RGL e-Book Cover 2019©
RGL e-Book Cover 2019©
A variant of this story with different character names and a different ending was collected under the title "Lord Dratten's Land Deal" in Crooks in the Sunshine (Hodder & Stoughton, London, 1932).
For readers who wish to compare both versions of the story, this RGL edition of "Give a Fool Rope Enough" includes as copy of "Lord Dratten's Land Deal."
The following character names differ in the two stories:
Lord Dratten = Lord Bemish
Caroline = Margaret
Crowhurst = Vaughan
Commodore Jasen = Admiral Hallidayes
—Roy Glashan, 17 February 2019
LORD BEMISH began to lose just a little of his robust assurance as his Rolls-Royce glided up the ascent from Villefranche, and the white villas of Beaulieu became visible on the hillside.
It was an enterprise indeed, this, to which he was committed. Never had he known his companion more charming, never had she seemed to him more utterly desirable. That she was beautiful he, in common with the rest of the crowd at the Cap d'Antibes, had always known. That she had charm the whole world recognised, a charm which even he, a coarse-fibred person, had felt from the first moment he had ever spoken to her. But this morning it seemed to him that he had discovered a new attraction.
The courtesy which she owed him as her prospective host had seemed to him tinged with a delightful savour of coquetry, a personal and wholly inspiring thing. There had been times previously when her aloofness had damped his ardour. This morning his confidence was in a measure re-established. Yet, as they slackened speed and the car swung through the tall iron gates leading down to the Reserve, he was conscious once more of a most unaccustomed quiver of nervousness. He had just sensibility enough to realise that there was something about his companion which placed her quite apart from the women whom he had known and trifled with.
He had to recall an old club aphorism to restore his confidence. "All women are alike au fond!" Margaret gave a little cry of delight as she caught sight of the low, picturesque restaurant with its setting of brilliantly hued flowers, quaint statuary, well-trimmed trees and shrubs. Through the windows were opaque visions of the sea, flawlessly blue.
"How delightful!" she exclaimed. "I never saw such an enchanting place in my life. How good of you to bring me!"
Lord Bemish smiled, a smile which somehow gave the impression that he believed himself, to be the only man in the world who would have thought of taking her to the Reserve at Beaulieu, and the only man in the world generous enough to invite a guest there. He was a fine fellow in his way. Six feet three, with bulky shoulders, large body, head with a mass of brown hair, features not perhaps so good. There had been some of the young set at Antibes who had called him "a bumptious old ass," and there were certainly one or two who, in spite of his financial success, had found him stupid. Margaret herself, notwithstanding her good manners, had been wondering half the time during their drive why she had accepted his invitation. The car came to a standstill in the gardens in front of the small private hotel at some distance from the restaurant. A smiling commissionnaire, in brilliant scarlet livery, threw open the door of the vehicle with a flourish, and Lord Bemish swung his large and somewhat clumsy body out on to the avenue. Margaret accepted his hand and alighted gracefully.
"Why do you stop here?" she asked.
Lord Bemish was not at his best. Margaret's question was so direct, her innocence so transparent. He coughed and glanced at the commissionnaire.
"The fact of it is, my dear Miss Margaret," he confided, in a pompous whisper, "the best class of people—er—don't frequent the restaurant. . . I wondered whether you would not be more comfortable—er—over here. Very, pleasant room—all to ourselves, you know! Good service! None of that beastly music!"
Margaret had already removed her foot from the threshold of the hotel. She was genuinely taken by surprise, but she understood. Yet, she did not betray the fact.
"Oh, I don't think so," she exclaimed. "It seems so dull in here, and I think the restaurant looks attractive. I love the music. Do you mind?"
She was beckoning him to follow her, already a yard or two away on the avenue, and apparently fascinated by the pool in which a small shoal of melancholy fish were endeavoring to forget their predestined end. Lord Bemish did mind, very much indeed, for he had made a special journey over to be sure of getting his favorite suite, had whispered a word into the ear of his accustomed waiter, and had, in short, made all his arrangements with the care and completeness of the accomplished boulevardier. Apart from his own natural disappointment, he was conscious of the covertly smiling faces of the commissionnaire and the maître d'hôtel. His vanity was hurt. Margaret, however, was already on her cheerful way to the restaurant, and affected not to notice his discomfiture.
"I'm dying for a cocktail," she confided, "and the bar looks too divine. How kind of you to bring me to such a charming place!" Lord Bemish made his last effort when the restaurant maître d'hôtel had temporarily deserted them at the bar to inquire whether a sufficient number of the succulent mesdemoiselles of Beaulieu could be collected for the luncheon of two hungry people. He leaned towards his companion in his best Lothario-like manner.
"Stuffy-looking lot of people down here, don't you think?" he whispered, disparagingly.
"Oh, I think everything here is delightful," Margaret declared with enthusiasm. "And what a view!" "Better from the little room I had chosen," he insinuated, with a wave of the hand backwards. "All to ourselves, too! Just the same luncheon. Shall I tell them to serve it there?" Margaret, remained extraordinary dense.
"Sweet of you to think of it," she rejoined, "but I adore this room, and the chef d'orchestre and I are great friends. I know I shall enjoy the music."
The maître d'hôtel, brought good news concerning the mesdemoiselles of Beaulieu, and Margaret followed him to the table. Lord Bemish tried to console himself with the obvious fact that he was entertaining the best looking and most chic young woman in the place, and was consequently the most envied man there. The fact soothed his vanity, but nothing could have made him other than a dull companion. He talked in a loud voice, mostly about himself and his doings, and complained without cause when he dared. By the time the large bottle of brandy arrived he had almost recovered his good humor, and was prepared to play his trump card.
"By the by," he said, leaning confidently across the table, "you won't mind having just a look at Monte Carlo after luncheon? I want to see my bankers there, and we might have an hour on the tables afterwards. I keep a dinner suit at the Paris—some—times stay the night there. Bit of a change. What do you say?" Margaret sighed and shook her head.
"No more Monte Carlo for me this visit," she lamented. "Do you know, Lord Bemish, I was absolutely green enough to believe, when I came out, that with the help of a wonderful system I found amongst my father's papers, I might make enough for my holiday and Zoë's? I started on the very day after my arrival! I won't tell you the result," she wound up, with a little grimace. "It's too old a story."
He coughed a little nervously, but the opening was just what he had been longing for.
"It might still be possible," he said, in a significant tone, leaning across the table, "to make enough for that holiday, Miss Margaret. I am one of those who never fail when I set my mind to a thing. For your holiday you want to win—say, twelve mille. Very well. I guarantee you shall."
She was looking into the mirror of her vanity case and her attention seemed partially distracted. All the same, if he had known it, those were critical seconds for him.
"Thank you," she said. "I have quite given up the idea of making my expenses out of roulette. No doubt I shall think of some other way. . . . Besides, I have a dressmaker coming over from Cannes at four o'clock, and an early cocktail party. . . May I have another cup of this delicious coffee?"
This time Lord Bemish failed to hide his annoyance. He was angry. The girl had no right—it seemed as though she were trifling with him. "Sorry," he persisted, gruffly. "I am afraid I shall have to call at Monte Carlo for an hour or so, anyhow. I thought you understood that." Her amiability was unruffled.
"But what does it matter?" she protested. "Maître d'hôtel," she went on, addressing one of the head waiters who had scarcely left her elbow, "can you get me a taxi cab to go to Antibes?"
"Mais parfaitement, madame," the man replied, promptly. "There is one who waits now."
He bustled off. Lord Bemish, who understood no French, leaned across the table with frowning face. "What's all that about?" he demanded.
"Everything is arranged," she assured him. "My taxi-cab is waiting now. So I think, dear Lord Bemish, if you will excuse me," she went on, closing her vanity bag and rising to her feet, "I had better take advantage of its being here. Such a delicious luncheon, and so many thanks. Now I insist upon it that you do not get up. You must finish your brandy comfortably. We shall meet again this evening. Au revoir."
She was gone with a little wave of the hand, profusely escorted by the patron, the chef d'orchestre, and two or three maîtres d'hôtel. She was already through the door at the farther end of the room and stepping into the taxi-cab before Lord Bemish had fully recovered himself. He expressed his feelings in two different ways; he helped himself to a double liqueur brandy from the big bottle, and he uttered critically in front of him, one single but heartfelt expletive—
"Damn!"
LORD BEMISH'S waistcoat was joyously uplifted, for the food and wine at Margaret's return luncheon party, about a week later, had both been of the best. There was a flush upon his cheeks, a moistness in his eyes. More than ever he regretted that his little escapade with her had not been a complete success. Few women whom he knew could have ordered a luncheon or wines like that. She was so excellent a hostess that she ventured to call to order two of her guests.
"Admiral," she remonstrated, "you and Mr. Vaughan are talking business far too much. Lord Bemish and I, and Zoë, too," she added, with, a glance at the girl who was seated on his other side, are feeling neglected."
The Admiral broke off in his conversation. A piece of paper, upon which he had been making figures, he thrust into his pocket.
"My profound apologies, dear hostess," he said. "I am afraid that for a minute or two I got led away upon my hobby."
Margaret nodded her forgiveness. "Admiral Hallidayes," she explained to her guest of honor, "although he is a very wealthy man, is like all Americans. Money-making is his sport."
"Do you follow the market out here?" Lord Bemish asked. The Admiral looked shocked. "I never gamble," he said.
"The Admiral," Mr. Vaughan intervened, "has been one of my best clients, and one of my most successful ones in buying land out here."
"As to being successful," Hallidayes observed, "I am afraid no one could claim any credit for that during the last two years. Whatever odd bit of land you bought you made money on."
"Seems like a fairy tale," Vaughan observed, toying with his pencil. "I have one client—sha'n't mention his name—who settled down here with a pension. Quite hard up, he was. Couldn't even play his little game of chemin de fer, and owned a motor bicycle and sidecar. Someone left him fifty thousand francs. That's every penny he had when he came into my office about eighteen months ago. He was a shrewd fellow, I must say that for him, but apart from that he acted nearly the whole of the time upon our advice. To-day he is worth at least five million; he has built himself a beautiful villa and he drives a Lancia car. If he had held on to his properties he would have been worth to-day at least, twice as much."
Lord Bemish was sitting up in his chair. There was a curious light in his eyes, which were no longer moist. He was listening intently.
"A wonderful boom down here, must have been," he observed, with clumsily affected indifference. "All over now, I suppose, though?" The land agent smiled in superior fashion.
"That's how I like to hear people talk," he admitted. "Keeps the prices from soaring too much. As this is not a gathering of business people, I don't mind telling you what my real opinion is. There's a hundred per cent. rise to be looked for in practically every plot of land from Fréjus to Nice, and, in this immediate vicinity I would venture to put it at two hundred per cent. The figures of the last two years' transactions would pretty near send anyone crazy, and to-day if anyone comes to us for land, or what we call a Number One class villa, we have scarcely a thing to show to them."
"After all, I am not sure that it is to be wondered at," the Admiral reflected. "Where in the world could you find a climate like this, so many beautiful casinos, golf clubs, bathing spots—everything for a man's enjoyment—so much civilisation and such an environment? It was just a question of finding out what the summer was really like here, one or two of the hotels keeping open, and the men at the back of Juan Casino having the foresight to see what was coming. My dear Margaret," he added, rising to his feet, "I am afraid I must excuse myself. My architect is coming to see me this afternoon. I happen to know that the builder made half a million francs out of the villas on the last plot of land I sold him, so I am thinking of turning greedy and building myself this time."
"What about the Everett, property?" Vaughan asked.
The Admiral hesitated. "I am more than half inclined to go for it," he admitted. "I know the money's there. It isn't that at all. I don't like options, though. I'd be more willing to give the four millions straight out if your client really wants the deal."
"You will get it for that in the long run."
The Admiral stood irresolute.
"Courage!" Margaret called out. "What are four millions?" Zoë exclaimed, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Think what you have made!" For a moment it seemed as though the Admiral had made up his mind. Then apparently he changed it. "I will let you know in a day or two, Vaughan," he promised. "After all I must not be greedy. I made several enemies, I am afraid, by buying the Magnay property. A wonderful luncheon, Miss Mitchell, and—as usual—a perfect hostess!"
He took his leave. The others resumed their seats for a few moments. Lord Bemish's eyes, although they seemed to have become smaller, were certainly brighter.
"Reminds me of old days," he remarked. "I have been in a few land booms in my time. Done some wonderful deals, too. Bought a bit of land in the City once. When I bid I never reckoned out what it would come to—it was some thirty pounds a foot. Bought it unexpectedly one day after lunch, and had to find four hundred thousand pounds the next day."
"Wonderful!" Margaret murmured. "It is very romantic," Zoë declared. "I like to hear how rich, clever men make money."
Lord Bemish helped himself to another cigar.
"Well," he said, "that is one thing that women have not taken away from us yet. They may write books and paint pictures and go into the House of Commons, but they have not yet learned how to put a big business deal through. They have not even found their way on to the Stock Exchange," he added, with a chuckle.
"So there has been a lot of money made round here, Mr. Vaughan?"
"A great deal," the latter agreed, "and there will be a great deal more. Five years ago my father and I and an office boy ran our place. To-day we have nine clerks, our own salaried architect, three typists, and two men with motor cars continually going up and down the coast, and even now we are short-handed."
"What are your business hour's—your own, I mean?" Lord Bemish asked, with well-assumed carelessness.
"Supposing I wanted to come in about renting a villa, when should I find you?"
"The only certainty," was the dubious reply, "would be between nine and ten in the morning, and five and six at night. I am run off my legs most of the rest of the time. As regards a villa though, we have an excellent staff who might be able to fix you up."
"I prefer to deal with principals," Lord Bemish boomed. "As a rule, when I buy or sell or hire, there is big business in it."
"Ring up and make an appointment," Mr. Vaughan suggested, as he bent over his hostess's hand. "A wonderful luncheon, Miss Mitchell. I have enjoyed it thoroughly. I should not hurry away either—I am just as well out of the office these days—but my wife wants the boat. Come across you again, I hope, Lord Bemish."
The latter nodded.
"I might decide to have a flutter in land," he said thoughtfully. "If so, I will look you up."
Sidney Vaughan knew his man, and he was not surprised when, at a quarter to ten the following morning Lord Bemish was shown into his office.
"What can I do for your lordship?" he asked briskly. "I can see we are in for a busy day. Hear those telephones ringing? One would think half the inhabitants of the United States had made up their minds to do a little solid speculation!"
Lord Bemish accepted a cigarette.
"Well," he said, "I am a wealthy man, you know, Mr. Vaughan. No one likes to have too much idle money. I have some just now. Have you any thing to suggest?"
Mr. Vaughan did not appear to be enthusiastic.
"In a week or two's time I may have," he said. "I believe the Biot lands will be on the market then, and we can commence doing business. Just at present I should scarcely know what to put you on to. Of course there are heaps of small propositions."
"No good to me," Lord Bemish interrupted. "I am a big man—in every sense of the word," he laughed patting his stomach, "and I like big business. What about this estate the Admiral was speaking of yesterday?"
Vaughan shook his head.
"I think he means having that. He would have come to terms before now but he likes to do business his own way, and I must admit that the old lady who owns the estate is one of the crankiest women I ever knew." "It's still open, is it, then?" "Yes, it is still open," the agent admitted, without enthusiasm. "The only thing is, even if I felt at liberty to discuss it with you, you would probably feel the same as I do about it."
"Let us hear the crab," Lord Bemish begged. "You don't commit yourself by talking." "That's right," Vaughan agreed.
"Well, it's a matter of that large property between Eden Roc and the Château. It is really the finest piece of land on the coast and might be worth anything. The owner wants to sell one day, and then she changes her mind. All that she will do is to grant an option provided a price can be agreed on."
"I don't quite follow you," Lord Bemish observed.
"You wouldn't," the other said. "It's an old-fashioned way of doing business. She has still got valuers on the place, you see, and she professes that she had not made up her mind exactly what she wants for it. Well, she will let you have an option for—say a hundred thousand francs. That means we can't sell the estate to anyone else if you are willing to give the price that she ultimately decides upon. Her last price was three million seven hundred thousand francs. Very well. We had an American from Nice who paid the hundred thousand francs and hoped to get the property. The valuers, however, persuaded Madame that the price was too low, and the man got the hundred thousand francs back a few days ago. The only advantage to him was, of course, that she could not sell it to anyone else while he held the option."
"It seems a one-sided sort of arrangement," Lord Bemish reflected.
"I don't know that it is really," Vaughan rejoined. "She knows perfectly well there are half-a-dozen people who would buy it to- morrow. It has not been in her hands for more than six months and there never has been a correct valuation. It will be decided upon the first of the month. Very well—supposing to-day she were willing to sell what she calls an option at a hundred and fifty thousand francs, on the first of next month she will tell you what she wants for the property. If you are willing to buy it at that or any lower price that might be agreed upon, your hundred and fifty thousand francs comes off the purchase price. If you say it is too dear, we give you back the money, and all that you lose is your first chance of purchase." "Suppose you take me over and show me the property," Lord Bemish suggested.
The agent smiled uncomfortably.
"I am afraid I could scarcely do that," he objected. "You see, we have done some very large deals with the Admiral and, although he hates this option business, I honestly believe he would pay to-morrow what the final valuation would come out at. I don't mind telling you, Lord Bemish, that one of the valuers is a friend of mine, and they are not putting it too high. They want the land sold and cleared out of the way. I don't believe the final valuation will be a penny more than three million seven hundred thousand francs, and it is worth—mind you, I know what I am talking about, Lord Bemish—it is worth five millions!" "Well, the Admiral's had his whack," Lord Bemish persisted. "It would do no harm to take me out and show it to me. I don't want a valuer—not at this stage of the proceedings, anyway. I will take your word—your written word, of course—for the number of hectares involved. You show me the land and if I think it is good enough I will give you my cheque for the option straightway."
Mr. Vaughan seemed perplexed.
"I'd sooner do anything than offend the Admiral," he remarked.
"Well, you can think about that after we have been over," Lord Bemish pointed out. "There's no harm in my seeing the property anyway. I will pay you a fee for showing it to me."
Sidney Vaughan closed his Derby desk with a little slam. "All right," he said. "Come on."
LORD BEMISH was at any rate a hard worker. He walked from one end to the other of the great stone wall which divided the estate he had come to visit from the sea—a very solidly built affair without gate or outlet of any sort. He tramped over the kitchen gardens, which were in a moderate state of cultivation, he walked through the pine woods, he studied the somewhat depressed looking flower gardens. He paid particular attention to the small farm and the accommodation for the outside servants. The house itself he went over but dismissed with a grunt.
"Worth what it will fetch to a housebreaker," was his only comment. It was twelve o'clock before he had finished his investigations, by which time Mr. Vaughan was hoarse with answering questions, and thoroughly exhausted. They stood on the broad terrace.
"A fine sea view," Lord Bemish observed.
The agent flinched a little, but said nothing. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
"We have gone quite as far as we need for the day," Lord Bemish decided. "Step, into my car, Mr. Vaughan. We will drive to the hotel." "I should like," Mr. Vaughan admitted fervently, "to go somewhere where we can get a drink!"
"I sympathise with you entirely," the other replied. "My motto always is, though, 'Business First.' We will split a gin and ginger in my room." They drove off to the hotel, where Lord Bemish led the way to his sitting room. He gave an order and produced pen, ink and paper.
"Now, Mr. Vaughan," he said, "I have inspected this property. I gather that you are only prepared to talk business on the very strange terms insisted upon by your client?"
"I ought, at any rate, to ring up the Admiral first," the agent replied, uneasily. "No necessity to do anything of the sort," Lord Bemish rejoined, sharply. "One man's money is as good as another's, I suppose, and the Admiral had his chance. You cannot name a price for the property, so I will consider it on your own terms. What amount do you suggest for what you call the option? It is not, of course, an ordinary option."
"One hundred and fifty thousand francs," Mr. Vaughan said, unwillingly.
"Very well," Lord Bemish proceeded, "I take it that this is the understanding. I give you here a cheque for a hundred and fifty thousand, francs. If the price which your principals put forward to me within the next week or ten days is acceptable to me and I buy the property, that hundred and fifty thousand francs is deducted from the purchase price. If they ask me such a sum that I do not buy, the matter is at an end and the hundred and fifty thousand francs is returned to me. Have I got it rightly?"
"Quite correct," the agent admitted. Lord Bemish wrote out a cheque and handed it across the table. He then wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper.
"The rest is up to you, Mr. Vaughan," he said. "Sign the few lines I have written—you see there exactly your own proposition—give me a receipt for the cheque, finish that bilious-looking drink, and we will go down to Eden Roc and have a swim." Mr. Vaughan did everything he was bidden without enthusiasm.
"I feel you have rather had your own way with me, Lord Bemish," he remarked as he pocketed the cheque. "You are—if you don't mind me saying so—a forceful man. I didn't mean to do this. How I shall face the Admiral I don't know."
Lord Bemish stretched himself out. He was certainly a fine figure of a man.
"We have had our own way of doing business in the City of London," he told the agent.
IT was the same little company who met together for lunch at the Eden Roc some ten days later. This time it was Lord Bemish who was the host. He sat at the head of the table—magnificent in white flannels and white silk shirt open at the throat. He was a dominant, if not altogether a pleasing, figure. On one side of him sat Margaret, on the other Zoë. Both—to all appearances—sufficiently impressed. Admiral Hallidayes and Mr. Vaughan completed the party.
"Any more land speculations, Admiral?" his host asked him, during the progress of the meal.
The Admiral shook his head.
"I have been gardening instead," he confided. "Unselfish work I call it, that—toiling in another man's vineyard. The only deal I was rather anxious to bring to a head was the Everett estate, and my friend Vaughan here seems to have kept off the subject for the last week. What about it, Vaughan? Have you been able to persuade that old woman?" The agent, drank half a glass of wine and summoned up his courage. "There was no need to do that, Admiral. Plenty of people willing to humor her."
"Do you mean that you have been doing business with someone else for that estate?" "My dear fellow, I couldn't help it," Vaughan replied. "The old lady refused to consider any other method of doing business. You hung fire at the option, so I had to look elsewhere. Someone else would have chipped in if I had not."
"Perhaps it would be as well."
Lord Bemish said in his resonant bass voice from the head of the table, "to take the Admiral into our confidence. I have purchased an option, Admiral, upon the Everett Estates for a hundred and fifty thousand."
"The devil you have!" the Admiral exclaimed. "I beg your pardon, Miss Margaret, he went on. "You must, forgive me. I was a little startled."
Mr. Vaughan, plucked up a little courage.
"I regret the necessity, Admiral," he said, "but it had to be done. Mme. Everett would deal on that basis. You would not make up your mind. Every agent on the Riviera is yapping round her."
Admiral Hallidayes sipped his wine and looked depressed. Then he shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know anything about business, Admiral," Margaret said, gently, "but I do not think you ought to blame Mr Vaughan or Lord Bemish. You had the first chance. Mr. Vaughan ran the risk of losing the business altogether if he did not act, and we know what sort of a man Lord Bemish is."
The Admiral sighed,
"I suppose you are right," he admitted. "Lord Bemish, you have—as we say in America —put one over on me! I wish you luck."
Lord Bemish's smile was maddening. Margaret deliberately looked away.
"I have made a fortune by my business habits and methods," Lord Bemish declared. "You have certainly nipped in on me this time," the Admiral confessed. "When is the old lady going to make up her mind, Vaughan?"
"She made up her mind yesterday evening."
"She fixed the price at three million, eight hundred thousand, and at that price," Lord Bemish pronounced, "I have bought."
Margaret looked at him breathlessly. "You have bought the Everett Estates?" she exclaimed.
"I have bought them for three million eight hundred thousand francs," Lord Bemish replied, pompously, "less one hundred and fifty thousand francs which I have already paid as deposit, and less a certain amount of commission," he added, with a smile, "to our friend Mr. Vaughan here. Just a holiday deal, I look upon it as. Nothing tremendous. I may build a villa for myself. I have often thought of it. For a million or a million and a half one could build a very tidy little place on the present site. I should have the advantage, Admiral Hallidayes," he reflected, "of having you for a neighbor."
Admiral Hallidayes filled his glass.
"To show that there is no ill feeling I will drink to the health of our new neighbor."
They all drank to him. Lord Bemish was gracious and impressive. "If I decide to come and live here," he said, I am sure I shall be very happy with such nice people around me. On the other hand," he added, "money talks. I have an idea that if I put the property into the market I might get even as much as five millions. I was looking around early this morning—went out in a motor boat—there is not a property along the coast with such a sea frontage."
There was a silence which anyone else might have thought curious. Margaret was watching a speed-boat passing the rafts. Zoë was bending close over the fig which she was peeling. The Admiral was gazing at the ceiling. Vaughan was fidgeting uneasily in his chair. Lord Bemish re-filled his glass. He drank the Admiral's health.
"No ill feeling, I hope, Admiral?" he said.
"You seem to have got what you deserved out of it, anyway," was the Admiral's gloomy reply.
MARGARET came in from her second bathe the following morning with shining eyes and glowing cheeks. She ascended the stone stops gracefully as usual, but with many a pause to exchange greetings with friends and acquaintances. At the entrance to the bar she closed her light green parasol and wrapped her peignoir of the same color a little more closely around her. She was the cynosure of a good many admiring glances, but there was one man, who had been walking up and down the place, who had other things in his eyes. He stopped her on the way to the dressing-rooms.
"Can I have a word with you, Miss Margaret," he asked, a little brusquely.
She looked at him with upraised eyebrows.
"Certainly you can presently, Lord Bemish," she said. "You don't expect me to sit down like this, do you? I shall only be about 10 minutes." She passed on into the dressing room. Lord Bemish drank a cocktail and looked as though it had violently disagreed with him. He sat down at a remote table near a window and awaited her coming with such patience as he could. It was fully 20 minutes before she emerged from the dressing-rooms, immaculate in wide white silk pyjamas, her eyes and cheeks still aglow. She paused to speak to some friends at the counter, then she made her way to the table before which Lord Bemish was standing.
"You want to give me a cocktail?" she asked sweetly. "Thank you so much. I would rather have tomato juice—may I?"
He muttered an order. She looked at him in some surprise.
"Is it my fancy or are you disturbed," she asked.
"I am disturbed," he replied. "I do not understand these tricks."
"Tell me all about it," she begged. "Only don't look so furious."
"It is about this Everett Estates deal, of course," he said, "and I do not see why not one of you had any thing to say about it at luncheon time. I drove down with my architect this morning and young Vaughan's head man. I went straight to the sea wall to decide what entrances I would have on to the beach, and where to build my harborage."
"Oh, but you can't have any entrance on to the beach," Margaret exclaimed. "You can't build a harborage either. Whatever made you think you could?"
He was silent for a moment. There were a good many words which he contrived to choke back.
"If a man buys an estate in the ordinary way," he said, "he expects that the sea frontage attached to it belongs to him. It seems that there is some underhand work about here. We did our business quickly, I admit. This morning I have seen the original plans. The sea wall seems to bound the property. Someone else," he went on, "who owns a wretched little villa on the right-hand side of that dirty little road by the side of my property owns the frontage all the way down to the other end of my wall."
"Didn't you know that?" Margaret asked.
Again Lord Bemish opened his lips and again he struggled with a stream of profanity. "Do you suppose," he asked, "that I should have been such a damn' fool as to buy even an option on the property if I had. What I must confess did surprise me was to hear that you, Miss Mitchell, own that miserable little villa and its ridiculous rights of frontage."
Margaret nodded brightly.
"I bought it two months ago," she admitted. "I knew the villa was not worth much, but it seemed to me that the frontage was worth quite a great deal of money. Everyone has been doing so well in property here that I thought I might squeeze the price of my holiday out of it."
"What price do you want for the sea frontage?"
"My dear man," she remonstrated, "are these London ways of doing business? Can't you ask me a little more civilly?"
"I find it rather hard to be civil with you!"
Margaret's thoughts travelled suddenly backwards and she laughed in her chair. Lord Bemish met her eyes and clenched his fists.
"Of course I shall go to law about this," he said, "but in the meantime perhaps you would quote your own price."
She sipped the tomato juice which the waiter had just brought. She was looking down the coast.
"Forgive me, Lord Bemish," she said. I was just thinking how wonderful the restaurant at Beaulieu must be looking to-day. What was it you asked me?"
"I asked you to name your price for the sea frontage rights," he said, grimly.
She shook her head, finished her juice, and rose.
"Well," she replied, "I am not going to be hard on you, Lord Bemish. I told you that I wanted to make the price of our holidays—Zoë's and mine—and I don't want to make anything more than that out of you—anything to speak of, that is to say. Of course, there are railway fares and that sort of thing, and those clothes we all have to wear," she went on, dreamily, "look so simple, but they are very expensive. Mr. Vaughan has it all, worked out, if you care to come and see him. You are not obliged to buy the villa. There are two dear old ladies living in it who don't want to be disturbed. The sea frontage, I think, would be cheap at half a million francs."
"A damned expensive holiday," Lord Bemish exclaimed, trying to keep the relief from his tone—Margaret sighed. "Isn't it terrible how expensive everything is nowadays?" she murmured.
LORD DRATTEN began to lose just a little of his robust assurance as his Rolls Royce glided up the ascent from Villefranche, and the white villas of Beaulieu became visible on the hillside. It was an enterprise indeed, this to which he was committed! Never had he known his companion more charming, never had she seemed to him more utterly desirable. That she was beautiful he, in common with the rest of the crowd at the Cap d'Antibes, had always known. That she had charm, the whole world recognised, a charm which even he, a coarse-fibred person, had felt from the first moment he had ever spoken to her. But this morning it seemed to him that he had discovered a new attraction. The courtesy which she owed him as her prospective host had seemed to him tinged with a delightful savour of coquetry, a personal and wholly inspiring thing. There had been times previously when her aloofness had damped his ardour. This morning his confidence was in a measure re-established. Yet, as they slackened speed, and the car swung through the tall, iron gates leading down to the Réserve, he was conscious once more of a most unaccustomed quiver of nervousness. He had just sensibility enough to realise that there was something about his companion which placed her quite apart from the women whom he had known and trifled with. He had to recall an old club aphorism to restore his confidence. "All women are alike au fond"! Of course they were!
Caroline gave a little cry of delight as she caught sight of the low, picturesque restaurant, with its setting of brilliantly hued flowers, quaint statuary, well-trimmed trees and shrubs. Through the windows were opaque visions of the sea, flawlessly blue.
"How delightful!" she exclaimed, "I never saw such an enchanting place in my life. How good of you to bring me!"
Lord Dratten smiled,—a smile which somehow gave the impression that he believed himself to be the only man in the world who would have thought of taking her to the Réserve at Beaulieu, and the only man in the world generous enough to invite a guest there. He was a fine fellow in his way. Six foot three, with bulky shoulders, large body, head with a mass of brown hair, features not perhaps so good. There had been some of the young set at Antibes who had called him "a bumptious old ass," and there were certainly one or two who, in spite of his financial success, had found him stupid. Caroline herself, notwithstanding her good manners, had been wondering half the time during their drive why she had accepted his invitation. The car came to a standstill in the gardens, but some distance from the restaurant. A smiling commissionaire in brilliant scarlet livery threw open the door of the vehicle with a flourish, and Lord Dratten swung his large and somewhat clumsy body out on to the avenue. Caroline accepted his hand and alighted gracefully.
"Why do we stop here?" she asked, as soon as her escort had finished giving directions to the chauffeur.
Lord Dratten was not at his best. Caroline's question was so direct, her innocence so transparent. He coughed and glanced at the commissionaire, who stepped on one side, as though inviting them to enter.
"The fact of it is, my dear Miss Caroline," he confided, in a pompous whisper, "the best class of people—er—don't frequent the restaurant.... I wondered whether you would not be more comfortable—er—over here. Very pleasant rooms—all to ourselves, you know! Good service! None of that beastly music!"
Caroline had already removed her foot from the threshold of the hotel. She was genuinely taken by surprise, but she understood. Yet, neither by word nor by any change in her expression did she betray the fact.
"Oh, I don't think so," she exclaimed. "It seems so dull in here and I think the restaurant looks most attractive. I love the music too. Do you mind?"
She was beckoning him to follow her, already a yard or two away on the avenue, and apparently fascinated by the pool in which a small shoal of melancholy fish were endeavouring to forget their predestined end. Lord Dratten did mind very much indeed, for he had made a special journey over to be sure of getting his favourite suite, had whispered a word into the ear of his accustomed waiter, and had, in short, made all his arrangements with the care and completeness of the accomplished boulevardier. Apart from his own natural disappointment, he was conscious of the covertly smiling faces of the commissionaire and the maître d'hôtel. His vanity was hurt. Caroline, however, was already on her cheerful way to the restaurant and affected not to notice his discomfiture.
"I am dying for a cocktail," she confided, "and the bar looks too divine. How kind of you to bring me to such a charming place!"
Lord Dratten made his last effort, when the restaurant maître d'hôtel had temporarily deserted them at the bar, to enquire whether a sufficient number of the succulent mesdemoiselles of Beaulieu could be collected for the luncheon of two hungry people. He leaned towards his companion in his best Lothario-like manner.
"Stuffy-looking lot of people down here, don't you think?" he whispered disparagingly.
"Oh, I think everything here is delightful," Caroline declared with enthusiasm. "And what a view!"
"Better from the little room I had chosen," he insinuated, with a wave of the hand backwards. "All to ourselves, too! Just the same luncheon. Shall I tell them to serve it there?"
Caroline remained extraordinarily dense.
"Sweet of you to think of it," she rejoined, "but I adore this room, and the chef d'orchestre and I are great friends. I know I shall enjoy the music."
The maître d'hôtel brought good news concerning the mesdemoiselles of Beaulieu and Caroline followed him to the table. Lord Dratten tried to console himself with the obvious fact that he was entertaining the best-looking and most chic young woman in the place, and was consequently the most envied man there. The fact soothed his vanity, but nothing could have made him other than a dull companion. He talked in a loud voice, mostly about himself and his doings, and complained without cause when he dared. By the time the large bottle of brandy arrived, he had almost recovered his good humour and was prepared to play his trump card.
"By the by," he said, leaning confidentially across the table, "you won't mind having just a look at Monte Carlo after luncheon? I want to see my bankers there and we might have an hour at the tables afterwards. I keep a dinner suit at the Paris—sometimes stay the night there. Bit of a change. What do you say?"
Caroline sighed and shook her head.
"I am so sorry," she told him. "I have a dressmaker coming over from Cannes at four o'clock and an early cocktail party. Besides, I was at Monte yesterday and I am going again to-morrow. One can have too much of a good thing, can't one?... May I have another cup of this delicious coffee?"
This time Lord Dratten failed to hide his annoyance. He was distinctly angry. The girl had no right—it seemed almost as though she were trifling with him!
"Sorry," he persisted gruffly, "I am afraid I shall have to call there for an hour or so. I thought you understood that."
Her amiability was unruffled.
"But what does it matter?" she protested. "Maître d'hôtel," she went on, addressing one of the head waiters who had scarcely left her elbow, "can you get me a taxicab to go to Antibes?"
"Mais parfaitement, Madame," the man replied promptly. "There is one who waits now. I go to secure him."
He bustled off.
Lord Dratten, who understood no French, leaned across the table with frowning face.
"What's all that about?" he demanded.
"Everything is arranged," she assured him. "My taxicab is waiting now. So I think, dear Lord Dratten, if you will excuse me," she went on, closing her vanity case and rising to her feet, "I had better take advantage of its being here. Such a delicious luncheon, and so many thanks. Now I insist upon it that you do not get up. You must finish your brandy comfortably. We shall meet again this evening. Au revoir."
She was gone with a little wave of the hand, profusely escorted by the patron, the chef d'orchestre and two or three maîtres d'hôtel. She was already through the door at the further end of the room and stepping into the taxicab before Lord Dratten had fully recovered himself. He expressed his feelings in two different ways: he helped himself to a double liqueur brandy from the big bottle, held his glass critically in front of him, and he uttered one single but heartfelt expletive—
"Damn!"
LORD DRATTEN'S waistcoat was joyously uplifted, for the food and wine at Caroline's return luncheon party about a week later had both been of the best. There was a flush upon his cheeks, a moistness in his eyes. More than ever he regretted that his little escapade with her had not been a complete success. Few women whom he knew could have ordered a luncheon or wines like that. She was so excellent a hostess that she ventured to call to order two of her guests.
"Commodore," she remonstrated, "you and Mr. Crowhurst are talking business far too much. Lord Dratten and I, and Zoë too," she added, with a glance at the girl who was seated on his other side, "are feeling neglected."
The Commodore broke off abruptly in his conversation. A piece of paper, upon which he had been making figures, he thrust into his pocket.
"My profound apologies, dear hostess," he said. "I am afraid that for a minute or two I got led away upon my hobby."
Caroline nodded her forgiveness.
"Commodore Jasen," she explained to her guest of honour, "although he is a very wealthy man, is like all Americans. Money- making is his sport. He cannot keep away from it."
"Do you follow the market out here?" Lord Dratten asked.
The Commodore looked shocked.
"I never gamble," he said.
"The Commodore," Mr. Crowhurst intervened, "has been one of my best clients, and one of my most successful ones in buying land out here."
"As to being successful," Jasen observed, "I am afraid no one could claim any credit for that during the last two years. Whatever odd bit of land you bought you made money on."
"Seems like a fairy tale," Crowhurst observed, toying with his pencil. "I have one client—sha'n't mention his name—who settled down here with a pension. Quite hard up he was. Couldn't even play his little game of chemin de fer, and owned a motor bicycle and sidecar. Some one left him fifty thousand francs. That's every penny he had when he came into my office about eighteen months ago. He was a shrewd fellow, I must say that for him, but apart from that, he acted nearly the whole of the time upon our advice. To-day he is worth at least five millions, he has built himself a beautiful villa and he drives a Lancia car. If he had held on to his properties, he would have been worth to-day at least twice as much, in three years' time three times as much."
Lord Dratten was sitting up in his chair. There was a curious light in his eyes, which were no longer moist. He was listening intently to every word.
"A wonderful boom down here, must have been," he observed, with clumsily affected indifference. "All over now, I suppose, though?"
The land agent smiled in superior fashion.
"That's how I like to hear people talk," he admitted. "Keeps the prices from soaring too much. As this is not a gathering of business people, I don't mind telling you what my real opinion is. There's a hundred per cent. rise to be looked for in practically every plot of land from Fréjus to Nice, and in this immediate vicinity I would venture to put it at two hundred per cent. The figures of the last two years' transactions would pretty near send any one crazy, and to-day, if any one comes to us for land, or what we call a Number One class villa, we have scarcely a thing to show to them."
"After all, I am not sure that it is to be wondered at," the Commodore reflected. "Where in the world could you find a climate like this, so many beautiful casinos, golf clubs, bathing spots—everything for a man's enjoyment—so much civilisation and such an environment? It was just a question of finding out what the summer was really like here, one or two of the hotels keeping open, and the man at the back of Juan Casino having the foresight to see what was coming. My dear Caroline," he added, rising to his feet, "I am afraid I must excuse myself. My architect is coming to see me this afternoon. I happen to know that the builder made half a million francs out of the villas on the last plot of land I sold him, so I am thinking of turning greedy and building myself, this time. After all, it is rather amusing, and one must have some occupation."
"What about the Everett property?" Crowhurst asked.
The Commodore hesitated.
"I am more than half inclined to go for it," he admitted. "I know the money's there. It isn't that at all. I don't like options, though. I'd be more willing to give the four millions straight out if your client really wants to deal."
"You will get it for that in the long run," the other argued.
The Commodore stood irresolute.
"Courage," Caroline called out.
"What are four millions?" Zoë exclaimed, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Think what you have made!"
For a moment it seemed as though the Commodore had made up his mind. Then apparently he changed it.
"I will let you know in a day or two, Crowhurst," he promised. "After all, I must not be greedy. I made several enemies, I am afraid, by buying the Michael's property. A wonderful luncheon, Miss Loyd, and—as usual—a perfect hostess!"
He took his leave. The others resumed their seats for a few moments. Lord Dratten's eyes, although they seemed to have become smaller, were certainly brighter. He thrust his hands into his trousers pockets.
"Reminds me of old days," he remarked. "I have been in a few land booms in my time. Done some wonderful deals, too. Bought a bit of land in the city once. When I bid, I never reckoned out what it would come to—it was some thirty pounds a foot. Bought it unexpectedly one day after lunch and had to find four hundred thousand pounds the next day."
"Wonderful!" Caroline murmured.
"It is very romantic," Zoë declared. "I like to hear how rich, clever men make money."
Lord Dratten helped himself to another cigar. He leaned back in his chair.
"Well," he said, "that is one thing that women have not taken away from us yet. They may write books and paint pictures and go into the House of Commons, but they have not yet learned how to put a big business deal through. They have not even found their way on to the Stock Exchange," he added, with a chuckle.... "So there has been a lot of money made round here, Mr. Crowhurst?"
"A great deal," the latter agreed, "and there will be a great deal more. Five years ago my father and I and an office boy ran our place. To-day we have nine clerks, our own salaried architect, three typists, and two men with motor cars continually going up and down the coast, and even now we are short- handed."
"What are your business hours—your own, I mean?" Lord Dratten asked, with well-assumed carelessness. "Supposing I wanted to come in about renting a villa or something, when should I be likely to find you?"
"The only certainty," was the dubious reply, "would be between nine and ten in the morning, and five and six at night. I am run off my legs most of the rest of the time. As regards a villa, though, we have an excellent staff who might be able to fix you up."
"I prefer to deal with principals," Lord Dratten boomed. "As a rule, when I buy or sell or hire, there is big business in it."
"Ring up and make an appointment," Mr. Crowhurst suggested, as he bent over his hostess' hand. "A wonderful luncheon, Miss Loyd. I have enjoyed it thoroughly. I should not hurry away either—I am just as well out of the office these days—but my wife wants the boat. Come across you again, I hope, Lord Dratten."
The latter nodded.
"I might decide to have a flutter in land," he said thoughtfully. "If so I will look you up."
Jonathan Crowhurst knew his man, and he was not surprised when, at a quarter to ten the following morning, Lord Dratten was shown into his office.
"What can I do for your lordship?" he asked briskly. "I can see we are in for a busy day. Hear those telephones ringing? One would think half the inhabitants of the United States had made up their minds to leave their own markets alone for a bit and do a little solid speculation!"
Lord Dratten accepted a cigarette.
"Well," he said, "I am a wealthy man, you know, Mr. Crowhurst. No one likes to have too much idle money. I have some just now. Have you anything to suggest?"
Mr. Crowhurst did not appear to be enthusiastic.
"In a week or two's time I may have," he said. "I believe the Biot lands will be on the market then, and we can commence doing business. Just at present I should scarcely know what to put you on to. Of course there are heaps of small propositions."
"No good to me," Lord Dratten interrupted. "I am a big man—in every sense of the word," he laughed, patting his stomach, "and I like big business. What about this estate the Commodore was speaking of yesterday?"
Crowhurst shook his head.
"I think he means having that. He would have come to terms before now, but he likes to do business his own way, and I must admit that the old lady who owns the estate is one of the crankiest women I ever knew."
"It's still open, is it, then?"
"Yes, it is still open," the agent admitted, without enthusiasm. "The only thing is, even if I felt at liberty to discuss it with you, you would probably feel the same as I do about it."
"Let us hear the crab," Lord Dratten begged. "You don't commit yourself to anything by talking about it."
"That's right," Crowhurst agreed. "Well, it's a matter of that large property between Eden Roc and the Château. It is really the finest piece of land on the coast and might be worth anything. The owner wants to sell one day, and then she changes her mind. All that she will do is to grant an option, provided a price can be agreed on."
"I don't quite follow you," Lord Dratten observed.
"You would not," the other said. "It's an old-fashioned way of doing business. She has still got valuers on the place, you see, and she professes that she has not made up her mind exactly what she wants for it. Well, she will let you have an option for—say a hundred thousand francs. That means we can't sell the estate to any one else if you are willing to give the price that she ultimately decides upon. Her last price was two million, seven hundred thousand francs. Very well. We had an American from Nice who paid the hundred thousand francs and hoped to get the property. The valuers, however, persuaded Madame that the price was too low, and the man got the hundred thousand francs back a few days ago. The only advantage to him was, of course, that she could not sell it to any one else while he held the option."
"It seems a one-sided sort of arrangement," Lord Dratten reflected.
"I don't know that it is, really," Crowhurst rejoined. "She knows perfectly well there are half a dozen people who would buy it to-morrow. It has not been in her hands for more than a month or two and there never has been a correct valuation. It will be decided upon the first of the month. Very well—supposing to-day she were willing to sell you what she calls an option at a hundred and fifty thousand francs, on the first of next month she will tell you what she wants for the property. If you are willing to buy it at that or any lower price that might be agreed upon, your hundred and fifty thousand francs comes off the purchase price. If you say it is too dear, we give you back the money, and all that you lose is your first chance of purchase."
"Supposing you take me over and show me the property," Lord Dratten suggested.
The agent smiled uncomfortably.
"I am afraid I could scarcely do that," he objected. "You see, we have done some very large deals with the Commodore, and, although he hates this option business, I honestly believe he would pay to-morrow what the final valuation would come out at. I don't mind telling you, Lord Dratten, that one of the valuers is a friend of mine, and they are not putting it too high. They want the land sold and cleared out of the way. I don't believe the final valuation will be a penny more than three million, seven hundred thousand francs, and it is worth—mind you, I know what I am talking about, Lord Dratten—it is worth five millions of any one's money!"
"Well, the Commodore's had his whack," Lord Dratten persisted. "It would do no harm to take me out and show it to me. I don't want a valuer—not at this stage of the proceedings, anyway. I will take your word—your written word, of course—for the number of hectares involved. You show me the land and, if I think it is good enough, I will give you my cheque for the amount of the option straight away."
Mr. Crowhurst seemed terribly perplexed.
"I'd sooner do anything than offend the Commodore," he remarked.
"Well, you can think about that after we have been over," Lord Dratten pointed out. "There's no harm in my seeing the property, anyway. I will pay you a fee for showing it to me."
Jonathan Crowhurst closed his Derby desk with a little slam.
"All right," he said. "Come on. I feel like a little fresh air this morning, anyway."
LORD DRATTEN was at any rate a hard worker. He walked from one end to the other of the great stone wall which divided the estate he had come to visit from the sea—a very solidly built affair without gate or outlet of any sort. He tramped over the kitchen gardens, which were in a moderate state of cultivation, he walked through the pine woods, he studied the somewhat depressed-looking flower gardens. He paid particular attention to the small farm and the accommodation for the outside servants. The house itself he went over, but dismissed with a grunt.
"Worth what it will fetch to a housebreaker," was his only comment.
It was twelve o'clock before he had finished his investigations, by which time Mr. Crowhurst was hoarse with answering questions and thoroughly exhausted. They stood on the broad terrace and looked out across the Mediterranean.
"A fine sea view," Lord Dratten observed.
The agent flinched a little but said nothing. He was busy wiping the perspiration from his forehead.
"We have gone quite as far as we need for the day," Lord Dratten decided. "Step into my car, Mr. Crowhurst. We will drive to the hotel."
"I should like," Mr. Crowhurst admitted fervently, "to go somewhere where we can get a drink!"
"I sympathise with you entirety," the other replied. "My motto, though, always is 'Business First.' We will split a gin and ginger in my room."
They drove off to the hotel, where Lord Dratten led the way to his sitting room. He gave an order to the waiter and produced pen, ink and paper.
"Now, Mr. Crowhurst," he said, "I have inspected this property. I gather that you are only prepared to talk business on the very strange terms insisted upon by your client?"
"I ought not to talk business at all," the agent replied uneasily. "I ought, at any rate, to ring up the Commodore first."
"No necessity to do anything of the sort," Lord Dratten rejoined sharply. "One man's money is as good as another's, I suppose, and the Commodore had his chance. You cannot name a price for the property, so I will consider it on your own terms. What amount do you suggest for what you call the option? It is not, of course, an ordinary option at all."
"One hundred and fifty thousand francs," Mr. Crowhurst said unwillingly.
"Very well," Lord Dratten proceeded, "I take it that this is the understanding. I give you here a cheque for a hundred and fifty thousand francs. If the price which your principals put forward to me within the next week or ten days is acceptable to me, and I buy the property, that hundred and fifty thousand francs is deducted from the purchase price. If they ask me such a sum that I do not buy, the matter is at an end and the hundred and fifty thousand francs is returned to me. Have I got it rightly?"
"Quite correct," the agent admitted.
Lord Dratten wrote out the cheque and handed it across the table. He then wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper and passed it over to the agent.
"The rest is up to you, Mr. Crowhurst," he said. "Sign the few lines I have written—you see there exactly your own proposition—give me a receipt for the cheque, finish that bilious-looking drink, and we will go down to Eden Roc and have a swim."
Mr. Crowhurst did everything that he was bidden without enthusiasm.
"I feel you have rather had your own way with me, Lord Dratten," he remarked, as he pocketed the cheque. "You are—if you don't mind my saying so—a forceful man. I didn't mean to do this. How I shall face the Commodore, I don't know."
Lord Dratten stretched himself out. He was certainly a fine figure of a man.
"We have our own way of doing business in the City of London," he told the agent.
IT was the same little company who met together for lunch at the Eden Roc some ten days later. This time it was Lord Dratten who was the host. He sat at the head of the table—magnificent in white flannels and white silk shirt open at the throat. He was a dominant, if not altogether a pleasing figure. On one side of him sat Caroline, on the other Zoë. Both—to all appearance—sufficiently impressed. Commodore Jasen and Mr. Crowhurst completed the party.
"Any more land speculations, Commodore?" his host asked him, during the progress of the meal.
The Commodore shook his head.
"I have been gardening instead," he confided. "Unselfish work I call it that—toiling in another man's vineyard. The only deal I was rather anxious to bring to a head was the Everett estate, and my friend Crowhurst here seems to have kept off the subject for the last week. What about it, Crowhurst? Have you been able to persuade that old woman out of her ridiculous option scheme?"
The agent drank half a glass of wine and summoned up his courage.
"There was no need to do that, Commodore. Plenty of other people willing to humour her."
"Do you mean that you have been doing business with some one else for that estate?" the Commodore asked with uplifted eyebrows.
"My dear fellow, I couldn't help it," Crowhurst replied. "The old lady refused to consider any other method of doing business. She wanted to keep the thing going as long as she could, before she named a definite price. You hung fire at the option, so I had no alternative but to look elsewhere. Some one else would have chipped in if I had not."
"Perhaps it would be as well," Lord Dratten said, in his resonant bass voice from the head of the table, "to take the Commodore into our confidence. I have purchased an option, Commodore, upon the Everett Estates for a hundred and fifty thousand francs."
"The devil you have!" the Commodore exclaimed. "I beg your pardon, Miss Caroline," he went on. "You must forgive me. I was a little startled. I had no idea that the property was being offered elsewhere."
Mr. Crowhurst plucked up a little courage.
"I regret the necessity, Commodore," he said, "but it had to be done. Madame Everett would deal on that basis. You would not make up your mind. Every agent on the Riviera is yapping round her villa all day. I had to go ahead."
Commodore Jasen sipped his wine and for a moment or two looked very depressed. Then he shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know anything about business, Commodore," Caroline said gently, "but I do not think you ought to blame Mr. Crowhurst or Lord Dratten. You had the first chance. Mr. Crowhurst ran the risk of losing the business altogether if he did not act and we know what sort of a man Lord Dratten is."
The Commodore sighed.
"I suppose you are right," he admitted. "Lord Dratten, you have—as we say in America—put one over on me! I wish you luck!"
Lord Dratten's smile was maddening. Caroline deliberately looked away.
"I have made a fortune by my business habits and methods," Lord Dratten declared. "Every one in the city of London knows that when I am interested, there is something doing. No one can say that I have ever been guilty of anything like sharp practice, or that I have taken advantage of a friend, but on the other hand I do not think you would find any one able to boast that he got the better of me in a business deal."
"You have certainly nipped in on me this time," the Commodore confessed. "When is the old lady going to make up her mind, Crowhurst?"
"She made up her mind yesterday evening," the latter replied. "She fixed the price at three millions eight hundred thousand, and at that price Lord Dratten pronounced—'I have bought.'"
Caroline looked at him breathlessly.
"You have bought the Everett Estates?" she exclaimed.
"I have bought them for three millions, eight hundred thousand francs," Lord Dratten replied pompously, "less one hundred and fifty thousand francs which I have already paid as deposit, and less a certain amount of commission," he added, with a smile, "to our friend Mr. Crowhurst here. Just a holiday deal, I look upon it as. Nothing tremendous. Just something to keep one's hand in. As soon as the papers are made out, I shall pay over my cheque and decide what to do with the property. I may build a villa for myself. I have often thought of it. For a million or a million and a half, one could build a very tidy little place on the present site. I should have the advantage, Commodore Jasen," he reflected, "of having you for a neighbour."
Commodore Jasen filled his glass and pushed the bottle across the table.
"To show that there is no ill feeling, I will drink to the health of our new neighbour."
They all drank to him. Lord Dratten was gracious and impressive.
"If I decide to come and live here," he said, "I am sure I shall be very happy with such nice people around me. On the other hand," he added, "money talks. I have an idea that if I put the property into the market, I might get even as much as five millions. I was looking around early this morning—went out in a motor boat—there is not a property along the coast with such a sea frontage."
There was a silence which any one else might have thought curious. Caroline was watching a speed boat passing the rafts. Zoë was bending close over the fig which she was peeling. The Commodore was gazing up at the ceiling. Crowhurst was fidgeting uneasily in his chair. Lord Dratten refilled his glass. He drank the Commodore's health.
"No ill feeling, I hope, Commodore?" he said. "This option business is not so bad after all, eh?"
"You seem to have got what you deserved out of it, anyway," was the Commodore's gloomy reply.
CAROLINE came in from her second bathe the following morning with shining eyes and glowing cheeks. She ascended the stone steps gracefully as usual, but with many a pause to exchange greetings with friends and acquaintances. At the entrance to the bar she closed her light green parasol and wrapped her peignoir of the same colour a little more closely around her. She was the cynosure of a good many admiring glances, but there was one man, who had been walking up and down the place, who had other things in his eyes. He stopped her on the way to the dressing rooms.
"Can I have a word with you, Miss Loyd?" he asked a little brusquely.
She looked at him with upraised eyebrows.
"Certainly you can presently, Lord Dratten," she said. "You don't expect me to sit down like this, do you? I shall only be about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour."
She passed on into the dressing rooms. Lord Dratten drunk a cocktail and looked as though it had violently disagreed with him. He sat down at a remote table near a window and awaited her coming with such patience as he could. It was fully twenty minutes before she emerged from the dressing rooms, immaculate in wide white silk pyjamas, her eyes and cheeks still aglow. She paused to speak to some friends at the counter, then she made her way to the table before which Lord Dratten was standing.
"You want to give me a cocktail?" she asked sweetly. "Thank you so much. I would rather have tomato juice—may I?"
He muttered an order. She looked at him in some surprise.
"Is it my fancy, or are you a little disturbed this morning?" she asked.
"I am disturbed," he replied. "I do not understand these tricks."
"Tell me all about it," she begged. "Only don't look so furious."
"It is about this Everett Estates deal, of course," he said, "and I don't see why not one of you had anything to say about it at luncheon time. I drove down with my architect this morning and young Crowhurst's head man. I went straight to the sea wall to decide what entrances I would have on to the beach and where to build my harbourage."
"Oh, but you can't have any entrances on to the beach," Caroline exclaimed. "You can't build a harbourage either. Whatever made you think you could?"
He was silent for a moment. There were a good many words which he contrived to choke back.
"If a man buys an estate in an ordinary way," he said, "he expects that the sea frontage attached to it belongs also to him. It seems that there is some underhand work about here. We did our business quickly, I admit, and all verification of the plans was naturally to come when I paid the deposit for the purchase money. But only buying an option, I just looked around and took things as they stood or seemed to stand. This morning I have seen the original plans. The sea wall seems to bound the property. Some one else," he went on, "who owns a wretched little villa on the right-hand side of that dirty little road by the side of my property, owns the frontage all the way down to the other end of my wall."
"Didn't you know that?" Caroline asked.
Again Lord Dratten opened his lips and again he struggled with a stream of profanity.
"Do you suppose," he asked, "that I should have been such a damn' fool as to buy even an option on the property, if I had? What I must confess did surprise me was to hear that you, Miss Loyd, own that miserable little villa and its ridiculous rights of frontage."
Caroline nodded brightly.
"I bought it two months ago," she admitted. "I knew the villa was not worth much, but it seemed to me that the frontage was worth quite a great deal of money. Every one has been doing so well in property here, I thought this was my chance."
"What price do you want for the sea frontage?" Lord Dratten asked brusquely.
"My dear man," she remonstrated, "are these London ways of doing business? Can't you ask me a little more civilly?"
"I find it rather hard to be civil with you," he confessed.
Caroline's thoughts travelled suddenly backwards and she laughed in her chair. Lord Dratten met her eyes and clenched his fists. He knew very well what she was laughing at.
"Of course I shall go to law about this," he said, "but in the meantime perhaps you would quote your own price."
She sipped the tomato juice which the waiter had just brought. She was looking down the coast with reminiscent eyes.
"Forgive me, Lord Dratten," she said. "I was just thinking how wonderful the restaurant at Beaulieu must be looking to-day. What was it you asked me?"
"I asked you to name your price for the sea-frontage rights to the Everett Estates," he said grimly.
She shook her head, finished her tomato juice and rose.
"My dear man," she said, "they are not for sale."