The Pauper of Park Lane

It was a great temptation. The concession for that railway would indeed have been a temptation to any man. Did not the late Baron Hirsch lay the foundation of his huge fortune by a similar iradé of his Majesty the Sultan?

The man seated in the deep armchair with the cigarette between his lips looked at his victim through his half-closed eyes, as a snake watches the bird he fascinates.

Jean Adam was an excellent judge of human nature. He had placed there a bait which could not fail to attract, if not to-day, then to-morrow – or the next day. He had gauged Max Barclay with a precision only given to those who live upon their wits.

To every rule there are, of course, exceptions. Every man who lives upon his wits is not altogether bad. Curious though it may be, there are many adventurers to be met with in every capital in Europe, who, though utterly unscrupulous, have in their nature one point of the most scrupulous honour – one point which redeems them from being classed as utter blackguards.

Many a man, who will stick at nothing where money can be made, is loyal, honest, and upright towards a woman; while another will with one hand swindle the wealthy, and with the other give charity to the poor. Few men, indeed, are altogether bad. Yet when they are, they are, alas! outsiders indeed.

Adam was a man who had no compunction where men were concerned, and very little when a woman stood in his way. His own adventures would have made one of the most interesting volumes ever written. Full of ingenuity and tact, fearless when it came to facing exposure, and light-hearted whenever the world smiled upon him, he was a marvellous admixture of good fellow and scoundrel.

He knew that his clever story had fascinated the man before him, and that it was only a question of time before he would fall into the net so cleverly spread.

“When do you anticipate you could go East – that is, providing I can get the matter postponed?” asked Adam at last, as he placed his cigarette end in the ash-tray.

“I can’t give you a date,” replied Max. “It is quite uncertain. Why not go to somebody else?”

“I tell you I have no desire to do so, my dear friend,” was the Frenchman’s reply. “I like you. That is why I placed the business before you. I know, of course, there are a thousand men in the City who would only jump at this chance of such a big thing.”

“Then why not go to them?” repeated Max, a little surprised and yet a little flattered.

“As I have told you, I would rather take you into partnership. We have already decided to do the thing on a sound business basis. Indeed, I went to my lawyers only yesterday and gave orders for the agreement to be drawn up between us. You’ll receive it to-night or to-morrow.”

“Well,” replied Max with some hesitation, “if it is to be done, it must be done later. At present I cannot get away. My place is in London.”

“Beside the lady to whom you are so devoted, eh?” the Frenchman laughed.

Max was irritated by the man’s veiled sarcasm.

“No. Because I have a duty to perform towards a friend, and even the temptation of a fortune shall not cause me to neglect it.”

“A friend. Whom?”

“The matter is my own affair. It has nothing to do with our business,” was Max’s rather sharp response.

“Very well,” said the other, quite unruffled. “I can only regret. I will wire to-night to Muhil Pasha, and endeavour to obtain a postponement of the agreement.”

“As you wish,” Max said, still angered at this importation of the woman he loved into the discussion. “I may as well say that it is quite immaterial.”

“To you it may be so. But I am not rich like yourself,” the other said. “I have to obtain my income where I can by honest means, and this is a chance which I do not intend to lose. I look to you – I hold you to your promise, Barclay – to assist me.”

“I do not intend to break my promise. I merely say that I cannot go out to Turkey at once.”

“But you will come – you will promise that in a few days – in a week – or when you have finished this mysterious duty to your friend, that you will come with me?” he urged. “Come, give me your hand. I don’t want to approach anybody else.”

“Well, if you really wish it,” Max replied, and he gave the tempter his hand in pledge.

When, a few seconds later, Jean Adam turned to light a fresh cigarette there was upon his thin lips a smile – a sinister smile of triumph.

Max Barclay had played dice with the Devil, and lost. He had, in his ignorance of the net spread about him, in that moment pledged his own honour.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

Old Sam has a Visitor

It was past midnight.

At eleven o’clock old Sam Statham had descended from the mysterious upper regions, emerged from the green baize door upon the stairs, which concealed another white-enamelled door – a door of iron, and, passing down to the study, had switched on the electric light, thrown himself wearily into an armchair, and lit a cigar.

Upon his grey, drawn countenance was a serious apprehensive look, as of a man who anticipated serious trouble, and who was trying in vain to brave himself up to face it. For nearly half an hour he had smoked on alone, now and then muttering to himself, his bony fingers clenched as though anticipating revenge. The big room was so silent at that hour that a pin if dropped might have been heard. Only the clock ticked on solemnly, and striking the half-hour upon its silvery bell.

The old millionaire who, on passing through that baize-covered door, had locked the inner door so carefully after him, seemed strangely agitated. So apprehensive was he that Levi, entering some time afterwards, said in his sharp, brusque manner:

“I thought you had retired long ago. What’s the matter?”

“I have an appointment,” snapped his master; “an important one.”

“Rather late, isn’t it?” suggested the old servant. “Remember that there are spies about. That little affair the other night aroused some curiosity – I’m certain of it.”

“Among a few common passers-by. Bah! my dear Levi, they don’t know anything.”

“But they may talk! This house has already got a bad name, you know.”

“Well, that’s surely not my fault,” cried the old man with a fiery flash in his eyes. “It’s more your fault for acting so infernally suspiciously and mysteriously. I know quite well what people say of me.”

“A good deal that’s true,” declared old Levi in open defiance of the man in whose service he had been so long.

Sam Statham grinned. It was a subject which he did not wish to discuss.

“You can go to bed, Levi. I’ll open the door,” he said to the man who was his janitor.

“Who’s coming?” inquired Levi abruptly.

“A friend. I want to talk to him seriously and alone.”

“What’s his name?”

“Don’t be so infernally inquisitive, Levi. Go to bed, I tell you,” he croaked with a commanding wave of the hand.

The servant never thwarted his master’s wishes. He knew Sam Statham too well. A strange smile played about the corners of his mouth, and he looked around to see that the whisky, syphons and glasses were on the side table. Then with a rather ill-grace said:

“Very well – good-night,” and, bowing, he retired.

When the door had closed the old millionaire ground his teeth, muttering:

“You must always poke your infernal long nose into my affairs. But this matter I’ll keep to myself just for once. I’m tired of your constant interference and advice. Ah!” he sighed. “How strange life is! Samuel Statham, millionaire, they call me. I saw it in the Pall Mall to-night. Rather Sam Statham, pauper – the Pauper of Park Lane! Ah! If the public only knew! If they only knew!” he gasped, halting suddenly and staring wildly about him. “What would be my future – what will it be when my enemies, like a pack of wolves, fall upon me and tear me limb from limb? Yes, yes, they’ll do that if I am unable to save myself.

“But why need I anticipate failure? What does the sacrifice of one woman matter when it will mean the assurance of my future – my salvation from ruin?” he went on, speaking to himself in a low, hoarse voice. “It’s a thing I cannot tell Levi. He must find it out. He will – one day – when the police inquiries give him the clue,” and he snapped his own white fingers nervously and glanced at the clock in apprehension.