Part 14 (1/2)

”Why it is Arthur,” cried the stout woman. ”How fortunate. Arthur, we have come to see Mr. Collins, such a terrible thing has happened.”

The unfortunate Jones now perceived that the lady with the huge hat was the bird woman, the elderly gentleman he had never seen before, but the elderly gentleman had evidently often seen him, was most probably a near relative, to judge by the frigidity and insolence of his nod and general demeanour. This old person had the Army stamp about him, and a very decided chin with a cleft in it.

”Better not talk out here,” said he, ”come in, come in and see Collins.”

Jones did not want in the least to go in and see Collins, but he was burning to know what this dreadful thing was that had happened. He half dreaded that it had to do with Rochester's suicide. He followed the party, and next moment found himself again in Collins' room, where the lawyer pointed out chairs to the ladies, closed the door, and came back to his desk table where he seated himself.

”Oh, Mr. Collins,” said the elderly lady, ”such a dreadful thing has happened--coal--they have found coal.” She collapsed.

The old gentleman with the cleft chin took up the matter.

”This idiot,” said he, indicating Jones, ”has sold a coal mine, worth maybe a million, for five thousand. The Glanafwyn property has turned up coal. I only heard of it last night, and by accident. Struthers said to me straight out in the club, 'Do you know that bit of land in Glamorgan, Rochester sold to Marcus Mulhausen?' Yes, I said. 'Well,' said he, 'it's not land, it's the top of the biggest coal mine in Wales, steam coal, and Mulhausen is going to work it himself. He was offered two hundred and fifty thousand for the land last week, they have been boring there for the last half year,' that's what he told me, and I verified it this morning. Of course Mulhausen spotted the land for what it was worth, and laid his trap for this fool.”

Jones restrained his emotions with an effort, not knowing in the least his relations.h.i.+p to the violent one. Mr. Collins made it clear.

”Your nephew has evidently fallen into a trap, your Grace,” said he.

Then turning to Jones:

”I warned you not to sell that land--Heaven knows I knew little enough of the district and less of its mineral worth; still, I was adverse from parting with land--always am--and especially to such a sharp customer as Mulhausen. I told you to have an expert opinion. I had not minerals in my mind. I thought, possibly, it might be some railway extension in prospect--and it was your last bit of property without mortgage on it.

Yes, I told you not to do it, and it's done.”

”Oh, Arthur,” sighed the elderly woman. ”Your last bit of land--and to think it should go like that. I never dreamed I should have to say those words to my son.” Then stiffening and turning to Collins. ”But I did not come to complain, I came to see if justice cannot be done. This is robbery. That terrible man with the German name has robbed Arthur. It is quite plain. What can be done?”

”Absolutely nothing,” replied Collins.

”Nothing?”

”Your ladys.h.i.+p must believe me when I say nothing can be done. What ground can we have for moving? The sale was perfectly open and above board. Mulhausen made no false statement--I am right in saying that, am I not?” turning to Jones.

Jones had to nod.

”And that being the case we are helpless.”

”But if it can be proved that he knew there was coal in the land, and if he bought it concealing that knowledge, surely, surely the law can make him give it back,” said the simple old lady, who it would seem stood in the place of Rochester's unfortunate mother.

Mr. Collins almost smiled.

”Your ladys.h.i.+p, that would give no handle to the law. Now, for instance, if I knew that the Canadian Pacific Railway, let us say, had discovered large coal bearing lands, and if I used that private knowledge to buy your Canadian Pacific stock at, say, one hundred, and if that stock rose to three hundred, could you make me give you your stock back? Certainly not. The gain would be a perfectly legitimate product of my own sharpness.”

”Sharpness,” said the bird woman, ”that's just it. If Arthur had had even sense, to say nothing of sharpness, things would have been very different all round--all round.”

She protruded her head from her boa and retracted it. Jones, furious, dumb, with his hands in his pockets and his back against the window, said nothing.

He never could have imagined that a baiting like this, over a matter with which he had nothing to do, could have made him feel such a fool, and such an a.s.s.

He saw at once how Rochester had been done, and he felt, against all reason, the shame that Rochester might have felt--but probably wouldn't.

His uncle, the Duke of Melford, for that was the choleric one's name, his mother, the dowager Countess of Rochester, and his sister, the Hon.