The Red Derelict Part 23

At this--put point-blank--the stranger stared, and the decanter which he had reached for, to fill up again, was held arrested in mid-air.

"Well, I'll get to it," he said, following out his immediate purpose, and tossing off a good half of the same. "I've been knocking about all my life--and it _has_ been a life, mind you--and now I want to squat.

Some nice, bright, pleasant neighbourhood where there's good company and a bit of sport to be had; like this, for instance."

"Quite natural," said the Squire pleasantly. "Made your pile, I suppose, and want to settle down and enjoy it."

The other winked.

"Not much 'pile,'" he said. "For the rest you're right. I do want to enjoy it--if by 'it' you mean life--and it strikes me this is just the corner of this little island to do it in." And down went the remainder of the gla.s.s.

The Squire was relieved to find that the liquor had no effect upon the man whatever, for though he had lowered practically a tumbler of it neat, and within a very short interval of time, he talked with the same easy, confident drawl, nor did his speech show any signs of thickening.

The said speech, by the way, was correct, and not by any means that of an uneducated person.

"And--the business?"

"That's it, Squire. I want a nice snug little box, where I can smoke my pipe in peace and stable a horse or two, and have a day's shooting now and again, and throw a fly when I want. That's reasonable, isn't it?"

"Quite. But, then--I'm not a house agent."

"Ha--ha--ha! Capital joke--capital! Well, for once in your life you shall be one--"

"Eh?"

"--And find me exactly what I want. I think the terms are easy. Only there is another trifling detail I forgot. You were mentioning a 'pile'

just now. Well, I haven't made any pile--rather the other way on. Now, that modest establishment I suggest will want a little keeping up--a banking account, you understand."

"Yes; it would want that."

"Well, then, you could arrange all that for me too," rejoined the stranger airily, though at heart somewhat disconcerted by the old diplomat's coolness. "Come, now; the terms are not hard. What do you think?"

"Shall I tell you what I think?"

"Do."

"I think you must be an escaped lunatic."

"Ah, you think that, do you? Well, I'm not going to lose my temper with you, Squire; in fact, I admire your gameness. But it's of no use. I like this part of the country, and I'm here to stay. When I've prospected around a little more I'll tell you which place I'll take, and how much it will require to keep up."

"Yes? Pray be modest when you do."

The other laughed. The mild sarcasm tickled him, and he felt so sure of his ground.

"I think I am, all things considered," he said. "Of course, we can break off the deal--right now. You are all right for your life, but what price when your son Wagram has to pack up and go, as, of course, he will? You have another son?"

"No."

"What? Oh, Squire! Ah, I see. You don't own him, and all that sort of thing. Well, I'm not surprised, and I don't blame you, for he's a hard case. Upon my word, he's a devilish hard case--one of the hardest cases I've ever struck, and that's saying a gaudy good deal. Well, now, I know exactly where to put my finger on him, and when Wagram has to pack, why, then, the other one--Everard--comes in. It'll all be his then, and won't he make things hum!"

"I should think he most probably would, unless he's vastly changed since I last saw him," smiled the old man, as if his visitor had just vented some pleasant witticism.

"Well, he hasn't--not for the better at any rate, from your point of view. You may take it from me, he won't refuse me what I am asking you--ay, and a great deal more besides. In fact, he daren't."

"In that case, why did you come to me at all if you could get so much more from him?"

"Don't you see, Squire, that would be a waiting game, and I don't prefer that if it can be avoided, for, of course, he couldn't touch a thing during your time."

"No; he couldn't--and certainly shouldn't."

"Very well, then. There's one motive, and here's another. What if I have a hankering--a genuine one--after respectability? What if I would rather settle down as a highly respectable neighbour of yours--you would find me all that, I promise you--than help 'blue' the whole show with Everard? No; don't smile so incredulously. A man with your cool reasoning faculties, which I have been admiring all along, ought to know human nature better."

"Now, look here, Mr Develin Hunt, or whatever you choose to call yourself," said the Squire, rising in his chair, as a hint to terminate the interview, and speaking in a crisp, decisive tone. "Do you really imagine that this precious concoction of yours is going to frighten or influence me in the slightest degree--because, if so, you don't know me at all--as, indeed, how should you? But I warn you that personation and blackmail are felonies in this country, and not only very severely punishable but generally very severely punished. So now I'll say good-bye; only lay my warning to heart, and don't come here with any more of these flimsy attempts to obtain money or I shall know next time how to treat them."

"Blackmail! Felony! Ugly words both," said the stranger cheerfully as he, too, rose. "Well, I'm not much afraid; only, let me echo your words: 'I shall know what to do next time' if you refuse to see me, and that will be to place the matter before your son Wagram. He'll think twice before allowing all the good you and he have done here--I have been taking observations, you see--to be wrecked at the sweet will of as cut-throat and piratical a 'tough' as ever escaped hanging, even though it be his own brother. Good-morning, Squire. Shall see you again in a few days. Looks as if we were going to have rain, doesn't it?

Good-morning."

He pa.s.sed through the door, which was being held open for him, for the Squire had already rung, and went down the stairs with jaunty step.

Then, as he heard the front door shut, Grantley Wagram sank back into his chair.

The sting of the whole interview lay in the parting words. About the man's ident.i.ty he had no doubt, and that his other and missing son should be the instrument for undoing all that had been done, and bringing the family to utter ruin! It was terrible! He could not so much as sit still to think about it. He felt cornered and trapped.

He went to the open window. The June sunshine was flooding over the richness of the foliage tossing in mountainous ma.s.ses against the cloudless blue. A perfect gurgle of bird voices in sweet harmony blended in unceasing song, and that clear, pure fragrance which you will only find in the open country came up with every waft of the summer air.

Red roofs nestling among the trees, near and far, where farm or tiny hamlet formed a cl.u.s.ter of dwellings--all the people represented by these looked up to him, and to him who should come after him, and the reflection only served to add bitterness to Grantley Wagram's meditations. He had striven to do his best for all these, in the truest and best sense of the word, and had no reason to believe his high aims had met with failure; indeed, it would have been false modesty to pretend to himself that the very reverse was not the case. Wagram had ably and whole-heartedly seconded him, and would continue to do so after his time. Yet now, if this would-be blackmailer could but furnish convincing proof of his ident.i.ty--ah, surely high Heaven would never permit such an undoing of its own work!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

FURTHER COUNSELS.

"Monsignor Culham, sir," announced a servant, throwing open the library door.

The Squire advanced with outstretched hand. "Ah, my dear old friend, I never was more glad to see you in my life."

"And how are you, Grantley? Upon my word, in spite of whatever it is that's bothering you, you are looking younger than ever."

"That'll soon remedy itself, unless we can devise some way out of this abominable tangle."

"Supposing, now, you let me in behind this same abominable tangle--for, of course, I have as yet no idea as to its nature."

A week had gone by since the visit of the African adventurer, but nothing further had been heard of or from that worthy. Clearly he was not going to hurry his victim unduly, but that he had given up his predatory scheme the said victim could not bring himself to believe.

In a matter involving weighty issues even the most shrewd and secretive of us may be excused for doubting his own judgment, or, at any rate, desiring to take counsel of another mind. Thus the situation, as laid down by the would-be blackmailer, had got upon even the cool nerves of the old diplomat; and upon whose judgment could he rely as he could upon that of his old friend?

"But you are only just off a journey," he now replied. "You must rest and refresh first."

"Neither, thanks; and the journey wasn't a long one. Now, begin."

"It's a tale soon told. My first wife--Wagram's mother--was married before. She honestly believed her husband to be dead; in fact, if certificates and all that sort of thing count as proof, she was justified in believing it. Afterwards he turned up, and tried blackmailing us."