"But I want to help you, dad," she said, crossing to him and stroking his grey brow with her hand.

"I know, darling. I know," he muttered. "You may be able to--one day.

But--but to-night don't let us discuss this painful subject further. I feel--well, I can't bear it. Good-night!" And raising his bearded face, he kissed her, patting her upon the shoulder as he did so.

Reluctantly she withdrew, for he was insistent that she should retire.

Then, when she had gone, he drew several long, deep breaths--part of his Yogi training--and locking up the sheaf of accounts and the pa.s.s-books, he switched off the light and ascended the wide, handsome stairs to his room.

By the irony of fate the man who had built that magnificent town mansion in Park Lane, and had sold it to Purcell Sandys, had afterwards stood in the dock at the Old Bailey and had been sentenced to ten years'

imprisonment for a gigantic fraud.

The position of Purcell Sandys was certainly a very serious one.

Honest, upright, and straight-spoken, he had, from small beginnings, attained greatness in the financial world, until the name of the firm was one to conjure with in the money markets of Europe. But he was ever a man of honour. During the war he saw the way open to make a profit of five millions sterling by dealing with Germany through a certain source in South America.

The proposition was put to him on the day of the air-raid on Brixton.

He heard the sleek agent of the enemy, and smoked a good cigar as he listened. Then he rose from his chair, and said:

"Look here! I'm an Englishman! Get out! There's the door. And if you don't get out of England in twelve hours you'll find yourself arrested.

Get out!"

And even while the caller was in the room he crossed to the telephone and rang up "M.O.5" at the War Office.

Purcell Sandys was a real, honest, firm-handed Englishman. He had, by his own pluck, self-confidence and shrewd intuition, raised himself from his small office as a provincial bank manager to the position he had attained in the financial world. Mrs Sandys, who had been a great invalid for years, had died at St Moritz two years before, and he had only Elma left to him. And naturally he doted upon her--his only child.

That night he felt himself up against a brick wall--he, whose very name was a power upon every bourse in Europe.

Alone in her room Elma, dismissing her maid Evans, sank at her bedside and prayed. She loved her father, and had never before seen him with hopelessness written plainly upon his features.

She thought of Roddy. Would that he were at her side to advise and help her!

But she was alone--alone except for her little pet, the black pom, Tweedles.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

BY STROKE OF THE PEN.

Next day the news of the sudden death of Sir Charles Hornton at his country house in Suffolk caused a great sensation in the City. But as the truth was never guessed, the greatest sympathy was felt on every hand for his close friend and partner Purcell Sandys. The fact that Sir Charles had committed suicide had not leaked out. He had been found dead under very mysterious circ.u.mstances. That was all.

Almost the first person to call at Park Lane and express his sorrow was the well-dressed, soft-speaking and refined Mr Rex Rutherford. It was about eleven o'clock. Elma heard a ring at the door, and afterwards asked Hughes who was the caller.

"Mr Rutherford, miss," was the old man's reply.

The girl said nothing, but she wondered why he should call upon her father so early in the morning.

Two days later the white-bearded old Moorish Minister Mohammed ben Mussa was seated with his secretary, a young Frenchman, in his hotel in the Rue de Rivoli, in Paris, when a waiter entered, saying:

"Madame Crisp has called, Your Excellency."

In an instant the old man's face became illuminated, and he gave orders to show the lady in.

"It is the lady I met on the boat between Dover and Calais. Her necklet had been stolen, and she was naturally in tears. We travelled together from Calais to Paris," he explained. "She is a very intelligent English society woman, and I asked her to call."

The French secretary, who had been engaged at the Ministry in Fez for some years, bowed as his new master spoke.

In a few moments Freda Crisp, elegantly-dressed, swept into the luxurious room.

"Ah! So here you are!" she cried in French, which she spoke extremely well. "I promised I would call. Do you know, the French police are so much cleverer than the English! They have already arrested the thief and returned my necklet to me!"

His Excellency, after inviting his guest to be seated, expressed pleasure at the news, and then the secretary rose discreetly and left.

"I hope you are enjoying Paris," Freda said in her low musical voice, which always charmed her dupes. "Now that the autumn is coming on everyone is returning from Deauville. I am giving a little party to-night at the Ritz. I wonder if you would honour me with your presence? I have a friend, an Englishman, who wishes very particularly to make Your Excellency's acquaintance."

The old Minister expressed himself as being delighted, whereupon she suggested that he should dine with her and her English friend at the hotel. The old Moor with his Eastern admiration of feminine beauty found her charming, and at eight o'clock that night when he entered the hotel, his striking figure in the ample white burnous (upon which was the glittering star of the Order of the Tower and the Sword), and turban, caused all heads to be turned in his direction.

"This is my friend, Mr Arthur Porter," Freda said. "Will Your Excellency allow me to present him?"

The old Moor took Porter's hand and, with an expression of pleasure, the trio sat down to dinner at a corner table in the great restaurant.

The Moorish Minister spent a most enjoyable evening, for though he touched no wine, he was after dinner introduced to several very elegant and charming women, both English and French, for in a certain circle in Paris Freda was well known. Porter took good care to ingratiate himself with the patriarchal-looking old fellow, declaring that he knew Morocco, was delighted with the life there, and intended in a few weeks' time to visit Fez again. The truth, however, was that he had never been there in his life and had no intention of ever going. Freda had followed the old Minister from London and had managed to become acquainted with him with the sole object of introducing Arthur Porter, alias Bertram Harrison. To them both the death of Sir Charles was known, and Porter guessed that Mr Sandys' financial position would be greatly affected.

He had seen Sir Charles at several gaming-tables, and knew that he had been a reckless gambler. So cleverly did the pair play their cards that Mohammed ben Mussa invited Porter to call and see him next day--which he did.

As the two men sat together smoking cigarettes, Porter suddenly said in French:

"I heard the other day that the ancient emerald mines in the Wad Sus are about to be worked again."

"That is so. I granted the concession in London only a few days ago."

"Ah! How very unfortunate!" remarked his visitor. "I have a big financial backing, and could have exploited those mines with huge profits to all of us. Of course, I do not know how much gratification Your Excellency has received for the concession, but my friends would, I believe, have paid Your Excellency fifty thousand francs down and one-quarter of the profits of the undertaking." The old Moor pursed his lips and p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. From Barclay he had received nothing on account, and only one-eighth share. Porter could see that the old fellow was filled with regret and chagrin that he had granted the concession with such little gain to himself.

"His Majesty the Sultan demands a share in the profits," old Mohammed remarked. "He has been allotted an eighth share--similar to myself."

"I could have arranged a quarter share for you and an eighth for His Majesty," said the crafty Englishman quickly. "But I suppose it is unfortunately too late, now that you have given the concession into another quarter."

Mohammed ben Mussa remained silent, slowly stroking his long beard with his brown claw-like hand.

The Englishman's offer was extremely tempting. He was reflecting.

At last he said very slowly:

"Perhaps if seventy-five thousand francs were offered me and the shares you suggest, I might find some way out," and he smiled craftily.

"Well," said Porter with affected hesitation, "I'm inclined to think that my friends would pay that sum--and at once if they received an una.s.sailable concession. I mean a concession given to Mr Rex Rutherford under your hand and seal as Minister which would cancel the previous one." Porter knew well the one power in Oriental countries was that of backsheesh, and wrote down the name Rex Rutherford.

"I will consider it," said the old man. "There is no hurry till to-morrow. I may find it necessary to telegraph to Fez. I--I have to think it over, M'sieur Porter."

"Of course. Then I will come here to-morrow--shall we say at eleven?

And you will afterwards lunch with me at Voisin's--eh?"