The Intriguers

  CHAPTER XIV

  DEFEAT

  A good fire burned on the hearth in the library at Sandymere, althoughthe mild air of an early spring morning floated in through the openwindow. Challoner sat in a big leather chair, watching the flames andthinking of his nephew, when a servant entered and handed him a card.

  Challoner glanced at it.

  "Clarke? I don't know any one of that name--"

  He stopped abruptly as he saw the word _Sweetwater_ in small type atthe bottom of the card. He knew that that was the name of the prairietown from which Blake had started on his quest into the wilderness.

  "All right, Perkins," he said, rather eagerly; and a few minutesafterward Clarke entered the room, with an irritating air of assurance.

  "Colonel Challoner, I presume?"

  Challoner bowed.

  "You have brought me some news of my nephew, Richard Blake?"

  This disconcerted Clarke. He had not imagined that his object would beknown, and he had counted upon Challoner's being surprised and thrownoff his guard. It looked as if the Colonel had been making inquiriesabout Blake. Clarke wished that he could guess his reason, for itmight affect the situation.

  "That is correct," he said. "I have a good deal to tell you, and itmay take some time."

  Challoner motioned to him to be seated, and offered him a cigar; andClarke lighted it before he spoke.

  "Your nephew," he began, "spent a week in the settlement where I live,preparing for a journey to the North. Though his object was secret, Ibelieve he went in search of something to make varnish of, because hetook with him a young American traveler for a paint factory, besidesanother man."

  "I know all that," Challoner replied. "I heard about his Americancompanion; who was the other?"

  "We will come to him presently. There is still something which I thinkyou do not know."

  "Yes?" Challoner said.

  He was suspicious, for his visitor's looks were not in his favor.

  Clarke gave the Colonel a keen glance.

  "It concerns your nephew's earlier history."

  "That is of most importance to himself and me. It can't interest you."

  "It interests me very much," Clarke returned, with an ironical smile."I must ask you to let me tell you what I know."

  Challoner consented, and Clarke gave what the Colonel admitted was avery accurate account of the action on the Indian frontier.

  "Well," he concluded, "the orders were to hold on--they could send forsupport if very hard pressed, but they mustn't yield a yard of ground.It was hot work in front of the trench upon the ridge--the nativespouring into it at one end--but the men held their ground, until--therewas an order given--in a white man's voice--and the bugle called themoff. Somebody had ventured to disobey instructions, and after that thehill was lost. The bugler was killed, so they could learn nothing fromhim."

  Clarke paused a moment and narrowed his eyes. "Now," he said "it is ofvital importance to you to know who gave that order to retreat."

  "That question has been answered and settled," Challoner repliedseverely.

  "I think incorrectly."

  "Yes?" the Colonel queried again. "Perhaps you will let me have yourtheory as to what occurred."

  That was the opportunity for which Clarke was waiting. His argumenthad been cleverly worked out, his points carefully arranged; andChalloner's heart sank, for the damaging inference could hardly beshirked.

  "Your suggestions are plausible, but you can't seriously expect me toattach much weight to them," Challoner said. "Besides, you seem tohave overlooked the important fact that at the regimental inquiry theverdict was that nobody in particular was to blame."

  "Oh, no!" Clarke replied with a harsh laugh. "I merely question itsvalidity. I imagine that reasons which would not be officiallyrecognized led the court to take a lenient view. But what of that?Blake had to leave the army, a ruined man; and I've good reason forknowing what an acquittal like his is worth." He paused a moment. "Imay as well tell you candidly, because it's probable that you'll makeinquiries about me. Well, I'd won some reputation as a medicalspecialist when I became involved in a sensational police case--you mayrecollect it."

  Challoner started.

  "So you are the man! I think nothing was actually proved against you."

  "No," said Clarke dryly; "there was only a fatal suspicion. As ithappens, I was innocent; but I had to give up my profession, and mylife was spoiled. There's no reason why you should be interested inthis--I mention it merely because a similar misfortune has befallenRichard Blake. The point, of course, is that it has done soundeservedly. I think you must see who the real culprit is."

  "You mean to infer that my son is a coward and gave the shamefulorder?" Challoner's eyes glittered, though his face was colorless."It's unthinkable!"

  "Nevertheless it's true. Why did he, without permission and abusinghis authority over the guard, spend two hours late at night with Blake,who was under arrest? What had they to say that took so long, whenthere was a risk of Captain Challoner's being discovered? Why didBlake make no defense, unless it was because he knew that to clearhimself would throw the blame upon his friend?"

  "You press me hard," said Challoner in a hoarse voice. "But that myson should so have failed in his duty to his country and his cousin isimpossible!"

  "Yet you were willing to believe your nephew guilty. Had you any causeto doubt his courage?"

  Challoner felt beaten by the man's remorseless reasoning; there wasscarcely a point he could contest. A conviction that humbled him tothe dust was being forced on him; but he would not let his roughvisitor see him shrink as the truth seared him.

  "I'll admit that you have told me a rather likely tale. As you don'tspeak of having been in India, may I ask who gave you the information?"

  "Blake's companion, the man I've mentioned, a former Indian officernamed Benson."

  "His full name, please."

  Clarke gave it to him, and Challoner, crossing the floor, took a bookfrom a shelf and turned over the pages.

  "Yes; he's here. What led him to talk of the thing to an outsider?"

  "Drink. I'll confess to having taken advantage of the condition he wasoften in."

  Challoner sat down and coolly lighted a cigar. His position seemed aweak one, but he had no thought of surrender.

  "Well, you have given me some interesting information; but there's onething you haven't mentioned, and that is your reason for doing so."

  "Can't you guess?"

  "I shouldn't have suspected you of being so diffident, but I dare sayyou thought this was a chance for earning some money easily."

  "Yes," said Clarke. "For five thousand pounds, I'll undertake that noword of what I've told you will ever pass my lip's again."

  "And do you suppose I'd pay five thousand pounds to see my nephewwronged?"

  "I believe you might do so to save your son." Challoner controlled hisanger, for he wished to lead the man on and learn something about hisplans.

  "Out of the question!" he said briefly.

  "Then I'll make you an alternative offer--and it's worth considering.Take, or get your friends to subscribe for ten thousand pounds' worthof shares in a commercial syndicate I'm getting up. You'll neverregret it. If you wish, I'll make you a director, so that you cansatisfy yourself that the money will be wisely spent. You'll get itback several times over."

  Challoner laughed.

  "This is to salve my feelings; to make the thing look like a businesstransaction?"

  "Oh, no!" Clarke declared, leaning forward and speaking eagerly. "It'sa genuine offer. I'll ask your attention for a minute or two.Canada's an undeveloped country; we have scarcely begun to tap itsnatural resources, and there's wealth ready for exploitation all overit. We roughly know the extent of the farming land and the value ofthe timber, but the minerals still to a large extent await discovery,while perhaps the most readily and profitably handled product is oil.Now I know a belt of country where it's
oozing from the soil; and withten thousand pounds I'll engage to bore wells that will give aremarkable yield."

  His manner was impressive, and though Challoner had no cause to trusthim he thought the man sincere.

  "One understands that in Canada all natural commodities belong to theState, and any person discovering them can work them on certain terms,"Challoner said. "It seems to follow that if your knowledge of thelocality is worth anything, it must belong to you alone. How is itthat nobody else suspects the belt contains oil?"

  "A shrewd objection, but easily answered. The country in question isone of the most rugged tracts in Canada--difficult to get through insummer; in winter the man who enters it runs a serious risk. I'lladmit that what you know about me is not likely to prejudice you in myfavor; but, on your promise to keep it secret, I'll give youinformation that must convince you."

  "Why don't you make your offer to some company floater or stockjobber?"

  Clarke smiled in a pointed manner.

  "Because I've a damaging record and no friends to vouch for me. I camehere because I felt that I had some claim on you."

  "You were mistaken," said Challoner curtly.

  "Hear me out; try to consider my proposition on its merits. For anumber of years, I've known the existence of the oil and have tried toprospect the country. It was difficult; to transport enough food andtools meant a costly expedition and the attracting of undesirableattention. I went alone, living with primitive Russian settlers andafterward with the Indians. To gain a hold on them, I studied theoccult sciences, and learned tricks that impose upon the credulous. Tothe white men I'm a crank, to the Indians something of a magician; butmy search for the oil has gone on; and now, while I already know whereboring would be commercially profitable, I'm on the brink of tapping aremarkable flow."

  "What will you do if it comes up to your expectations?" Challonerasked, for he had grown interested in spite of his disbelief in the man.

  "Turn it over to a company strong enough to exact good terms from theAmerican producers or, failing that, to work the wells. Then I'd goback to London, where, with money and the standing it would buy me, I'dtake up my old profession. I believe I've kept abreast of medicalprogress and could still make my mark and reinstate myself. It hasbeen my steadfast object ever since I became an outcast; I've schemedand cheated to gain it, besides risking my life often in desolatemuskegs and the arctic frost. Now, I ask you to make it possible--andyou cannot refuse."

  Challoner was silent for a minute or two, while Clarke smokedimpassively. The Colonel knew that he had a determined man to dealwith, and he believed, moreover, that he had spoken the truth. Still,the fellow, although in some respects to be pitied, was obviously adangerous rascal, embittered and robbed of all scruples by injustice.There was something malignant in his face that testified against him;but, worse than all, he had come there resolved to extort money as theprice of his connivance in a wrong.

  "Well?" Clarke said, breaking the pause.

  "So far as I can judge, your ultimate object's creditable; but I can'tsay as much for the means you are ready to employ in raising the money.If you go on with the scheme, it must be without any help of mine."

  Clarke's face grew hard, and there was something forbidding in the wayhe knitted his brows.

  "Have you gaged the consequences of your refusal?"

  "It's more to the purpose that I've tried to estimate the importance ofyour version of what happened during the night attack. It has onefatal weakness which you seem to have overlooked."

  "Ah!" said Clarke, with ironical calm. "You will no doubt mention it?"

  "You suggest Blake's innocence. You cannot prove it in the face of hisown denial."

  To Challoner's surprise, Clarke smiled.

  "So you have seen that! The trouble is that your nephew may never havean opportunity for denying it. He left for the North very badlyequipped, and he has not come back yet. The country he meant to crossis rugged and covered deep with snow all winter. Food is hard to get,and the temperature varies from forty to fifty degrees below." Then herose with an undisturbed air. "Well, as it seems we can't come toterms, I needn't waste my time, and it's a long walk to the station. Imust try some other market. While I think you have made a gravemistake, that is your affair."

  When Clarke had gone, Challoner left the house in a restless mood andpaced slowly up and down among his shrubbery. He wished to be alone inthe open air. Bright sunshine fell upon him, the massed evergreens cutoff the wind, and in a sheltered border spear-like green points werepushing through the soil in promise of the spring. Challoner knew themall, the veined crocus blades, the tight-closed heads of the hyacinths,and the twin shoots of the daffodils, but, fond as he was of hisgarden, he gave them scanty attention.

  Clarke's revelation had been a shock. With his sense of duty andfamily pride, the Colonel had, when the news of the frontier disasterfirst reached him, found it almost impossible to believe that hisnephew had been guilty of shameful cowardice; and now it looked as ifthe disgrace might be brought still closer home. Bertram wouldpresently take his place and, retiring from active service, rule theestate in accordance with Challoner traditions and perhaps exert someinfluence in politics. Clarke had, however, shown him that Bertram,from whom so much was expected, had proved himself a poltroon and, whatwas even worse, had allowed an innocent man to suffer for his baseness.

  Challoner remembered that Bertram had shown timidity in his youngerdays--they had had some trouble in teaching him to ride--and there wasno doubt that his was a highly strung and nervous temperament. He hadnot the calm which marked the Challoners in time of strain. On theother hand, Dick Blake was recklessly generous, and loved his cousin;it would be consistent with his character if he were willing to sufferin Bertram's stead. Moreover, there were reasons which might have hadsome effect in inducing Bertram to consent, because Challoner knew theaffection his son bore him and that he would shrink from involving himin his disgrace. What Bertram would certainly not have done to securehis own escape he might have done for the sake of his father and thegirl he was to marry.

  Admitting all this, Challoner could not take his son's guilt forgranted. There was room for doubt. Blake must be summoned home andforced to declare the truth.

  Then Challoner's thoughts went back to the man whose tale had sodisturbed him. There had been nothing forcible or obviouslythreatening in Clarke's last few remarks, but their effect was somehowsinister. Challoner wondered whether he had done well in suggestingthat Blake's denial would prove the man's greatest difficulty. Afterall, he had a strong affection for his nephew, and he knew that thewilds of northern Canada might prove deadly to a weak party unprovidedwith proper sleds and provisions. Clarke had hinted that Blake's partywas in danger. Surely, aid could reach them, even in that frozen land,by a well-equipped expedition.

  Realizing what delay might mean to his nephew, Challoner hastenedindoors and sent a cable-letter to a friend in Montreal, asking him tospare no effort to follow Blake's trail into the northern wilds.