knew as much of the internal affairs of variouscountries as their finance ministers did themselves, and with theprivate affairs of some of his clients he was as well acquainted as weretheir own valets.
To the possession of sound but secret information much of the old man'ssuccess was due. The mysterious men and women who so often came andwent to that house all poured into his ear facts they had gathered--facts which he afterwards duly noted in the locked green-covered bookwhich he kept in the security of his safe.
Surely the contents of that book would, if published, have created ahuge sensation; for there were noted there many ugly incidents in thelives of the men who were most prominent in Europe, together, be itsaid, with facts concerning them that were highly creditable, andsometimes counterbalanced the black pages in their history.
And this man of many secrets stood there thwarted by a mere chit of agirl!
He regarded her coldly with expressionless eyes. His gaze caused her toshudder. She withdrew from him with instinctive dislike. About thisman of millions, whose touch turned everything to gold, there seemed toher something superhuman, something indescribably fearsome. His verygaze seemed to fascinate her, and yet at the same time she regarded himwith distrust and horror. She was a fool, she told herself, ever tohave listened to his appeal. She ought to have had sense enough to knowthat by bringing her there at that hour he had some sinister motive.
His motive was to wring from her the words of Maud Petrovitch.
Suddenly he altered his tactics, and, drawing her chair forward again,said:
"Let us sit down and talk of something else. You look pale. May Ioffer you something?"
"No, thank you," she replied. It was true that his threatening words afew moments ago had upset her, therefore she was glad to be seatedagain. He evidently did not intend that she should leave yet.
Having re-seated himself near his writing-table, he said: "As Iexplained, I want you, if you will, to go on a journey for me. The caris awaiting you round in Deanery Street."
"A journey? Is it far?"
"That all depends--if you are prepared to render me this service," hereplied.
"I am prepared to render you any service, Mr Statham, that is within mypower, and my conscience permits me," she said in a firm voice.
"Ah, now, that's better. We're beginning to be friends. When you knowme, you will not accuse me of ungentlemanly conduct--especially towardsa woman. But," he added with a laugh, "I'm a woman hater. I daresayyou've heard that about me--eh?"
She smiled also.
"Well--yes. I've heard that you are not exactly a ladies' man. Butsurely you are not alone in the world in that!"
"If all men were like me, Miss Rolfe," he said, "there wouldn't be muchwork for the parsons in the matter of marrying."
"You've been unfortunate, perhaps, in your female acquaintances," sheventured to suggest. His manner towards her had altered, therefore shewas again perfectly at her ease.
"Yes," he sighed. "You have guessed correctly--unfortunate."
And then a dead silence fell, and Marion, watching his face, saw that hewas reflecting deeply.
Of a sudden, he looked straight into her face again, and said:
"You have a lover, Miss Rolfe--and you are happy. Is not that so?"
The girl blushed deeply at this unexpected statement. How could the oldman possibly know, unless some of the people at Cunnington's had carriedtales to him. Perhaps Mr Warner had told Mr Cunnington, and he hadspoken to the millionaire!
"I see," he laughed, "that I've spoken the truth. Max Barclay lovesyou, doesn't he? He's a friend of your brother's. I know him, andallow me to congratulate you. He's a thoroughly good fellow, and wouldbe better if he'd keep off hazardous speculation."
She did not reply. The old man's final sentence impressed her. Max'sspeculations were hazardous. This was news to her.
"You don't deny that you love young Barclay, do you?" the old mandemanded.
She hesitated, her cheeks crimsoning.
"Well, why should I?" she asked. "He is very good to me--very good,indeed."
"That's right," he said approvingly. "If I did not think him an honest,upright fellow I should warn you against him. Girls in your dependentposition, you know, are too frequently victims of men whom the worldcall gentlemen. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes," she answered in a low voice. She was impressed by his solicitudeon her behalf. In his eyes was a kindly glance, and she began todeclare within herself that she had misjudged him.
"Well," he went on, "when it came to my knowledge that Max Barclay waspaying court to you, and that you were seen together of an evening andon Sundays, it gave me great satisfaction. I owe a debt of gratitude toyour poor father, Miss Rolfe, and I am endeavouring to repay it to hischildren. Therefore I admit to you now that more than once I wonderedwhat kind of lover would be yours. I anticipated annoyance, but, on thecontrary, I have only the most complete satisfaction."
"I am sure, Mr Statham, it is very kind of you to say this. And surelyit is very generous of you to take in interest in Charlie and myself."
"It is not a matter of kindness, but a matter of duty," he said. "Wewere talking of Barclay. How did you meet him?"
"Charlie introduced him to me one Sunday afternoon in the Park."
"And he has promised you marriage? Tell me frankly." She nodded, againblushing deeply.
"Then you have my very heartiest wishes for your future happiness," hedeclared with a pleasant smile. "Mind I am told the date, so that I cansend you the usual teapot!"
Whereat they both laughed in chorus. The old man could be charming whenhe wished.
"Oh! we shan't be married for a long time yet, I suppose!" Marionexclaimed. "Max talks of going with a shooting party up the Zambesinext spring. They'll be away a full year, I expect."
"And you'll be left all alone?" he said in a tone of surprise. "No, Idon't think he'll do that. He ought not to leave you alone atCunnington's."
"Oh, but he's going out to Turkey now--in a few days I think. He hassome financial business out there. Something which will bring him in avery big sum of money."
"Oh, what's its nature?" asked the old financier, instantly pricking uphis ears.
"I believe it's a concession from the Sultan for the construction of arailway from some place on the Servian frontier, across NorthernAlbania, down to San Giovanni di Medua--if I pronounce the name aright--on the Adriatic."
"What!" cried Statham, starting up. "Are you quite certain of this?"
"Yes; why?" she asked, surprised at the sudden effect her words hadproduced upon him.
"Well--well, because this is a surprise to me, Miss Rolfe," he said."Tell me the details, as far as you know them. Has he spoken to youabout it?"
"Yes. He is hesitating to go, not wishing to leave me."
"Of course. Did I not tell you so a moment ago?" he remarked with asmile. "But are you aware that this concession, if the Sultan reallygives it, is of the greatest importance to the commercial development ofthe Near East? There are big interests involved, and correspondinglybig profits. Curious that I have not heard anything of the schemelately! It's a dream that every Balkan statesman has had for the pastfifteen years--the creating of an outlet for trade to the Adriatic; butthe Sultan could never be induced to allow the line to run through hisdominion. He is not too friendly with either Bulgaria or Servia. Ithought I was being kept well informed of all the openings inConstantinople where British capital can be employed. Yet I haven'theard anything of this long discussed scheme for quite a year."
"Your informants believe, perhaps, that it would not interest you?"
"Interest me!" he echoed. "Why, they could not successfully carry itthrough in London without my aid--or, at least, without my consent.Whoever is getting the concession--if it is being obtained at all, whichI very much doubt--knows full well that in the long run he must come toSam Statham. Do you happen to know who, besides Barclay, is interestedin the sc
heme?"
"There is a French gentleman--a friend of Max's--who wants him to go toConstantinople with him."
"What is his name? I may probably know him?"
"Adam--Jean Adam."
"Jean Adam!" gasped the old man. "Jean Adam--a friend of Max Barclay?"
"Yes," she answered, staring at him. "Why?"
"Why, girl!" he cried roughly. "Don't ask me why? But tell me allabout it--tell me at once!"
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
MAN'S BROKEN
The Pauper of Park Lane Page 39