"_That_ isn't fair if you like," she retorted. "Fair is"--she paused.
"Exactly so!" laughed Peter Ramsay. "Is there an outside standard or is there not? That is the question."
Mr. Hirsch, who always wore white waistcoats in the evening (they were not so becoming as black ones) answered it.
"Of course there is a standard--the general consensus of opinion."
"Made up of units?" suggested Dr. Ramsay.
"Quite so!" retorted the financier, "but it gives the limit of safety.
Between certain lines you can negotiate--even on the Stock Exchange, ha, ha!" His laugh was curiously explosive and shook him from head to foot.
"But surely there _is_ a standard," said Helen softly.
"There is a standard which, collectively, we accept, Helen. It comes back in the end to our personal verdict, I'm afraid," said her cousin, "and it is curious how that verdict varies," he continued addressing Mr. Hirsch. "You, I expect, believe in the law of supply and demand.
Now, I feel, somehow, that if I were to charge a thousand pounds for a glass of water which a distracted husband wanted for his dying wife, I should be doing a detestably mean thing, even though the man was quite willing and able to pay for it." There was a pause.
"That is rather a stiff example," said Ted Cruttenden; "but theoretically, a man surely has the right to get the best price he can for his wares; without that axiom commerce would come to an end."
"What would the world be without it, I wonder?" remarked Dr. Ramsay.
"Supposing it was made penal for any one to take more than ten per cent. profit----"
"I should be a pauper," laughed Mr. Hirsch, his bright eyes dancing.
"That would not suit me at all. Why, I should have nothing over to give away, and my charities cover my sins. Imagine it, a world where there was no '_coup_,' where your brains were of no use to you. Pah!"
He poured himself out a glass of water abstractedly, and drank it as if to take away the taste.
He was in great form that night, the rebuff of Helen's refusal to drive home with him having acted on his abundant vitality much as the attempt of a rival on the Stock Exchange to limit his freedom of action would have done, that is, it stimulated his determination to do as he chose.
And the others seemed in high spirits also, so that even Ned forgot the very existence of the Seaview Hotel, until some one said laughingly that there must be electricity in the air, or magnetism, or hypnotism, and suggested a _seance_ of some kind.
"No," cried Lady Wrexham, who posed as being well in with the Psychical Research Society. "Let us crystal gaze--or stay, a magic mirror. Only a little ink in the palm of the hand, Mrs. Tresillian. It so often comes off when I'm in the room, and I'm sure you could 'scry,' I see it in your eyes."
Helen's caught Dr. Ramsay's instantly, almost resentfully, but he was silent.
"Perhaps I'm a witch also, who knows?" she said, speaking at him. "Old Betty Cam was an ancestress of ours, wasn't she, father? and she was the devil's own warlock. But you shan't be disappointed, Lady Wrexham.
There is a real magical crystal that came from Thibet somewhere in the house. I will find it for you to-morrow, or rather to-day, for it is past twelve o'clock. Time for every one who isn't a witch to be in her bed, surely."
There was a decision about the remark which would not be gainsaid, so the ladies, some with, some without lights, dawdled upstairs like wise and foolish virgins, calling down jokes and good-nights to the men on their way to the billiard-room, while Ned Blackborough, seizing his opportunity, waylaid Mr. Hirsch and begged for five minutes in Sir Geoffrey's den.
"About the hotel," echoed Mr. Hirsch when Ned broached the subject.
"_Pardon!_ But excuse me if I change my cigarette for a cigar. There is always so much to be said concerning that business."
He spoke with a smile, but his face had hardened at once, and Ned, listening, could not but admire his companion's uncompromising directness. He was aware of course, he said, that the money Sir Geoffrey had invested was a loan from Lord Blackborough, and therefore he treated him, as a shareholder, a large shareholder, with absolute freedom.
Well! Mr. Hirsch had found Sir Geoffrey in difficulties, and had helped him. Why? Because, having a great _penchant_ for Mrs.
Tressilian, he was glad to be of use. The hotel would practically have to be rebuilt. At present its condition would disgrace a jerry-built villa near London. And they had perpetrated this inconceivable sham in full face of the Atlantic.
But it was always the way when such schemes were not properly floated at first. There never was enough money to allow for the inevitable leakage. Then little men had little ways, and the methods of a tuppenny--ha' penny ring, like this had been, were simply horrible.
But the site was gigantic, absolutely gigantic, and if you could only get rid of that bloated mechanic Jenkin and his gang, you could make anything of it. But they were incurably vulgar--they had wanted a gramaphone in the hall, they allowed one in the steward's room.
The words reminded Ned that, as he walked up to the hotel, lost in admiration of that marvellous sea surging against the sheer cliff, he had been greeted by shrieks of laughter and the sound of a double shuffle done to the latest music hall "catch on." And he smiled.
Hirsch was right. It was incurably vulgar. Who was it who said that, since nowadays he had to choose between solitude and vulgarity, he chose the former?
Mr. Hirsch's cigar had actually gone out in his irritation, but he was alight again and went on.
Regarding the insurance? Yes. He had made a temporary arrangement to secure his own money and Sir Geoffrey's, and a little over; you could secure anything nowadays by a high enough premium. In fact, the best thing that could happen now, if he might be excused for saying so, was--was a fresh start--without Jenkin! The hotel would practically have to be rebuilt anyhow at the end of the season. Meanwhile, regarding the electric light. It was bad--that was Jenkin again--but they were exercising extreme care, and could do no more.
"But supposing," began Ned.
"My dear Lord Blackborough," said Mr. Hirsch, with a curious smile as he arose and pulled down his white waistcoat, "I never deal in suppositions. As a business man, I can't afford it. I know this has been worrying Sir Geoffrey, who has old-fashioned ideas of responsibility, but--ah! here he comes. I was just saying, sir, how disturbed you were this morning about the slight alarm at the Seaview last night. But, as I told you, it really lessens the odds of its occurring again. To make any fuss just at present, when you need to get all the money you can in order to start the thing fair, would be suicidal. I don't, in fact, see that we are bound to do any more than we are doing. There is a certain risk in all large buildings as badly supplied with water as this one is. But surely one must credit people with eyes. _Caveat Emptor!_ Lord Blackborough, _Caveat Emptor!_ That immoral but comfortable piece of wisdom is the backbone of all reasonable speculation. Good-night. If I may, I'll have some whisky and water in the billiard room on my way upstairs."
Ned came back from the door and looked at his uncle.
"Well, sir," he said, "what is to be done?"
Sir Geoffrey's face was a study of irresolution. "Let's leave it till to-morrow, Ned," he said at last; "the night will bring wisdom. But I expect Hirsch is right. He has a wonderfully clear head; and I only wish that Helen----"
"I would leave Helen out of the business if I were you, sir,"
interrupted Ned angrily.
It was intolerable to think of her as possible part payment. As he lit his candle and made his way to the old wing, "among the ruins," as she called it, he told himself that he had half a mind to buy out all other interests and spend an extra thousand or two in throwing the whole gim-crack building over the cliffs. And it was all so useless!
Helen didn't want the money; she was craving to live on an hospital nurse's pay.
"Ned," said a voice at the door, just as he had taken off his coat, "let me in, please, I must see you."
It was Helen herself. Her eyes were blazing bright, her face was pale.
She had flung a white shawl over her bare shoulders, yet she shivered.
"Ned," she said swiftly, "thank God you're here! You must come with me--you will, won't you? Put on your thick shoes and come as you are.
It is quite warm--there is only a fog."
"Come," he echoed, "come where?"
She seemed a trifle confused, and passed her hand over her forehead.
"Down to the point, of course; they must be warned----"
"Warned of what? What have you heard?"
"I didn't hear, I saw. Ah! do come quick, I ought to be there, you know, showing a light."
She spoke in curiously even tones, and for an instant Ned thought she was sleep-walking or dreaming. One of those deadly dreams of excessive hurry in which, no matter what you do, thought leaves the labouring body far behind.
"You saw it! But where, and what?"
She was silent for a second, looking at him half-dazed, then she spoke quite naturally. "It was in the crystal--the one they brought from Thibet. He said I could, and so I saw----"
Suddenly her whole bearing changed.