Jacob's Ladder. Oppenheim Edward Phillips

won’t supply it, that’s all.”

      Jacob pointed to where an ornamental chimney, a power shed and a gleam of water appeared on the other side of a small wood.

      “Isn’t there a private company there?” he asked.

      “Practically defunct. They used to supply Cropstone, but the Urban Council there are running a show of their own.”

      “Water good?” Jacob enquired.

      “I’ve never heard any complaints.”

      Jacob glanced at his watch.

      “If you would be so good as to call at the White Hart Hotel at half past six this evening,” he said, “and ask for Mr. Jacob Pratt, there is a small matter of business I should like you to undertake for me in this neighbourhood.”

      The young lawyer’s alacrity was not to be mistaken.

      “I will be there without fail,” he promised.

      At eleven o’clock precisely, the next morning, Mr. Dane Montague presented himself for the second time at Jacob’s offices, accompanied this time by a smaller, darker and glossier duplicate of himself, whom he introduced as Mr. Sharpe, his solicitor. Jacob did not keep them long in suspense.

      “I have inspected the Cropstone Wood Estate,” he announced, “and I am willing to advance the twenty thousand pounds for its purchase.”

      Mr. Montague moistened his already too rubicund lips.

      “I felt certain that you would not neglect such an opportunity,” he said.

      “The profits on the sale of the land in lots,” Jacob continued, “are, I presume, to be divided equally amongst the three of us. As regards the houses which Mr. Littleham proposes to build, I will advance whatever money is necessary for these, on mortgage, at six per cent interest, but the profit on the sale of these I should expect to divide.”

      Mr. Montague showed some signs of haste.

      “I don’t object,” he assented suavely. “Littleham and I will take the other half. It is a great relief to me to get this matter settled quickly,” he continued, “as I have an exceedingly busy day. There just remains one rather important point, Mr. Pratt. My offer of the property expires to-morrow, and the vendors might or might not be disposed to extend the time. In any case, it would be better not to ask them. Would it be possible to clinch this matter to-day?”

      “Bring your agreement here,” Jacob directed, “at three o’clock, and I will give you my cheque for the amount.”

      Mr. Sharpe reached for his hat.

      “I can manage it,” he said, in reply to a look from Montague, “but I shall have to get along at once.”

      At a quarter past three that afternoon, Jacob wrote his cheque for twenty thousand pounds, received a signed copy of the agreement with Messrs. Littleham and Montague, and sat by himself, whistling softly and listening to their retreating footsteps. Dauncey came in, a few moments later, with a perplexed frown upon his forehead.

      “Please may I look through the agreement?” he begged.

      Jacob passed it over to him. He read it through slowly and carefully.

      “Anything troubling you?” Jacob asked.

      “I don’t know what it is,” Dauncey confessed. “The agreement seems all right, but I saw their faces when I let ’em out. I can’t see the flaw, Jacob, but it’s not an honest deal. They’ve got something up their sleeve.”

      Jacob smiled.

      “Perhaps you’re right, Dick,” he answered. “Anyway, lock the agreement up in the safe and don’t worry.”

      CHAPTER VII

      Jacob found life, for the next few months, an easy and a pleasant thing. He took a prolonged summer holiday and made many acquaintances at a fashionable French watering place, where he devoted more time to golf than gambling, but made something of a reputation at both pursuits. He came back to London bronzed and in excellent health, but always with a curious sense of something wanting in his life, an emptiness of purpose, which he could never altogether shake off. He was a liberal patron of the theatres, but he had no inclinations towards theatrical society, or the easy Bohemian circles amongst which he would have been such a welcome disciple. He was brought into contact with a certain number of wealthy men in the city, who occasionally asked him to their homes, but here again he was conscious of disappointment. He enjoyed wine, cigars and good food, but he required with them the leaven of good company and good fellowship, which somehow or other seemed to evade him. Dauncey remained his chief and most acceptable companion, a rejuvenated Dauncey, who had developed a dry fund of humour, a brightness of eye and speech wholly transforming. There were many others who offered him friendship, but Jacob’s natural shrewdness seemed only to have increased with his access of prosperity, and he became almost morbidly conscious of the attractions to others of his ever-growing wealth. He had joined a club of moderate standing, where he met a certain number of men with whom he was at times content to exchange amenities. He had a very comfortable flat in the Milan Court, a country cottage at Marlingden, now his own property, with a largely increased rose garden, and half an acre of forcing houses, over which domain Mr. and Mrs. Harris reigned supreme. He possessed a two-seater Rolls-Royce, which was the envy of all his acquaintances, and a closed car of the same make. He belonged to a very good golf club near London, where he usually spent his week-ends, and his handicap was rapidly diminishing. And he had managed to preserve entirely his bland simplicity of manner. Not a soul amongst his acquaintance, unless specially informed, would have singled him out as a millionaire.