Chapter XXXV

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR WINDS UP HIS STORY, AND JOHN PASQUETT PROVIDES
THE MORAL

It was a surprise both to Lord Ealing's friends and to the public when the personnel of the new Government was announced, and it was found that he had gone back to his old post at the Home Office. Higher office had been confidently predicted for him, and those who met him hardly knew whether to congratulate or to say nothing. But within two or three days the news leaked out, and was spread abroad by discreet paragraphs in the Press. Lord Ealing had been offered the Foreign Office, but his keen interest in prison reform had induced him to ask the Prime Minister personally to allow him to return to his first Cabinet post. Lord Ealing's interest in prison reform had not been obvious during his previous terms of office: indeed, no one had ever noticed it before. But newspaper readers are easily satisfied, and the explanation was generally accepted. Lord Ealing was much lauded for his public spirit and self-abnegation in accepting the less coveted office.

We, of course, are well aware of his lordship's reasons. Although the incriminating letter, which he cursed himself for a fool for having ever written, was safely destroyed, he had no desire that the public should hear any more of the Radlett case. If Culpepper or Arthur Wharton should be brought to trial, the former might easily produce his copy of the letter; and, though he felt able to deal with such a situation by a complete denial of its authenticity, he knew that the incident would create suspicion. There were, moreover, other things that might come out if a trial occurred--for example, his attempt to hush up the doubts of Pasquett's identity, or even his part in the escape of the chief criminals. It was certainly best for Lord Ealing to hush matters up all he could, and there could be no better point of vantage for his purpose than the Home Secretaryship. For Scotland Yard is under the Home Office. Lord Ealing began to study prison reform for the first time: since he had taken the Home Office, he meant to carry it off with éclat.

Before his lordship had settled down in his new office, Norah Culpepper's motor-boat had been found, overturned and adrift, a good hundred miles from land. It was empty, and no bodies were recovered, but the newspapers generally took the view that the fugitives had perished, and Wilson himself, pursuing his plan of letting the whole case drop, lent the weight of his opinion to this view. Public interest in the case at once waned with the disappearance of the principal actors, and it dropped out of the newspapers. There were only short and inconspicuous references to such comparatively uninteresting events as the upsetting of the will which Pasquett and Culpepper had forged. Indeed, this was almost an automatic process, for all claims that had been put forward under the forged will were withdrawn, and Radlett's fortune was allowed to pass unchallenged, under his previous will, to the charitable purposes to which he had dedicated it on leaving America. This involved no litigation, since the forged will had not yet been proved. Pasquett had indeed drawn money largely on Radlett's account, but this had been under the power of attorney, and the money still stood in Radlett's name. The representatives named in the earlier will came to London and assumed formal possession of Radlett's property. They decided to take no further proceedings in connection with the case, as, even if Culpepper could be caught, it was very doubtful whether his part in the affair could be brought home to him. The Home Secretary, consulted by the American beneficiaries under the old will, strongly advised them to let well alone. Before long, Mrs. Culpepper was able to report to her husband that he could safely show himself again in England.

Lord Ealing, of course, on assuming office under the Crown, had temporarily to resign his directorships. He was succeeded by Lord Broadway, his first cousin and a member of the late Government. He and Broadway had changed places in the same way before, to the profit of both. Broadway, with Lord Ealing's constant advice to help him, successfully steered the Anglo-Asiatic and the Anglo-Yenisei Corporation through the difficult time which followed the discovery of Pasquett's imposture. The New York charity's trustees were tactfully persuaded not to spoil the market by unloading the Radlett shares prematurely. Speeches by members of the Government maintained public confidence in the soundness of the concessions. A new issue of capital was publicly subscribed--it was, in fact, heavily oversubscribed on the first morning--to replace Radlett's money, which was being withdrawn. The Anglo-Yenisei became an All-British affair, and was much boosted in the sacred name of Empire. Lord Ealing gave a quiet little dinner at Sugden's Hotel to celebrate the success of the new issue of capital. It was most select and expensive: Mr. Mounteagle talks of it still.

So successfully were these operations carried through that, so far from losing money by Pasquett's downfall, Lord Ealing netted a handsome sum to add to his existing fortune. He draws from his investments in the Anglo-Asiatic and the Anglo-Yenisei a princely income beside which his official salary is a mere bagatelle. Lord Ealing's associates also did well. Sir James Vanzetti, now by his lordship's influence raised to the peerage as Baron Pinner, has made pots of money out of the Anglo-Asiatic. He has quite forgiven Lord Ealing for any part he may have played in causing his earlier misfortunes. Sir Eli Benjamin, too, has moved from Clapham to Belgravia, and Lady Benjamin is busy laying siege to Society. In short, we regret to say that, at this latter end of our story, the wicked are undoubtedly flourishing like the green bay tree.

Not all the financial wangles or all the political speeches in the world, of course, would of themselves produce this uninterrupted flow of wealth and prosperity for every one concerned in the concessions, from Lord Ealing to the widows and orphans whose mite has been entrusted to his care. It is also the case that the Radlett concession, now transferred by the Soviet authorities to the Anglo-Yenisei Corporation, is a thoroughly sound thing. It has the advantage of being quite exceptionally well managed. A short while after the events we have described, the Russian management of both Corporations was entrusted to a new manager, to whom their great success is largely due. The manager's name is John Pearson, a man, as Lord Broadway said at the annual meeting, of long and varied experience and with a first-rate knowledge of Siberian conditions. John Pearson, we believe, bears a close resemblance to a certain John Pasquett, with whom we are already familiar. Just before his appointment, he married a very charming wife, whose name is Norah. Mrs. Pearson, we are told, is remarkably like a certain Miss Culpepper, whose acquaintance we have also made. Their first child, a fine boy, now six months old, is named Arthur.

Mr. Culpepper has returned to England. He is one of the leading directors of both companies, and struts daily to the office in Kingsway more immaculately dressed than ever. He keeps his flat in Paris, but he has sold the villa at Paramé to the Rustons, and bought a large comfortable house in South Kensington. He had recently been made a J.P., and has thoughts of standing for Parliament in the Liberal interest.

Arthur also is back in England. He is, indeed, the only one of our actors who shows no sign of getting rich. He has left business, and gone back to Oxford, where he is now Fellow and Tutor of his old college. He is unmarried, and fears the approach of middle age. But, even if he is sometimes bored, he never thinks of going back to the Anglo-Asiatic. He has had enough of that. He means to spend the long vacation this year in Siberia, with some friends of his, called Jack and Norah Pearson.

Superintendent Wilson has left Scotland Yard, and started a private detective agency of his own. He is doing--we absolutely refuse to tell you what he is doing.

* * * * *

One thing more, and our record is complete. When Pasquett and Arthur Wharton met again--far from the scene of the adventures we have been describing, they had many a talk about the affair at Sugden's Hotel. Arthur wanted to understand his friend's motives for the imposture, and there was no reluctance on Pasquett's side to speak of what he had done.

"Why did I do it?" he said. "Is it ever easy to say why one does a thing? I suppose it was partly that I wanted Hugh's money, and felt I had a right to it, whatever the law might say. You see, it was only an accident that it was not mine by law. Why was I to respect property rights which would never have existed if Hugh had lived another couple of minutes? Upon my word, I don't see why. Morally, I feel that I acted quite within my rights. I was only doing what Hugh meant to do himself, though I admit I had to find some queer ways of doing it. Isn't that a good enough explanation for you?

"And yet, I admit, it's not the whole explanation. It would be just as true, Arthur--and just as untrue--if I said I did it for the fun of the thing. The law's an ass, my boy, and it seemed to me good fun to have a slap at the law, and carry off Radlett's money under its very nose. I didn't mind the danger--I rather liked it. I've been in plenty of tight places in my time, and enjoyed being there. And the idea, as I worked it out, was a jolly good idea. It very nearly came off--don't you forget that. If that chap Wilson--I liked him, by the way--hadn't had the nose of a rat and the patience of Job, I should have got clean off with the goods. And even you will admit that, if it had come off, it would have been a good joke to keep one cheerful for the rest of one's life.

"But it didn't. I know. The sin found out the transgressor, and all that--though, when you come to think of it, the transgressors haven't done so badly for themselves, after all. There's old Culpepper, getting as rich as Crœsus--and Norah and I haven't much to complain about. I've had my fun, and I reckon I've not paid for it. Nobody's paid. That's the beauty of it. Your wicked uncle did things far worse than I ever thought of, and look at him. He's quite cheerful, isn't he? I reckon there's no moral to this story of ours. It wouldn't do for a Sunday School Tract. That's part of the joke.

"I speak, do I, as if I were actually glad I got found out? Well, I don't much mind. It would have been better fun to pull it off, but I'm not complaining. And, to this day, I can't see how I could have planned it better. Of course, there was one obvious weakness in the whole thing--the absence of a body. But I couldn't make that good unless I'd murdered somebody, and--murder's not in my line. I had to do the best I could without a body, and I tell you, Arthur, I still think I planned it jolly well. If I made a mistake, it was in not making more certain of my _alibi_. But it was only bad luck tripped me up there. If it hadn't been for the million to one chance of my meeting you on the aeroplane, no one would ever have suspected that I wasn't in Warsaw when it happened. And I did provide a quite plausible second _alibi_ in case that fell through. I admit I wasn't careful enough there, but it was really bad luck that did me down.

"It was a very pretty murder, however you look at it, and all the prettier for being no murder at all. Hugh would have enjoyed it, if he'd been alive. Wilson enjoyed it, though it was his business to 'bring me to justice.' And I enjoyed it. So why worry? And, my dear Arthur, why maintain this air of disapproval? Why didn't you enjoy it too? It's your fault, not mine, if you didn't. But you stuck to me all the same. You don't mind having a scoundrel for a friend, do you, now?

"The trouble about you, Arthur, is that you've been badly brought up. You think you're a bit of an iconoclast; but away down in your mind you've a profound veneration for property, and law and order, and middle-class morality, and all the other things you criticise in those funny little books of yours. I had all that knocked out of me quite early. You see, I was brought up to be a business man--in America, too. I know that law and order and the rights of property, and all the rest of the stuff your uncle puts in his speeches, are just bunkum. You only know it theoretically; when it comes to acting you're a good old Whig like the rest--though it's ungrateful of me to say so, after you defied your poor conscience and helped me to get away. But that was because you're fond of me. It was against your principles. Now, wasn't it? It wouldn't have been against mine. I judge for myself: I make my own laws. That sounds as if I was making a virtue out of my vice, or posing as a superman--beyond good and evil, and all that. But I'm not, really. It's only that I'm not civilised, and you are. Upon my word, Arthur, I'd do it again." Jack Pasquett laughed in Arthur Wharton's puzzled face.