"It's quite a small affair, this, Pratt," he warned him.

"As a matter of fact," Jacob declared, "I am really not looking for investments at all at the moment."

"No one is ever looking for investments," his _vis-a-vis_ rejoined.

"On the other hand, no man with large means sees a gold mine opening at his feet without wanting to have his whack. If you see our little venture with the same eyes as we do, Mr. Pratt, it is better for you to understand from the first that yours must be a very small whack."

"Hadn't you better explain the scheme to Mr. Pratt?" the Marquis suggested.

Mr. Dane Montague nodded. First of all, however, he rose to his feet, promenaded the room, peering into its darker recesses to be sure that no one was lurking there, opened the door, looked down the pa.s.sage, closed it again, and finally returned to his seat. He then dropped his bomb.

"I am in possession," he announced solemnly, "of an undertaking from the owner of the Empress Music Hall to sell me the property."

"For how much?" Jacob asked.

"For fifty thousand pounds, including the freehold. Hush! Not another word for the moment."

The butler entered with coffee and liqueurs, and the Marquis directed the conversation into other channels. As soon as they were alone again, Mr. Montague leaned forward across the table, his cigar in the corner of his mouth.

"You mustn't ask too many questions about this, Pratt," he enjoined.

"The undertaking was given to me in a fit of temper after a family row, and with the sole view of spiting others. The date fixed for the completion of the sale is to-morrow. I have contributed half the purchase money myself. The remainder has been distributed amongst my own friends, and it has been my privilege to allow the Marquis and some of his relatives to acquire an interest. To make up the full amount, a sum of seven thousand pounds is required. This I can get from a dozen people as soon as the office is open in the City to-morrow morning, but I promised the Marquis here to give him a chance of placing this amount also with one of his friends. I must confess," Mr. Montague went on candidly, "that I took that to mean one of his--er--personal friends--perhaps one of the family. I have been trying to keep the thing out of the City as much as possible."

"My acquaintance with Mr. Pratt," the Marquis confessed, "is not of long date, but my son has enjoyed his friendship for some time, and he seems likely to become, if I may say so, a--er--a friend of the family."

The financier's smile was meant to be waggish.

"I fancied that I detected indications of the sort," he declared.

"Have you any doc.u.ments?" Jacob asked.

"I have the undertaking to sell," Mr. Montague replied, "signed, of course, by Peter. Also a letter from a well-known firm of solicitors, who have examined the undertaking to sell, p.r.o.nouncing it legal. I can also, if you like, supply you with a list of the contributors."

Jacob accepted the doc.u.ments and studied them. The undertaking to sell the place of amus.e.m.e.nt known as Empress Music Hall was simply but clearly worded, and signed by "W. Peter"; also by two witnesses.

"That seems to be in order," Jacob admitted, "except that I always thought Peter spelt his name 'Petre.'"

"Sw.a.n.k," Montague scoffed. "As a matter of fact, though, I thought so myself until I saw the signature."

Jacob examined the letter from the solicitors. It was brief and conclusive:

Dear Sir,

Re the Empress Music Hall. We have examined the undertaking for the disposal of the above, signed by the owner and addressed to you, and we find the same duly in order and a legal doc.u.ment.

Faithfully, Danesworthy & Bryan.

The third paper contained a list of the contributors. Mr. Montague headed the list with twenty-five thousand pounds. The Marquis was down for five thousand. The other names, ranging from three thousand to five hundred, were all people of t.i.tle, many of them relatives of the Marquis.

"Sounds like a Court guide," Jacob remarked, pa.s.sing it back.

"I have been privileged," the Marquis observed, stroking his grey moustache, "as Mr. Montague has already told you, to place his proposition before various members of my family. I have found them, one and all, anxious to share in the profits of Mr.

Montague's--er--enterprise."

"When the purchase of the Empress Music Hall is concluded, what do you propose to do with it?" Jacob enquired.

"Sell it to a company for a hundred and fifty thousand," Mr. Montague answered, "and divide the profits of the sale amongst the contributors according to their holding. The Marquis holds an agreement signed by me to that effect."

"That is so," his lordship acquiesced.

Jacob was frankly puzzled.

"I don't understand, Mr. Montague, how you got that undertaking," he confessed. "I saw an interview with Mr. Peter in the papers the other day, in which he denied having sold the 'Empress' or even proposing to do so."

"That's the commonest bluff going," the other pointed out. "Always done. And see here, Pratt, this is the truth of the matter. The profit or the loss on the sale of the 'Empress' wouldn't go into Peter's pocket at all. It would go into the pockets of people with whom he is at present on very bad terms. This sale does them in the eye. That's the long and short of it."

"I see no reason," Jacob decided, after a few moments' consideration, "why I should not join in this enterprise. If you will allow me, I will telephone for my cheque book."

"Certainly," the Marquis agreed, "and in the meantime we can make our peace with the ladies."

CHAPTER XVIII

Jacob, on his return from the telephone, found to his surprise a familiar figure seated before the piano in the long drawing-room, an apartment more picturesque than ever now in the shaded lamplight, with its faded yellow satin furniture, its amber hangings, and its quaint perfume of bygone days. Lady Mary came to meet him.

"You see what I have done for you," she whispered.

"Miss Bultiwell!"

Lady Mary nodded.

"You'll have to be careful, though," she warned him. "I can see that there has been some trouble--that the course of true love hasn't been running exactly as it should."

"I told you that," Jacob reminded her dismally. "I am beginning to believe that she hates me."

"Not she," was the cheerful reply. "Look here, mother's gone into the housekeeper's room for a moment. Dad and Mr. Montague are adding up how much they have made out of you. You slip out on to the terrace there, before she turns around, and I'll bring her out directly."

Jacob did as he was directed, and, with the echoes of Sybil's song still in his ears, stepped out on to a wide balcony and stood looking over the tops of the lime trees towards Buckingham Palace. Presently there was a rustle of skirts, the sound of voices, and the two girls appeared. Sybil stopped short when she saw Jacob, but Lady Mary stood in the way of her retreat.

"You know Mr. Pratt, don't you?" she asked carelessly. "I thought so.

Miss Bultiwell's a perfect dear," she continued, turning to Jacob.

"She comes across the Square and sings to me sometimes after dinner and even condescends to play my accompaniments. You've no idea what a tax that is upon any one's good nature."

"I understood that you were to be alone this evening," Sybil remarked.

"But we are alone--practically," Lady Mary declared. "I am sure you wouldn't count Mr. Montague, and Mr. Pratt is an old friend.--One moment, there's my mother calling. Don't move, either of you, or we shall have to sit in that stuffy drawing-room all the evening."

They were alone, and Jacob found it exceedingly difficult to think of anything to say.