CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
BLACKMAIL?
Grantley Wagram sat alone in his library--thinking.
When a man thus sits, with an open letter in front of him, at which hegazes from time to time, with a contraction of the brows, it is safe toassume that his thoughts are hardly pleasant; and such, indeed,represented the state of the old Squire's mind.
The correspondence which troubled him was not quite recent--that is tosay, it was some days old. But, great Heaven! the issue it involved ifthe statements therein set forth were true! It speaks volumes for theold man's marvellous self-control that he should have gone through thatperiod evincing no sign whatever that anything had occurred to threatenhis normal urbanity--no, not even to his son; and yet, day and night,awake, and even asleep, the matter had been uppermost in his thoughts.Now, those thoughts for the hundredth time seemed to voice the twowords: Only Blackmail! And yet--and yet--he knew that it was blackmailfrom which there would be no escape.
He took up the letter and scanned it, then let it fall again with aweary sigh. There was a genuine ring about the tone of thecommunication. No; there could hardly be two Develin Hunts.
Well, a few moments would decide, for the letter which troubled him wassubscribed with that name, and the writer promised to call that verymorning--in fact, might arrive any moment.
Even then there came a tap at the door, and the servant who enteredannounced the arrival of a stranger.
"Show him up here," said the Squire.
The first thing the new-comer did was to look deliberately around,return to the door, open it, and look outside. Then, closing it, hecame back, seated himself opposite the Squire, and said:
"Don't you know me?"
"No."
"Look again. You know me right enough, though we've neither of us grownany younger."
"Not from Adam." And Grantley Wagram leaned back in his chair, as ifthere were no more to be said.
"Never heard my name before, eh?" said the stranger sneeringly.
"N-no. Wait. Let's see. Now I remember I read it in connection withsome shipwreck. Are you the person referred to?"
"That I am. And a hell of a time I had of it. By the Lord, we allhad."
"I can quite believe that," said the Squire. "That castaway businessmust be one of the most ghastly situations imaginable."
"Quite right, Squire. Come, now, I believe you're not half a bad sortafter all. I believe we are going to understand each other."
The old diplomat made no immediate reply as he leaned back in his chairand watched the other. He saw before him a tallish man, somewhatloosely hung, but conveying an idea of wiriness and strengths. Theface, tanned a red brown, might very well have been good-looking at onetime; now somewhat bloodshot eyes and an indescribable something toldthat its owner had lived hard and wildly, and that in wild, hard places.
"Yes; I believe you're not half a bad sort, Squire," repeated thestranger, pulling at his short white beard--"far too good a sort not tohave _forgotten_ that a man might have a thirst after a walk on a hotmorning; for I walked over here, mind."
"To be sure, I had forgotten," said the Squire, with a pleasant laugh,as he touched an electric button on the table. "What do you fancy? Aglass of wine?"
"Wine? No, thanks. Scotch is good enough for me, especially goodScotch--and it's bound to be that here," with a comprehensive sweep ofthe hand round the library.
A servant appearing, the whisky was ordered and brought, Grantley Wagramthe while uneasily hoping that it would not have the effect of makinghis unwelcome visitor uproarious.
"Soda? No, thanks," said the latter emphatically; "that'll do for thosestay-at-home popinjays who loaf about clubs, not for a man who's lived.Ah! That's real good," swallowing at a gulp half the four-fingermeasure he had poured out for himself. "Soft, mellow as milk. Squire,you're not with me."
"Not--?"
"Not with me. It isn't usual in places I've been for one man to drinkand another to look on."
"Oh, I see. I must ask you to take the will for the deed. This is thewrong end of the day with me for that sort of thing."
"Oh, but--it'll never do," returned the other in an injured tone,gulping down the remains of his glass. "We shall never get to businessthat way."
"Perhaps even better," said the Squire pleasantly. "Well, now--what isyour business?"
At this--put point-blank--the stranger stared, and the decanter which hehad reached for, to fill up again, was held arrested in mid-air.
"Well, I'll get to it," he said, following out his immediate purpose,and tossing off a good half of the same. "I've been knocking about allmy life--and it _has_ been a life, mind you--and now I want to squat.Some nice, bright, pleasant neighbourhood where there's good company anda bit of sport to be had; like this, for instance."
"Quite natural," said the Squire pleasantly. "Made your pile, Isuppose, and want to settle down and enjoy it."
The other winked.
"Not much `pile,'" he said. "For the rest you're right. I do want toenjoy it--if by `it' you mean life--and it strikes me this is just thecorner of this little island to do it in." And down went the remainderof the glass.
The Squire was relieved to find that the liquor had no effect upon theman whatever, for though he had lowered practically a tumbler of itneat, and within a very short interval of time, he talked with the sameeasy, confident drawl, nor did his speech show any signs of thickening.The said speech, by the way, was correct, and not by any means that ofan uneducated person.
"And--the business?"
"That's it, Squire. I want a nice snug little box, where I can smoke mypipe in peace and stable a horse or two, and have a day's shooting nowand again, and throw a fly when I want. That's reasonable, isn't it?"
"Quite. But, then--I'm not a house agent."
"Ha--ha--ha! Capital joke--capital! Well, for once in your life youshall be one--"
"Eh?"
"--And find me exactly what I want. I think the terms are easy. Onlythere is another trifling detail I forgot. You were mentioning a `pile'just now. Well, I haven't made any pile--rather the other way on. Now,that modest establishment I suggest will want a little keeping up--abanking account, you understand."
"Yes; it would want that."
"Well, then, you could arrange all that for me too," rejoined thestranger airily, though at heart somewhat disconcerted by the olddiplomat's coolness. "Come, now; the terms are not hard. What do youthink?"
"Shall I tell you what I think?"
"Do."
"I think you must be an escaped lunatic."
"Ah, you think that, do you? Well, I'm not going to lose my temper withyou, Squire; in fact, I admire your gameness. But it's of no use. Ilike this part of the country, and I'm here to stay. When I'veprospected around a little more I'll tell you which place I'll take, andhow much it will require to keep up."
"Yes? Pray be modest when you do."
The other laughed. The mild sarcasm tickled him, and he felt so sure ofhis ground.
"I think I am, all things considered," he said. "Of course, we canbreak off the deal--right now. You are all right for your life, butwhat price when your son Wagram has to pack up and go, as, of course, hewill? You have another son?"
"No."
"What? Oh, Squire! Ah, I see. You don't own him, and all that sort ofthing. Well, I'm not surprised, and I don't blame you, for he's a hardcase. Upon my word, he's a devilish hard case--one of the hardest casesI've ever struck, and that's saying a gaudy good deal. Well, now, Iknow exactly where to put my finger on him, and when Wagram has to pack,why, then, the other one--Everard--comes in. It'll all be his then, andwon't he make things hum!"
"I should think he most probably would, unless he's vastly changed sinceI last saw him," smiled the old man, as if his visitor had just ventedsome pleasant witticism.
"Well, he hasn't--not for the better at any rate, from your point ofview. You may take it from me, he won't ref
use me what I am askingyou--ay, and a great deal more besides. In fact, he daren't."
"In that case, why did you come to me at all if you could get so muchmore from him?"
"Don't you see, Squire, that would be a waiting game, and I don't preferthat if it can be avoided, for, of course, he couldn't touch a thingduring your time."
"No; he couldn't--and certainly shouldn't."
"Very well, then. There's one motive, and here's another. What if Ihave a hankering--a genuine one--after respectability? What if I wouldrather settle down as a highly respectable neighbour of yours--you wouldfind me all that, I promise you--than help `blue' the whole show withEverard? No; don't smile so incredulously. A man with your coolreasoning faculties, which I have been admiring all along, ought to knowhuman nature better."
"Now, look here, Mr Develin Hunt, or whatever you choose to callyourself," said the Squire, rising in his chair, as a hint to terminatethe interview, and speaking in a crisp, decisive tone. "Do you reallyimagine that this precious concoction of yours is going to frighten orinfluence me in the slightest degree--because, if so, you don't know meat all--as, indeed, how should you? But I warn you that personation andblackmail are felonies in this country, and not only very severelypunishable but generally very severely punished. So now I'll saygood-bye; only lay my warning to heart, and don't come here with anymore of these flimsy attempts to obtain money or I shall know next timehow to treat them."
"Blackmail! Felony! Ugly words both," said the stranger cheerfully ashe, too, rose. "Well, I'm not much afraid; only, let me echo yourwords: `I shall know what to do next time' if you refuse to see me, andthat will be to place the matter before your son Wagram. He'll thinktwice before allowing all the good you and he have done here--I havebeen taking observations, you see--to be wrecked at the sweet will of ascut-throat and piratical a `tough' as ever escaped hanging, even thoughit be his own brother. Good-morning, Squire. Shall see you again in afew days. Looks as if we were going to have rain, doesn't it?Good-morning."
He passed through the door, which was being held open for him, for theSquire had already rung, and went down the stairs with jaunty step.Then, as he heard the front door shut, Grantley Wagram sank back intohis chair.
The sting of the whole interview lay in the parting words. About theman's identity he had no doubt, and that his other and missing sonshould be the instrument for undoing all that had been done, andbringing the family to utter ruin! It was terrible! He could not somuch as sit still to think about it. He felt cornered and trapped.
He went to the open window. The June sunshine was flooding over therichness of the foliage tossing in mountainous masses against thecloudless blue. A perfect gurgle of bird voices in sweet harmonyblended in unceasing song, and that clear, pure fragrance which you willonly find in the open country came up with every waft of the summer air.Red roofs nestling among the trees, near and far, where farm or tinyhamlet formed a cluster of dwellings--all the people represented bythese looked up to him, and to him who should come after him, and thereflection only served to add bitterness to Grantley Wagram'smeditations. He had striven to do his best for all these, in the truestand best sense of the word, and had no reason to believe his high aimshad met with failure; indeed, it would have been false modesty topretend to himself that the very reverse was not the case. Wagram hadably and whole-heartedly seconded him, and would continue to do so afterhis time. Yet now, if this would-be blackmailer could but furnishconvincing proof of his identity--ah, surely high Heaven would neverpermit such an undoing of its own work!
The Red Derelict Page 17