“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said shortly. Millionaires’ syndicates had long failed to impress him.
“Good morning, Bennett,” said his lordship. “Have you seen your client this morning?”
Mr. Bennett made a wry face as he unstrapped the portfolio.
“No, my lord, I have not,” he said, and suggested by his tone that he was not at all displeased that he had missed a morning interview with Digby Groat.
“A queer fellow is Groat,” said Vindt with a laugh. “He is not a business man, and yet he has curiously keen methods. I should never have guessed he was an Englishman: he looks more like a Latin, don’t you think, Lord Waltham?”
His lordship nodded.
“A queer family, the Groats,” he said. “I wonder how many of you fellows know that his mother is a kleptomaniac?”
“Good heavens,” said Strathellan in amazement, “you don’t mean that?”
His lordship nodded.
“She’s quite a rum old lady now,” he said, “though there was a time when she was as handsome a woman as there was in town. She used to visit us a lot, and invariably we discovered, when she had gone, that some little trinket, very often a perfectly worthless trifle, but on one occasion a rather valuable bracelet belonging to my daughter, had disappeared with her. Until I realized the true condition of affairs it used to worry me, but the moment I spoke to Groat, the property was restored, and we came to expect this evidence of her eccentricity. She’s a lucky woman,” he added.
“I wouldn’t say that with a son like Digby,” smiled Strathellan, who was drawing figures idly on his blotting-pad.
“Nevertheless, she’s lucky,” persisted his lordship. “If that child of the Dantons hadn’t been killed, the Groats would have been as poor as Church mice.”
“Did you ever meet Lady Mary, my lord?” asked Vindt.
Lord Waltham nodded.
“I met Lady Mary and the baby,” he said quietly; “I used to be on dining terms with the Dantons. And a beautiful little baby she was.”
“What baby is this?” asked a voice.
Digby Groat had come in in his noiseless fashion, and closed the door of the boardroom softly behind him. The question was the first intimation they had of his presence, all except Lord Waltham, who, out of the corner of his eye, had seen his entrance.
“We were talking about Lady Mary’s baby, your cousin.”
Digby Groat smiled contemptuously.
“It will not profit us very much to discuss her,” he said.
“Do you remember her at all, Groat?” asked Waltham.
“Dimly,” said Digby with a careless shrug. “I’m not frightfully keen on babies. I have a faint recollection that she was once staying in our house, and I associate her with prodigious howling! Is everything all right, Bennett?”
Bennett nodded.
“Here is the paper you asked for.” Digby took it from his pocket and laid it before the lawyer, who unfolded it leisurely and read it with exasperating slowness.
“That is in order,” he said. “Now, gentlemen, we will get to business.”
Such of them who were not already seated about the table, drew up their chairs.
“Your insistence upon having the money in cash has been rather a nuisance, Groat,” said Lord Waltham, picking up a tin box from the floor and opening it. “I hate to have a lot of money in the office; it has meant the employment of two special watchmen.”
“I will pay,” said Digby good-humouredly, watching with greedy eyes as bundle after bundle of notes was laid upon the table.
The lawyer twisted round the paper and offered him a pen.
“You will sign here, Mr. Groat,” he said.
At that moment Vindt turned his head to the clerk who had just entered.
“For me?” he said, indicating the letter in the man’s hand.
“No, sir, for Mr. Bennett.”
Bennett took the note, looked at the name embossed upon the flap, and frowned.
“From Salter,” he said, “and it is marked ‘urgent and important.’ ”
“Let it wait until after we have finished the business,” said Digby impatiently.
“You had better see what it is,” replied the lawyer, and took out a typewritten sheet of paper. He read it through carefully.
“What is it?” asked Digby.
“I’m afraid this sale cannot go through,” answered the lawyer slowly. “Salter has entered a caveat against the transfer of the property.”
Livid with rage Digby sprang to his feet.
“What right has he?” he demanded savagely. “He is no longer my lawyer: he has no right to act. Who authorized him?”
The lawyer had a queer expression on his face.
“This caveat,” he said, speaking deliberately, “has been entered by Salter on behalf of Dorothy Danton, who, according to the letter, is still alive.”
There was a painful silence, which the voice of Vindt broke.
“So that settles the transfer,” he said. “We cannot go on with this business, you understand, Groat?”
“But I insist on the transfer going through,” cried Digby violently. “The whole thing is a plot got up by that dithering old fool, Salter. Everybody knows that Dorothy Danton is dead! She has been dead for twenty years.”
“Nevertheless,” said Lord Waltham quietly, “we cannot move in face of the caveat. Without being a legal instrument, it places upon the purchasers of the property the fullest responsibility for their purchase.”
“But I will sign the transfer,” said Digby vehemently.
Lord Waltham shook his head.
“It would not matter if you signed twenty transfers,” he said. “If we paid you the money for this property and it proved to be the property of Miss Danton, as undoubtedly it would prove, if she were alive, we, and only we, would be responsible. We should have to surrender the property and look to you to refund us the money we had invested in the estate. No, no, Groat, if it is, as you say, a bluff on the part of Salter—and upon my word, I cannot imagine a man of Salter’s position, age and experience putting up empty bluff—then we can have a meeting on another day and the deal can go through. We are very eager to acquire these properties.”
There was a murmur of agreement from both Strathellan
