Part 2 (1/2)

And yet, curiously enough, his one remark to a fellow clerk was not unlike the comment of the imaginative Mary MacLean.

”The boss has a kin' of unusual look to-day. There was something kin'

of suspicious in that eye of his--rather as though he thought someone was watching him.”

Mr. Rattar had been busy with the books for some twenty minutes when his head clerk returned.

”Mr. Malcolm Cromarty to see you, sir,” he said.

Silent Simon looked at him hard, and it was evident to his clerk that his mind had been extraordinarily absorbed, for he simply repeated in a curious way:

”Mr. _Malcolm_ Cromarty?”

”Yes, sir,” said Mr. Ison, and then as even this seemed scarcely to be comprehended, he added, ”Sir Reginald's cousin.”

”Ah, of course!” said Mr. Rattar. ”Well, show him in.”

The young man who entered was evidently conscious of being a superior person. From the waviness of his hair and the studied negligence of his tie (heliotrope with a design in old gold), it seemed probable that he had literary or artistic claims to be superior to the herd. And from the deference with which Mr. Ison had p.r.o.nounced his name and his own slightly condescending manner, it appeared that he felt himself in other respects superior to Mr. Rattar. He was of medium height, slender, and dark-haired. His features were remarkably regular, and though his face was somewhat small, there could be no doubt that he was extremely good looking, especially to a woman's eye, who would be more apt than a fellow man to condone something a little supercilious in his smile.

The attire of Mr. Malcolm Cromarty was that of the man of fas.h.i.+on dressed for the country, with the single exception of the tie which intimated to the discerning that here was no young man of fas.h.i.+on merely, but likewise a young man of ideas. That he had written, or at least was going to write, or else that he painted or was about to paint, was quite manifest. The indications, however, were not sufficiently p.r.o.nounced to permit one to suspect him of fiddling, or even of being about to fiddle.

This young gentleman's manner as he shook hands with the lawyer and then took a chair was on the surface cheerful and politely condescending. Yet after his first greeting, and when he was seated under Simon's inscrutable eye, there stole into his own a hint of quite another emotion. If ever an eye revealed apprehension it was Malcolm Cromarty's at that instant.

”Well, Mr. Rattar, here I am again, you see,” said he with a little laugh; but it was not quite a spontaneous laugh.

”I see, Mr. Cromarty,” said Simon laconically.

”You have been expecting to hear from me before, I suppose,” the young man went on, ”but the fact is I've had an idea for a story and I've been devilish busy sketching it out.”

Simon grunted and gave a little nod. One would say that he was studying his visitor with exceptional attention.

”Ideas come to one at the most inconvenient times,” the young author explained with a smile, and yet with a certain hurried utterance not usually a.s.sociated with smiles, ”one just has to shoot the bird when he happens to come over your head, don't you know, you can't send in beaters after that kind of fowl, Mr. Rattar. And when he does come out, there you are! You have to make hay while the sun s.h.i.+nes.”

Again the lawyer nodded, and again he made no remark. The apprehension in his visitor's eye increased, his smile died away, and suddenly he exclaimed:

”For G.o.d's sake, Mr. Rattar, say something! I meant honestly to pay you back--I felt sure I could sell that last thing of mine before now, but not a word yet from the editor I sent it to!”

Still there came only a guarded grunt from Simon and the young man went on with increasing agitation.

”You won't give me away to Sir Reginald, will you? He's been d.a.m.ned crusty with me lately about money matters, as it is. If you make me desperate----!” He broke off and gazed dramatically into s.p.a.ce for a moment, and then less dramatically at his lawyer.

Silent Simon was proverbially cautious, but it seemed to his visitor that his demeanour this morning exceeded all reasonable limits. For nearly a minute he answered absolutely nothing, and then he said very slowly and deliberately:

”I think it would be better, Mr. Cromarty, if you gave me a brief, explicit statement of how you got into this mess.”

”Dash it, you know too well--” began Cromarty.

”It would make you realise your own position more clearly,” interrupted the lawyer. ”You want me to a.s.sist you, I take it?”

”Rather--if you will!”