‘Mr Stainford, sir.’
When Smither – very red – had withdrawn, Soames did not know how to begin, the fellow’s face, like old parchment, was as if it had come from some grave or other. At last he said:
‘I wanted to see you about a cheque. My nephew’s name’s been forged.’
The eyebrows rose, the eyelids dropped still further.
‘Yes. Dartie won’t prosecute.’
Soames’s gorge rose.
‘You seem very cocksure,’ he said; ‘my nephew has by no means made up his mind.’
‘We were at college together, Mr Forsyte.’
‘You trade on that, do you? There’s a limit, Mr Stainford. That was a very clever forgery, for a first.’
There was just a flicker of the face; and Soames drew the forged cheque from his pocket. Inadequately protected, of course, not even automatically crossed! Val’s cheques would have to have the words ‘Not negotiable; Credit payee’ stamped on them in future. But how could he give this fellow a thorough scare?
‘I have a detective at hand,’ he said, ‘only waiting for me to ring. This sort of thing must stop. As you don’t seem to understand that –’ and he took a step towards the bell.
A faint and bitter smile had come on those pale lips.
‘You’ve never been down and out, I imagine, Mr Forsyte?’
‘No,’ answered Soames, with a certain disgust.
‘I always am. It’s very wearing.’
‘In that case,’ said Soames, ‘you’ll find prison a rest.’ But even as he spoke them, the words seemed futile and a little brutal. The fellow wasn’t a man at all – he was a shade, a languid bitter shade. It was as if one were bullying a ghost.
‘Look here!’ he said. ‘As a gentleman by birth, give me your word not to try it on again with my nephew, or any of my family, and I won’t ring.’
‘Very well, you have my word – such as it is!’
‘We’ll leave it at that, then,’ said Soames. ‘But this is the last time. I shall keep the evidence of this.’
‘One must live, Mr Forsyte.’
‘I don’t agree,’ said Soames.
The ‘shade’ uttered a peculiar sound – presumably a laugh, and Soames was alone again. He went hastily to the door, and watched the fellow into the street. Live? Must one? Wouldn’t a fellow like that be better dead? Wouldn’t most people be better dead? And, astonished at so extravagant a thought, he went up to the drawing-room. Forty-five years since he had laid its foundations, and there it was, as full of marqueterie as ever. On the mantelpiece was a little old daguerreotype, slightly pinked in the cheeks, of his grandfather – ‘Superior Dosset’ set in a deep, enamelled frame. Soames contemplated it. The chin of the founder of the Forsyte clan was settled comfortably between the widely separated points of an old-fashioned collar. The eyes – with thick under-lids, were light and shrewd and rather japing; the side-whiskers grey; the mouth looked as if it could swallow a lot; the old-time tail-coat was of broadcloth; the hands those of a man of affairs. A stocky old boy, with a certain force, and a deal of character! Well-nigh a hundred years since that was taken of him. Refreshing to look at character, after that languid seedy specimen! He would like to see where that old chap had been born and bred before he emerged at the end of the eighteenth century and built the house of Forsyte. He would take Riggs, and go down, and if Fleur wouldn’t come – perhaps all the better! Be dull for her! Roots were nothing to young people. Yes, he would go and look at his roots while the weather was still fine. But first to put old Gradman in order. It would do him good to see the old fellow after this experience – he never left the office till half-past five. And, replacing the daguerreotype, Soames took a taxi to the Poultry, reflecting as he went. How difficult it was to keep things secure, with chaps like Elderson and this fellow Stainford always on the look-out. There was the country too, no sooner was it out of one than it was into another mess; the coal strike would end when people began to feel the winter pinch, but something else would crop up, some war or disturbance or other. And then there was Fleur – she had plenty of money of her own. Had he been wrong to make her so independent? And yet – the idea of controlling her through money had always been repulsive to him. Whatever she did – she was his only child, one might say his only love. If she couldn’t keep straight for love of her infant and himself, to say nothing of her husband – he couldn’t do it for her by threat of cutting her off or anything like that! Anyway, things were looking better with her, and perhaps he had been wrong.