THE BANNANTYNE SAPPHIRES

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 771, 18 September 1929, Page 5

THE BANNANTYNE SAPPHIRES

BY

FRANK HIRD

FOR NEW READERS Gervase Daynesford, head of a great siockbroking firm, is about to take into partnership Guy Meredith, the orphaned son of an old friend. Guy is engaged to Daynesfoi’d's daughter, Patricia, and the partnership was to be his wedding present. On the day before the articles are sitned Daynesford tells Guy that by rash speculation he has brought about the ruin of the firm, which in a few weeks will cease to exist. That same night Henry Bannantyne and his wife Alice are giving a ball in honour of Patricia and Guv. Henry Bannantyne is a wealthy banker and a cousin of Daynesford’*, and he and his wife have introduced Patricia into society and practically adopted her. Daynesford begs Guy not to let Patricia hear of the disaster until after the ball, and Guy agrees. On his way down to join Patricia. Guy meets Maxwell Wryce and his sister Julia, and Lady LatchmeVe. all friends of the Bannantyncs, who will be at the ball. During the course of the evening Mrs. Bannantyne is attacked by a violent headache. She asks Patricia to help her put away her valuable sapphire necklace in a safe, the whereabouts of which are known only to herself and her hushand. The safe requires two people to open it. When they return from the ball they are horrified to discover that Gervase Daynesford has committed suicide. Guy discovers that all Daynesford’s property has gone, with the exception "f some Mexican holdings which are considered valueless. Guy thinks otherwise, however, and Roes to Bannantyne to borrow’ the £3,000 which must be paid before he can gain any advantage from the Mexican property. Bannantyne refuses. In the meantime Patricia has to earn •er living giving tennis lessons. airs. Bannantyne asks her why she will not live with them. * CHAPTER IV (Continued) "Don't you think you have been rather hasty?” he asked!. “Guy, I couldn’t, I simply couldn’t, He dependent on Henry,” Patricia answered. “It would be disloyal to Daddie!” Meredith thought she was referring to her fixed idea that Henry Bannantyne could have saved her father. “Oh, I say, aren’t you rather exaggerating?” he said, taking her hand between both of his own. ‘‘You must remember Henry knew nothing about your father’s affairs. Your father never said a word to him.” “It isn’t that,” the girl cried passionately, “not that at all. I’ve known ever since daddie”—her voice broke a s it always did when a recollection rame to her of that awful night at * Arlestone “died, that Henry despised and criticised and blamed him. Oh, I know Henry’s never said anything,” she added quickly, as Meredith was about to speak, “not a word, at least to me. But I know’ what Henry thinks of people when he Purses his lips and sneers whenever their name is mentioned, and then talks about something else. He’s done that ever since he knew Daddie w as ruined.” Meredith drew- the trembling, a£i[ated girl down on the settee beside him. ‘My darling, you must be fair,” he * aid gently. In his besetting anxiety 0 keep all knowledge from her of "hat her father had done, he was afraid of her deductions about Banuantyne. “it isn’t like my Patricia ®.J ea P to conclusions,” he went on, temporising. “How can anyody be certain they can read a man’s Noughts in his face?” I am certain because Henry has saying what, he thinks about addle— and even worse. Yesterday 6 told Mary Latchmere that Daddie “ a u no one but himself to blame for happened, and it was just as that he . . .he . . „ - the sudden gripping of her finr, » Mered Hh knew what Patricia was ni?h llng ’ Recollection of that awful Arlestone was an agony. ies, yes,” he murmured soothingly. ,le hadn’t, Henry said nfnf 6 wou ld have been made a bankPt, aud might have been sent to all 011 heeause he had stolen nearly in m y money. Think of Henry say- '** « Uch a ‘bins: You couldn’t expect me to stay

here, living on Henry after that, could you?” Meredith was too perplexed to answer. If he tried to soften her anger against Bannantyne he could only admit that Bannantyne was right. Then, they would be plunged into explanations he had so carefully avoided. “I couldn’t stay here, Guy, could 1?” Patricia repeated. She looked up at him, a little surprised by his silence. Meredith had to say something. There was no help for it. “If you feel like that about Bannantyne,” he said guardedly, “I don’t see how you could. But what are you going to do?” “I can't bo a governess, or teach music, or typewriter, so I thought perhaps a mannequin. But since Alice spoke to me this afternoon I’ve seen an advertisement in the paper. The job would suit me down to the ground. Dashland’s Stores want a tennis instructor for the club they run for their assistants somewhere out by Ealing. With all my prizes and championships I ought to have a good chance, so I’ve written by this evening's post.” Within a week Patricia had received the appointment. She took her lodging at Ealing in order to be near her work. Meredith took one close by, in order to he near her. The week-ends, when Patricia could get away, they spent inf Brentland. Outwardly the relations between Patricia and Bannantyne were what they always had been; but inwardly a hatred of the girl was slowly growing in Bannantyne’s mind. He was scarcely conscious of it. No one in his life had ever shown him openly that they disliked him. No one had ever refused his proffered benefits. Patricia had done both, and in doing so had left him with a sense of bitter humiliation. Thwarted wishes and humiliation make a rapid forcing-bed for dislike, especially in a man of dominating character like Bannantyne. This Patricia discovered later on. When he reached the busy city street from Bannantyne's office. Guy Meredith hesitated. He had told Bannantyne that he would go on trying to get the money for the taxes on the Mexican property until the last minute, but to whom could he go? Bannantyne had said that the Mexican business was “one of the maddest of Daynesford’s wild-cat schemes.” Meredith thought differently. From various inquiries he had made he found that the discovery of oil on adjoining lands had greatly increased the value of the property since Daynesford bought it. But among the dead man’s papers he had come across au ultimatum from the Mexican authorities. Arrears of taxes amounted to £3,000, and Daynesford was informed that unless this sum was paid by a certain date the property would be seized. Further inquiry showed that unless the taxes were paid the property could not be sold. Before he could offer the property for sale he would have to find the £3.000. Believing that Bannantyne would advance the money because of the increased value, he had asked his help the week before, -while staying at Brentland. The refusal was immediate. Then Meredith approached several of Gervase Daynesford’s old city friends. There he met the same story. Daynesford had been a fool to buy property in Mexico of which he knew nothing, and in a country where revolution had become a national pastime. During the week, further information about the oil on the adjoining lands had come to Meredith, and encouraged by this he had made his secon appeal to Bannantyne. His own business knowledge forced him to admit that he had nothing but uncertainty to offer in exchange for the loan he wanted. Yet, even if the pro-

j perty fetched less than Daynesford j had given for it, there would be an inj come for Patricia, enough to make her I safe, whatever happened to him. Ban- ! nantyne had been the last possible j chance, and, now that was hopeless, ! definitely hopeless. CHAPTER V. Standing on the pavement looking ; at the crowds of hatless, sleek-headed men hurrying this way and that, Meredith’s perplexity grew deeper and deeper. What could he do? Where could he find this money? He looked at his watch, and with an exclamation of surprise darted across the road and boarded a passing bus. He was lunching with Maxwell Wryce in Curzon Street, and had barely time to get there. Meredith had always liked Maxwell Wryce and his sister Julia. But since the tragedy he had liked them even more. They did not obtrude their sympathy like some well-meaning souls whose insistence on all that he and Patricia had lost made him writhe — but he was always conscious of it. A good many of their former friends were already beginning to forget Meredith’s and Patricia's existence, hut there w r as no difference with the Wryce’s. except that perhaps the young people were asked to luncheon and dinner more frequently at the beautiful house in Curzon Street. Today they were only a party of four —Maxwell and Julia Wryce, Meredith, and Lady Latchmere, another friend to whom the changed conditions made no difference. “When do you aud Latchmere start for the famous trip to America?” Wryce asked Lady Latchmere as they took their places at the polished dining table. “In a fortnight; and, to tell you the j truth. I don’t want to go.” Lady Latchmere screwed up her j eyes. “A man at the American Em- j bassy tells me I shall have to shake ! hands at least a thousand times a day. There are to be three days of it, so that means three thousand times. It make’s one’s wrist ache to think of it! “Well, if you and Lord Latchmere will insist on giving Tennessee an historical cottage you must expect to suffer for it,” said Julia Wryce. “That was Peter’s doing, not mine,” Lady Latchmere replied. “He thought it would be a beau geste, another link of good feeling between the two countries, and all that sort of thing. You see, the man who discovered .Tennessee, or first settled there—l always forget which—was really born in that cottage at Hurstley. “I tried to get out of the -whole thing aud stay quietly at Hurstley. Peter wouldn’t hear of my staying there all by myself, so I asked Patricia to come, I expect she told you," she said to Meredith, who was sitting opposite. “Yes, she was awfully sorry,” he said, “but you see she couldn’t leave her work.” “Yes, I understand that. I couldn’t bear anybody else I know, except Patricia, in the house for three months, so I’m going with Peter. As a reward he's going to let me have letters sometimes.” Julia Wryce turned to Meredith, saying:— “I think Patricia’s simply splendid. P was so plucky to take on that tenuis job. And did you know she’s making a big success of it?” Meredith’s eyes sparkled. “That is good news,” he said. “She's been rather depressed the last week or so. 1 She felt things were not going well.” “Tell her from me she’s quite wrong, and you can say it's ‘inside information.’ ” Julia Wryce had a happy, infectious chuckle. Somebody’ once said that it reminded them of a baby’s dimple. When her friends heard it they knew it was the preface to something amusing or pleasant. She chuckled now. “I’ve been spying on dear Patricia,” she continued. “This morning I was at Dashland's. A very’ nice girl served me in the millinery department. I asked her what she did in her spare time. She played tennis, she j told me, and when I asked where, said i at the club which Dashland's ran for ’ their asistants at Ealing. At this I j pricked my ears. Half a dozen ques--1 tions, my dear Guy, and the girl was j j bursting with praises of Patricia. “The j

nicest lady she had ever seen, a real lady . . . Since she had been at the club the tennis was quite different . . . she helped everybody’, no matter how backward they were . . . never got cross or impatient . . . always a kind word and a smile ... all the girls loved her . . . they’d never met anybody like her . . . and such a lady with it all . . . ’Only the day’ before the shop-walker had told her and some of the other girls that the heads thought j Miss Daynesford was a real find.” Julia Wryce chuckled again as she reached the end of her questions. “And so on and so on, Guy, a positive waterfall of praise. Aren’t you pleased?” She need not have asked the question, since Meredith’s face answered it before it was put. Patricia was beginning to feel she was making no headway, and thought she might lose her job. Her despairing “If they think I’m no good, what on earth can I do?” had alarmed him. It had made him even more eager to get something out c£ the Mexican property. “Dear Patricia!” cried Lady Latchmere, “I’m so glad! Like Julia, I think she’s simply splendid!” After coffee, when the two men were left alone in the dining-room, Wryce said: “Bannantyne tells me you’re going into his bank. That’s good news.” “But uot for another month.” Wryce looked surprised. “But I thought you’d cleared up all poor old Dayuiesford’s affairs,” he said. Meredith explained the Mexican affair. Wryce was obviously interested. “I didn’t know Daynesford had any’ Mexican holding,” he said. “Where is it?” Meredith mentioned the province, expatiating- on the oil that had been found on the adjacent lands. “Yes, I’ve heard about that." Maxwell Wryce, like Bannantyne, was in the world of finance, but he occupied himself exclusively with foreign stocks. He had done a certain amount of business with Daynesford and Daynesford, hut Meredith knew that the bulk of it w’ent to Bannantyne, Cordelion, and Westrapp, who w’atched the markets for j him during his frequent absences j abroad. Besides the house in Curzon Street —one of the most perfectly-run houses in London—with its ceaseless entertaining, Wryce had a yacht, and a villa in Corsica where Patricia had stayed with Mrs. Bannantyne in the spring. Meredith had never thought about Wryce’s possible income before, but now came the sudden thought that he must be very rich indeed, and with the thought came a hope. After a moment’s hesitation he explained that everything- depended on his getting £3,000, and asked Wryce to lend him the money. Wryce did not answer. He looked down at the end of his cigarette, which he was twisting backwards and forwards on his plate. After a while Meredith found the silence intolerable. “It will mean all the difference in the world to Patricia,” he pleaded. “If you can sell the property,” Wryce replied quickly’, still looking at the cigarette end. “Have you consulted Bannantyne?” “Y T es. He won’t lend me the money because he say-s there’s nothing in rhe property’, and it’s suspect.” “If Henry Bannantyne says ' that, it’s about right. He's never touched a doubtful thing in any way in his life,” Wryce said quietly’. Then, glancing quickly at Meredith’s anxious face, he added as he rose from the table. “I’m sorry, Guy. awfully sorry, but there’s a lot behind this oil business in Mexico that’s shady’. A man in Bannantyme’s position couldn’t have his name connected with it in any way. Neither can I.” He put his hand on Meredith’s shoulder. “I would have done it like a shot in spite of the risk,” he said kindly, “but there’s a lot of hocuspocus and dirty work behind it all. Even if y r ou got the money for the taxes, a hundred chances to one you'd be frozen out in the selling. Bannantyne's right. There's nothing in it. Now, shall we go upstairs?” Meredith had let Gervase Dayuesford’s big offices at the earliest oppor- \ tunity—that was one expense the less —under the agreement that he should keep a small room for himself until ! the dead man's affairs were settled. I To this little room he returned from I

the luncheon in Curzon Street, even more depressed and miserable than when he had left Bannantyne. On the right-hand side of an ordinary office table was a leather case with a typewritten label, “Assets.” Meredith drew it toward him and opened it. There was only one file of papers, all fastened together—the documents relating to the purchase of the Mexican property, the single asset [Daynesford had left behind him. There were not more than half a dozen papers. At the top was the ultimatum, giving notice that unless the taxes amounting to £3.000 were paid in three months, the property would be seized. And the ultimatum was dated two months back! Meredith opened the deed of purchase, a big square document bearing many’ seals. Daynesford had given £20,000 for the property. There it was, all set out, as Bannantyne had said, “one of the maddest of his wild-cat schemes.” But it" only a quarter of that sum could be got it would simplify things for Patricia. And he could do nothing, nothing, because not a soul would lend him the £3,000. Guy’ Meredith was not of the order of men who admit defeat, but as he folded up the big square deed and put the papers back in the case he knew that here he had failed. "Assets 1” The word was a grinuiug mockery. He only’ wanted £3,000, and uot even Bannantyne or Wryce would risk the money’, although it meant all the difference to Patricia’s future. But there must be somebody among Day’nesford’s old friends or clients who would help; surely there must be somebody’. Taking down the office address book, he went carefully through its pages, writing down the names of every’body’ he thought possible of approach. He had gone half-way-through the hook when the telephone bell rang. “Is that Mr. Guy- Meredith?” The voice was that of a foreigner; the accent curiously sibilant. “Speaking,” Meredith answered. “You are settling the affairs of Mr. Daynesford on behalf of his daughter. I understand." “Yes.” “Am I right in understanding that Mr. Daynesford had a property in the province of Turacan in Mexico?” “Yes, that is correct,” Meredith replied, immensely surprised. “And y-ou wish to sell the property?” “Miss Daynesford and I wish to sell it,” Meredith corrected. There was a pause, then came in the sibilant voice. “What is the price?” “Who’s that speakipg,” asked Meredith. Manuele Leofalda,” was the answer, followed by an address near the Mansion House. “What is the price?” The name was unknown to Meredith, but his heart was beating a little more quickly than usual when he said: “It is difficult to go into details on the telephone. When can I come round and see you?’ “When you choose. Now, if y-ou like.” ■ Ten minutes later Meredith was closetted with Mr. Mauuele Leofalda in an office on the top floor of a tail building, the plans and purchase deed of the Mexican property spread out on the table between them. Little explanation was needed from Meredith. The other knew all the circumstances, even to the unpaid taxes and the threat of seizure. When Meredith had entered the room and Leofalda had risen to greet him the young man had been conscious of a vague dislike. The hand that met his own was smooth and plump, unpleasantly so. The olivecoloured face was plump, too, without a line or wrinkle. This unusual smoothness of face in a man of his age—Meredith judged him to be in the middle thirties—at once drew attention to his eyes. They were dark, slightly’ protuberant, with heavy, rather puffy, upper lids, crisscrossed by a number of the fine lines. At the outer corner of each eye was a deep crowsfoot. The contrast between the youthfulness of the face and the age suggested by the eyes was startling. Meredith found it a little sinister. (To be continued tomorrow.)