The Master of the Ceremonies Part 92

"And I one hundred," said Sir Matthew pompously.

"My turn first," said Sir Harry, laughing. "Now, Barclay, two hundred, and no nonsense."

Barclay shook his head, but his money was safe with Sir Harry, for he already held certain deeds that would cover princ.i.p.al and his large interest.

"Now, Matt," said Sir Harry, "your turn."

He thrust a sheaf of notes into his pocket laughingly, and Sir Matthew rolled up.

"Now, Mr Barclay," he said, taking his friend's seat, while that gentleman began inspecting china and bronzes, "I want only a hundred."

"Which you can't have, Sir Matthew," said Barclay shortly. "You've got to the end of your tether, and I shall have to put you in my lawyer's hands."

"What, just now, when I have only to go on to be a rich man?"

"My dear Sir Matthew, for two years past I've supplied your wants, and you've been for ever dangling before my eyes the bait of a rich marriage, when you would pay me back. No more money, sir, from me."

"Barclay, my dear fellow, don't be a fool."

"I've just told you that I do not mean to be," said Barclay shortly.

"No hundred from me, Sir Matthew."

"What, not if the matter were settled, and it was a case of post-horses, Dover, Continent, and a wedding abroad?"

"With some penniless girl," growled Barclay.

"With a lady of property and t.i.tle, sir. Hus.h.!.+ be quiet--On my soul, Barclay. It's all right and settled. A rich marriage."

"Stuff, sir! If it were a rich marriage you would not need money."

"Preliminary expenses, dear boy. I can't ask her to pay the postboys."

Barclay looked at him keenly.

"Is this a fact?"

"Yes; to-night, sir. Honour bright. Don't spoil sport, Barclay."

The money-lender pursed up his lips and twisted a pen in his fingers for a few moments.

"Well, Sir Matthew," he said at last, "I'll give you this chance. If it does not come off your commission is mine. You'll have to sell out."

"And I will, Barclay. But there's no fear. The game's won, sir. After a long siege the lady has at last surrendered."

"A young and pretty woman, eh, Sir Matthew?"

"Well--er--not too young," said the great dragoon. "I don't care for bread-and-b.u.t.ter misses."

"Drelincourt, sure enough," said Barclay to himself, as he wrote out the customary form on a bill stamp. "Well, let the old fool marry him.

He'll make her pay for it pretty sharply, I'll be bound. I shall get my money back, and he'll save his commission, which will go for future loans."

"There, Sir Matthew, sign that, please," he said aloud.

"Barclay, you're a gentleman. I'm a made man, and you shall have all the other bills taken up."

He scratched his name across the bill, pa.s.sed it back, and Barclay counted out some notes and gave them in exchange.

"That's your sort," cried Sir Matthew, counting the notes. "Why, Barclay, the bill was for a hundred. Here are only notes for sixty."

"Quite right, Sir Matthew: the other is for the discount."

"Oh, but--"

"My dear Sir Matthew, if you are dissatisfied, pray give me the notes, and I'll tear up the bill. You forget the risk. Those are my terms."

"Oh, but, Barclay."

"What's he making you smart, Matt?" cried Sir Harry, joining them.

"Just his way."

"I've offered to cancel the bill, if Sir Matthew likes," said Barclay.

"Have you got any money at all, Matt?"

"Yes, some, but--"

"Hang it! Come along then, man; we've no time to lose. Come on and chance it."

Sir Harry took his friend's arm, and hurried him out, and Barclay was nodding his head thoughtfully as the door closed, but only for another to open, and Mrs Barclay to enter and sit down, making the entries of his two transactions as a matter of course.

"Old woman," said Barclay quietly.

"Jo-si-ah!" she said, turning to him quickly, and laying her hand upon his.

"I try to think Claire Denville a good girl."

"I'm sure she is," cried Mrs Barclay. "Oh, Josiah, why do you talk like that?"

"Because things look ugly, old lady, and I shall be very sorry if you've been deceived."

"Oh, but, my dear," panted Mrs Barclay, "I'm sure."

"One can't be sure of anything with a pretty well-flattered woman. You know what you said about that row at Denville's, when Sir Harry Payne was found with Claire that night."

"Yes: I said it was May, and I'm sure of it."

"You're not sure, old lady--you can't be. Suppose it was Claire after all."

"I say it was May. Claire Denville couldn't do such a thing."