"They are all, however, to account rendered," said Mr. Humphreys, as he removed and breathed upon his spectacles.
"It would, I frankly confess, seriously embarra.s.s me to settle them all at once."
"Dear, dear!" said Mr. Humphreys, in a voice of regret. "I am very sorry. These duties are very painful to me, Mr. Callon. But I have the strictest instructions." And he rose from his chair to conclude the interview.
"One moment," said Callon. "I want to ask you how it is that all my bills have come into your hands? Who is it who has brought them up?"
"Really, really, Mr. Callon," the lawyer protested. "I cannot listen to such suggestions." And then the smile came back to his face. "Why not pay them in full?" His eyes beamed through his spectacles. He had an air of making a perfectly original and delightful suggestion. "Sit down in this comfortable chair now, and write me out a little cheque for--let me see----" And he went back to his table.
"I must have some time," said Callon.
Mr. Humphreys was gradually persuaded that the concession of a little time was reasonable.
"A day, then," he said. "We will say a day, Mr. Callon. This is Wednesday. Some time to-morrow we shall hear from you." And he bowed Callon from his office. Then he wrote a little note and despatched it by a messenger into the City. The message was received by Mr. Mudge, who read it, took up his hat, and jumping into a hansom cab, drove westward with all speed.
Lionel Callon, on the contrary, walked back to his rooms. He had been in tight places before, but never in one quite so tight. Before, it was really the money which had been needed. Now, what was needed was his ruin. To make matters worse, he had no idea of the particular person who wished to ruin him. He walked gloomily back to his club and lunched in solitude. A day remained to him, but what could he do in a day, unless----? There was a certain letter in the breast-pocket of Callon"s coat to which, more than once as he lunched, his fingers strayed. He took it out and read it again. It was too soon to borrow in that quarter, but his back was against the wall. He saw no other chance of escape. He drove to Millie Stretton"s house in Berkeley Square at the appointed time that afternoon.
But Mr. Mudge had foreseen. When he jumped into his hansom cab he had driven straight to the house in Audley Square, where Pamela Mardale was staying with some friends.
"Are you lunching anywhere?" he asked. "No? Then lunch with Lady Stretton, please! And don"t go away too soon! See as much as you can of her during the next two days."
As a consequence, when Lionel Callon was shown into the drawing-room, he found Pamela Mardale in her most talkative mood, and Millie Stretton sitting before the tea-table silent and helpless. Callon stayed late; Pamela stayed later. Callon returned to his club, having said not a single word upon the momentous subject of his debts.
He ordered a stiff brandy and soda. Somehow he must manage to see Millie Stretton alone. He thought, for a moment, of writing; he indeed actually began to write. But the proposal looked too crude when written down. Callon knew the tactics of his game. There must, in a word, be an offer from Millie, not a request from him. He tore up his letter, and while he was tearing it up, Mr. Mudge entered the smoking-room. Mudge nodded carelessly to Callon, and then seemed to be struck by an idea. He came across to the writing-table and said--
"Do I interrupt you? I wonder whether you could help me. You know so many people that you might be able to lay your finger at once on the kind of man I want."
Callon looked up carelessly at Mudge.
"No. You are not interrupting me. What kind of man do you want?"
"I want a man to superintend an important undertaking which I have in hand."
Callon swung round in his chair. All his carelessness had gone. He looked at Mr. Mudge, who stood drumming with his fingers on the writing-table.
"Oh," said Callon. "Tell me about it."
He walked over to a corner of the room which was unoccupied and sat down. Mudge sat beside him and lighted a cigar.
"I want a man to supervise, you understand. I don"t want an expert.
For I have engineers and technical men enough on the spot. And I don"t want any one out of my office. I need some one, on whom I can rely, to keep me in touch with what is going on--some one quite outside my business and its a.s.sociations."
"I see," said Callon. "The appointment would be--for how long?"
"Two years."
"And the salary would be good?"
Callon leaned back on the lounge as he put the question and he put it without any show of eagerness. Two years would be all the time he needed wherein to set himself straight; and it seemed the work would not be arduous.
"I think so," replied Mudge. "You shall judge for yourself. It would be two thousand a year."
Callon did not answer for a little while, simply because he could not trust himself to speak. His heart was beating fast. Two thousand a year for two years, plus the sum for his election expenses! He would be able to laugh at that unknown enemy who was striking at him from the dark.
"Should I do?" he asked at length, and even then his voice shook. Mr.
Mudge appeared, however, not to notice his agitation. He was looking down at the carpet, and tracing the pattern with the ferrule of his walking-stick.
"Of course," he said, with a smile, as though Callon had been merely uttering a joke. He did not even lift his eyes to Callon"s face. "Of course. I only wish you were serious."
"But I am," cried Callon.
Mr. Mudge looked at his companion now, and with surprise.
"Are you? But you wouldn"t have the time to spare. You are standing for a const.i.tuency."
Callon shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh, I am not so very keen about Parliament. And there are reasons why I would welcome the work."
Mr. Mudge answered with alacrity.
"Then we will consider it settled. Dine with me tonight at my house, and we will talk the details over."
Callon accepted the invitation, and Mudge rose from his seat. Callon, however, detained him.
"There"s one difficulty in the way," and Mr. Mudge"s face became clouded with anxiety. "The truth is, I am rather embarra.s.sed at the present moment. I owe a good deal of money, and I am threatened with proceedings unless it is immediately paid."
Mudge"s face cleared at once.
"Oh, is that all?" he exclaimed cheerily. "How much do you owe?"
"More than my first year"s salary."
"Well, I will advance you half at once. Offer them a thousand on account, and they will stay proceedings."
"I don"t know that they will," replied Callon.
"You can try them, at all events. If they won"t accept half, send them to me, and we will make some other arrangement. But they are sure to.
They are pressing for immediate payment because they are afraid they will get nothing at all by any other way. But offer them a thousand down, and see the pleasant faces with which they will greet you." Mr.
Mudge was quite gay now that he understood how small was the obstacle which hindered him from gaining Lionel Callon"s invaluable help. "I will write you a cheque," he said; and sitting down at a writing-table he filled out a cheque and brought it back. He stood in front of Callon with the cheque in his hand. He did not give it to Callon at once. He had not blotted it, and he held it by a corner and gently waved it to and fro, so that the ink might dry. It followed that those tantalising "noughts," three of them, one behind the other, and preceded by a one, like a file of soldiers with a sergeant at the head, and that excellent signature "John Mudge" were constantly before Callon"s eyes, now approaching him like some shy maiden in a flutter of agitation, now coyly receding. But to no shy maiden had Lionel Callon ever said "I love you," with so glowing an ardour as he felt for that most tantalising cheque.
"I ought to have told yon," said Mr. Mudge, "that the undertaking is a railway abroad."
Callon had been so blinded by the dazzle of the cheque that he had not dreamed of that possibility. Two years abroad, even at two thousand a year, did not at all fit in with his scheme of life.
"Abroad?" he repeated doubtfully. "Where?"
"Chili," said Mr. Mudge; and he looked at the cheque to see that the ink was quite dry. Perhaps Mr. Mudge"s voice was a trifle too unconcerned. Perhaps there was something a little too suggestive in his examination of his cheque. Perhaps he kept his eyes too deliberately from Callon"s face. At all events, Callon became suddenly suspicious. There flashed into his mind by some trick of memory a picture--a picture of Mr. Mudge and Pamela Mardale talking earnestly together upon a couch in a drawing-room, and of himself sitting at a card-table, fixed there till the game was over, though he knew well that the earnest conversation was aimed against himself. He started, he looked at Mudge in perplexity.