"All I can make of it is that that loose-shouldered chap Roden is a scoundrel," he said bluntly, from behind a great cigar, "and wants thumping. Now, if there's anything in that line--"

"No; but you must not tell him so," interrupted Cornish. "I wish to goodness I could make you understand that cunning can only be met by cunning, not by thumps, in these degenerate days. Old Wade has taken us by the hand, as I tell you. They come to town, by the way, to-morrow, and will be in Eaton Square for the rest of the season. He says that it is his business to meet the low cunning of the small solicitors and the n.o.ble army of company promoters, and it seems that he knows exactly what to do. At any rate, it is not expedient to thump Roden."

Major White shrugged his shoulders with much silent wisdom. He believed, it appeared, in thumps in face of any evidence in favour of milder methods.

"Deuced sorry for that girl," he said.

Cornish was lighting a cigarette. "What girl?" he asked quietly.

"Miss Roden, chap's sister. She knows her brother is a dark horse, but she wouldn't admit it, not if you were to kill her for it. Women"--the major paused in his great wisdom--"women are a rum lot."

Which, a.s.suredly, no one is prepared to deny.

Cornish glanced at his companion through the cigarette smoke, and said nothing.

"However," continued the major, "I am at your service. Let us have the orders."

"To-morrow," answered Cornish, "is Monday, and therefore the Ferribys will be at home. You and I are to go to Cambridge Terrace about four o'clock to see my uncle. We will scare him out of the Malgamite business. Then we will go upstairs and settle matters with Joan. Wade and Marguerite will drop in about half-past four. Joan and Marguerite see a good deal of each other, you know. If we have any difficulty with my uncle, Wade will give him the _coup de grace_, you understand. His word will have more weight than ours We shall then settle on a plan of campaign, and clear out of my aunt's drawing-room before the crowd comes."

"And you will do the talking," stipulated Major White.

"Oh yes; I will do the talking. And now I must be off. I have a lot of calls to pay, and it is getting late. You will find me here to-morrow afternoon at a quarter to four."

Whereupon Major White took his departure, to appear again the next day in good time, placid and debonair--as he had appeared when called upon in various parts of the world, where things were stirring.

They took a hansom, for the afternoon was showery, and drove through the crowded streets. Even Cambridge Terrace, usually a quiet thoroughfare, was astir with traffic, for it was the height of the season and a levee day. As the cab swung round into Cambridge Terrace, White suddenly pushed his stick up through the trap-door in the roof of the vehicle.

"Ninety-nine," he shouted to the driver in his great voice. "Not nine."

Then he threw himself back against the dingy blue cushions.

Cornish turned and looked at him in surprise. "Gone off your head?" he inquired. "It is nine--you know that well enough."

"Yes," answered White, "I know that, my good soul; but you could not see the door as I could when we came round the corner. Roden and Von Holzen are on the steps, coming out."

"Roden and Von Holzen in England?"

"Not only in England," said White, placidly, "but in Cambridge Terrace.

And "--he paused, seeking a suitable remark among his small selection of conversational remnants--"and the fat is in the fire."

The cab had now stopped at the door of number ninety-nine. And if Roden or Von Holzen, walking leisurely down Cambridge Terrace, had turned during the next few moments, they would have seen a stationary hansom cab, with a large round face--mildly surprised, like a pink harvest moon--rising cautiously over the roof of it, watching them.

When the coast was clear, Cornish and White walked back to number nine.

Lord Ferriby was at home, and they were ushered into his study, an apartment which, like many other things appertaining to his lordship, was calculated to convey an erroneous impression. There were books upon the tables--the lives of great and good men. Pamphlets relating to charitable matters, missionary matters, and a thousand schemes for the amelioration of the human lot here and hereafter, lay about in profusion. This was obviously the den of a great philanthropist.

His lordship presently appeared, carrying a number of voting papers, which he threw carelessly on the table. He was, it seemed, a subscriber to many inst.i.tutions for the blind, the maimed, and the halt.

"Ah!" he said, "I generally get through my work in the morning, but I find myself behindhand to-day. It is wonderful," he added, directing his conversation and his benevolent gaze towards White, "how busy an idle man may be."

"M--m--yes!" answered the major, with his stolid stare.

Cornish broke what threatened to be an awkward silence by referring at once to the subject in hand.

"It seems," he began, "that this Malgamite scheme is not what we took it to be."

Lord Ferriby looked surprised and slightly scandalized. Could it be possible for a fashionable charity to be anything but what it appeared to be? In his eyes, wandering from one face to the other, there lurked the question as to whether they had seen Roden and Von Holzen quit his door a minute earlier. But no reference was made to those two gentlemen, and Lord Ferriby, who, as a chairman of many boards, was a master of the art of conciliation and the decent closing of both eyes to unsightly facts, received Cornish's suggestion with a polite and avuncular pooh-pooh.

"We must not," he said soothingly, "allow our judgment to be hastily affected by the ill-considered statements of the--er--newspapers. Such statements, my dear Anthony--and you, Major White--are, I may tell you, only what we, as the pioneers of a great movement, must be prepared to expect. I saw the article in the _Times_ to which you refer--indeed, I read it most carefully, as, in my capacity of chairman of this--eh--char--that is to say, company, I was called upon to do. And I formed the opinion that the mind of the writer was--eh--warped." Lord Ferriby smiled sadly, and gave a final wave of the hand, as if to indicate that the whole matter lay in a nutsh.e.l.l, and that nutsh.e.l.l under his lordship's heel. "Warped or not," answered Cornish, "the man says that we have formed ourselves into a company, which company is bound to make huge profits, and those profits are naturally a.s.sumed to find their way into our pockets."

"My dear Anthony," replied the chairman, with a laugh which was almost a cackle, "the labourer is worthy of his hire."

Which seems likely to become the _dernier cri_ of the overpaid throughout all the ages.

"Even if we contradict the statement," pursued Cornish, with a sudden coldness in his manner, "the contradiction will probably fail to reach many of the readers of this article, and as matters at present stand, I do not see that we are in a position to contradict."

"My dear Anthony," answered Lord Ferriby, turning over his papers with a preoccupied air, as if the question under discussion only called for a small share of his attention--"my dear Anthony, the money was subscribed for the amelioration of the lot of the malgamite workers. We have not only ameliorated their lot, but we have elevated them morally and physically. We have far exceeded our promises, and the subscribers, who, after all, take a small interest in the matter, have every reason to be satisfied that their money has been applied to the purpose for which they intended it. They were kind enough to intrust us with the financial arrangements. The concern is a private one, and it is the business of no one--not even of the _Times_--to inquire into the method which we think well to adopt for the administration of the Malgamite Fund. If the subscribers had no confidence in us, they surely would not have given the management unreservedly into our hands." Lord Ferriby spread out the limbs in question with an easy laugh. Has not a greater than any of us said that a man "may smile, and smile, and be a villain"? A silence followed, which was almost, but not quite, broken by the major, who took his gla.s.s from his eye, examined it very carefully, as if wondering how it had been made, and, replacing it with a deep sigh, sat staring at the opposite wall.

"Then you are not disposed to withdraw your name from the concern?"

asked Cornish.

"Most certainly not, my dear Anthony. What have the malgamiters done that I should, so to speak, abandon them at the first difficulty which has presented itself?"

"And what about the profits?" inquired Cornish, bluntly.

"Mr. Roden is our paid secretary. He understands the financial situation, which is rather a complicated one. We may, I think, leave such details to him. And if I may suggest it (I may perhaps rightly lay claim to a somewhat larger experience in charitable finances than either of you), I should recommend a strict reticence on this matter.

We are not called upon to answer idle questions, I think. And if--well--if the labourer is found worthy of his hire ... buy yourself a new hat, my dear Anthony. Buy yourself a new hat."

Cornish rose, and looked at his watch. "I wonder if Joan will give us a cup of tea," he said. "We might, at all events, go up and try."

"Certainly--certainly. And I will follow when I have finished my work.

And do not give the matter another thought--either of you--eh!"

"He's been got at," said Major White to his companion as they walked upstairs together, as if Lord Ferriby were a jockey or some common person of that sort.

CHAPTER XV

PLAIN SPEAKING.

"Il est rare que la tete des rois soit faite a la mesure de leur couronne."

"What I want is something to eat," Miss Marguerite Wade confided in an undertone to Tony Cornish, a few minutes later in Lady Ferriby's drawing-room. She said this with a little glance of amus.e.m.e.nt, as Cornish stood before her with two plates of biscuits, which certainly did not promise much sustenance.