Hard Pressed

CHAPTER XXVIII
HONOUR BRIGHT

AS time passed Sir George Haredale began to think that trouble was really before him. He had not the least pretence to be a business man. He had always been prone to take people at their own valuation. He would never have done anything dishonest or underhanded, and he paid his fellow-men a similar compliment. He had never counted the cost of anything, for the simple reason that he had never been taught to. If he wanted a thing he got it. If he couldn't pay for anything he simply owed for it. When, from time to time, his creditors grew pressing, he gave his lawyers instructions to raise another mortgage, and there, so far as he was concerned, was an end of the whole transaction.

It does not take long, especially with two or three generations of similar incapacity, seriously to embarrass even so fine an estate as Haredale Park. The day came at length when Sir George was under the painful necessity of facing the inevitable, when his worried lawyer told him a few plain truths, and he realized that his income was barely sufficient to live upon. Unfortunately, at this crisis, an occasional run of luck on the turf had relieved the pressure, and it occurred to Sir George as a brilliant idea that here was a source of permanent income. Then luck ran steadily against him, as it always does sooner or later, and at the time Sir George made the acquaintance of Copley he was literally at his wits' end to know what to do.

It was a misfortune, though a disguised one, that Copley in his headstrong way should fall in love with May Haredale. He had gone about his wooing in characteristic fashion, and had recognized that, unless he were in a position to force the pace, his suit was hopeless. Hence he had helped Sir George, although he needed every penny he had for himself. At that time Copley did not see his way to get it all back and a great deal more. But now he had the consolation of knowing that he would come out all right, whether May Haredale became his wife or not.

He was playing his game with wonted caution and cunning. In response to Sir George's note, he pleaded some excuse, and on one pretext or other kept clear of Haredale Park for the best part of a week. He knew how to play his fish. He knew that delay was in his favour, and was not going to spoil his triumph by undue haste.

Sir George was thoroughly frightened. The interview with Messrs. Absalom's manager came in the light of a revelation to him. He realized that he was in Copley's power, and that the latter could ruin him whenever he chose. Not that he expected anything of the kind. He was of far too sanguine a nature for that, and being a gentleman and a man of honour he naturally believed the story that Copley was temporarily hard put to it for the want of money. From that point of view, of course, Copley was behaving very well. He had not pressed Sir George, nor had he insisted that the money must be paid. In point of fact, he had not mentioned the matter at all.

But Messrs. Absalom's manager had been emphatic enough. There was something in his manner which Sir George did not like. He actually had no respect for the aristocracy, and spoke as if money were the only thing in the world that mattered.

"It comes to this, Sir George," he said. "We must ask you to make arrangements to clear this off in a week. It is business, pure and simple, and my people want the money. Things are not going well, and we must look to you to settle this claim."

"Within a week?" Sir George cried. "Impossible!"

The shrewd manager shrugged his shoulders.

"I am sorry to hear you say that, Sir George," he replied. "In that case, we must take matters into our own hands and sell you up, including your horses in training. We shall much regret this step, but necessity will compel us. The best thing you can do is to consult your solicitors and see if you can raise a loan. Otherwise – well, I think I have made myself plain."

The man withdrew, leaving Sir George to his own disturbed thoughts. With his sanguine disposition and lack of business knowledge he still clung to the idea that Copley would be able to put this matter right. But when Copley wrote that business called him elsewhere Sir George's vague sense of alarm began to develop into a perfect nightmare. At the expiration of a week the first blow fell. A man, shabbily dressed and dingy of aspect, called to see Sir George and would take no refusal. He stood in the hall grimly quiet, waiting for the master of the house, who appeared presently and demanded in his haughtiest manner what the intruder wanted.

"I am here on behalf of Absalom & Co.," the intruder said. "Fact is, I represent the sheriff. It is no use blaming me, Sir George. I am only doing my duty, and it's not so pleasant, at that. But I am here in possession, and here I am bound by law to stay until this money is paid. As soon as that is done I shall be only too pleased to go away."

Sir George began to understand the position. He had heard of these things before, but they had always appeared to be remote enough from him. This was what was called an execution, and Sir George's dignity disappeared accordingly.

"This is very awkward," he said. "I had not anticipated anything like this. How long will you have to stay here?"

"Well, it varies according to circumstances," the man explained. "It all depends upon what action the plaintiffs take. If they give you an extension of time I may be here for a month. Sometimes I have been in a house much longer."

"A month," Sir George exclaimed, "impossible!"

"It may be less than that," the man said. "If they don't give you any time at all I shall be gone in a week. In the ordinary course of things, at the expiration of seven days the sheriff will come in and sell everything."

"Seven days!" Sir George repeated the words over and over again, as if he were trying to grasp their meaning. He had barely a week to find this money, and, if it were not forthcoming, everything he had would be disposed of. He would have to face the world without a penny. He wondered if these people would take his horses. He wondered whether their action would injure him in the Derby. But misfortunes never came singly, and it was possible that the Blenheim colt might not start for the historic race at all. For the moment everything lay in the hands of Raymond Copley. Probably he had not the slightest idea that Absalom & Co. had gone to these lengths. No doubt he would devise a way out of this disgraceful situation. It was the only chance.

"If you wouldn't mind going away," Sir George said, "and coming back later in the day, I will see what I can do."

The man smiled broadly.

"Bless you! I couldn't do that," he said. "It would be as much as my place is worth. I might even get prosecuted, and I've a wife and family to think of. I dare not stir a step from here, Sir George; indeed, I dare not. If people treat me well I always try to give as little trouble as possible, and as yet nobody knows who I am and why I came. I daresay you can think of some excuse to account for my presence in the house."

It was very humiliating, but there was nothing for it but a mild conspiracy between the master of Haredale and this grubby representative of the majesty of the law. Sir George led the way into the library.

"You had better stay here," he said. "I can say you've come down from London on some business in connexion with the stable. By the way, it is just as well I should know your name. Oh, Brown, is it? Well, you had better remain here till I come back, and I can arrange for you to have your meals in the kitchen. I suppose you won't object to that?"

"I shan't, if the servants don't," Brown said.

"Very good. I am going to see a friend, and shall return as soon as possible. I suppose if you had a telegram from Absalom calling you back to London, you would disappear without any trouble."

"Certainly, sir, and very glad to go. I have never been in a big house like this before, and it makes all the difference. But I'll do my best to save your servants from knowing who I am and what I am doing at Haredale Park."

Possibly the speaker had some hope that this complacency would not leave him poorer than it found him, and, in his sanguine way, Sir George was already settling in his mind the size of the tip he would give this fellow after he had seen Copley and made arrangements to get rid of him. Nevertheless the master of Haredale was really distressed and alarmed as he made his way across the fields to Seton Manor. Perhaps Copley might not be back from London till dinner-time. But Copley was there. He was in the stable-yard talking to Foster as Sir George approached.

"Here he comes," said Foster with a grin. "I thought he wouldn't be very long. It is any odds that Absalom's man is in possession already. Our friend looks rather dejected, doesn't he? Now is your time to clinch the business."

Copley smiled his assent. "I don't think we are likely to have much trouble with Sir George."

CHAPTER XXIX
ACTING THE FRIEND

COPLEY turned to his visitor with an air of surprise. He held out his hand with an appearance of great friendliness and began to talk about horses as if nothing out of the common had happened.

"I am sorry I have been unable to see you," he said. "But I have been dreadfully harassed in business. You country gentlemen think that capitalists like myself have unlimited cash. Never, my dear Sir George, was there a greater mistake. There are times when I would give one of my ears for a thousand pounds in hard cash. Everything we have is locked up, and bankers are so chary of speculative securities. Of course, it comes all right in the long run, but really, for some days, matters have been extremely critical. However, I managed to make a satisfactory arrangement last night, and came home dead tired, with the full intention of not going near the City for two or three days. I hope there is nothing amiss with you. I don't suppose there is. Ah, you want to be in my line to know what anxiety is."

"I think I've a pretty fair idea of it," Sir George said, as he shook hands. "You have been good enough to advise me once or twice, and I thought I would come over this morning and consult you about a worry of my own. I came on the off-chance, and esteem myself fortunate to find you at home."

"Oh, not at all, not at all," Copley said breezily. "In fact, I was coming to see you. My conscience has been pricking me, and I feel I have been very rude. But come into the library and tell me all about it. I'll help you if I can."

"You are exceedingly good," Sir George said gratefully. "I have had a most unpleasant shock this morning. It has to do with those people, Absalom & Co. They tell me you have transferred my debt to them. I can't understand it."

Copley shook his head as he motioned his visitor to a chair. He passed over the cigars to Sir George, and sat down to listen in an attitude of respectful attention.

"No, you wouldn't understand these things," he explained. "It is only the man of hard business training and instinct that can follow the ramifications of modern finance. Finance is a fascinating sport with substantial gains for the successful man, but Heaven help him who fails. He is bound to go to the wall, and no one has the slightest mercy for him. It is almost a truism to say that we are at war with one another. Though outwardly on good terms, we really are the bitterest enemies. It is part of the game. I go and stay with other financiers, and they come and stay with me. We drink each other's wine and smoke each other's cigars. We share grouse moors and yachts, we even marry each other's daughters. But, at the same time, it is everybody for himself. That is one of the recognized rules, and if you go under you may become a clerk or something of that kind, unless you prefer to blow out your brains. It is all the same in the City. I tell you this, so that you may understand what a lot of enemies one makes when one embarks in a new venture. It is a mistake to imagine that all the money the successful man makes comes from the public. Every time I make a quarter of a million, some of my friends must suffer. I have a very big thing on at present, and thought I had guarded myself at all points. But man is only human, and it is impossible to foresee everything. Two of my cleverest friends spotted the weak point in my armour, and were not slow to take their opportunity. They squeezed me to such an extent that, about a fortnight ago, they very nearly crushed the life out of me altogether. I was compelled to find forty thousand pounds at a few hours' notice. The only people I could think of were Absalom & Co., and I transferred your debt to them. My dear fellow, if I hadn't done so I should have been in the Bankruptcy Court to-day. Absalom & Co., in their turn, are being squeezed, and that is why they are putting pressure upon you."

"Then you can't help me?" Sir George said blankly.

"My dear Sir George, I am afraid not. It is with great regret I say this. In two or three weeks I shall be in funds, and if you will wait till then, why I shall give you my cheque with pleasure. At the moment I have nothing. In a month's time I shall have a fortune at my disposal. But probably these people won't wait."

"Then I am ruined," Sir George exclaimed.

Copley murmured that it looked very much like it. He made no suggestion at all. He merely appeared to be duly sympathetic. He was waiting for Sir George Haredale to realize his position. That done, it would be easy to play his game successfully.

For a time Sir George paced up and down the library. He cursed himself and his bad fortune, blamed Chance, bemoaned his cruel ill luck; in fact, like the weak man he was, he blamed everything except the headlong folly and short-sighted blindness which had brought all this about. In the meantime, Copley sat letting his fish play until his strength was exhausted and he could readily be drawn to land. It was a one-sided battle.

"Is there nothing you can suggest?" Sir George cried despairingly. "Is there no way of getting delay?"

Copley made no reply for a time. When at length he spoke he dropped his voice to a persuasive whisper.

"Well, there is one method," he said. "Absalom is a sportsman, and he takes a great interest in racing matters. Between ourselves, he finances some of the swell bookmakers, and I understand has a grip upon some of the large commission firms. If you could show him a way to make thirty or forty thousand pounds on a race like the Derby, you might induce him to withdraw his execution for a month. Though he is in a corner, or he wouldn't have dropped on you, the suggestion I speak of would be worth a sacrifice."

"I don't follow you," Sir George said.

"No? Then I must speak more plainly. At the present moment you own a colt which looks like winning the Derby. I know the colt has been coughing lately, but your man Raffle is very sanguine and knows what he is talking about. I see the colt has come back in the betting to eight to one, and the public never seem to be tired of backing him. That, however, is the public's look-out and is no concern of yours. In the colt's present condition you will be justified in putting a pen through his name and nobody could blame you. Owners don't raise horses for the benefit of the public, and if the public choose to come in and forestall the market and the horse is scratched, then they must take the consequences. It has been done over and over again, and I don't see why you shouldn't do it yourself. You needn't do it to-day, or to-morrow, or even next week, but if I can assure Absalom that this is going to happen, why, in that case, I feel certain these proceedings will be withdrawn, and perhaps such terms arranged as will wipe the debt out altogether. Do you follow me?"

Sir George sat white and rigid. He seemed trying dimly to comprehend what Copley was driving at. All the time Copley was speaking he did not meet the eye of his victim. But Sir George's face was no index of his feelings. He was quivering from head to foot with a nameless indignation and, though Copley did not know it, was within an ace of inflicting personal punishment on the financier.

"You can't be in earnest," Sir George said with difficulty. "Surely, you were joking when you asked me to do this thing? Why, it would be contemptible, dishonourable to the last degree. I expect to win a fortune with the Blenheim colt, but I backed him at a very long price, and if he breaks down the loss will not be so great. It would be bad enough to lose a fortune which I regarded as as good as in my pocket, but deliberately to scratch the horse, to wait for a fortnight whilst these friends of yours are laying against the colt, is an insult which I did not dream any man would put upon me."

"You will pardon me if I don't see it in that light," Copley said coolly. "You have a right to do what you like with your own. You are justified in scratching the horse and, indeed, you have every excuse for doing so. I don't see that it matters much whether it is done to-day or in a fortnight's time. You may lose the few thousands pounds you put on the colt, but that seems probable in any case. And, on the other hand, you have it in your power to wipe out your debt to me – that is, to benefit to the extent of forty thousand pounds."

Sir George's indignation began to ebb. He no longer felt a disposition to smite Copley hip and thigh; he was thinking of his own position and future.

"And if I refuse?"

Copley shrugged his shoulders eloquently.

"In that case, there is no more to be said or done," he answered. "I would help you if I could, but I am powerless just now. But perhaps you will think better of it. I am sure you will be tired of that man in possession by the end of a week."

CHAPTER XXX
AN ULTIMATUM

COPLEY rose as if the interview were over, and he had done all he could for his friend. But Sir George lingered. He stood gazing into the fire thoughtfully and moodily. Copley's last shaft had gone home. Sir George's whole nature revolted from spending a week in the company of the man in possession. He wanted to gain time, to have an opportunity to consider matters, and, above all, to get rid of the incubus which, in his mind's eye, he could see seated patiently in the library at Haredale Park. Yet he also knew what he ought to have done. He ought either to have knocked Copley down out of hand, or to have walked out of the house with a curt intimation that he and Copley must be strangers in the future.

But, like the weak man he was, when the pinch came he did neither of these things. It would never have occurred to him to assert that he was a man of honour. All the world had taken it for granted, and in this opinion Sir George shared. But, on the other hand, he was face to face with disgrace, and in a few days would be homeless and penniless, a mark for the finger of scorn, and the object of pity of those whom he had looked down upon from a lofty standpoint. But was there, after all, any great harm in what Copley suggested? Scores of owners of horses had done such things before, and he had a genuine excuse for drawing the pen through the name of the Blenheim colt, since it had fallen ill. If other people benefited by the knowledge, it was no concern of his. If the colt were no better at the end of a fortnight, he could be scratched and things go on as they were. Besides, the colt was a good one, and in the autumn there would be every chance of winning the St. Leger with him. This reasoning was all very specious and wrong, but it wasn't long before Sir George had justified himself, as Copley felt sure he would do.

"Wait a little," Sir George said. "You can't expect me to make up my mind at once. I must have time to think it over. But I can't do anything as long as that man is at Haredale Park. If you can get rid of him for me – "

"Oh, I think I can do that," Copley interrupted. "But if I telephone to Absalom & Co. from here they will want some guarantee from you that – well, you know what I mean. They won't want any writing, your word will be good enough for that."

Sir George expanded at this suggestion. It never struck him that a mere negotiation on this point from Copley's view would be as good as a written document.

"I think I can give it," he said.

"Very well," Copley said briskly. "I am glad to hear you talk like that. It is a commonsense view of the situation. Sit down and smoke your cigar in peace and don't worry any more about the matter. I'll go into my office and ring up Absalom & Co., and in an hour's time you will be free from your trouble."

For three-quarters of an hour Sir George sat immersed in gloomy thoughts. Manipulate the transaction as he might, deceive himself as he pleased, there was no getting away from the fact that he was contemplating a shameful thing, and the knowledge that he was saving himself did not mend matters. The best part of an hour had passed before Copley returned with a cheerful face.

"I thought I could manage," he exclaimed. "I felt sure there would be little difficulty, if we only convinced Absalom & Co. that there was a good thing for them here. But, mind you, I had to give them my word. They wouldn't accept anything in the least vague. Nothing is to be done for a fortnight; in fact, not till after the next meeting at Mirst Park, and at the end of that time the Blenheim colt is to be scratched. You have only to keep him short of exercise, and the public will conclude that something serious is amiss with the colt. I had to promise this before I could move these people at all. Of course, if you don't want to go as far as that I can ring them up again. It would be a pity to do so, however, seeing that by this time Absalom's have taken steps to withdraw their action, and in a few minutes the man at Haredale Park will receive a telegram calling him back to London at once. You had better think the matter over. Don't say that I persuaded you, for, if you wish to break off negotiations, it is not too late to do so."

Copley's voice was gentle, but there was nothing persuasive about him. He meant to leave the matter entirely in Sir George's hands. But, as he had confidently expected, Sir George did not repudiate the bargain. On the contrary, he thanked Copley for what he had done, and when they left the library a few minutes later the arrangement was ratified. As they made for the stable-yard Copley paused as if something had suddenly occurred to him.

"There is one other matter," he said. "I didn't like to mention it before for fear you should imagine I was forcing your hand. Now I can speak freely. It relates to your daughter. When I lent you that money I expected to have the privilege of calling myself your son-in-law. I have not yet had anything definite from Miss Haredale; in fact, I am afraid she dislikes me. But things can't go on like this, and you promised to put in a good word for me. I daresay you will think it strange, but I have set my heart on this marriage. It will be well, perhaps, to let your daughter know how things stand. I fear she doesn't comprehend the position. Tell her yourself."

There was no mistaking the ring of command in the last words.

"Certainly," Sir George promised. "I will do so without delay. I can't for the life of me understand May's hesitancy. Almost every girl in the county would jump at the chance of being Mrs. Raymond Copley. Besides, May must marry a rich man. But leave it to me, Copley. Come over after dinner this evening and see if we can't fix this thing up once and for all."

Sir George returned to Haredale trying to feel on good terms with himself and elated with the turn things had taken. But he could not disguise that he had done wrong. He could not still the voice of conscience. However, he was relieved to hear from his butler of the departure of Brown on receipt of a telegram. The man had made certain promises. He would call again later in the day, but had left his address in case Sir George wanted to write to him. It was very correct and discreet, no one was any the wiser, nobody had guessed about this black disgrace, and in the fullness of his heart Sir George wrote a short note to Brown enclosing a cheque. He was sealing up the envelope and putting on the stamp when May entered.

She was fresh from her ride. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks glowed. There was something in her gay abandon and her clear light of innocence that jarred upon Sir George. Why should she have none of this trouble? Why should she be outside of it all? To some extent, she was the cause of the mischief. But for her Copley would never have lent Sir George any money; but for her he would never have found himself in the clutches of Absalom & Co. This was as specious as his other moralizing, and he never imagined that he had fallen into a trap set by Copley. What he wanted was some one to vent his anger upon.

"Where have you been?" he asked irritably. "I have been looking for you everywhere. I have just been having a conversation about you with Mr. Copley. He wants to know – "

"He already does know," May said coldly. "I thought I had made that quite clear. I shall be glad if you will not allude to this again. It is most distasteful to me."

Sir George brought his fist with a bang on the table.

"You are a fool," he cried. "I beg pardon, but I can't think of any other word. You don't seem to realize what obligations we are under to Mr. Copley. Do you know that if he liked he could turn us out of the house to-morrow? Do you know that even this morning he has saved us from a great disgrace? And he has done all this out of affection for you. I can assure you that Mr. Raymond Copley is not the man to be played with."

"My dear father," May protested, "why this violence? I don't in the least want to play with Mr. Copley."

"Oh, this is no joking matter. You ought to be proud to think that a man like that is ready to lay his wealth at your feet. Now, I want you to understand that if you treat him in this way he will very likely teach you a lesson. It is no use beating about the bush. We are in his hands. And, therefore, you must marry him."

"Must, my dear father. Surely – "

"Oh, I am not going to listen to any more. I won't argue with you. You are either going to marry Mr. Copley or I wash my hands of you altogether. I will not be ruined for the mere whim of a girl. Now you quite understand me? If this thing isn't settled to-morrow, Haredale will be no place for you."