Cast Adrift. Arthur Timothy Shay
accomplishment. She was rich, and occupied a high social position, and his ready conclusion was that, be the service what it might, he could make it pay. To get such a woman in his power was worth an effort.
One morning—it was a few months after the date of the copartnership—Mrs. Dinneford received a note from Freeling. It said, briefly,
“At the usual place, 12 M. to-day. Important.” There was no signature.
The sharp knitting of her brows and the nervous crumpling of the note in her hand showed that she was not pleased at the summons. She had come already to know her partner in evil too well. At 12 M. she was in the hotel parlor. Freeling was already there. They met in external cordiality, but it was very evident from the manner of Mrs. Dinneford, that she felt herself in the man’s power, and had learned to be afraid of him.
“It will be impossible to get through to-morrow,” he said, in a kind of imperative voice, that was half a threat, “unless we have two thousand dollars.”
“I cannot ask Mr. Dinneford for anything more,” Mrs. Dinneford replied; “we have already furnished ten thousand dollars beyond the original investment.”
“But it is all safe enough—that is, if we do not break down just here for lack of so small a sum.”
Mrs. Dinneford gave a start.
“Break down!” She repeated the words in a husky, voice, with a paling face. “What do you mean?”
“Only that in consequence of having in store a large stock of unsalable goods bought by your indiscreet son-in-law, who knows no more about business than a child, we are in a temporary strait.”
“Why did you trust him to buy?” asked Mrs. Dinneford.
“I didn’t trust him. He bought without consulting me,” was replied, almost rudely.
“Will two thousand be the end of this thing?”
“I think so.”
“You only think so?”
“I am sure of it.”
“Very well; I will see what can be done. But all this must have an end, Mr. Freeling. We cannot supply any more money. You must look elsewhere if you have further need. Mr. Dinneford is getting very much annoyed and worried. You surely have other resources.”
“I have drawn to the utmost on all my resources,” said the man, coldly.
Mrs. Dinneford remained silent for a good while, her eyes upon the floor. Freeling watched her face intently, trying to read what was in her thoughts. At last she said, in a suggestive tone,
“There are many ways of getting money known to business-men—a little risky some of them, perhaps, but desperate cases require desperate expedients. You understand me?”
Freeling took a little time to consider before replying.
“Yes,” he said, at length, speaking slowly, as one careful of his words. “But all expedients are ‘risky,’ as you say—some of them very risky. It takes a long, cool head to manage them safely.”
“I don’t know a longer or cooler head than yours,” returned Mrs. Dinneford, a faint smile playing about her lips.
“Thank you for the compliment,” said Freeling, his lips reflecting the smile on hers.
“You must think of some expedient.” Mrs. Dinneford’s manner grew impressive. She spoke with emphasis and deliberation. “Beyond the sum of two thousand dollars, which I will get for you by to-morrow, I shall not advance a single penny. You may set that down as sure. If you are not sharp enough and strong enough, with the advantage you possess, to hold your own, then you must go under; as for me, I have done all that I can or will.”
Freeling saw that she was wholly in earnest, and understood what she meant by “desperate expedients.” Granger was to be ruined, and she was growing impatient of delay. He had no desire to hurt the young man—he rather liked him. Up to this time he had been content with what he could draw out of Mrs. Dinneford. There was no risk in this sort of business. Moreover, he enjoyed his interviews and confidences with the elegant lady, and of late the power he seemed to be gaining over her; this power he regarded as capital laid up for another use, and at another time.
But it was plain that he had reached the end of his present financial policy, and must decide whether to adopt the new one suggested by Mrs. Dinneford or make a failure, and so get rid of his partner. The question he had to settle with himself was whether he could make more by a failure than by using Granger a while longer, and then throwing him overboard, disgraced and ruined. Selfish and unscrupulous as he was, Freeling hesitated to do this. And besides, the “desperate expedients” he would have to adopt in the new line of policy were fraught with peril to all who took part in them. He might fall into the snare set for another—might involve himself so deeply as not to find a way of escape.
“To-morrow we will talk this matter over,” he said in reply to Mrs. Dinneford’s last remark; “in the mean time I will examine the ground thoroughly and see how it looks.”
“Don’t hesitate to make any use you can of Granger,” suggested the lady. “He has done his part toward getting things tangled, and must help to untangle them.”
“All right, ma’am.”
And they separated, Mrs. Dinneford reaching the street by one door of the hotel, and Freeling by another.
On the following day they met again, Mrs. Dinneford bringing the two thousand dollars.
“And now what next?” she asked, after handing over the money and taking the receipt of “Freeling & Granger.” Her eyes had a hard glitter, and her face was almost stern in its expression. “How are you going to raise money and keep afloat?”
“Only some desperate expedient is left me now,” answered Freeling, though not in the tone of a man who felt himself at bay. It was said with a wicked kind of levity.
Mrs. Dinneford looked at him keenly. She was beginning to mistrust the man. They gazed into each other’s faces in silence for some moments, each trying to read what was in the other’s thought. At length Freeling said,
“There is one thing more that you will have to do, Mrs. Dinneford.”
“What?” she asked.
“Get your husband to draw two or three notes in Mr. Granger’s favor. They should not be for less than five hundred or a thousand dollars each. The dates must be short—not over thirty or sixty days.”
“It can’t be done,” was the emphatic answer.
“It must be done,” replied Freeling; “they need not be for the business. You can manage the matter if you will; your daughter wants an India shawl, or a set of diamonds, or a new carriage—anything you choose. Mr. Dinneford hasn’t the ready cash, but we can throw his notes into bank and get the money; don’t you see?”
But Mrs. Dinneford didn’t see.
“I don’t mean,” said Freeling, “that we are to use the money. Let the shawl, or the diamond, or the what-not, be bought and paid for. We get the discounts for your use, not ours.”
“All very well,” answered Mrs. Dinneford; “but how is that going to help you?”
“Leave that to me. You get the notes,” said Freeling.
“Never walk blindfold, Mr. Freeling,” replied the lady, drawing herself up, with a dignified air. “We ought to understand each other by this time. I must see beyond the mere use of these notes.”
Freeling shut his mouth tightly and knit his heavy brows. Mrs. Dinneford watched him, closely.
“It’s a desperate expedient,” he said, at length.
“All well as far as that is concerned; but if I am to have a hand in it, I must know all about it,” she replied, firmly. “As I said just now, I never walk blindfold.”
Freeling leaned close to Mrs. Dinneford, and uttered a few sentences in a low tone, speaking rapidly. The color