The Blotting Book (5 page)

"You can hardly do that," he said, "as I hold letters of yours which
imply such knowledge."

Mills smiled rather evilly.

"Ah, it is not worth while bluffing," he said. "I have never written such
a letter to you. You know it. Is it likely I should?"

Mr. Taynton apparently had no reply to this. But he had a question to
ask.

"Why are you taking up this hostile and threatening attitude?"

"I have not meant to be hostile, and I have certainly not threatened,"
replied Mills. "I have put before you, quite dispassionately I hope,
certain facts. Indeed I should say it was you who had threatened in the
matter of those letters, which, unhappily, have never existed at all. I
will proceed.

"Now what has been my part in this affair? I have observed you lost
money in speculations of which I disapproved, but you always knew best.
I have advanced money to you before now to tide over embarrassments that
would otherwise have been disastrous. By the exercise of diplomacy—or
lying—yesterday, I averted a very grave danger. I point out to you also
that there is nothing to implicate me in these—these fraudulent
employments of a client's money. So I ask, where I come in? What do I
get by it?"

Mr. Taynton's hands were trembling as he fumbled at some papers on his
desk.

"You know quite well that we are to share all profits?" he said.

"Yes, but at present there have not been any. I have been, to put it
plainly, pulling you out of holes. And I think—I think my trouble ought
to be remunerated. I sincerely hope you will take that view also. Or
shall I remind you again that there is nothing in the world to connect me
with these, well, frauds?"

Mr. Taynton got up from his chair, strolled across to the window where he
drew down the blind a little, so as to shut out the splash of sunlight
that fell on his table.

"You have been betting again, I suppose," he asked quietly.

"Yes, and have been unfortunate. Pray do not trouble to tell me again how
foolish it is to gamble like that. You may be right. I have no doubt you
are right. But I think one has as much right to gamble with one's own
money as to do so with the money of other people."

This apparently seemed unanswerable; anyhow Mr. Taynton made no reply.
Then, having excluded the splash of sunlight he sat down again.

"You have not threatened, you tell me," he said, "but you have pointed
out to me that there is no evidence that you have had a hand in certain
transactions. You say that I know you have helped me in these
transactions; you say you require remuneration for your services. Does
not that, I ask, imply a threat? Does it not mean that you are
blackmailing me? Else why should you bring these facts—I do not dispute
them—to my notice? Supposing I refuse you remuneration?"

Mills had noted the signs of agitation and anxiety. He felt that he was
on safe ground. The blackmailer lives entirely on the want of courage in
his victims.

"You will not, I hope, refuse me remuneration," he said. "I have not
threatened you yet, because I feel sure you will be wise. I might, of
course, subsequently threaten you."

Again there was silence. Mr. Taynton had picked up a quill pen, the same
with which he had been writing before, for the nib was not yet dry.

"The law is rather severe on blackmailers," he remarked.

"It is. Are you going to bring an action against me for blackmail? Will
not that imply the re-opening of—of certain ledgers, which we agreed
last night had better remain shut?"

Again there was silence. There was a completeness in this reasoning which
rendered comment superfluous.

"How much do you want?" asked Mr. Taynton.

Mills was not so foolish as to "breathe a sigh of relief." But he
noted with satisfaction that there was no sign of fight in his
adversary and partner.

"I want two thousand pounds," he said, "at once."

"That is a large sum."

"It is. If it were a small sum I should not trouble you."

Mr. Taynton again got up and strayed aimlessly about the room.

"I can't give it you to-day," he said. "I shall have to sell out
some stock."

"I am not unreasonable about a reasonable delay," said Mills.

"You are going to town this afternoon?"

"Yes, I must. There is a good deal of work to be done. It will take me
all to-morrow."

"And you will be back the day after to-morrow?"

"Yes, I shall be back here that night, that is to say, I shall not get
away from town till the afternoon. I should like your definite answer
then, if it is not inconvenient. I could come and see you that night, the
day after to-morrow—if you wished."

Mr. Taynton thought over this with his habitual deliberation.

"You will readily understand that all friendly relations between us are
quite over," he said. "You have done a cruel and wicked thing, but I
don't see how I can resist it. I should like, however, to have a little
further talk about it, for which I have not time now."

Mills rose.

"By all means," he said. "I do not suppose I shall be back here till nine
in the evening. I have had no exercise lately, and I think very likely I
shall get out of the train at Falmer, and walk over the downs."

Mr. Taynton's habitual courtesy came to his aid. He would have been
polite to a thief or a murderer, if he met him socially.

"Those cool airs of the downs are very invigorating." he said. "I will
not expect you therefore till half past nine that night. I shall dine at
home, and be alone."

"Thanks. I must be going. I shall only just catch my train to town."

Mills nodded a curt gesture of farewell, and left the room, and when he
had gone Mr. Taynton sat down again in the chair by the table, and
remained there some half hour. He knew well the soundness of his
partner's reasoning; all he had said was fatally and abominably true.
There was no way out of it. Yet to pay money to a blackmailer was, to the
legal mind, a confession of guilt. Innocent people, unless they were
abject fools, did not pay blackmail. They prosecuted the blackmailer. Yet
here, too, Mills's simple reasoning held good. He could not prosecute the
blackmailer, since he was not in the fortunate position of being
innocent. But if you paid a blackmailer once, you were for ever in his
power. Having once yielded, it was necessary to yield again. He must get
some assurance that no further levy would take place. He must satisfy
himself that he would be quit of all future danger from this quarter. Yet
from whence was such assurance to come? He might have it a hundred times
over in Godfrey Mills's handwriting, but he could never produce that as
evidence, since again the charge of fraudulent employment of clients'
money would be in the air. No doubt, of course, the blackmailer would be
sentenced, but the cause of blackmail would necessarily be public. No,
there was no way out.

Two thousand pounds, though! Frugally and simply as he lived, that was to
him a dreadful sum, and represented the savings of at least eighteen
months. This meant that there was for him another eighteen months of
work, just when he hoped to see his retirement coming close to him. Mills
demanded that he should work an extra year and a half, and out of those
few years that in all human probability still remained to him in this
pleasant world. Yet there was no way out!

Half an hour's meditation convinced him of this, and, as was his sensible
plan, when a thing was inevitable, he never either fought against it nor
wasted energy in regretting it. And he went slowly out of the office into
which he had come so briskly an hour or two before. But his face
expressed no sign of disquieting emotion; he nodded kindly to Timmins,
and endorsed his desire to be allowed to come and see the grandson. If
anything was on his mind, or if he was revolving some policy for the
future, it did not seem to touch or sour that kindly, pleasant face.

Mr. Taynton did not let these very unpleasant occurrences interfere with
the usual and beneficent course of his life, but faced the crisis with
that true bravery that not only meets a thing without flinching, but
meets it with the higher courage of cheerfulness, serenity and ordinary
behaviour. He spent the rest of the day in fact in his usual manner,
enjoying his bathe before lunch, his hour of the paper and the quiet
cigar afterward, his stroll over the springy turf of the downs, and he
enjoyed also the couple of hours of work that brought him to dinner time.
Then afterward he spent his evening, as was his weekly custom, at the
club for young men which he had founded, where instead of being exposed
to the evening lures of the sea-front and the public house, they could
spend (on payment of a really nominal subscription) a quieter and more
innocent hour over chess, bagatelle and the illustrated papers, or if
more energetically disposed, in the airy gymnasium adjoining the
reading-room, where they could indulge in friendly rivalry with boxing
gloves or single-stick, or feed the appetites of their growing muscles
with dumb-bells and elastic contrivances. Mr. Taynton had spent a couple
of hours there, losing a game of chess to one youthful adversary, but
getting back his laurels over bagatelle, and before he left, had arranged
for a geological expedition to visit, on the Whitsuntide bank holiday
next week, the curious raised beach which protruded so remarkably from
the range of chalk downs some ten miles away.

On returning home, it is true he had deviated a little from his usual
habits, for instead of devoting the half-hour before bed-time to the
leisurely perusal of the evening paper, he had merely given it one
glance, observing that copper was strong and that Boston Copper in
particular had risen half a point, and had then sat till bed-time doing
nothing whatever, a habit to which he was not generally addicted.

He was seated in his office next morning and was in fact on the point of
leaving for his bathe, for this hot genial June was marching on its sunny
way uninterrupted by winds or rain, when Mr. Timmins, after discreetly
tapping, entered, and closed the door behind him.

"Mr. Morris Assheton, sir, to see you," he said. "I said I would find
out if you were disengaged, and could hardly restrain him from coming in
with me. The young gentleman seems very excited and agitated. Hardly
himself, sir."

"Indeed, show him in," said Mr. Taynton.

A moment afterward the door burst open and banged to again behind Morris.
High colour flamed in his face, his black eyes sparkled with vivid
dangerous light, and he had no salutation for his old friend.

"I've come on a very unpleasant business," he said, his voice not
in control.

Mr. Taynton got up. He had only had one moment of preparation and he
thought, at any rate, that he knew for certain what this unpleasant
business must be. Evidently Mills had given him away. For what reason he
had done so he could not guess; after his experience of yesterday it
might have been from pure devilry, or again he might have feared that in
desperation, Taynton would take that extreme step of prosecuting him for
blackmail. But, for that moment Taynton believed that Morris's agitation
must be caused by this, and it says much for the iron of his nerve that
he did not betray himself by a tremor.

"My dear Morris," he said, "I must ask you to pull yourself together. You
are out of your own control. Sit down, please, and be silent for a
minute. Then tell me calmly what is the matter."

Morris sat down as he was told, but the calmness was not conspicuous.

"Calm?" he said. "Would you be calm in my circumstances, do you think?"

"You have not yet told me what they are," said Mr. Taynton.

"I've just seen Madge Templeton," he said. "I met her privately by
appointment. And she told me—she told me—"

Master of himself though he was, Mr. Taynton had one moment of
physical giddiness, so complete and sudden was the revulsion and
reaction that took place in his brain. A moment before he had known,
he thought, for certain that his own utter ruin was imminent. Now he
knew that it was not that, and though he had made one wrong conjecture
as to what the unpleasant business was, he did not think that his
second guess was far astray.

"Take your time, Morris," he said. "And, my dear boy, try to calm
yourself. You say I should not be calm in your circumstances. Perhaps I
should not, but I should make an effort. Tell me everything slowly,
omitting nothing."

This speech, combined with the authoritative personality of Mr. Taynton,
had an extraordinary effect on Morris. He sat quiet a moment or two,
then spoke.

"Yes, you are quite right," he said, "and after all I have only
conjecture to go on yet, and I have been behaving as if it was proved
truth. God! if it is proved to be true, though, I'll expose him,
I'll—I'll horsewhip him, I'll murder him!"

Mr. Taynton slapped the table with his open hand.

"Now, Morris, none of these wild words," he said. "I will not listen to
you for a moment, if you do not control yourself."

Once again, and this time more permanently the man's authority
asserted itself. Morris again sat silent for a time, then spoke evenly
and quietly.

"Two nights ago you were dining with us," he said, "and Madge was there.
Do you remember my asking her if I might come to see them, and she said
she and her mother would be out all day?"

"Yes; I remember perfectly," said Mr. Taynton.

"Well, yesterday afternoon I was motoring by the park, and I saw Madge
sitting on the lawn. I stopped the motor and watched. She sat there for
nearly an hour, and then Sir Richard came out of the house and they
walked up and down the lawn together."

"Ah, you must have been mistaken," said Mr. Taynton. "I know the spot you
mean on the road, where you can see the lawn, but it's half a mile off.
It must have been some friend of hers perhaps staying in the house."