no mistake. He's the man that--thatI--"
His sentence remained unfinished, for he sank into his chair andgroaned, covered his face again with his hands in an attitude of deepremorse, while Levi stood by watching in silence.
"Rolfe could help you in this matter," the man exclaimed at last."Where is he?"
"I don't know. I sent him yesterday to Belgrade, but last night hetelephoned that he had lost the train."
"Then he may have left at nine o'clock this morning?"
"Most probably."
"Then you must recall him by wire."
"No telegram can reach him till he gets to Servia, for I don't knowwhether he's gone from Ostend or Paris."
"They'd know in the City. Why not ask them?"
"No; they wouldn't know."
"Why?"
"Because Rolfe had with him a big sum in German notes and a quantity ofsecurities belonging to the National Bank of Servia. In that case hewould not let anyone know his route, for fear of thieves. It is one ofmy strictest orders to him. Why he lost the train last night I can'ttell."
"Well, it's a thousand pities we can't get at him, for he's the only manto help you out--of this difficulty."
"Yes; I quite agree. That shabby, down-at-heel man waiting outside ismy master, Levi--the master of Statham Ltd. My future is in his hands!"
He had raised his head, and sat staring at the beautiful picture uponthe wall before him, the picture with its wonderful tints which had beencopied in a hundred different places.
His countenance was haggard and drawn, and in his eyes was a look ofunspeakable terror, as though he were looking into his own grave, asindeed at that moment he was.
The sombre melancholy-looking Levi stood watching for a moment, andthen, creeping to the window, looked out into the sunshine of Park Lane.
The ragged tramp was still there, idling against the railings, andsmoking a short, dirty pipe quite unconcernedly. He was watching forthe re-appearance of that white, startled face at the window--the faceof the great Samuel Statham. "He's still outside, I suppose?" queriedthe man at the other end of the room.
Levi replied in the affirmative, whereat old Samuel clenched his teethand muttered something which sounded like an oration. He was condemninghimself for his disbelief in his secretary's warnings.
"Had I listened to him I could easily have saved myself--I could haveprevented him from coming here," he said in a meaning voice.
"Yes; it would not have been difficult to have prevented this. Afterwhat has occurred that blackguard has no right to live."
"Aha! then you believe me, Levi?" cried the wretched man. "You do notblame me?" he asked, anxiously.
"He was to blame--not you."
"Then I was right in acting as I did, you think--right to protect myinterests."
"You were right in your self-defence," the man answered, somewhat grey,sphinx-like, for Levi was a man whose thoughts one could never read fromhis thin, grey, expressionless face. "But you were injudicious when youdisregarded Rolfe's warning."
"I thought he had his own interests to serve," was Statham's reply.
"Frankly, you believed it to be an attempt at blackmail. I quite followyou. But do you think Rolfe would be guilty of such a thing?"
"My dear Levi, when a poor man is in love, as Rolfe is, it is a soretemptation to obtain by any means, fair or foul, sufficient to marry andsupport a wife. You and I were both young once--eh? And we thoughtthat our love would last always. Where is yours to-day, and"--hesighed--"where is mine?"
"You are right," replied the old servant slowly, with a slight sigh."You refer to little Marie. Ah! I can see her now, as plainly as shewas then, forty years ago. How beautiful she was, how dainty, howperfect, and--ah!--how well you loved her. And what a tragedy--thetragedy of your life--the tragedy that has ever been hidden from theworld--the--"
"No! Enough, Levi!" cried his master hoarsely, staring straight beforehim. "Do not recall that to me, especially at this moment. It was thegreat tragedy of my life, until--until this present one which--whichthreatens to end it."
"But you are going to face the music. You have said!"
"I may--and I may not."
Levi was silent again. Only the low ticking of the dock broke thequiet, and was followed by the rumble of a motor-'bus and the consequenttremor in the room.
"At any rate, Samuel Statham will never act the coward," the millionaireremarked at last, in a soft but distinct voice.
"Rolfe can help you. Where is he--away just at the moment that he'swanted," Levi said.
"My fault! My fault, Levi!" his master declared. "I disbelieved him,and sent him out to Servia to show him that I did not credit what hetold me."
"You were a fool!" said Levi, bluntly. He never minced words when hismaster spoke confidentially.
"I know I was. I have already admitted it," exclaimed the financier."But what puzzles me is that that man outside is really alive and in theflesh. I never dreamed that he would return to face me. He was dead--Icould have sworn it."
"So you saw him dead--eh?"
Old Statham drew a quick breath, and his face went ashen, for he saw howhe had betrayed himself. Next instant he had recovered from hisembarrassment and, bracing himself with an effort, said:
"No--no, of course not. I--I only know what--well, what I've been told.I was misled wilfully by my enemies."
Levi looked straight into his face with a queer expression of disbelief.Statham noticed it, and it unnerved him.
He had inadvertently made confession, and Levi did not credit hisdenial.
The peril of the situation was complete!
CHAPTER TEN.
SHOWS A WOMAN'S PERIL.
Several hours had gone by, hours which Samuel Statham spent, seated in adeep easy-chair near the empty fire grate, reviewing his long andeventful life.
With his head buried in his hands, he reflected upon all the past--itstragedy and its prosperity. True, he had grown rich, wealthier than hehad ever dreamed, but, ah! at what a cost! The world knew nothing. Theworld of finance, known in the City, looked upon him as a power to bereckoned with. By a stroke of that stubby, ink-stained pen which layupon the writing-table he could influence the markets in Paris orBerlin. His aid and advice were sought by men who were foremost in thecountry's commerce and politics, and he granted loans to princes and tokingdoms. And yet the tragedy of his own heart was a bitter one, andhis secret one that none dreamed.
He, like many another world-famous man, had a skeleton in his cupboard.And that day it had seen the light, and the sight of it had caused himto begin the slow and painful process of putting his house in order,prior to quitting it for ever--prior to seeking death by his own hand.
For nearly an hour he had been huddled up in the big leather armchairalmost immovable. He had scrawled two or three letters, and written thesuperscription upon their envelopes, and from his writing-table he hadtaken a bundle of letters tied with a faded blue ribbon. One by one hehad read them through, and then, placing them in the grate, he hadapplied a match and burnt them all. Some other business documentsfollowed, as well as an old parchment deed, which he first tried totear, but at last burned until it was merely twisted tinder.
It was now afternoon, and the silence of that house of mystery, whereinno one save Charles Rolfe ever penetrated, was unbroken. Across thesoft green carpet lay a bar of warm sunlight that seemed strangely outof place in that sombre apartment, with its despairing owner, whileoutside the shabby stranger was no longer to be seen.
He might be lurking in the vicinity, but Levi had an hour ago enteredand informed his master that the patient vigil had been relaxed.
Old Sam had dismissed him with a grunt of dissatisfaction. Those lasthours of his life he wished to spend alone.
He had been trying to see some way out of the _cul-de-sac_ in which hefound himself, but there was none. That shabby wayfarer--his worstenemy, had found him. Years ago he had sworn a terrible vengeance, butfor secret reas
ons, known only to Statham himself, he had laughed histhreats to scorn. Then came his death, and Statham was free, free toprosper, become rich and powerful, and use his great wealth for good orfor evil as he felt so inclined.
He had, however, used it for good. His contributions to charities weremany and handsome. Among other things, he had built and endowed a wingof the London Hospital, for which his Majesty signified his intention ofconferring a baronetcy upon him. But that honour he declined. To hisbrother in the City he had said, "I don't wish for any honour, and I'llremain plain Sam to the end of my days." There was a reason--a secretreason--why he was unable to receive the distinction. None knew it--none even dreamed.
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