THE Huxtable came later—a terrifying young man, who said little, but listened with a tolerant smile—and after him a host of others, entailed by his plans for Dwala. A house had been found in Park Lane. The owner, who was travelling in the East, had left the thing intact; his creditors wished to sell it as it stood. The appointments were passable; he had been a rather random collector of good things—some rubbish must be weeded out and replaced, but there was nothing to delay possession.
However, it must be paid for. If Mr. Cato would produce his accounts, the Huxtable would be glad to go through them with him.
‘Oh, I have no accounts to show.’
‘Why not?’
‘Dwala has been my guest. There is nothing to account for.’
‘But the property in Borneo—you have an account of that?’
‘No.’
‘This is all very curious. A man has a fortune of some hundreds of thousands a year, and no account is kept of it!’
‘But he hasn’t got it yet. It lies buried in the earth in Borneo.’
‘Yes; it consists of mines, I know. But, of course, the fortune was realisable as soon as the Privy Council gave their decision.’
‘Well, it hasn’t been realised.’
‘But the decision was given a week ago. Do you mean to say it has been neglected all this time?’
‘“Neglected” is a piece of impertinence, Mr. Huxtable.’
‘A week’s income lost means something like 10,000l.’
‘How dare you come to me—me, who has been toiling night and day in the Prince’s interest—in this authoritative, censorious way—I, who am old enough to be your grandfather—talking of neglect?’
‘You regard it as an aspersion? Well, and what are the results of all your labour?’
‘I have secured him justice.’
‘Justice is a matter of law, Mr. Cato: the Privy Council has attended to that. If you were incapable of realising his fortune yourself, why not have applied to some big financier—Baron Blumenstrauss, for instance?’
‘I have seen Baron Blumenstrauss.’
‘Well, what did he say?’
‘He made an offer. He volunteered to buy all the Prince’s rights for 500,000l. a year.’
‘Then, surely, you have realised it?’
‘No, sir, I have not.’
‘You don’t mean that you refused his offer? You weren’t expecting anyone to offer more, I suppose?’
‘On what ground?’
‘I regard Baron Blumenstrauss as an immoral man. I regard his business methods as immoral. If I had accepted the offer on the Prince’s behalf, I should have been advising him to lend himself to a vile system of exploitation, which I regard as one of the most infamous curses of our modern civilisation. I would rather see Dwala starve.’
‘You have taken a very great responsibility on yourself, Mr. Cato.’
‘I am quite willing to bear it.’
A smile flickered round the Huxtable’s nose, and Mr. Cato felt that he was being betrayed into melodrama. Silence ensued.
‘Your sentiments are very noble, Mr. Cato,’ said Huxtable at last. ‘I should say that they did you every credit, if it were your own fortune that we were talking about. But it is not. And if you think it over, you will see that your conduct lies open to the very gravest criticism. By a series of unusual circumstances you find yourself practically master of the disposal of a vast fortune belonging to someone else. Instead of accepting an excellent offer for the benefit of the person whose interests you for some reason claim the right of defending, you go off at a tangent in pursuit of your own political theories.’
‘Political theories?’
‘Yes, sir; political theories. Your views are well known. You regard the ways of the money market as immoral; you preach saintliness in the conduct of business; you think our social and financial system a mistake; you are, in fact, opposed to our civilisation as you find it. Those are your politics. Excellent! Charming! That is what makes your speeches a success. Moreover, you have a perfect right to practise your theories with your own property if you please. This Sermon-on-the-Mount way of doing business would make you a delightful customer in the City, no doubt. But when it comes to Prince Dwala’s affairs, the case is different. You are in the position of a trustee.’
‘Then is a trustee to be without a conscience?’
‘Certainly not; that’s just the point. I wonder you mention it. A trustee’s conscience ought to be a very delicate affair.’
‘Do you mean to insinuate that I have acted without conscience?’
‘I don’t insinuate it, sir; I say it straight out. You have acted unconscientiously.’
‘You have the insolence to say that!’ cried Mr. Cato, jumping up, with tears of fury in his voice. ‘You dare to sit there and tell me I have no conscience; you ... you damnable young prig!’
The Huxtable sat with folded arms, looking at him coldly, magisterially. This young untroubled man was the World, the unrighteous, unanimous World, sitting in judgment on him.
‘You don’t improve your case by losing your temper and being abusive,’ said the World. ‘Your conscience, your whole conscience, should have been bent on serving the Prince’s interests; it was your duty to divest yourself of all personal theories, all prejudices, all principles, and devote yourself only to getting the best price you could. You are not a business man, and you had no right to experiment on the Prince’s behalf with theories of business that never have worked, never will work, and never could work. Nobody will offer you a better price than the Baron, because no one can afford a better price.’
‘Well, you have succeeded me. There are the mines intact. Go to the Baron and get him to renew his offer.’
‘The Baron will not make the same offer again.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I have seen the Baron.’
‘You have seen him!... Then all this long discussion was a trap for me?’
‘You can call it a trap if you like, though I think the word is a damaging one for you. I have seen the Baron, and he at once stated that he washed his hands of the whole affair.’
‘But if his only motive is money, things are just as they were a week ago. He can still make his money.’
‘You only expose your ignorance of the man you were so ready to abuse—a man of unsullied reputation, by-the-bye. Money is not his only motive.’
‘What other motive has he?’
‘Pride.’
‘Yes, sir; pride. When a man of that magnitude steps off his pedestal and comes down to a suburban house to offer his services to a private individual, he expects to be treated at least with consideration. He is accustomed to dealing with Empires, Governments, National Banks; not with obscure gentlemen in Hampstead villas. What happened? The Prince fell asleep, and you gave the Baron a blunt rebuff.’
‘It’s not my business to keep Prince Dwala awake.’
‘It’s not your business to settle his affairs while he’s asleep. You made an enemy of Baron Blumenstrauss.’
‘The Baron’s enmity to me is of no importance.’
‘Quite true; of no importance. But you made him the Prince’s enemy—an enemy of the estate. He began negotiating against us at once, floating companies over our head. He is omnipotent, and you turned him against the Prince. His pride was hurt.’
‘Surely he can swallow his pride!’
‘No doubt; but not at the same figure. He offers only 400,000l. a year.’
‘Well, what do you mean to do?’
‘I have accepted his offer.’
‘Ha!... I hope you made a good thing out of it?’
They both rose to their feet.
‘In what way, Mr. Cato?’
‘There was, I suppose, some commission attached to the negotiation?’
‘No, sir; there was no commission. Baron Blumenstrauss knew me better than to offer me any such thing.’
It was perfectly true. It would have been inapt. There were other ways in which the Baron could discharge his debt of gratitude to a young man with a great future.
‘Where is the Prince?’ said Huxtable.
‘What do you want with him?’
‘I am going to take him into London.’
‘His house isn’t ready.’
‘Yes, it is. Will you make out your bill?’
‘What bill?’
‘For the expenses of his keep.’
‘He has been my guest, I tell you.’
‘As you please. Where is he now?’
‘He has gone for a walk with his governess.’
‘I will wait for him.’
This imperturbable young man sat quietly down in an armchair and cracked his thumb-joints. Mr. Cato looked at him with silent wonder, and left the room. He envied the Huxtable his nerves: his own were in a tumult; he could not have stayed with him a moment longer.