The Second E. F. Benson Megapack

by E. F. Benson

  Then for the first time the inherent strength of the quietness of the one man as opposed to the obvious quickness and comprehension of the other came into play.

  “I think that I disagree with you there, my dear fellow,” said Mr. Taynton slowly, “though when I have told you all, I shall be of course, as always, delighted to recognise the superiority of your judgment, should you disagree with me, and convince me of the correctness of your view. It has happened, I know, a hundred times before that you with your quick intuitive perceptions have been right.”

  But his partner interrupted him. He quite agreed with the sentiment, but he wanted to learn without even the delay caused by these complimentary remarks, the upshot of Taynton’s rash proposal to Morris.

  “What did young Assheton say?” he asked.

  “Well, my dear fellow,” said Taynton, “though I have really no doubt that in principle I did a rash thing, in actual practice my step was justified, because Morris absolutely refused to look at the books. Of course I know the young fellow well: it argues no perspicuity on my part to have foreseen that. And, I am glad to say, something in my way of putting it, some sincerity of manner I suppose, gave rise to a fresh mark of confidence in us on his part.”

  Mr. Taynton cleared his throat; his quietness and complete absence of hurry was so to speak, rapidly overhauling the quick, nimble mind of the other.

  “He asked me in fact to continue being steward of his affairs in any event. Should he marry tomorrow I feel no doubt that he would not spend a couple of minutes over his financial affairs, unless, unless, as you foresaw might happen, he had need of a large lump sum. In that case, my dear Mills, you and I would—would find it impossible to live elsewhere than in the Argentine Republic, were we so fortunate as to get there. But, as far as this goes I only say that the step of mine which you felt to be dangerous has turned out most auspiciously. He begged me, in fact, to continue even after he came of age, acting for him at my present rate of remuneration.”

  Mr. Mills was listening to this with some attention. Here he laughed dryly.

  “That is capital, then,” he said. “You were right and I was wrong. God, Taynton, it’s your manner you know, there’s something of the country parson about you that is wonderfully convincing. You seem sincere without being sanctimonious. Why, if I was to ask young Assheton to look into his affairs for himself, he would instantly think there was something wrong, and that I was trying bluff. But when you do the same thing, that simple and perfectly correct explanation never occurs to him.”

  “No, dear Morris trusts me very completely,” said Taynton. “But, then, if I may continue my little review of the situation, as it now stands, you and your talk with Sir Richard have vastly decreased the danger of his marrying. For, to be frank, I should not feel at all secure if that happened. Miss Templeton is an heiress herself, and Morris might easily take it into his head to spend ten or fifteen thousand pounds in building a house or buying an estate, and though I think I have guarded against his requiring an account of our stewardship, I can’t prevent his wishing to draw a large sum of money. But your brilliant manoeuvre may, we hope, effectually put a stop to the danger of his marrying Miss Templeton, and since I am convinced he is in love with her, why”—Mr. Taynton put his plump finger-tips together and raised his kind eyes to the ceiling—“why, the chance of his wanting to marry anybody else is postponed anyhow, till, till he has got over this unfortunate attachment. In fact, my dear fellow, there is no longer anything immediate to fear, and I feel sure that before many weeks are up, the misfortunes and ill luck which for the last two years have dogged us with such incredible persistency will be repaired.”

  Mills said nothing for the moment but splashed himself out a liberal allowance of brandy into his glass, and mixed it with a somewhat more carefully measured ration of soda. He was essentially a sober man, but that was partly due to the fact that his head was as impervious to alcohol as teak is to water, and it was his habit to indulge in two, and those rather stiff, brandies and sodas of an evening. He found that they assisted and clarified thought.

  “I wish to heaven you hadn’t found it necessary to let young Assheton know that his £30,000 had increased to £40,000,” he said. “That’s £10,000 more to get back.”

  “Ah, it was just that which gave him, so he thought, such good cause for reposing complete confidence in me,” remarked Mr. Taynton. “But as you say, it is £10,000 more to get back, and I should not have told him, were not certain ledgers of earlier years so extremely, extremely unmistakable on the subject.”

  “But if he is not going to look at ledgers at all—” began Mills.

  “Ah, the concealment of that sort of thing is one of the risks which it is not worth while to take,” said the other, dropping for a moment the deferential attitude.

  Mills was silent again. Then:

  “Have you bought that option in Boston Coppers,” he asked.

  “Yes; I bought today.”

  Mills glanced at the clock as Mr. Taynton rose to go.

  “Still only a quarter to twelve,” he said. “If you have time, you might give me a detailed statement. I hardly know what you have done. It won’t take a couple of minutes.”

  Mr. Taynton glanced at the clock likewise, and then put down his hat again.

  “I can just spare the time,” he said, “but I must get home by twelve; I have unfortunately come out without my latchkey, and I do not like keeping the servants up.”

  He pressed his fingers over his eyes a moment and then spoke.

  * * * *

  Ten minutes later he was in the bird-cage of the lift again, and by twelve he had been admitted into his own house, apologising most amiably to his servant for having kept him up. There were a few letters for him and he opened and read those, then lit his bed-candle and went upstairs, but instead of undressing, sat for a full quarter of an hour in his armchair thinking. Then he spoke softly to himself.

  “I think dear Mills means mischief in some way,” he said. “But really for the moment it puzzles me to know what. However, I shall see tomorrow. Ah, I wonder if I guess!”

  Then he went to bed, but contrary to custom did not get to sleep for a long time. But when he did there was a smile on his lips; a patient contented smile.

  CHAPTER III

  Mr. Taynton’s statement to his partner, which had taken him so few minutes to give, was of course concerned only with the latest financial operation which he had just embarked in, but for the sake of the reader it will be necessary to go a little further back, and give quite shortly the main features of the situation in which he and his partner found themselves placed.

  Briefly then, just two years ago, at the time peace was declared in South Africa, the two partners of Taynton and Mills had sold out £30,000 of Morris Assheton’s securities, which owing to their excellent management was then worth £40,000, and seeing a quite unrivalled opportunity of making their fortunes, had become heavy purchasers of South African mines, for they reasoned that with peace once declared it was absolutely certain that prices would go up. But, as is sometimes the way with absolute certainties, the opposite had happened and they had gone down. They cut their loss, however, and proceeded to buy American rails. In six months they had entirely repaired the damage, and seeing further unrivalled opportunities from time to time, in buying motorcar shares, in running a theatre and other schemes, had managed a month ago to lose all that was left of the £30,000. Being, therefore, already so deeply committed, it was mere prudence, the mere instinct of self-preservation that had led them to sell out the remaining £10,000, and today Mr. Taynton had bought an option in Boston Copper with it. The manner of an option is as follows:

  Boston Copper today was quoted at £5 10S 6d, and by paying a premium of twelve shillings and sixpence per share, they were entitled to buy Boston Copper shares any time within the next three months at a price of £6 3s. Supposing therefore (as Mr. Taynton on very good authority had supposed) that Boston Copper, a rapidly improvi
ng company, rose a couple of points within the next three months, and so stood at £7 10S 6d; he had the right of exercising his option and buying them at £6 3S thus making £1 7S 6d per share. But a higher rise than this was confidently expected, and Taynton, though not really of an over sanguine disposition, certainly hoped to make good the greater part if not all of their somewhat large defalcations. He had bought an option of 20,000 shares, the option of which cost (or would cost at the end of those months) rather over£10,000. In other words, the moment that the shares rose to a price higher than £6 3s, all further appreciation was pure gain. If they did not rise so high, he would of course not exercise the option, and sacrifice the money.

  That was certainly a very unpleasant thing to contemplate, but it had been more unpleasant when, so far as he knew, Morris was on the verge of matrimony, and would then step into the management of his own affairs. But bad though it all was, the situation had certainly been immensely ameliorated this evening, since on the one hand his partner had, it was not unreasonable to hope, said to Madge’s father things about Morris that made his marriage with Madge exceedingly unlikely, while on the other hand, even if it happened, his affairs, according to his own wish, would remain in Mr. Taynton’s hands with the same completeness as heretofore. It would, of course, be necessary to pay him his income, and though this would be a great strain on the finances of the two partners, it was manageable. Besides (Mr. Taynton sincerely hoped that this would not be necessary) the money which was Mrs. Assheton’s for her lifetime was in his hands also, so if the worst came to the worst—

  Now the composition and nature of the extraordinary animal called man is so unexpected and unlikely that any analysis of Mr. Taynton’s character may seem almost grotesque. It is a fact nevertheless that his was a nature capable of great things, it is also a fact that he had long ago been deeply and bitterly contrite for the original dishonesty of using the money of his client. But by aid of those strange perversities of nature, he had by this time honestly and sincerely got to regard all their subsequent employments of it merely as efforts on his part to make right an original wrong. He wanted to repair his fault, and it seemed to him that to commit it again was the only means at his disposal for doing so. A strain, too, of Puritan piety was bound up in the constitution of his soul, and in private life he exercised high morality, and was also kind and charitable. He belonged to guilds and societies that had as their object the improvement and moral advancement of young men. He was a liberal patron of educational schemes, he sang a fervent and fruity tenor in the choir of St. Agnes, he was a regular communicant, his nature looked toward good, and turned its eyes away from evil. To do him justice he was not a hypocrite, though, if all about him were known, and a plebiscite taken, it is probable that he would be unanimously condemned. Yet the universal opinion would be wrong: he was no hypocrite, but only had the bump of self-preservation enormously developed. He had cheated and swindled, but he was genuinely opposed to cheating and swindling. He was cheating and swindling now, in buying the option of Boston Copper. But he did not know that: he wanted to repair the original wrong, to hand back to Morris his fortune unimpaired, and also to save himself. But of these two wants, the second, it must be confessed, was infinitely the stronger. To save himself there was perhaps nothing that he would stick at. However, it was his constant wish and prayer that he might not be led into temptation. He knew well what his particular temptation was, namely this instinct of self-preservation, and constantly thought and meditated about it. He knew that he was hardly himself when the stress of it came on him; it was like a possession.

  Mills, though an excellent partner and a man of most industrious habits, had, so Mr. Taynton would have admitted, one little weak spot. He never was at the office till rather late in the morning. True, when he came, he soon made up for lost time, for he was possessed, as we have seen, of a notable quickness and agility of mind, but sometimes Taynton found that he was himself forced to be idle till Mills turned up, if his signature or what not was required for papers before work could be further proceeded with. This, in fact, was the case next morning, and from half past eleven Mr. Taynton had to sit idly in his office, as far as the work of the firm was concerned until his partner arrived. It was a little tiresome that this should happen today, because there was nothing else that need detain him, except those deeds for the execution of which his partner’s signature was necessary, and he could, if only Mills had been punctual, have gone out to Rottingdean before lunch, and inspected the Church school there in the erection of which he had taken so energetic an interest. Timmins, however, the gray-haired old head clerk, was in the office with him, and Mr. Taynton always liked a chat with Timmins.

  “And the grandson just come home, has he Mr. Timmins?” he was saying. “I must come and see him. Why he’ll be six years old, won’t he, by now?”

  “Yes, sir, turned six.”

  “Dear me, how time goes on! The morning is going on, too, and still Mr. Mills isn’t here.”

  He took a quill pen and drew a half sheet of paper toward him, poised his pen a moment and then wrote quickly.

  “What a pity I can’t sign for him,” he said, passing his paper over to the clerk. “Look at that; now even you, Timmins, though you have seen Mr. Mills’s handwriting ten thousand times, would be ready to swear that the signature was his, would you not?”

  Timmins looked scrutinisingly at it.

  “Well, I’m sure, sir! What a forger you would have made!” he said admiringly. “I would have sworn that was Mr. Mills’s own hand of write. It’s wonderful, sir.”

  Mr. Taynton sighed, and took the paper again.

  “Yes, it is like, isn’t it?” he said, “and it’s so easy to do. Luckily forgers don’t know the way to forge properly.”

  “And what might that be, sir?” asked Timmins.

  “Why, to throw yourself mentally into the nature of the man whose handwriting you wish to forge. Of course one has to know the handwriting thoroughly well, but if one does that one just has to visualise it, and then, as I said, project oneself into the other, not laboriously copy the handwriting. Let’s try another. Ah, who is that letter from? Mrs. Assheton isn’t it. Let me look at the signature just once again.”

  Mr. Taynton closed his eyes a moment after looking at it. Then he took his quill, and wrote quickly.

  “You would swear to that, too, would you not, Timmins?” he asked.

  “Why, God bless me yes, sir,” said he. “Swear to it on the book.”

  The door opened and as Godfrey Mills came in, Mr. Taynton tweaked the paper out of Timmins’s hand, and tore it up. It might perhaps seem strange to dear Mills that his partner had been forging his signature, though only in jest.

  “’Fraid I’m rather late,” said Mills.

  “Not at all, my dear fellow,” said Taynton without the slightest touch of ill-humour. “How are you? There’s very little to do; I want your signature to this and this, and your careful perusal of that. Mrs. Assheton’s letter? No, that only concerns me; I have dealt with it.”

  A quarter of an hour was sufficient, and at the end Timmins carried the papers away leaving the two partners together. Then, as soon as the door closed, Mills spoke.

  “I’ve been thinking over our conversation of last night,” he said, “and there are some points I don’t think you have quite appreciated, which I should like to put before you.”

  Something inside Mr. Taynton’s brain, the same watcher perhaps who looked at Morris so closely the evening before, said to him. “He is going to try it on.” But it was not the watcher but his normal self that answered. He beamed gently on his partner.

  “My dear fellow, I might have been sure that your quick mind would have seen new aspects, new combinations,” he said.

  Mills leaned forward over the table.

  “Yes, I have seen new aspects, to adopt your words,” he said, “and I will put them before you. These financial operations, shall we call them, have been going on for two years now, hav
e they not? You began by losing a large sum in South Africans—”

  “We began,” corrected Mr. Taynton, gently. He was looking at the other quite calmly; his face expressed no surprise at all; if there was anything in his expression beyond that of quiet kindness, it was perhaps pity.

  “I said ‘you,’” said Mills in a hectoring tone, “and I will soon explain why. You lost a large sum in South Africans, but won it back again in Americans. You then again, and again contrary to my advice, embarked in perfect wild-cat affairs, which ended in our—I say ‘our’ here—getting severely scratched and mauled. Altogether you have frittered away£30,000, and have placed the remaining ten in a venture which to my mind is as wild as all the rest of your unfortunate ventures. These speculations have, almost without exception, been choices of your own, not mine. That was one of the reasons why I said ‘you,’ not ‘we.’”

  He paused a moment.

  “Another reason is,” he said, “because without any exception the transactions have taken place on your advice and in your name, not in mine.”

  That was a sufficiently meaning statement, but Mills did not wish his partner to be under any misapprehension as to what he implied.

  “In other words,” he said, “I can deny absolutely all knowledge of the whole of those operations.”

  Mr. Taynton gave a sudden start, as if the significance of this had only this moment dawned on him, as if he had not understood the first statement. Then he seemed to collect himself.

  “You can hardly do that,” he said, “as I hold letters of yours which imply such knowledge.”

  Mills smiled rather evilly.

  “Ah, it is not worth while bluffing,” he said. “I have never written such a letter to you. You know it. Is it likely I should?”

  Mr. Taynton apparently had no reply to this. But he had a question to ask.

  “Why are you taking up this hostile and threatening attitude?”

  “I have not meant to be hostile, and I have certainly not threatened,” replied Mills. “I have put before you, quite dispassionately I hope, certain facts. Indeed I should say it was you who had threatened in the matter of those letters, which, unhappily, have never existed at all. I will proceed.