Soames shook his head. ‘Improve his health – very likely. Has he ever been in prison?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘H’m!’
Silence followed this profound remark.
‘I can’t prosecute,’ said Val, suddenly. ‘College pal. There, but for the grace of God and all that, don’t you know; one might have gone to the dogs oneself.’
Soames stared at him.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I suppose you might. Your father was always in some scrape or other.’
Val frowned. He had suddenly remembered an evening at the Pandemonium, when, in company with another college friend, he had seen his own father, drunk.
‘But somehow,’ he said, ‘I’ve got to see that he doesn’t do it again. If he didn’t look such a “heart” subject, one could give him a hiding.’
Soames shook his head. ‘Personal violence – besides, he’s probably out of England by now.’
‘No; I called at his club on the way here – he’s in town all right.’
‘You didn’t see him?’
‘No. I wanted to see you first.’
Flattered in spite of himself, Soames said sardonically:
‘Perhaps he’s got what they call a better nature?’
‘By Jove, Uncle Soames, I believe that’s a brain-wave!’
Soames shook his head. ‘Not to judge by his face.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Val. ‘After all, he was born a gentleman.’
‘That means nothing nowadays. And, apropos, before I forget it. Do you remember a young fellow called Butterfield, in the Elderson affair – no, you wouldn’t. Well, I’m going to take him out of his publishing firm, and put him under old Gradman, to learn about your mother’s and the other family Trusts. Old Gradmarn’s on his last legs, and this young man can step into his shoes – it’s a permanent job, and better pay than he’s getting now. I can rely on him, and that’s something in these days. I thought I’d tell you.’
‘Another brain-wave, Uncle Soames. But about your first. Could you see Stainford, and follow that up?’
‘Why should I see him?’
‘You carry so much more weight than I do.’
‘H’m! Seems to me I always have to do the unpleasant thing. However, I expect it’s better than your seeing him.’
Val grinned. ‘I shall feel much happier if you do it.’
‘I shan’t,’ said Soames. ‘That bank cashier hasn’t made a mistake, I suppose?’
‘Who could mistake Stainford?’
‘Nobody,’ said Soames. ‘Well, if you won’t prosecute, you’d better leave it to me.’
When Val was gone he remained in thought. Here he was, still keeping the family affairs straight; he wondered what they would do without him some day. That young Butterfield might be a brainwave, but who could tell – the fellow was attached to him, though, in a curious sort of way, with his eyes of a dog! He should put that in hand at once, before old Gradman dropped off. Must give old Gradman a bit of plate, too, with his name engraved, while he could still appreciate it. Most people only got them when they were dead or dotty. Young Butterfield knew Michael, too, and that would make him interested in Fleur’s affairs. But as to this infernal Stainford? How was he going to set about it? He had better get the fellow here if possible, rather than go to his club. If he’d had the brass to stay in England after committing such a bare-faced forgery, he would have the brass to come here again and see what more he could get. And, smiling sourly, Soames went to the telephone.
‘Mr Stainford in the club? Ask him if he’d be good enough to step over and see Mr Forsyte at Green Street.’
After a look round to see that there were no ornaments within reach, he seated himself in the dining-room and had Smither in.
‘I’m expecting that Mr Stainford, Smither. If I ring, while he’s here, pop out and get a policeman.’
At the expression on Smither’s face he added:
‘I don’t anticipate it, but one never knows.’
‘There’s no danger, I hope, Mr Soames?’
‘Nothing of the sort, Smither; I may want him arrested – that’s all.
‘Do you expect him to take something again, sir?’
Soames smiled, and waved his hand at the lack of ornaments, ‘Very likely he won’t come, but if he does, show him in here.’
When she had gone, he settled down with the clock – a Dutch piece too heavy to take away; it had been ‘picked up’ by James, chimed everything, and had a moon and a lot of stars on its face. He did not feel so ‘bobbish” before this third encounter with that fellow; the chap had scored twice, and so far as he could see, owing to Val’s reluctance to prosecute, was going to score a third time. And yet there was a sort of fascination in dealing with what they called ‘the limit’, and a certain quality about the fellow which raised him almost to the level of romance. It was as if the idolised maxim of his own youth ‘Show no emotion’, and all the fashionableness that, under the ægisof his mother Emily, had clung about Park Lane, were revisiting him in the shape of this languid beggar. And probably the chap would come!