Stranleigh's Millions

Front matter

BY

AUTHOR OF

"Measure of the Rule," "Jekla," "Over the Border," "Speculations of John Steele," "Triumphs of Eugene Valmont," etc.

1. The Rise of the Bendale Stores

STRANLEIGH'S MILLIONS

I THE RISE OF THE BENDALE STORES

Two workmen walked down Piccadilly together; one a grim, soured, pessimistic, elderly man, the other a cheerful, humorous person who seemed to be enjoying the Vanity Fair exhibited by this celebrated street of wealth and fashion, whose pavements were crowded by well-dressed, leisurely promenaders, and whose roadway gave forth a gentle purr of expensive automobiles, punctuated by the sharp click-click of hoofs belonging to high-bred horses drawing, in elegant vehicles, no less high-bred ladies, or otherwise, as the case might be. The elder workman spoke with some bitterness in an aggressive, independent tone of voice as one caring not who hears.

"Now, look at that brainless, conceited fop! What's he good for, I'd like to know? Never did a hand's turn of useful work in his life, I daresay, and yet it's the likes of me has to support the likes of him."

"Ah, go on!" scoffed the younger. "Support the likes of him? Why, all you'd earn in six months wouldn't buy that suit of clothes!"

If the person alluded to in such uncomplimentary terms heard what had been said, his serene face gave no indication that the opinion expressed disturbed his equanimity. He strolled on indolently, unheeding. But the observations were audible to a middle-aged woman, whose rusty black costume and whose anxious, care-seamed face gave token that she occupied a position in the social ladder little higher than that on which these labourers' wives stood. She glanced at the impassive mask of the young man who had been called brainless, then stopped with a gasp and, apparently without intention of speaking, gave utterance to an exclamation:

"Oh, Lord Stranleigh!" she cried.

The young man came to a standstill, slightly raising his admirably glossy silk hat, but no light of recognition came into his eyes.

"I see you don't remember me, and no wonder," continued the woman breathlessly. "I called out before I thought, but I knew you very well as a lad, if I may be forgiven for calling your lordship a lad. I was Sally Hopkins, daughter of Job Hopkins, who kept the lodge at the west gate of Stranleigh Park, my lord."

A gentle smile came to the lips of Lord Stranleigh; a smile so winning that it would have disarmed the rancour of a socialist.

"Why, Sally, I recollect you perfectly. You married and came to London. That must have been—how long since?"

"Fifteen years come Michaelmas Day, my lord."

"Is it so long ago as that? How time does fly! But I cannot go on calling a dignified matron 'Sally,' and I'm not sure that I ever knew the name of him you married."

"John Bendale, my lord, and as good a man as there was in all England. He was a clerk in a cutlery shop on the Edgware Road at the time I became acquainted with him. He had come to Stranleigh village for his holidays one summer, and we were married as soon as he got a shop of his own, and I never regretted it, never for a single moment," she continued with almost passionate vehemence, as if the reputation of her husband had been attacked. "He always was good to me, and never has spoken anything but kind words."

Lord Stranleigh seemed embarrassed: the smile faded from his lips. He noticed now for the first time the worn black bonnet and gown, and conjectured that the husband was dead, yet feared to ask.

"I am glad to hear you have experienced a happy married life, Mrs. Bendale, and I trust—er—the business is prospering, if you are still dealing in cutlery."

"Yes, my lord, we own the shop—at least, nominally."

"Ah! Am I wrong, then, in surmising that trade is not as brisk as it should be?"

The woman moistened her lips, struggling with an emotion that prevented reply. His lordship, noting her difficulty, spoke with a breezy pretence of not having seen it.

"But really, Mrs. Bendale, we can't talk confidentially here in the street, can we? It's getting on towards five in the afternoon; won't you come in here and take tea with me? I remember, Sally, if I may be allowed the old name, that at the lodge you were very kind in the matter of cake when I was a youngster, so, as one good turn deserves another, we shall enjoy tea and cake together in memory of old times, if you don't mind."

But the woman drew back; the grandeur of the place of refreshment he had indicated dismayed her. It was one of those palaces lately erected on Piccadilly where a person may breakfast, lunch, or dine on this distinguished thoroughfare at the popular prices of Soho; marble halls that bestowed a sense of distinction upon the masses.

"Oh, I couldn't think of going into such a fashionable place in these clothes!" she gasped.

Once more Lord Stranleigh smiled. He had never heard the restaurant designated by the word fashionable.

"Then we will seek some quieter café up a side street," he suggested. "I confess that I am usually-strong-minded enough to resist the temptations of tea, but they tell me it is a harmless beverage, and one may be forgiven dissipation on the occasion of meeting an old friend."

He conducted her to a less pretentious establishment, and there secured a retired table in an obscure corner. Seeing that the woman had recovered control of herself, he said, almost brusquely:

"Now, Mrs. Bendale, tell me all about it. If you are in trouble, perhaps I may be able to help."

"Oh, my lord," she cried, "you must not think I spoke to you because I wished to borrow money. Thank God, John and I have always paid our way."

"I know precisely why you spoke to me, Sally. You recognised me, and at once there came to your mind the lodge-gate, the avenue of elms, and the sweet countryside where you were born. There, there, Mrs. Bendale! Now, I didn't intend to say anything that—tut-tut!" for the tired woman's head had sunk slowly to the table, and she was crying very quietly.

"Tea for two, please," he said to the smartly-uniformed waitress who stood rather astonished at the incongruity of the pair she was called upon to serve. "Tea for two, and all the extras, you know. Cake for two—a mountain of cake, and, I say, my girl, you haven't such a thing as a drop of—oh, I see—no licence—yes, quite so, quite so. Very well, then, tea, of the best you can furnish."

The girl departed, and the woman raised her head, drying her eyes.

"My lord," she said, "I am ashamed of myself."

"Nonsense! I saw you were overwrought the moment I met you. The cry and the tea combined will do you good, and as there is no witness but myself, we needn't care, either of us, need we? When I spoke of assistance, I was referring to a little friendly advice, and it really won't do any harm if there's a bit of money behind it to add practicality to theory. Perhaps you heard that worthy and stalwart citizen say I was brainless, but, you see, we never like to admit a charge that contains an element of truth, so I flatter myself that in a crisis I may see a way out which may have been overlooked by more competent men.

"Indeed, Lord Stranleigh," said Mrs. Bendale with some indignation, "the man had no right to speak of you as he did. I saw your portrait in all the papers a while ago, and they said you were the greatest financier of the age."

Lord Stranleigh laughed heartily.

"Oh, the papers will say anything. I am not sure after all but the labouring man made a much closer shot at the truth. Now, Mrs. Bendale, what's wrong with the cutlery industry? Aren't the boys buying pocket-knives as they did when I was a youth?"

"For the first few years," said Mrs. Bendale, "we prospered even more than we could have hoped. My husband is an indefatigable worker and an honest and a trustworthy man. Some time ago the accountant valued our shop as a going concern at five thousand pounds, but that was before Richard Brassard came."

"Ah, who is Richard Brassard?"

Don't you know Brassard?" she asked in open-eyed astonishment that this rising giant of the commercial world, who had so long overshadowed her own life, should be unfamiliar to anyone. To her mind Brassard was the one undisputable fact in the universe.

"I never even heard of him," said Stranleigh.

"He was a shopman in the grocery business of Kempt and Company, who failed about ten years ago. He had either saved money or induced some capitalist to back him, but, be that as it may, he bought the business at the bankruptcy sale. He prospered from the first, and soon acquired the drapery establishment next door. He is said to be a hard man, and quite ruthless, who beats his competitors to their knees and then buys all they possess at his own price. No one seems able to stand against him. Some have tried, and those he has crushed. The tradesmen who accept his first offer are always best off. He began by offering my husband two thousand five hundred pounds for the shop, but as this was merely half the value of our property we refused to sell. He then established a cutlery business next door to ourselves and commenced his usual plan of undercutting."

"I see. War to the knife, as one might say."

"It was a one-sided war," went on the woman seriously. The situation was too tragic for her to appreciate or understand any attempted pleasantry with reference to it. "It was a one-sided war because Brassard could buy on so much better terms than we that he was able to undersell us and yet make a slight profit, whereas if my husband attempted to dispose of his stock at the same price, or to cut below him, he was parting with his goods at a loss."

"I see. This has been going on for some time, and at last your husband finds it impossible to meet his payments?"

"That is true."

"He is being pressed on the one hand by Brassard, and on the other by his creditors, the wholesale cutlery houses?"

"Yes."

"Would he accept five thousand for the business to-day?"

"Oh, Brassard offers only a thousand now."

"Oh, blow Brassard! Never mind him. I'll give your husband five thousand for his business cash down across the counter. I've always wanted to own a shop. I'm essentially democratic in my tastes, although I try to do my duty by the aristocracy. I'll buy out the store of cutlery and put your husband in as manager at a good salary. I fear I should not make a good shopman, especially in the sale of pocket-knives, for if any boy came in who hadn't quite enough money for the weapon he wanted, I fear that sympathy with his desire would overcome my shrewdness as a tradesman and I should let the knife go under cost price."

Mrs. Bendale smiled wanly; something of the young man's enthusiasm reminded her of him as a lad; then the sadness returned to her face.

"You are very generous, my lord, but, of course, it would not be right to dispose of a business for five thousand pounds which is worth less than a thousand—yes, much less, now that it is overburdened with debt."

"Oh, that doesn't matter," said Stranleigh airily.

"What you propose is impossible, my lord, and to show why it is impossible I must now speak to you of my husband, which I didn't quite wish to do. He is really a very excellent business man, and, as I have said, a kind man, but this contest has wrought a serious change in his disposition, so much so that it is not ruin I fear but a tragedy. He has become embittered against Brassard to such an extent that I am in constant terror of violence that may result in murder, or suicide, or both."

"Ah, this is rather serious. Do you think there would be any advantage if I went home with you, advised him to sell out at Brassard's figure, and offered to finance him in any undertaking that commended itself to him in some other place?"

The woman shook her head.

"He would not listen to you, nor to anyone else."

"Does he not see the inevitable end of such a contest? He is pitting himself against modern progress. The man who does that inevitably goes to the wall. It's like standing in the middle of a country road when a fifty-horse-power automobile is tearing along. Whatever may be your opinion of automobiles, it is just as well not to attempt to stop one with your body."

"My husband is quite beyond the reach of reason."

"Then what would happen if I sought an interview with Brassard? You say he is a keen, hard business man. It is likely he does not take the same point of view as that unfortunately held by your husband. This struggle is merely one of many to him, and he would doubtless be glad to have it brushed out of the way. Now, I'll make a present of four thousand pounds to Mr. Brassard on condition that he will add his one thousand pounds, and offer the total to your husband."

"I am sure my husband would not sell to Brassard now if he offered twenty thousand."

"But, my dear Mrs. Bendale, such an attitude is most unreasonable."

"I know it is; that's what I've been saying. My husband has gone beyond the power of reasoning, and that's what frightens me."

"How old is your husband, Mrs. Bendale?"

"We have been married fifteen years, and he was twenty-three on our wedding-day," she replied in round-about fashion.

"Thirty-eight, eh? Well, a man should not have passed beyond the reach of wise counsel at that age. You are quite sure I could do no good by talking with him?"

"None in the least, I am sorry to say, my lord."

"The knife thrusts of Richard Brassard have gone deep, then?"

"They have, indeed," she wailed.

"As I understand the case, it is not so much financial, serious as that aspect is, as temperamental. We have here in a measure the problem of our youth: the irresistible force and the immovable body. Well, I must take a little time to think over the situation, Mrs. Bendale, and if I undertake to do that, you, in turn, should promise that in case of real monetary distress coming upon you, you will at once apply to me."

"Oh, Lord Stranleigh, I assure you that I never for a moment thought2"

"Of course not, but the point at issue is, do you promise?"

"Yes," faltered the woman.

"Well, if I can make no headway with the stubborn Richard Brassard, or the equally stubborn John Bendale, thank goodness I have still some influence with the women. Now here is the street and number of my town house, and anything sent there will be forwarded if I am not at home. In spite of your promise I am quite certain that you will wait till the very last moment before applying to me. I wish to forestall you in this, and so must insist on your accepting a small cheque on account. I shall just write it out now, and you will take it with you. Open an account in your own name in some bank close at hand, and deposit this amount to your credit; then, in case I should be away from home, and not easily reached, you will be independent and my mind will be easy."

Mrs. Bendale glanced at the figure he had written and was about to speak when he raised his hand.

"I know exactly what is in your mind; the sum is larger than you expected, but permit me to point out that this has nothing to do with the case. The money may just as well rest in your bank as in mine. You can pay it back any time you wish, and I shall feel easier in knowing that help is at your hand if needed. You see, Mrs. Bendale, you are by way of being a member of my family; we are all Stranleighites together, and I cannot allow this delightful, busy, brutal London to crumple one of us up. God bless my soul, Sally, you would not turn me hungry from your door if I were famishing, even though you owned only one crust of bread. You know you'd break it in two!"

Mrs. Bendale rose; her thin, paleface was twitching nervously, and her lower lip trembled.

"I'll call a cab for you," said Stranleigh, rising also, but she shook her head. Speaking was beyond her, and realising that she wished to go alone, he bade her a cheery good-bye and sat down again. A very pretty girl, with rosy cheeks, neat hair, and white apron, approached in response to his signal. He paid the bill, and gave a tip so generous that the handsome waitress smiled her sweetest, and Stranleigh smiled in return as he left the tea-room. He had told Mrs. Bendale that he required time to think, and he took this time as he walked very slowly down to Piccadilly, where he hailed a taximeter motor-cab.

"Brassard's," he said, as he stepped aboard.

He found that the name was potent, and no other directions were needed. The cabman knew where Brassard's huge emporium stood, even if certain members of the nobility did not. The establishment presented quite an imposing appearance to the street. When Brassard bought out an old-fashioned business he re-fronted it in keeping with the rest of his premises, and the huge windows of plate-glass, admirable for the tempting display of goods, made the shops on the opposite side look dingy and second-rate. Brassard's was like a slow-moving mass of lava, gradually engulfing everything that came in its way, and Lord Stranleigh's task was not made easier by the fact that John Bendale's cutlery shop had for months stopped the flow in one direction at least, and had therefore angered the determined Brassard.

The young man dismissed his cab at the corner and walked past John Bendale's premises to the much more magnificent establishment of Richard Brassard. He noticed the meagre display in the former, like the collection of a junk shop as compared with the bright, steely glitter of the wares behind the plate-glass window, and he admitted to himself that, if in search of a poniard, and knowing nothing of either man, his custom would have gone to Brassard.

Brassard was his own window-dresser, and anyone passing in the early morning might have seen this stout man, with close-clipped, bullet head, standing on the pavement outside without a hat and directing by manual signs those attendants behind the plate glass who were arranging material in its most attractive form. There was always a gaping crowd in front of Richard Brassard's windows, and many of those gathered there filtered into his various shops.

"Brassard is evidently a man who understands his business," sighed Stranleigh, as he paused before the wide entrance, his natural diffidence holding him there, for nothing was so distasteful to him as calling upon a man uninvited, yet some latent font of courage within him always prevented a retreat. He usually buoyed himself up with the false hope that the man he sought would be absent or too busy to see him, and thus he might draw back with a clear conscience. It was now late in the afternoon, and probably the great Brassard had gone home, but in thinking thus he reckoned without the man he was to meet.

A floorwalker approached him promptly with ingratiating manner.

Could you tell me," asked Stranleigh, in a voice of silk, "if Mr. Brassard has gone home yet?"

"Lord love you, sir," cried the floorwalker, startled out of his politeness by so absurd a query, "Mr. Brassard don't go home till ten or eleven at night. He's always the first man here and the last away."

"Ah, in that case would you be good enough to ask him if he could see me for a few moments?"

"Certainly, sir. What name, sir?"

"Stranleigh."

The floorwalker wrote it on a tablet. "L-e-i-g-h or l-e-y?" he asked, looking up.

"L-e-i-g-h."

"Thank you, sir," and with that he disappeared toward the office.

"They seem to be polite enough here, at least," said Stranleigh to himself. "Perhaps it's going to be easier than I thought."

The floorwalker promptly returned.

"Mr. Brassard would be glad to know, sir, for what purpose you wish to see him."

"Say that my business relates to the sale of a property adjoining his own."

"Ah, in that case, sir," said the shopwalker, "I may ask you to step this way, sir."

He evidently knew there were certain subjects interesting to his master which would ensure a stranger's reception without further preliminary.

Stranleigh entered the private room of the great merchant, hat in hand, distinguished by a most conciliatory manner. He saw, seated before him, a round-headed man with hair clipped short, who might have been one of Cromwell's troopers, and who probably had an Ironside for an ancestor. The face was dogged, determined, uncompromising, and yet certain lines round the firm mouth betokened a sense of humour, which was, however, nullified by the sharp glitter of keen eyes that somehow reminded Stranleigh of the steely glare behind his cutlery window. Those eyes were ruthless, whatever the gentler lines about the mouth might promise. A thick bull neck supported the massive head, and his body was stout almost to corpulency. Stranleigh guessed, rather than saw, that his legs were stumpy and short. He was dressed in careless clothes of material poor when new, and now almost shabby, yet somehow the strength of the face seemed to make his apparel a matter of indifference. His piercing eye penetrated his visitor and took in all his points at a glance.

"Will you sit down, Mr. Stranleigh?" he said. "Where is this property situated?"

"I came to speak with you, Mr. Brassard, regarding the premises occupied by John Bendale."

"Ah!" ejaculated Brassard, his teeth coming together with a snap and his lips closing into a straight line. Then after a moment's pause he said, "Are you commissioned by Bendale to negotiate?"

"No."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"If you are kind enough to grant me a few moments' time I shall endeavour to explain."

This was said so courteously, with such a nice inflection of semi-deference, that for a moment Brassard's gruffness gave way before it. His eyes opened a little wider, and again he scrutinised the young man, but instead of asking him to explain he shot at him the unexpected question:

"Are you out of a job?"

"Ah—really," stammered his lordship, taken aback, "now that you speak of it, I—I—I am not doing anything at present."

"I offer you the position of floorwalker in our drapery department. I'll give you two pounds a week to begin with, and a speedy rise depends on yourself."

"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Brassard, for the opportunity, and, if you do not insist on an immediate reply, I shall be delighted to consider the proposition."

"Have you ever walked a floor, Mr. Stranleigh?"

"Only when I was a boy with the toothache."

The lines at the corners of Mr. Brassard's mouth deepened at this, but the eyes rejected the remark as unworthy of a business conference.

"What was your last position, sir?"

"I—I was with a gentleman on a yacht."

"Would the owner of the yacht give you a character for honesty?"

"Oh, yes, I am sure he would."

"If you are so sure, why did you leave his service."

"Well, you know, I haven't exactly left it. I'm with him yet, but we aren't doing anything, as you might say, and, of course, in an establishment like this there would be a chance of promotion, as you hinted."

"Exactly. Very well, think over it."

"I will."

"Now, tell me how you come here on behalf of Bendale."

"I do not come here on behalf of Bendale, but rather on behalf of his friends."

"Oh, he's got friends, has he?"

"Yes."

"Men with money?"

"Yes, some of them possess a bit of money."

"Then why don't they help him? He's a bankrupt now, if he only knew it."

"They are trying to help him, Mr. Brassard, and I come, if I may say so, as their spokesman."

"What have you to propose?"

"You are willing to give a thousand pounds for the business?"

"I did offer that, but he was fool enough not to take it. The price now is seven hundred and fifty pounds."

"But the business was worth five thousand before your competition began?"

"That has nothing to do with the question, and you may tell his friends that this tender of seven hundred and fifty will remain open but a very few days longer. I am quite well acquainted with the position of Bendale's affairs. I shall buy that business at my own price before many weeks are past."

"But to an alert business man like yourself, Mr. Brassard, time is money."

"Yes."

"You have been waiting a good while for this disaster to occur, but it has not yet taken place."

"It is inevitable."

"I grant that, Mr. Brassard, but why not close the deal to-day?"

"I'm quite willing; what do you propose?"

"I propose that you come into immediate possession of his business at your own price—seven hundred and fifty pounds. As you know so much about Mr. Bendale's affairs, you are doubtless aware that a certain amount of regrettable antagonism has arisen in his mind regarding you."

"It doesn't trouble me the snap of my fingers," said Brassard, suiting the action to the phrase.

"I understand that, but it matters greatly to his friends; so much so that they are willing to advance at once four thousand two hundred and fifty pounds. This amount will be handed over to you. You in turn will then pay to Mr. Bendale five thousand pounds for his business. Another proviso is that you will write to Mr. Bendale, telling him that he is victorious in this struggle; that you succumb and apologise, paying the price first demanded."

The eyes of Richard Brassard closed until they were mere slits, and he sat up in the chair where before he had been leaning back.

"An apology!" he cried. "I'll see him damned first!"

"Why not apologise, Mr. Brassard? It's a mere technicality and won't hurt you in the least. I can see that you are a man who does not care for public opinion except in so far as it affects your business."

"Oh, you've come to that conclusion, have you?"

"Yes, and your attitude is explained by your undoubted success. When one looks at this immense emporium, when one threads his way through crowded shops to this office, which contains the brains of the business, and when one realises that this has all been built up in ten short years by a man single-handed, it doesn't take much perspicuity to understand that such a man cares little for the opinion of his fellows."

Brassard's eyes were wide open now, but his gaze on the other was more penetrating than ever. Some doubt arose in his mind that he had rated the young man properly in classing him as a floor-walker. He was puzzled, and yet pleased, in spite of his frequent boast that no man could flatter him. The fact that this young man had hit the bull's-eye of his pride aroused his suspicion, but he could not resist a mild swagger.

"Yes," he said, "I've built this business up in ten years, and in ten years more I'll dominate the retail trade of London."

With that he raised his clenched fist into the air as if within its clutch he was strangling future Bendales.

"No, you will not," returned Lord Stranleigh very quietly.

"I will not?" cried Brassard, bringing his clenched fist down on the desk.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you lack the foresight to close at once with the most advantageous business offer which I have just made to you."

"Now, to show that you do not know what you are talking about, my good friend, allow me to tell you that I could sell out Bendale to-morrow. I hold some of his paper which he cannot meet. I bought it in the open market at a discount, and a big discount at that. I can close him up to-morrow."

"Then why don't you do it?"

"That's my business. I want to see the poor fool wriggle a little longer."

"Do you realise, Mr. Brassard, that the poor fool may go insane and shoot you?"

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it is a mere statement of probability."

"Have you come in here to attempt blackmail?"

Lord Stranleigh laughed, a laugh so honest and hearty that even a professional detective would have known the interrogation was absurd.

"I know little of blackmailers, Mr. Brassard, but I believe it is not their custom to offer their victim four thousand two hundred and fifty pounds in cold cash."

"What's your game, anyway?" cried Brassard, his apprehensions thoroughly aroused at last.

"My game is a perfectly straightforward one. Certain friends of Mr. Bendale's, or, to be more accurate, of Mr. Bendale's wife, desire to get him out of his difficulties. They have authorised me to place before you the proposal I have made. There, Mr. Brassard, my cards are all on the table; you now understand the game from beginning to end."