The Astute Deal

HERE were three things in life of which Mr. Thomas Hopps possessed a nervous dread: the long yellow envelop, marked “On His Majesty's Service,” suggestive of unpleasant curiosity on the part of the authorities with reference to his income, the agony column of the Times, and any communication bearing a foreign stamp. For many years these apprehensions had interfered with his enjoyment of his morning post and newspaper. He had argued with himself in vain. The thing had become an obsession with him against which reason was useless. To a certain extent he felt a sort of gloomy triumph when at last the worst occurred. There, on the top of his letters one morning, was an envelop bearing the French postmark, which he instinctively felt contained his doom. He opened it with trembling fingers. The message which he had read and ignored in the Times a month ago was there copied out for his benefit. He was confronted with the one dark secret of his past.

E WAS able to secrete the letter before delivering his bombshell. Now that the moment had arrived, he was endowed with a sort of courage. He looked across the breakfast table at his wife and it took a certain amount of courage to do that on the mornings when Mrs. Hopps was not in the best of tempers.

“I regret to say, my dear,” he announced, “that within the next few days I shall be obliged to visit our branch in Paris.”

“Obliged to do what?” Mrs. Hopps demanded, looking across at him incredulously.

“To visit our branch in Paris,” he repeated. “The matter has been discussed several times lately. It is the wish of Mr. Salteley that I should go.”

“I never heard of such a thing,” Mrs. Hopps declared. “What can you do in Paris?”

“After all, my dear,” her husband ventured, “I did establish the branch of our business there, which has been, I may say, a very great success. It needs a little reorganization. I shall take the two-twenty train to-morrow.”

“I shall go with you,” the lady announced.

Mr. Hopps frowned.

“Just as you like, my dear,” he conceded artfully. “I must warn you, however, that I may not be obliged to stay more than a few hours. In which case I should return at once. I should recommend your waiting until I can send you a wire.”

“I shall think the matter over,” Mrs. Hopps concluded. “I may decide to go with you, or I may not.”

Mr. Hopps presently took his departure for the City, where his position of partner in the great house of Salteley's, Limited, enabled him to plan for his visit to Paris without trouble. Then, oppressed by the fear of his wife's insisting upon accompanying him, he decided upon a bold step. He sent a messenger home for his clothes—his wife, he knew, was out for the day—and caught the two-twenty that afternoon. By some curious inadvertence he forgot to leave his address in Paris, and, as a matter of fact, he caught the “Luxe” direct for Monte Carlo. On the second afternoon he presented himself at the Villa Sabatin in a taxicab hired from Nice.

There was no one at home, it appeared, and, for an hour or more, Mr. Hopps amused himself by wandering about the place, enjoying the beauty of the gardens and the scenery, and reveling in the sunshine. His spirit became lighter every moment. There was nothing sinister or poverty-stricken about the place. On the contrary, everything seemed to indicate that the confederates of his unregenerate days had prospered. If that were the case they were not in need of money, and he would perhaps be able to obtain possession of a certain document, without undue financial strain.

N DUE course Madame returned in a limousine with a footman on the box and Hugh Cardinge by her side. Another car, containing two young people who were strangers to him, followed behind. It was obvious that Madame at first did not recognize him. Then she laughed softly and held out her hand.

“Why, it's Tommy!” she exclaimed. “Little Tommy Hopps! Hugh, do you recognize my visitor?”

Cardinge came over and greeted him. He, too, smiled. Fifteen years of unabated prosperity had made a great deal of difference to Mr. Thomas Hopps. He had been almost slim in the Paris days, whereas he was now distinctly rotund. His face and his person showed signs of good living. He carried himself with an undeniable air of well-being.

“You're looking well,” Cardinge said.

“The same to both of you,” Mr. Hopps replied. “Madame does not look a day older.”

“Come and have tea,” she invited. “Afterwards you must tell us of all your doings.”

Tea was served informally upon the piazza. Mr. Hopps found conversation difficult. He was so used to directing it upon the subject of himself and his marvelous prosperity that he found it exceedingly hard to create the opposite impression, which, under present circumstances, was what he desired. Madame and Cardinge watched his rather clumsy efforts with amusement. As soon as the meal was over, first Claire and then Armand drifted away. Mr. Hopps had the opportunity which he desired.

“I received your summons on Tuesday morning,” he began, pulling down his waistcoat. “I took the 'Luxe' the same day. You must admit that I have been prompt.”

“I trust,” Madame said softly, “that we may take your eagerness as indicating that the desire for adventure still stirs in your blood.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Mr. Hopps replied, a little testily. “Circumstances are entirely changed with me. I have, to a limited extent, prospered in a mercantile career. I have become a partner in the great house of Salteley.”

He stared hard at Cardinge, who felt that he was expected to say something.

“Most creditable,” he murmured.

“This house you speak of, are they bankers?” Madame inquired.

“Leather merchants,” Mr. Hopps declared. “The best-known firm in the world. You may not remember the fact now, but when I drifted in with you and your friends in Paris I was out there representing another firm in the same line of business.”

Madame nodded.

“I believe I remember that you were interested in some commercial pursuit,” she acknowledged. “Now tell me this, if you have lost your taste for adventure, why were you so prompt in answering my summons?”

Mr. Hopps leaned forward in his chair. He spoke impressively.

“I want my quittance,” he admitted. “You know what I mean. The little document you made me give you—sort of confession of the one time in my life I made an ass of myself.”

“Just so,” Madame murmured. “You have been able to keep your secret?”

“Absolutely,” Hopps assured her. “The thing is buried now—finished.”

Madame studied her very beautiful fingernails for a moment.

“Well,” she said, “we must see what can be arranged.”

Her visitor's face fell.

“I should like to have it this moment,” he declared. “I should like to take it back to England with me to-morrow—or rather to destroy it before I go back to England.”

“But you are not thinking of leaving us so soon?” Madame protested.

“Surely you are going to spend a few days here, now that you have come so far,” Cardinge observed.

“I don't want to stay an hour longer than I need,” was the dogged reply. “I want to get my fingers on that document.”

“But the Riviera just now is at its best.” Madame pointed out. “This is your first visit this season, isn't it?”

“I have never been here before,” Mr. Hopps rejoined, “and I don't much care if I never come again. It's too hot for me and I've forgotten what little I knew of the language.”

“Dear me!” Madame sighed.

“What a pity!” Cardinge regretted.

“Why is it a pity?“Mr. Hopps demanded

“Because,” Madame explained, “we wanted you to stay out here with us for at least a week, to help us in a little scheme which is maturing.”

“Can't be done,” Mr. Hopps declared emphatically. “That is to say, the scheme, you know. I'm chairman of Salteley's, Limited, an accepted candidate for Parliament, on the board of two hospitals, and churchwarden at St. Jude's, Sydenham.”

“Dear me,” Cardinge murmured, “you have indeed made a success of life.”

“I married a daughter of Sir John Fosten,” Mr. Hopps went on impressively. “Fosten, the wholesale carpet manufacturers in Kidderminster and Queen Victoria Street. I've settled down to a steady and reputable life. You couldn't get me to touch anything in the nature of what we used to call an adventure if you offered me a million pounds. Why, the very thought of some of the risks we used to run makes me hot.”

R. HOPPS did indeed dab his forehead with his pocket-handkerchief and found it wet. He looked from one to the other of his two companions and became dimly conscious of a want of sympathy. Surely they must understand his position.

Madame sighed regretfully.

“Then I suppose there is nothing more to be said,” she remarked.

“If you are really in such a terrible hurry,” Cardinge suggested, “you might catch the night train at Nice.”

“It would be an immense relief to me,” Mr. Hopps confessed.

Madame held out her hand.

“Mr. Hopps would perhaps like to see the gardens before he goes,” she said to Cardinge. “I will leave you to look after him. Do see that he has a whisky and soda or anything he fancies.”

“Thank you, I have explored the gardens before you came,” Mr. Hopps assured them. “Very pretty and all that, but not much in my line. If I could have that document I spoke of, I'll take the taxi straight back to Nice.”

“The document?” Cardinge repeated.

“Your quittance?” Madame murmured.

“That's what I came out to get,” Mr. Hopps confided.

Madame yawned.

“You are a very sanguine person, Tommy,” she declared. “You should remember that when our little society was formed, one of the conditions of my guidance and financial help was that you should place in my hands some unrecorded secret of your lives, affecting either your honor or your personal liberty. These documents were to be returned when the society ceased to exist, at my discretion.”

“But surely,” Mr. Hopps protested, “I can resign—I have resigned.”

Madame shook her head.

“Several of my dear Virgins,” she said, “have answered the call and have received their quittances—but they paid for them. There is no question of resignation.”

“Paid?” her visitor repeated blankly.

“Not in money, but in service. There was a little task which we had allotted to you which at its successful completion would have entitled you to your quittance.”

“I'd rather pay if I must,” he faltered.

Madame glanced at him scornfully.

“You were always the most pusillanimous of my helpers,” she scoffed. “You seem now to have become perfectly flabby. I fear that your outlook upon life has been spoilt by the too easy acquisition of money.”

“Easy!” Mr. Hopps objected. “I've worked as hard as any man.”

“Nevertheless, like most successful people,” Madame continued, “you have imbibed an exaggerated idea of the wealth you have amassed. You cannot buy your quittance, Tommy. You can only earn it.”

“God bless my soul!” Mr. Hopps groaned. “Get on with it, then. Let me hear the worst.”

HE continental edition of the Daily Mail and the Riviera Post had a great deal to say about the luncheon party given by Madame at rhe Sporting Club a day or so later, Several well-known people were there and Madame was, as usual, a gracious and successful hostess. One of the minor events of the luncheon was that Mr. Thomas Hopps sat next to Mr. de Peyser, the well-known cosmopolitan financier, and that they indulged in what appeared to be a very engrossing conversation. Later in the day Madame invited Mr. Hopps to take the empty seat in the limousine back to the villa.

“Well?” she asked laconically,

“I am lunching with Mr. de Peyser at Hotel de Paris to-morrow,” Mr, Hopps announced without enthusiasm.

“Did he refer to his land scheme?”

“Ultimately,” Mr. Hopps confessed. “I can not imagine why he should have looked upon me as a person likely to embark in hazardous speculations, but he undoubtedly did. He tried to interest me in a gold mine in Borneo. He spoke glowingly of some shares of which he appeared to have a few for  disposal. He hinted at a vacant directorships on the board of the company formed to take over some famous oil wells.”

“And you?” Madame murmured.

“I followed your suggestions. I told him that the only investments I cared about in were in land.”

“And then?”

“He was most complimentary on my judgment. He seemed to look upon my preference as a startling coincidence. 'Land,' he repeated to himself several times. When I invited him to go on he shook his head and assured me that his lips were sealed on the particular scheme which he had in his mind. There was a chance that he might be able to speak about it to-morrow. It was then that he invited me to lunch. He was very anxious, however, for me to understand that the meeting was to be merely a friendly one, and that it was most unlikely that anything would come of it except at a pleasant chat.”

“Capital!” Madame approved.

“Would it not be as well,” her companion suggested, “to give me a little further information as to this scheme?”

Madame reflected for a moment.

“Ask Hugh to explain it to you,” she said. “It was he who saw through it.”

FTER dinner that evening Mr. Hopps drew Cardinge to one side. He had dined remarkably well and Madame's champagne was much better than his own. Nevertheless, his distaste for his present enterprise was unabated.

“Look here, Cardinge he began. “I am hanging on, obeying orders. I made myself agreeable to that fellow de Peyser just as you told me, and let him know all about myself. Now he's going to talk to me to-morrow about a land scheme. What's it all mean? Am I to pretend to be interested in that, or crab it? And what is the damned scheme? And on what date can I take my seat in the train?”

“For the day on which you purchase the option Mr. de Peyser will try to sell you for ten thousand pounds.”

“Option!” Mr. Hopps gasped. “Ten thousand pounds! I don't want to buy an option on anything.”

“As it happens, you are not required to on your own account,” Cardinge assured him. “You are to buy this on behalf of Madame and me.”

“Why don't you deal with him yourselves?”

“A pertinent question,” Cardinge admitted coolly. “The reason is this. The option is on the purchase of some land close to hers. If we tried to buy it de Peyser would at once put the price up. He would realize that Madame is living here, must know the value. He only gave an old song for the option himself and he believes it to be valueless. It isn't.”

“I see,” Mr. Hopps muttered. “If I succeed in buying the option for ten thousand pounds on Madame's behalf, I get quittance.”

“That's the idea,” Cardinge assented.

It appeared, however, that there were difficulties. Mr. de Peyser on the following day was a genial, even an expansive host, but he seemed for some reason utterly disinclined to talk business.

“That land matter?” he repeated, in answer to an inquiry of his guest's. “Oh, yes, I remember. To tell you the truth I was thinking it over last night and I came to the conclusion that I had better have a look at the property and perhaps get an independent valuation before I sold it. You heard how it came into my possession, I suppose?”

“No, I haven't heard,” Mr. Hopps admitted.

His host sipped his Château Yquem and smiled.

“Why, it came to me,” he said, “very much in the same way that you will find the most wonderful jewelry in the world—in the back-parlors of some of these shops. A man here—quite a wealthy man in his way—absolutely lost his head at baccarat one night. He wasn't broke exactly, but he was in a devil of a mess because he had partners who would have gone crazy if they thought that he had been gambling to that extent. He came round to see me—they most of them know that if there's anything really good going, I can put my hand on the money. But, to cut a long story short, I bought the option from him, gave him a check and he was able to square himself. I was thinking of asking whether you cared to come in with me. So I brought a copy to show you. Your name as chairman, if we turn the thing into a company, would do us a bit of good, and there's no doubt that the land around Nice is valuable—especially this stretch.”

Mr. Hopps shook his head.

“I haven't the time for that sort of thing,” he explained. “My business keeps me close at it. I would rather listen to anything you might have to say about a deal for the land and the option outright!”

Mr. de Peyser nodded indifferently.

“Well, we'll see about that later,” he suggested. “There's quite a decent firm of valuers in Nice. I'll get them to give me an idea as to what the thing's worth and we'll meet again. I don't want to sell 'a ' and you don't want to buy one. Some day next week we'll have a little lunch together, eh?”

R. HOPPS was disappointed. He went back and made his report to Madame who was lunching at the Club. She, too, was disappointed. So, apparently, was Cardinge.

“We've waited too long,” the latter remarked.

“He's probably had a hint about the hotel,” Madame observed.

“You're not expecting me to hang around here till next week, with no prospect of anything doing then, I hope?” Mr. Hopps asked anxiously.

“Looks as though you'd have to postpone your departure, at any rate for the moment,” Cardinge said. “If there's absolutely nothing doing with de Peyser, perhaps Madame may be able to think out something else.”

“I dare say,' Madame assented, turning away. “At present don't bother me, please. I'm going to play trente et quarante.”

“This is all very well.” Mr. Hopps muttered disconsolately, “but what about my partners, to say nothing of my wife?”

Cardinge laid his hand on the other's shoulder.

“Madame is a little annoyed,” he confided. “She thought you would be able to get the option. Take my advice. Keep your eye on de Peyser. He's a changeable fellow. Anything may happen within the next two or three days.”

“I don't know what will happen to me if my wife finds out that I'm in Monte Carlo,” Mr. Hopps groaned. “I'm out of my element, Cardinge. I'm a business man with serious principles. I want to get back to my work. Look here,” he went on persuasively, “I never dreamed that I should be expected to buy my quittance, but if a reasonable sum—”

“Madame is peculiar about that,” Cardinge interrupted. “If you take my advice you won't suggest it to her. She hates taking money directly. She would much rather go out of her way to show you how to make it.”

“Well, this time she isn't very successful, is she?” his companion grumbled. “I'd make it for her if she'd show me how. She simply puts me onto a man who doesn't want to sell what she wants to buy. I can't do more than I have done.”

“Keep your eye on de Peyser,” Cardinge advised once more. “It's the only hope, unless Madame thinks of some other scheme. If you have to spring another thousand on the land and the option, that will be better than letting it go.”

“The question of title doesn't arise, I suppose?” Mr. Hopps asked. “You've been into all that?”

“Naturally,” Cardinge assured him. “We know all about the deed, and we want it.”

Mr. Hopps. who did not gamble, spent a dull afternoon. He came across de Peyser once or twice, but the latter made no effort to reopen the conversation. Gloomily he went back to his hotel—he had moved to Monte Carlo at Madame's advice—dressed and dined alone. After dinner wandered to the Casino, where he he spent a couple of lonely hours. He was on the point of leaving when Cardinge hurried into the Rooms and came at once over to him.

“I have been looking for you everywhere, Hopps, he said. “Get back to the Club as quick as you can—no, I am not coming.”

“What's up?” was the anxious inguiry. “De Peyser has been plunging. Every now and then he lets himself go. I believe he's lost a great deal. If you happen to stroll by just now he might feel differently about that option. You never can tell anything. Leave it to him to mention it.”

“You needn't teach me anything about business methods,” Mr. Hopps replied, starting for the door with alacrity. “I'll handle him all right if he's a seller.”

Mr. Hopps reached the Sporting Club, left his coat and hat, strolled through the Rooms in leisurely fashion, and turned into the bar. De Peyser was sitting there alone, and it was obvious that something was wrong. The moment he saw Mr. Hopps he beckoned to him energetically. The latter yawned.

“Hullo!” he exclaimed. “Not playing?”

“Not at the moment,” was the somewhat vague rejoinder.

“I'm just off to bed,” Mr. Hopps confided. “You look as though a night's rest would not do you any harm.”

De Peyser ordered another brandy and soda and forced his companion into a chair.

“Look here,” he asked, “how much money have you on you?”

“Money?” Mr. Hopps repeated. “Got a fair amount.”

“How much?” the other insisted.

Mr. Hopps took out his pocket-book.

“Twenty milles,” he announced.

De Peyser showed signs of disappointment.

“Have you got your check-book?” he demanded.

“I always carry my check-book,” Mr. Hopps admitted.

“Listen to me,” de Peyser said earnestly. “I'm not a gambler—in a general way, that is to say. To-night I think I have got a streak of madness in me. I've lost—well, it doesn't matter how much. I've had to leave off just as I was striking the right patch—I hadn't a franc left. If I go back like this, I'll feel like a beaten man.”

“You must excuse me,” Mr. Hopps began, “but I never lend money—a principle of me in business. Not even,” he added, some emphasis, “to an old friend.”

“I'm not proposing to ask you to,” was the curt reply. “Give me that twenty milles and a check for the balance this minute and I'll sell you the option for ten thousand pounds—I believe it's worth twenty.”

“But you haven't got it with you,” the other pointed out.

“That's where you're wrong,” de Peyser snapped. “I saw the land agent I spoke of in here this afternoon and I promised to bring it to show him after dinner. I have it in my pocket and here it is!”

He laid the document upon the table.

“Now are you on or not?” he demanded. “I can borrow money upon your check. I can't cash it.”

R. HOPPS sipped his brandy and sat and reflected. His manner of doing business had always been orthodox. He had not yet bought a thing at the price asked. He had never quoted a price which he was not prepared if necessary to abate.

“I have been making a few inquiries on the option,” he said thoughtfully. “Some of the property's very good, no doubt, but there's a lot of it that ain't worth much. I had made up my mind I was glad you weren't a seller.”

“Rubbish!” his companion remonstrated angrily. “My option is to purchase at two and a half millions, and there isn't a man wouldn't value the estate at three and a half. There's a cool million francs' profit to the man who puts up the money and exercise the option. Fifty thousand pounds going for ten thousand. You don't often have a chance like that.”

Mr. Hopps looked doubtful.

“Sorry,” he said. “I never was particularly fond of options. This one may be all right, of course, but it is a gamble. I shouldn't know what to do with it.”

“You could sell it again to any one who knew the property,” the other insisted. Mr. Hopps took out his check-book.

“I'll give you the twenty mille notes I have and a check for six thousand pounds,” he declared, “not a penny more.”

De Peyser rose to his feet. The veins stood out upon his temples like shipcord.

“You damned huckster!” he exclaimed. “I'll see you in hell first. Go back to London and buy and sell your hides.”

He strolled out of the room. Mr. Hopps looked after him with a faint smile. He was not in reality an intelligent person, but he had cunning. He made out the check for six thousand pounds and, reserving one mille note for himself, he made a neat little packet of the remainder. He had scarcely completed his task when de Peyser reappeared. He was very pale and apparently still shaking with anger, but he came straight to the table and flung down the document.

“Give me the money,” he demanded brusquely.

Mr. Hopps tore a leaf from his pocketbook and wrote a few lines to the effect that the six thousand pounds and nineteen mille notes were in payment of the option to purchase for two and a half million francs the estate known as the Hill of Cagnes. He purchased a stamp from the man at the bar and de Peyser signed the receipt for the money viciously.

“Even now,” he muttered, “you've done me out of a mille.”

“I can not be left penniless,” Mr. Hopps replied pleasantly. “Won't you take a drink before you start playing again?”

“Not with you,” was the surly rejoinder.

Mr. Hopps drank alone and, on the whole, he was well pleased with himself. There was a certain amount of risk before him, but he accepted it with confidence. A profit of two thousand, five hundred pounds and freedom from anxiety for the rest of his life was not a bad result, after all.

He had nearly an hour to wait for Madame on the following morning when he arrived at the villa, and Cardinge, too, had been sent for from a neighboring farm. They arrived almost together—Madame very elegant in a rose-colored morning gown, but a little displeased at having been aroused so early. Their visitor held out the option, with a smile of triumph.

“I have succeeded,” he announced. “I have saved you money, too. I have bought the option for nine thousand pounds.”

“Nine thousand pounds!” Madame repeated.

Cardinge picked up the document and examined it. “Dear me!” he murmured.

“I went back to the Sporting Club as you advised,” Mr. Hopps continued. “I found de Peyser, penniless. He was aching to play again and he offered me the option for ten thousand. I bid him nine, paid him the money, and there you are!”

Madame smiled—a smile, however that was just a little enigmatic. She crossed the room, unlocked the cabinet, and drew up two sealed letters, tied up with tape. They were both a little yellow with age. She held them in her hand meditatively.

“Nine thousands pounds,” she murmured. “Mr Tommy Hopps, that lie will cost you precisely six thousand pounds, nineteen mille notes and your expenses out here. Charles!”

De Peyser lifted the curtains in the adjoining room and entered. Madame held out one of her packets.

“Here is your quittance, Charles,” she said. “I give it to you with great pleasure. You have provided me with excellent entertainment. By the bye,” she added, turning to Hopps, “Charles de Peyser joined us after you went to England.”

“A Virgin!” Mr. Hopps gasped.

“A very successful one,” Madame assured him. “But,” she went on, “he does not gamble and he does not deal in options, He is better known at the Comédie Française in the Théâtre des Capucines.”

“Then what is that document?” Mr. Hopps asked, with a break in his voice.

“That was once an option,” Cardinge observed, picking it up, “but if you look at it carefully you will see that it expired a matter of three years ago. It is worth, therefore, precisely the value of the paper. Take it with you as a little memento.”

“And my quittance?” the other demanded, holding out his hand eagerly, the dawn of an idea already glimmering in his cunning eyes.

Madame smiled.

“The day your check is paid,” she murmured.

Mr. Hopps forgot himself.

“Damn!” he exclaimed.