Part 34 (1/2)
”Come along, Vic,” said Harry.
”Don't hurry, my dear boy. So you have an estate in France, have you, Mr Pradelle?”
”Yes, sir.”
”Humph; so has Harry--at least he will have some day, I suppose. Yes, he is going to get it out of the usurper's hands--usurper is the word, isn't it, Harry?”
Harry gave a kick out with one leg.
”Yes, usurper is the word. He's going to get the estate some day, Mr Pradelle; and then he is going to be a Count. Of course he will have to give up being Mr Van Heldre's clerk then.”
”Look here, uncle,” cried the young man hotly; ”if you will not lend me the money, you needn't insult me before my friend.”
”Insult you, my dear boy? Not I. What a peppery fellow you are! Now your aunt will tell you that this is your fine old French aristocratic blood effervescing; but it can't be good for you.”
”Come along, Vic,” said Harry.
”Oh, of course,” said Pradelle. ”I'm sorry, though. Fifty pounds isn't much, sir; perhaps you'll think it over.”
”Eh? think it over. Of course I shall. Sorry I can't oblige you, gentlemen. Good evening.”
”Grinning at us all the time--a miserable old miser!” said Harry, as they began to walk back. ”He'd have done it if you hadn't made such a mess of it, Vic, with your free-and-easy way.”
”It's precious vexatious, Harry; but take care, or you'll sling that locket out to sea,” said Pradelle, after they had been walking for about ten minutes. ”You'll have to think about my proposal. You can't go on like this.”
”No,” said Harry fiercely; ”I can't go on like this, and I'll have the money somehow.”
”Bravo! That's spoken like a man who means business. Harry, if you keep to that tone, we shall make a huge fortune apiece. How will you get the money?”
”I'll ask Duncan Leslie for it. He can't refuse me. I should like to see him say 'No.' He must and he shall.”
”Then have a hundred, dear lad. Don't be content with fifty.”
”I will not, you may depend upon that,” cried Harry, ”and--”
He stopped short, and turned white, then red, and took half-a-dozen strides forward towards where Madelaine Van Heldre was seated upon one of the stone resting-places in a niche in the cliff--the very one where Duncan Leslie had had his unpleasant conversation with Aunt Marguerite.
The presence of his sister's companion, in spite of their being slightly at odds, might have been considered pleasant to Harry Vine; and at any other time it would have been, but in this instance she was bending slightly forward, and listening to Duncan Leslie, who was standing with his back to the young men.
Only a minute before, and Harry Vine had determined that with the power given by Leslie's evident attachment to his sister, he would make that gentleman open his cash-box or write a cheque on the Penzance bank for a hundred pounds.
The scene before him altered Harry Vine's ideas, and sent the blood surging up to his brain.
He stepped right up to Madelaine, giving Leslie a furious glance as that gentleman turned, and without the slightest preface, exclaimed--
”Look here, Madelaine, it's time you were at home. Come along with me.”
Madelaine flushed as she rose; and her lips parted as if to speak, but Leslie interposed.
”Excuse me, Miss Van Heldre, I do not think you need reply to such a remark as that.”