The Greatest Works of Marie Belloc Lowndes. Marie Belloc Lowndes
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two hundred pounds now?" she asked joyfully.
And Godfrey, with his eyes fixed on the grass, said in a shamed voice, "Yes—that is what I do mean."
Somehow it hurt him to feel how that sum of money, so trifling to him, affected her so keenly. He was better pleased with her next question.
"What sort of an investment exactly is it?"
"It's in the nature of a company promotion," he said slowly. "And of course you must regard anything I tell you about it as absolutely private."
"Yes, I quite understand that!"
He drew a piece of paper out of his pocket. "As a matter of fact I've got a few facts about it jotted down here."
She drew her chair rather nearer to his, and Godfrey Pavely, turning his narrow yet fleshy face towards her, began speaking with far more eagerness and animation than usual. Katty, who was by no means a fool where such things were concerned, listened absorbedly while he explained the rather big bit of financial business in which he was now interested.
After he had been speaking to her without interruption for some minutes, Katty exclaimed: "Yes, I think I see now exactly what you mean! There certainly doesn't seem much risk attached to it—at any rate as regards the start off, as it were. But what made these French bankers pick you out, Godfrey? After all, they're doing you a very good turn."
"I don't exactly know why they picked me out, as you call it——" he spoke hesitatingly. "But during that year I spent in Paris I came across a great many of that sort of people. My father got me the best possible introductions."
The piece of paper on which he had jotted certain notes and calculations was a large piece of thin foreign notepaper covered with small handwriting in the diluted ink which some French business men use.
"Can you read French?" he asked doubtfully.
She answered rather sharply, "Yes, of course I can!" and held out her hand.
The letter, which bore a Paris address, and the date of a fortnight back, was from the French banking house of Zosean & Co. It explained at some length that a client of the bank, a wealthy South American of Portuguese extraction named Fernando Apra, had become possessed of an estate on the coast of Portugal to which was attached a gambling concession. The idea was to make the place a kind of Portuguese Monte Carlo, and the present possessor was very desirous that English capital and English brains should be put into the company. The returns promised were enormous, and there seemed to be little or no risk attached to the business—if it was run on the right lines.
"I have gone into the matter very thoroughly," said Godfrey Pavely, "and I have convinced myself that it's all right. This Fernando Apra already has a London office. I managed to see him there for a few minutes last week. His real headquarters are in Paris."
"And are you finding all the money?" asked Katty eagerly. "Will it be all your money and my thousand pounds, Godfrey? In that case I suppose we shall get all the profits?"
He smiled a little at woman's cupidity. "No," he said, "I haven't been able to find it all myself. But I've managed to get in a very good man. Some one with whom I've done business before, Katty."
"What's his name?" she asked inquisitively.
Godfrey Pavely waited a moment. "I don't know that I ought to tell you—" he said uncomfortably. "He doesn't want to appear in the business."
"Of course you ought to tell me!" All sorts of strange ideas floated through Katty's mind. Was he going to say "Oliver Tropenell"? She rather expected he was.
"Well, I will tell you," he said, "for I know you can hold your tongue. The name of the man who's going into this business with me is Greville Howard."
"D'you mean the big money-lender?" Katty couldn't help a little tone of doubt, of rather shocked surprise, creeping into her voice.
"Yes," he said doggedly, "I do mean the man who was once a great money-lender. He's retired now—in fact he's living——" and then he stopped himself.
"Why, of course!" Katty felt quite excited. "He's living in Yorkshire, near the Haworths! They've often talked about him to me! They don't know him—he won't know anybody. He's a rather queer fish, isn't he, Godfrey?"
"He's absolutely straight about money," exclaimed Godfrey Pavely defensively. "I've had dealings with him over many years. In fact he's the ideal man for this kind of thing. He has all sorts of irons in the fire—financially I mean—on the Continent. He's a big shareholder in the company that runs the Dieppe and Boulogne Casinos."
He got up. "Well, I ought to be going now. It's all right isn't it, Katty? You won't talk again of going away?"
"Could you let me have that two hundred pounds this afternoon?" she asked abruptly.
Godfrey Pavely looked at her with a curious, yearning, rather sad look. Somehow he would have preferred that Katty should not be quite so—so—he hardly formulated the thought to himself—so ready to do anything for money. "Very well," he said. "Very well, my dear"—he very seldom called her "my dear," but he had done so once or twice lately. "I'll bring it this afternoon, in notes."
"That will be kind of you," she said gratefully. "But look here, Godfrey, do take it out of my thousand pounds! Put eight hundred in this thing."
He shook his head and smiled. Women were queer, curiously unscrupulous creatures! "That would be right down dishonest of me, Katty."
They were now walking across the little lawn, which was so securely tucked away, out of sight of any prying window, and before going through the aperture which had been cut in the hedge, they both turned round and clasped hands. "Thank you so—so much," she said softly. "You've been a dear, kind friend to me always, Godfrey."
"Have I?" he said. "Have I, Katty? Not always, I fear."
"Yes, always," and her voice trembled a little.
He bent down and kissed her on the mouth with a kind of shamed, passionate solemnity which moved, and, yes, a little amused her. What queer, curiously scrupulous creatures men were!
"Go now, or you'll be late," she whispered.
And he went.
Part Two
Chapter XIII
Certain days become retrospectively memorable, and that however apparently uneventful they may have seemed at the time.
To Laura Pavely the 6th of January opened as had done all the other days during the last few weeks, that is, quietly, dully, and sadly.
There was one difference, trifling or not as one happened to look at the matter. Godfrey was away in London. He had been absent for over a week—since the 28th, and though he had been expected back last night, there had come a telephone message, late in the afternoon, to say that his business would keep him away a day longer.
This morning—it was a Friday morning—Laura, trying hard to shake off her depression, told herself that she and Alice might as well go for a ride. It was a beautiful day, and the wind blew soft. They would go across the downs to a certain lonely spot which Alice loved.
Laura was already in the hall in her riding habit, waiting for the child, when there came a telephone message through from Pewsbury. It was from the Bank asking what time Mr. Pavely would be there. A gentleman with whom he had made an appointment for ten o'clock, had been waiting for him since that hour. It was now nearly eleven.
Laura turned to the servant: "Did Mr. Pavely give you any message to send on to the