The Pauper of Park Lane

Chapter Thirty Two.

Man’s Broken Promises

“I know very little of the details,” replied the girl. “Max could, of course, tell you everything. He introduced me one night to Mr Adam, who seemed a very polite man.”

“All bows and smiles, like the average Frenchman – eh? Oh, yes. I happen to know him. Well?”

“He seems a most intimate friend of Max’s.”

“Is he really?” remarked the millionaire. “Then Max doesn’t know as much about him as I do.”

“What?” asked Marion in quick alarm. “Isn’t he all that he pretends to be?”

“No, he isn’t. I must see Barclay to-morrow – the first thing to-morrow. I wonder if he’s put any money into the venture?”

“Of that I don’t know. He only told me that it would mean a big fortune.”

“So it would – if it were genuine.”

“Then isn’t it genuine?” she asked anxiously.

“Genuine! Why, of course not! Nothing that Jean Adam has anything to do with, my dear young lady, is ever genuine. Depend upon it that his Majesty the Sultan will never grant any such concession. He fears Bulgaria far too much. If it could have been had, I may tell you at once I should already have had it. There is, as you say, a big thing to be made out of it – a very big thing. But while the Sultan lives the line will never be constructed. Pachitch, the Prime Minister of Servia, told me so the last time I was in Belgrade, and I’m entirely of his opinion.”

“But what you tell me regarding Mr Adam surprises me.”

“Ah! you are still young, Miss Rolfe! You have many surprises yet in store for you,” he replied with a light laugh. “Do you know Adam personally?”

“Yes.”

“Then beware of him, my girl – beware of him!” he snapped, his grey face darkening in remembrance of certain ugly facts, and in recollection of the sinister face of the shabby lounger against the park railings.

“Is he such a bad man, then?”

Sam Statham pressed his thin lips together.

“He is one of those men without conscience, and without compunction; a man whose plausible tongue would deceive even Satan himself.”

“Then he has deceived Max – I mean Mr Barclay,” she exclaimed, quickly correcting her slip of the tongue, her cheeks slightly crimsoning at the same time.

“Without doubt,” was the millionaire’s reply. “I must see Barclay to-morrow, and ascertain what are Adam’s plans.”

“He is persuading Mr Barclay to go to Constantinople. I know that because he asked me to use my influence upon him in that direction.”

“Oh, so he has approached you, also, has he? Then there is some strong motive for this journey, without a doubt! Barclay will be ill-advised if he accepts the invitation. The bait held out is a very tempting one; but when I’ve seen your gentleman friend he will not be so credulous.”

“I’m very surprised at what you told me. I thought Mr Adam quite a nice person – for a foreigner.”

“No doubt he was nice to you, for he wished to enlist your services to induce your lover to go out to Turkey. For what reason?”

“How can I tell?” asked the girl. “Mr Barclay mentioned that the railway concession would mean the commercial development of the Balkan States, and that it would be one of the most paying enterprises in Europe.”

“That is admitted on all hands. But as the concession is not granted, and never will be granted, I cannot see what object Adam has in inducing your friend to visit Constantinople. Was he asked to put money into the scheme, do you know?”

“Mr Adam did not wish him to put up any money until he had thoroughly satisfied himself regarding the truth of his statements.”

Statham was silent.

“That’s distinctly curious,” he remarked at last, apparently much puzzled by her statement. “Underlying it all is some sinister motive, depend upon it.”

“You alarm me, Mr Statham,” the girl said, apprehensive of some unexpected evil befalling the man she loved.

“It is as well to be forearmed in dealing with Jean Adam,” was the old man’s response. “More than one good man owes the ruin of his life’s happiness, nay his death, to the craft and cunning of that man, who, under a dozen different aliases, is known in a dozen different capitals of the world.”

“Then he’s an adventurer?”

“Most certainly. Tell Barclay to come and see me. Or better, I will write to him myself. It is well that you’ve told me this, otherwise – ” and he broke off short, without concluding his sentence.

The pretty clock chimed the half-hour musically, reminding Marion of the unusual hour, and she stirred as if anxious to leave. Her handkerchief dropped upon the floor. The old man noticed it, but did not direct her attention to it.

“Then if you wish it, Mr Statham, I will say nothing to Mr Barclay,” she remarked.

“No. You need say nothing. I will send him a message in the morning. But,” he added, looking straight into the girl’s beautiful face, “will you not reconsider your decision, Miss Rolfe?”

“My decision! Of what?” she asked.

“Regarding the statement made to you by Maud Petrovitch. She told you something. What was it? Come, tell me. Some very great financial interests are involved in the ex-Minister’s disappearance. Your information may save me from very heavy losses. Will you not assist me?”

“I regret that it is impossible.”

“Have I not even to-night been your friend?” he pointed out. “Have I not warned you against the man who is Max Barclay’s secret enemy – and yours – the man Jean Adam?”

“I am very grateful indeed to you,” she answered; “and if it were in my power, I would tell you what she told me.”

“In your power!” he laughed. “Why, of course, it is in your power to speak, if you wish?”

“Maud made a confession to me,” she declared, “and I hold it sacred.”

“A confession!” he exclaimed, regarding her in surprise. “Regarding her father, I suppose?”

“No; regarding herself.”

“Ah! A confession of a woman’s weakness – eh?”

“Its nature is immaterial,” she responded in a firm tone. “I was her most intimate friend, and she confided in me.”

“And because it concerns her personally, you refuse to divulge it?”

“I am a woman, Mr Statham, and I will not betray anything that reflects upon another woman’s honour.”