Stranleigh's Millions/The Rise of the Bendale Stores

by Robert Barr

STRANLEIGH'S MILLIONS

 

I
THE RISE OF THE BENDALE STORES

Two workmen walked down Piccadilly together; one a grim, soured, pessimistic, elderly man, the other a cheerful, humorous person who seemed to be enjoying the Vanity Fair exhibited by this celebrated street of wealth and fashion, whose pavements were crowded by well-dressed, leisurely promenaders, and whose roadway gave forth a gentle purr of expensive automobiles, punctuated by the sharp click-click of hoofs belonging to high-bred horses drawing, in elegant vehicles, no less high-bred ladies, or otherwise, as the case might be. The elder workman spoke with some bitterness in an aggressive, independent tone of voice as one caring not who hears.

"Now, look at that brainless, conceited fop! What's he good for, I'd like to know? Never did a hand's turn of useful work in his life, I daresay, and yet it's the likes of me has to support the likes of him."

"Ah, go on!" scoffed the younger. "Support the likes of him? Why, all you'd earn in six months wouldn't buy that suit of clothes!"

If the person alluded to in such uncomplimentary terms heard what had been said, his serene face gave no indication that the opinion expressed disturbed his equanimity. He strolled on indolently, unheeding. But the observations were audible to a middle-aged woman, whose rusty black costume and whose anxious, care-seamed face gave token that she occupied a position in the social ladder little higher than that on which these labourers' wives stood. She glanced at the impassive mask of the young man who had been called brainless, then stopped with a gasp and, apparently without intention of speaking, gave utterance to an exclamation:

"Oh, Lord Stranleigh!" she cried.

The young man came to a standstill, slightly raising his admirably glossy silk hat, but no light of recognition came into his eyes.

"I see you don't remember me, and no wonder," continued the woman breathlessly. "I called out before I thought, but I knew you very well as a lad, if I may be forgiven for calling your lordship a lad. I was Sally Hopkins, daughter of Job Hopkins, who kept the lodge at the west gate of Stranleigh Park, my lord."

A gentle smile came to the lips of Lord Stranleigh; a smile so winning that it would have disarmed the rancour of a socialist.

"Why, Sally, I recollect you perfectly. You married and came to London. That must have been—how long since?"

"Fifteen years come Michaelmas Day, my lord."

"Is it so long ago as that? How time does fly! But I cannot go on calling a dignified matron 'Sally,' and I'm not sure that I ever knew the name of him you married."

"John Bendale, my lord, and as good a man as there was in all England. He was a clerk in a cutlery shop on the Edgware Road at the time I became acquainted with him. He had come to Stranleigh village for his holidays one summer, and we were married as soon as he got a shop of his own, and I never regretted it, never for a single moment," she continued with almost passionate vehemence, as if the reputation of her husband had been attacked. "He always was good to me, and never has spoken anything but kind words."

Lord Stranleigh seemed embarrassed: the smile faded from his lips. He noticed now for the first time the worn black bonnet and gown, and conjectured that the husband was dead, yet feared to ask.

"I am glad to hear you have experienced a happy married life, Mrs. Bendale, and I trust—er—the business is prospering, if you are still dealing in cutlery."

"Yes, my lord, we own the shop—at least, nominally."

"Ah! Am I wrong, then, in surmising that trade is not as brisk as it should be?"

The woman moistened her lips, struggling with an emotion that prevented reply. His lordship, noting her difficulty, spoke with a breezy pretence of not having seen it.

"But really, Mrs. Bendale, we can't talk confidentially here in the street, can we? It's getting on towards five in the afternoon; won't you come in here and take tea with me? I remember, Sally, if I may be allowed the old name, that at the lodge you were very kind in the matter of cake when I was a youngster, so, as one good turn deserves another, we shall enjoy tea and cake together in memory of old times, if you don't mind."

But the woman drew back; the grandeur of the place of refreshment he had indicated dismayed her. It was one of those palaces lately erected on Piccadilly where a person may breakfast, lunch, or dine on this distinguished thoroughfare at the popular prices of Soho; marble halls that bestowed a sense of distinction upon the masses.

"Oh, I couldn't think of going into such a fashionable place in these clothes!" she gasped.

Once more Lord Stranleigh smiled. He had never heard the restaurant designated by the word fashionable.

"Then we will seek some quieter café up a side street," he suggested. "I confess that I am usually-strong-minded enough to resist the temptations of tea, but they tell me it is a harmless beverage, and one may be forgiven dissipation on the occasion of meeting an old friend."

He conducted her to a less pretentious establishment, and there secured a retired table in an obscure corner. Seeing that the woman had recovered control of herself, he said, almost brusquely:

"Now, Mrs. Bendale, tell me all about it. If you are in trouble, perhaps I may be able to help."

"Oh, my lord," she cried, "you must not think I spoke to you because I wished to borrow money. Thank God, John and I have always paid our way."

"I know precisely why you spoke to me, Sally. You recognised me, and at once there came to your mind the lodge-gate, the avenue of elms, and the sweet countryside where you were born. There, there, Mrs. Bendale! Now, I didn't intend to say anything that—tut-tut!" for the tired woman's head had sunk slowly to the table, and she was crying very quietly.

"Tea for two, please," he said to the smartly-uniformed waitress who stood rather astonished at the incongruity of the pair she was called upon to serve. "Tea for two, and all the extras, you know. Cake for two—a mountain of cake, and, I say, my girl, you haven't such a thing as a drop of—oh, I see—no licence—yes, quite so, quite so. Very well, then, tea, of the best you can furnish."

The girl departed, and the woman raised her head, drying her eyes.

"My lord," she said, "I am ashamed of myself."

"Nonsense! I saw you were overwrought the moment I met you. The cry and the tea combined will do you good, and as there is no witness but myself, we needn't care, either of us, need we? When I spoke of assistance, I was referring to a little friendly advice, and it really won't do any harm if there's a bit of money behind it to add practicality to theory. Perhaps you heard that worthy and stalwart citizen say I was brainless, but, you see, we never like to admit a charge that contains an element of truth, so I flatter myself that in a crisis I may see a way out which may have been overlooked by more competent men.

"Indeed, Lord Stranleigh," said Mrs. Bendale with some indignation, "the man had no right to speak of you as he did. I saw your portrait in all the papers a while ago, and they said you were the greatest financier of the age."

Lord Stranleigh laughed heartily.

"Oh, the papers will say anything. I am not sure after all but the labouring man made a much closer shot at the truth. Now, Mrs. Bendale, what's wrong with the cutlery industry? Aren't the boys buying pocket-knives as they did when I was a youth?"

"For the first few years," said Mrs. Bendale, "we prospered even more than we could have hoped. My husband is an indefatigable worker and an honest and a trustworthy man. Some time ago the accountant valued our shop as a going concern at five thousand pounds, but that was before Richard Brassard came."

"Ah, who is Richard Brassard?"

Don't you know Brassard?" she asked in open-eyed astonishment that this rising giant of the commercial world, who had so long overshadowed her own life, should be unfamiliar to anyone. To her mind Brassard was the one undisputable fact in the universe.

"I never even heard of him," said Stranleigh.

"He was a shopman in the grocery business of Kempt and Company, who failed about ten years ago. He had either saved money or induced some capitalist to back him, but, be that as it may, he bought the business at the bankruptcy sale. He prospered from the first, and soon acquired the drapery establishment next door. He is said to be a hard man, and quite ruthless, who beats his competitors to their knees and then buys all they possess at his own price. No one seems able to stand against him. Some have tried, and those he has crushed. The tradesmen who accept his first offer are always best off. He began by offering my husband two thousand five hundred pounds for the shop, but as this was merely half the value of our property we refused to sell. He then established a cutlery business next door to ourselves and commenced his usual plan of undercutting."

"I see. War to the knife, as one might say."

"It was a one-sided war," went on the woman seriously. The situation was too tragic for her to appreciate or understand any attempted pleasantry with reference to it. "It was a one-sided war because Brassard could buy on so much better terms than we that he was able to undersell us and yet make a slight profit, whereas if my husband attempted to dispose of his stock at the same price, or to cut below him, he was parting with his goods at a loss."

"I see. This has been going on for some time, and at last your husband finds it impossible to meet his payments?"

"That is true."

"He is being pressed on the one hand by Brassard, and on the other by his creditors, the wholesale cutlery houses?"

"Yes."

"Would he accept five thousand for the business to-day?"

"Oh, Brassard offers only a thousand now."

"Oh, blow Brassard! Never mind him. I'll give your husband five thousand for his business cash down across the counter. I've always wanted to own a shop. I'm essentially democratic in my tastes, although I try to do my duty by the aristocracy. I'll buy out the store of cutlery and put your husband in as manager at a good salary. I fear I should not make a good shopman, especially in the sale of pocket-knives, for if any tatterdemalion boy came in who hadn't quite enough money for the weapon he wanted, I fear that sympathy with his desire would overcome my shrewdness as a tradesman and I should let the knife go under cost price."

Mrs. Bendale smiled wanly; something of the young man's enthusiasm reminded her of him as a lad; then the sadness returned to her face.

"You are very generous, my lord, but, of course, it would not be right to dispose of a business for five thousand pounds which is worth less than a thousand—yes, much less, now that it is overburdened with debt."

"Oh, that doesn't matter," said Stranleigh airily.

"What you propose is impossible, my lord, and to show why it is impossible I must now speak to you of my husband, which I didn't quite wish to do. He is really a very excellent business man, and, as I have said, a kind man, but this contest has wrought a serious change in his disposition, so much so that it is not ruin I fear but a tragedy. He has become embittered against Brassard to such an extent that I am in constant terror of violence that may result in murder, or suicide, or both."

"Ah, this is rather serious. Do you think there would be any advantage if I went home with you, advised him to sell out at Brassard's figure, and offered to finance him in any undertaking that commended itself to him in some other place?"

The woman shook her head.

"He would not listen to you, nor to anyone else."

"Does he not see the inevitable end of such a contest? He is pitting himself against modern progress. The man who does that inevitably goes to the wall. It's like standing in the middle of a country road when a fifty-horse-power automobile is tearing along. Whatever may be your opinion of automobiles, it is just as well not to attempt to stop one with your body."

"My husband is quite beyond the reach of reason."

"Then what would happen if I sought an interview with Brassard? You say he is a keen, hard business man. It is likely he does not take the same point of view as that unfortunately held by your husband. This struggle is merely one of many to him, and he would doubtless be glad to have it brushed out of the way. Now, I'll make a present of four thousand pounds to Mr. Brassard on condition that he will add his one thousand pounds, and offer the total to your husband."

"I am sure my husband would not sell to Brassard now if he offered twenty thousand."

"But, my dear Mrs. Bendale, such an attitude is most unreasonable."

"I know it is; that's what I've been saying. My husband has gone beyond the power of reasoning, and that's what frightens me."

"How old is your husband, Mrs. Bendale?"

"We have been married fifteen years, and he was twenty-three on our wedding-day," she replied in round-about fashion.

"Thirty-eight, eh? Well, a man should not have passed beyond the reach of wise counsel at that age. You are quite sure I could do no good by talking with him?"

"None in the least, I am sorry to say, my lord."

"The knife thrusts of Richard Brassard have gone deep, then?"

"They have, indeed," she wailed.

"As I understand the case, it is not so much financial, serious as that aspect is, as temperamental. We have here in a measure the problem of our youth: the irresistible force and the immovable body. Well, I must take a little time to think over the situation, Mrs. Bendale, and if I undertake to do that, you, in turn, should promise that in case of real monetary distress coming upon you, you will at once apply to me."

"Oh, Lord Stranleigh, I assure you that I never for a moment thought——"

"Of course not, but the point at issue is, do you promise?"

"Yes," faltered the woman.

"Well, if I can make no headway with the stubborn Richard Brassard, or the equally stubborn John Bendale, thank goodness I have still some influence with the women. Now here is the street and number of my town house, and anything sent there will be forwarded if I am not at home. In spite of your promise I am quite certain that you will wait till the very last moment before applying to me. I wish to forestall you in this, and so must insist on your accepting a small cheque on account. I shall just write it out now, and you will take it with you. Open an account in your own name in some bank close at hand, and deposit this amount to your credit; then, in case I should be away from home, and not easily reached, you will be independent and my mind will be easy."

Mrs. Bendale glanced at the figure he had written and was about to speak when he raised his hand.

"I know exactly what is in your mind; the sum is larger than you expected, but permit me to point out that this has nothing to do with the case. The money may just as well rest in your bank as in mine. You can pay it back any time you wish, and I shall feel easier in knowing that help is at your hand if needed. You see, Mrs. Bendale, you are by way of being a member of my family; we are all Stranleighites together, and I cannot allow this delightful, busy, brutal London to crumple one of us up. God bless my soul, Sally, you would not turn me hungry from your door if I were famishing, even though you owned only one crust of bread. You know you'd break it in two!"

Mrs. Bendale rose; her thin, paleface was twitching nervously, and her lower lip trembled.

"I'll call a cab for you," said Stranleigh, rising also, but she shook her head. Speaking was beyond her, and realising that she wished to go alone, he bade her a cheery good-bye and sat down again. A very pretty girl, with rosy cheeks, neat hair, and white apron, approached in response to his signal. He paid the bill, and gave a tip so generous that the handsome waitress smiled her sweetest, and Stranleigh smiled in return as he left the tea-room. He had told Mrs. Bendale that he required time to think, and he took this time as he walked very slowly down to Piccadilly, where he hailed a taximeter motor-cab.

"Brassard's," he said, as he stepped aboard.

He found that the name was potent, and no other directions were needed. The cabman knew where Brassard's huge emporium stood, even if certain members of the nobility did not. The establishment presented quite an imposing appearance to the street. When Brassard bought out an old-fashioned business he re-fronted it in keeping with the rest of his premises, and the huge windows of plate-glass, admirable for the tempting display of goods, made the shops on the opposite side look dingy and second-rate. Brassard's was like a slow-moving mass of lava, gradually engulfing everything that came in its way, and Lord Stranleigh's task was not made easier by the fact that John Bendale's cutlery shop had for months stopped the flow in one direction at least, and had therefore angered the determined Brassard.

The young man dismissed his cab at the corner and walked past John Bendale's premises to the much more magnificent establishment of Richard Brassard. He noticed the meagre display in the former, like the collection of a junk shop as compared with the bright, steely glitter of the wares behind the plate-glass window, and he admitted to himself that, if in search of a poniard, and knowing nothing of either man, his custom would have gone to Brassard.

Brassard was his own window-dresser, and anyone passing in the early morning might have seen this stout man, with close-clipped, bullet head, standing on the pavement outside without a hat and directing by manual signs those attendants behind the plate glass who were arranging material in its most attractive form. There was always a gaping crowd in front of Richard Brassard's windows, and many of those gathered there filtered into his various shops.

"Brassard is evidently a man who understands his business," sighed Stranleigh, as he paused before the wide entrance, his natural diffidence holding him there, for nothing was so distasteful to him as calling upon a man uninvited, yet some latent font of courage within him always prevented a retreat. He usually buoyed himself up with the false hope that the man he sought would be absent or too busy to see him, and thus he might draw back with a clear conscience. It was now late in the afternoon, and probably the great Brassard had gone home, but in thinking thus he reckoned without the man he was to meet.

A floorwalker approached him promptly with ingratiating manner.

Could you tell me," asked Stranleigh, in a voice of silk, "if Mr. Brassard has gone home yet?"

"Lord love you, sir," cried the floorwalker, startled out of his politeness by so absurd a query, "Mr. Brassard don't go home till ten or eleven at night. He's always the first man here and the last away."

"Ah, in that case would you be good enough to ask him if he could see me for a few moments?"

"Certainly, sir. What name, sir?"

"Stranleigh."

The floorwalker wrote it on a tablet. "L-e-i-g-h or l-e-y?" he asked, looking up.

"L-e-i-g-h."

"Thank you, sir," and with that he disappeared toward the office.

"They seem to be polite enough here, at least," said Stranleigh to himself. "Perhaps it's going to be easier than I thought."

The floorwalker promptly returned.

"Mr. Brassard would be glad to know, sir, for what purpose you wish to see him."

"Say that my business relates to the sale of a property adjoining his own."

"Ah, in that case, sir," said the shopwalker, "I may ask you to step this way, sir."

He evidently knew there were certain subjects interesting to his master which would ensure a stranger's reception without further preliminary.

Stranleigh entered the private room of the great merchant, hat in hand, distinguished by a most conciliatory manner. He saw, seated before him, a round-headed man with hair clipped short, who might have been one of Cromwell's troopers, and who probably had an Ironside for an ancestor. The face was dogged, determined, uncompromising, and yet certain lines round the firm mouth betokened a sense of humour, which was, however, nullified by the sharp glitter of keen eyes that somehow reminded Stranleigh of the steely glare behind his cutlery window. Those eyes were ruthless, whatever the gentler lines about the mouth might promise. A thick bull neck supported the massive head, and his body was stout almost to corpulency. Stranleigh guessed, rather than saw, that his legs were stumpy and short. He was dressed in careless clothes of material poor when new, and now almost shabby, yet somehow the strength of the face seemed to make his apparel a matter of indifference. His piercing eye penetrated his visitor and took in all his points at a glance.

"Will you sit down, Mr. Stranleigh?" he said. "Where is this property situated?"

"I came to speak with you, Mr. Brassard, regarding the premises occupied by John Bendale."

"Ah!" ejaculated Brassard, his teeth coming together with a snap and his lips closing into a straight line. Then after a moment's pause he said, "Are you commissioned by Bendale to negotiate?"

"No."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"If you are kind enough to grant me a few moments' time I shall endeavour to explain."

This was said so courteously, with such a nice inflection of semi-deference, that for a moment Brassard's gruffness gave way before it. His eyes opened a little wider, and again he scrutinised the young man, but instead of asking him to explain he shot at him the unexpected question:

"Are you out of a job?"

"Ah—really," stammered his lordship, taken aback, "now that you speak of it, I—I—I am not doing anything at present."

"I offer you the position of floorwalker in our drapery department. I'll give you two pounds a week to begin with, and a speedy rise depends on yourself."

"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Brassard, for the opportunity, and, if you do not insist on an immediate reply, I shall be delighted to consider the proposition."

"Have you ever walked a floor, Mr. Stranleigh?"

"Only when I was a boy with the toothache."

The lines at the corners of Mr. Brassard's mouth deepened at this, but the eyes rejected the remark as unworthy of a business conference.

"What was your last position, sir?"

"I—I was with a gentleman on a yacht."

"Would the owner of the yacht give you a character for honesty?"

"Oh, yes, I am sure he would."

"If you are so sure, why did you leave his service."

"Well, you know, I haven't exactly left it. I'm with him yet, but we aren't doing anything, as you might say, and, of course, in an establishment like this there would be a chance of promotion, as you hinted."

"Exactly. Very well, think over it."

"I will."

"Now, tell me how you come here on behalf of Bendale."

"I do not come here on behalf of Bendale, but rather on behalf of his friends."

"Oh, he's got friends, has he?"

"Yes."

"Men with money?"

"Yes, some of them possess a bit of money."

"Then why don't they help him? He's a bankrupt now, if he only knew it."

"They are trying to help him, Mr. Brassard, and I come, if I may say so, as their spokesman."

"What have you to propose?"

"You are willing to give a thousand pounds for the business?"

"I did offer that, but he was fool enough not to take it. The price now is seven hundred and fifty pounds."

"But the business was worth five thousand before your competition began?"

"That has nothing to do with the question, and you may tell his friends that this tender of seven hundred and fifty will remain open but a very few days longer. I am quite well acquainted with the position of Bendale's affairs. I shall buy that business at my own price before many weeks are past."

"But to an alert business man like yourself, Mr. Brassard, time is money."

"Yes."

"You have been waiting a good while for this disaster to occur, but it has not yet taken place."

"It is inevitable."

"I grant that, Mr. Brassard, but why not close the deal to-day?"

"I'm quite willing; what do you propose?"

"I propose that you come into immediate possession of his business at your own price—seven hundred and fifty pounds. As you know so much about Mr. Bendale's affairs, you are doubtless aware that a certain amount of regrettable antagonism has arisen in his mind regarding you."

"It doesn't trouble me the snap of my fingers," said Brassard, suiting the action to the phrase.

"I understand that, but it matters greatly to his friends; so much so that they are willing to advance at once four thousand two hundred and fifty pounds. This amount will be handed over to you. You in turn will then pay to Mr. Bendale five thousand pounds for his business. Another proviso is that you will write to Mr. Bendale, telling him that he is victorious in this struggle; that you succumb and apologise, paying the price first demanded."

The eyes of Richard Brassard closed until they were mere slits, and he sat up in the chair where before he had been leaning back.

"An apology!" he cried. "I'll see him damned first!"

"Why not apologise, Mr. Brassard? It's a mere technicality and won't hurt you in the least. I can see that you are a man who does not care for public opinion except in so far as it affects your business."

"Oh, you've come to that conclusion, have you?"

"Yes, and your attitude is explained by your undoubted success. When one looks at this immense emporium, when one threads his way through crowded shops to this office, which contains the brains of the business, and when one realises that this has all been built up in ten short years by a man single-handed, it doesn't take much perspicuity to understand that such a man cares little for the opinion of his fellows."

Brassard's eyes were wide open now, but his gaze on the other was more penetrating than ever. Some doubt arose in his mind that he had rated the young man properly in classing him as a floor-walker. He was puzzled, and yet pleased, in spite of his frequent boast that no man could flatter him. The fact that this young man had hit the bull's-eye of his pride aroused his suspicion, but he could not resist a mild swagger.

"Yes," he said, "I've built this business up in ten years, and in ten years more I'll dominate the retail trade of London."

With that he raised his clenched fist into the air as if within its clutch he was strangling future Bendales.

"No, you will not," returned Lord Stranleigh very quietly.

"I will not?" cried Brassard, bringing his clenched fist down on the desk.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you lack the foresight to close at once with the most advantageous business offer which I have just made to you."

"Now, to show that you do not know what you are talking about, my good friend, allow me to tell you that I could sell out Bendale to-morrow. I hold some of his paper which he cannot meet. I bought it in the open market at a discount, and a big discount at that. I can close him up to-morrow."

"Then why don't you do it?"

"That's my business. I want to see the poor fool wriggle a little longer."

"Do you realise, Mr. Brassard, that the poor fool may go insane and shoot you?"

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it is a mere statement of probability."

"Have you come in here to attempt blackmail?"

Lord Stranleigh laughed, a laugh so honest and hearty that even a professional detective would have known the interrogation was absurd.

"I know little of blackmailers, Mr. Brassard, but I believe it is not their custom to offer their victim four thousand two hundred and fifty pounds in cold cash."

"What's your game, anyway?" cried Brassard, his apprehensions thoroughly aroused at last.

"My game is a perfectly straightforward one. Certain friends of Mr. Bendale's, or, to be more accurate, of Mr. Bendale's wife, desire to get him out of his difficulties. They have authorised me to place before you the proposal I have made. There, Mr. Brassard, my cards are all on the table; you now understand the game from beginning to end."

"Give me the names of those friends which Mrs. Bendale is so fortunate as to possess."

"I am not authorised to do so, but I am authorised to pay you the money, and with all due deference I beg to say that this is the important point."

"In other words, it's none of my d—d business who they are?"

"I should hesitate to put it exactly in those words, Mr. Brassard."

"Yes, but that's what you mean, all the same. Now, I'm a man who deals in plain language, and when I speak no one misunderstands me."

"Well, you have not misunderstood me, Mr. Brassard," said Stranleigh, with that friendly smile of his.

"There is one thing I can't quite catch, and that is what motive lies behind all this. Are Mrs. Bendale's relatives rich people?"

"I think not."

"Then she must be a very fascinating woman if a number of men who don't want their names mentioned will subscribe more than four thousand pounds to get her husband out of a difficulty."

"Your instinct is unerring, Mr. Brassard; she is a fascinating woman."

"Would my instinct be leading me astray if it caused me to suggest that there is no syndicate to this affair, but merely one man."

"I shouldn't think of contradicting anything you affirmed, Mr. Brassard."

"You said you had laid your cards on the table, but you haven't placed all your cards there."

"Perhaps not."

"Suppose you lay down the rest?"

"I have shown you the cards I intend to play; the rest of the pack shall not be used in this game, as you call it."

"You think yourself very clever, Mr. Stranleigh, don't you?"

"Quite the contrary, but I know that you are very clever."

"Ah, you're beginning to find that out?"

"I surmised it from the first, Mr. Brassard, and, of course, everything you have said has increased my admiration. You cross-question like a King's Counsel."

"I shall continue the cross-examination until I am at the bottom of this mystery. Few men can baffle me, though many have tried, and now I shall ask you a leading question. What is your real name, Mr. Stranleigh?"

"You have just mentioned it."

Where have I seen your name before, and quite recently?"

"How can you expect me to answer that, Mr. Brassard? Probably in the police reports of the newspapers. You mentioned blackmail a little time ago, and if that is my profession it is in the criminal lists that you would be most likely to come across the name of Stranleigh."

"You are not telling me the truth, Mr. Stranleigh."

"Ah, that is the kind of remark one man should not make to another. Everything I have told you is true."

"Then you have not spoken the whole truth."

"That is better and perfectly correct."

"Why don't you tell me the whole truth?"

"Because, as you very tersely put it, it is none of your d—d business. You see from that statement how evil communications corrupt good manners."

"You are getting angry, Mr. Stranleigh."

"Yes."

"And you won't inform me who you are."

"I have already done so."

Brassard wrinkled his brow and gazed for a few moments towards the ceiling.

"Stranleigh—Stranleigh," he murmured to himself. "Where the deuce have I seen that name?"

then, being a practical man, knowing, as he frequently contended, how to get at the root of things, he touched an electric button on his desk. A young woman entered, whose fine, large eyes, turned on her employer, showed some trace of fear.

"Where have I seen the name of Stranleigh—S-t-r-a-n-l-e-i-g-h?" he demanded.

"Perhaps you mean Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood," replied the girl.

"That's it—that's the name. What did he do? He did something a while ago."

"He is said to have made a hundred millions' profit on the rise of stocks after the Bank crisis."

"Oh, I say!" protested Lord Stranleigh, "it was nearer two hundred and fifty millions."

"What!" roared Brassard, "are you Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood?"

"My dear sir, you need not express surprise at that. I never denied it."

The large-eyed girl turned her frightened looks on the unperturbed young man.

"Here, clear out," stammered her employer; whereupon she instantly disappeared the way she came. Brassard, with his hands thrust deep into his trousers' pockets, his massive head bowed, his brow bent, now strode up and down the room, and Stranleigh noted with some satisfaction that his conjecture regarding the shortness of his legs was confirmed.

"Oho, oho!" muttered Brassard, "now we have an interesting situation."

"Yes, haven't we?"

"A young profligate, who has more money than is good for him, dares to come to me, a reputable man of business, and proposes that I shall assist him in his intrigues. Do you deny that?"

"I've said once before I wouldn't contradict you."

"You are in love with this woman?"

"Yes; I was in love with her long before she married."

"And you have the brazen cheek to sit there and admit it!"

"In that case I shall stand," said Stranleigh, rising and buttoning on his gloves with that scrupulous attention which he always gave to anything pertaining to his clothing.

"There is nothing so distresses me, Mr. Brassard, as solid British virtue on the rampage, so you will excuse me if I take my departure. When this exhibition takes place in the person of a middle-aged man whose legs are too short, whose neck is too thick, and whose body is too round, the spectacle contains elements of the ludicrous. Good-afternoon, Mr. Brassard."

"Have you seen this woman since she was married?"

"Oh, yes, I had tea with her this afternoon."

"And her husband knew nothing of the meeting?"

"That goes without saying, Mr. Brassard."

"You have probably paid her money?"

"You couldn't expect me to admit it, could you?"

"And this is the sort of thing we are to expect from our aristocracy!" cried Brassard, with withering scorn.

"Oh, well, if it comes to that," said Stranleigh, calmly, "I think you will find the rich of all countries very much alike. Don't let us be too censorious?"

"You are a cool young villain, I must admit."

"Yes, Mr. Brassard, and in a large business like this you must meet and deal with a great number of objectionable persons. I have made you a business proposition. Please do not allow my villainy to prevent you from accepting it, if you find it to your advantage."

"You are quite right—you are quite right. I meet and trade with all classes of people."

Brassard sat down heavily. The phrase "to your advantage" had brought him to earth again. The cunning of the sharp dealer had returned to his face; morality, for the moment, was given a back seat.

"Sit down. Lord Stranleigh—sit down."

"Thanks. I can receive the word 'yes' or 'no' standing."

"Then the word is 'yes,' I have it in my power, as I told you, to crush John Bendale to-morrow. I shall refrain from doing so. I shall purchase his property at the terms you have indicated. I will write to him any sort of letter which you are pleased to dictate."

"Thank you, Mr. Brassard. My cheque will be in your hands by the first post to-morrow morning, or, as I happen to have my cheque-book with me, I will give it to you now."

"Oh, to-morrow morning will do, but it must be made out for twenty-five thousand pounds. Lord Stranleigh."

"What!"

"I said I must receive your cheque for twenty-five thousand pounds. Come, my lord, you will never miss it, and I can do with the money. Not a word will ever be spoken by me of those admissions you made under cross-examination, as you called it."

"You frightened me so thoroughly, Mr. Brassard, when you spoke of blackmail, that I should hesitate to write a cheque for the amount you mention, fearing the transaction might bear some taint of that misdemeanour."

"You are not suggesting that I am making an attempt to blackmail you. Lord Stranleigh?"

"Oh, no; you are merely taking advantage of the situation which your own genius has disclosed. I have been but clay in your hands, Mr. Brassard. I entered this place, as I thought, an honourable man, and I leave it a cool villain. But suppose I refuse to pay you twenty-five thousand pounds, what then?"

"What then? In that case I shall crush Bendale like an eggshell, and I shall further inform him of your intrigue with his wife."

"And very likely bring us into the Law Courts."

"That's not my affair; that's your look-out."

"Quite so; but do you feel no compassion for the innocent who will suffer?"

"As I say, that is not my affair. You are the cause of whatever suffering ensues."

"Do you think nothing of the unfortunate position of the British jury before whom I may be called upon to appear—the tale that will be told to them of aristocratic depravity? There will be presented to them a mental picture of the young rake; a boy of five or six years old. His partner in guilt is a buxom young woman with the country roses in her cheeks, who picks up this young aristocrat by clasping him under the arms, and places him in a high chair by a table; ties her own white apron round his neck, so that he shall not soil his clothes more than is already the case, places before him a pot full of strawberry jam, delicious bread and butter, and a pitcher of milk. Do you think that twelve sensible men would blame the aristocratic rapscallion for falling in love with this buxom girl, when they remember the good old adage that the way to a man's heart is 'Feed the brute'? This was the beginning of the intrigue, as you call it. To-day, for the first time since her marriage, I happened to meet Mrs. Bendale. She is not yet forty, but she looks like a woman of seventy. She was daughter to a gamekeeper in one of my father's lodges, and married poor Bendale when he was a clerk of twenty-three. You see, Mr. Brassard, you are making a farce of what is already a tragedy."

"Oh, that's all very well, my lord; that's second thoughts, but you can't hoodwink me. I give you three days to accept or reject my offer."

"I do not need your three days; I reject it now."

"Then we shall see what will happen."

"That is very true, Mr. Brassard. I bid you good-evening."

Lord Stranleigh was of a cheerful disposition, but he left the emporium of Richard Brassard feeling somewhat depressed. His mission had not only been a failure, but he had probably accelerated the catastrophe which was threatening the man he desired to help. If that man refused to accept compensation from him, then all Stranleigh's wealth would be of small assistance in the crisis. He accused himself of lacking both tact and ingenuity. The stout man had out-manœuvred him at every point. Still, he reflected, three days' grace had been allowed him, and much may be accomplished in three days. If the worst came to the worst, he could surrender to Brassard and pay the twenty-five thousand pounds, although the ultimatum would probably be augmented when Brassard more fully realised the wealth of the man he had driven into a corner. Anyhow, there were three days' leeway, and he must discover at once whether John Bendale was impossible as a co-operator. He therefore resolved to call immediately on Bendale, an action he had not intended to take that evening.

He paused in front of Bendale's dingy window and looked in. The man was standing behind the counter in his empty shop, gazing into vacancy, motionless as a statue. The scowling face was stamped with bitterness and hate, and Stranleigh, with an exclamation of dismay, shrunk away from the disturbing sight. It seemed evident that Bendale was already a maniac, whose mind had dwelt too long and too intently on one subject. More discouraged than ever, Stranleigh crossed the road and walked down the street to a small park in the shape of a crescent, where a terrace of houses all of the same size and build swept inwards in the segment of a large circle, forming a bow to the string made by the straight pavement. On this bit of ground between the straight road and the curved terrace trees were growing, and underneath the trees a few benches had been placed. On one of these he sat down. He could see Bendale's shop diagonally across the way, and further along the gaudy block of buildings tenanted by Brassard, before whose windows the arc lights outside were already beginning to flutter and scintillate, for evening was falling. A group of noisy urchins were playing at marbles near him, and their clamour disturbed his meditations.

"I must take this problem in sections," he said to himself, "and conquer one bit before I give attention to what follows. Now, the first thing to do is to get Bendale into a frame of mind that may induce him to talk sanely."

He thought for five minutes, then shouted to one of the lads. The noise ceased, and they all stood apprehensively, thinking he was about to drive them away, or perhaps call a policeman.

"Come here, my boy," he cried to the foremost: "I want to borrow your knife."

Instantly the boy's grimy hand dived down into the pocket of his tattered trousers; there was possibly a penny to be gained. He ran forward and extended a knife. Stranleigh took it, and looked at it with contempt.

"That isn't a knife," he said. "It's only pretending to be! Why, each one of the four blades is broken."

"The points snapped when I tried to take out screw nails," said the lad.

"Don't you own a screw-driver?"

"No, sir."

"Well, that's no way to use a knife."

"Two of the blades will cut, sir."

The group of boys edged nearer, curiosity-smitten. Something of camaraderie in Stranleigh's tone and words inspired confidence in the slum-seared hearts of the little gamins.

"Can you read, my son?"

"Yes, sir."

"What's the name painted over that shop across the way?"

"Brassard, sir?"

"No, not that one—the shop this side."

"'John Bendale, Cutler.'"

"That's right. Well, he's a seller of knives. How much is this coin in my palm?"

"Ten shillings, sir."

"Right you are. Now, cut across to Bendale's—you mustn't go into the shop next door, remember—and tell the man you want the best knife he can give you for five shillings. Buy a screw-driver, too, and then bring back the change to me."

The boy fled. This was too good to be true.

"Aren't you going to give any of us a knife, sir?" protested another small boy.

"Yes, I intend to present each of you with a knife when that lad returns with the change. If he bolts with it, then we must discuss the matter."

"Bet your life," cried the biggest boy, "he'll come back with it; I'll see that he does," and with that he was about to speed across the street when Stranleigh held up his hand.

"Stop it," he commanded. "Let the boy make his purchase in peace. I think he'll come directly back; but if he should cut his sticks up the street, why, then you can chase him and bring him to me. The lad who captures him shall have the knife and the screw-driver."

But the boy came out of Bendale's stores jubilant, and darted straight as an arrow for Lord Stranleigh. "Look at that!" he cried, displaying his purchases. "And here's the change."

"Now the next boy."

"I don't need a screw-driver," said the next boy, "but my sister wants a pair of scissors."

"Good lad, for remembering other people. Here you are; buy her the best pair of scissors in the shop. I'm trusting you with a pound."

Number Two fled, and disappeared into Bendale's shop, but almost instantly came out again and fled up the street. There was a howl of rage from his comrades, and they broke away like a pack of hounds, but Stranleigh shouted them back.

"You suspicious little imps," he cried. "Don't you trust anyone on earth, even your own friends? Isn't there sense enough among you to guess what's happened? Mr. Bendale hasn't the change, and the boy has gone to get it."

"But you gave him a quid," protested the one who had been honest on ten shillings. As they spoke they saw the boy re-appear, entering again the cutlery store, and presently he returned with a heavy knife and a glittering pair of shears, also the change intact. When each boy was supplied with two articles of hardware, Stranleigh said:

"There, my lads, you are much more honest than you thought. Now, haven't you any friends who'd like a knife? There is still some money left. Well, scatter, and bring your chums here; and if any of you remember something else needful, you've only to speak up. Between us we'll stimulate trade in this district."

Within ten minutes Stranleigh's following had that of the Pied Piper in a hopeless minority. London is a bigger place than Hamelin.

"Now, my lads, we must organise this demonstration," cried Stranleigh, seeing that he had taken on rather a bigger contract than he had bargained for. "If we collect on the street in front of the shop, the police will make us move on, and very likely read the Riot Act to us, so you must marshal yourselves here under the trees. You," he said to the boy who had got the first knife, "will divide this army into companies of twelve. Any boy who disobeys you doesn't get a knife. I shall go across to the shop and see if there is enough cutlery to go round. Should there not be a sufficient supply, those who are left out in the cold will receive an order, on presenting which they will get a knife to-morrow. And now, my lad, as soon as you have your army arranged in regiments of twelve, send your orderly across to the shop to tell me how many you number. You will come across in orderly and quiet squads of twelve. You," to the largest boy with a pocket-knife, "will accompany me as my bodyguard."

Even before he had finished his instructions the smart little chap to whom he had given the marshalling of the force had divided it into groups of a dozen, and reported to his commanding officer the total number. Stranleigh, with his newly-appointed henchman close by his side, strode across the street and entered the shop of John Bendale. The unexpected access of custom had, for the moment at least, chased the aspect of gloom from the merchant's face, and all the instincts of the shopman had come uppermost. He was rearranging his wares after the raid that had been made upon them.

"Good-evening," said Stranleigh, with friendly cordiality. "I seem to have involved myself in a rather larger undertaking than was anticipated when I began, so I have come in to see if you can assist me in fulfilling my contract. How many pocket-knives are there in your shop?"

"Well, sir, I was just counting, in case this sudden demand should continue. I'll let you know in about half a minute."

As it turned out, there were enough to supply the contingent, and the squads came across the street as called, with great quietness and decorum, reflecting credit on themselves and their officers. Among these officers, who were already supplied, Stranleigh divided the remainder of the knives.

"Thank you, my lads, and good-night," he said. "You have carried out the organisation perfectly, and remember this, that as long as you do any useful thing with efficiency, there will be a demand for your services. Good-night."

His lordship heaved a sigh of relief when the last boy departed, leaving him and the shopman alone. Bendale was looking at his customer with somewhat the same expression that his customer had looked through the window at him, wondering whether he was sane or not.

"Well, sir, I must thank you for being the best customer that ever crossed my threshold. If it's a fair question, would you mind saying how you became connected with such an escapade?"

"I take it you are Mr. Bendale, whose name is over the door?"

The shopman confirmed that surmise.

"Well, Mr. Bendale, I am rather ashamed to admit that the escapade, as you call it, was the outcome of mean and petty spite. It was my ill-luck this afternoon to be compelled to seek a business conference with your neighbour, Mr. Brassard."

At the mention of this name Bendale's face clouded over. For the moment he had forgotten him. Stranleigh paid no attention to this change of countenance, but went on carelessly:

"I found Brassard, whom I had never met before, to be a hard and, it seemed to me, an unjust man, but finally, when he threatened me and made an attempt at blackmail, I confess unreasonable anger rose within me; so when I left him I went across to that little park opposite and sat down on a bench to plan revenge. I saw by these windows that you, too, were engaged in the cut-throat game, if I may so term it, and it occurred to me to send you across some customers. Please don't think, Mr. Bendale, that I am a light-headed, piffling person merely because my rancour took the form it did. I was revolving in my mind a much deeper conspiracy against the peace of Richard Brassard, and if I can only secure a few men who will obey me as faithfully and carry out my directions as perfectly as those boys did, I'll make the respected Richard Brassard sit up before I'm done with him. He will be Richard the Hunchback rather than Richard Cœur de Lion. The grasping braggart will regret that he tried to get twenty-five thousand pounds out of me this afternoon."

"Twenty-five thousand pounds! You must be a rich man, sir."

"Yes, I'm Stranleigh of Wychwood."

"What! Lord Stranleigh? Why, my dear wife came from Stranleigh village!"

"No, she didn't, Mr. Bendale; she came from Stranleigh Park, west lodge. You married Sally Hopkins. I was only a small kid then, but I remember Sally very well. She was always good to me when I visited the lodge. I never left that delectable ivy-covered residence hungry, I assure you, when Sally was there. Oh, we were great pals."

"It's a beautiful country, sir," said the shopkeeper, with a sigh. "Life was easy and simple there compared with what it is in town. How does a nobleman in your position come to be at loggerheads with an old scoundrel like Brassard?"

"Oh, it was over a bit of property. I'll tell you the whole story some day, and I think you'll find it an interesting one. But to keep to our muttons: can I secure your assistance to bring Brassard to his knees? I'm willing to pay highly for your services. I need a man who will be silent, determined, indefatigable, and I'd like to have one who is a good organiser. Will you join me, Mr. Bendale?"

"Yes."

It was only one word of one syllable, but in it was concentrated the hate of a lifetime.

"Good. Well, as a preliminary, I offer you five thousand pounds in cash for this business."

"It's not worth it, Lord Stranleigh."

"I suspected as much, but I propose that we make it worth the amount."

"Do you realise the ruthless and unscrupulous opposition you will meet?"

"Oh, perfectly."

"And you think you can overcome it?"

Absolutely sure of it, if I am assisted by the right men."

"Very well, your offer is accepted. What next?"

"To-morrow you will take steps to form this into a limited liability company, capital five thousand pounds in one pound shares. I will give you a note of introduction to the solicitor who attends to this class of business for me. Two thousand four hundred of these shares will belong to you."

"Oh, this is absurd. Lord Stranleigh. I can't both have my cake and eat it. As I've sold you this business for more than five times what it is worth, it would be absurd that I should receive nearly half of it back again."

"Nothing is so deceptive as these old adages, my dear Bendale. Thousands of men possess their cake and eat it too. There is our friend Brassard, for instance. He has built up a tremendous cake by gaining possession of the small cakes that belonged to other people and welding them together, as one might say. He not only has his cake, but the more he eats of it, the bigger it seems to grow. No; that cake adage is faulty, which is also the case with my cake simile, for one can't make a big cake out of a number of smaller cakes unless you acquire them in the form of dough. Brassard's conduct belongs to the 'dog eat dog' category. and such an enterprise is usually successful until one meets a bigger dog than himself, or until the pack turns on him. You people should have combined long ago."

"We tried to, but we were each competitors with the others, and all suspicious of one another. The most timid deserted, and made terms with Brassard. Then the combination fell to pieces."

"We won't trust the pack, Mr. Bendale. In the combination I hope to form there will be only one man who can betray us, and that man is myself. I shall own the majority of stock. Are you acquainted with all your fellow tradesmen in this neighbourhood?"

"With most of them. I have been in business here for nearly fifteen years."

"Are you on friendly terms with those you meet?"

"Yes. That is to say, I was. I have kept rather to myself for some time past."

"The man next door to your right is a chemist, isn't he?"

"Mr. Challoner. Yes, my lord."

"Do you know him well enough to drop in on him in a companionable way for the enjoyment of a chat?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose so, although I've done little visiting this while back."

"Now, listen to me, Mr. Bendale, and pay strict attention while I unfold my purpose. Please remember that you are the only person to whom I divulge it, and therefore if it leaks out—either you or I will be to blame. There is no third party for us to accuse, and silence is essential to success. You will call first on the chemist, and make excuse for your previous lack of neighbourliness. Tell him you have gone through an anxious financial strain, pressed by Brassard on the one hand with the weapon of unfair competition, and threatened on the other hand by bankruptcy. Now, happily, this crisis is past. Naturally the chemist will want further particulars, and you will tell him that you were fortunate enough to meet a young fool with more money than brains, and that——"

"Really, my lord, I must protest——"

"Don't protest, but listen, my dear Bendale. More money than brains, who has not only paid you in cash the full value that your shop is worth, but has returned part of the stock, and has offered you a handsome salary to remain as manager. The chemist will be more than human if he does not at once implore you to give him an introduction to this financial idiot. You will refuse to divulge my name, saying, what is quite true, that you are pledged to secrecy, but you will offer to sound the purchaser if the chemist places his business at your disposal, naming a reasonable figure, to be afterwards checked by a Chartered Accountant. Should he accept your intervention, get him to write out and sign an agreement to that effect, which you will stamp at Somerset House next morning for sixpence. He is to receive back a quarter share of the chemist shop. You will impress upon him that if he says a word about this bargain to anyone but yourself, he will jeopardise its completion.

"The method I have outlined you will apply to each and all of the shopkeepers on the streets surrounding Brassard's stores. Do you think you can do this?"

"I can," said Bendale, and closed his mouth like a trap.

His young lordship was pleased with him.

"Now, as you deal with each man, pledge him to secrecy, and make silence on his part a condition of the bargain. Do all this as quickly as you can, but show no eagerness during each negotiation. Until we have got what we want, there is to be no change whatever in the conduct of the various businesses. There is to be no enterprise, no zeal, no talk, athough doubtless someone will babble in spite of us; therefore time is an essence of the scheme. These various contracts are bound to leak out ultimately, so you must work night and day until we have everything clinched. I'd like to unmask my batteries some fine morning when Brassard is dressing his windows, and thus give him the first hint of what's before him, by a broadside all along the line. That's very probably past praying for in this garrulous town, but nevertheless speed, speed, speed, until we get what we want."

"By God!" cried Bendale, in tone so deep and solemn that the ejaculation sounded like an invocation, rather than an oath, "I am with you heart and soul. I will do exactly what you tell me to do."

"That's all right," said Stranleigh, taking out his cheque-book. "Here are five thousand pounds. Place this amount in your bank as soon as it opens to-morrow, and my advice is that you spend the rest of the night, if necessary, in writing cheques which you will post to every man to whom you owe a penny. I wish you to begin work to-morrow clear of debt, and if the five thousand does not cover your liabilities, you may draw on me from your future profits such a sum as is necessary. And now I shall take myself off, Mr. Bendale. I must not be seen any longer in this locality. Our future conferences will be held at my house. Here is the address, with my telephone number. Good-night, Mr. Bendale. You have cheered me up more than you imagine. I feel that I have made the best of all discoveries—the finding of a capable man. That naturally flatters me and stimulates my self-esteem."

There are two earthquakes in London every year that shake a certain section of society to its foundations. These are the semi-annual sales, when goods are being lavished on the public at apparently a tithe of their value. These earthquakes are especially active in the "rag trade," as the drapery business is irreverently called by those who take part in it. During the season the shopkeeper reaps his harvest of gold. There is one straight mile in Oxford Street along whose length an unfortunate man cannot buy a cigarette or a pipeful of tobacco, nor slake his thirst. Every window is filled with rags—with articles for the adornment of women.

It would be difficult to say in which line of activity Richard Brassard showed best his Napoleonic ability. When the high-price season began his windows were dreams of beauty. He appealed then to the fashionable woman. After that rich season ended with a great increase in his bank account, the windows blossomed out with figures in red and black, all goods marked down, and now the unfashionable women of the suburbs crowded round his counters in their thousands. It was a time of "no reasonable offer refused," and the crush was something terrific.

So well did Bendale do his work that the citadel of Brassard was surrounded by small forts before the latter had an inkling of what was going forward. It is true that here and there plate-glass windows were put in, in imitation of his own, but at these isolated specimens of enterprise Brassard merely laughed. The little people could not compete with him, either as a buyer or a seller, so he was not disturbed. At the beginning of the next high-price season the indefatigable Brassard himself attended to his luxurious windows, and by this time there was plate-glass all around him. On the following morning, to his dismay, there appeared in the opposition windows an exact duplication of his own display, and in the night had been put up sign-boards all along the opposite side of the street, as well as that portion of his own side which he did not occupy, bearing the words, repeated and repeated, "Bendale's Stores," "Bendale's Stores," "Bendale's Stores." But the appalling feature of the crisis was that all goods were marked down, as if this were the end of the season instead of the beginning.

"The fools! The idiots!" he cried. "Do they think to hurt me by cutting their own throats?" So he girded himself for the fight. He thought that the fashionable woman would not be tempted by this unseasonable lowering of prices, and in this he was partly correct. But there is one temptation that the most fashionable woman cannot withstand, and that is unlimited credit. Brassard had done a cash business heretofore with his customers who paid high prices, and, of course, it was money over the counter at the sales; but this madman Bendale was offering credit to all who asked, and was supplying goods of the same quality as Brassard at half the price.

It was not only in "rags" that values had been sacrificed; grocery, hardware, boots and shoes, everything Brassard sold could be purchased fifty per cent. cheaper merely by crossing the street. The indefatigable Brassard was swallowing a dose of his own medicine, only he dealt out the noxious mixture retail, and was now forced to imbibe it wholesale. The first week proved to him that he could do no business under these conditions, and his only hope was that the opposition would be ruined before the end of the season. Even this was small consolation, for his own profits of the year were inevitably gone, and he would be face to face with a deficit instead of a revenue. Who was Bendale's backer? That was the question; and then the next and most important point was, how full a purse did he hold? So energetic and capable a man as Brassard was not likely to be kept long in the dark about any piece of information he desired to get and was willing to pay for. Before the end of the month he knew that his competitor was Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood, and that Bendale and the rest were merely puppets.

"Mr. Brassard to see you, my lord," said the solemn Ponderby.

"Quite so. Show him in, Ponderby."

The large-headed, short-legged, bull-necked man entered the luxurious apartment, where Stranleigh was lounging in a chair, smoking a cigarette. The morning paper slipped from his hand to the floor.

"Ah, how are you, Mr. Brassard? Delighted to meet you again. What lovely weather we are having. Won't you take a chair?"

"Thank you, my lord, I think I'd rather stand. How long is this sort of thing going to continue?"

"Do you mean the weather? Oh, I think we are sure of a pleasant month yet."

"How long are you going to cut your own throat to spite me?"

"Really, Mr. Brassard, you are speaking in parables. Elucidate."

"You know very well what I mean. Lord Stranleigh. How long are you going to finance that incapable ass, Bendale?"

"Ah, yes, I see; you're meaning the shops! Why, of course. You're in the business, too, aren't you? I remember now. Oh, well, it's such a small affair I don't give it any particular attention. The management is entirely in Bendale's hands. Do you think him incapable? I was rather impressed with the man's business energy, and the way he bought up those shops for me, driving shrewd bargains, and holding his tongue as if he had been born dumb, so took my fancy that it's somewhat of a shock to hear you say anything against him. I shouldn't like my confidence in him undermined."

Brassard drew out a large coloured handkerchief and mopped his brow.

"I've come to talk business, my lord."

Stranleigh smiled, and lit another cigarette.

"When last I enjoyed the pleasure of meeting you, Mr. Brassard, I came to talk business, but you wouldn't listen to me. I never repeat an experience that has proved a failure. You cannot talk business with me, Mr. Brassard, but I am delighted to meet you socially. It's rather early, but will you have anything to—er——"

"Thanks; I never indulge."

"A cigarette, perhaps; or may I offer you an excellent cigar?"

"I don't smoke."

"Ah! I remember now; you possessed all the virtues, and were righteously indignant about the dissipated habits of the aristocracy."

"Can't we come to a compromise, my lord?"

"What, on immorality? I should think not, Mr. Brassard, with a man of your stern principles."

"My lord, you are playing with me. This is a serious subject."

"I was most serious, Mr. Brassard, when I attempted to deal with you before. As I have admitted to you, it annoys me to fail, and I decline to repeat my venture. I don't know what Mr. Bendale intends to do. The whole matter is in his hands. He told me some time ago he thinks of erecting a huge emporium in the block where your present business premises stand. I believe he is going to clear away everything between the four streets, and put up a suitable edifice designed by one of our best commercial architects. I think Mr. Bendale does not believe in your plan of utilising separate buildings and knocking doorways through the partitions. It might be well for you to call on him if you are interested in this sort of thing. I am sure you will find him most reasonable and ready to meet you, and although you must be prepared to sell out to him—you taught him the game yourself, Brassard, you know—I am confident he might consider the advisability of putting you in as manager of that section of the business which you have already built with such patient genius."

"I'd rather deal with you, sir."

"I regret that what you propose is impossible. I never interfere with a capable man; and Bendale, in a manner of speaking, married one of us, if I may put it that way, and we Stranleighs are very clannish. We stand by whoever springs from the Stranleigh soil. I shall be very glad to write you a note of introduction that will assure you at least a courteous reception from Mr. Bendale. It will be some return for your kindness in offering me the position of floorwalker at two pounds a week. One good turn—you know the adage, of course. Now, may I have the pleasure of doing this for you, Mr. Brassard?"

"I suppose that's the only thing left."

"Quite right. You always were an alert man to grasp a situation."

Lord Stranleigh touched a bell.

"Ponderby, will you kindly bring me a pad and a fountain-pen?"

This was done, and his lordship scrawled a few lines.

"There, Mr. Brassard," he said, handing the document to the man, who again was mopping his brow, "this will smooth away all difficulties. Please do not thank me. You cannot tell what pleasure it gives me to render a service that I make no charge for. Good-morning, Mr. Brassard."