Part 16 (2/2)

Rendel jumped in, and the brougham moved past the window just as Sir William Gore, who had painfully pulled himself out of his chair, looked out, petrified with surprise at the unexplained crisis that seemed to have come upon the household. ”Stamfordham!” he said to himself, ”and Frank! What are the Imperialists hatching now, I wonder?” and he mechanically looked round him at Rendel's writing-table. It was, however, closed and forbidding, save for a little corner of white paper that was sticking out under the revolving flap. By one of those strange, almost unconscious impulses which may suddenly overtake the best of us at times, Gore put out his hand and pulled out the paper. It was quite loose and came away in his hand. What was it? He looked at it vaguely.

Then gradually it became clear. A map?... yes, it was a rough map, with a thick line drawn from the top to the bottom down the middle of it; names to the right and the left. England? Germany? And what were those words written underneath? _What?_ Was that how Germany was going to be 'squared?' And sheer excitement gave him strength to grasp more or less the meaning of what he saw. If Africa were going to be divided, if Germany and England were agreeing to that division, it meant Peace.

There was no doubt of it. But had the Imperialists suddenly gone on to the side of peace? Had they s.n.a.t.c.hed that trump card from their adversaries and were they going to play it? Sir William stood gazing at the paper. Then as he heard some one at the door of the room he suddenly realised what he had done. He instinctively clutched the paper in the hand which held the _Mayfair Gazette_, the newspaper concealing it. As he turned and looked towards the door an unexpected sight greeted his eyes--no other than Pateley, who, finding himself in the hall unheralded, had made up his mind to come into Rendel's study and there ring the bell for some one who should bring word to Sir William Gore of his presence. But he was surprised to find Sir William downstairs instead of in his room as he had expected. He paused for a moment, shocked at the change in Gore's appearance. He looked thin, listless, bent: his upright figure, his spring, his energy were gone. Pateley's heart smote him for a moment. Would it be possible to call this feeble, suffering creature to account? Then his heart hardened again as he thought of his sisters.

”Pateley!” said Gore, advancing with the remains of his usual manner, but curiously shaken for the moment, as Pateley said to himself, out of his usual self-confidence.

The state of nervousness of the older man was painfully perceptible.

Added to his general weakness, which made the mere fact of seeing some one unexpectedly a sudden shock to him, he had besides at that moment an additional and very definite reason for uneasiness in the thing which he held in his hand. He endeavoured, however, to pull himself together as he shook hands with Pateley.

”I have not seen you for a long time,” he said, pointing to a chair and sinking back into his own.

”No,” Pateley replied. ”I was very sorry to hear that you had been ill.

You are looking rather bad still.”

”And feeling so,” Sir William said wearily. ”The worst of influenza is that one feels just as bad when one is supposed to be getting better as when one is supposed to be getting worse. It is a most annoying form of complaint.”

”So I have understood,” said Pateley, ”though I have not learnt it by personal experience.”

”No, you don't look as though you suffered from weakness,” said Sir William, with a faint smile and a consciousness that this was not a person from whom it would be very easy to extract sympathy for his own condition.

Pateley paused. He felt curiously uncomfortable and hesitating, a sensation somewhat novel to him. Sir William leant back in his chair, trying to control the trembling of his hands, of which one held the _Mayfair Gazette_, the smaller paper still concealed underneath it.

”I see,” Pateley said, ”you are reading the evening paper. Not very good reading, is it? Things look pretty bad.”

”They do indeed,” said Sir William.

”It looks uncommonly like war with Germany,” Pateley said; ”prices are tumbling down headlong on the Stock Exchange. I believe there is going to be something very like a panic.”

”Is there?” said Gore uneasily; ”that's bad.”

”Yes, it is very bad,” Pateley went on. ”I suppose you have heard that there are ugly rumours about the 'Equator.'”

”I saw something,” Sir William said, forcing himself to speak. ”What is it exactly that they say?”

”Well, the last thing they say,” Pateley replied with a harder ring in his voice, ”is that it is not a gold mine at all.”

”What?” said Sir William, grasping the arms of his chair.

”And that the whole thing, therefore, is going to pieces with every penny invested in it.”

”Is it--is it as bad as that?” said the other, tremulously. ”No, no, it can't be. Surely it can't be.”

”Do you mean to say you don't know?” said Pateley.

”I know nothing,” said Sir William. ”I have heard nothing about it, up to this moment.”

”One can't help wondering,” said Pateley, ”that a man in your responsible position towards it,” the words struck Sir William like a blow, ”should not have known, should not have inquired----”

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