Dross

  Chapter IX

  Finance

  "Il n'est pas si dangereux de faire du mal a la plupart des hommes que de leur faire trop de bien."

  We have seen how the Baron Giraud was called suddenly away from thosepleasures of the country, which he had taken up too late in life, asmany do, to the busy--ay, and stormy--scenes of Paris existence duringthe winter before the great war. It was perhaps a week later--onemorning, in fact, soon after the New Year--that my business bade meseek the Vicomte in his study adjoining my own. These two apartments,it will be remembered, were separated by two doors and a smallintervening corridor. In the days when the Hotel Clericy was built,walls had ears, and every keyhole might conceal a watching eye.Builders understood the advantage of privacy, and did not constructrooms where every movement and every spoken word may be heard in theadjoining chambers.

  No sound had come to me, and I had no reason for supposing the Vicomteengaged at so early an hour. But as I entered the room, afterknocking and awaiting his permission as usual, I saw that some onewas leaving it by the other door. His back was presented to my sight,but there was no mistaking the slim form and a nonchalant carriage.Charles Miste again! And only the back of him once more.

  "I have had a visit from my late secretary," said the Vicomte,casually, and without looking up from his occupation of opening someletters. There was no reason to suppose that he had seen me glancetowards the closing door, recognising him who went from it.

  We were still engaged with the morning's correspondence, when a secondvisitor was announced, and almost on the heels of the servant a littlefat man came puffing into the room, red-faced and agitated.

  "Ah! Heaven be thanked that I have found you in," he gasped, andalthough it was a cold morning, he wiped his pasty brow with agorgeous silk handkerchief whereupon shone the largest coronetobtainable.

  His face was quite white and flaccid, like the unbaked loaves intowhich I had poked inquiring fingers in my childhood, and there was anunwholesome look of fear in his little bright eyes. The Baron had beenbadly scared, and lacked the manhood to conceal his panic.

  "Ah! Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" he gasped again, and looked at me withinsolent inquiry. He was, it must be remembered, a very rich man, andcould afford to be ill-mannered. "I must see you, Vicomte."

  "You do see me, my friend," replied the old nobleman, in his mostamiable manner. "And at your service."

  "But--" and the fluttering handkerchief indicated myself.

  "Ah! Let me introduce you. Monsieur Howard, my secretary--the BaronGiraud."

  I bowed as one only bows to money-bags, and the Baron stared at me.Only very rich or very high-born persons fully understand theintroductory stare.

  "You may speak before Monsieur Howard," said the Baron, quietly. "Heis not a secretary _pour rire_."

  Had Miste been a secretary _pour rire_, I wondered?

  I drew forward a chair and begged the Baron to be seated. He acceptedmy invitation coldly, and seating himself seemed to lose nothing instature. There are some men who should always be seated. It is, ofcourse, a mistake to judge of one's neighbour at first sight, but itseemed to me that the Baron Giraud only wanted a little courage to bea first-class scoundrel. He fumbled in his pocket, glancing furtivelyat me the while. At length he found a letter, which he handed to theVicomte.

  "I have received that," he said. "It is anonymous, as you will see,and cleverly done. There is absolutely no clue. It was sent to myplace of business, and my people there telegraphed for me in Provence.Of course I came at once. One must sacrifice everything to affairs."

  Naturally I acquiesced fervently, for the last remark had been thrownto me for my good.

  The Vicomte was looking for his spectacles.

  "But, my friend," he said, "it is atrociously written. One cannotdecipher such a scrawl as this."

  In his impatience the Baron leant forward, and taking the paper frommy patron, handed it to me.

  "Here," he said, "the secretary--read it aloud."

  Nothing loth, I read the communication in my loudest voice. The worldholds that a loud voice indicates honesty or a lack of brain, and theBaron was essentially of that world. The anonymous letter was awarning that a general rising against the rule of the Emperor wasimminent, and that in view of the probable state of anarchy that wouldensue, wise men should not delay in transferring their wealth to morestable countries. Precisely--in a word--the information that it hadbeen decided to withhold from the recipient of the letter.

  THE BARON BLEW AND PUFFED LIKE A PRIZE-FIGHTER WHEN IHAD FINISHED THE PERUSAL. "THERE," HE CRIED; "I RECEIVE A LETTER LIKETHAT--I, THE BARON GIRAUD--OF THE HIGH FINANCE."]

  The Baron blew and puffed like a prize-fighter when I had finished theperusal.

  "There," he cried; "I receive a letter like that--I, the BaronGiraud--of the high finance."

  "My poor friend, calm yourself," urged the Vicomte.

  It is easy enough to tell another to calm himself, but who among uscan compass such a frame of mind when he is hit in a vital spot? TheBaron wiped his forehead nervously.

  "But," he said, "is it true?"

  The Vicomte spread out his hands, and never glanced at me as anordinary man would have done towards one who shared his knowledge.

  "Who can tell--but yes! So far as human foresight goes--it is trueenough."

  "Then what am I to do?"

  I stared at the great financier asking such a question. Assuredly he,of all men, needed no one's counsel in a matter of money.

  "Do as I have done," said the Vicomte; "send your money out of thecountry."

  An odd look came over the Baron's face. He glanced from one of us tothe other--with the cunning, and somewhat the look, of a cat. TheVicomte was blandly indifferent. As for me, I had, I am told, a hardface in those days--hardened by weather and a disbelief in humannature which has since been modified.

  "It is a responsibility that you take there," said the financier.

  "I take no responsibility. A man of my years, of my retired life,knows little of such matters." (I thought he looked older as hespoke.) "I only tell you what I have done with my small possessions."

  The Baron shook his head with a sly scepticism. After all, thecheapest cunning must suffice for money-making, for I dare swear thisman had little else.

  "But how?" he said.

  "In bank notes, by hand," was the Vicomte's astonishing answer. Andthe Baron laughed incredulously. It seems that the highest aim of thehigh finance is to catch your neighbour telling the truth by accident.It would almost be safe to tell the truth always, so rarely is itrecognised.

  It was not until the Vicomte produced his bankbook and showed theamounts paid in and subsequently withdrawn that the Baron Giraudbelieved what he had been told. My duties, it may be well to mentionin passing, had no part in the expenditure of the Vicomte de Clericy.I had only to deal with the income derived from the various estates,and while being fully aware that large sums had been placed withinthe hands of his bankers, I had not troubled to be curious respectingthe ultimate destination of such moneys. My patron possessed, as hasalready been intimated, a lively--nay, an exaggerated--sense of thevalue of money. He was, indeed, as I remember thinking at this time,somewhat of a miser, loving money for its own sake, and not, as didthe Baron Giraud, merely for the grandeur and position to be purchasedtherewith.

  "But I am not like you," said the financier at length.

  "No; you have a thousand louis for every one that I possess."

  "But I have nothing solid--no lands, no estates except my chateau inVar."

  His panic had by no means subsided, and presently he found himself onthe verge of tears--a pitiable, despicable object. The Vicomte--soothingand benevolent--went on to explain more fully the position of his ownaffairs. He told us that on information received from a sure source hehad months earlier concluded that the Emperor's illness was of a moreserious nature than the general public believed.

  "You, my dear friend," he said, "engaged as you have been i
n theaffairs of the outside world--the Suez Canal, Mexico, theColonies--have perhaps omitted to watch matters nearer home. Whilelooking at a distant mountain one may fall over a little stone--is itnot so?"

  He had, he informed us, withdrawn his small interest in suchsecurities as depended upon the stability of the Government, but thatfor men occupying a public position, either by accident of birthor--and he bowed in his pleasant way towards the Baron--by the forceof their genius, to send their money out of France by the ordinaryfinancial channels would excite comment, and perhaps hasten the crisisthat all good patriots would fain avoid. He talked thus collectedlyand fairly while the Baron Giraud could but wipe his forehead with adamp handkerchief and gasp incoherent exclamations of terror.

  "I could realize a couple of million," said the financier, "in twodays, but there is much that I cannot sell just now--the fall of thegovernment makes it necessary to hold much that I could have sold at aprofit a fortnight ago."

  The Vicomte was playing with a quill pen. How well I knew the action!It seemed that the millionaire was recovering from his shock, of whichre-establishment the outward and visible sign was a dawning gleam ofcunning in the eyes.

  "But I have no one I can trust," he said; and I almost laughed, sowell the words bespoke the man. "It is different for you," he added;"you have--Monsieur."

  And he glanced keenly at me. Indeed, we were a queer trio; and I beganto think that I was as big a scoundrel as my maiden aunts maintained.

  "I would trust Mr. Howard with all my possessions," said the oldVicomte, looking at me almost affectionately; "but in this matter Ihave found another messenger, less valuable to me personally, lessnecessary to my comfort and daily happiness, but equally trustworthy."

  "And if I gave him twenty million francs to take abroad for me--?"suggested the great financier.

  "Then, my friend, we should be in the same boat--that is all."

  "_Your_ boat," said the Baron, with an unpleasant laugh.

  Monsieur de Clericy shrugged his shoulders and smiled. This gravepolitical crisis had rejuvenated him, and he seemed to rise to meeteach emergency with a buoyancy that sat strangely on white hairs.

  They talked together upon the fascinating topic, while I, who had nopart in the game, sat and listened. The Baron was very cunning, and,as it seemed to me, very contemptible. With all the vices that aremine, I thank heaven that I have never loved money; for that love, itseems, undermines much that is manly and honest in upright hearts.Money, it will be remembered, was at the root of the last quarrel Ihad with my father--the last fatal breach, which will have to bepatched up in another world. Money has, as it will be seen by such ascare to follow me through these pages, dogged my life from beginningto end. I have run my thick head against those pursuing it, each inhis different manner, getting lamentably in their way, and makingdeadly enemies for myself.

  Monsieur de Clericy, in his frank and open way, gave fuller details ofhis own intentions. It seemed that his possessions were at that momentin the house--in a safe hiding-place; that the messenger was to makeseveral journeys to London, carrying at one time a sum of money whichwould be no very pleasant travelling companion. A safe depositoryawaited the sums in England, and, in due course, reinvestment wouldfollow. Money, it will be suspected, was by now beginning to besomewhat of a red rag for me, and I thought I saw some signs of itsevil influence over my kindly patron. He spoke of it almost as ifthere were nothing else on earth worth a man's consideration. In theheat of argument he lowered his voice, and was no longer his open,genial self.

  What astonished me most, however, was the facility with which theBaron made a catspaw of him. For the old Vicomte slowly stepped downas it were from his high standpoint of indifference, and allowedhimself to be interested in the financier's schemes. It was out ofkeeping with the attitude which my patron had assumed a few daysearlier at the meeting which we had attended, and I was more than everconvinced that the Vicomte was too old and too simple to hold his ownin a world of scoundrels.

  The Baron led him on from one admission to another, and at last it wassettled that twenty millions of francs were to be brought to the HotelClericy and placed in the Vicomte's keeping. To my mind the worst partof the transaction lay in the fact that the financier had succeeded insaddling my patron with a certain moral responsibility which the oldman was in no way called upon to assume.

  "Then," he said, "I may safely leave the matter thus in your hands? Imay sleep to-night?"

  "Ah!" replied the other. "Yes--you may sleep, my friend."

  "And Monsieur shares the responsibility?" added the upstart, turningto me.

  "Of course--for all I am worth," was my reply, and I did not at thetime think that even the Vicomte, whose faculties were keener in suchmatters, saw the sarcasm intended by the words.

  "Then I am satisfied," the Baron was kind enough to say; and I thoughtthat his low origin came suddenly to the fore in the manner in whichhe bowed. A low origin is like an hereditary disease--it will bear nostrain.

  "By the way," he said, pausing near the door, having risen to go, "youhave not told me the name of your trusted messenger."

  And before the Vicomte opened his lips the answer flashed across mymind.

  "Charles Miste," he said.