and advice. Ah!" he sighed. "How strange life is! Samuel Statham, millionaire, they call me. I saw it in the _Pall Mall_ to-night. Rather Sam Statham, pauper--the Pauper of Park Lane! Ah! If the public only knew! If they only knew!" he gasped, halting suddenly and staring wildly about him. "What would be my future--what will it be when my enemies, like a pack of wolves, fall upon me and tear me limb from limb? Yes, yes, they'll do that if I am unable to save myself.

"But why need I antic.i.p.ate failure? What does the sacrifice of one woman matter when it will mean the a.s.surance of my future--my salvation from ruin?" he went on, speaking to himself in a low, hoa.r.s.e voice.

"It's a thing I cannot tell Levi. He must find it out. He will--one day--when the police inquiries give him the clue," and he snapped his own white fingers nervously and glanced at the clock in apprehension.

He threw down his cigar, for it had gone out a long time ago. Sam Statham's life had been made up of many crises, and one of these he was pa.s.sing through on that hot, breathless night after the motor-'buses had ceased their roar in Park Lane and tinkling cab-bells were few and far between.

One o'clock, the sound of the gong arousing him. He switched off the light, and, walking to the window, raised one of the slats of the Venetian blinds and peered out upon the pavement where so recently he had first recognised that man from the grave--the man Jean Adam.

He stood behind the blue brocade curtains, watching eagerly. The pa.s.sers-by were few--very few. Lower-cla.s.s London was mostly at Margate and Ramsgate, while "the West-End" was totally absent, in Scotland or at the sea.

He was wondering if Levi had really gone to bed. Or was he lurking there to ascertain who might be the visitor expected? Old Sam crept noiselessly to the door, and, opening it, peered out. The wide hall was now in darkness. Levi had, apparently, obeyed his orders and gone below to bed. And yet, so faithful was he to his trust that n.o.body could ever enter that house without him being aware of the ident.i.ty of the visitor.

Sometimes old Sam would regret the brusque manner in which he treated the man who was so entirely devoted to him and who shared so many of his secrets.

But the secret of that night he did not intend Levi to share. It was his--and should be his alone. And for that person he was waiting to himself open the door to his midnight caller.

He was about to close the study door again when he fancied he heard a slight movement in the darkness of the hall. "Levi!" he exclaimed angrily. "What are you doing here when I ordered you to retire?"

"I'm doing my duty," responded the old servant, advancing out of the shadow. "I do not wish you to go to the door alone, and at night. You do not take sufficient care of your personal safety."