Part 54 (1/2)
”Well, Mr Statham,” he said, ”I may as well tell you at once that I am here to seek your kind a.s.sistance and help in a purely personal matter-- a matter which closely concerns my own happiness.”
Statham p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. He knew what was coming. Marion Rolfe had told him of her visit there.
”Well?” he asked coldly, in a changed manner.
”You possibly are unaware that I am engaged to be married to Marion Rolfe, the sister of your secretary, a young lady in whom you were kind enough to take an interest am obtain for her a situation at Cunnington's.”
The old man nodded, his countenance sphinx-like.
”The lady in question has been dismissed by Mr Cunnington at a moment's notice, and he refuses to tell me the reason of his very remarkable action. I want you to be good enough to obtain a response for me.”
”And where is the young lady?” asked the wary Statham.
”n.o.body knows. She would leave no address.”
”Then you are unaware of her whereabouts?”
”She has disappeared.”
”Extraordinary!” the old fellow remarked, reflecting deeply for a moment.
”Yes. I cannot imagine why, in the circ.u.mstances, she has not written to me,” Max declared, the expression upon his face betraying his deep distress.
”It is certainly somewhat strange,” the old man agreed. ”Girls at Cunnington's are not often discharged in that manner. Cunnington himself is always most lenient. Have you seen him?”
”Yes; and he absolutely refuses any information.”
”In that case, Mr Barclay, I don't see very well how I can a.s.sist you.
The management and organisation of the concern are left to him, as managing director. I really cannot interfere.”
”But was it not through you that Marion, without previous experience or apprentices.h.i.+p, was engaged there?”
”Yes; I have some recollection of sending a line of recommendation to Cunnington,” was the millionaire's response. ”But, of course, my interest ended there. My secretary asked me to write the note, and I did so.”
”Then you really cannot obtain for me the information I desire?”
”But why are you so inquisitive--eh?” snapped the old man. ”Surely the lady will tell you the reason of her dismissal!”
”I don't know where she is.”
”A fact which is--well--rather curious--shall we designate it?” the old man remarked meaningly.
”You mean to imply that her instant dismissal has cast a slur upon her character, and that she fears to meet me lest she be compelled to tell me the truth?” he said slowly as the suggestion dawned upon him. ”Ah!
I see. You refuse to help me, Mr Statham, because--because I love her.”
And his face became pale, hard-set, and determined.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.