Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker Part 44

"Aymer's done well enough for you so far," pursued Peter Masters from the depths of his chair. "We will grant him all credit, but this is the affair of a business man: it requires capital: it requires business knowledge: and it requires faith. You will have to go to someone if you don't come to me, and I'm making you a better offer than you'll get elsewhere. I'll do more. We'll buy up the other men if they are dangerous. You can have their experience, too. It's only a question of investing enough money."

As he stood there in the window Christopher realised it all: how near his darling project lay to his heart, how great and hara.s.sing would be the difficulties of launching it on the world; how sure success would be under this man's guidance, and yet how with all his heart and soul and unreasoning mind he hated the thought of it, and would have found life itself dear at the purchase of his freedom.

His hands shook a little as he turned, but his voice was quiet and steady.

"It is very generous of you, sir, but I could not possibly pledge myself to you or any man."

"I'm asking no pledge. I'm only asking you to complete your own invention, and when it's completed I'll help you to use it."

"I must be free."

"You own you can't use any discovery by yourself, you'd have to go to someone. I come to you. The credit will be yours. I only find the means and share the return--fair interest on capital."

"It's not that."

"Then what? Do you doubt my financial ability or financial soundness?"

The meshes of the net were very narrow. Christopher sat with his head on his hands. He could waste no force in inventing reasons, neither could he explain the intangible truth. It was a fight of wills solely.

"I can't do it," said Christopher doggedly.

"You are only a boy, but I credit you with more common-sense and a better eye for business than many young men double your age. What displeases you in my offer? Where do you want it altered?"

"I don't want it at all, Mr. Masters. I won't accept it. I don't think my reason matters at all. I know I shall never do so well, but I refuse."

"There are others who would take it. Suppose you are forestalled?"

Christopher looked him straight in the eyes.

"It's a fair fight so far."

"A fight is always fair to the winner," returned Masters grimly. There was a silence. The next thrust reached the heart of the matter.

"What is your objection to dealing with me?"

Peter Masters leant forward as he spoke and put a finger on the other's knee; his hard, keen eyes sought the far recesses of his son's mind, but they did not sink deep enough to read his soul. Christopher struggled with the impetuous words, the direct bare truth that sought for utterance. Truth was too pure and subtle a thing to give back here. When he answered it was in his old deliberate manner, as he had answered Fulner--as he would invariably answer when he mistrusted his own judgment.

"If I told you my objections you would not care for them or understand them. You would think them folly. I won't defend them. I won't offer them. It is just impossible, but I thank you."

He rose and Masters did the same with a curious look of admiration and disappointment in his eyes.

"I thought you a better business man, Christopher. Will you refer the matter to your--guardian?"

"No. It is quite my own. Even Aymer can't help me."

Peter's lips straightened ominously.

"You will come to me yet. My terms will not be so good again."

"Then I am at least warned."

"As you will. You are a fool, Christopher, perhaps I am well quit of you."

"I think that is quite likely," returned Christopher gravely, with a faint twinkle of amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes. He went away despondently, however, and stopped at the door.

"When would you like me to go?"

"I told you: we go up to London on Monday," said the millionaire sharply. "I engaged you to buy a car and you must buy it."

"I am quite ready to do so."

He left the room with an appalling sense of defeat and humiliation on him. He could hardly credit a victory that left him so bruised and spiritless. It was in his mind to run away and avoid his engagement in London. He might even have done so but for Peter's remark. He walked across the hall with downcast eyes and nearly fell against a tall thin form.

"Nevil!" cried Christopher.

"Yes, Nevil. Christopher, could I be had up for libel if I wrote the life of a railway train?"

CHAPTER XXII

Christopher led the way into the nearest room and turned to Nevil with an anxious face.

"What is wrong? Is it Caesar?" He stopped abruptly.

"There's nothing wrong. Mayn't anyone leave Marden but you, you young autocrat?"

Nevil deposited his lanky self in a comfortable chair and smiled in his slow way. Then he looked round the room with a critical, disapproving eye.

"Is Peter at home?" he asked, "and do you think he could put me up for a night? I suppose I ought to see him."

Christopher did not offer to move.

"You shan't see him till you tell me what brings you here, Nevil," he said firmly.

The other shook his head. "That's a bad argument, Christopher.

However, I'll pretend it's effectual. There's a man at Leamington who has some records he considers priceless, but which I think are frauds.

I thought if I came up to-day I could travel down with you to-morrow."

It sounded plausible--too plausible when Christopher considered the difficulty it was to rouse Nevil even to go to London. There might be a man in Leamington, but he didn't believe Nevil had come to see him.

"You are growing very energetic, Nevil," he said slowly, "all this trouble over some fraudulent records."

"They might be genuine, and really important," Nevil suggested cautiously.

"At all events I was not returning till Sat.u.r.day, and Mr. Masters wants me to stay till Monday now, and go to London with him then."