The Pauper of Park Lane

by William Le Queux

wonder. To his words she made no response.

  "I hope the car I sent came for you as arranged?" he said, at oncechanging the subject.

  "Yes. The man arrived punctually," she answered at last. "But--"

  "But what?"

  "I ought never to have come here," she declared uneasily. "I will haveto go before Mr Cunnington to-morrow for being absent all night, andshall certainly be discharged. He will never hear excuse in any case.Instant dismissal is the hard and fast rule."

  "Not in your case, Miss Rolfe," replied the old millionaire. "Rememberthat it is not Mr Cunnington who controls Cunnington's, Limited. Ihave asked you here in order to speak to you in strictest confidence.Indeed, I want to take you into my confidence, if you'll allow me.Perhaps you will be absent from Oxford Street a week--perhaps a month.But when you return you will not find the vacancy filled." His coldeyes were fixed upon hers. She found a strange fascination in the oldman's glance, for he seemed to fix her and hold her immovable. Now, forthe first time she experienced what Charlie had so often told her,namely, that Samuel Statham could, when he so desired, exercise anextraordinary power over his fellow men.

  "Absent a month?" she echoed, staring at him. "What do you mean?"

  "What I say. The car is awaiting you at the Marble Arch, isn't it?"

  "I suppose so. The chauffeur put me down there--at your orders, Ibelieve."

  "I told you to put on a thick coat and motor-veil. I see you have doneas I wished. I want you to go on a long journey." She looked at thegrey, immovable face before her in sheer astonishment. To this man bothher brother Charlie and she herself owed their present happiness. Andyet he was a man of millions and of mystery. Charlie had always beenreticent regarding the strange tales concerning the house in which shenow found herself, a visitor there under compulsion. Max, on the otherhand, had often expressed wonder whether or not there was really anysubstratum of truth.

  As she sat there she recollected how, only a fortnight before, Max hadtold her the latest queer story regarding the mysterious mansion and itseccentric owner. What would he say if he knew that she had dared to goalone there--that she was seated in the old man's private room?

  Dared! If the truth were told, Sam Statham had written to her fullyhalf-a-dozen times, asking her to call upon him in secret in the eveningwhen her brother would have left, as he wished to speak with her. Eachtime she had replied making excuses, for within herself she could notimagine upon what business he wished to see her. She had only met himonce, on the day her brother took her to the City and asked his masterto secure her a berth at Cunnington's. The interview only lasted fiveminutes, and the impression he left upon her was that of a peevish,snappy old man who held all women in abhorrence.

  "Very well, very well, Rolfe," he had replied impatiently, "I'll writeto Cunnington's about your sister. Remind me to-morrow." Then, turningto her, he had wished her a hasty good-bye, and resumed his writing. Hehad hardly taken the trouble to look at her.

  Now, for the first time, he was gazing straight into her face, and shethought she detected in his eyes an expression of sadness, combined withkindliness. An expert in the reading of character, however, would havenoticed beneath that assumed kindliness was an expression of triumph.He had brought her there against her will. She was there at hisbidding, merely because she dare not offend the man to whom both Charlieand herself owed their daily bread.

  For a long time she had held out against all his strongly-expresseddesires to see her. His letters had been placed in her hand by aspecial messenger, and Mr Warner, "the buyer," had on two occasionswitnessed their delivery, and wondered who might be his assistant'scorrespondent. He never dreamed that it was Samuel Statham, the man whoheld the controlling interest in the huge concern.

  The writer of those letters particularly requested her not to mentionthe matter to her brother, therefore she more than once thought ofconsulting Max. But Statham's instructions was that she should regardthe matter as confidential so she had refrained, and at the same timehad met all his invitations with steady excuses.

  At last on the previous day came a tersely worded note, which made itplain that the millionaire would brook no refusal. She was to purchasea motor-cap and veil, and, wearing them, was, at an hour he appointed,to meet a dark red motor car that would be awaiting her at Addison Roadstation. In it she was to drive back to the Marble Arch, where he wasto alight and walk along Park Lane direct to the house, where he himselfwould admit her in secret. The writer added that she was to ask noquestions, and that no reply was needed. He would be expecting her.

  And so she had come there in utter ignorance of his motive for invitingher, and as she sat before him she became filled with apprehension.Hers was, she knew, an adventure of which neither Charlie nor Max wouldapprove.

  The clever old man read the girl's mind like an open book, and at oncesought to allay her misgivings.

  "I see," he said, smiling, "that you are not altogether at your ease.You're afraid of what people might say--eh? Your fellow-assistantswouldn't approve of you coming to see me at this hour, I suppose. Yes,"he laughed. "What is considered discreditable among the middle classesis deemed quite admissible in society. But who need know unless youyourself tell them?"

  "It will be known to-morrow morning that I was absent," she said.

  "Leave that to me. Only one person will know--Cunnington himself. Somake your mind quite easy upon that point, my dear young lady. I canquite understand your hesitation in coming here. It is, of course, onlynatural. But you must remember in what high esteem I held your father,and how for the sake of his memory I have taken your brother into myservice."

  "Before we go further, Mr Statham," exclaimed the girl, "I would liketo take this opportunity of thanking you for all you've done for both ofus. Had it not been for your generosity I'm sure Charlie would neverhave been in such a position."

  "Ah! you're very fond of your brother, eh?" he asked in his quick,brusque way, leaning back in his armchair and placing his handstogether.

  "Yes. He is so very good to me."

  "And you probably know something of his affairs?"

  "Very little. He doesn't tell me much."

  "He talks of me sometimes, I suppose?" remarked the old man with agood-humoured smile.

  "With the greatest admiration always, Mr Statham. He is devoted toyou," she declared.

  The old man moved uneasily, and gave a sniff of suspicion combined witha low grunt of satisfaction.

  "He's engaged to some foreign woman, I hear," he said. "You know her,of course."

  "You mean Maud Petrovitch. Yes, she is my friend."

  "Petrovitch--Petrovitch," he repeated, as though in ignorance of thefact. "I've heard that name before. Sounds like a Russian name."

  "Servian. She is the daughter of Doctor Petrovitch, the well-knownServian statesman."

  "Of course. I recollect now. He's been in the Ministry once or twice.I recollect having some dealings with him over the Servian Loan. He wasFinance Minister then. And so he is in love with her!" he said,reflectively. "If I remember aright, she's the only daughter. HisExcellency invited me to dine at his house in Belgrade one night a fewyears ago, and I saw her--a very pretty, dark-haired girl; she lookedmore French than Servian."

  "Her mother was English."

  "Ah!"

  And a dead silence fell, broken only by the low tinkle of a cab-belloutside.

  "So your brother is in love with the pretty daughter of the ex-Minister!What a happy circumstance is youth!" sighed the old man. "And youyourself?" he went on, staring straight at her. "You have a lover also!How can I ask? Of course, a beautiful girl like you must have alover."

  Marion blushed deeply--dropping her eyes from his. She was annoyed thathe should make such an outspoken comment, and yet she forgave him,knowing full well what an eccentric person he was.

  The truth was that the old man now, for the first time, realised howextremely good-looking was the sister of his secret
ary. He had beentold so by Mr Cunnington on one occasion, but he had heard withoutpaying attention. Yet as he now sat with his gaze fastened upon her hesaw how uneasy she was, and how anxious to escape from his presence.

  This rather piqued him. He had a suspicion that her brother might havesaid something to prejudice him in her estimation; therefore he exertedall his efforts to place her at her ease--efforts which, alas! had butlittle avail. The silence of that sombre but gorgeous room, the weirdmystery of the house itself, and the thin-faced man of millions himselfall combined to fill her with some instinctive dread. Alone there atthat hour, she felt herself completely in that man's