"Leave the room, sir," repeated Mr. Forde. He was one of those men who think some charm lies in shouting out a certain form of words so long as any one can be found to listen to it.

"Good morning," said Mr. Leigh again in reply, and he left St. Vedast Wharf boiling over with rage.

As he proceeded up the lane he met a man with whom he had some acquaintance--a man recently elected one of the directors of the General Chemical Company, Limited.

"Why, Leigh," said this gentleman, "where are you coming from?"

"I am coming from being ordered off your premises by your manager,"

replied Mr. Leigh, still white with passion.

"My dear fellow, impossible--"

"Not merely possible, but true," was the answer. "I have a client of the name of Mortomley, who, some years ago, became acquainted with your firm, and who has never done a day's good since. He is now in liquidation, and Mr. Forde wrote a note to Mrs. Mortomley, which I can show you if you are at all interested in so small an affair, wanting to see her. She did not want to see him, and so sent his communication on to me; but when I went to speak to him he flamed out on me as if I had been a pickpocket, ordered me off the premises, and behaved, as I told him, as if he were either mad or drunk."

"Humph!" said the new director. Mr. Forde had within the previous half-hour dealt himself a worse card than had ever before lain in his hand. "If you want an apology, Leigh, the idiot shall send you one--but--"

"Apology!" repeated the lawyer, "do you suppose I would accept one if the maniac sent it; but look to yourself, Agnew. There is something awfully rotten about your company, or I am much mistaken."

"I quite agree with you," was the reply; and the pair parted company; but instead of entering St. Vedast Wharf, Mr. Agnew turned along a cross lane, and thought Mr. Forde over quietly and at his leisure.

When he had thought him over he retraced his steps, and entered the offices, where Mr. Forde greeted him as though he had never spoken an insolent or unkind word to any one.

"Fine morning, sir," he declared. It was a curious fact that the moment the Mortomleys left Homewood the rain ceased.

"Yes, very fine," Mr. Agnew agreed, walking to the window. He was the most silent person Mr. Forde had ever encountered. He wore his hair parted down the middle, he used scent, his hands were very small and white, his clothes came from a West-end tailor, and he had married the daughter of some country magnate. Altogether, every one liked him at the board, because he did not interfere, because he was a gentleman, and because, as one of his fellow-directors said,

"He is a HASS. If you want my opinion of him, that's what he is--a HASS."

And so nobody feared and no one cultivated him, and he moaned about the premises at various hours, asking unconnected questions, looking at the books in a desultory sort of way, tolerated at the wharf as a simpleton might have been, and seeing much more than any one gave him credit for.

One of the questions he asked Mr. Forde quietly and in a corner on that especial day related to the estate Mr. Swanland was liquidating.

"About Mortomley now," he said confidentially.

"I am sorry to tell you, sir, I have been entirely deceived in that blackguard," answered Mr. Forde. "I trusted him as I would my own brother, and he has run away with I should be sorry to say what amount of money; but we shall catch him yet I hope," added Mr. Forde; "and Swanland says there will be a capital dividend. But one does not know who is honest, one does not, indeed. I shall never advise giving another man time."

"I really do not think I should were I you," said Mr. Agnew. "It makes matters unpleasant if things go wrong."

"Aye, that it does," said Mr. Forde, "though that would not matter much if all my directors were such Zanies as you," he added mentally.

For it was a curious fact that Mr. Forde conscientiously believed if he could only be rid of the interference of his directors for a month, or obtain an entirely new set whom he could direct as he pleased, fashioned perhaps upon the model of Mr. Agnew, he should be able to make such play with the resources of the Chemical Company, that he might raise it to the pinnacle of commercial success.

Beyond keeping his situation he had really very little good for himself, notwithstanding his man[oe]uvring, notwithstanding the risks he had run, the almost maddening anxieties in which he had managed to entangle himself.

Heaven knows the game had not been worth the candle, but then, when a man begins a game, he cannot tell the end; and when the game is ended, it is too late to fret about the cost.

If ever an essentially round person had the misfortune to be placed in a square hole, that person was Mr. Forde; and not all his loud talk and vehement self-exertion could fill the vacant corners or give him any real sense of security in his position.

Nevertheless, to that position he held on as a man might cling to the last to a sinking vessel.

So long as he could keep his head above water at St. Vedast Wharf, there was hope that some friendly ship might rescue and bear him off to safety.

"You wait," said Kleinwort to him, when they were discussing the pig-headedness of the directors and the general and disgusting ingratitude of small customers, who would keep failing, and thus drew attention to those accounts which were of regal magnitude. "You wait; do not inquiet yourself more than you can avoid. I have one idea that we should be able to do much good together. Once I make a great _coup_ that is in mine head, then we shall see much. Amongst more if Bertrand Kleinwort cannot put a fortune in the way of his friend."

"Thank you, Kleinwort," replied Mr. Forde gratefully. "I know I can trust _you_."

Which showed an amount of faith difficult to conceive of any one possessing in the sceptical nineteenth century.

But Mr. Forde had an enormous capacity for believing in things he desired should come to pass.

And this was really a great pity.

END OF VOL. II.