The Profiteers Part 38

"They are obstinate?" she enquired curiously.

He sipped the tea which she had handed to him.

"Very," he admitted, "yet, after all, why not? If we succeed, it is, at any rate, the end of their private fortunes, of Phipps' ambitions and your husband's dreams of wealth."

"So much the better," she declared sadly. "More money with Henry has only meant a greater eagerness to get rid of it."

A companions.h.i.+p which had no need of words seemed to have sprung up between them. They sat together for some minutes without speech, minutes during which the deep silence which reigned throughout the house seemed curiously accentuated. Josephine s.h.i.+vered.

"I shall never know what happiness is," she declared, "until I have left this house--never to return!"

"That will not be long," he reminded her gravely.

She placed her hand on his.

"It is full of the ghosts of my sorrows," she went on. "I have known misery here."

"And I one evening of happiness," he said, smiling.

Her eyes glowed for a moment, but she was disturbed, tremulous, agitated.

"I listen for footsteps in the streets," she confessed. "I am afraid!"

"Needlessly," he a.s.sured her. "I know for a fact that s.h.i.+elds is off the scent."

"But he is not a fool," she answered hastily.

Wingate's smile was full of confidence.

"Dear," he said, "I do not believe that you have anything to fear. There have been no loose ends left. Behind your front door is safety."

"The man s.h.i.+elds--I only saw him for a few minutes, but he impressed me,"

she sighed.

"s.h.i.+elds is, without doubt, a capable person," Wingate admitted, "but he could only succeed in this case by blind guessing. Stanley Rees was brought into this house through the mews, without observation from any living person. Phipps, when he received that supposed message from you, was only too anxious to come the same way. They left their respective abodes for here in a secrecy which they themselves encouraged, for Rees imagined that your husband had urgent need of him, and Phipps was a.s.s enough to believe that your summons meant what he wished it to mean.

There has been no leakage of information anywhere.--Honestly, Josephine, I think that you may banish your fears."

"A woman's fears only, dear," she admitted, as she gave him her hands.

"Why did nature make my s.e.x pessimists and yours optimists, I wonder? I would so much rather look towards the sun."

"Soon," he promised her with a smile, "I shall dominate your subconscious mind. You shall see the colours of life through my eyes. You will find your long-delayed happiness."

The tears which stood in her eyes were of unalloyed content,--the drama so close at hand was forgotten. Their hands remained clasped for a moment. Then he left her.

Back into that room with its strange mystery of shadows, its odour of mingled tragedy and absurdity. Grant rose from a high-backed chair guarding the table, as Wingate approached. The latter glanced towards the three men crouching around the table. Their white faces gleamed weirdly against the background of shaded light. There were black lines under Dredlinton's eyes. He made a gurgling effort at speech,--his muttered words were only partly coherent.

"I resign! I resign!"

Wingate shook his head.

"I am afraid, Lord Dredlinton," he said, "that you are in the hands of your fellow directors. One may not be released without the others.

Directly you can induce Mr. Phipps and Mr. Rees to see reason, you will all three be restored to liberty. Until then I am afraid that you must share the inevitable inconveniences connected with your enforced stay here."

Phipps lurched towards him with a furious gesture. Wingate only smiled as he threw himself into his easy-chair.

"Wheat is falling very slowly," he announced. "Every one is waiting for the B. & I. to sell.--You can go now, Grant," he added, "I will take up the watch myself."

CHAPTER XXII

Wingate, notwithstanding his iron nerve, awoke with a start, in the grey of the following morning, to find his heart pounding against his ribs and a chill sense of horror stealing into his brain. Nothing had happened or was happening except that one cry,--the low, awful cry of a man in agony. He sat up, switched on the electric light by his side and gazed at the round table, his fingers clenched around the b.u.t.t of his pistol. Dredlinton, from whom had come the sound, had fallen with his head and shoulders upon the table. His face was invisible, only there crept from his hidden lips a faint repet.i.tion of the cry,--the hideous sob, it might have been, as of a spirit descending into h.e.l.l. Then there was silence. Phipps was sitting bolt upright, his eyes wide open, motionless but breathing heavily. He seemed to be in a state of coma, neither wholly asleep nor wholly conscious. Rees was leaning as far back in his chair as his cords permitted. His patch of high colour had gone; there was an ugly twist to his mouth, a livid tinge in his complexion, but nevertheless he slept. Wingate rose to his feet and watched. Phipps seemed keyed up to suffering. Dredlinton showed no sign. Their gaoler strolled up to the table.

"There is the bread there, Phipps," he said, "a breakfast tray outside and some coffee. How goes it?"

Phipps turned his leaden face. His eyes glowed dully.

"Go to h.e.l.l!" he muttered.

Wingate returned to his place, lit and smoked a pipe and dozed off again.

When he opened his eyes, the sunlight was streaming in through a c.h.i.n.k in the closed curtains. He looked towards the table. Dredlinton had not moved; Rees was crying quietly, like a child. An unhealthy-looking perspiration had broken out on Phipps' face.

"Really," Wingate remarked, "you are all giving yourselves an unnecessary amount of suffering."

Phipps spoke the fateful words after two ineffectual efforts. His syllables sounded hard and detached.

"We give in," he faltered. "We sell."

"Capital!" Wingate exclaimed, rising promptly to his feet. "Come! In ten minutes you shall be drinking coffee or wine--whichever you fancy. We will hurry this little affair through."

He crossed the room, opened a cupboard and brought a telephone instrument to the table.

"City 1000," he began.--"Yes!--British and Imperial--Right! Mr. Harrison there?--Ask him to come to the 'phone, please.--Harrison? Good! Wait a moment. Mr. Phipps will speak to you."

Wingate held the telephone before the half-unconscious man. Phipps swayed towards it.

"Yes? That Harrison?--Mr. Phipps.--No, it's quite all right. We've been away, Mr. Rees and I. We've decided--"

He reeled a little in his chair. Wingate poured some brandy from his flask into the little metal cup and held it out. Phipps drank it greedily.

"Go on now."

"We have decided," Phipps continued, "to sell wheat--to sell, you understand? You are to telephone Liverpool, Manchester, Lincoln, Glasgow, Bristol and Cardiff. Establish the price of sixty s.h.i.+llings.--Yes, that's right--sixty s.h.i.+llings.--What is that you say?--You want confirmation?--Mr. Rees will speak."

Wingate pa.s.sed the telephone to the next man; also his flask, which he held for a moment to his lips. Rees gurgled greedily. His voice sounded strained, however, and cracked.