A Millionaire of Yesterday

  CHAPTER XL

  A little earlier than usual next morning Trent was at his office in theCity, prepared for the worst, and in less than half an hour he foundhimself face to face with one of those crises known to most greatfinanciers at some time or other during their lives. His credit wasnot actually assailed, but it was suspended. The general public did notunderstand the situation, even those who were in a measure behind thescenes found it hard to believe that the attack upon the Bekwando Goldand Land shares was purely a personal one. For it was Da Souza who hadfired the train, who had flung his large holding of shares upon themarket, and, finding them promptly taken up, had gone about with manypious exclamations of thankfulness and sinister remarks. Many smallerholders followed suit, and yet never for a moment did the market waver.Gradually it leaked out that Scarlett Trent was the buyer, and publicinterest leaped up at once. Would Trent be able to face settling-daywithout putting his vast holdings upon the market? If so the bullswere going to have the worst knock they had had for years--andyet--and yet--the murmur went round from friend to friend--"Sell yourBekwandos."

  At midday there came an urgent message from Trent's bankers, and as heread it he cursed. It was short but eloquent.

  "DEAR SIR,--We notice that your account to-day stands 119,000 poundsoverdrawn, against which we hold as collateral security shares inthe Bekwando Land Company to the value of 150,000 pounds. As we havereceived certain very disquieting information concerning the value ofthese shares, we must ask you to adjust the account before closing hoursto-day, or we shall be compelled to place the shares upon the market.

  "Yours truly,

  "A. SINCLAIR, General Manager."

  Trent tore the letter into atoms, but he never quailed. Telegraph andtelephone worked his will, he saw all callers, a cigar in his mouth andflower in his buttonhole, perfectly at his ease, sanguine and confident.A few minutes before closing time he strolled into the bank and no onenoticed a great bead of perspiration which stood out upon his forehead.He made out a credit slip for 119,000 pounds, and, passing it across thecounter with a roll of notes and cheques, asked for his shares.

  They sent for the manager. Trent was ushered with much ceremony into hisprivate room. The manager was flushed and nervous.

  "I am afraid you must have misunderstood my note, Mr. Trent," hestammered. But Trent, remembering all that he had gone through to raisethe money, stopped him short.

  "This is not a friendly call, Mr. Sinclair," he said, "but simply amatter of business. I wish to clear my account with you to the lasthalfpenny, and I will take my shares away with me. I have paid in theamount I owe. Let one of your clerks make out the interest account."

  The manager rang the bell for the key of the security safe. He opened itand took out the shares with fingers which trembled a good deal.

  "Did I understand you, Mr. Trent, that you desired to absolutely closethe account?" he asked.

  "Most decidedly," Trent answered.

  "We shall be very sorry to lose you."

  "The sorrow will be all on your side, then," Trent answered grimly. "Youhave done your best to ruin me, you and that blackguard Da Souza, whobrought me here. If you had succeeded in lumping those shares upon themarket to-day or to-morrow, you know very well what the result wouldhave been. I don't know whose game you have been playing, but I canguess!"

  "I can assure you, Mr. Trent," the manager declared in his suavestand most professional manner, "that you are acting under a completemisapprehension. I will admit that our notice was a little short.Suppose we withdraw it altogether, eh? I am quite satisfied. We will putback the shares in the safe and you shall keep your money."

  "No, I'm d--d if you do!" Trent answered bluntly. "You've had your moneyand I'll have the shares. I don't leave this bank without them, and I'llbe shot if ever I enter it again."

  So Trent, with his back against the wall and not a friend to help him,faced for twenty-four hours the most powerful bull syndicate which hadever been formed against a single Company. Inquiries as to his rightof title had poured in upon him, and to all of them he had returned themost absolute and final assurances. Yet he knew when closing-time came,that he had exhausted every farthing he possessed in the world--itseemed hopeless to imagine that he could survive another day. But withthe morning came a booming cable from Bekwando. There had been a greatfind of gold before ever a shaft had been sunk; an expert, from whom asyet nothing had been heard, wired an excited and wonderful report. Thenthe men who had held on to their Bekwandos rustled their morning papersand walked smiling to their offices. Prices leaped up. Trent's directorsceased to worry him and wired invitations to luncheon at the West End.The bulls were the sport of everybody. When closing-time came Trent hadmade 100,000 pounds, and was looked upon everywhere as one of the rocksof finance.

  Only then he began to realise what the strain had been to him. His hard,impassive look had never altered, he had been seen everywhere in hisaccustomed City haunts, his hat a little better brushed than usual, hisclothes a little more carefully put on, his buttonhole more obvious andhis laugh readier. No one guessed the agony through which he had passed,no one knew that he had spent the night at a little inn twelve milesaway, to which he had walked after nine o'clock at night. He had nota single confidant, even his cashier had no idea whence came the largesums of money which he had paid away right and left. But when it wasall over he left the City, and, leaning back in the corner of his littlebrougham, was driven away to Pont Street. Here he locked himself in hisroom, took off his coat and threw himself upon a sofa with a big cigarbetween his teeth.

  "If you let any one in to see me, Miles," he told the footman, "I'llkick you out of the house." So, though the bell rang often, he remainedalone. But as he lay there with half-closed eyes living again throughthe tortures of the last few hours, he heard a voice that startled him.It was surely hers--already! He sprang up and opened the door. Ernestineand Captain Francis were in the hall.

  He motioned them to follow him into the room. Ernestine was flushedand her eyes were very bright. She threw up her veil and faced himhaughtily. "Where is he?" she asked. "I know everything. I insist uponseeing him at once."

  "That," he said coolly, "will depend upon whether he is fit to see you!"

  He rang the bell.

  "Tell Miss Fullagher to step this way a moment," he ordered.

  "He is in this house, then," she cried. He took no notice. In a momenta young woman dressed in the uniform of one of the principal hospitalsentered.

  "Miss Fullagher," he asked, "how is the patient?"

  "We've had a lot of trouble with him, sir," she said significantly. "Hewas terrible all last night, and he's very weak this morning. Is thisthe young lady, sir?"

  "This is the young lady who I told you would want to see him when youthought it advisable."

  The nurse looked doubtful. "Sir Henry is upstairs, sir," she said. "Ihad better ask his advice."

  Trent nodded and she withdrew. The three were left alone, Ernestine andFrancis remained apart as though by design. Trent was silent.

  She returned in a moment or two.

  "Sir Henry has not quite finished his examination, sir," she announced."The young lady can come up in half an hour."

  Again they were left alone. Then Trent crossed the room and stoodbetween them and the door.

  "Before you see your father, Miss Wendermott," he said, "I have anexplanation to make to you!"