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A Woman Intervenes by Robert Barr

R >> Robert Barr >> A Woman Intervenes




Wentworth received the message in London the next morning. It read:

'We are cheated. Longworth has the option on the mine in his own name.'




CHAPTER XXXIII.


When George Wentworth received this message, he read it several times
over before its full meaning dawned upon him. Then he paced up and down
his room, and gave way to his feelings. His best friends, who had been
privileged to hear George's vocabulary when he was rather angry, admitted
that the young man had a fluency of expression which was very more terse
than proper. When the real significance of the despatch became apparent
to him, George outdid himself in this particular line. Then he realized
that, however consolatory such language is to a very angry man, it does
little good in any practical way. He paced silently up and down the room,
wondering what he could do, and the more he wondered the less light he
saw through the fog. He put on his hat and went into the other room.

'Henry,' he said to his partner, 'do you know anybody who would lend me
twenty thousand pounds?'

Henry laughed. The idea of anybody lending that sum of money, except on
the very best security, was in itself extremely comic.

'Do you want it to-day?' he said.

'Yes, I want it to-day.'

'Well, I don't know any better plan than to go out into the street and
ask every man you meet if he has that sum about him. You are certain to
encounter men who have very much more than twenty thousand pounds, and
perhaps one of them, struck by your very sane appearance at the moment,
might hand over the sum to you. I think, however, George, that you would
be more successful if you met the capitalist in a secluded lane some
dark night, and had a good reliable club in your hand.'

'You are right,' said George. 'Of course, there is just as much
possibility of my reaching the moon as getting that sum of money on
short notice.'

'Yes, or on long notice either, I imagine. I know plenty of men who have
the money, but I wouldn't undertake to ask them for it, and I don't
believe you would. Still there is nothing like trying. He who tries may
succeed, but no one can succeed who doesn't try. Why not go to old
Longworth? He could let you have the money in a moment if he wanted to do
so. He knows you. What's your security? What are you going to do with
it--that eternal mine of yours?'

'Yes, that "eternal mine"; I want it to _be_ mine. That is why I need the
twenty thousand pounds.'

'Well, George, I don't see much hope for you. You never spoke to old
Longworth about it, did you? He wasn't one of the men you intended to get
into this company?'

'No, he was not. I wish he had been. He would have treated us better than
his rascally nephew has done.'

'Ah, that immaculate young man has been playing you tricks, has he?'

'He has played me one trick, which is enough.'

'Well, why don't you go and see the old man, and lay the case before him?
He treats that nephew as if he were his son. Now, a man will do a great
deal for his son, and perhaps old Longworth might do something for
his nephew.'

'Yes; but I should have to explain to him that his nephew is a
scoundrel.'

'Very well; that is just the kind of explanation to bring the twenty
thousand pounds. If his nephew really is a scoundrel, and you can prove
it, you could not want a better lever than that on the old man's
money-bags.'

'By Jove!' said Wentworth, 'I believe I shall try it. I want to let him
know, anyhow, what sort of man his nephew is. I'll go and see him.'

'I would,' said the other, turning to his work.

And so George Wentworth, putting the cablegram in his pocket, went to see
old Mr. Longworth in a frame of mind in which no man should see his
fellow-man. He did not wait to be announced, but walked, to the
astonishment of the clerk, straight through into Mr. Longworth's room. He
found the old man seated at his desk.

'Good-day, Mr. Wentworth,' said the financier cordially.

'Good-day,' replied George curtly. 'I have come to read a cable despatch
to you, or to let you read it.'

He threw the paper down before the old gentleman, who adjusted his
spectacles and read it. Then he looked up inquiringly at Wentworth.

'You don't understand it, do you?' said the latter.

'I confess I do not. The Longworth in this telegram does not refer to
me, does it?'

'No, it does not refer to you, but it refers to one of your house. Your
nephew, William Longworth, is a scoundrel!'

'Ah!' said the old man, placing the despatch on the desk again, and
removing his glasses, 'have you come to tell me that?'

'Yes, I have. Did you know it before?'

'No, I did not,' answered the old gentleman, his colour rising; 'and I
do not know it now. I know you say so, and I think very likely you will
be glad to take back what you have said. I will at least give you the
opportunity.'

'So far from taking it back, Mr. Longworth, I shall prove it. Your nephew
formed a partnership with my friend Kenyon and myself to float on the
London market a certain Canadian mine.'

'My dear sir,' broke in the old gentleman, 'I have no desire to hear of
my nephew's private speculations; I have nothing to do with them. I have
nothing to do with your mine. The matter is of no interest whatever to
me, and I must decline to hear anything about it. You are, also, if you
will excuse my saying so, not in a fit state of temper to talk to any
gentleman. If you like to come back here when you are calmer, I shall be
very pleased to listen to what you have to say.'

'I shall never be calmer on this subject. I have told you that your
nephew is a scoundrel. You are pleased to deny the accusation.'

'I do not deny it; I merely said I did not know it was the case, and I do
not believe it, that is all.'

'Very well; the moment I begin to show you proof that things are as
I say----'

'My dear sir,' cried the elder man, with some heat, 'you are not showing
proof. You are merely making assertions, and assertions about a man who
is absent--who is not here to defend himself. If you have anything to say
against William Longworth, come and say it when he is here, and he shall
answer for himself. It is cowardly of you, and ungenerous to me, to make
a number of accusations which I am in no wise able to refute.'

'Will you listen to what I have to say?'

'No; I will not.'

'Then, by God, you shall!' and with that Wentworth strode to the door and
turned the key, while the old man rose from his seat and faced him.

'Do you mean to threaten me, sir, in my own office?'

'I mean to say, Mr. Longworth, that I have made a statement which I am
going to prove to you. I mean that you shall listen to me, and listen to
me _now_!'

'And I say, if you have anything to charge against my nephew, come and
say it when he is here.'

'When he is here, Mr. Longworth, it will be too late to say it; at
present you can repair the injury he has done. When he returns to England
you cannot do so, no matter how much you might wish to make the attempt.'

The old man stood irresolute for a moment, then he sat down in his chair
again.

'Very well,' he said, with a sigh; 'I am not so combative as I once was.
Go on with your story.'

'My story is very short,' said Wentworth; 'it simply amounts to this:
You know your nephew formed a partnership with us in relation to the
Canadian mine?'

'I know nothing about it, I tell you,' answered Mr. Longworth.

'Very well, you know it now.'

'I know you say so.'

'Do you doubt my word?'

'I shall tell you more definitely when I hear what you have to say. Go
on.'

'Well, your nephew, pretending to aid us in forming this company, did
everything to retard our progress. He engaged offices that took a long
time to fit up, and which we had at last to take in hand ourselves. Then
he left for a week, leaving us no address, and refusing to answer the
letters I sent to his office for him. On one pretext or another, the
forming of the company was delayed; until at length, when the option by
which Mr. Kenyon held the mine had less than a month to run, your nephew
went to America in company with Mr. Melville, ostensibly to see and
report upon the property. After waiting a certain length of time and
hearing nothing from him (he had promised to cable us), Kenyon went to
America to get a renewal of the option. This cablegram explains his
success. He finds, on going there, that your nephew has secured the
option of the mine in his own name, and, as Kenyon says, we are cheated.
Now have you any doubt whether your nephew is a scoundrel or not?'

Mr. Longworth mused for a few moments on what the young man had told him.

'If what you say is exactly true, there is no doubt William has been
guilty of a piece of very sharp practice.'

'Sharp practice!' cried the other. 'You might as well call robbery sharp
practice!'

'My dear sir, I have listened to you; now I ask you to listen to me. If,
as I say, what you have stated is true, my nephew has done something
which I think an honourable man would not do; but as to that I cannot
judge until I hear his side of the story. It may put a different
complexion on the matter, and I have no doubt it will; but even granting
your version is true in every particular, what have I to do with it? I
am not responsible for my nephew's actions. He has entered into a
business connection, it seems, with two young men, and has outwitted
them. That is probably what the world would say about it. Perhaps, as
you say, he has been guilty of something worse, and has cheated his
partners. But even admitting everything to be true, I do not see how I
am responsible in any way.'

'Legally, you are not; morally, I think you are.'

'Why?'

'If he were your son----'

'But he is not my son; he is my nephew.'

'If your son had committed a theft, would you not do everything in your
power to counteract the evil he had done?'

'I might, and I might not. Some fathers pay their sons' debts, others do
not. I cannot say what action I should take in a purely imaginary case.'

'Very well; all I have to say is, our option runs out in two or three
days. Twenty thousand pounds will secure the mine for us. I want that
twenty thousand pounds before the option ceases.'

'And do you expect me to pay you twenty thousand pounds for this?'

'Yes, I do.'

Old Mr. Longworth leaned back in his office chair, and looked at the
young man in amazement.

'To think that you, a man of the City, should come to me, another man of
the City, with such an absurd idea in your head, is simply grotesque.'

'Then the name of the Longworths is nothing to you--the good name, I
mean?'

'The good name of the Longworths, my dear sir, is everything to me; but
I fancy it will be able to take care of itself without any assistance
from you.'

There was silence for a few moments. Then Wentworth said, in a voice of
suppressed anguish:

'I thought, Mr. Longworth, one of your family was a scoundrel; I now wish
to say I believe the epithet covers uncle as well as nephew. You have had
a chance to repair the mischief a member of your family has done. You
have answered me with contempt. You have not shown the slightest
indication of wishing to make amends.'

He unlocked the door.

'Come, now,' said old Mr. Longworth, rising, 'that will do, that will do,
Mr. Wentworth.' Then he pressed an electric bell, and, when the clerk
appeared, he said: 'Show this gentleman the door, please, and if ever he
calls here again, do not admit him.'

And so George Wentworth, clenching his hands with rage, was shown to the
door. He had the rest of the day to ponder on the fact that an angry man
seldom accomplishes his purpose.




CHAPTER XXXIV.


The stormy interview with Wentworth disturbed the usual serenity of Mr.
Longworth's temper. He went home earlier than was customary with him
that night, and the more he thought over the attack, the more
unjustifiable it seemed. He wondered what his nephew had really done,
and tried to remember what Wentworth had charged against him. He could
not recollect, the angrier portions of the interview having, as it were,
blotted the charges from his mind. There remained, however, a very
bitter resentment against Wentworth. Mr. Longworth searched his
conscience to see if he could be in the least to blame, but he found
nothing in the recollections of his dealings with the young men to
justify him in feeling at all responsible for the disaster that had
overtaken them. He read his favourite evening paper with less than his
usual interest, for every now and then the episode in his office would
occur to him. Finally he said sharply:

'Edith!'

'Yes, father,' answered his daughter.

'You remember a person named Wentworth, whom you had here the evening
William went away?'

'Yes, father.'

'Very well. Never invite him to this house again.'

'What has he been doing?' asked the young woman in rather a tremulous
voice.

'I desire you also never to ask anyone connected with him--that man
Kenyon, for instance,' continued her father, ignoring her question.

'I thought,' she answered, 'that Mr. Kenyon was not in this country at
present.'

'He is not, but he will be back again, I suppose. At any rate, I wish to
have nothing more to do with those people. You understand that?'

'Yes, father.'

Mr. Longworth went on with his reading. Edith saw her father was greatly
disturbed, and eagerly desired to know the reason, but knew enough of
human nature to understand that in a short time he would relieve her
anxiety. He again appeared to be trying to fix his attention on the
paper. At length he threw it down, and turned towards her.

'That man, Wentworth,' he said bitterly, 'behaved to-day in a most
unjustifiable manner to me in my own office. It seems that William and he
and Kenyon embarked in some mine project. I knew nothing of their doings,
and was not even consulted with regard to them. Now it appears William
has gone to America and done something Wentworth considers wrong.
Wentworth came to me and demanded twenty thousand pounds--the most
preposterous thing ever heard of--said I owed it to clear the good name
of Longworth. As if the good name were dependent on him, or anyone like
him! I turned him out of the office.'

Edith did not answer for a few moments, while her father gave
expression to his indignation by various ejaculations that need not be
here recorded.

'Did he say,' she spoke at length, 'in what way William had done wrong?'

'I do not remember now just what he said. I know I told him to come again
when my nephew was present, and then make his charges against him if he
wanted to do so. Not that I admitted I had anything to do with the matter
at all, but I simply refused to listen to charges against an absent man.
I paid no attention to them.'

'That certainly was reasonable,' replied Edith. 'What did he say to it?'

'Oh, he abused me, and abused William, and went on at a dreadful rate,
until I was obliged to order him out of the office.'

'But what did he say about meeting William when he returned, and making
the charges against him then?'

'What did he say? I don't remember. Oh yes! he said it would be too late
then; that they had only a few days to do what business they have to do,
and that is why he made the demand for twenty thousand pounds. It was to
repair the harm, whatever the harm was, William had done. I look on it
simply as some blackmailing scheme of his, and I am astonished that a man
belonging to so good a house as he does should try that game with me. I
shall speak to the elder partner about it to-morrow, and if he does not
make the young man apologize in the most abject manner he will be the
loser by it, I can tell him that.'

'I would think no more about it, father, if I were you. Do not let it
trouble you in the least.'

'Oh, it doesn't trouble me, but young men nowadays seem to think they can
say anything to their elders.'

'I mean,' she continued, 'that I would not go to his partner for a day or
two. Wait and see what happens. I have no doubt, when he considers the
matter, he will be thoroughly ashamed of himself.'

'Well, I hope so.'

'Then give him the chance of being ashamed of himself, and take no
further steps in the meantime.'

Edith shortly afterwards went to her own room; there, clasping her hands
behind her, she walked up and down thinking, with a very troubled heart,
of what she had heard. Her view of the occurrence was very different from
that taken by her father. She felt certain something dishonourable had
been done by her cousin. For a long time she had mistrusted his supposed
friendship for the two young men, and now she pictured to herself John
Kenyon in the wilds of Canada, helpless and despondent because of the
great wrong that had been done him. It was far into the night when she
retired, and it was early next morning when she arose. Her father was
bright and cheerful at breakfast, and had evidently forgotten all about
the unpleasant incident of the day before. A good night's sleep had
erased it from his memory. Edith was glad of this, and she did not
mention the subject. After he had gone to the City, his daughter prepared
to follow him. She did not take her carriage, but hailed a hansom, and
gave the driver the number of Wentworth's offices. That young man was
evidently somewhat surprised to see her. He had been trying to write to
Kenyon an account of his interview with old Mr. Longworth; but after he
had finished, he thought John Kenyon would not approve of his zeal, so
had just torn the letter up.

'Take this chair,' he said, wheeling an armchair into position. 'It is
the only comfortable one we have in the room.'

'Comfort does not matter,' said Miss Longworth. 'I came to see you about
the mica-mine. What has my cousin done?'

'How do you know he has done anything?'

'That does not matter. I know. Tell me as quickly as you can what he
has done.'

'It is not a very pleasant story to tell,' he said, 'to a young lady
about one of her relatives.'

'Never mind that. Tell me.'

'Very well, he has done this: He has pretended he was our friend, and
professed to aid us in forming this company. He has delayed us by every
means in his power until the option has nearly expired. Then he has gone
to Canada and secured for himself, and a man named Melville, the option
of the mine when John Kenyon's time is up--that is to say, at twelve
o'clock to-morrow, when Kenyon's option expires, your cousin will pay the
money and own the mine; after which, of course, Kenyon and myself will be
out of it. I don't mind the loss at all--I would gladly give Kenyon my
share--but for John it is a terrible blow. He had counted on the money to
pay debts which he considers he owes to his father for his education. He
calls them debts of honour, though they are not debts of honour in the
ordinary sense of the words. Therefore, it seemed to me a terrible thing
that----' Here he paused and did not go on. He saw there were tears in the
eyes of the girl to whom he was talking. 'It is brutal,' he said, 'to
tell you all this. You are not to blame for it and neither is your
father, although I spoke to him in a heated manner yesterday.'

'When did you say the option expires?'

'At twelve o'clock to-morrow.'

'How much money is required to buy the mine?'

'Twenty thousand pounds.'

'Can money be sent to Canada by cable?'

'Yes, I think so.'

'Aren't you quite sure?'

'No, I am not. It can be sent by telegraph in this country, and in
America.'

'How long will it take you to find out?'

'Only a few moments.'

'Very well. Where is Mr. Kenyon now?'

'Kenyon is in Ottawa. I had a cablegram from him yesterday.'

'Then, will you write a cablegram that can be sent away at once, asking
him to wait at the telegraph-office until he receives a further message
from you?'

'Yes, I can do that; but what good will it do?'

'Never mind that; perhaps it will do no good. I am going to try to make
it worth doing. Meanwhile remember, if I succeed, John Kenyon must never
know the particulars of this transaction.'

'He never will--if you say so.'

'I say so. Now, there is six hours' difference of time between this
country and Canada, is there not?'

'About that, I think.'

'Very well; lose no time in getting the cable-message sent to him, and
tell him to answer, so that we shall be sure he is at the other end of
the wire. Then find out about the cabling of the money. I shall be back
here, I think, as soon as you are.'

With that she left the office, and, getting into her cab, was driven to
her father's place of business.

'Well, my girl,' said the old man, pushing his spectacles up on his brow,
and gazing at her, 'what is it now--some new extravagance?'

'Yes, father, some new extravagance.'

His daughter was evidently excited, and her breath came quickly. She
closed the door, and took a chair opposite her father.

'Father,' she said, 'I have been your business man, as you call me, for a
long time.'

'Yes, you have. Are you going to strike for an increase of salary?'

'Father,' she said earnestly, not heeding the jocularity of his tone,
'this is very serious. I want you to give me some money for myself--to
speculate with.'

'I will do that very gladly. How much do you want?'

The old man turned his chair round and pulled out his cheque-book.

'I want thirty thousand pounds,' she answered.

Mr. Longworth wheeled quickly round in his chair and looked at her in
astonishment.

'Thirty thousand what?'

'Thirty thousand pounds, father; and I want it now.'

'My dear girl,' he expostulated, 'have you any idea how much thirty
thousand pounds is? Do you know that thirty thousand pounds is a
fortune?'

'Yes, I know that.'

'Do you know that there is not one in twenty of the richest merchants in
London who could at a moment's notice produce thirty thousand pounds in
ready money?'

'Yes, I suppose that is true. Have you not the ready money?'

'Yes, I have the money. I can draw a cheque for that amount, and it will
be honoured at once; but I cannot give you so much money without knowing
what you are going to do with it.'

'And suppose, father, you do not approve of what I am going to do with
it?'

'All the more reason, my dear, that I should know.'

'Then, father, I suppose you mean that whatever services I have rendered
you, whatever comfort I have given you, what I have been to you all my
life, is not worth thirty thousand pounds?'

'You shouldn't talk like that, my daughter. Everything I have is
yours, or will be, when I die. It is for you I work; it is for you I
accumulate money. You will have everything I own the moment I have to
lay down my work.'

'Father!' cried the girl, standing up before him, 'I do not want your
money when you die. I do not want you to die, as you know; but I do want
thirty thousand pounds to-day, and now. I want it more than I ever
wanted anything else before in my life, or ever shall again. Will you
give it to me?'

'No, I will not, unless you tell me what you are going to do with it.'

'Then, father, you can leave your money to your nephew when you die; I
shall never touch a penny of it. I now bid you good-bye. I will go out
from this room and earn my own living.'

With that the young woman turned to go, but her father, with a
sprightliness one would not have expected from his years, sprang to the
door and looked at her with alarm.

'Edith, my child, you never talked to me like this before in your life.
What is wrong with you?'

'Nothing, father, except that I want a cheque for thirty thousand pounds,
and want it now.'

'And do you mean to say that you will leave me if I do not give it to
you?'

'Have you ever broken your word, father?'

'Never, my child, that I know of.'

'Then remember I am your daughter. I have said, if I do not get that
money now, I shall never enter our house again.'

'But thirty thousand pounds is a tremendous amount. Remember, I have
given _my_ word, too, that I would not give you the money unless you told
me what it was for.'

'Very well, father, I will tell what it is for when you ask me. I would
advise you, though, not to ask me; and I would advise you to give me the
money. It will all be returned to you if you want it.

'Oh, I don't care about the money at all, Edith. I merely, of course,
don't want to see it wasted.'

'And, father, have you no trust in my judgment?'

'Well, you know I haven't much faith in any woman's wisdom, in the matter
of investing money.'

'Trust me this time, father. I shall never ask you for any more.'

The old man went slowly to his desk, wrote out a cheque, and handed it to
his daughter. It was for thirty thousand pounds.




CHAPTER XXXV.


Edith Longworth, with that precious bit of paper in her pocket, once more
got into her hansom and drove to Wentworth's office. Again she took the
only easy-chair in the room. Her face was very serious, and Wentworth,
the moment he saw it, said to himself. 'She has failed.'

'Have you telegraphed to Mr. Kenyon?' she asked.

'Yes.'

'Are you sure you made it clear to him what was wanted? Cablegrams are
apt to be rather brief.'

'I told him to keep in communication with us. Here is a copy of the
cablegram.'

Theatre review: Three Women, Jermyn Street, London
Obituary: Prolific crime novelist, Oscar-nominated screenwriter and man of many pseudonyms

Climbing the walls

Barack Obama is teaming up with Spider-Man in a comic from Marvel, which will see the future president exchanging a fist-bump with the superhero. The story sees one of Spidey's oldest enemies, the Chameleon, trying to stop Obama being inaugurated. Spider-Man's alter ego, Peter Parker, is covering the event as a photographer, and saves the day.

"Ya hear that, Chameleon?" Spider-Man says as he thwacks the villain in the face. "The president-elect here just appointed me ... secretary of shuttin' you up."

He tells Obama: "This is your day, and I know it wouldn't look good to be seen palling around with me" - in a nod to Sarah Palin's comment that Obama had been "palling around with terrorists".

"When we heard that president-elect Obama is a collector of Spider-Man comics, we knew that these two historic figures had to meet in our comics' Marvel Universe," said the publisher's editor-in-chief, Joe Quesada.

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