Jacob's Ladder. Oppenheim Edward Phillips

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СКАЧАТЬ closing the door of the private office behind him. His chief drew a packet of papers from a receptacle in his desk, forced a frown on to his smooth forehead, and buried himself in purposeless calculations.

      Dauncey confronted the visitors. There were two of them – one whose orientalism of speech and features was unsuccessfully camouflaged by the splendour of his city attire, the other a rather burly, middle-aged man, in a worn tweed suit, carrying a bowler hat, with no gloves, and having the general appearance of a builder or tradesman of some sort. His companion took the lead.

      “Is Mr. Jacob Pratt in?” he enquired.

      “Mr. Pratt is in but very busy,” Dauncey answered doubtfully. “Have you an appointment?”

      “We have not, but we are willing to await Mr. Pratt’s convenience,” was the eager reply. “Will you be so good as to take in my card? Mr. Montague, my name is – Mr. Dane Montague.”

      Dauncey accepted the mission after a little hesitation, knocked reverently at the door of the inner office, and went in on tiptoe, closing the door behind him. He presented the card to Jacob, who was busily engaged in polishing the tip of one of his patent shoes with a fragment of blotting paper.

      “A full-blown adventure,” he announced. “A man who looks like a money-lender, and another who might be his client.”

      “Did they state the nature of their business?” Jacob demanded.

      “They did not, but it is written in the face of Mr. Dane Montague. He wants as much of your million as he can induce you to part with. What his methods may be, however, I don’t know.”

      “Show them in when I ring the bell,” Jacob directed, drawing the packet of papers once more towards him. “Extraordinarily complicated mass of figures here,” he added.

      Dauncey withdrew into the outer office, closing the door behind him and still walking on tiptoe.

      “Mr. Pratt will see you in a few minutes,” he said, with the air of one who imparts great news. “Please be seated.”

      The two men subsided into chairs. Dauncey thrust a sheet of paper into a typewriter and desperately dashed off a few lines to an imaginary correspondent. Then the bell from the inner office rang, and, beckoning the two men to follow him, he opened the door of Jacob’s sanctum and ushered them in. Mr. Dane Montague advanced to the desk with a winning smile.

      “My name is Dane Montague,” he announced, ostentatiously drawing off his glove and holding out a white, pudgy hand. “I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Pratt. This is my friend, Mr. James Littleham. The name may be known to you in connection with various building contracts.”

      Jacob thrust away the papers upon which he had been engaged, with an air of resignation.

      “Pray be seated, gentlemen,” he invited. “My time is scarcely my own just now. May I ask you to explain the nature of your business in as few words as possible?”

      “Those are my methods exactly,” Mr. Dane Montague declared, throwing himself into the client’s chair, balancing his finger tips together, and frowning slightly. It was in this position that he had once been photographed as the organiser of a stillborn Exhibition.

      “My friend Littleham,” he continued, “is a builder of great experience. I am, in my small way, a financier. We have called to propose a business enterprise to you.”

      “Go on,” Jacob said.

      “You are doubtless aware that large sums of money have recently been made by the exploitation in suitable spots of what have become known as Garden Cities.”

      Jacob gave a noncommittal nod and his visitor cleared his throat.

      “Mr. Littleham and I have a scheme which goes a little further,” he went on. “We have discovered a tract of land within easy distance of London, where genuine country residences can be built and offered at a ridiculously moderate cost.”

      “Land speculation, eh?”

      “Not a speculation at all,” was the prompt reply. “A certainty! Littleham, please oblige me with that plan.”

      Mr. Littleham produced an architect’s roll from his pocket. His companion spread it out upon the desk before Jacob and drew an imitation gold pencil from his pocket.

      “All along here,” he explained, tapping upon the plan, “is a common, sloping gently towards the south. The views all around are wonderful. The air is superb. There are five hundred acres of it. Here,” he went on, tapping a round spot, “is a small town, the name of which we will not mention for the moment. The Great Central expresses stop here. The journey to town takes forty minutes. That five hundred acres of land can be bought for twenty thousand pounds. It can be resold in half-acre and acre lots for building purposes at a profit of thirty or forty per cent.”

      “The price of the land, if it is according to your description, is low,” Jacob remarked. “Why?”

      Mr. Dane Montague flashed an excellently simulated look of admiration at his questioner.

      “That’s a shrewd question, Mr. Pratt,” he confessed. “We are going to be honest and aboveboard with you. The price is low because the Urban Council of this town here” – tapping on the plan – “will not enter into any scheme for supplying lighting or water outside the three-mile boundary.”

      “Then what’s the use of the land for building?” Jacob demanded.

      “I will explain,” the other continued. “Situated here, two miles from our land, are the premises, works and reservoir of the Cropstone Wood, Water and Electric Light Company. They are in a position to supply everything in that way which the new colony might desire.”

      “A going concern?” Jacob enquired.

      “Certainly!” was the prompt reply. “But it is in connection with this Company that we expect to make a certain additional profit.”

      Jacob glanced at the clock.

      “You must hurry,” he enjoined.

      “The Cropstone Wood Company,” Mr. Dane Montague confided, “is in a poorish way of business. The directors are sick of their job. They know nothing about our plan for building on the estate, and, to cut a long story short, we have secured a six months’ option to purchase the whole concern at a very low price. As soon as the building commences on the common, we shall exercise that option. We shall make a handsome profit on the rise in the shares of the Cropstone Wood Company, but our proposal is to work the company ourselves. At the price we can offer them at, it is certain that every building lot will be sold. Mr. Littleham here has prepared a specification of various forms of domiciles suited to the neighbourhood.”

      Mr. Littleham, in a remarkably thick voice, intervened.

      “I can run ’em up six-roomers at three hundred quid; eight and ten at five; and a country villa, with half an acre of garden, for a thousand,” he announced, relapsing at the conclusion of his sentence into his former state of sombre watching.

      “There’s a very fair profit to be made, you see,” Mr. Dane Montague pointed out, “on the sale of the land and houses, without going more closely into the figures, but we want to be dead straight with you, Mr. Pratt. There should be an additional profit on the electric light and water which we supply from the Cropstone Wood Company.”

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