Chapter XXVIII: Treats of Conduct Most Unbecoming in a Nephew

At the very moment when Mr. Culpepper was confronted with Rosenbaum, Arthur Wharton was in the middle of a very serious conversation with his uncle. Immediately after his conversation with Pasquett, in which he had expressed his determination, Arthur had sent off a long coded message to his uncle, telling in outline the mysterious discoveries he had made, expressing his grave doubts of "Pasquett's" identity, and announcing that he and "Pasquett" were returning immediately to England, where the latter had promised to produce incontestable proofs of his bona fides. He was writing, he said, with Pasquett's full knowledge and approval, and Pasquett's readiness to come back with him to England appeared to show sincerity. But the facts that had come to light in Siberia seemed to prove beyond dispute that the real Pasquett was dead, and he--Arthur--was no longer prepared to trust his own judgment, influenced as it was by his affection for Pasquett. The thing, he said, must be cleared up thoroughly; but in view of the big capital commitments into which the Anglo-Asiatic was entering, and of the fact that, if "Pasquett" was not Pasquett, the whole concession would be void, he had thought it incumbent on him to inform Lord Ealing at once. A short enclosure from Pasquett only said that Arthur was mistaken, and asked Lord Ealing to take no action till the writer had met him.

How Lord Ealing received this message we are not privileged to know, but we may safely conjecture that it disturbed him seriously. He would be ruined now in real earnest if the concession fell through; for, confident of its overwhelming success, he had "put his shirt on it," as the phrase goes. So, it appeared, had the investing public. The shares of the Anglo-Asiatic and the new company boomed and boomed, and Lord Ealing was well aware that failure now, especially accompanied by revelations of a swindle, would be his ruin politically as well as financially. The furious investors would revenge themselves upon him, even if he was not the swindler.

We can only conjecture at Lord Ealing's sensations when he read Arthur's message. But this we can say positively: he mentioned not a word of the matter to any living soul. And we happen to know that he sold out just enough of his shares in the new company to assure himself of a competence if anything did go badly wrong. The proceeds he invested carefully abroad, under an assumed name and through Mr. Franklin, but he did not tell even his solicitor why he was taking this step. This done, he awaited the arrival of his nephew and John Pasquett with such patience as he could muster. The doubt about Pasquett's bona fides was the more annoying, because the Government might fall at any moment, and Lord Ealing had confidently looked for a high post in its successor, unless some most untoward accident occurred. The breakdown of the concession would be such an accident. It would blast all his hopes, alike of fortune and of office.

Meanwhile, the two men travelled fast from Siberia to England, making the greater part of the journey by aeroplane. In Paris they stopped a day, for Pasquett said he hoped to find there certain friends who had known him in America in the old days, and would be prepared to swear to his identity. But his friends' apartment was shut up, and he could get no word of their whereabouts. Arthur wired from Paris announcing his arrival to Lord Ealing, and saying that he would come to see him on the following day.

When Pasquett failed to find his old friends, Arthur had decided to go straight on to London. He could not, he felt, do otherwise than see Lord Ealing at once. Pasquett, on the other hand, said he would go on to the Culpeppers' house at Paramé, both to fetch certain important papers and because they would be certain to know where his friends could be found. The two men therefore parted, not without a thought on Arthur's part that, if Jack was not really Pasquett, he was giving him a good chance of disappearing. He would not become partner to a deliberate swindle; but the last thing he wanted was to have a share in bringing his friend to justice. He hinted as tactfully as he could to Pasquett that, if he was really some one else, the sooner he got clean away the better. But Pasquett only laughed, and said he would follow Arthur to London, with full proofs of his identity, within a few days.

Arthur Wharton, therefore, went to see his uncle alone, with only this message from Pasquett. He found Lord Ealing looking far from well, a good deal careworn. He had gone straight to Lord Ealing's house on his arrival in England, and had been shown straight into his uncle's study.

He told Lord Ealing that he looked ill. But his uncle was in no mood for polite inquiries. Without asking his nephew how he was, or how he had enjoyed himself, he came straight to business. "Now, tell me the whole story at once," he said, "about Pasquett, I mean. He is not with you?"

Arthur explained how Pasquett had gone to Paramé in search of the proofs of his identity, and would follow within a few days. "I wonder," said Lord Ealing. Arthur said nothing in reply to this comment, but plunged into a full account of his discoveries, of which he had written only a brief outline. Lord Ealing did not interrupt him once, save to get a difficult point clear, until he had heard the whole story. But several times he sighed.

"Now, Arthur," he said when the tale was told, "have you mentioned this matter to any one besides myself and Pasquett?"

"Not a soul, uncle. I wanted to give Jack every chance to clear himself."

"You did not even tell Alison?"

"No. No one knows a thing, except, of course, the Russian fellow who gave me the information."

"You realise that it is vital that not a word should be said to any one."

"Certainly, until we know for sure. Have you told the other directors?"

"My dear boy, I, like you, know when to say nothing. I have not mentioned it to anybody."

"Of course, if Jack isn't Pasquett, it will all have to come out. The concession----"

"Will it, Arthur? Will it have to come out? It seems to me it depends on you and me."

Arthur felt his heart thumping inside him. His head whirled. "Oh, uncle," he said, "but it must come out."

"Must it, Arthur? Suppose you and I say nothing about it?"

"But that would be swindling; we should have no right at all to the property."

"Who would have a right to it, Arthur?"

"Oh, I don't know. Radlett's heirs, whoever they are. Some charity in New York, isn't it? But how does that concern us?"

Lord Ealing spoke very earnestly. "Arthur, if this concession falls through, I shall be ruined, through no fault of my own. Absolutely ruined--politically, I mean. It is not only the money."

"I'm very sorry, uncle. But I can't help it, can I?"

"Yes, you can. By saying nothing."

"By taking part in a swindle. It's impossible," said Arthur, flushing.

"It's only a charity," said Lord Ealing. "And you and I are not swindling, as you call it. Most charities do more harm than good. You've often told me you have no time for charities. Let me see. Wasn't it 'Curse your charity' you used to say in your Socialist days? I tell you, if you care anything for your principles, you'll keep quiet. I know, and you know--it's obvious on the face of what you've told me--that this fellow has been swindling us. He's no more John Pasquett than you or I."

"I don't know that yet, uncle."

"Yes, you do; but you won't admit it. Well, just suppose it for a moment. Now, you, in the name of justice, say we must blurt out this swindle to all the world. I say it's our duty to hold our tongues. If we speak out, it's not only you that will lose a good salary, and I that will be ruined financially and have my political career blasted--oh, yes, I shall. I know. You don't care for that. You talk about abstract justice and your conscience."

"I never mentioned either."

"But that's what is in your mind. Well, I ask you to think not of yourself or of me, but of the thousands--the tens of thousands, of people--poor people many of them, widows and orphans--who have put their money--perhaps their little all--into this enterprise. Think of them. Think what will happen to them when we have to tell the world that John Pasquett is not John Pasquett, and to admit that we have no right to the concession. All their money will be lost. Not just my money and your money. All their money--the savings of their lifetimes. Think of that. And it is you--you--who will be robbing them--if you speak."

Lord Ealing spoke with the moving eloquence which had often stirred a listening multitude in one of his great political harangues, or even raised a faint cheer in the House of Lords itself. His lordship was always deeply moved himself when he heard his voice at its best. He paused only to admire his own eloquence, and to give his concluding words their full effect.

"You will be guilty, Arthur, of all this, and you will be guilty of more than this. Is not this man--whether he be Pasquett or Pearson--your friend? Have I not seen your affection for him? Can I not see it now, when you are planning to expose him to the most terrible punishment? Would you send him to prison to mark your love for him? Would you betray your comrade for an impracticable theory that would ruin the world to-morrow if it were everywhere followed to its dreadful and logical conclusion! I ask you, Arthur, would you send your friend to imprisonment--perhaps--who knows?--to death?"

"To death? No, not to death," said Arthur, becoming melodramatic against his will under the influence of his uncle's rhetoric.

Lord Ealing returned suddenly from the heights to a plain, matter-of-fact tone. "My dear Arthur, has it escaped your acute mind that, if this man is not John Pasquett, it is more than probable he had a hand in Hugh Radlett's most opportune removal from the scene?"

"You would hush _that_ up, if it were true?" said Arthur.

"Ah, I see it has not escaped your notice. Most certainly I would. I should so act as to further the greatest happiness of the greatest number," said Lord Ealing, virtuously. "And for you, if you care nothing for the poor people who have trusted us with their money, are you prepared to risk sending your friend to the gallows?"

"Oh, God, I don't know. Don't talk to me," said Arthur, miserably. "I don't see what else I can do."

Lord Ealing saw his advantage, and pressed it home. "I must talk to you, Arthur, because you are proposing to do a wantonly foolish and unnecessary thing. If you keep quiet, and say nothing, not a soul, except some purely hypothetical (I am not sure what Lord Ealing meant by "hypothetical," but it sounded well)--some purely hypothetical charity in New York will be a penny piece the worse. If you speak out, you will ruin a great many innocent people, you will strike a severe blow at your country's trade, and you will ruin your best friend, to say nothing of your uncle and yourself. Can't you see what a fool you are?" added Lord Ealing, letting a note of irritation creep into his voice for the first time. He sought to correct it by saying, quite tenderly, "My dear Arthur, if your poor mother had been alive----"

"You dare mention my mother, and I'll hit you," said Arthur, with a sort of schoolboy ferocity. "And let me tell you what I think of you. I think you're an infernal scoundrel, though you are my uncle. I can see through you. You don't care a tinker's curse for Jack or for the widows and orphans you've been talking so much about. All you care for is your own beastly money and your own beastly reputation. D'you hear?"

Lord Ealing stared at his nephew. Could this possibly be the effect of his fine words? "I hear, you young fool," he said. "All the servants will hear, too, if you shout like that."

"And now," Arthur went on, more quietly but with intense anger, "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to resign from all your damned companies at once, and I'm going to have no more to do with you--ever. But you're quite right. You've got me. I can't let Jack down, even if he has--whatever he has done. So, if it turns out he's a--impostor, I shan't tell. You understand me? I see you cheering up already, damn you. No, I shall keep quiet, but it won't be for your sake, you smug-faced hypocrite."

Arthur was usually so mild-spoken a person that this outburst was equally astonishing to Lord Ealing and to himself. Lord Ealing had gasped as the flood-gates of Arthur's eloquence opened, and helplessly let the torrent flow. But, as he realised the meaning of his nephew's words, and that he and the concession were safe, after all, he regained his self-possession on the instant.

"Resign and be damned to you," he said, "for a foolish young prig. Arthur, you're an intellectual and a moral snob. Send Pasquett to me when he comes. You can get your salary from the office when you like and hand over to Mr. Benjamin. And now, get out." He walked to the bell and rang. An attendant appeared. "Show Mr. Wharton out," said Lord Ealing. Arthur went without another word. All the speech had gone out of him. He felt like a limp rag. He was sweating all over as he left his uncle's presence.

Lord Ealing poked the fire slowly as he stood in his great study alone. "Lord, that was a narrow shave," he said.