A Duel

With his handkerchief Mr. McTavish wiped his capacious brow, which was moist with indignant sweat.

"And did they find the missing shares?"

"David! Do you want me to make an end of you? The reptile Luker wrote that if restitution of the shares was not made at once he was instructed to immediately commence proceedings for their recovery. And that's only the beginning! If something isn't done to stop her it's very possible that she'll try to jockey us, by legal process, out of all the money that she supposes Cuthbert Grahame to have had. The law on such matters is in such a state-when twisted by such as Luker! – that there's no knowing what may be the issue; the one thing certain being that she may be the occasion to us of the gravest injury." The doctor emitted a sound which forced a startled inquiry from the other. "What's the matter with you, man?"

"I was laughing, to think that a couple of lawyers should be so mishandled by one of the laity! It's the funniest thing that ever I heard."

"It's no laughing matter, David, I can tell you that. Think of the scandal-that at the age to which I'm come I should be used as if I were a misbegotten rogue! She's a devil of a woman! And what's driving her is that she's come to the end of her tether."

"Do you mean that she's spent all her cash?"

"I've reason to know she has, or nearly all. She lives in a great house, has an expensive establishment, spends money like a queen. She took it for granted that long before this the bulk of Grahame's money would turn up. Now that it hasn't she's desperate. She means to get it out of somebody, somehow-or as much of it as she can-if it's only out of such poor creatures as McTavish and Brown."

"You're a pair of weans, you and Brown."

"So you see, David, how it is I have come to you for help-to you, my oldest friend. Why it is that I ask you to search your brain and see if you can give us no clue as to what Cuthbert Grahame did with his money. No one was more intimate with him than you, and on such a point there is no one who is more likely to be able to give us help."

"If that's so then you'll get help from no one, for it's certain you'll get none from me. I tell you I know nothing of the matter."

"Do you think Miss Wallace could help us? She had an intimate knowledge of Grahame and of his peculiarities. She might be able to tell us something which would prove to be of assistance."

"I'll ask her, if you wish it. But I doubt if you'll gain."

"Do, David, do. And" – Mr. McTavish tapped his forefinger on the arm of his chair-"the sooner the better. As to advice, David, you know this woman; you've had dealings with her before; in a sense, so far as we're concerned, you're responsible for her existence. You see the dilemma we are in. What advice have you to offer?"

"None-not a ha'porth. I'm not advising."

"David!"

"I tell you I'm not, and it's just because I've had dealings with the woman already. I've tried one fall with her, and I'm suffering from it still."

"She's an awful creature! – awful!"

"There's only one thing I can say to you, Andrew, and that I've said already, and then you sort of sniggered. But to my mind it's a comfortable thought when we come to deal with persons like Mrs. Cuthbert Grahame, or Mrs. Gregory Lamb, or whatever she calls herself, and it's this, that if the mills of God do grind slowly, they also do grind surely, and they grind exceeding small."

CHAPTER XIX

IN COUNCIL

There were five of them assembled in Margaret Wallace's sitting-room. Margaret herself, in a linen gown of cornflower-blue, the product of her own deft fingers, which became her hugely. Miss Dorothy Johnson, from the rooms below, who indulged her fondness for unconventional attitudes by perching herself on the back of one chair and her feet on the seat of another. Bertram Winton, one of the handsomest of our actors, tall and dark, with big eyes and curly hair, whose clothes fitted him with a creaseless perfection which won the admiration of that considerable feminine public which bought his photographs and wrote for his autograph. Frank Staines, who was something of a mystery. He wrote a little, and painted a little, and drew a little, and sang a little, and played a little, and talked so much that there were people who said that he could do that better than he could do anything else. He had money. The exact quantity was not generally known, but there appeared to be enough of it to enable him to live in very considerable comfort, without rendering it necessary for him, to adopt his own phraseology, to descend into the market-place and "huckster" his brain. Between Miss Johnson and him there was a state of continual war, tempered by peaceful intervals of the briefest duration. It was commonly understood that he was very much in love with her, had frequently proposed to her and had been accepted several times, but that on each occasion a rupture had followed before they were able to make an interesting announcement to their friends and acquaintances.

Miss Johnson made a remark to Harry Talfourd, who stood leaning against the window with an air of almost sombre gloom, which caused hostilities to break out upon the spot.

"Let's get to the bed-rock of common-sense. It always seems to me that in matters of this sort commonsense is the one thing needed. Harry, what is it you want? You want your play to be successful-that is, you want it to bring you cash and kudos; and that is all you want. The question, therefore, which you have to ask yourself is, if Mrs. Lamb produces 'The Gordian Knot' will it bring me those two things? To that question you have only to supply a simple yes or no, and the problem's solved."

To which Mr. Staines replied-

"That is exactly the sort of remark one expects you to make-utilitarian, material, sordid. I opine that the one thing Harry requires you have not mentioned-that is, satisfaction for his artistic soul."

"Artistic tommy-rot."

"My dear Dollie, it is not necessary for you to be vulgar in order to inform us that you know nothing about the soul-we are aware of it."

"My dear Frankie, don't be under the delusion that you need open your mouth to let the world know that you drivel-it is written on your countenance."

"Thank you, Miss Johnson."

"Don't mention it, Mr. Staines."

Margaret interposed.

"While those two are thinking of some more nice things to say to each other, I should like to know, Mr. Winton, what you really think."

"I am afraid, Miss Wallace, that my point of view would be described by Staines as utilitarian. I propose to conduct my theatre-when I get it-on a commercial basis."

"One takes it for granted that an actor-manager is commercial or nothing."

"If he isn't commercial, my dear Staines, he's less than nothing-he's a bankrupt. No one loves a bankrupt, not even your artistic soul. My intention is to get a theatre; to have it properly equipped; to give the public as good plays as I can get; to have them as well acted as circumstances permit. If Mrs. Lamb is willing to place me in a position to carry out my intention-on my own terms-I don't know that I have any serious objection to her playing a part in my initial venture, particularly as that happens to be a part which, as Talfourd is aware, I have not hitherto been able to fit with a quite adequate representative. I realise that the position is not so simple as it appears, and am conscious that I run the risk of being overshadowed by the lady's personality. But that is certainly my risk rather than Talfourd's, and I am willing to run it in order to gain the end I have in view."

"Then you say, let Mrs. Lamb play Lady Glover?"

"I do, since I incline to the opinion that she would not play it in a fashion which would militate against the success of the piece."

"You hear, Harry?"

"I do; I have heard Winton on the point before."

"Then why don't you leave matters entirely in his hands, and let him arrange everything?"

Harry exchanged glances with the actor. He said, dryly-

"I am willing. If I am allowed to-say, run abroad, or remove myself into the country well out of reach, until, at any rate, the play's produced, I am content to let Winton do just as he pleases."

"I doubt if that would meet Mrs. Lamb's views. I imagine that she might regard your withdrawal as a personal affront. Talfourd, will you allow me to explain to Miss Wallace what I imagine is your exact position in this matter?"

Miss Johnson addressed a question to Mr. Staines before Margaret could reply.

"Frank, you can be honest sometimes, and you can be sensible. Try to be both of them now. What do you think of Mrs. Lamb?"

"It is a delicate subject, on which I should not presume to offer an opinion."

"That means that you don't love her."

"I have only loved one person in my life, and it certainly was not her."

Miss Johnson looked straight in front of her, as if she desired to convey the impression that she had no idea that any allusion was intended. Margaret urged Mr. Winton.

"Come, tell me what Harry's position really is, since I am quite unable to get it out of him."

"Shall I, Talfourd?"

"You may say what you choose, only give me leave to doubt if you are so well informed as you yourself imagine. I don't understand myself as well as I should like to."

"I fancy I understand pretty well. The truth is, Miss Wallace, Mrs. Lamb is fonder of Talfourd than he is of her."

"I am quite aware of that."

"I don't think you altogether appreciate my meaning. If there were no Mr. Lamb, Mrs. Lamb would not object to being Mrs. Talfourd-which is why she wants to produce 'The Gordian Knot,' and why Talfourd doesn't want her to."

"Do you mean that she's in love with him? Harry! is this true? You told me that she had never said anything to you she ought not to have done."

"Nor has she. Winton speaks crudely. I don't know what is his authority for his statement, he certainly has had none from me."

"Is it simply because-she feels for you like that-that she wants to produce your play?"

"Honestly, Meg, I don't know what her reasons are. I wish I did."

"Does she know that you're-engaged?"

"Not that I am aware of. So far as possible I have carefully avoided speaking to her of myself. Frankly, Meg, it's no use blinking the fact that as Mrs. Lamb's private secretary there's nothing for me to do; that she has not the slightest real need for such a functionary; and that I am very much exercised in my mind as to the motives which would actuate her in the production of 'The Gordian Knot'. Although I am quite aware that he meant well, I should have been obliged to Winton if he hadn't said a word to her about the thing."

"At that time I had no actual knowledge of how the land was lying."

"But you guessed." This was Margaret.

"Well, if you will permit me to be quite plain, Miss Wallace, I don't know that I regarded it as a drawback even if I did guess. An actor depends for his existence on personal favour. He has to please the public in the mass, and, also, as individuals. When a woman tells me she admires me I expect her to take a stall to see me act; if she admires me very much, I expect her to take two or three, or a box. There have been women who have admired me so much that they have booked seats for an entire season. Now proceed a step farther. I can conceive of it as possible that a woman might provide me with the means to take a theatre because her admiration for me was so great. I shouldn't stop to ask myself trivial questions as to whether she was married or single, I should regard the matter as purely one of business-one proof of my success-and take the good the gods provided, while, at the same time, my position in the affair would be entirely a platonic one. I want Talfourd to treat the matter from my point of view, but it seems he can't."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not sorry!" The first remark came from Harry, the second from Margaret. She went on: "Now I begin to understand. Of course it's quite inconceivable, Harry, how any one could fall in love with you; but supposing any woman to be so foolish, I certainly don't want you to trade on her affection. I'm not saying it with any desire to wound you, Mr. Winton."

"Don't be afraid, I'm not easily wounded."

"But, you see, in this case there are other circumstances to be considered-there's me. I'm a factor in the question. And shall I tell you to what conclusion I'm drifting?"

"Let's have it."

"I should like to see Mrs. Lamb. You men know her, but I don't. She hasn't even come within range of my vision, and though I've the highest respect for you, as men, when it comes to your opinion of a woman, I don't think a man's opinion worth anything."

"You're quite right-it isn't." This was Miss Johnson.

"I used to have a high opinion of you." This was Mr. Staines.

"You used to have! – that I should ever have been so belittled!"

Miss Johnson turned disdainfully from Mr. Staines to Margaret.

"What you say is perfectly correct, my dear, only a woman's opinion of a woman is of the slightest value."

"The other day I heard a woman express her opinion of you in terms which, if I repeated them to you, might cause you to change your views."

"Some women!"

"I don't know that I go quite so far as Dollie, and there is something in what Mr. Staines hints, for, of course, there are women whose opinions of each other are merely so many libels."

"Hear! hear!"

"Do be still! Will somebody sit on Mr. Staines?"

"But this appears to be a case in which a woman's opinion should be the only thing which ought to count-especially if I'm the woman; and, lest you accuse me of overweening conceit, let me hasten to explain. Mrs. Lamb is, I presume, a lady of beauty-"

"She's not bad-looking." This was Mr. Staines to, of course, Dolly.

"Much you know about a woman's looks!"

"I used to admire yours."

"Pooh!"

"Apparently of fortune, conceivably of taste. She is supposed to entertain certain sentiments towards a certain gentleman which she ought not to entertain. Actuated by those sentiments she proposes to play the part of a feminine Mæcenas and pose as a patron of the drama. These are the allegations which are made against her. Introduce me to her; let me talk to her for half an hour, and I will engage to settle there and then-and finally! – the question as to whether she is a fit and proper person to produce 'The Gordian Knot' and play Lady Glover."

"I'm content!" cried Harry.

Mr. Winton was more deliberate.

"Well, under ordinary circumstances, I should be inclined to do more than hesitate before accepting a lady as arbitrator in such a matter, but I have such a high opinion of Miss Wallace, though she herself appraises a masculine estimate of such a subject at less than nothing-"

"I make an exception in your case, Mr. Winton-thank you very much."

"If she will allow me to say so, I esteem her wide-minded liberality so greatly, and set such value on her keen-sighted appreciation of character-"

"Dear! dear! Margaret, bow!"

"Dollie! don't interrupt!"

"That I am quite willing to go so far as this: If, after talking the matter over with Mrs. Lamb, fully and frankly, and weighing all the pros and cons, you tell me that you think it would be better, for all parties interested, that she should have nothing to do with the play, then, so far as I am concerned, the question will be settled-she shan't."

"The point is," struck in Dollie, "how is the poor dear child to become acquainted with this wonderful woman, who ought to be immensely flattered if she knows how much you have her in your thoughts?"

"There will be no difficulty about that. The lady has an 'At Home' to-morrow evening, to which, practically, all the world is welcome. I'll tell her, Meg, that you'd like to make her acquaintance, and ask her permission to bring you."

"You'll ask her?"

Mr. Staines looked at Mr. Talfourd with, in his glance, a satirical intention which the other ignored.

"Why not? Nothing could be simpler."

"No-nothing could be simpler-only I thought you said she didn't know you were engaged. Do you propose to tell her in what relation Miss Wallace stands to you?"

"Certainly! Why do you look at me like that?"

"I should like to see her face when she receives the communication, and, again, when she meets Miss Wallace. I know something of Mrs. Gregory Lamb. I fancy they may both of them be rather dramatic moments."

Margaret told him, laughing-

"Dear Mr. Staines, you may study the expression of her countenance when she meets me to your heart's content, if you choose. Suppose we all of us go together?"

Mr. Winton rose from his chair.

"Thank you; that is a proposal which I am afraid I must decline. Mrs. Lamb might suspect us of conspiracy if we bore down on her in force. I will be in Connaught Square to-morrow evening, but perhaps a little late, when I think it possible, Miss Wallace, that one glance at your countenance will be sufficient to tell me exactly how the matter stands. Remember the arbitrament of my fate-as a manager, an issue of no slight consequence-is in your hands."

"Poor, innocent, ignorant Mrs. Lamb!" exclaimed Miss Johnson. "Meg, if she only knew what issues of life and death you are bringing with you, I don't believe she'd let you into her house-however nicely Harry might ask her permission to bring you."

The young lady spoke much truer than she knew.

CHAPTER XX

THE IMPENDING SWORD

"I must have ten thousand pounds, and" – Mrs. J. Lamb paused-"within a week."

"Must!"

Mr. Isaac Luker folded his hands together with a gesture which suggested the act of prayer. He seemed singularly out of place in his environment. They were in the apartment which Mrs. Lamb called her boudoir, a word which has a different meaning in the mouths of different women. In this case it stood for a room which represented what was possibly the last word in gorgeous decoration. Everything was of the costliest. If the result was a trifle vivid, it was not altogether unpleasing. It was a room in which one could be very much at one's ease-in certain moods-if one were of a certain constitution. There was something in its atmosphere which made a not ineffective appeal to the senses, not so much to the sense of beauty or of intellect, as to that of physical well-being. In some subtle way the owner's strong personality impregnated the whole place. On crossing the threshold a person of delicate perception might have become immediately conscious of something which could scarcely have been called healthy.

But the prevailing note was gorgeousness, and anything less gorgeous than Mr. Isaac Luker one could hardly conceive. Mrs. Lamb's costume harmonised with the apartment, it was so evidently the product of one of those artists in dress to whom expense is no object. And it became her very well. In it she looked not only a handsome woman, but almost a real great lady. Mr. Luker's apparel, on the other hand, was not only unbecoming and ill-fitting, but it was apparently in the last stage of decay. None of the garments seemed to have been made for him, and they were all of them odd ones. He was tall and thin. He wore an old pair of black-and-white checked trousers, which were too short in the leg and too big everywhere else; an old black frock-coat, which he kept closely buttoned, and which must certainly have been intended for some one who was both shorter and broader. His long thin neck was surrounded by a suspicious-looking collar, which was certainly not made of linen, and he wore by way of a necktie something which might have once done duty as a band on a bowler hat. One understood, after a very cursory inspection, why a gentleman who had such a keen regard for appearances as Mr. Andrew McTavish should object to being brought into involuntary, and unsatisfactory, professional contact with Mr. Isaac Luker.

Yet those who knew had reason to believe that Mr. Luker did a considerable business of a kind-though it was emphatically of a kind. He had one or two peculiarities. He was an habitual gin drinker, and though he could seldom be said to be positively drunk, he could just as rarely be called entirely sober. To all intents and purposes he lived on gin. He had it for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and for afternoon tea and supper, and he did not seem to find it a very nourishing food. Then, perhaps partially owing to the monotonous regularity of his diet, he seemed to be incapable of saying what he meant, while his yeas and his nays were as worthless as his oaths. For a solicitor to be a notorious liar and drunkard one would suppose would be a serious handicap in his profession. Oddly enough, with Mr. Luker it was, if anything, the other way. The sort of clients he courted wanted just the sort of man he was. He, speaking generally, never did any clean business; he was only at home when dealing with what was unclean; and as there is more of that kind of commerce about than might be imagined-and some of it is amazingly lucrative-he did tolerably well. Indeed, there were those who declared that, although he did not look it, he was uncommonly well-off, it being one of his characteristics that he was as incapable of spending money as he was of telling the truth or giving up gin.

As he stood there, with his hands folded in front of him in an attitude of prayer, Mrs. Lamb regarded him with what could hardly be regarded as glances of admiration. When she addressed him it was with a frankness which was hardly in keeping with her rôle of great lady, and which is not usual when one deals with one's legal adviser.

"Listen to me, Luker. I want none of your humbug, and I want none of your lies. I want ten thousand pounds inside a week-and you've got to get them. I'll give fifteen thousand for the ten, so there won't be a bad profit for some one."

"How long do you want the money for?"

"Oh-three months."

"On what security?"

"What security? On the security of my property."

"Your property?" Mr. Luker did not smile-a smile was probably another thing of which he was incapable-but his wizened features assumed a curious aspect. "Of what does your property consist?"

"None of your nonsense. To begin with, there are those ten thousand shares in the Hardwood Company. As you know very well, they're worth over fifty thousand pounds at the present moment."

"They would be if you had them-but you haven't."

"McTavish & Brown have got them, and you're going to make them disgorge."

"We've first of all to prove that they've got them."

"Oh no, we haven't; they have to prove that they handed them over to Cuthbert Grahame, which is a very different thing, as you know very well."

"My dear Isabel, you're a very clever woman; your fault is that, if anything, you're too clever."

"I've heard you called too clever before to-day."

"My dear-"

"Don't you call me your dear! I won't have it."

"Very well, although it is possible that few men have a better right-"

"Right! Don't you dare to talk to me about right! – you! – don't you talk to me like that, Mr. Luker! You just simply listen to me. I want ten thousand pounds before this day week, and you've got to get it. No one in London knows better than you from whom and how to get it."

"Mrs. Lamb-by the way, how is your worthy husband?"

"Never mind my worthy husband-you keep to the point."

"Even supposing we are able to saddle McTavish & Brown with the responsibility for the Hardwood shares-which is problematical-it'll take a good deal more than three months to do it. It is not to be supposed that they'll accept an adverse decision without taking the case through every court available. That may take years. If in the end it is decided that they will have to pay, it is not by any means certain that they will be able to. Costs will have swollen the original total enormously; it all will have to come from them. There is nothing to show that they are in a position to pay such a huge sum as that will be."

"Oh yes, there is; they're rolling in money; I've seen enough of them to know so much."

"You think you have. I doubt if that is a matter on which your judgment can be trusted. If the case ultimately goes against them, the possibilities-I should say the probabilities-are that they will declare themselves bankrupt. Then where will you be? You will have to pay your own costs, and, instead of getting the amount adjudged, after another interval of dreary waiting, you may receive, as a final quittance, perhaps sixpence, or a shilling, in the pound. And in the meantime, you must remember, you will have to live."