Chapter 23

The Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse landed the passengers for Southampton on a hazy April morning, the sun dimly Piercing an English fog. From an upper deck, Cowperwood, wearing a smart gray business suit, surveyed the quiet harbor and the placid houses on the shore beyond.

Aileen stood beside him, dressed in her best spring finery. Hovering about were her maid, Williams; Cowperwood’s valet; and his personal secretary, Jamieson. On the dock below stood Jarkins and Kloorfain, also a group of reporters anxious to question Cowperwood concerning a rumor—concocted by Jarkins—that he was coming to England to buy a distinguished art collection, the property of a peer of whom Cowperwood had never heard.

At the last moment Tollifer had announced—a very tactful move on his part, as Cowperwood felt—that he was not leaving the boat with them but was going on to Cherbourg and then to Paris. However, as he also explained in his most casual manner, and for Aileen’s benefit, he would come to London the following Monday or Tuesday, when he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing the Cowperwoods before they left for the Continent. At this Aileen looked at Cowperwood for a glance of approval, and, receiving it, said they would be glad to have him call on them at the Cecil.

At this moment Cowperwood was enjoying to the fullest extent the sense of importance and well-being surrounding him. Once he had landed and disposed of Aileen, there would be Berenice, with her mother, at Claridge’s awaiting him. He actually felt young: Ulysses upon a new and truly mysterious voyage! His feelings were heightened also by the fact that in the midst of all this there arrived a messenger with a telegram in Spanish: “The sun shines on the England you step upon. It is a silver door that opens upon your greatest achievement and your greatest fame. The sea has been grey without you, Oro del Oro.” It was from Berenice, of course, and he smiled to himself at the thought of seeing her.

And now the reporters. “Where was he bound for? ” “Had he divested himself of all of his Chicago holdings? ” “Was it true that he had come to England to buy a famous private art collection, as had been rumored? ” To all of which questions, he vouchsafed guarded but smiling replies. To be exact, he was seeking a holiday of some duration, since it had been so long since he had had one, he explained. No, he had not gotten rid of his Chicago holdings; he was merely rearranging them. No, he had not come to buy the Fairbanks collection. He had once seen it and admired it enormously. But he had not even heard that it was for sale.

Throughout all this Aileen posed near at hand, pleased at the revival of her former grandeur. The Illustrated News had sent a man to make a sketch of her.

At the first lull in the buzz of talk, however, Jarkins, with Kloorfain at his elbow, rushed forward to pay his respects and to ask Cowperwood not to make any statements until he had an opportunity to talk to him. To which Cowperwood replied, “Very well, if you wish.”

After that, at the hotel, Jamieson reporting on various telegrams which had been received. Also, there was Mr. Sippens in Room 741, waiting to be called. Then there was a message from Lord Haddonfield, whom Cowperwood had met years before in Chicago—he would like to have the pleasure of entertaining the Cowperwoods over the week end. Also, a certain distinguished South African banker—a Jewish gentleman—then in London, asked him to luncheon in order to talk of important matters relating to South Africa. The German Ambassador sent his compliments and would be happy if Mr. Cowperwood would have dinner with him at the Embassy at his convenience. From Paris a message from Mr. Dolan, of Philadelphia: “If you go through this burg without doing the town with me, I’ll have you stopped at the border. Remember, I know as much about you as you know about me.”

The wings of fortune could be heard whirring over his head.

Later, having seen Aileen comfortably established in her suite, he sent for Sippens and learned from him all that he had to report. There was no doubt, Sippens said, eager and birdlike in a new spring suit, that Greaves and Henshaw were at their wits’ end. And yet there was no better opening wedge for Cowperwood than the act for the line which they controlled. He would go over the proposed route with him the next day. Far more important, though, was the ultimate control of this central loop, since on that depended any general system. The Charing Cross could most profitably be joined with the loop, and if he owned or controlled that, he would be in a far better position to move in connection with the loop and some other lines. Besides, there were many acts floating about, which had been secured by speculators with the hope of finding operators and investors afterward, and these might all be investigated.

“It’s a question, yes, of how to go about all this, ” said Cowperwood, thoughtfully. “You say Greaves and Henshaw are in a mess, but they haven’t approached me yet. In the meantime, Jarkins has apparently talked to this fellow Johnson, of Traffic Electrical, and Johnson agreed with him that if I did nothing until he had a chance to bring together a group that appears to be interested in this central loop—your man, Stane, I assume, is one of them—he would arrange for me to meet them all and talk this over, the entire loop scheme, I suppose. But that would mean, I assume, that I would have to ignore Greaves and Henshaw and let this Charing Cross line drop back into Traffic Electrical by default, which is just what I don’t want to do. It would give them an extra club to swing over me.”

But at that Sippens was on his feet in an instant.

“Don’t you do that, Chief! ” he fairly squeaked. “Don’t you do that! You’ll be sorry if you do. These people over here stick together like glue! They’ll fight each other singly, but when it comes to a foreigner, they’ll combine and you’ll be made to pay dearly unless you have something to fight them with. Better wait until tomorrow or the next day and see whether you hear from Greaves and Henshaw. They’re sure to read of your arrival in today’s papers, and, unless I miss my guess, they’ll get in touch with you, for they haven’t a thing to gain by waiting, not a thing. Tell Jarkins to stay away from Johnson, and you do whatever you have to do, but first come with me to look over this Charing Cross route.”

But at that moment Jamieson, who was occupying a room next door, entered with a letter brought by hand. Noting the name on the outside of the envelope, Cowperwood smiled, and then, after reading the letter, turned it over to Sippens.

“There you are, De Sota! Now, what about that? ” he queried, genially. The letter was from Greaves and Henshaw, and read:

DEAR MR. COWPERWOOD:

We note in today’s paper your arrival in London. If convenient and of interest to you, we would like to arrange an appointment, preferably for Monday or Tuesday of next week. Our purpose is, of course, to discuss the matter laid before you in New York about March 15th last.

Felicitating you upon your safe arrival, and wishing you a very pleasant stay, we are

Cordially yours, Greaves and Henshaw per Montague Greaves

Sippens snapped his fingers triumphantly. “There! What did I tell you? ” he fairly cackled. “Bringing it to you on your own terms. And the finest route in all London. With that in your bag, Chief, you can afford to sit back and wait, particularly if you start picking up some of these other options that are floating around, for they’ll hear of it and have to come to you. This fellow Johnson! He’s got a nerve, asking you to do nothing until after you see him, ” he added, a little sourly, for already he had heard that Johnson was an assured and dictatorial person, and he was prepared not to like him. “Of course, he has some good connections, ” he continued, “he and this fellow Stane. But without your money and ability and experience, what can they do? They couldn’t even swing this Charing Cross line, let alone these others! And they won’t, without you! ”

“You’re probably right, De Sota, ” said Cowperwood, smiling genially on his loyal associate. “I’ll see Greaves and Henshaw, probably on Tuesday, and you may be sure that I won’t let anything slip through my fingers. How about tomorrow afternoon for that ride over the Charing Cross? I suppose I ought to see that and these loop lines at one and the same time.”

“Great, Chief! How about one o’clock? I can show you everything and have you back here by five.”

“Good! Only, just a moment. Do you remember Haddonfield, Lord Haddonfield, who came out to Chicago a few years ago and created such a stir out there? The Palmers, the Fields, the Lesters, were all running after him, remember? I entertained him out at my place, too. Sporty, jaunty type.”

“Sure, sure! I remember, ” returned Sippens. “Wanted to go into the packing business, I believe.”

“And into my business, too. I guess I never told you that.”

“No, you never did, ” said Sippens, interestedly.

“Well, anyhow, I had a telegram from him this morning. Wants me to come to his country place—Shropshire, I believe—over this coming week end.” He picked up a telegram from his desk. “Beriton Manor, Shropshire.”

“That’s interesting. He’s one of the people connected with the City and South London. Stockholder, or director, or something. I’ll know all about him tomorrow. Maybe he’s in on this underground development and wants to see you about that. If so, and he’s friendly, he’s certainly a good man for you. Stranger in a strange land, you know.”

“Yes, I know, ” said Cowperwood. “It may not be a bad idea. I think I’ll go. You see what you can find out, and we’ll meet here at one.”

As Sippens bustled out, Jamieson entered with more notes, but Cowperwood waved him away. “Nothing more until Monday, Jamieson. Write Greaves and Henshaw and say I’ll be phased to meet them here on Tuesday at eleven. Get hold of Jarkins and tell him to do nothing until lie hears from me. Wire this Lord Haddonfield that Mr. and Mrs. Cowperwood will be pleased to accept his invitation, and get the directions and the tickets. If anything more comes up, just put it on my desk and I’ll see it tomorrow.”

He strode out the door, and into the elevator, and once outside, hailed a hansome. Although he announced Oxford Street as his destination, he had not ridden two blocks before he pushed up the lid at the top and hailed the driver, calling: “Oxford and Yewberry Streets, left-hand corner.”

And once there, stepped out and walked in a roundabout way to Claridge’s.