Chapter IX: In Which a Cultivated Young Man Is Given an Agreeable Task

Arthur Wharton was Lord Ealing's nephew. Lady Mary Paull had married beneath her--a successful novelist who had somehow found his way into society. She had lived to repent her error, for the novelist did not reproduce in his private life the amiable characteristics of his heroes. Then she had died, when Arthur was eighteen. He was an only child. His father resided in Capri, and made him a small allowance; but they did not meet.

Arthur had been sent to Winchester, and thence had gone to Balliol. There he had worked, not too ostentatiously, and had also enjoyed himself in a quiet way. He carried off enough University distinctions, but not too many; took a first in "Greats," and got elected to a Fellowship at All Souls, that remarkable college where dons are plentiful, but there are no undergraduates, except a Bible Clerk or two to read the lessons. He had never meant to become a don, in the proper sense of the term. He did not want, he would say, to shut himself up in a box. But a Fellowship at All Souls involved no duties. It was a pleasant sinecure, conferring the use of an excellent residential club, and an unimpeachable introduction to the great men--from the Prime Minister and the Archbishop downwards--who, as old Fellows, came down for an occasional week-end.

Arthur had a year of All Souls. By then its pleasures had begun to cloy. He became conscious of a desire to do things--a desire not to be satisfied by running inquisitively about Europe during vacations. He thought of his uncle, who, he knew, had a good opinion of him. One night, on impulse, stimulated perhaps by the dangerous properties of the All Souls old ale, he wrote to Lord Ealing and asked for a job in the Anglo-Asiatic. He half repented the next morning; but the letter had gone.

It was, indeed, rather odd behaviour on his part, for he had been a member--not very active--of the University Labour Club, and had professed vast scorn for business and the business man. But on the night when he wrote, that old ass, Wilbertson, had really fed him up. Wilbertson, the All Souls bore, had discoursed on the benefits of the academic life, the superiority of pure thought over action, the contaminating influence on thought of all attempts to act. The philosophers, he had said, must not be kings: it would spoil their philosophy. Arthur had listened politely. Then he had gone upstairs, and written to Lord Ealing. He had felt all of a sudden the supreme futility of Oxford.

So here, a year later, we find him, fully established in the great offices of the Anglo-Asiatic in Kingsway. Not very contented indeed; for he has come to the conclusion that his uncle's business is quite as futile as Oxford, and a good deal more dangerous than old Wilbertson's maunderings. Still, it is sometimes amusing, and he rather likes seeing the thing from the inside. So he has kept his criticisms to himself, and worked hard to learn his job, doing efficiently whatever he is told to do, and building up a sound reputation for keenness and ability. Little Mr. Benjamin perhaps has his doubts about him; for Mr. Benjamin is an acute observer. But Lord Ealing, with no cause to watch him closely, has been well satisfied so far, and sees in him a promising recruit to the select number of financiers who are also gentlemen. Lord Ealing is fond of his nephew, and of saying that he has inherited the family brains. His other nephews certainly have not, and, as Lord Ealing is a bachelor--well, Arthur will be wise to go on behaving, and to lock up in his own mind his unfavourable comments on the honour of modern business. Who knows but he may inherit something more than brains, if he minds his P's and Q's?

Lord Ealing introduced Arthur to Franklin and explained briefly what he wanted. Arthur might know--Arthur did--that the Anglo-Asiatic had a big deal in contemplation with an American named Hugh Radlett. But he might not have heard--Arthur had not--that Radlett had been murdered during the night by Bolsheviks at his hotel in London. This was on the eve of his signing the necessary agreement with the Anglo-Asiatic for a joint concession in Asiatic Russia. A sad business. Radlett, however, had a partner, one John Pasquett, and it was vital that he should come to London in order to carry through the deal. His whereabouts were not certainly known; but there was some reason to believe that he was in Warsaw. If so, it ought not to be difficult to find him. Even if he could not be found at one of the big hotels, either the American or the British Consulate would probably know if he was still in the city. It was so urgent that, as the Anglo-Asiatic had not an agent in Warsaw, Lord Ealing wanted Arthur to go out at once, by the quickest possible route, and bring Pasquett back. He would give him a letter for Pasquett explaining the affair, and Mr. Franklin also wished, as Radlett's lawyer, to send Pasquett a letter. He must also impress on Pasquett the vital importance of saying nothing, and making no move in relation to the concession, until he had seen Lord Ealing. He _must_ see him first, on his arrival.

Arthur asked what he should do if Pasquett was not at Warsaw. Lord Ealing said that, if he could find no trace of him, he should wire back to that effect at once and then come home. If Pasquett had been there, but had left, he should follow him, if it proved possible to get on his track. The main thing was to bring him to Paris quickly. There Lord Ealing would arrange to meet him, and talk the position over fully before he committed himself in any way.

Arthur Wharton at once accepted the commission. It promised to be a pleasant change from the routine of office work in Kingsway. He had formed a very good idea of the reasons for his uncle's anxiety. Though Lord Ealing said nothing to him of the Anglo-Asiatic's pressing troubles, he was well enough aware of them, and quite conscious of the effect likely to be produced in the share market by the news of Radlett's death. If the concession fell through, he quite realised that the Anglo-Asiatic would be in a tight corner, and his job not worth a month's purchase. Well, it did not matter much to him. He had enough to live on, in any case, and he could easily make a bit more by writing for the papers. But the consciousness of the threat to the Anglo-Asiatic's survival lent a spice of adventure to his mission, otherwise humdrum enough. After lunching with Lord Ealing at his club, he set off to make his preparations for the journey. He was to come back to the office at four o'clock for his uncle's and Mr. Franklin's letters. Then--Warsaw--and what else? Who could say? A jaunt in an aeroplane at least was certain, and Arthur liked aeroplanes.