THE BANNANTYNE SAPPHIRES

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 773, 20 September 1929, Page 5

THE BANNANTYNE SAPPHIRES

BY

FRANK HIRD

FOR NEW READERS Gervasc Daynesford, head of a great j stockbroking firm, is about to take into partnership Guy Meredith, the orphaned son of an old friend. Guy is engaged to Daynesford’s daughter Patricia, and the. .partnership was to be his wedding present. On the day before the articles are signed, 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 Guy. Henry Bannantyne is a wealthy banker and a cousin of Daynesford's, and, he and his wife have introduced Patricia into Society and practically adopted her. On his way down to join Patricia. Guy meets Maxwell Wryce and his sister, Julia, and Lady Latchniere, all friends of tile Bannantynes, 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 to put away her valuable sapphire necklace in a safe, the whereabouts of which are known only to herself and her husband. 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. Guv discovers that all Daynesford s property has gone, with the exception of some Mexican holdings, which are considered valueless. Guy thinks otherwise, however, and . goes to Bannantyne to borrow the . £3,000, which must be paid before he ] can gain any advantage from the Mexi- \ can property. Bannantyne refuses. I Guv tries Maxwell Wryce with the ; same result. TTo has only a month left In which to raise the money. In answer to a telephone call he goes to ■ see Manuel Leofalda. CHAPTER VIII. —(Continued.) “On the same lines as your first offer, eh? The property for you, a; pittance for us!” Meredith laughed. "Your reasoning, Mr. Leofalda, is weak. I wasn’t bound by any courtesy to tell you we had paid the taxes. That wouldn’t have been business. "Vow,” he said, “I’m going to be quite frank with you. The Sangolanto Oil Company told me exactly what you did —that in a month they could get a concession from the State of Yuracan if the Daynesford property was seized. They were so sure of it, they wouldn’t make an offer. But vou made an offer. My deduction was that if we accepted, and sold you the property, at the end of the month you could dictate your own terms to the Sangolanto people; that you had some j particular reason of your own for get- i ting in first.” “Your deduction is quite correct, i Mr. Meredith,” Leofalda answer ed i without a moment’s hesitation. But there is no harm in that. “Good Lord, no!” said Meredith. “It’s business. By a lucky chance we got the ' money for the taxes. Tnat j

gave us the trump card. Why should I tell you we held it? That wouldn't have been business.” “No,” Leofalda agreed. “It would not have been business. I will be frank, too, Mr. Meredith. From inquiries I made I knew you could not get the tax-money. The news this morning, therefore, came as a great surprise.” Meredith checked a temptation to say “Precisely.” He nodded his head. Leofalda looked down at his plump hands, then folded one above the other on his knee. After a pause he said: “Well, Mr. Meredith, what is your price—now?” "Something better than this.” Meredith picked up a letter from the table and handed it to the Mexican. Leofalda read it through. Then raising his head quickly he looked at Meredith. His eyes were not expressionless now. There was an ugly gleam in their depths. “Thirty thousand pounds is a large sum of money, Mr. Meredith, for a possible uncertainty.” “You wouldn’t have said so if the Sangolanto people had offered you that amount.” The heavy eyelids flickered up and down. “Thirty thousand pounds! Thirty thousand pounds!” the Mexican said under his breath, as if he had not beard Meredith’s remark. There was another pause. Leofalda laid the letter on the table. "I will give you thirty-five.” Meredith hesitated. Thirty thousand pounds the Sangolanto Company had said was their limit, first over the telephone, and then in their confirming letter which he had shown to Leofalda. Should he close with the Mexican’s offer? But, he reflected, the man was dead keen on getting the property. If not, he would not have come to see him the moment he found the taxes had been paid. And he certainly would not have sprung another five thousand with hardly a minute's thought. If the Sangolanto people would make a higher bid he might push the Mexican higher still. At any rate, he would have a shot. He rang up the Sangolanto Company. “I've just had an offer of thirtyfive thousand for the Daynesford property,” he said. “I thought you might like to know before I close with it.”CHAPTER IX. There was a pause, and then came the voice of the official Guy had seen on his first visit to the company. “I must consult my directors. Is there any immediate hurry?” “No, there’s no immediate hurry,” Meredith replied, repeating? the words for Leofalda’s benefit. “Shall I hold it open?” “Certainly. How long can you give us ?” The less anxiety he showed to close with the Mexican’s offer, Meredith thought, the more he might be able to get; so he said, “Until tomorrow," adding, as if it was an afterthought. Use Sliarland's Egg Preservative and enjoy eggs during the dear season a: today’s low prices. l;

“Shall we say tomorrow afternoon at 4 o’clock?” . “Thank you. You shall have an answer by then.” Meredith hung up the receiver. “I can tell you after 4 o’clock tomorrow,” he said to the Mexican, “whether l accept your offer or not.” Leofalda rose, his eyes veiled, and his face impassive. “Which means,” he said, “that if Sangolanto bid higher you will accept their offer?” “Unless you hid higher still,” Meredith replied. Every year in August the Bannantynes lent the park at Brentland Towers for the local Flower Show, making it the occasion for lavish entertainment. Each year the programme was precisely the same. The show lasted three days, Tuesday. Wednesday, and Thursday, but the house was tilled with guests for the whole week, the party assembling on (lie Saturday before the show and leaving on the Saturday after. This party was the last one given each year by the Bannantynes before they went to Aix-les-Bains. From there they went to Scotland, where Bannantyne had rented the same shooting for so long that he had come to regard it as his own property. This year, however, Mrs. Bannantyne, still suffering from the shock of Gervasse Daynesford's suicide, did not feel equal to the many cares of a houseful of guests. Therefore, Meredith and Patricia and the Wryce brother and sister were the only visitors for the show week. On the Saturday evening before ; the show—it was three weeks after | Meredith’s interview with Leofalda — Bannantyne, Wryce and Meredith j were sitting over their coffee in the dining-room at Brentland. “By-the-way,” said Meredith, maki ing a bad failure to speak casually, j “you two were all wrong abopt the ! Mexican property. Patricia and 1 j have sold it.” ■ “Well, you’ve been lucky. What did you get for it? A fiver?” Bannantyne was lighting a cigar, and looked at Meredith across the flaming match as he spoke. “Yes, we have been lucky, very lucky.” The young man could no longer restrain his triumph. “Do you know,” he cried, turning to Bannantyne and then looking across the table at Wryce, “we got fifty thousand ! ” The cigar fell into Baunautyne’s i plate. Wryce stared at Meredith j open-mouthed. “Yes, fifty thousand!” Meredith | repeated. “Have you got the money?” Bannantyne put the question. He was frowning, and Meredith noticed | that Wryce was looking down at. the end of his cigarette, which he was . twisting backwards and forwards . iust as he had done in Curzou Street when he refused to lend the money for the taxes. “It’s in the bank, quite safe." Meredith glanced at the two men. They might have shown some pleasure. he thought, in this wonderful j stroke of luck that had come to him and Patricia. It was shabby to sit mum. Obviously they were both an- | noyed to find they had been wrong—- : miles out, in fact. Bannantyne picked up his cigar and relighted it. Then he said in his | sharp* business manner: “That proves I was right. There ! must be something dirty behind it. Nobody would give that money for undeveloped land unless they were certain of getting it back, and a lot more besides. Don’t you agree. Max- , well?” “Absolutely.” Wryce replied, without any hesitation. “Who's bought it. G uy?” “A little Mexican chap called Manuele Leofalda.”

“Leofalda! Leofalda!” said Bannantyne. “I know that name.” Then, to Wryce, “Of course, don’t you remember, Maxwell, he was the man who arranged the concession in Uruguay, and did jolly well out of it, too.” “Oh, I remember —rather a smartlooking little chap, with big black eyes.” “Yes. Well, he’s straight enough. You’ve been lucky, Guy. How did you get in touch with him?” “He got in touch with me. Rang me up on the telephone that day I lunched with you, Maxwell,” Meredith answered, going on to describe his interviews with Leofalda and the oil company. “You never saw anybody so surprised as the Sangolanto people when I took them the receipt for the taxes. They’d banked on our not being able to get the money. And so had the little Mexican. He tried to make out that I had landed myself with a dud until I showed him a letter from the oil people offering thirty thousand. Then he jumped five thousand more on the spot.” Both Bannantyne and Wryce, their elbows oil the table, were listening eagerly. “How did you get the money for the taxes?” Bannantyne asked. “Patricia got it from a friend,” Meredith answered, then dashed on with his story. “I don’t suppose 1 shall ever have such a thrilling time again. First the oil company advanced two thousand on Leofalda’s thirty-five. That, showed me both sides were equally keen to get the property. So l just put one against the other. I wouldn’t see either of them. I did it all by telephone. I used to feel as if I were an auctioneer with the telephone for a hammer — ‘Going!’ ‘Going!’ and then up the bid would go another thousand, sometimes a couple. Well, to cut a long story short, the little Alexican I think lost his patience, because , one day he made a big iucrease and offered fifty thousand. The oil company asked two days’ grace to consider that, and. then cried off altogether. I was sorry, because I would rather have sold to the Sangolanto people.” “Why?” asked Wryce, looking surprised. “Because I disliked the Alexican. I can’t tell you why. but I do. Of course, after he came down with that thumping offer of tliirty-five thousand f made inquiries about him. Financially he’s sound enotfgh. He’s got big interests, I found, in the Mexican and South American markets.” : “Yes, that’s quite correct,” said ; Bannantyne. 1 “All the same 1 would rather have j sold to the company,” Aleredith re- ! pea ted. 1 “You’ve got a big price,” said j Wryce.- “What difference can it ; make to you who bought the pro- | perty?” Aleredith thought he detected a note ; of irritation in the question. “None at all.” he replied quickly, j “It’s only a personal feeling. Leo--1 falda must be certain of making a

pot of money or lie wouldn’t have i gone to that amount.” “Of course, he wouldn’t. That’s | what is called business,” remarked Bannantyne rising from the table. “Well. Guy, you’ve been very lucky. [ wouldn’t have risked a penny on it myself.” Again Meredith felt chilled by Bannantyne’s lack of pleasure. But Bannantyne was thinking only of himself. He *made mistakes so rarely, was always so sure of his ground, that when his judgment proved to be wrong he took it as a personal grievance. In this instance, he knew if he had lent the money for the taxes Meredith and Patricia would have owed their little fortune to him. In that case Patricia would not have refused her share, he thought, as she had refused his offer to live at Brentland, just because of what he had said about her father.

CHAPTER X. Bannantyne’s grievance against Patricia was still strqng. Certainly, Patricia came to Brentland whenever Alice wanted her particularly. Only a little while ago she had come down at an hour’s notice so that Alice should not. spend an evening alone. But she avoided him. yes, absolutely avoided him. She was civil before Alice and other people, but whenever by any chance they were alone she either looked at him as if she considered him a murderer, or walked out of the room. Guy ought to have come back to him when Leofalda made his first offer instead of Patricia running about to heaven knows who. Curiously illogical reasoning, this, by a brilliant, level-headed man of business. But the personal equation often biases the clearest judgment, and in Bannantyne’s case injured vanity added to the bias. Patricia was the first person who had ever thwarted his wishes, and. on the top of that, as he put if to himself, “turned up her nose at him.” Yes, Patricia was an ungrateful girl, most ungrateful, seeing what he and Alice had done for her. He disliked her intensely. If it weren't for Alice’s sake he would never have the girl inside his house again! “I suppose Patricia will give up chat silly tennis job now?” be said to Meredith, as the three men crossed the hall to the drawing-room. “She finished there yesterday, thank goodness.” Wryce put his hand on Meredith's shoulder. “That’s good news,” he said, “in fact, it's splendid news! I'm awfully glad. I suppose you and | Patricia will be getting married soon?” | Meredith laughed. “It’s funny you should mention that. Patricia aud I I were talking about it coming down i this afternoon.” “Did you decide anything?” asked Bannantyne. “No. Patricia thinks we ought tc I find a house first. There I don’t agree.” “Of course you'll be married from here.” “That's awfully good of you. Henry. but Patricia ” Meredith hesitated then added hurriedly. “You’ll have to talk it over with her. That’s the bride’s affair, isn't it?” “Humph!” said Bannantyne to himself. “They’ve talked it over, and Patricia has settled she won’t be married from my house.” When the three men went into the drawing-room. kind, geutle. Mrs. Bannantyne wondered what could have been said over the coffee. A glance at her husband's face showed he was angry, badly angry, in one of what she called his "black fits.” It was strange. Dear Guy and Maxwell Wryce never upset him. What could they have been talking about? On Sunday afternoons many of her neighbours blessed Mrs. Bannantyne.

Slie was always a “certain find’* for tea, and if they had a week-end party and took their guests with them, she was just as pleased as they were. Their guests, too, were equally delighted. Henry Bannantyne’s pictures were famous. There was a Reynolds in the dining-room for which it ’.as said he had given a prodigious sum. Besides, a visit to the magnificent great, house was an interesting interlude in a country Sunday. On this particular Sunday afterno-n some twenty pepole were gathered at tea in the winter garden. Among them were Bannantyne’s partner. Philip Cordelion, and his wife. They lived about twenty miles away, and with other guests ha.d brought Hol'd and Lady Templeforth. a recently married couple. Banna ntyue had not seen Lord Templeforth since he had bought the sapphire necklace, from him after his mother’s death. There were two big round tables for tea, Mrs. Bannantyne doing hostess at one. Patricia at" the other. After tea some of the people went with Bannantyne to look at his pictures; others gathered in little groups. This general movement left Lady Templeforth alone with Mrs. Bannantyne at the latter’s table. She was a slender, pretty woman, considerably younger than her husband. “On the way here,” she said. ’ my husband told me about your famous sapphire necklace that used to belong to the Templeforths. I told him I should ask you to let me see it. He said I had better not, as it might make me envious, or cross with him for selling it. But I shouldn’t be in the least. I don’t care about wearing jewels. Only this necklace has such a wonderful history. It would be so kind if I might see it. Might I?” “Of course,” Mrs. Bannantyne re plied immediately, pleased with this i interest, in the necklace. “If you | won’t mind waiting till my husband j comes back.” Glancing across to the other tabic she saw Patricia getting up. "Oh we needn’t wait until then.” she added, remembering that Patricia hat: helped her to put the necklace away “If you will excuse me a moment I’ll go and get it.” “Will you come and help me gel the necklace?” she said, going up tt Patricia. “Lady Templeforth wants to see it, and Henry is busy showing the pictures.” Patricia followed at once to tht door opening from Mrs. Banuantvne’; sitting-room into the winter garden When they were inside. Mrs. Bau nantyne locked it. “Would you work the top spring?' she said, as she set the cupboart door, disguised as a bookcase. wid* ■ open. "You remember there’s i | spring just, below the top shelf.” Patricia got upon a chair and find iug the small raised lump of wood said. “Here it is.” "Wait a moment. Yes, here’s mine. Mrs. Bannantyne s finger was on tin spring just above the bottom shell i “Now push.” There was the clicking sound whicl

Patricia had noticed when she helped Mrs. Bannantyne put the necklace away on the night of the ball, and, as then, the end of a small rod shot I from the woodwork. She pulled it j right out. | “I forget which book you take j down,” she said. | “The third from the left.” Patricia pulled out the wooden box with its leather book-binding and its | edges painted to represent gilt-edged leaves. “There’s your treasure,” she said, handing the imitation book to Mrs. Bannantyne, and preparing to descend from the chair. “Wait a moment, my dear; I'll take the necklace out and you ran put the case back. Somebody might come into the room while I'm showing it to Lady Templeforth.” Mrs. Bannantyne pressed both the edges of the case. Oue of the leather-covered sides flew open. Patricia heard a gasp of horror, and. looking down, saw Mrs. Bannantyne staring at the white velvet lining. There was no necklace in the case. It was empty. “It isn’t possible! it can't be possible! ” Mrs. Bannantyne had sunk into a chair and was looking down at the empty case lying in her lap. “1 haven’t worn the necklace since the night of the ball, the night you helped me to put it away.” The case slid from her trembling hands on to the floor. Patricia picked it up. “Who can have taken it? Who can have known?” Mrs. Bannantyne asked in a terrified whisper: them seizing Patricia’s wrist, cried, "Oh. my dear. | did you tell anybody where it was kept?” j "No. I’ve never spoken about the (necklace to anybody, not even t<» Guy,” was Patricia’s immediate anj swer. “Are you sure you haven't had it out since that night?” “Quite sure, my dear. That was the last time I wore it." Mrs. Bailnantyne took the case from Patricia, and turning it over ! shook it as if hoping ihat the sapphires were hidden somewhere beneath the white velvet. “What will Henry say?" she gasped. "He will never forgive me! He was always against my keeping the nock- , i lace in the house. But it seemed so i safe in that case. And nobody knew except Henry and me —and then you’. Oh. Patricia, what shall 1 do? What shall I do? My beautiful sapphires!" Between fear of her liushaud and the realisation of her loss. Mrs. Banj nantyne broke down. Clinging to Patricia, the tears streaming unheeded down her face, she sobbed. “I would lather have lost everything —everything else T have. I’ve never in all my life cared for anything as I did for my sapphires. Oh, Patricia —who can have taken them?” There was nothing Patricia could . say to comfort the distressed and sobbing woman beyond a murmured “I’m so sorry for you—so sorry.” : Then she asked. “Shall I fetch Henry? He ought to know.” (To be continue** tomorrow.)