Corporal Cameron of the North West Mounted Police Part 7

"Oh, nonsense!" said his father hotly, "why make the boy lie?"

His son started as if his father had struck him. "I tell you once more, Mr. Rae, and I tell you all, I know nothing about this cheque, and that is my last word." And from that position nothing could move him.

"Well," said Mr. Rae, closing the interview, "we have done our best. The law must take its course."

"Great Heavens!" cried the Captain, springing to his feet. "Do you mean to tell me, Allan, that you persist in this cursed folly and will give us no further light? Have you no regard for my name, if not for your own?" He grasped his son fiercely by the arm.

But his son angrily shook off his grasp. "You," he said, looking his father full in the face, "you condemned me before you heard a word from me, and now for my name or for yours I care not a tinker's curse." And with this he flung himself from the room.

"Follow him," said Mr. Rae to Dunn, quietly; "he will need you. And keep him in sight; it is important."

"All right, Sir!" said Dunn. "I'll stay with him." And he did.

CHAPTER IV

A QUESTION OF HONOUR

Mr. Rae in forty years' experience had never been so seriously disturbed. To his intense humiliation he found himself abjectly appealing to the senior member of the firm of Thomlinson & s.h.i.+elds. Not that Mr. Thomlinson was obdurate; in the presence of mere obduracy Mr.

Rae might have found relief in the conscious possession of more generous and humane instincts than those supposed to be characteristic of the members of his profession. Mr. Thomlinson, however, was anything but obdurate. He was eager to oblige, but he was helpless. The instructions he had received were simple but imperative, and he had gone to unusual lengths in suggesting to Mr. Sheratt, the manager of the Bank, a course of greater leniency. That gentleman's only reply was a brief order to proceed with the case.

With Mr. Sheratt, therefore, Mr. Rae proceeded to deal. His first move was to invite the Bank manager to lunch, in order to discuss some rather important matters relative to one of the great estates of which Mr. Rae was supposed to be the guardian. Some fifty years' experience of Mr. Sheratt as boy and man had let Mr. Rae into a somewhat intimate knowledge of the workings of that gentleman's mind. Under the mollifying influences of the finest of old port, Mr. Rae made the discovery that as with Mr. Thomlinson, so with Mr. Sheratt there was every disposition to oblige, and indeed an eagerness to yield to the lawyer's desires; it was not Mr. Sheratt, but the Bank that was immovable. Firm-fixed it stood upon its bedrock of tradition that in matters of fraud, crime should be punished to the full limit of the law.

"The estate of the criminal, high or low," said Mr. Sheratt impressively, "matters not. The Bank stands upon the principle, and from this it cannot be moved." Mr. Sheratt began to wax eloquent. "Fidelity to its const.i.tuency, its shareholders, its depositors, indeed to the general public, is the corner-stone of its policy. The Bank of Scotland is a National Inst.i.tution, with a certain National obligation."

Mr. Rae quietly drew from his pocket a pamphlet, opened it slowly, and glanced at the page. "Ay, it's as I thought, Mr. Sheratt," he said dryly. "At times I wondered where Sir Archibald got his style."

Mr. Sheratt blushed like a boy caught copying.

"But now since I know who it is that writes the speech of the Chairman of the Board of Directors, tell me, Sheratt, as man to man, is it you or is it Sir Archibald that's at the back of this prosecution? For if it is you, I've something to say to you; if not, I'll just say it where it's most needed. In some way or other I'm bound to see this thing through.

That boy can't go to prison. Now tell me, Tom? It's for auld sake's sake."

"As sure as death, Rae, it's the Chairman, and it's G.o.d's truth I'm telling ye, though I should not." They were back again into the speech and spirit of their boyhood days.

"Then I must see Sir Archibald. Give me time to see him, Tom."

"It's a waste of time, I'm tellin' ye, but two days I'll give ye, Sandy, for auld sake's sake, as you say. A friends.h.i.+p of half a hundred years should mean something to us. For your sake I'd let the lad go, G.o.d knows, and there's my han' upon it, but as I said, that lies with Sir Archibald."

The old friends shook hands in silence.

"Thank ye, Tom, thank ye," said Mr. Rae; "I knew it."

"But harken to me, ye'll no' move Sir Archibald, for on this particular point he's quite mad. He'd prosecute the Duke of Argyll, he would. But two days are yours, Sandy. And mind with Sir Archibald ye treat his Bank with reverence! It's a National Inst.i.tution, with National obligations, ye ken?" Mr. Sheratt's wink conveyed a volume of meaning. "And mind you, Rae," here Mr. Sheratt grew grave, "I am trusting you to produce that lad when wanted."

"I have him in safe keeping, Tom, and shall produce him, no fear."

And with that the two old gentlemen parted, loyal to a lifelong friends.h.i.+p, but loyal first to the trust of those they stood pledged to serve; for the friends.h.i.+p that gives first place to honour is the only friends.h.i.+p that honourable men can hold.

Mr. Rae set off for his office through the drizzling rain. "Now then, for the Captain," he said to himself; "and a state he will be in! Why did I ever summon him to town? Then for Mr. Dunn, who must keep his eye upon the young man."

In his office he found Captain Cameron in a state of distraction that rendered him incapable of either coherent thought or speech. "What now, Rae? Where have you been? What news have you? My G.o.d, this thing is driving me mad! Penal servitude! Think of it, man, for my son! Oh, the scandal of it! It will kill me and kill his sister. What's your report?

Come, out with it! Have you seen Mr. Sheratt?" He was pacing up and down the office like a beast in a cage.

"Tut, tut, Captain Cameron," said Mr. Rae lightly, "this is no way for a soldier to face the enemy. Sit down and we will just lay out our campaign."

But the Captain's soldiering, which was of the lightest, had taught him little either of the spirit or of the tactics of warfare. "Campaign!" he exclaimed. "There's no campaign about it. It's a complete smash, horse, foot, and artillery."

"Nonsense, Captain Cameron!" exclaimed Mr. Rae more briskly than his wont, for the Captain irritated him. "We have still fighting to do, and hence we must plan our campaign. But first let us get comfortable. Here Davie," he called, opening the office door, "here, mend this fire. It's a winter's day this," he continued to the Captain, "and goes to the marrow."

Davie, a wizened, clean-shaven, dark-visaged little man, appeared with a scuttle of coal. "Ay, Davie; that's it! Is that cannel?"

"Ay, Sir, it is. What else? I aye get the cannel."

"That's right, Davie. It's a gran' coal."

"Gran' it's no'," said Davie shortly, who was a fierce radical in politics, and who strove to preserve his sense of independence of all semblance of authority by cultivating a habit of disagreement. "Gran'

it's no'," he repeated, "but it's the best the Farquhars hae, though that's no' saying much. It's no' what I call cannel."

"Well, well, Davie, it blazes finely at any rate," said Mr. Rae, determined to be cheerful, and rubbing his hands before the blazing coal.

"Ay, it bleezes," grumbled Davie, "when it's no' smootherin'."

"Come then, Davie, that will do. Clear out," said Mr. Rae to the old servant, who was cleaning up the hearth with great diligence and care.

But Davie was not to be hurried. He had his regular routine in fire-mending, from which no power could move him. "Ay, Sir," he muttered, brus.h.i.+ng away with his feather besom. "I'll clear oot when I clear up. When a thing's no' dune richt it's no dune ava."

"True, Davie, true enough; that's a n.o.ble sentiment. But will that no'

do now?" Mr. Rae knew himself to be helpless in Davie's hands, and he knew also that nothing short of violence would hasten Davie from his "usual."

"Ay, that'll dae, because it's richt dune. But that's no' what I call cannel," grumbled Davie, glowering fiercely at the burning coal, as if meditating a fresh attack.

"Well, well," said Mr. Rae, "tell the Farquhars about it."

"Ay, Sir, I will that," said Davie, as he reluctantly took himself off with his scuttle and besom.

The Captain was bursting with fretful impatience. "Impudent old rascal!"

he exclaimed. "Why don't you dismiss him?"

"Dismiss him!" echoed Mr. Rae in consternation. "Dismiss him!" he repeated, as if pondering an entirely new idea. "I doubt if Davie would consider that. But now let us to work." He set two arm-chairs before the fire, and placed a box of cigars by the Captain's elbow. "I have seen Sheratt," he began. "I'm quite clear it is not in his hands."

"In whose then?" burst forth the Captain.

Mr. Rae lit his cigar carefully. "The whole matter, I believe, lies now with the Chairman of the Board of Directors, Sir Archibald Brodie."

"Brodie!" cried the Captain. "I know him. Pompous little fool!"