“But what were their exact terms?”
Jarkins explained.
“I see, I see. So they wished to retain their contract and 50 per cent. Well, until I have had time to think about this and consult with one or two of my associates, I shall be unable to offer an opinion one way or the other. However,” he added, “it may be worth while for some of the leading investors to talk with him when he gets here.”
Actually, by now, Johnson was of the opinion that Cowperwood was sending these two men about to spy out the situation. In addition, however, he was doubtful as to whether Cowperwood, being an American, and however great his wealth, would ever be able to wrest from the present management even so much as a 50 per cent division. It would be extremely difficult for him to enter this field. At the same time, considering his own and Stane’s investments, and the Charing Cross still likely to be thrown back on Traffic Electrical, and so bring about the loss of more money for its investors, well . . .
He addressed the two men now in a tone of finality.
“I shall have to think the matter over, gentlemen. Call me again, say next Tuesday or Wednesday, and I will tell you finally whether I can be of help to you.”
And with that he led the way to the door and pulled a bell in order that an office boy might show his visitors to the street door. After they had gone, he walked to one of the windows that looked down into the ancient court, where the April sun was still brightly shining. He had a habit, when thinking, of placing his tongue in his cheek and clasping his hands in a prayerful position, fingers down. In this instance he stood so for some time, staring out the window.
And outside in Storey Street, Kloorfain and Jarkins were saying, one to the other: “Excellent! Very shrewd fellow, that . . . but really interested . . . it’s a way out for them, if only they have the sense to see it . . .”
“But that Chicago business! I knew it would come up!” exclaimed Jarkins. “It always does: that prison record of his, or his interest in women . . . as though that made any difference in this case.”
“Stupid! Unbelievably stupid!” echoed Kloorfain.
“Just the same, something will have to be done about it. We’ll have to fix the press some way,” said Jarkins.
“Let me tell you one thing,” concluded Kloorfain. “If any of these wealthy people over here should go into this with Cowperwood, they’d soon close down on all unfavorable publicity. Our laws are different from yours, you know. Here, the truer the scandal, the more libelous it is. And it becomes very dangerous to say anything unless the biggest people want it said. In your country, apparently, it’s just the other way. But I know most of the financial editors on the papers here, and if it should become necessary to hush things up, I think it could be arranged.”
Chapter 20
The sum total of what Jarkins and Kloorfain achieved in their approach to Johnson was well set forth in a conversation which took place that same afternoon between Johnson and Lord Stane in Stane’s office on the ground floor of the Storey Street building.
It should be said, in this connection, that it was Johnson’s commercial honesty and his utterly practical ideas that caused Stane to prize him. For Johnson, as Stane always told himself, was the embodiment of a self-conscious religious and moral rectitude which would not allow him to err too far on the side of cunning and sheer legal trickery, however much he might be tempted to gain success for himself. A stickler for the law, he could still search for all the loopholes with the intention of using them, either to his own advantage or the discomfiture of his adversaries. “His honor compels him to keep books, but it allows him to send out large due bills,” someone had once said of him. And Stane accepted that as a fair picture. At the same time, he liked him for his very eccentricities and quite frequently laughed over his seemingly honest interest in the International Epworth League, its Sunday-school conventions, and his rigid adherence to a total abstinence from liquor in any form. In money matters, he was not petty. He gave quite liberally for the size of his income to churches, Sunday schools, hospitals, and a Southwark institute for the blind, of which he was one of the board of managers and also its unpaid counsel.
For Stane personally, and for a very modest charge, Johnson looked after his investments, insurance rates, and whatsoever legal problems might beset him. They also discussed together politics and the world’s international problems, and usually, as Stane noted, Johnson remained quite close to reality in all matters. Of art, architecture, poetry, letters, women, and the non-acquisitive and purely social pleasures, however, he knew nothing. He once confessed to Stane years before, when both were much younger, that he had no head for such things. “I was brought up under circumstances which did not permit my knowing anything about them,” he said. “It pleases me, of course, to see my boys at Eton and my girl at Bedford, and personally I would not deny them any social tastes they may develop. But as for myself, well, I am a solicitor, and very glad to be as well placed as I am.”
Young Stane had smiled, for he liked the rugged realism of this statement. At the same time, he was content that they should travel different social levels, with only now and then an invitation on the part of Stane to Johnson to visit his family estate in Tregasal or his handsome old house in Berkeley Square, but nearly always on business.
On this particular occasion Johnson found Stane reclining in a round-armed, high-backed, comfortable Chippendale chair, his long legs stretched out and his feet on the heavy mahogany desk before him. He was wearing well-cut tweeds, sand-colored, a light coffee-colored shirt and a dark orange tie, and from time to time he nonchalantly flicked the ashes from a cigarette he was smoking. He was studying a De Beers South African Diamond Mine report, in which company he was personally interested. Some twenty shares he held, as he reflected, were yielding him approximately two hundred pounds annually. He had a long, sallow face, with a large and slightly beaked nose, low forehead, sharp dark eyes, and a large and decidedly genial mouth and slightly defiant chin.
“So there you are!” he called out as Johnson entered after knocking at the door. “Well, what’s up with you now, you honest old Methodist. I read something, this morning, about that address of yours, in Stickney, I believe.”
“Oh, that,” retorted Johnson, not a little pleased that Stane should have heard of it, and rather nervously buttoning his crinkled black alpaca office coat. “There’s some dispute between the ministers of our different churches of that district, and I went down to arbitrate between them. They called for a little address afterward, and I took the occasion to lecture them on their conduct.” He drew himself up, quite dictatorially and proudly, as he recalled it. Stane noted the mood.
“The trouble with you, Johnson,” he went on lightly, “is that you should either be in Parliament, or on the bench. But if you’ll take my advice, you’ll make it Parliament first and the bench afterward. We need you too much around here to let you go on the bench yet.” He smiled cordially and really quite affectionately on Johnson, who in turn, flattered and warmed by the remark, beamed appreciatively.
“Well, as you know, I’ve been thinking of Parliament for a long time. There are so many things that come up in connection with our work here that might be helped by my presence there. Rider and Bullock are constantly talking of it. In fact, Rider insists on my standing in the by-election in his district in September. He seems to think I can win if I make a few addresses.”
“And why not? Who else better? And Rider has great influence there, as you know. I advise you to do it. And if I can be of any service to you, I or any of my friends, all you need to do is to call on me. I’ll be delighted.”
“That’s certainly kind of you and I appreciate it,” replied Johnson. “Besides,” and here his tone grew at once more confidential, “there’s something that came up in my office this morning which may have some bearing on this.” He paused, took out his handkerchief and cleared his nose, while Stane contemplated him interestedly.
“Well, what’s the secret?”
; “I’ve just had two men in my office: Willard Jarkins, an American, and Willem Kloorfain, a Dutchman. They are agents and brokers, Kloorfain in London and Jarkins in New York. They’ve been telling me something interesting. You know that £30,000 option we gave to Greaves and Henshaw?”
Stane, half-curious and slightly amused by Johnson’s manner, withdrew his legs from his desk, put down the report he was examining, and looking hard at Johnson said: “That damn Traffic Electrical! What about it?”
“It appears,” went on Johnson, “that they went to New York quite recently to interview this multimillionaire Cowperwood. It also appears that they only offered him a half-interest in that £30,000 option for his services in raising the money with which to build the road.” Johnson chortled dryly. “And later, of course, he was to pay them a £100,000 for their services as engineers.” Both men were unable to repress an additional chuckle at this. “Of course,” continued Johnson, “he refused it. At the same time, it appears that what he really wants is to secure complete control; that or nothing. It seems, or so these people say, he expressed an interest in some such combination of lines as you and I have been thinking of here for the past ten years. As you know, he’s being driven out of Chicago.”
“Yes, I know,” said Stane.
“Well, in addition to that, I’ve just been reading an account of him which these fellows left with me. Here it is,” and he extracted from his pocket a full page from the New York Sun, the center of which carried a large and quite accurate pen-and-ink drawing of Cowperwood.
Stane unfolded the page and studied the picture, after which he looked up at Johnson. “Not a bad-looking fellow, what? Lots of go!” He then studied a printed chart of some of Cowperwood’s holdings. “Two hundred and fifty miles . . . and all in twenty years.” Then he concentrated on a paragraph relating to Cowperwood’s New York house, after which he added: “Seems to be a bit of a connoisseur, too.”
“There’s a paragraph there,” interjected Johnson, “that tells about the cause of his troubles in Chicago; mostly political and social, I take it.” He waited while Stane read that.
“My word, what a fight!” commented Stane after reading for a moment or two. “I see they estimate his holdings at twenty millions.”
“All of that, according to these two brokers. But the most interesting thing they had to report was that he is to be here within a week or two. And what they want is for me to meet with him, in order to discuss not only this Charing Cross line, which they somehow feel we are going to have to take back, but some such general system as we had in mind.”
“But these fellows Jarkins and Kloorfain,” queried Stane, “who are they, anyway? Friends of Cowperwood?”
“Not at all, not at all,” explained Johnson quickly. “On the contrary, as they confess, they are mere bankers’ agents out for a commission, either from Greaves and Henshaw, or Cowperwood, or us, or anyone they can interest; maybe all of us together. They do not represent the man in any way.”
Stane shrugged his shoulders ironically.
“It seems,” went on Johnson, “they’ve heard from some source that we are interested in a plan of unification, and they’d like me to get together a lot of investors and interest them in Mr. Cowperwood as a leader and then present this unification idea in such a way as to interest him. For that they want a commission, of course.”
Stane stared amusedly. “How frightfully jolly for everybody!”
“Of course, I declined that part of it,” continued Johnson, warily. “But I’ve been thinking that there might be something more there than appears on the surface. There might be some real inquiry on the part of Cowperwood that you and I might want to consider. For there’s still that Charing Cross millstone around our necks. Of course, I know very well no American millionaire is going to be allowed to come in here and take charge of our undergrounds. Still, it is possible that he might be joined up with a group here—yourself, Lord Ettinge, and Haddonfield—and possibly a joint form of control worked out.” He paused to observe the effect of this on Stane.
“Quite so, Elverson, quite so,” commented Stane. “If some of the investors are still as much interested as they were a few years ago, we might get them to come back into the fight. Cowperwood couldn’t very well edge in here without them.”
He got up and walked to one of the windows and looked out, while Johnson proceeded to explain that Jarkins and Kloorfain were to call back in a few days for his decision, and might it not be a good idea to caution them that if they expected to deal with himself or anyone he might be able to influence, they would have to maintain the strictest secrecy and leave everything to him.
“Righto!” said Stane.
This plan, as Johnson now added, would necessarily include not only the Charing Cross line but the Traffic Electrical as the sole owner, or at least as agent for it. Then once Stane and he had sounded out Haddonfield and Ettinge and others, they could say finally whether even a tentative agreement might be made. After that, it was entirely possible that Cowperwood would prefer to deal with Stane and himself and these other investors rather than with Jarkins and Kloorfain or Greaves and Henshaw, who, of themselves, could do nothing and hence should be dismissed as mere peddlers.
And with this Stane fully agreed. But before they had finished talking, it was already dark. A London fog was on. Stane recalled a tea, Johnson a legal conference. And so they parted, with a new elation in the hearts of both.
Accordingly, three days later—the length of time he considered necessary to impress them with his own importance—Johnson sent for Jarkins and Kloorfain and announced that he had laid the matter before some of his friends, and finding them not averse to further knowledge of what was in Cowperwood’s mind, he would, on invitation from Mr. Cowperwood, but not otherwise, see and confer with him. But only on condition that no prior contacts or arrangements of any kind were made by him. For the men he would try to interest were investors who would, under no circumstances, allow themselves to be trifled with.
With this statement Mr. Johnson rested, while Jarkins and Kloorfain hurried to the nearest cable office to inform Cowperwood of the significant result they had achieved and urge him by all means to come to London; meanwhile, would he be so kind as to suspend consideration of any other proposal, since the coming conference, if it could be brought about, would be all-inclusive in its nature.
The cablegram caused Cowperwood to smile, remembering, as he did, his severe castigation of Jarkins. However, he cabled back that he was very busy at the moment but planned to sail around April fifteenth, and upon his arrival would be glad to see them and hear further as to the nature of their suggestion. He also cabled Sippens in code that he was coming to London, and informed him of his rejection of the Greaves and Henshaw offer; however, perhaps Sippens could arrange it so that they might hear of his pending arrival, since, apart from them, a large and inclusive proposition, entirely unrelated to their Charing Cross line, was to be presented to him. This information might bring them to their senses and cause them to make an offer which could be accepted before any other plan could be presented to him. In that case, he would have a weapon in his possession which might serve to hold his new counsellors in bounds.
And all this time he was also arranging with Berenice, Aileen, and Tollifer for their respective parts in his future plans.
Chapter 21
Meanwhile, though still darkly dubious within the depths of her emotional self, Aileen, throughout all this, could not fail to be impressed by Cowperwood’s sudden change of attitude. For, somewhat ebullient because of the London idea, Berenice, the prospective change of scene, and all, Cowperwood found himself confiding in Aileen. He was taking her with him to England. His will, the stewardship of his house, the guardianship of his contemplated bequests, all arranged themselves in her mind as the rather obvious consequences of his Chicago defeat. Life, as she now saw it, had chosen to deal him a somewhat sobering blow, and at a time in his career when it would naturally be most ef
fective. He had returned to her, or was by way of returning. And this one fact was almost sufficient to restore her faith in love and the validity of other human emotions.
And so she threw herself into extravagant preparations for the journey. She shopped. She visited the dressmaker, the milliner, and the lingerie shops, and luggage of the latest design was purchased. Once more she was demonstrating to her own satisfaction, and to Cowperwood’s by this time accustomed dismay, her exaggerated faith in the effect of lavish display. Informed that they were to occupy the finest suite on the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse, sailing on the following Friday, she indulged in lingerie befitting a bride, although well she knew that all intimate relations between herself and her husband were a closed book.
At about the same time, Tollifer, whose plans for meeting Aileen had thus far failed, was greatly relieved to find in his mail a registered envelope containing the deck plans of this same liner, his ticket, and, to his even greater delight and satisfaction, $300 in cash—the effect of which was instantly reflected in Tollifer’s increased enthusiasm and interest for his new assignment. For now he was determined to make a favorable impression on Cowperwood, a man who, as he could see, was well grounded in the business of getting what he wanted from life. And on looking hurriedly through the newspapers he soon verified what he already suspected, which was that the Cowperwoods would also be aboard the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse when it sailed on Friday.
Berenice, having learned from Cowperwood all of his movements thus far, announced her intention of sailing, with her mother, on the Saxonia, a Cunard liner, which left two days ahead of the Kaiser Wilhelm. They would be in London awaiting him at Claridge’s, a hotel with which they were already familiar.
Plagued by the press as to his plans, Cowperwood informed reporters that he and his wife were sailing for the Continent for a long summer vacation; that he was no longer interested in Chicago, and was not, in fact, contemplating any immediate business ventures. This announcement drew much editorial comment regarding his career, his genius, the folly of his retirement in view of his wealth, skill, and strength. He welcomed the publicity, because in addition to coming as an unexpected tribute, at the same time it darkened his movements and gave him ample time to decide on his course.
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