In Friendship's Guise

by William Murray Graydon

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  ON THE TRACK.

  In answer to Jimmie's question, Bertie gave him a puzzled look; heclearly did not understand. At the same instant the conversation in thenext room was brought to a close. Some person said "Good-morning,Benjamin," and there was a sound of a door closing and of retreatingfootsteps; one of the speakers had gone, probably by another exit. Thehouse, as Jimmie suspected, fronted on Duke street, and it was the rearportion that was connected with the court.

  The elderly Jew, who was Mr. Benjamin himself, promptly entered theoffice, adjusting a black skull-cap to his head. He gave a barelyperceptible start of surprise at sight of his visitors; he could nothave known that they were there. He apologized extravagantly, andinquired what he could have the pleasure of doing for them. Mr. Grimsbystated their business, and the Jew listened with an inscrutable face;his deep-sunken eyes blinked uneasily.

  "Do I understand," he said, addressing himself to the Honorable Bertie,"that you wish to take up not only the bill which is due to-day--"

  "No; all of them, Benjamin," Bertie interrupted. "My friend wants to payyou to the last penny."

  "I shall be happy to oblige," said the Jew, rubbing his hands. "I alwaysknew that you were an honest young gentleman, Mr. Raven. I am sorry thatI had to insist on payment, but my partner--"

  "Will you let me have the paper, sir," Jimmie put in, curtly.

  The Jew at once bestirred himself. He opened a safe in which littlebundles of documents were neatly arranged, and in a couple of minutes heproduced the sheaf of bills that had so nearly been the ruin of hisaristocratic young client. The first one was among the number; it hadbeen renewed several times, on Nevill's indorsement.

  The affair was quickly settled. The solicitor went carefully over Mr.Benjamin's figures, representing principal and interest up to date, andexpressed himself as satisfied; it was extortionate but legal, hedeclared. The sum total was a little over twenty-five hundredpounds--Bertie had received less than two-thirds of it in cash--andJimmie promptly hauled out a fat roll of Bank of England notes and paiddown the amount. He took the canceled paper, nodded coldly to the Jew,and left the money-lender's office with his companions.

  Mr. Grimsby, declining an invitation to lunch, hailed a cab and went offto the city to keep an appointment with a client. The other two walkedon to Piccadilly, and Bertie remembered that morning, months before,when Victor Nevill had helped him out of his difficulties, only to gethim into a tighter hole.

  "No person but myself was to blame," he thought. "Nevill meant it as akindness, and he advised me to pull up when he found what I was driftinginto--I never mentioned the last bill to him. Dear old Jimmie, he'sgiven me another chance! How jolly to feel that one is rid of such aburden! I haven't drawn an easy breath for weeks."

  "We'll go to my place first," said Jimmie. "I want a wash after theatmosphere of that Jew's den. And then we'll lunch together."

  It was a dull and cheerless day, but the sitting-room in the Albanylooked quite different to Bertie as he entered it. Was it only a fewhours before, he wondered, that he had stood there by the window in theact of taking that life which had become too great a burden to bear? Andin the blackness of his despair, when he saw no glimmer of hope, theclouds had rolled away. He glanced at the pistol, harmlessly resting ona shelf, and a rush of gratitude filled his heart and brought tears tohis eyes. He clasped his friend's hand and tried incoherently to thankhim.

  "Come, none of that," Jimmie said, brusquely. "Let us talk of somethingmore interesting. I have a pot of money; and this stuff," pulling outthe packet of bills, "don't even make a hole in it. It was a jollylittle thing to do--"

  "It wasn't a little thing for me, old chap. I shall never forget, andbe assured that you will get your money back some day, with interest."

  "Oh, hang the money!" exclaimed Jimmie. "If I'm ever hard up I'll askfor it. If you want to show your gratitude, my boy, see that you stickto your promise and run straight as a die hereafter."

  "I swear I will, Jimmie. I would be worse than a blackguard if I didn't.Don't worry--I've had my lesson!"

  "Then let it be a lasting one. There are plenty of fellows who _never_get clear of the Jews."

  Jimmie vanished into the next room, and in a few moments reappeared,rubbing his face vigorously with a towel.

  "Do you remember in the Jew's den," he said abruptly, "my calling yourattention to the men talking in the back office?"

  "Yes, but I didn't know what you meant."

  "Didn't one of the voices sound familiar to you?"

  "By Jove, you're right, come to think of it. It reminded me of--"

  "Of Victor Nevill," said Jimmie. "Benjamin's companion talked exactlylike him, it struck me."

  "That's it. Queer, wasn't it? But, of course, it was only a coincidence.Nevill couldn't have been there."

  "No; I hardly think so," Jimmie answered, slowly and seriously.

  "I'm positive about it," exclaimed Bertie. "Surely you wouldn'tinsinuate that Nevill is a--"

  "No, I can't believe him to be that--a tout for money-lenders. But itwas wonderfully like his voice."

  "Don't get such an idea into your head," protested Bertie. "Nevill wasonly in the place twice, and then he went to oblige me. He hates theJews, and won't have anything to do with them himself. And he don'tneed to. He has a settled income of two or three thousand a year."

  "Yet he refused to help you, and pleaded that he was hard up?"

  "Yes," assented Bertie, "but he didn't put it exactly in that way. Heexplained how he was fixed, and I quite understand it. He must save allhis spare cash just now. He is going to be married soon."

  "That's news," said Jimmie. "I hadn't an inkling of it."

  "Nor I," declared Bertie, "until a week ago. I was dining with Nevill,and he had taken half a bottle too much, you know. That's when he letit out."

  "Who is the girl?"

  "A Miss Foster, I believe. She lives somewhere near Kew Bridge, in abig, old-fashioned house on the river. I suppose her father has money.From what Nevill said--"

  A sharp exclamation fell from Jimmie's lips, and his face expressedblank astonishment.

  "By Jove! Nevill engaged to Madge Foster?" he cried.

  "That's the girl, and he's going to marry her!"

  Jimmie turned away to hide his feelings. This was a most astoundingpiece of news, but under the circumstances he was satisfied that itmust be true. So Nevill knew Miss Foster! That in itself was a strangerevelation! And suddenly a vague suspicion came into his mind--achilling doubt--as he recalled Nevill's demeanor, and certain littleactions of his, on the night when Jack Vernon's French wife confrontedhim under the trees of Richmond Terrace. Had a jealous rival plannedthat Diane should be there?--that she should come to life again to blastthe happiness of the man who believed her dead? He tried to put away thesuspicion, but it would not be stifled; it grew stronger.

  "I say, old man, what's gone wrong?" asked Bertie. "You're actingqueerly. I hope _you've_ not been hit in that quarter."

  Jimmie faced around and laughed.

  "No fear, Bertie," he said. "I'm not a marrying man. I wouldn't knowMiss Foster from your precious Flora, for I've never seen either ofthem." He suddenly remembered the photograph Jack had shown him, and hischeeks flushed. "It gave me a bit of a start to hear that Nevill wasgoing to be married," he added, hastily. "I thought he was too fond ofa bachelor's existence to tie himself to a wife."

  "It's funny what a woman can do with a chap," Bertie sagely observed.

  "_You_ ought to know," Jimmie replied, pointedly, as he pulled on hiscoat. "Come along! It's past my lunch hour, and I'm hungry."

  On their way to a noted restaurant in the vicinity Jimmy engaged in deepreflection.

  "I'll do it," he vowed, mentally. "I'll keep an eye on Mr. VictorNevill, and get to the bottom of this thing. I remember that I took adislike to him in Paris from the first. I hate a traitor, and if Nevillhas been playing the part of a false friend, I'll block his little game.He seemed
rather too anxious to take Diane away that night. And he'llbear watching for another reason--I'm almost certain that it was hisvoice I heard in the Jew's back room. Benjamin and Company, like charity,may cover a multitude of sins. Nevill was going a rapid pace when he wasabroad, and he couldn't well have kept it up all these years on hislegacy."

  * * * * *

  It was eleven o'clock at night, and the theatres were pouring theiraudiences from pit and stalls, galleries and boxes, into the crowded,tumultuous, clamoring Strand, blazing and flashing like a vast, longfurnace, echoing to the roar of raucous throats, and throbbing tothe rumble of an endless invasion of cabs and private carriages. Afascinating scene, and one of the most interesting that London can show.

  The uniformed commissionaire of the Ambiguity, reading the wishes of alady and gentleman who pressed across the pavement to the curb, promptlyclaimed a hansom and opened the door. Stephen Foster helped his daughterinto it and followed her. Madge looked fragile and tired, but her sweetbeauty attracted the attention of the bystanders; she drew her fluffyopera-cloak about her white throat and shoulders as she nestled in acorner of the seat. Nevill, who had been separated from them by thecrush, came forward just then.

  "I'm sorry you won't have some supper," he said. "It is not late."

  "It will be midnight before we get home," Stephen Foster replied. "Weare indebted to you for a delightful evening."

  "Yes, we enjoyed it _so_ much," Madge added, politely.

  "I hope you will let me repeat it soon," Nevill said.

  The girl did not answer. She held out her hand, and it was cold toNevill's touch. He bade them both good-night, and stepped aside to givethe cabby his directions. He watched the vehicle roll away, and thenscowled at the commissionaire, who waited expectantly for a tip.

  "As beautiful as a dream," he thought, savagely, "but with a heart ofice--at least to me. Will I never be able to melt her?"

  It is no easy matter to cross the Strand when the theaters are dismissingtheir audiences, and five minutes were required for Nevill to accomplishthat operation; even then he had to avail himself of a stoppage of thetraffic by a policeman. He bent his steps to the grill-room of the Grand,and enjoyed a chop and a small bottle of wine. Lighting a cigar, hesauntered slowly to Jermyn street, and as he reached his lodgings a manstarted up suddenly before him.

  "Beg pardon, sir," he said humbly, "but ain't you Mr. Victor Nevill?"