A SNARE OF GOLD.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LVI, Issue 17348, 20 December 1919, Page 7 (Supplement)

A SNARE OF GOLD.

BY J. J. BELL.

(Autho? of " Wee MacGreegor," " Kitty >■ Carstaire." etc.). ■COPYRIGHT. - . : — ' « . CHAPTER I. THE IMPULSE. On a bright morning in autumn, malting his leisurely way eastwards along the thronging pavements of Queen Victoria Street, was a young man, whose wandering glances, curious, admiring, critical, amused, would alone have proclaimed the stranger in London; yet were confirmation desired, one had only to consider for a moment his clothing, colouring and carriage, all of which suggested something not of England's capital. As a matter of fact, this extremely well set-up' young man, with the fairish hair, frank, grey-blue eyes, and freshlyshaven counetnance, had set foot on English soil for the first time in 20 years, less than 24 hours ago, when he had landed from the great Canadian liner, which had borne ( him on the final stage of his journey from far New Zealand. And, at the moment, he was on his way to the office of a, certain Mr. Sylvanu's - Phin, with whom he had an appointment, made by a letter of seven weeks ago, and confirmed by a cable of more recent date. He had not, however, the pleasure of this Mr. Phin's personal acquaintance, and despite the distractions of the street his mind was occupied mainly by thoughts of the approaching meeting. David Starforth was indeed a stranger in London just then. His sole friend there, Roderick Boon, a journalist, who was to have met him on his arrival the previous afternoon, had been despatched abroad on 'a newspaper mission, a few days earlier, leaving a note in which he regretted he could not state the date of his return. This had been a disappointment, but David accepted it philosophically, and supped alone at his hotel, the Planet, which if not the biggest, is probably the bflst all-round house in London, and in which he had chosen to lodge merely to j satisfy curiosity. , Most young men in David's place would have arrived in the old country armed With a small arsenal of letters of introduction. He brought not a single letter. The most annoying thing that could happen to him at present would have been recognition any sort. Happily, as he reflected, not for the first time this mornl ing, recognition was just the most unlikely thing that could happen, for not one of his home friends was in Europe now, and save for the voyage just ended, ho had had exceedingly few opportunities of making travelling acquaintances in the East. At all events, he assured himself, he was perfectly safe from recognition by the persons whose recognition really mattered; his identity was his own affair until he chose to make it otherwise. Yet he had neglected two little points; first, his likeness to his father, -who had left London 20 years ago; second, the fact that guilty men have long memories for faces. And so, as in a flash, the unexpected came to pass. David was glancing with momentary "interest at a prettv girl waiting for a 'bus, when a rudely, heavilybearded, middle-aged man, carrying a bundle of documents, stopped suddenly in front of him, gasped, went the colour of putty, dropped his bundle, and exclaimed : " Good God!— David Bethune!" Before David could halt or reply, the man, partially recovering himself, had caught up the bundle, muttered an apology, including the word mistake," and passed on.

Now the name he had uttered was that of David Star'orth's own father. The reason for the discrepancy between the surnames shall appear in due course. Scarce hesitating, and as though* he had observed nothing, David continued his walk. He was disturbed, upset, to put it mildly. vHe had certaintly never seen the man before, and the man's appearance Rallied with none of the several personal descriptions which he carried in his memory; but the man's evident alarm was, the last sort of recognition ho desired to encounter. When he had proceeded some 50 paces, an instinct caused him. to take a hasty, backward glance. The man with the bundle had turned and was following, but at a discreet distance; another glance, however, stolen a minute later, informed him that the man had put on speed. David Starforth was a young man who acted quickly. ! There was a brisk traffic on the street, but he dodged his »ra> through it, and without waiting to see what had happened to his bulky, middleaged pursuer, bolted for the most likely doorway that presented itself, which chanced to be that of a branch of the London and North Eastern Bank. A moment later he was seated at a table, scribbling meaningless figures on a deposit slip, while he applied his wits to consider the new situation, and to adapt his course to its exigencies. Almost a,t the outset, however, his meditation was interrupted, and the whole course of his ideas, if not of his life, altered by an occurrence doubtless rare within the austere and frigid precincts of banks. The door of the manager's room was abruptly opened, and there emerged an elderly person, with gentleman written all over him, but in a most deplorable state of passion. He was not precisely shouting, yet his - words must have been distinct to all within the office. 1 Clerks paused in their work, the two tellers stopped short in their pleasing tasks of counting out money, while customers turned from the counter, and stared at the disturber and the embaxrased manager who had followed him, forth. " I repeat it—l don't care who hears!" the irate gentleman was storming. "Won't make anyone think more of your bank, I wager! My firm has been your customer for close on 50 —never a flaw in our credit, never a stain on our integrity ! —and now you refuse to permit me to overdraw a paltry £8000! Damme, sir, it's nothing short of rank impudence—" " Come, come, Mr. Silverest," said the distracted manager in tones meant to be conciliatory, but loud enough to reach the ears of David Starforth; " remember this is a public office" " I don't care if the whole confounded public of London hears how your wretched, pettifogging bank treats its oldest customers! Fifty —fifty years of profiteering on my firm's money —hundreds and hundreds of thousands — and now it's afraid to*isk eight on a certainty! Well, sir, you may tell your directors from me that they are a miserable pack of mean-spirited, money-grub-bing scavengers, and—" " ideally, Mr. Silverest, I cannot permit"

"Oh, don't be a blithering idiot!'' said th old gentleman, and seemed to waver. His lips continued to move, but no sound came. Suddenly he turned about and made unsteadily for the swing doors. David sprang forward, and drew one open, and as he did so an inspiration came to him. On the impulse he followed the other down the broad steps. Mr. Silverest "was not, even now, quite finished with the London and North ! Eastern Bank. On reaching the pavement he turned and stood, shaking his fist at the handsome portals, his mouth , working silently. People began to stop and stare. David gently took his arm, saying quietly " Let's get along to the office, Mr. Silverest. Don't worry about that rotton old bank. The only really decent sort of bank in creation is the one mentioned by Shakespere." Possibly Mr. Silverest did not understand, yet the crazy current of his ideas seemed to receive a check. He gave a shudder, and for a moment David feared he was going to collapse. Then he glanced up at the young man. " I don't know you, do I?" he said, in a puzzled, rather pathetic fashion. " Not yet, Mr. Silverest." '■" ''But you have my name." " I could not avoid overhearing it a minute ago. You will allow me to see you to your office

" Thanks; it isn't necessary." Nevertheless, he did not seek to"rid himself of David's kindly hold, and turning to the left he began to walk slowly. " You were in the bank, yon say he suddenly asked.-

"Yes, sir. If it isn't too much of a liberty, I'd like to say that you had all my sympathy." - » ■ " Your ; courtesy cancels the liberty," said Mr. Silverest, his colojjr returning. " A> you saw, I lost my temper head and made a fool of myself. Such a thing, I think I may safely say, never happened before. I must write an apology to the manager; it was not his fault." The voice was now steady enough, but mild and regretful. There ' were several pleasant things which the young man might have said, but he held his peace. Presently Mr. Silverest sighed, * and leaned a little on the other's support. " It is really kind of you," he murmured. " My office is close at hand, but I confess 1 am glad of your help. I don't seem to be just myself to-day. You are a stranger in Lorinon, I fancy," he added. "I saw London for the first time after 20 years, last night," David returned., wondering whether the thing he had almost decided on doing would be quite fair, to this elderly gentleman. "I arrived from Vancouver, at Liverpool, early in the afternoon." "Indeed ! You ,have friends in town, no doubt." "Only one, and he is from home at present." . "Then if I can be of use, I hope you will let me have the opportunity." Mr. Silverest halted. "My office in this building. I will give you, my card, and if you care to call at any time—" He paused tentatively. "Thank you very much. Pardon my suggesting it, but if I might come to your office now, I could introduce myself," said David. "As a matter of fact, I have a favour to ask." It was perhaps natural that Mr. Silverest should hesitate, misdoubting the wisdom of his quick friendliness towards a stranger, though the latter had done him a kindly service. A second glance at the young man's frank eyes and tanned countenance reassured him somewhat. "Also," said David, "I have an offer to make to you. I should have put that first." "An offer?" the old man murmured, dubious again. But he took yet another glance, and told himself that the stranger was-no dealer in confidence tricks. "Come in then," he said. "We shall take the lift." A'few seconds later, David found himself 'before a door, bearing an oldfashioned brass plate, inscribed Adrian Silverest and Son, African Merchants. "Please to follow me," said the old gentleman ' when they had entered, and David passed through' an out office tenanted by several clerks, down a glasswalled corridor, and into a private room furnished with costly things grown shaoDy— many ci'rios. David took the easy chair indicated by his host, who seated himself in the one on the other side of the hearth. The young man noted that his host sank back with the air of an exhausted man, and that his look was haggard and harassed, though he smiled faintly as he said :— 'how I am quite ready to hear what you have to say." David Starforth was not of a forward nature, however much his present action i may suggest the contrary, but he possessed ' a certain determination and self-control, otherwise he could hardly have proceeded further with his swiftly-evolved scheme. "Mr. Silverest," he said, "I beg of you that you wilt not be offended, but, in the first place, I wish to offer you the loan of eight thousand pounds." At this amazing announcement Mr. Sil- j yerest sat up, only to sink back again ir. speechless stupefaction. "I ask you," David continued, "to allow me to wjite a cheque now, and to send one of your clerks to the Bank of New Zealand for the money." A trifle hurriedly he added : "Though, as I have told you, I have just come from Vancouver, my account is with that bank." Mr. Silverest sat up once more. He was trembling slightly. "I cannot suprse you are jesting," he saidj "nor can doubt that you know something of my affairs." He paused, with a sad, questioning look. "I know nothing beyond the fact that you desired an overdraft of £8000. I saw you and heard your name, Mr. Silverest, for the first time in my life,' about ten minutes ago." —but this is too extraordinary! Who are you?" "I will.tell you presently. May I write the cheque now?" David produced book and pen. "Shall I make it payable to yourself or the firm?'' The old man's} hand went unsteadily to his brow. "This gets beyond me," he said, helplessly. "I Svill not pretend that I do not need the money. My need is too urgent. The getting of the money, this very day, is vital to the firm's credit, ' and my own. But—" suddenly he dropped his hand, threw up his head and faced the other squarely—"you have not mentioned your conditions. What are they?" "There are no conditions, Mr. Silverest. 1 I offer you the loan of the money for any period you care to name, and at the Current rate of interest." "Good heavens!and I can give you nc security . . . everything I possess is gone or mortgaged—God ! what am I saying? . . . Well, you see how I am trusting you with my secret. I am supposed to be a man of wealth, whereas " '"Tell me nothing, if you please," said David, with a feeling of pity he could scarce conceal "I repeat there are no conditions." "But you said something about asking a favour," the other replied, his gaze feverish with hope and anxiety. "i shall not ask it until you have sent my cheque to the bank; if you prefer, I shall delay asking it until your clerk has returned with the notes'"' Mr. Silverest made a gesture of protest. "You will be perfectly free," David went on, "to refuse the favour, which will be of a friendly nature, and which you mu3t please regard as quite apart from our business transaction. "But —why in God's name are you doing this for me?" David smiled. "Franklv, in order to gain your goodwill in the first, place; and in the* second, in order that, whatever' happens, you may have at least one reason tor thinking kindly of me." Mr. Silverest seemed to reflect. After a while, his honest eyes on the young man's face, he said "You will forgive me, but I must have your word that there is nothing— unworthy behind all this." "1 give you my word," David quietly answered. "And now—" He opened his cheoue-book, and uncapped his pen, and loooked inquiringly at the other. '' God (IT P me," said the old an, at last; "I cannot refuse this salvation!" The cashier had comej received instructions, and departed for the Bank of New Zealand. "I can offer you no explanation—in the meantime, at any rate," David was savin* I can only ask you to believe that my motives are clean." "What is it you require of„me?" "That you will accept me as your nephew, David Starforth, from Vancouver and permit me to refer to you ao mv uncle." . J "My nephew," David Starforth, from Vancouver!" the other said feebly, barely comprehending. , " I have a difficult and secret task to carry through in this country," David proceeded, " and I may— necessarily— require a sponsor of good repute. I shall be very sorry if the relationship ever costs you more than a trifling awkwardness, and it is not likely to be of long duration. I shall take advantage of it as little as possible; not at all, if 1 can manage without. And, once more, i assure you that my motives are not unworthy." There was a silence until Mr. Silverest asked—" Is that all you can tell me, Mr. Starforth?" " That is all— present." " I owe you all the goodwill one man can give another," said Mr. Silverest, " yet it is a hard thing you ask. For you are notl am sorry to say it—my nephew." J "Thank you for the ' sorry,' " said P'wtl gravely. (.To be continued on "Wednesday next.) '