The Profiteers Part 13

"You're spoiling every one's enjoyment, making a disturbance like this."

"Spoiling their enjoyment be hanged!" Dredlinton scoffed. "Tell you what, I'm going to make the party go. I'm going to have a bit of fun. What about an auction, eh?---an auction with two bidders only--both millionaires--one's a pal and the other isn't. Both want the same thing--happens to be mine. d.a.m.n! I never thought it was worth anything, but here goes. What'll you bid, Phipps?"

Phipps apprised the situation and decided upon his role. He had a very correct intuition as to what was likely to happen.

"Sit down and don't be an a.s.s, Dredlinton," he laughed. "Don't take the fellow seriously," he went on, speaking generally. "He's all right as long as you let him alone. You're all right, aren't you, Dredlinton?"

"Right as rain," was the confident reply. "But let's hear your bid, if you're going to make one."

"Bid? You've got nothing to sell," Phipps declared good humouredly, with a covert glance towards Wingate. "What are you getting rid of, eh? Your household goods?"

"Come on, Phipps," Dredlinton persisted. "You're not going to fade away like that. You've given me the straight tip. You were the only man in the running. Clear course. No jealousy. Up to you to step in and win. You've got a rival, I tell you. You'll have to bid or lose her. Open your mouth wide, man. Start it with ten thou."

"Sit down, you blithering jacka.s.s!" Phipps roared. "Give him a drink, some one, and keep him quiet."

"Don't want a drink," Dredlinton replied, shaking himself free from Kendrick's grasp. "Want to keep my head clear. Big deal, this. May reestablish the fortunes of a fallen family. Gad, it's a night for all you outsiders to remember, this!" he went on, glancing insolently around the table. "Don't often have the chance of seeing a n.o.bleman selling his household treasures. Come on, Wingate. Phipps is shy about starting.

Let's have your bid. What about ten thou, eh?"

Wingate came slowly around the table. His eyes never left Dredlinton.

Dredlinton, too, watched him like a cat, watched him drawing nearer and nearer.

"What, do you want to whisper your bid?" he jeered. "Out with it like a man! This is a unique opportunity. Heaven knows when you may get the chance again! Shall we say twenty thou, Wingate? A peeress and a saint!

Gad, they aren't to be picked up every day!"

"What on earth is he trying to sell?" Flossie demanded.

Dredlinton turned with an evil grin. He had at least the courage of a drunken man, for he took no account of Wingate towering over him.

"Don't you know?" he cried out. "Doesn't every one understand?"

"Stop!" Wingate ordered.

"And why the h.e.l.l should I stop for you?" Dredlinton shouted. "If Flossie wants to know, here's the truth. It's the least cherished of all my household goods. It's my wife."

Of what happened during the next few seconds, or rather of the manner of its happening, few people were able to render a coherent account. All that they remembered was a most amazing spectacle,--the spectacle of Wingate walking quietly to the door with Dredlinton in his arms, kicking and shouting smothered profanities, but absolutely powerless to free himself. The door was opened by a waiter, and Wingate pa.s.sed into the corridor. A _maitre d'hotel,_ with presence of mind, hurried up to him.

"Have you an empty room with a key?" Wingate asked.

The man led the way and pushed open the door of a small apartment used on busy occasions for a service room. Wingate thrust in his struggling burden and locked the door.

"Strong panels?" he enquired, pausing for a moment to listen to the blows directed upon them.

The head waiter smiled.

"They're more than one man can break through, sir," he a.s.sured him.

Wingate made his way back to the supper party. Half of the guests were on their feet. He met Sir Frederick near the door.

"Sorry, Sir Frederick, if I am in any way responsible for this little disturbance," he said, as he made his way towards his place. "I think if I were you, I should give this key to one of the commissionaires a little later on. Lord Dredlinton is quite safe for the present."

Sir Frederick patted him on the shoulder.

"Most unprovoked attack," he declared. "Delighted to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Wingate, you treated him exactly as he deserved."

Wingate resumed his place and held out his gla.s.s to the waiter. Then he raised it to his lips. The gla.s.s was full to the brim but his fingers were perfectly steady. He looked down the table towards Phipps, whose expression was noncommittal, and gently disemburdened himself of Flossie's arm, which had stolen through his.

"I think you are the most wonderful man I ever met," she confided.

"You're a brick," Sarah whispered in his ear. "Come and see me off the premises, there's a dear. Jimmy won't be ready for hours yet and I want to get home."

Wingate rose at once, made his adieux and accompanied Sarah to the door, followed by a reproachful glance from Flossie. The former took his arm and held it tightly as they pa.s.sed along the corridor.

"I think that you are the dearest man I ever knew, Mr. Wingate," she said, "just as I think that Josephine is the dearest woman, and I hope more than anything in the world--well, you know what I hope."

"I think I do," Wingate replied. "Thank you."

CHAPTER X

Andrew Slate, a very personable man in his spring clothes of grey tweed, took up his hat and prepared to depart. Half-past twelve had just struck by Wingate's clock, and the two men had been together since ten.

"You're a wonderful person, Wingate," Slate said, with a note of genuine admiration in his tone. "I don't believe there's another man breathing who would have had the courage to plan a coup like this."

Wingate shrugged his shoulders.

"The men who dig deep into life," he replied, as he shook hands, "are the men who take risks. I was never meant to be one of those who scratch about on the surface."

A note was slipped into his letter box as he let Slate out. He noticed the coronet on the envelope and opened it eagerly. A glance at the signature brought him disappointment. He read it slowly, with a hard smile upon his lips:

My dear Mr. Wingate,

I am writing to express to you my sincere and heartfelt regret for last night's unfortunate incident. I can do no more nor any less than to confess in plain words that I was drunk. It is a humiliating confession, but it happens to be the truth. Will you accept this apology in the spirit in which it is tendered, and wipe out the whole incident from your memory? I venture to hope and believe that you are sportsman enough to accede to my request.

Yours regretfully.

DREDLINTON.

Wingate was conscious of a feeling of disappointment as he threw the note upon the table. Open warfare was, after all, so much better. An _amende_ so complete left him with no alternative save acquiescence. Even while he was coming to this somewhat unwelcome decision, the telephone bell rang.

He took off the receiver and was instantly galvanised into attention. It was Josephine speaking.

"Is that Mr. Wingate?" she asked.

"It is," he admitted. "Good morning--Josephine!"

"Quite right," she answered composedly. "That is how I like to have you call me. I am speaking for my husband. He is here by my side at the present moment."