A Woman Intervenes by Robert Barr (books to read to be successful .TXT) 📖

of diplomacy.'

'Do you call it diplomacy? You refer, I suppose, to your action in relation to the mine. I call it robbery.'

'Oh, do you? Well, that is the kind of conversation which leads to breaches of the peace; and as I also am a law-abiding subject, I will not continue the discussion any further. I bid you a very good evening, Mr. Kenyon.'

The young man turned on his heel and went into the hotel. John walked to his own much more modest inn, and retired for the night. He did not sleep well. All night long, phantom telegraph-messengers were rapping at the door, and he started up every now and then to receive cablegrams which faded away as he awoke. Shortly after breakfast he went to the telegraph-office, but found that nothing had arrived for him.

'I am afraid,' said the operator, 'that nothing will come on before noon.'

'Before noon!' echoed John. 'Why?'

'The wires are down in some places in the East, and messages are delayed a good deal. Perhaps you noticed the lack of Eastern news in the morning papers? Very little news came from the East last night.' Seeing John's look of anxious interest, the operator continued: 'Does the despatch you expect pertain to money matters?'

'Yes, it does.'

'Do they know you at the bank?'

'No, I don't think they do.'

'Then, if I were you, I would go up to the bank and be identified, so that, if it is a matter of minutes, no unnecessary time may be lost. You had better tell them you expect a money-order by cable, and, although such orders are paid without any identification at the bank, yet they take every precaution to see that it does not get into the hands of the wrong man.'

'Thank you,' said Kenyon. 'I am much obliged to you for your suggestion. I will act upon it.'

And as soon as the bank opened, John Kenyon presented himself to the cashier.

'I am expecting a large amount of money from England to-day. It is very important that, when it arrives, there shall be no delay in having it placed at my disposal. I want to know if there are any formalities to be gone through.'

'Where is the money coming from?' said the clerk.

'It is coming from England.'

'Is there anyone in Ottawa who can identify you?'

'Yes; I know the telegraph operator here.'

'Ah!' said the cashier somewhat doubtfully. 'Anybody else?'

'Mr. Von Brent knows me very well.'

'That will do. Suppose you get Mr. Von Brent to come here and identify you as the man who bears the name of Kenyon. Then the moment your cablegram comes the money will be at your disposal.'

Kenyon hurried to Von Brent's rooms and found him alone.

'Will you come down to the bank and identify me as Kenyon?'

'Certainly. Has the money arrived?'

'No, it has not; but I expect it, and want to provide for every contingency. I do not wish to have any delay in my identification when it does come.'

'If it comes by cable,' said Von Brent, 'there will be no need of identification. The bank is not responsible, you know. They take the money entirely at the sender's risk. They might pay it to the telegraph operator who receives the message! I believe they would not be held liable. However, it is better to see that nothing is left undone.'

Going over to the bank, Von Brent said to the cashier: 'This is John Kenyon.'

'Very good,' replied the cashier. 'Have you been at the telegraph-office lately, Mr. Kenyon?'

'No, I have not--at least, not for half an hour or so.'

'Well, I would go there as soon as possible, if I were you.'

'That means,' said Von Brent, as soon as they had reached the door, 'that they have had their notice about the money. I believe it is already in the bank for you. I will go back to my rooms and not leave them till you come.'

John hurried to the telegraph-office.

'Anything for me yet?' he said.

'Nothing as yet, Mr. Kenyon; I think, however,' he added with a smile, 'that it will be all right. I hope so.'

The moments ticked along with their usual rapidity, yet it seemed to Kenyon the clock was going fearfully fast. Eleven o'clock came and found him still pacing up and down the office of the telegraph. The operator offered him the hospitality of the private room, but this he declined. Every time the machine clicked, John's ears were on the alert, trying to catch a meaning from the instrument.

Ten minutes after eleven!

Twenty minutes after eleven, and still no despatch! The cold perspiration stood on John's brow, and he groaned aloud.

'I suppose it's very important,' said the operator.

'_Very_ important.'

'Well, now, I shouldn't say so, but I know the money is in the bank for you. Perhaps if you went up there and demanded it, they would give it to you.'

It was twenty-five minutes past the hour when John hurried towards the bank.

'I have every belief,' he said to the cashier, 'that the money is here for me now. Is it possible for me to get it?'

'Have you your cablegram?'

'No, I have not.'

'Well, you know, we cannot pay the money until we see your cablegram. If time is of importance, you should not leave the telegraph-office, and the moment you get your message, come here; then there will be no delay whatever. Do you wish to draw all the money at once?'

'I don't know how much there is, but I must have twenty thousand pounds.'

'Very well, to save time you had better make out a cheque for twenty thousand pounds; that will be----'

And here he gave the number of dollars at the rate of the day on the pound. 'Just make out a cheque for that amount, and I will certify it. A certified cheque is as good as gold. The moment you get your message I will hand you the certified cheque.'

John wrote out the order and gave it to the cashier, glancing at the clock as he did so. It was now twenty-five minutes to twelve. He rushed to the telegraph-office with all the speed of which he was capable, but met only a blank look again from the chief operator.

'It has not come yet,' he said, shaking his head.

Gradually despair began to descend on the waiting man. It was worse to miss everything now, than never to have had the hope of success. It was like hanging a man who had once been reprieved. He resumed his nervous pace up and down that chamber of torture. A quarter to twelve. He heard chimes ring somewhere. If the message did not come before they rang again, it would be for ever too late.

Fourteen minutes--thirteen minutes--twelve minutes--eleven minutes--ten minutes to twelve, and yet, no--

'Here you are!' shouted the operator in great glee, 'she's a-coming--it's all right--"John Kenyon, Ottawa."' Then he wrote as rapidly as the machine ticked out the message. 'There it is; now rush!'

John needed no telling to rush. People had begun to notice him as the man who was doing nothing but running between the bank and the telegraph-office.

It was seven minutes to twelve when he got to the bank.

'Is that despatch right?' he said, shoving it through the arched aperture.

The clerk looked at it with provoking composure, and then compared it with some papers.

'For God's sake, hurry!' pleaded John.

'You have plenty of time,' said the cashier coolly, looking up at the clock and going on with his examination. 'Yes,' he added, 'that is right. Here is your certified cheque.'

John clasped it, and bolted out of the bank as a burglar might have done. It was five minutes to twelve when he got to the steps that led to the rooms of Mr. Von Brent. Now all his excitement seemed to have deserted him. He was as cool and calm as if he had five days, instead of so many minutes, in which to make the payment. He mounted the steps quietly, walked along the passage, and knocked at the door of Von Brent's room.

'Come in!' was the shout that greeted him.

He opened the door, glancing at the clock behind Von Brent's head as he did so.

It stood at three minutes to twelve.

Young Mr. Longworth was sitting there, with just a touch of pallor on his countenance, and there seemed to be an ominous glitter in his eyeglass. He said nothing, and John Kenyon completely ignored his presence.

'There is still some life left in my option, I believe?' he said to Von Brent, after nodding good-day to him.

'Very little, but perhaps it will serve. You have two minutes and a half,' said Von Brent.

'Are the papers ready?' inquired John.

'All ready, everything except putting in the names.'

'Very well, here is the money.'

Von Brent looked at the certified cheque. 'That is perfectly right,' he said, 'the mine is yours.'

Then he rose and stretched his hand across the table to Kenyon, who grasped it cordially.

Young Mr. Longworth also rose, and said languidly 'As this seems to be a meeting of long-lost brothers, I shall not intrude. Good-day, Mr. Von Brent.'

Then, adjusting his eyeglass in a leisurely manner, he walked out of the room.


CHAPTER XXXVII.


When Edith Longworth entered the office of George Wentworth, that young gentleman somewhat surprised her. He sprang from his chair the moment she entered the room, rushed out of the door, and shouted at the top of his voice to the boy, who answered him, whereupon Wentworth returned to the room, apparently in his right mind.

'I beg your pardon, Miss Longworth,' he said, laughing; 'the fact was, I had just sent my boy with a telegram for you, and now, you see, I have saved sixpence.'

'Then you have heard from Canada?' said the young lady.

'Yes; a short message, but to the point.' He handed her the cablegram, and she read:

'Mine purchased; shall take charge temporarily.'

'Then, the money got there in time,' she said, handing him back the telegraphic message.

'Oh yes,' said George, with the easy confidence of a man who doesn't at all know what he is talking about. 'We had plenty of time; I knew it would get there all right.'

'I am glad of that; I was afraid perhaps we might have sent it too late. One can never tell what delays or formalities there may be.'

'Evidently there was no trouble. And now, Miss Longworth, what are your commands? Am I to be your agent here, in Great Britain?'

'Have you written to Mr. Kenyon?'

'Yes, I wrote to him just after I sent the cable message.'

'Of course you didn't----'

'No, I didn't say a word that would lead him to suspect who was the mistress of the mine. In my zeal I even went so far as to give you a name. You are hereafter to be known in the correspondence as Mr. Smith, the owner of the mine.'

Miss Longworth laughed.

'And--oh, by the way,' cried Wentworth, 'here is a barrel belonging to you.'

'A barrel!' she said, and, looking in the direction to which he