Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  “Now, what are you interested in?” he asked me.

  I like to stick to the unvarnished truth; but you don’t have to tell all the truth in order to retain your self-respect.

  “Just at the moment I have oil in mind, and not in this state, but in California,” I answered.

  “Couldn’t be better! Couldn’t be better! My partner Zezwinski runs the San Francisco office. Between you and I and these four walls, a better business head than Zezwinski’s simply ain’t, that’s all. Had you any particular property in mind?”

  “Yes,”

  “Come on, now; let’s have the cards on the table,” said Zoom, rubbing his hands together. “We know all the decent prospects in California — every one of them. Name your district, and I’ll reel you off what’s there!”

  “Do you know a place called Arcady?”

  “Do I! Eighty-eight miles from Sacramento as the crow flies. Miss Leich’s place; that’s all of it. No good as a ranch, but they’ve brought in oil. That girl has millions— ‘has’ was the word I used. Getting and keeping are not always the same thing.’

  “Do you know anything about the title to the property?” I asked him.

  “Ah! So that’s the lay of the land, is it? Well, you’re too late, my friend. There’s a flaw in her title — a big, wide-open flaw that means she’s going to lose a long slice down the middle-about one-eighth of the property, seven-eighths of the oil, or so say men who ought to know. But there’s been a man ahead of you, who bought the claim to the title through our San Francisco office. Who d’you represent? If your man has money there still might be something doing. Money talks, you know.”

  “The man I represent has ample means for anything he sets his mind on,” I assured him.

  “Um-m-m!” said Zoom. “If you tell me who you represent, so there’s a basis of confidence between you and I, so to speak-why, there’s no knowing but I might give you the right steer on this proposition. Come on, now — who’s your man? My name’s Zoom; everybody knows me. I ain’t no secret!”

  Neither is Meldrum Strange a secret. But if I were to have mentioned the name of Meldrum Strange all hope of worming information out of this man would be gone that instant.

  “No,” I said; “if you’ve something you think can sell me, shoot.”

  He hesitated, but only for a moment. The chance to add more tricks to an already tricky business was too tempting to let pass.

  “Well, between ourselves, then. This thing’s a wee mite complicated. An Egyptian — he’s a prince or a duke or a count or something — calls himself a pasha — yes, that’s it, a pasha-has bought those rights from the Collins heirs. He paid a pretty stiff price. We warned him he was buying a lawsuit, but I don’t think there’s much doubt he can win, and he has already started to form a corporation here in Nevada, to be a sort of holding company for whatever can be won from the Leich estate and some lands in Egypt as well. Miss Leich happens to own both properties, and, between you and I, I rather think he knows what he’s doing. I’m on the board of directors of his new company — or shall be when we incorporate, and Ollie Zoom don’t lend tame to anything in the nature of an unfilled flush, believe me! Life’s too short for taking chances.”

  “What’s the use of telling me all this?” I asked him. “If you’ve got a good thing you naturally won’t part with it.”

  “On terms, my boy, on terms. I’ll always take a profit when I see one. If your man has money enough to buy me out, I’ll sell.”

  “So you yourself have put money into this?”

  “Well, hardly; not exactly. My partner and I have put our time and knowledge into it, and that’s worth money. We took a share instead of charging him a cash fee. For one thing he balked at the size of our fee, which is a way these foreigners have; they’ll pay any price at all for something they can look at, but when it comes to shelling out for service rendered and for legal skill and advice and so on, they yell murder. For another thing, he wants some honest-to-God Americans on the board — folk like Zezwinski and I who have influence behind the scenes at Washington. Now if your man had influence with the State Department this proposition would be his meat. D’you suppose he’s fixed so he could make his pull felt in that quarter?”

  I nodded.

  “You see, the idea is this: this is one of those cases that are best settled out of court, and between you and I, that’s what’s going to happen. The Leich girl’s a fighter from the word ‘go’; but I know what I’m talking about. She’ll settle, for she’s going to get the right advice. Of course, she can lose the best part of her property if she’d rather have the lawsuit; but we’re going to offer to take over her whole estate and give her stock and bonds in exchange. In that way she’ll be much better off. We’ll be more than fair, we’ll be generous. The offer we expect to make will cut her actual loss in half if she accepts it once we’re in possession of all that oil, with our own private pipe-line to the Coast, you can easily see how a combination with two or three other companies would build us into a concern that Washington would have to take mighty seriously. Get me?”

  “But what about the Egyptian end of it?”

  “That is the crux of the whole business! The value of that Egyptian property is something fabulous! Of course, it might turn out to be a mare’s nest, as anything may in this world, but we’ll make enough money from the oil to take care of that, and plenty over! The terms will include the surrender to the company of that real estate in Egypt, and the point is this-that under the laws of Egypt, as I understand it, it’s pretty near impossible for an Egyptian to do anything; it’s mighty close to being impossible for anyone to do anything unless he’s a British subject, with considerable pull at that. But if a strong United States corporation were to take hold of the project with the backing of the U.S. Government behind the scenes, and perhaps a little newspaper publicity to keep the politicians nervous, the British would have to sit back and look on. You get me?”

  “More or less. But it doesn’t seem to me that you’ve got that Egyptian property yet,” I said: “and you haven’t as much as suggested why it should be worth as much as you seem to suppose.”

  “Well, see here,” said Zoom, “I’ve told you enough to give you an inkling. If you want to know any more, you come across with the name of the man you represent.”

  “Not yet,” I answered. “But I’ll tell you this, he’s one of the richest capitalists in the U.S.A.”

  “Do you think from what I’ve told you that he’ll look into it?”

  “I’m inclined to think that he will,” I answered truthfully, having already made up my mind that Grim, Ramsden and Ross were going to investigate this whole affair to the bottom. “What makes this Egyptian property so valuable?”

  “Ah! Now you’re asking! Isn’t the oil end of the business enough to begin with? If you’ll come back this afternoon, I’ll show you a map of that property, location of the wells and exact figures. Meanwhile, I’ll have a talk with the pasha and we’ll have offer ready to send to your man — I take it he’s not afraid to talk six figures, is he? And if he likes the look of that, and cares to introduce himself, we’ll throw in the Egyptian end by way of bonus — see? We’ll go into details about Egypt after he has satisfied himself regarding oil. That suit you?”

  Nothing would have suited me better than to learn the secret there and then of that thousand-acre piece of sand, with its one well and its ruinous, deserted, wooden camp. Obviously there was something under those Egyptian acres to send an already wealthy pasha to the States, scheming in partnership with Zoom, whose local reputation was for overshrewdness, that lost him all the honourable business in two states, but had made him a fortune of sorts for all that. Zoom probably knew what he was doing.

  So I made an appointment for that afternoon, and hurried back to the hotel to see Joan Angela.

  “What do you know of your manager at Arcady?” I asked her.

  “All there is to know. Why?”

  “Is he in debt, or anything
like that?”

  “If he needed money he would only have to ask me for it.”

  “He might not care to ask you.”

  “Jeff Ramsden, sit down there, come out from behind that mask, and tell me exactly what you mean! If there’s anything the matter with Will Tryon, I’m going to know it.”

  “That man Zoom told me just now that someone is going to advise you to accept a rotten offer for your property,” I said. “It must be somebody who’s in your confidence. Who else has any say in your affairs?”

  “Will Tryon is the only roan who knows my business,”

  “How about a woman? I notice you look startled. What woman knows all about your affairs?”

  “But that’s impossible! Clara Mulready is as honest as the day is long. It’s true she knows everything, and I talk ideas over with her and all that. But Clara — why she’s true as steel!”

  “Are you in the habit of taking her advice?”

  “Sometimes. She often gives me good advice.”

  “Has she any money of her own?”

  “No. None to speak of.”

  “How do she and your manager get along?”

  “I think Will Tryon hates her. Will is one of those crotchety old-timers who can’t believe a woman has more than one possible sphere. He swears I’m the only exception to that whom he ever knew.”

  “And Clara Mulready lives on the ranch? What is she — Miss or Mrs.?”

  “Mrs. She’s a widow.”

  “Any man in the offing?”

  “Yes. There’s a rather bright young fellow named Jansen. Will Tryon gave him a job on the ranch, and thinks quite a lot of him. He’s a year or two younger than Clara, but I think it’s only a question of time and enough money before she marries him.”

  “So Jansen has no money either? Clara listens to Jansen, and would like him to have money. Clara has your ear. Do either of those two people know about the receipt you got from old man Collins that establishes your title to the ranch?”

  “Clara does.”

  “Has she access to your strong-box?”

  “No.”

  “Who else has, besides yourself?”

  “Only Will Tryon, and only he when I give him the key and a special letter each time.”

  “Where is the strong-box?”

  “In the bank at Sacramento.”

  “Has Clara Mulready ever been with you when you went to open the box?”

  “Oh, often.”

  “When was the last occasion?”

  “Three or four days before I came away. It’s a big box, and much too full; so I took her along to help me straighten out all the papers.”

  “Did you see the receipt from Collins on that occasion?”

  “Certainly I did. Showed it to Clara. There’s a little room at the bank for the use of depositors. I little room at the bank for the use of depositors. I decided to hire a second box, so we had both boxes put in that room and divided the papers into them. She packed one box, and I the other.”

  “Who put away that Collins receipt, you or she?”

  “She did.”

  “She didn’t bring it away with her by any chance?”

  “No.”

  “What makes you so sure of that?”

  “I saw her stick it in an envelope, and saw her lay another envelope on top of it. She called my attention to it at the time, because the envelope that she laid on top was one that Will Tryon was likely to want before long.”

  “What was he going to want it for?”

  “It’s the title deed to a little scrap of land in San Francisco that’s as good as sold. We gave a man an option on it. In fact, I had half a mind to bring the deed away with me, so that Will Tryon could take it to the lawyers when he goes to San Francisco. Then I remembered that Will’s fussy about carrying valuable papers in his pocket, or even keeping them in the office safe any longer than he must; and he has to go to Sacramento anyhow on the way to Frisco; so I left it in the box.”

  “Was the envelope sealed?”

  “It wasn’t. Clara sealed it, and wrote on it in blue pencil what it contained.”

  “I suppose so that Will Tryon would take it away without troubling to examine the contents?”

  “The idea was to save him time. Will’s generally in a hurry.”

  “Now tell me some more about young Jansen. Does Will Tryon trust him much?”

  “I think so. He doesn’t trust anybody more than he can help. Will is one of those faithful fellows who accept responsibility for everything that goes wrong. Heaven knows how he finds time to do all the things himself that he does do. Now and then he has to trust Jansen.”

  “Does he ever send Jansen to San Francisco?”

  “Oh, yes. That’s part of Fritz’s business, to run errands. But what are you driving at?”

  “The question is — shall we drive or go by train?”

  “Where?”

  “To your ranch. I propose we give Moustapha Pasha the range for a while, as you suggested at breakfast-time. Are you expected at the ranch?”

  “Not for several days.”

  “Good. I’ll telephone to Zoom and call off my appointment for this afternoon. Which is it to be, Joan Angela-train or auto?”

  “I’ve turned that Ford over to the man you hire yours from. Go and buy a decent car for me. I think you’re crazy.”

  So I laid out close to five thousand dollars of Joan Angela’s money, and almost within the hour we were scooting along the concrete pike toward Carson at a speed distinctly higher than they recommend for brand-new cars of any make.

  CHAPTER V. Zezwinski of the Zee-Bar-Zee

  It was characteristic of the woman that, all that long way, Joan Angela never referred to the problem that was taking us in such a hurry back to Arcady. She talked incessantly, telling story on story of the men her father had lived and made his fortune among, but her own affairs seemed entirely out of mind. It was not, I think, that she was counting on me to unravel the problem for her. She has inherited the gift of facing each mile as she reaches it, which I believe was the secret of the conquest of those mountains that we drove among.

  If my guess is correct, she had detected instantly the weak link in her line of defenses when I asked her those questions before we came away. She probably saw it more clearly than I did, and faced the situation like a flash. But she has that priceless quality of once having faced it, neither letting up nor worrying until she has met the emergency and conquered it. That is the true spirit of conquest, embodying the said-to-be-unladylike but surely God-made quality described for lack of a plainer term as “guts”.

  Among such folk as happen to be worth the salt they eat, about the only arrow of outrageous fortune that can really sting is betrayal by one’s friends. All else is endurable. Loss means nothing much, provided your real intimates stand by and let you keep your faith in them. Betrayal by mere outsiders hardly comes within the word’s real meaning, since the most that an outsider ever did was to take advantage of a momentary lack of watchfulness-annoying, if you like, and mean, of course, but to be expected, and your own fault if you let it happen.

  But you’ve a right — you may say you’ve a duty to trust the inner guard, as old Confucius knew when he advised the world to look the other way if its neighbour is walking in the melon-patch. And Joan Angela is of the loyal kind whose friends can only lose her friendship in one way. It seemed more than possible that somebody at Arcady had taken that one way, and she might have been excused for nervousness; yet she gave no sign that I could detect of the slightest lack of ease.

  We rolled into Arcady long after dark — a dusty, undetermined sort of village, that hardly seemed to know yet whether its destiny was township or collapse. There were ancient trees in haphazard disorder and young eucalyptus set out in rows like armies getting ready for the great advance; old houses built of bone-dry wood, and new ones cut to order out of lumber that still oozed resin; well gear everywhere, whichever way you looked pump-beams rocking endless
ly with the intense air of concentration of animals burrowing; and, of course, the smell. They say that’s good for you. Maybe. Anything is good for you that keeps your spirits up.

  The old ranch-house was a wonder of a place, set far back from the oil-wells, in a fold between two spurs of the hills behind, at the head of the valley, and surrounded by very ancient trees. It had been built in the days when strength meant weight and thickness, and added to by someone who understood that right proportion is the secret of design. There seemed to be absolutely nothing whatever the matter with it, except that it stood so far away from anywhere, and all too close to that stinking outpour from earth’s sore wounds.

  It more nearly resembled the house that Cecil Rhodes built at Groote Schuur than any other I have seen-a comfortable, unpretending, dignified, and decent mansion with an air of peace all over it — nothing left undone to make it worthy to be lived in and to look at; nothing overdone.

  And the first encounter with its occupants was equally reassuring. The Chinese butler must have been a direct descendent of Confucius, for he had all the virtues, including a tolerant smile and an air of not expecting too much from other folk as mortal as himself. Mrs. Clara Mulready was a rather pretty little woman, who looked younger than she was and seemed unqualifiedly pleased — even as pleased as the Chinaman — to see Joan Angela again so unexpectedly. The other servants, who were all Chinese — and there were three of them — did Wan Li’s bidding at a sort of automatic trot, like a miniature Gilbert and Sullivan chorus.

  Mrs. Clara Mulready looked rather a cuddle-some, caressing sort of little person, with blue eyes and a decided pride of leg that she adorned with expensive stockings. She had a wealth of rather pale hair done up painstakingly, and dimples in both cheeks that danced when she laughed. On the whole, the most remarkable thing about her was that Joan Angela should choose her for an intimate, for the two seemed as the poles apart. Clara Mulready struck me as not exactly stupid but something like a kitten on the hearth rug, too wise to go mousing as long as cream was served her on a plate.