by Unknown
"This is an unpleasant business," he said.
"Yes. But still------".
"One's got to expect attacks. Of course," George said, "this happens to be particularly monstrous."
Roy made an excuse, and left us.
"We ought to go into it," I said. I added: "We don't want to leave anything to chance. Don't you think?"
"It's got to be stopped."
"Yes. Can't you tell me what they wanted? It'd be useful to both of us."
George sat down by the writing-desk. His fingers pushed tobacco into his pipe, and his eyes gazed across the room.
"It's absurd we should have to waste our time," he said in an angry tone. "Well, we may as well get it over. I'll organize the facts as we go along." He began to speak more slowly than his wont, emphasizing the words, his tone matter-of-fact and yet deliberate with care.
" Jack Cotery made a suggestion over four years ago------" George thought for a second and produced the year and then the month. "He'd been considering the advertising firm that Martineau went into. He produced some evidence that if it were run more efficiently it could be made to pay. There was a minor advertising paper attached, you remember, called the Arrow. I talked to Martineau when he came back to clear up his affairs. That was the summer of 1928. The paper reached a fairly wide public; some thousands, he convinced me of that. Jack's case was--that if we could raise the money and buy Exell out, we could pay interest on the loan and make an adequate profit. I saw nothing against it--I see nothing to make me change my view"--George suddenly burst out -"I can't be expected to live on a few pounds a week and not look round for money if I can get it without sacrificing important things. You know well enough that nothing's ever made me take money seriously. I've never given much attention to it. I've never made any concessions for the sake of money. But I'm not an anchorite, there are things I could buy if I had money, and I'm not going to apologize for taking chances when they meant no effort and no interruption to my real activities."
"Of course," I said.
"I'm glad you accept that,." George said as his voice quietened. I knew that, at moments, I or anyone must be numbered with the accusers now; it was strange to feel how he was obliged to justify the most ordinary contact with the earth.
"So on that basis I was ready to co-operate. Naturally, I hadn't any capital of my own. I was able to contribute about fifty pounds, chiefly by readjusting all my debts. Anyway, my function was to audit the accountancy side, and see how good a property it was------"
"You did that?" I said.
"There wasn't much evidence, which isn't surprising when you think of the two partners. There were a few books kept incompetently by Exell and the statement by Martineau. The statement was pretty definite, and so we considered it and proceeded to action. Olive raised a little. Her father wasn't dead then, so she couldn't do much. By the way, you might as well understand that this business has been consistently profitable. On a small scale naturally, but still it's brought in a pleasant addition to my income. And we met all our obligations. Even in the worst weeks when our patriotic or national government was doing its best to safeguard the liberties of the British people."
The habitual sarcasm left him, after months of use, as easily and unthinkingly as a "Good morning."
"I had very little to do with the financial backing. Jack undertook the whole responsibility for raising that. I should have been completely useless at getting business men to part with their money, of course--" he gave a quick, slightly abject smile. "On the other hand, I can produce their names and the details of the contracts that Jack made with them. We didn't consider it necessary to form a company; he simply borrowed a number of separate sums from various people, and made definite terms about paying them for the risk."
"They lent it on the security of the firm, I suppose," I said.
"Yes. It was a series of private loans for a purpose which everyone understood. It's the sort of arrangement which is made every day. The man who was here this afternoon," he said, "pestered me for an hour about the details. Incidentally he was unnecessarily offensive to me. That was before he came to the other scheme. It was a long time before I could make him understand they were slightly different. The position was"--he shifted in his chair--"that Jack produced another idea when Olive's father died. That meant she had a little surplus capital--I mentioned it to you when I saw you last -and it was easy to see modifications in the technique. We'd acquired a little money and a certain amount of experience. So it was possible to think of something on a larger scale. Particularly in the special circumstances of my having a crowd of people that needed to be together. The idea was to buy the Farm and one or two other places; then we could use the Farm itself for our own purposes. There was no reason why the money we spent shouldn't come back to ourselves in part--and when we weren't using the place, we could let it out as a youth hostel or whatever people call them who haven't the faintest idea of helping people to enjoy their youth."
"So you did it?"
"Yes. Jack and Olive were in it. I couldn't appear--but it was understood that I was to advise."
"Jack brought in the money again?"
"Naturally," said George. "He collected some fairly large sums from various quarters. I'll make you a list. He's incredibly good at persuading them to part. He's so good that once I found it inconvenient------"
"How was that?"
"Actually," George hesitated, "I had to stop him taking it from some of my people."
"Some of the group? Rachel and the------"
"Jack tried with this young man--Roy." George looked round the study. "But he was too cautious. Jack had persuaded Rachel, though; and someone else."
I said: "Why did you stop him?"
"I should have thought it was obvious enough. There's bound to be a certain amount of risk in this sort of project.
I wasn't going to have it fall on people I was responsible for and who couldn't afford it."
"One could bring out the fact--significantly."
"I'm prepared to account for it."
His voice was harsh and combative: I paused.
"How's this scheme going?" I asked.
"Not as well as the first," George said slowly. "It's not had long yet. It's perfectly healthy."
"What has started the inquiries, then?" I said.
"It's impossible to say. I've been active enough in this place to make a good many people willing to see me disgraced."
I wondered: was that true or the voice of the persecuted self? the self that was the other side, the complement, of his devotion and unself-seekingness.
"But did they know of these dealings?"
"We tried to keep it secret," George said. "None of the initial arrangements can possibly have got out."
"What were the police looking for?"
"As far as I gathered from the lout who came this afternoon--the obvious thing for them to imagine. Misleading the people who supplied the money. The charge they're trying for is money by false pretences or conspiracy, I suppose. They might put in conspiracy so as to use all their evidence against each of us." Though he was wincing as he spoke, I could not help noticing that his thought was clear and competent, as it had been all that night; his summary of their ventures could hardly have been better done; he was not detached at any time, there was no man less detached, he was in distress, afraid and resentful, and yet anyone--without my affection and concern--would have admired the stamina and precision of his mind.
Then to my amazement his face cleared and he laughed, shortly, not from his full heart, but still as though the distress had abated.
"It's scarcely likely they'll ever have the opportunity to make a charge." It came to me like the fantastic optimism with which he sustained himself years ago, during Martineau's departure. I replied: "So you're completely confident? You don't think it'll go any further?"
Remorsefully, I saw the half-laugh drain away; his voice was flat, with no pretence or anger left: "If it does, I don't know how I'm g
oing to face it."
I said: "As a matter of fact. have you done it?"
For an instant he sat without moving. Then slowly he shook his head.
TWENTY-FIVE
CONVERSATIONS AT NIGHT
Roy, quiet and self-effacing, brought in a tray of drinks and again left us alone.
"By the way," I said, "does Eden know about these -inquiries?"
"I've not told him."
"Oughtn't you to?"
"It's obviously quite unnecessary," George said. "If these policemen have the sense to keep quiet, there's no reason why he should know. And if--we have to take other circumstances into account, Eden can be told quickly enough. I see no reason to give him the pleasure until it's compulsory."
"I think he ought to be told," I said. "This isn't too large a town, you know. Eden comes across people in the Chief Constable's office every day."
"That would be a breach of privilege."
"Yes," I said. "But it happens--and it would be wiser for you to tell Eden than for someone who doesn't know you."
His face was heavy and indrawn.
"You see," I tried to persuade him, "there's a good deal that can be done, if they want to inquire any further. You know that as well as I do. If Eden gives me authority, I could stop quite a few of their tricks. If you heard of anyone in your present position--the first advice you'd give, of course, would be for them to arrange with a solicitor----"
George said: "I don't propose to discuss the matter with Eden." He added: "You can tell him yourself if you're so anxious."
"You give me premission?" I said.
"I suppose so."
When Roy rejoined us, I left them talking and telephoned Eden. He said he would expect me before eleven, and pressed me to stay in the "usual room."
George showed no curiosity when I said that I should not see him again until the morning.
Sitting in Eden's drawing-room, stretching my hands to the fire, I told him the events of the afternoon. He had begun by saying amiably: "We had another conference about some of your friends here before."
Eden nodded his head, his lips together, as I told him of their speculations. I finished by saying: "It may not come to it, I don't know. But we ought to be prepared for a charge."
"These things will happen," he said. "Ah well! these things will happen."
"What do you think?" I said.
"You're right, of course we've got to be prepared," he was speaking without heat, with a slight irritability. "I must say they've been very foolish. They've been foolish whatever they've been doing. They oughtn't to try these things without experience. It's the sort of foolishness that Passant would go in for. I've told you that before----"
"He's one of the biggest men I've met. That still holds after meeting a few more. He's also one of the ablest," I said in the only harsh words that had passed between Eden and myself, making a protest wrung from me years too late.
His deliberation broken for a moment, Eden said: "We won't argue about that. It isn't the time to argue now. I must consider what ought to be done." He laughed without any warmth. "I can't instruct you myself," he said slowly, going back to a leisurely professional manner. "My firm can't take any responsible part. But I can arrange with someone else to act for Passant. And I shall give instructions that you're to be used from the beginning, even if we co-opt someone else later. That is, if this business develops as we all hope it won't----"
The phrase rolled off smooth with use, as he addressed me with the practised cordiality--different from his ordinary familiar manner--into which the disagreement had driven him. It was not until I spoke of visiting Jack Cotery before I went to bed, that he became fully at ease again.
"I'm sorry he's mixed up in this," Eden said. "He ought to have gone a long way. I haven't seen much of him the last few years." He was genuinely distressed. He went on: "And you want to find out what's been happening to him? I expect you do." He gave me a latch-key. "You can keep it until this is all over. You'll have to be down here pretty frequently, you know." Then I said good night and he smiled. "Mind you don't wear yourself out before it properly begins."
The streets were clearer, but still dank with fog. A tramcar came down the lonely road, going on its last journey to the centre of the town; its light was reddened in the mist. What had happened? Through these stories and suspicions, what had happened? If George was lying (I could not be certain. He might be bound to the others--he might be masking some private guilt) how had he found himself in that kind of dishonesty?--which of all of us, careless as he was of money, self-deceiving as he could be in thought, I should have considered him the least likely to commit. And as well as these doubts, there was a sense, not flickering in questions in the mind, of conflict and fatality; of these lives, the people I knew best, going as they had to go, each life alone, as it were, walking the dark streets. So, in loneliness, they had come to this.
For a time I could not find the street in which Jack lived. He had given up his flat, George said; he had returned to his parents' house. I had never been there in the past. When I first knew him, it was one of his mysteries to mention that he could not invite us to his house--and then, after his selfrevelation that night in the gardens years ago, I had not expected to be asked.
Now, when at last I discovered it, I smiled, in spite of my errand. For the street, as I made my way down the faces of the houses, peering at the numbers in the diffused lamplight, seemed the perfect jumping--off place for day-dreams of magniloquence: and, on the rebound, when he repented of those, just as good a place to let him imagine himself among the oppressed and squalid.
The houses were a neat row from the beginning of the century. Their front doors gave on to the street and the paint on most smelt fresh as I went close; it was a row of houses such as artisans lived in by thousands throughout the town; it was a frontier line of society, the representative street of the highest of the working class and the lowest of the middle. Few windows were lighted at this time of night.
I came to Jack's number. There was a light in the window, shining thin slats of gold between the venetian blinds. I knocked softly on the door; a movement came from inside. The door opened slowly. A voice, light, querulous, said: "Who's there?"
I answered, and he flung the door open.
"What on earth are you doing here?"
"I'm afraid I've come to worry you," I said. "I expect you've had enough for one day."
"I was just going to bed."
"I'm sorry, Jack. I'd better come in."
Then my eyes, dazzled after the darkness, gradually took in a room full of furniture. A tablecloth, carrying some used plates and a dish, lay half over the table. A saucepan of milk was boiling on the hob.
"I have to live here occasionally. It gives them a bit of pleasure." Jack pointed upstairs. He was wearing a new, wellcut suit. His eyes were excessively bright. I nodded, then threw my overcoat on a chair, and sat down by the fire.
"And so you're after my blood as well." A smile, mischievous and wistful, shot through his sullenness. As I replied, telling him I had been with George, it was replaced by an injured frown.
"He must have told you everything," said Jack. "It's no use me going over it all again."
"It may be the greatest use."
"Then you'll have to wait. I'm tired to death." He poured out the boiling milk into a tumbler. This, ignoring me, he placed on the hearth. I remembered once laughing at him at the Farm, when he went through this ritual of drinking milk last thing at night; he had produced pseudo-scientific reasons for it. He had always shown intense concern for his health. It was strange to see it now.
I pressed him to talk, but for a long time he was obstinate. I told him that I should be George's lawyer, if it came to a trial--and his, if he would have me. He accepted that, but still would not describe his interview in the afternoon. I said once again: "Look, Jack. I tell you we've got to be ready."
"There's plenty of time."
"As I say, they'll be making
inquiries while we do nothing." Suddenly he looked up.
"Will they have gone to Olive yet?"
"Probably," I said.
"She was visiting a cousin. She won't get back to the town today. I suppose I ought to see her before they do. Clearly," said Jack.
Then, for the first time, he was willing to talk of their businesses. He did it sketchily, without George's command. He finished up: "I can't imagine why they expect to find anything shady. It's--it's quite unreasonable." Then he said: "Incidentally, I told the chap this afternoon, and I don't mind telling you, that if you search any business you'll find something that's perfectly legal but doesn't look too sweet. He took the point." Jack looked at me. "I'll show you what I mean, sometime, Lewis. It's all legal, but you'd expect me to try a piece of sharp practice occasionally, wouldn't you? I've never been able to resist it, you know. And it's never worth the trouble. One's always jumpy when one's doing it, and it never comes to anything worth while."
I was certain that the "sharp practice" had nothing to do with the suspicions: I did not follow it up. We were both silent for a moment: Jack pulled out a case and offered me a cigarette. I thought I recognized the case, and Jack said, with his first smile since I tried to question him: "Yes. It's the famous present." His smile stayed as he ran a finger along the initials. "I like having something permanent to remind me exactly who I am. It gives me a sort of solidity that I've always lacked."
We both laughed. Then Jack said quietly: "I simply cannot understand what these people expect to find. It's simply unreasonable for them to think they might pull out a piece of dishonesty. Why, if there'd been anything of the kind, I could have covered it up ten times over. If I'd had to meet every penny a month ago, I could have covered it completely. I happened to have an extra offer of money to tide me over any difficulty just about that time."
"Who from?"
" Arthur Morcom."
I exclaimed.
"Why ever not? Oh, you were thinking of his keeping away because of Olive. I don't see why he should." He hesitated. "As a matter of fact," he said, "he made the same offer this afternoon."
