And he added at once, as he lighted the Corona Corona: "Well, I'd bettertell you what I've come to see you about. You remember that chap, SilasAngmering?"
"Silas Angmering? Of course I do. Used to belong here. He cleared off toAmerica ages ago."
"He did. And you lent him a hundred pounds to help him to clear off toAmerica."
"Who told you?"
"He did," said Mr. Bishop, with a faint, mysterious smile.
"What's happened to him?"
"Oh! All sorts of things. He made a lot of money out of the war. Heestablished himself in Cincinnati. And there were opportunities...."
"How came he to tell you that I'd lent him anything?" Mr. Prohackinterrupted sharply.
"I had business with him at one time--before the war and also just afterthe war began. Indeed I was in partnership with him." Mr. Bishop spokewith a measured soothing calmness.
"And you say he's made a lot of money out of the war. What do youmean--a lot?"
"Well," said Mr. Bishop, looking at the tablecloth through hisglittering spectacles, "I mean a _lot_."
His tone was confidential; but then his tone was always confidential.He continued: "He's lost it all since."
"Pity he didn't pay me back my hundred pounds while he'd got it! How didhe lose his money?"
"In the same way as most rich men lose their money," answered Mr.Bishop. "He died."
Although Mr. Prohack would have been capable of telling a similar storyin a manner very similar to Mr. Bishop's, he didn't quite relish hisguest's theatricality. It increased his suspicion of his guest, andchecked the growth of friendliness which the lunch had favoured. Still,he perceived that there was a good chance of getting his hundred poundsback, possibly with interest--and the interest would mount up to fiftyor sixty pounds. And a hundred and fifty pounds appeared to him to be anenormous sum. Then it occurred to him that probably Mr. Bishop was notindeed "after" anything and that he had been unjust to Mr. Bishop.
"Married?" he questioned, casually.
"Angmering? No. He never married. You know as well as anybody, I expect,what sort of a card he was. No relations, either."
"Then who's come into his money?"
"Well," said Mr. Bishop, with elaborate ease and smoothness of quietdelivery. "I've come into some of it. And there was a woman--actresssort of young thing--about whom perhaps the less said the better--she'scome into some of it. And you've come into some of it. We share it inequal thirds."
"The deuce we do!"
"Yes."
"How long's he been dead?"
"About five weeks or less. I sailed as soon as I could after he wasburied. I'd arranged before to come. I daresay I ought to have stayed abit longer, as I'm the executor under the will, but I wanted to come,and I've got a very good lawyer over there--and over here too. I landedthis morning, and here I am. Strictly speaking I suppose I should havecabled you. But it seemed to me that I could explain better by word ofmouth."
"I wish you would explain," said Mr. Prohack. "You say he's been rich along time, but he didn't pay his debt to me, and yet he goes and makes awill leaving me a third of his fortune. Wants some explaining, doesn'tit?"
Mr. Bishop replied:
"It does and it doesn't. You knew he was a champion postponer, poor oldchap. Profoundly unbusinesslike. It's astonishing how unbusinesslikesuccessful men are! He was always meaning to come to England to see you;but he never found time. He constantly talked of you--"
"But do you know," Mr. Prohack intervened, "that from that day to thisI've never heard one single word from him? Not even a picture-postcard.And what's more I've never heard a single word _of_ him."
"Just like Silas, that was! Just!... He died from a motor accident. Hewas perfectly conscious and knew he'd only a few hours to live. Spine.He made his will in hospital, and died about a couple of hours afterhe'd made it. I wasn't there myself. I was in New York."
"Well, well!" muttered Mr. Prohack. "Poor fellow! Well, well! This isthe most amazing tale I ever heard in my life."
"It _is_ rather strange," Mr. Bishop compassionately admitted.
A silence fell--respectful to the memory of the dead. The members'coffee-room seemed to Mr. Prohack to be a thousand miles off, and thechat with his cronies at the table in the window-embrasure to havehappened a thousand years ago. His brain was in anarchy, and waving likea flag above the anarchy was the question: "How much did old Silasleave?" But the deceitful fellow would not permit the question to utteritself,--he had dominion over himself at any rate to that extent. Hewould not break the silence; he would hide his intense curiosity; hewould force Softly Bishop to divulge the supreme fact upon his owninitiative.
And at length Mr. Bishop remarked, musingly:
"Yes. Thanks to the exchange being so low, you stand to receive at thevery least a hundred thousand pounds clear--after all deductions havebeen made."