“Oh, don’t talk like that, uncle, you don’t mean it.”
“I mean it all right,” snapped the earl. “Why shouldn’t I? He was infernally rude to me. Do you know what he called me before he left?”
“But that was sixteen years ago,” said the girl.
“Sixteen grandmothers,” said the old man. “It doesn’t make any difference to me if it was sixteen hundred years—he still said it. He called me a tiresome old bore—what do you think of that?”
She laughed, and a responsive gleam came to the old man’s face.
“It’s all very well for you to laugh,” he said, “but it’s rather a serious business for a member of the House of Lords to be called a tiresome old bore by a youthful Etonian. Naturally, remembering his parting words and the fact that he had gone to America, added to the very important fact that I am a Churchman and a regular subscriber to Church institutions, I thought he was dead. After all, one expects some reward from an All-wise Providence.”
“Where is he?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said the earl. “I traced him to Texas—apparently he was on a farm there until he was twenty-one. After that his movements seem to have been somewhat difficult to trace.”
“Why,” she said suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at him, “you’ve been trying to trace him.”
For a fraction of a second the old man looked confused.
“I’ve done nothing of the sort,” he snarled. “Do you think I’d spend my money to trace a rascal who—”
“Oh, you have,” she went on. “I know you have. Why do you pretend to be such an awful old man?”
“Anyway, I think he’s found out,” he complained. “It takes away a great deal of the fortune which would have come to you. I don’t suppose Gresham will want you now.”
She smiled. He rose from the table and went to the door.
“Tell that infernal villain—”
“Which one?”
“James,” he replied, “that I’m not to be disturbed. I’m going to my study. I’m not to be disturbed by anyone for any reason; do you understand?”
If it was a busy morning for his lordship, it was no less so for Black and his friend, for it was Monday, and settling day, and in numerous clubs in London expectant bookmakers, in whose volumes the names of Black and Sir Isaac were freely inscribed, examined their watches with feelings that bordered upon apprehension.
But, to the surprise of everybody who knew the men, the settlements were made.
An accession of wealth had come to the “firm.”
Sir Isaac Tramber spent that afternoon pleasantly. He was raised from the depths of despair to the heights of exaltation. His debts of honour were paid; he felt it was possible for him to look the world in the face. As a taxi drove him swiftly to Black’s office, he was whistling gaily, and smiling at the politely veiled surprise of one of his suspicious bookmakers.
The big man was not at his office, and Sir Isaac, who had taken the precaution of instructing his driver to wait, redirected him to the Chelsea flat.
Black was dressing for dinner when Sir Isaac arrived.
“Hullo!” he said, motioning him to a seat. “You’re the man I want. I’ve got a piece of information that will please you. You are the sort of chap who is scared by these ‘Four Just Men.’ Well, you needn’t be any more. I’ve found out all about them. It’s cost me £200 to make the discovery, but it’s worth every penny.”
He looked at a sheet of paper lying before him.
“Here is the list of their names. A curious collection, eh? You wouldn’t suspect a Wesleyan of taking such steps as these chaps have taken. A bank manager in South London—Mr. Charles Grimburd—you’ve heard of him: he’s the art connoisseur, an unexpected person, eh? And Wilkinson Despard—he’s the fellow I suspected most of all. I’ve been watching the papers very carefully. The Post Herald, the journal he writes for, has always been very well informed upon these outrages of the Four. They seem to know more about it than any other paper, and then, in addition, this man Despard has been writing pretty vigorously on social problems. He’s got a place in Jermyn Street. I put a man on to straighten his servant, who had been betting. He had lost money. My man has been at him for a couple of weeks. There they are.” He tossed the sheet across. “Less awe-inspiring than when they stick to their masks and their funny titles.”
Sir Isaac studied the list with interest.
“But there are only three here,” he said. “Who is the fourth?”
“The fourth is the leader: can’t you guess who it is? Gresham, of course.”
“Gresham?”
“I haven’t any proof,” said Black; “it’s only surmise. But I would stake all I have in the world that I’m right. He is the very type of man to be in this—to organize it, to arrange the details.”
“Are you sure the fourth is Gresham?” asked Sir Isaac again.
“Pretty sure,” said Black.
He had finished his dressing and was brushing his dress-coat carefully with a whisk brush.
“Where are you going?” asked Sir Isaac.
“I have a little business tonight,” replied the other. “I don’t think it would interest you very much.”
He stopped his brushing. For a moment he seemed deep in thought.
“On consideration,” he said slowly, “perhaps it will interest you. Come along to the office with me. Have you dined?”
“No, not yet.”
“I’m sorry I can’t dine you,” said Black. “I have an important engagement after this which is taking all my attention at present. You’re not dressed,” he continued. “That’s good. We’re going to a place where people do not as a rule dress for dinner.”
Over his own evening suit he drew a long overcoat, which he buttoned to the neck. He selected a soft felt hat from the wardrobe in the room and put it on before the looking-glass.
“Now, come along,” he said.
It
