entireopposition with his generous instincts towards his less fortunate fellowmen.
One of his peculiarities of dress was that he always wore a piece ofgreasy black satin ribbon, tied loosely in a bow as a cravat. The samepiece did duty both by day and at evening.
His clothes, for the most part, hung upon his lean, shrunken limbs asthough they had been made for a much more robust man, and his hats wereindescribably greasy and out of date. When he went to the City Levicompelled him to put on his best silk hat and a decent frock coat, butoften of an afternoon he might be seen sitting alone in the Park andmistaken for some poor, broken-down old man the sadness of whose facecompelled sympathy.
This carelessness of dress appears to be one of the inevitable resultsof great fortune. A man should never be judged by his coat nowadays.The struggling clerk who lives in busy Brixton or cackling Croydonusually gives himself greater airs, and dresses far better than the headof the firm, while the dainty typewriter wears prettier blouses andneater footgear than his own out-door daughters, with their slang, their"pals," and their distorted ideas of maiden modesty.
But old Sam Statham had neither kith nor kin. He was a lonely man--howutterly lonely only he himself knew. He had only his perpetualcalculations of finance, his profit and loss accounts, and occasionalchats with the ever-faithful Levi to occupy his days. He seldom if everleft London. Even the stifling August days, when his clerks went to themountains or the sea, he still remained in London, because, as he openlydeclared, he hated to mix with strangers.
Curiously enough, almost the only man he trusted was his privatesecretary, Charlie Rolfe, the smart young man who came there from teno'clock till two each day, wrote his private letters, and was paid avery handsome salary.
Usually old Sam was a very quiet-mannered man whom nothing disturbed.But that morning he was distinctly upset. He had scarcely slept asingle wink, and his deep-sunken eyes and almost haggard face told of agreat anxiety wearing out his heart.
He tried to add up a long column of figures upon a sheet of paper beforehim, but gave it up with a deep sigh. Again he rose, glanced out of thewindow, audibly denounced in unmeasured terms a motor-'bus which,tearing past, caused his room to shake, and then returned to his table.
But he was far too impatient to sit there long, for again he rose andpaced the room, his grey brows knit in evident displeasure, his thin,bony hands clenched tightly, and from his lips escaping mutteredimprecations upon some person whom he did not name.
Once he laughed--a hard little laugh. His lip curled in exultanttriumph as he stuck his hands into the pockets of his shabby jacket andagain went to look over the _brise-brise_ curtains of pale pink silkinto the roadway.
For a moment he looked, then, with a start, he stood glaring out. Nextinstant he sprang back from the window with a look of terror upon hisblanched cheeks. He had caught sight of somebody whose presence therewas both unwelcome and unexpected, and the encounter had filled him withanxiety and dismay.
As he had gazed inquiringly forth, with his face close to thewindow-pane, his eyes had met those of a man of about his own age,shabby, with grey, ragged hair, threadbare clothes, broken boots, and asoft grey felt hat, darkly stained around the band--a tramp evidently.The stranger was leaning idly against the park railings, evidentlyregarding the house with some wonder, when the sad face of its masterhad appeared.
The pair glared at each other for one single second. Then Sam Statham,recognising in the other's crafty eyes a look of cruel, relentlessrevenge, started back into the room, breathless and deathly pale. Hestaggered to his chair, supporting himself by clutching at its back.
"Then they did not lie!" he gasped aloud. "He--he's alive--therefore soit's all over! I--I saw his intentions plainly written in his face.I've played the game and lost! He has returned, therefore I must facethe inevitable. Yes," he added, with that same bitter laugh, only thistime it was the hoarse, discordant laugh of a man who found himselfcornered, without any possible means of escape. "Yes--this is the end--I must die!--to-day!" And he whispered, glancing round the room asthough in terror of his own voice, "Yes--before the sun sets."
CHAPTER NINE.
IN WHICH LEVI GIVES ADVICE.
For fully five minutes Samuel Statham stood steadying himself by theback of his chair. His face was white and rigid, his jaw set, hisbreathing quick and excited, his hands trembling, his face full of asudden horror.
He had entirely changed. The sight of that shabby stranger had filledhim with fear.
Once or twice he glanced furtively at the window. Then, straighteninghimself in a vain endeavour to remain calm, he bent and crept back tothe window in order to ascertain whether the man still remained. Bentand out of sight he approached the lace-edged curtain and peered throughunseen.
Yes; the fellow was still there. He had lit his pipe with calmunconcern, and was leaning back against the railings in full view of thehouse. The man's attitude was that of complete triumph. Ah! what afool he had been to have shown himself so openly as he had done! Tothink that this man of all men was still alive!
He crept back again, trembling. His face was haggard and bloodless, thecountenance of a man whose future was but a blank--the dismal blank ofthe grave.
His whole body trembled as he sank into his writing-chair, and, leaninghis elbows upon the desk, he buried his face in his hands and sobbed.Yes; he, the hard-headed financier, whose influence was felt in everycorner of the world, the man who controlled millions and who loanedgreat sums to certain of the rulers of Europe, sobbed aloud.
"Ah!" he cried to himself, "I was a fool when I disbelieved them. Ithought that blackmail was their object in telling me the story of howthat man was alive and had been seen. Therefore I only laughed at themand took no precaution. Ah! I was a fool, and my foolishness must endfatally. There is no way out of it for me--only death. I've been afool--a confounded fool. I ought to have made certain; I ought not tohave taken any risk. I'm wiser now than I was then. Age has brought mewisdom as well as destroying my belief in the honesty of men and theloyalty of friends"; and as he sighed heavily, his brow still bent uponhis hand, he touched the bell, and old Levi appeared.
"Levi," he said, in a low unusual voice, "go quietly to that window and,without attracting attention, look outside at a man opposite."
The faithful old servant, somewhat surprised at these rather unusualinstructions, walked stealthily to the window and peered through thelace insertion of the _brise-brise_.
Scarcely had he done so than, with a cry, he withdrew, and facing hismaster, stood staring at him.
"Did you see anyone, Levi?" asked his master, raising his head suddenly.
"Yes," was the hoarse whisper of the man who stood there, white-faced infear. "It's him! I--I thought you said he was dead."
"No; he isn't! He's there in the flesh."
"And what are we to do?"
"What can we do? He recognised me a moment ago, and he's watching thehouse."
"Which means that you had better leave England for a considerable time."
"What!" cried Statham, in quick reproof. "What--run away? Never!"
"But--well, in the circumstances, don't you scent danger--a very gravedanger?" asked the old servant whose devotion to his master had alwaysbeen so marked.
"When I am threatened I always face my accuser. I shall do so now," wasthe great man's calm reply, even though it were in absolutecontradiction to his attitude only a few moments before. Perhaps it wasthat he did not wish old Levi to know his fear.
"But--but that can only result in disaster," remarked the old servant,who never addressed his master as "sir"--the pair were on too intimateterms for that. "If I might presume to advise, I think--"
"No, Levi," snapped the other; "you haven't any right to give advice inthis affair. I know my own business best, surely?"
"And that man knows as much as you do--and more."
"They told me he was alive, and I--fool that I was--disbelieved them!"the old millio
naire cried. "And there he is now, watching outside likea terrier outside a rat-hole. And I'm the rat, Levi--caught in my owntrap!"
"Is there no way out of this?" asked the other. "Surely you can escapeif you so desire--get away to America, or to the Continent."
"And what's the use. He'd follow. And even if he didn't, think of whathe can tell if he goes to the police."
"Yes; he could tell sufficient to cause Statham Brothers to close theirdoors--eh?" remarked the old servant very seriously.
"That's just it. I've been a confounded idiot. Rolfe warned me onlythe other day that the fellow was in London, but I said I wouldn'tbelieve him until I saw the man with my own eyes. To-day I haveactually seen him, and there can be
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