meeting had threatened to be a stormy one. Again an amalgamation was in the air, and again the head of one group of ironmasters—it was an iron combine he was forming—had stood against the threats and blandishments of Black and his emissaries.
“The others are weakening,” said Fanks, that big, hairless man; “you promised us that you would put him straight.”
“I will keep my promise.” said Black shortly.
“Widdison stood out, but he died,” continued Fanks. “We can’t expect Providence to help us all the time.”
Black’s eyebrows lowered.
“I do not like jests of that kind,” he said. “Sandford is an obstinate man, a proud man; he needs delicate handling. Leave him to me.”
The meeting adjourned lamely enough, and Black was leaving the room when Fanks beckoned to him.
“I met a man yesterday who knew your friend, Dr. Essley, in Australia,” he said.
“Indeed.” Colonel Black’s face was expressionless.
“Yes—he knew him in his very early days—he was asking me where he could find him.”
The other shrugged his shoulders. “Essley is abroad, I think—you don’t like him?”
Augustus Fanks shook his head. “I don’t like doctors who come to see me in the middle of the night, who are never to be found when they are wanted, and are always jaunting off to the Continent.”
“He is a busy man,” excused Black. “By the way, where is your friend staying?”
“He isn’t a friend, he’s a sort of prospector, name of Weld, who has come to London with a mining proposition. He is staying at Varlet’s Temperance Hotel in Bloomsbury.”
“I will tell Essley when he returns,” said Black, nodding his head.
He returned to his private office in a thoughtful mood. All was not well with Colonel Black. Reputedly a millionaire, he was in the position of many a financier who counted his wealth in paper. He had got so far climbing on the shadows. The substance was still beyond his reach. He had organized successful combinations, but the cost had been heavy. Millions had flowed through his hands, but precious little had stuck. He was that curious contradiction—a dishonest man with honest methods. His schemes were financially sound, yet it had needed almost superhuman efforts to get them through.
He was in the midst of an unpleasant reverie when a tap on the door aroused him. It opened to admit Fanks. He frowned at the intruder, but the other pulled up a chair and sat down. “Look here, Black,” he said, “I want to say something to you.”
“Say it quickly.”
Fanks took a cigar from his pocket and lit it. “You’ve had a marvellous career,” he said. “I remember when you started with a little bucket-shop—well, we won’t call it a bucket-shop,” he said hastily as he saw the anger rising in the other’s face, “outside broker’s. You had a mug—I mean an inexperienced partner who found the money.”
“Yes.”
“Not the mysterious Gram, I think?”
“His successor—there was nothing mysterious about Gram.”
“A successor named Flint?”
“Yes.”
“He died unexpectedly, didn’t he?”
“I believe he did,” said Black abruptly.
“Providence again,” said Fanks slowly; “then you got the whole of the business. You took over the notation and a rubber company, and it panned out. Well, after that you floated a tin mine or something—there was a death there, wasn’t there?”
“I believe there was—one of the directors; I forget his name.”
Fanks nodded. “He could have stopped the flotation—he was threatening to resign and expose some methods of yours.”
“He was a very headstrong man.”
“And he died.”
“Yes,”—a pause—“he died.”
Fanks looked at the man who sat opposite to him.
“Dr. Essley attended him.”
“I believe he did.”
“And he died.”
Black leant over the desk. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What are you suggesting about my friend, Dr. Essley?”
“Nothing, except that Providence has been of some assistance to you,” said Fanks. “The record of your success is a record of death—you sent Essley to see me once.”
“You were ill.”
“I was,” said Fanks grimly, “and I was also troubling you a little.” He flicked the ash from his cigar to the carpet. “Black, I’m going to resign all my directorships on your companies.”
The other man laughed unpleasantly.
“You can laugh, but it isn’t healthy, Black. I’ve no use for money that is bought at too heavy a price.”
“My dear man, you can resign,” said Colonel Black, “but might I ask if your extraordinary suspicions are shared by anybody else?”
Fanks shook his head.
“Not at present,” he said.
They looked at one another for the space of half a minute, which was a very long time.
“I want to clear right out,” Fanks continued. “I reckon my holdings are worth £150,000—you can buy them.”
“You amaze me,” said Black harshly.
He opened a drawer of his desk and took out a little green bottle and a feather. “Poor Essley,” he smiled, “wandering about Spain seeking the secrets of Moorish perfumery—he would go off his head if he knew what you thought of him.”
“I’d sooner he went off his head than that I should go off the earth,” said Fanks stolidly. “What have you got there?”
Black unstoppered the bottle and dipped in the feather. He withdrew it and held it close to his nose.
“What is it?” asked Fanks curiously. For answer, Black held up the feather for the man to smell.
“I can smell nothing,” said Fanks. Tilting the end quickly downwards. Black drew it across the lips of the other. “Here …” cried Fanks, and went limply to the ground.
“Constable Fellowe!”
Frank Fellowe was leaving the charge-room when he heard the snappy tones of the desk-sergeant calling him.
“Yes,
