Behind the Throne

by William Le Queux

show that he only regards you as a kind ofsuperior valet. Had I been you I should have kicked the fellow longago."

  "The pauper may not kick the millionaire, my dear old chap," saidMacbean, smiling,--"or at least, if he does he kicks against thepricks."

  "I can't make out how some men get on," remarked Grenfell between thewhiffs of his huge pipe. "Why, it seems only the other day thatMorgan-Mason had a shop in the Brompton Road, and used to make bigsplashes with advertisements in the cheap papers. I remember my peopleused to buy their butter there. An editor I know used to laugh over thepuff paragraphs he sent out about himself. He's made his money andbecome a great man all in ten years or so."

  "My dear Billy, money makes money," remarked his friend, with a drylaugh. "Society worships wealth nowadays. Such men as Morgan-Masonhave coarsened and cheapened the very _entourage_ of Court and State.Let the moneyed creature be ever so vulgar, so illiterate, so vicious,it matters naught. Money-bags are the sole credentials necessary togain admission to the most exclusive of houses, the House, even toBuckingham Palace itself. Men like Morgan-Mason smile at the poverty ofthe peerage, and with their wealth buy up heritage, title, andacceptance. The borrower is always servant to the lender, and hence ourfriend has many obsequious servants in what people call smart society."

  "And more's the pity! Society must be rotten!" declared Billyemphatically. "I don't know what we're coming to nowadays. I shouldthink that the post of secretary to such an arrant cad must be about theworst office a gentleman can hold. I'd rather earn half-crowns writingparagraphs for the evening papers myself."

  "Yes," Macbean admitted, with a sigh, "I shall be very glad to leave hisservice. I only regret on your account."

  "Oh, don't mind me. I'm a failure, dear boy, like lots of others!"Grenfell declared. "There are dozens in the Temple like myself,chronically hard up and without prospect of success. I congratulate youwith all my heart upon your stroke of good fortune. You've waited longenough for your chance, and it has now come to you just when you leastexpected it. Death and fortune always come unexpectedly: to all of usthe former, and to a few of us the latter. But," he added, "thisItalian politician--Bore-something--must have taken a violent fancy toyou."

  "On the contrary, I only met him once or twice," responded Macbean."That's what puzzles me. I don't see what object he has in offering methe appointment."

  "I do. They want an English secretary who knows Italian well. You'lljust fill the post. Foreign Governments make no mistakes in the menthey choose, depend upon it. They don't put Jacks-in-office like we do.Didn't you tell me once that you met the Italian Minister of War?Perhaps he had a hand in your appointment."

  "Possibly so," Macbean admitted, recollecting that well-remembered daywhen he had greeted His Excellency on the lawn at Orton and thestatesman had at once recognised him.

  "Well, however it has been arranged, it is a jolly good lift for you,old man," declared Billy, smoking vigorously. "You should take a leafout of Morgan-Mason's book, and use everyone, even the most vulgar ofmoneyed plutocrats and the most hide-bound of bureaucrats, for your ownadvantage. If you do, you'll get on in the world. It's the only waynowadays, depend upon it. New men, new methods. All the old traditionsof life, all the dignity and delicacy and pride of birth, have gone bythe board in these days of brainy smartness and pushful go. Life's bookto-day, old fellow, is full of disgraced and blotted leaves."

  George sighed. He was used to Billy's plainly expressed philosophy.His criticisms were always full of a grim humour, and he was never tiredof denouncing the degenerates of the present in comparison with bygonedays. He was a Bohemian, and prided himself on that fact. Heentertained a most supreme and withering contempt for modernplace-hunters and for the many wind-bags in his own profession who goton because of their family influence or by the fortunate circumstance ofbeing in a celebrated case. He declared always that no man at the barcame forward by sheer merit nowadays, and that all depended upon eitherluck or influence. Not, however, that he ever begrudged a man hissuccess. On the contrary, he liked to see the advancement of hisfriends, and even though downhearted and filled with poignant regret atbeing compelled to part with George Macbean, yet he honestly wished himall the good fortune a true friend could wish.

  Mrs Bridges, the shuffling old laundress, whose chief weakness was "adrop o' something," who constantly spoke of her "poor husband," andwhose tears were ever flowing, cleared away the remains of theirbreakfast, and the two men spent the whole morning together smoking andcontemplating the future.

  "I suppose they'll put you into a gorgeous uniform and a sword when youget to Rome," laughed Grenfell presently. "You'll send me a photo,won't you?" And his big face beamed with good-humour.

  "Secretaries don't wear uniforms," was the other's response.

  "No, but you'll soon rise to be something else," the barrister assuredhim. "A fellow isn't singled out by a foreign Government like you areunless he gets something worth having in a year or two! They'llappreciate you more than our friend the provision-dealer has done. Ishan't forget the way the fellow spoke to me when I called upon you thatmorning. He couldn't have treated a footman worse than you and me. Ifelt like addressing the Court for the defence."

  "Well, it's all over now," laughed his friend. "This evening I shallgive him notice to leave his service, and I admit frankly that I shalldo so with the greatest pleasure."

  "I should think so, indeed," Billy remarked. "And don't forget to tellhim our private opinion of such persons as himself. He may beinterested to know what a mere man-in-the-street thinks of a moneyeddealer in butter and bacon. By Jove! if I only had the chance I shouldmake a few critical remarks that he would not easily forget."

  "I quite believe it!" exclaimed George merrily. "But now I'm leavinghim we can afford to let bygones be bygones. I only pity the poor devilwho becomes my successor."

  And both men again lapsed into a thoughtful silence, George's mind beingfilled with recollections of those warm summer days of tea-drinking andtennis when he was guest of his uncle, the Reverend Basil Sinclair, atThornby.

  What, he wondered, could have induced that tall, sallow-faced foreigner,the Italian Under-Secretary for War, to offer him such a lucrativeappointment? He had only met him once, for a few moments, when theMinister's wife had introduced them in an interval of tennis on the lawnat Orton.

  There was a motive in it. But what it was he could not discern.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

  A MILLIONAIRE'S TACTICS.

  Mr Morgan-Mason, the Member for South-West Norfolk, sat alone in hisgorgeous gilt and white dining-room with the remains of dessert spreadbefore him. A coarse-faced, elderly man with grey side-whiskers, a wideexpanse of glossy shirt-front, and a well-cut dinner coat, he wastwisting his wineglass between his fingers while a smile played abouthis lips. His obese figure, with shoulders slightly rounded, a bullneck, and gross, flabby features, gave one the impression that he livedfor himself alone, that his life was a selfish, idle one.

  His house in town and his place in the country were the typical abodesof a _nouveau riche_. His motors, his yacht, and his racehorses werethe very best that money could command, and yet with all his display ofwealth he still carried the tenets of the counting-house into hisprivate life. He gave "fifty-guinea-a-head" dinners at the Carlton, itwas true, but his entertainments were not on a large scale. He lent thearistocracy money, and allowed them to entertain him in return. Heconsidered it an honour to be made use of by the hard-up earl or by thepeeress whose debts at bridge were beyond her means. A knighthood hadbeen offered him, but he had politely declined, letting it be distinctlyknown to the Prime Minister that nothing less than a peerage would beacceptable; and this had actually been half promised! He was the equal,nay, the superior, of those holders of once-exclusive titles who lefttheir cards upon him and who shot his grouse; for, as a recent writerhas declared, the god Mammon is to-day gradually drawing into its foetidembrace all the rank and beauty and nobil
ity that once made England theglorious land she is.

  He had taken a telegram from his pocket, and re-read it--a message froma woman bearing one of the noblest titles in the English peerage, askingaudaciously for a loan, and inviting him up to her country-house inDurham, where an exclusive party was being entertained. He smiled withgratification, for the sovereign was among her ladyship's guests.

  He touched the bell, and in answer the butler entered. "Tell Macbean tocome here," he ordered, without looking up. "And give me a liqueur. Idon't want coffee to-night."

  The elderly, grave-faced servant served his master obsequiously, andnoiselessly disappeared.

  A few minutes later there came a light rap at the door and GeorgeMacbean entered.

  "Just reply to this wire," the millionaire said, handing it to hissecretary. "Tell her ladyship that I'll leave King's Cross at elevento-morrow, and that what she mentions will be all right. You need notmention the word loan; she'll understand. I can't dictate to-night, asI'm going to the club. Be here at seven in the morning, and I'll replyto letters while I'm dressing."

  Macbean took the telegram and hesitated.

  "Well? What are you waiting there for? Haven't you had your dinner--eh?"

  "Yes, I have had my dinner, Mr Morgan-Mason," was the young man's quickreply, his anger rising. "I wish to speak a word to you."

  "Well, what's the matter? Work too hard? If so, you can take a month'snotice and go. Lots more like you to be got," added the man with thefat, flabby face.

  "The work is not too hard," was Macbean's response, speaking quitecalmly. "I only wish to say that I intend leaving you, having accepteda Government appointment."

  "A Government appointment?" echoed the millionaire. "Has Balfour givenyou a seat in the Cabinet, or are you going to be a doorkeeper orsomething of that sort down at the House?"

  "Neither. My future is my own affair."

  "Well, I wish you good luck in it," sneered his employer. "I'll seethat the next secretary I get isn't a gentleman. Airs and graces don'tsuit me, my boy. I see too much of 'em in Mayfair. I prefer the peopleof the Mile End Road myself. I was born there, you know, and I'm proudof it."

  "Shall I send the telegram from the Strand office?" asked Macbean,disregarding the vulgarian's remarks. "It is Sunday night, remember."

  "Send it from where you like," was the man's reply. And then, as thesecretary turned to leave, he called him back, saying in a rather moreconciliatory tone--

  "You haven't told me what kind of appointment you've accepted. Whateverit is, you can thank my influence for it. They know that I wouldn'temploy a man who isn't up to the mark."

  "I thank you for your appreciation," Macbean said, for it was the firstkindly word that he had ever received from the millionaire during allthe time he had been in his service.

  "Oh, I don't mean that you are any better than five hundred others in myemploy," the other returned. "I've got a hundred shop-managers whowould serve me equally well at half the wages I pay you. I've all alongconsidered that you don't earn what you get."

  "In that case, then, I am very pleased to be able to relieve you of myservices, and to take them where they will be at last appreciated."

  "Do you mean to be insolent?"

  "I have no such intention," replied Macbean, still quite cool, althoughhis hands were trembling with suppressed anger. "The Italian Governmentwill pay me well for my work, and will not hurl insults at me on everypossible occasion and before every visitor. I have been your servant,Mr Morgan-Mason, your very humble servant, but after despatching thistelegram I shall, I am glad to inform you, no longer be yours tocommand."

  "The Italian Government!" exclaimed the millionaire, utterly surprised."In what department are you to be employed?"

  "In the Ministry of War."

  "What!--in the office of that man we saw regarding the Abyssiniancontracts?--Morini his name was, wasn't it?"

  "No. In the office of the Under-Secretary, Borselli."

  "I suppose you made it right with them when I took you with me to Rome--made good use of your ability to speak the lingo--eh?"

  "I had then no intention of entering the Italian service," was hisreply. "The offer has come to me quite spontaneously."

  Morgan-Mason was silent, twisting his glass before him and thinkingdeeply. The name Borselli recalled something--an ugly affair that hewould have fain forgotten.

  "I thought you had secured an appointment in one of the EnglishGovernment offices," he said at last, with a sudden change of tactics."Why go abroad? Why not remain with me? I'll give you an increase offifty pounds a year. You know my ways, and I hate strangers about me."

  "I much regret that I cannot accept your offer," replied George. "Ihave already accepted the appointment, which is at a salary veryconsiderably in advance of that you have been paying me."

  "But I'll pay you the same as they offer. You are better off inEngland. How much do they intend to give you?"

  "I am too fond of Italy to refuse a chance of going out there," Macbeanreplied. "I spent some years in Pisa in my youth, and have alwayslonged to return and live in the warmth and sunshine."

  A brief silence fell.

  Presently, after reflection, the Member of Parliament exclaimed, in atone more pleasant than he had ever used before--

  "Let me speak candidly, Macbean. I would first ask you to forget thewords I uttered a few moments ago. I am full of business, you know, andam often out of temper with everything. I was out of temper just now.Well, you want to leave me and go to Italy, while I desire you toremain. Tell me plainly what salary you will accept and continue in myservice."

  "I am as perfectly frank as you are," George replied. "No inducementyou could offer would keep me in England."

  Mr Morgan-Mason bit his lip. He never expected this refusal from theclever man whom he had treated as an underling. It was his habit topurchase any service with his money, and this rebuff on the part of amere servant filled him with chagrin--he who so easily bought the smilesof a duchess or the introduction of a marquis into the royal circleitself.

  He did not intend that Macbean should enter the service of AngeloBorselli. He had suspicion--a strong suspicion--and for that reasondesired to keep the pair apart. His mind was instantly active in anattempt to devise some scheme by which his own ends could be attained.But if his secretary flatly refused to remain?

  "I think you are a consummate fool to your own interests," remarked hisemployer. "Foreign Governments when they employ an Englishman only workhim for their own ends, and throw him aside like a sucked orange."

  "English employers often do the same," answered Macbean meaningly.

  The millionaire was full of grave reflections, and in order to obtaintime to form some plan, he ordered Macbean to despatch the telegram andreturn.

  An hour later, when George entered the splendidly appointed studywherein his employer was lounging, the latter rose, lit a cigar, andturning to him in the dim light--for they were standing beyond the zoneof the green-shaded writing-lamp upon the table--said--

  "I wish very much, Macbean, that you would listen to reason, and refusethe appointment these Italians offer you. You know as well as I do theinsecurity of Governments in Italy; how the man in power to-day may bedisgraced to-morrow, and how every few years a clean sweep is made ofall officials in the ministries. You have told me that yourself.Recollect the eye-opener into Italian methods we had when we saw theMinister of War regarding the contracts for Abyssinia. I wonder thatyou, honest man as you are, actually contemplate associating yourselfwith such a corrupt officialdom." The arrogant moneyed man was cleverenough to appeal to Macbean's honour, knowing well that his words mustcause him to reflect.

  "I shall only be an obscure secretary--an employee. Such men have noopportunity of accepting bribes or of pilfering. Theft is only a virtuein the higher grade."

  "Well, since you've been out I've very carefully considered the wholematter. I should be extremely sorry t
o lose you. You have served mewell, although I have shown no appreciation--I never do. When a mandoes his best, I am silent. But I am prepared to behave handsomely ifyou will remain. Your salary shall be raised to five hundred a year.That's handsome enough for you, isn't it?"

  Macbean slowly shook his head, and declared that no monetary inducementwould be availing. He intended to go to Italy at all hazards.

  The millionaire stroked his whiskers, for he was nonplussed. Yet he wasshrewd, and gifted with a wonderful foresight. If Macbean reallyintended to go to Rome, then some other means must be found by which toingratiate himself with the man he had so long ill-treated and despised.There might come a day when Macbean would arise against him, and forthat day he must certainly be prepared.

  He flung himself into his big morocco arm-chair and motioned George tothe seat at the writing-table, having first ascertained that the doorwas closed. Then, with a few preliminary words of regret that the youngman preferred service abroad, he said in a low, earnest voice--confidential for the first time in his life--

  "If you go to Rome it is for the purpose