“Quite so.”
“And we will have a little cutting here. It will run from Uleaborg to Kem, and will connect the White Sea with the Gulf of Bothnia. We must not allow our sympathies to be insular, must we? Our little charities should be cosmopolitan. We will try and give the good people of Archangel a better outlet for their furs and their tallow.”
“But it will freeze.”
“For six months in the year. Still, it will be something. Then we must do something for the East. It would never do to overlook the East.”
“It would certainly be an oversight,” said Robert, who was keenly alive to the comical side of the question. Raffles Haw, however, in deadly earnest, sat scratching away at his map with his blue pencil.
“Here is a point where we might be of some little use. If we cut through from Batoum to the Kura River we might tap the trade of the Caspian, and open up communication with all the rivers which run into it. You notice that they include a considerable tract of country. Then, again, I think that we might venture upon a little cutting between Beirut, on the Mediterranean, and the upper waters of the Euphrates, which would lead us into the Persian Gulf. Those are one or two of the more obvious canals which might knit the human race into a closer whole.”
“Your plans are certainly stupendous,” said Robert, uncertain whether to laugh or to be awe-struck. “You will cease to be a man, and become one of the great forces of Nature, altering, moulding, and improving.”
“That is precisely the view which I take of myself. That is why I feel my responsibility so acutely.”
“But surely if you will do all this you may rest. It is a considerable programme.”
“Not at all. I am a patriotic Briton, and I should like to do something to leave my name in the annals of my country. I should prefer, however, to do it after my own death, as anything in the shape of publicity and honour is very offensive to me. I have, therefore, put by eight hundred million in a place which shall be duly mentioned in my will, which I propose to devote to paying off the National Debt. I cannot see that any harm could arise from its extinction.”
Robert sat staring, struck dumb by the audacity of the strange man’s words.
“Then there is the heating of the soil. There is room for improvement there. You have no doubt read of the immense yields which have resulted in Jersey and elsewhere, from the running of hot-water pipes through the soil. The crops are trebled and quadrupled. I would propose to try the experiment upon a larger scale. We might possibly reserve the Isle of Man to serve as a pumping and heating station. The main pipes would run to England, Ireland, and Scotland, where they would subdivide rapidly until they formed a network two feet deep under the whole country. A pipe at distances of a yard would suffice for every purpose.”
“I am afraid,” suggested Robert, “that the water which left the Isle of Man warm might lose a little of its virtue before it reached Caithness, for example.”
“There need not be any difficulty there. Every few miles a furnace might be arranged to keep up the temperature. These are a few of my plans for the future, Robert, and I shall want the co-operation of disinterested men like yourself in all of them. But how brightly the sun shines, and how sweet the countryside looks! The world is very beautiful, and I should like to leave it happier than I found it. Let us walk out together, Robert, and you will tell me of any fresh cases where I may be of assistance.”
CHAPTER IX. A NEW DEPARTURE
Whatever good Mr. Raffles Haw’s wealth did to the world, there could be no doubt that there were cases where it did harm. The very contemplation and thought of it had upon many a disturbing and mischievous effect. Especially was this the case with the old gunmaker. From being merely a querulous and grasping man, he had now become bitter, brooding, and dangerous. Week by week, as he saw the tide of wealth flow as it were through his very house without being able to divert the smallest rill to nourish his own fortunes, he became more wolfish and more hungry-eyed. He spoke less of his own wrongs, but he brooded more, and would stand for hours on Tamfield Hill looking down at the great palace beneath, as a thirst-stricken man might gaze at the desert mirage.
He had worked, and peeped, and pried, too, until there were points upon which he knew more than either his son or his daughter.
“I suppose that you still don’t know where your friend gets his money?” he remarked to Robert one morning, as they walked together through the village.
“No, father, I do not. I only know that he spends it very well.”
“Well!” snarled the old man. “Yes, very well! He has helped every tramp and slut and worthless vagabond over the countryside, but he will not advance a pound, even on the best security, to help a respectable business man to fight against misfortune.”
“My dear father, I really cannot argue with you about it,” said Robert. “I have already told you more than once what I think. Mr. Haw’s object is to help those who are destitute. He looks upon us as his equals, and would not presume to patronise us, or to act as if we could not help ourselves. It would be a humiliation to us to take his money.”
“Pshaw! Besides, it is only a question of an advance, and advances are made every day among business men. How can you talk such nonsense, Robert?”
Early as it was, his son could see from his excited, quarrelsome manner that the old man had been drinking. The habit had grown upon him of late, and it was seldom now that he was entirely sober.
“Mr. Raffles Haw is the best judge,” said Robert coldly. “If he earns the money, he has a right to spend it as he likes.”
“And how does he earn it? You don’t know, Robert. You don’t know that you aren’t aiding and abetting a felony when you help him to fritter it away. Was ever so much money earned in an honest fashion? I tell you there never was. I tell you, also, that lumps of gold are no more to that man than chunks of coal to the miners over yonder. He could build his house of them and think nothing of it.”
“I know that he is very rich, father. I think, however, that he has an extravagant way of talking sometimes, and that his imagination carries him away. I have heard him talk of plans which the richest man upon earth could not possibly hope to carry through.”
“Don’t you make any mistake, my son. Your poor old father isn’t quite a fool, though he is only an honest broken merchant.” He looked up sideways at his son with a wink and a most unpleasant leer. “Where there’s money I can smell it. There’s money there, and heaps of it. It’s my belief that he is the richest man in the world, though how he came to be so I should not like to guarantee. I’m not quite blind yet, Robert. Have you seen the weekly waggon?”
“The weekly waggon!”
“Yes, Robert. You see I can find some news for you yet. It is due this morning. Every Saturday morning you will see the waggon come in. Why, here it is now, as I am a living man, coming round the curve.”
Robert glanced back and saw a great heavy waggon drawn by two strong horses lumbering slowly along the road which led to the New Hall. From the efforts of the animals and its slow pace the contents seemed to be of great weight.
“Just you wait here,” old McIntyre cried, plucking at his son’s sleeve with his thin bony hand. “Wait here and see it pass. Then we will watch what becomes of it.”
They stood by the side of the road until it came abreast of them. The waggon was covered with tarpaulin sheetings in front and at the sides, but behind some glimpse could be caught of the contents. They consisted, as far as Robert could see, of a number of packets of the same shape, each about two feet long and six inches high, arranged symmetrically upon the top of each other. Each packet was surrounded by a covering of coarse sacking.
“What do you think of that?” asked old McIntyre triumphantly as the load creaked past.
“Why, father? What do you make of it?”
“I have watched it, Robert – I have watched it every Saturday, and I had my chance of looking a little deeper into it. You remember the day when the elm blew down, and the road was blocked until they could saw it in two. That was on a Saturday, and the waggon came to a stand until they could clear a way for it. I was there, Robert, and I saw my chance. I strolled behind the waggon, and I placed my hands upon one of those packets. They look small, do they not? It would take a strong man to lift one. They are heavy, Robert, heavy, and hard with the hardness of metal. I tell you, boy, that that waggon is loaded with gold.”
“Gold!”
“With solid bars of gold, Robert. But come into the plantation and we shall see what becomes of it.”
They passed through the lodge gates, behind the waggon, and then wandered off among the fir-trees until they gained a spot where they could command a view. The load had halted, not in front of the house, but at the door of the out-building with the chimney. A staff of stablemen and footmen were in readiness, who proceeded to swiftly unload and to carry the packages through the door. It was the first time that Robert had ever seen any one save the master of the house enter the laboratory. No sign was seen of him now, however, and in half an hour the contents had all been safely stored and the waggon had driven briskly away.
“I cannot understand it, father,” said Robert thoughtfully, as they resumed their walk. “Supposing that your supposition is correct, who would send him such quantities of gold, and where could it come from?”
“Ha, you have to come to the old man after all!” chuckled his companion. “I can see the little game. It is clear enough to me. There are two of them in it, you understand. The other one gets the gold. Never mind how, but we will hope that there is no harm. Let us suppose, for example, that they have found a marvellous mine, where you can just shovel it out like clay from a pit. Well, then, he sends it on to this one, and he has his furnaces and his chemicals, and he refines and purifies it and makes it fit to sell. That’s my explanation of it, Robert. Eh, has the old man put his finger on it?”
“But if that were true, father, the gold must go back again.”
“So it does, Robert, but a little at a time. Ha, ha! I’ve had my eyes open, you see. Every night it goes down in a small cart, and is sent on to London by the 7.40. Not in bars this time, but done up in iron-bound chests. I’ve seen them, boy, and I’ve had this hand upon them.”
“Well,” said the young man thoughtfully, “maybe you are right. It is possible that you are right.”
While father and son were prying into his secrets, Raffles Haw had found his way to Elmdene, where Laura sat reading the Queen by the fire.
“I am so sorry,” she said, throwing down her paper and springing to her feet. “They are all out except me. But I am sure that they won’t be long. I expect Robert every moment.”
“I would rather speak with you alone,” answered Raffles Haw quietly. “Pray sit down, for I wanted to have a little chat with you.”
Laura resumed her seat with a flush upon her cheeks and a quickening of the breath. She turned her face away and gazed into the fire; but there was a sparkle in her eyes which was not caught from the leaping flames.
“Do you remember the first time that we met, Miss McIntyre?” he asked, standing on the rug and looking down at her dark hair, and the beautifully feminine curve of her ivory neck.
“As if it were yesterday,” she answered in her sweet mellow tones.
“Then you must also remember the wild words that I said when we parted. It was very foolish of me. I am sure that I am most sorry if I frightened or disturbed you, but I have been a very solitary man for a long time, and I have dropped into a bad habit of thinking aloud. Your voice, your face, your manner, were all so like my ideal of a true woman, loving, faithful, and sympathetic, that I could not help wondering whether, if I were a poor man, I might ever hope to win the affection of such a one.”
“Your good opinion, Mr. Raffles Haw, is very dear to me,” said Laura. “I assure you that I was not frightened, and that there is no need to apologise for what was really a compliment.”
“Since then I have found,” he continued, “that all that I had read upon your face was true. That your mind is indeed that of the true woman, full of the noblest and sweetest qualities which human nature can aspire to. You know that I am a man of fortune, but I wish you to dismiss that consideration from your mind. Do you think from what you know of my character that you could be happy as my wife, Laura?”
She made no answer, but still sat with her head turned away and her sparkling eyes fixed upon the fire. One little foot from under her skirt tapped nervously upon the rug.
“It is only right that you should know a little more about me before you decide. There is, however, little to know. I am an orphan, and, as far as I know, without a relation upon earth. My father was a respectable man, a country surgeon in Wales, and he brought me up to his own profession. Before I had passed my examinations, however, he died and left me a small annuity. I had conceived a great liking for the subjects of chemistry and electricity, and instead of going on with my medical work I devoted myself entirely to these studies, and eventually built myself a laboratory where I could follow out my own researches. At about this time I came into a very large sum of money, so large as to make me feel that a vast responsibility rested upon me in the use which I made of it. After some thought I determined to build a large house in a quiet part of the country, not too far from a great centre. There I could be in touch with the world, and yet would have quiet and leisure to mature the schemes which were in my head. As it chanced, I chose Tamfield as my site. All that remains now is to carry out the plans which I have made, and to endeavour to lighten the earth of some of the misery and injustice which weigh it down. I again ask you, Laura, will you throw in your lot with mine, and help me in the life’s work which lies before me?”
Laura looked up at him, at his stringy figure, his pale face, his keen, yet gentle eyes. Somehow as she looked there seemed to form itself beside him some shadow of Hector Spurling, the manly features, the clear, firm mouth, the frank manner. Now, in the very moment of her triumph, it sprang clearly up in her mind how at the hour of their ruin he had stood firmly by them, and had loved the penniless girl as tenderly as the heiress to fortune. That last embrace at the door, too, came back to her, and she felt his lips warm upon her own.
“I am very much honoured, Mr. Haw,” she stammered, “but this is so sudden. I have not had time to think. I do not know what to say.”
“Do not let me hurry you,” he cried earnestly. “I beg that you will think well over it. I shall come again for my answer. When shall I come? Tonight?”
“Yes, come tonight.”
“Then, adieu. Believe me that I think more highly of you for your hesitation. I shall live in hope.” He raised her hand to his lips, and left her to her own thoughts.
But what those thoughts were did not long remain in doubt. Dimmer and dimmer grew the vision of the distant sailor face, clearer and clearer the image of the vast palace, of the queenly power, of the diamonds, the gold, the ambitious future. It all lay at her feet, waiting to be picked up. How could she have hesitated, even for a moment? She rose, and, walking over to her desk, she took out a sheet of paper and an envelope. The latter she addressed to Lieutenant Spurling, H.M.S. Active, Gibraltar. The note cost some little trouble, but at last she got it worded to her mind.
“Dear Hector,” she said – “I am convinced that your father has never entirely approved of our engagement, otherwise he would not have thrown obstacles in the way of our marriage.
I am sure, too, that since my poor father’s misfortune it is only your own sense of honour and feeling of duty which have kept you true to me, and that you would have done infinitely better had you never seen me. I cannot bear, Hector, to allow you to imperil your future for my sake, and I have determined, after thinking well over the matter, to release you from our boy and girl engagement, so that you may be entirely free in every way. It is possible that you may think it unkind of me to do this now, but I am quite sure, dear Hector, that when you are an admiral and a very distinguished man, you will look back at this, and you will see that I have been a true friend to you, and have prevented you from making a false step early in your career. For myself, whether I marry or not, I have determined to devote the remainder of my life to trying to do good, and to leaving the world happier than I found it. Your father is very well, and gave us a capital sermon last Sunday. I enclose the bank-note which you asked me to keep for you. Good-bye, for ever, dear Hector, and believe me when I say that, come what may, I am ever your true friend,
“Laura S. McIntyre.”
She had hardly sealed her letter before her father and Robert returned. She closed the door behind them, and made them a little curtsey.
“I await my family’s congratulations,” she said, with her head in the air. “Mr. Raffles Haw has been here, and he has asked me to be his wife.”
“The deuce he did!” cried the old man. “And you said – ?”
“I am to see him again.”
“And you will say – ?”
“I will accept him.”
“You were always a good girl, Laura,” said old McIntyre, standing on his tiptoes to kiss her.
“But Laura, Laura, how about Hector?” asked Robert in mild remonstrance.
“Oh, I have written to him,” his sister answered carelessly. “I wish you would be good enough to post the letter.”
CHAPTER X. THE GREAT SECRET
And so Laura McIntyre became duly engaged to Raffles Haw, and old McIntyre grew even more hungry-looking as he felt himself a step nearer to the source of wealth, while Robert thought less of work than ever, and never gave as much as a thought to the great canvas which still stood, dust-covered, upon his easel. Haw gave Laura an engagement ring of old gold, with a great blazing diamond bulging out of it. There was little talk about the matter, however, for it was Haw’s wish that all should be done very quietly. Nearly all his evenings were spent at Elmdene, where he and Laura would build up the most colossal schemes of philanthropy for the future. With a map stretched out on the table in front of them, these two young people would, as it were, hover over the world, planning, devising, and improving.
“Bless the girl!” said old McIntyre to his son; “she speaks about it as if she were born to millions. Maybe, when once she is married, she won’t be so ready to chuck her money into every mad scheme that her husband can think of.”
“Laura is greatly changed,” Robert answered; “she has grown much more serious in her ideas.”
“You wait a bit!” sniggered his father. “She is a good girl, is Laura, and she knows what she is about. She’s not a girl to let her old dad go to the wall if she can set him right. It’s a pretty state of things,” he added bitterly: “here’s my daughter going to marry a man who thinks no more of gold than I used to of gun-metal; and here’s my son going about with all the money he cares to ask for to help every ne’er-do-well in Staffordshire; and here’s their father, who loved them and cared for them, and brought them both up, without money enough very often to buy a bottle of brandy. I don’t know what your poor dear mother would have thought of it.”
“You have only to ask for what you want.”
“Yes, as if I were a five-year-old child. But I tell you, Robert, I’ll have my rights, and if I can’t get them one way I will another. I won’t be treated as if I were no one. And there’s one thing: if I am to be this man’s pa-in-law, I’ll want to know something about him and his money first. We may be poor, but we are honest. I’ll up to the Hall now, and have it out with him.” He seized his hat and stick and made for the door.
“No, no, father,” cried Robert, catching him by the sleeve. “You had better leave the matter alone. Mr. Haw is a very sensitive man. He would not like to be examined upon such a point. It might lead to a serious quarrel. I beg that you will not go.”
“I am not to be put off for ever,” snarled the old man, who had been drinking heavily. “I’ll put my foot down now, once and for ever.” He tugged at his sleeve to free himself from his son’s grasp.
“At least you shall not go without Laura knowing. I will call her down, and we shall have her opinion.”
“Oh, I don’t want to have any scenes,” said McIntyre sulkily, relaxing his efforts. He lived in dread of his daughter, and at his worst moments the mention of her name would serve to restrain him.
“Besides,” said Robert, “I have not the slightest doubt that Raffles Haw will see the necessity for giving us some sort of explanation before matters go further. He must understand that we have some claim now to be taken into his confidence.”
He had hardly spoken when there was a tap at the door, and the man of whom they were speaking walked in.
“Good-morning, Mr. McIntyre,” said he. “Robert, would you mind stepping up to the Hall with me? I want to have a little business chat.” He looked serious, like a man who is carrying out something which he has well weighed.
They walked up together with hardly a word on either side. Raffles Haw was absorbed in his own thoughts. Robert felt expectant and nervous, for he knew that something of importance lay before him. The winter had almost passed now, and the first young shoots were beginning to peep out timidly in the face of the wind and the rain of an English March. The snows were gone, but the countryside looked bleaker and drearier, all shrouded in the haze from the damp, sodden meadows.
“By the way, Robert,” said Raffles Haw suddenly, as they walked up the Avenue. “Has your great Roman picture gone to London?”
“I have not finished it yet.”
“But I know that you are a quick worker. You must be nearly at the end of it.”
“No, I am afraid that it has not advanced much since you saw it. For one thing, the light has not been very good.”
Raffles Haw said nothing, but a pained expression flashed over his face. When they reached the house he led the way through the museum. Two great metal cases were lying on the floor.
“I have a small addition there to the gem collection,” he remarked as he passed. “They only arrived last night, and I have not opened them yet, but I am given to understand from the letters and invoices that there are some fine specimens. We might arrange them this afternoon, if you care to assist me. Let us go into the smoking-room now.”
He threw himself down into a settee, and motioned Robert into the armchair in front of him.
“Light a cigar,” he said. “Press the spring if there is any refreshment which you would like. Now, my dear Robert, confess to me in the first place that you have often thought me mad.”
The charge was so direct and so true that the young artist hesitated, hardly knowing how to answer.
“My dear boy, I do not blame you. It was the most natural thing in the world. I should have looked upon anyone as a madman who had talked to me as I have talked to you. But for all that, Robert, you were wrong, and I have never yet in our conversations proposed any scheme which it was not well within my power to carry out. I tell you in all sober earnest that the amount of my income is limited only by my desire, and that all the bankers and financiers combined could not furnish the sums which I can put forward without an effort.”
“I have had ample proof of your immense wealth,” said Robert.
“And you are very naturally curious as to how that wealth was obtained. Well, I can tell you one thing. The money is perfectly clean. I have robbed no one, cheated no one, sweated no one, ground no one down in the gaining of it. I can read your father’s eye, Robert. I can see that he has done me an injustice in this matter. Well, perhaps he is not to be blamed. Perhaps I also might think uncharitable things if I were In his place. But that is why I now give an explanation to you, Robert, and not to him. You, at least, have trusted me, and you have a right, before I become one of your family, to know all that I can tell you. Laura also has trusted me, but I know well that she is content still to trust me.”
“I would not intrude upon your secrets, Mr. Haw,” said Robert, “but of course I cannot deny that I should be very proud and pleased if you cared to confide them to me.”
“And I will. Not all. I do not think that I shall ever, while I live, tell all. But I shall leave directions behind me so that when I die you may be able to carry on my unfinished work. I shall tell you where those directions are to be found. In the meantime, you must be content to learn the effects which I produce without knowing every detail as to the means.”
Robert settled himself down in his chair and concentrated his attention upon his companion’s words, while Haw bent forward his eager, earnest face, like a man who knows the value of the words which he is saying.
“You are already aware,” he remarked, “that I have devoted a great deal of energy and of time to the study of chemistry.”
“So you told me.”
“I commenced my studies under a famous English chemist, I continued them under the best man in France, and I completed them in the most celebrated laboratory of Germany. I was not rich, but my father had left me enough to keep me comfortably, and by living economically I had a sum at my command which enabled me to carry out my studies in a very complete way. When I returned to England I built myself a laboratory in a quiet country place where I could work without distraction or interruption. There I began a series of investigations which soon took me into regions of science to which none of the three famous men who taught me had ever penetrated.
“You say, Robert, that you have some slight knowledge of chemistry, and you will find it easier to follow what I say. Chemistry is to a large extent an empirical science, and the chance experiment may lead to greater results than could, with our present data, be derived from the closest study or the keenest reasoning. The most important chemical discoveries from the first manufacture of glass to the whitening and refining of sugar have all been due to some happy chance which might have befallen a mere dabbler as easily as a deep student.
“Well, it was to such a chance that my own great discovery – perhaps the greatest that the world has seen – was due, though I may claim the credit of having originated the line of thought which led up to it. I had frequently speculated as to the effect which powerful currents of electricity exercise upon any substance through which they are poured for a considerable time. I did not here mean such feeble currents as are passed along a telegraph wire, but I mean the very highest possible developments. Well, I tried a series of experiments upon this point. I found that in liquids, and in compounds, the force had a disintegrating effect. The well-known experiment of the electrolysis of water will, of course, occur to you. But I found that in the case of elemental solids the effect was a remarkable one. The element slowly decreased in weight, without perceptibly altering in composition. I hope that I make myself clear to you?”
“I follow you entirely,” said Robert, deeply interested in his companion’s narrative.
“I tried upon several elements, and always with the same result. In every case an hour’s current would produce a perceptible loss of weight. My theory at that stage was that there was a loosening of the molecules caused by the electric fluid, and that a certain number of these molecules were shed off like an impalpable dust, all round the lump of earth or of metal, which remained, of course, the lighter by their loss. I had entirely accepted this theory, when a very remarkable chance led me to completely alter my opinions.
“I had one Saturday night fastened a bar of bismuth in a clamp, and had attached it on either side to an electric wire, in order to observe what effect the current would have upon it. I had been testing each metal in turn, exposing them to the influence for from one to two hours. I had just got everything in position, and had completed my connection, when I received a telegram to say that John Stillingfleet, an old chemist in London with whom I had been on terms of intimacy, was dangerously ill, and had expressed a wish to see me. The last train was due to leave in twenty minutes, and I lived a good mile from the station, I thrust a few things into a bag, locked my laboratory, and ran as hard as I could to catch it.
“It was not until I was in London that it suddenly occurred to me that I had neglected to shut off the current, and that it would continue to pass through the bar of bismuth until the batteries were exhausted. The fact, however, seemed to be of small importance, and I dismissed it from my mind. I was detained in London until the Tuesday night, and it was Wednesday morning before I got back to my work. As I unlocked the laboratory door my mind reverted to the uncompleted experiment, and it struck me that in all probability my piece of bismuth would have been entirely disintegrated and reduced to its primitive molecules. I was utterly unprepared for the truth.
“When I approached the table I found, sure enough, that the bar of metal had vanished, and that the clamp was empty. Having noted the fact, I was about to turn away to something else, when my attention was attracted to the fact that the table upon which the clamp stood was starred over with little patches of some liquid silvery matter, which lay in single drops or coalesced into little pools. I had a very distinct recollection of having thoroughly cleared the table before beginning my experiment, so that this substance had been deposited there since I had left for London. Much interested, I very carefully collected it all into one vessel, and examined it minutely. There could be no question as to what it was. It was the purest mercury, and gave no response to any test for bismuth.