"It is quite clear," said Cornish, "that the Malgamite scheme is a fraud. It is worse than that; it is a murderous fraud. For Von Holzen"s new system of making malgamite is not new at all, but an old system revived, which was set aside many years ago as too deadly. If it is not this identical system, it is a variation of it. They are producing the stuff for almost nothing at the cost of men"s lives. In plain English, it is murder, and it must be stopped at any cost. You understand?"
"Yes."
"I must stop it whatever it may cost me."
"Yes," she answered again.
"I am going to the works to-night to have it out with Von Holzen and your brother. It is impossible to say how matters really stand--how much your brother knows, I mean--for Von Holzen is clever. He is a cold, calculating man, who rules all who come near him. Your brother has only to do with the money part of it. They are making a great fortune. I am told that financially it is splendidly managed. I am a duffer at such things, but I understand better now how it has all been done, and I see how clever it is. They produce the stuff for almost nothing, they sell it at a great price, and they have a monopoly. And the world thinks it is a charity. It is not; it is murder."
He spoke quietly, tapping the ground with his stick, and emphasizing his words with a deeper thrust into the sand. The habit of touching life lightly had become second nature with him, and even now he did not seem quite serious. He was, at all events, free from that deadly earnestness which blinds the eye to all save one side of a question.
The very soil that he tapped could have risen up to speak in favour of such as he; for William the Silent, it is said, loved a jest, and never seemed to be quite serious during the long years of the greatest struggle the modern world has seen.
"It seems probable," went on Cornish, "that your brother has been gradually drawn into it; that he did not know when he first joined Von Holzen what the thing really was--the system of manufacture, I mean. As for the financial side of it, I am afraid he must have known of that all along; but the older one gets the less desirous one is of judging one"s neighbour. In financial matters so much seems to depend, in the formation of a judgment, whether one is a loser or a gainer by the transaction. There is a great fortune in malgamite, and a fortune is a temptation to be avoided. Others besides your brother have been tempted. I should probably have succ.u.mbed myself if it had not been--for you."
She smiled again in a sort of derision; as if she could have told him more about himself than he could tell her. He saw the smile, and it brought a flash of light to his eyes. Deeper than fear of d.a.m.nation, higher than the creeds, stronger than any motive in a man"s life, is the absolute confidence placed in him by a woman.
"I went into the thing thoughtlessly," he continued, "because it was the fashion at the time to be concerned in some large charity. And I am not sorry. It was the luckiest move I ever made. And now the thing will have to be gone through with, and there will be trouble."
But he laughed as he spoke; for there was no trouble in their hearts, neither could anything appall them.
CHAPTER XIX.
DANGER.
"Beware equally of a sudden friend and a slow enemy."
Roden and Von Holzen were at work in the little office of the malgamite works. The sun had just set, and the soft pearly twilight was creeping over the sand hills. The day"s work was over, and the factories were all locked up for the night. In the stillness that seems to settle over earth and sea at sunset, the sound of the little waves could be heard--a distant, constant babbling from the west. The workers had gone to their huts. They were not a noisy body of men. It was their custom to creep quietly home when their work was done, and to sit in their doorways if the evening was warm, or with closed doors if the north wind was astir, and silently, steadily a.s.suage their deadly thirst.
Those who sought to harvest their days, who fondly imagined they were going to make a fight for it, drank milk according to advice handed down to them from their sickly forefathers. The others, more reckless, or wiser, perhaps, in their brief generation, took stronger drink to make glad their hearts and for their many infirmities.
They had merely to ask, and that which they asked for was given to them without comment.
"Yes," said Uncle Ben to the new-comers, "you has a slap-up time--while it lasts."
For Uncle Ben was a strong man, and waxed garrulous in his cups. He had made malgamite all his life and nothing would kill him, not even drink.
Von Holzen watched Uncle Ben, and did not like him. It was Uncle Ben who played the concertina at the door of his hut in the evening. He sprang from the cla.s.s whose soul takes delight in the music of a concertina, and rises on bank holidays to that height of gaiety which can only be expressed by an interchange of hats. He came from the slums of London, where they breed a race of men, small, ill-formed, disease-stricken, hard to kill.
The north wind was blowing this evening, and the huts were all closed.
The sound of Uncle Ben"s concertina could be dimly heard in what purported to be a popular air--a sort of nightmare of a tune such as a barrel-organist must suffer after bad beer. Otherwise, there was nothing stirring within the enclosure. There was, indeed, a hush over the whole place, such as Nature sometimes lays over certain spots like a quiet veil, as one might lay a cloth over the result of an accident, and say, "There is something wrong here; go away."
Cornish, having tried the main entrance gate, found it locked, and no bell with which to summon those within. He went round to the northern end of the enclosure, where the sand had drifted against the high corrugated iron fencing, and where there were empty barrels on the inner side, as Uncle Ben had told him.
"After all, I am a managing director of this concern," said Cornish to himself, with a grim laugh, as he clambered over the fence.
He walked down the row of huts very slowly. Some of them were empty.
The door of one stood ajar, and a sudden smell of disinfectant made him stop and look in. There was something lying on a bed covered by a grimy sheet.
"Um--m," muttered Cornish, and walked on.
There had been another visitor to the malgamite works that day. Then Cornish paused for a moment near Uncle Ben"s hut, and listened to "Ta-ra-ra boom-de-ay." He bit his lips, restraining a sudden desire to laugh without any mirth in his heart, and went towards Von Holzen"s office, where a light gleamed through the ill-closed curtains. For these men were working night and day now--making their fortunes. He caught, as he pa.s.sed the window, a glimpse of Roden bending over a great ledger which lay open before him on the table, while Von Holzen, at another desk, was writing letters in his neat German hand.
Then Cornish went to the door, opened it, and pa.s.sing in, closed it behind him.
"Good evening," he said, with just a slight exaggeration of his usual suave politeness.
"Halloa!" exclaimed Roden, with a startled look, and instinctively closing his ledger.
He looked hastily towards Von Holzen, who turned, pen in hand. Von Holzen bowed rather coldly.
"Good evening," he answered, without looking at Roden. Indeed, he crossed the room, and placed himself in front of his companion.
"Just come across?" inquired Roden, putting together his papers with his usual leisureliness.
"No; I have been here some time."
Cornish turned and met Von Holzen"s eyes with a ready audacity. He was not afraid of this silent scientist, and had been trained in a social world where nerve and daring are highly cultivated. Von Holzen looked at him with a measuring eye, and remembered some warning words spoken by Roden months before. This was a cleverer man than they had thought him. This was the one mistake they had made in their careful scheme.
"I have been looking into things," said Cornish, in a final voice. He took off his hat and laid it aside.
Von Holzen went slowly back to his desk, which was a high one. He stood there close by Roden, leaning his elbow on the letters that he had been writing. The two men were thus together facing Cornish, who stood at the other side of the table.
"I have been looking into things," he repeated, "and--the game is up."
Roden, whose face was quite colourless, shrugged his shoulders with a sneering smile. Von Holzen slowly moistened his lips, and Cornish, meeting his glance, felt his heart leap upward to his throat. His way had been the way of peace. He had never seen that look in a man"s eyes before, but there was no mistaking it. There are two things that none can mistake--an earthquake, and murder shining in a man"s eyes.
But there was good blood in Cornish"s veins, and good blood never fails. His muscles tightened, and he smiled in Von Holzen"s face.
"When you were over in London a fortnight ago," he said, "you saw my uncle, and squared him. But I am not Lord Ferriby, and I am not to be squared. As to the financial part of this business"--he paused, and glanced at the ledgers--"that seems to be of secondary importance at the moment. Besides, I do not understand finance."
Roden"s tired eyes flickered at the way in which the word was spoken.
"I propose to deal with the more vital questions," Cornish continued, looking straight at Von Holzen. "I want details of the new process--the prescription, in fact."
"Then you want much," answered Von Holzen, with his slight accent.
"Oh, I want more than that," was the retort; "I want a list of your deaths--not necessarily for publication. If the public were to hear of it, they would pull the place down about your ears, and probably hang you on your own water-tower."
Von Holzen laughed. "Ah, my fine gentleman, if there is any hanging up to be done, you are in it, too," he said. Then he broke into a good-humoured laugh, and waved the question aside with his hand. "But why should we quarrel? It is mere foolishness. We are not schoolboys, but men of the world, who are reasonable, I hope. I cannot give you the prescription because it is a trade secret. You would not understand it without expert a.s.sistance, and the expert would turn his knowledge to account. We chemists, you see, do not trust each other. No; but I can make malgamite here before your eyes--to show you that it is harmless--what?" He spoke easily, with a certain fascination of manner, as a man to whom speech was easy enough--who was perhaps silent with a set purpose--because silence is safe. "But it is a long process," he added, holding up one finger, "I warn you. It will take me two hours.
And you, who have perhaps not dined, and this Roden, who is tired out--"
"Roden can go home--if he is tired," said Cornish.
"Well," answered Von Holzen, with outspread hands, "it is as you like.
Will you have it now and here?"