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Updated: June 26, 2025
Oscillating on the uneasy waves was Denry's lifeboat, manned by the nodding bearded head, three ordinary British longshoremen, a Norwegian who could speak English of two syllables, and two other Norwegians who by a strange neglect of education could speak nothing but Norwegian. Close under the headland, near a morsel of beach lay the remains of the Hjalmar in an attitude of repose.
The situation, though it dissolved of itself in a brief space, was awkward. It discredited the Hôtel Beau-Site. The fault was utterly Denry's. Yet he said to himself: "I'll be even with that chap." On the drive home he was silent.
As the Signal said, he "despatched the sphere" straight into the keeping of Callear, who as centre forward was facing him, and Callear was dodging down the field with it before the Axe players had finished admiring Denry's effrontery.
A five-pound note especially a new and crisp one, as this was is a miraculous fragment of matter, wonderful in the pleasure which the sight of it gives, even to millionaires; but perhaps no five-pound note was ever so miraculous as Denry's. Ten per cent. per week, compound interest, mounts up; it ascends, and it lifts. Denry never talked precisely.
A few days after the historic revelry, Mrs Codleyn called to see Denry's employer. Mr Duncalf was her solicitor. A stout, breathless, and yet muscular woman of near sixty, the widow of a chemist and druggist who had made money before limited companies had taken the liberty of being pharmaceutical.
The wonder was that it did not fly to pieces long before evening. The pride of the principal actors being now engaged, each person was compelled to carry out the intentions which he had expressed either in words or tacitly. Denry's silence had announced more efficiently than any words that he would under no inducement emerge from his castle.
The truth is that no one suspected because the place was empty. The emptiness of the hall gave him pause. He saw a large framed copy of the "Rules" hanging under a deer's head, and he read them as carefully as though he had not got a copy in his pocket. Then he read the notices, as though they had been latest telegrams from some dire seat of war. Denry's skin was troublesome; it crept.
In a week there was a painted board affixed to the door of Denry's mother: E.H. MACHIN, Rent Collector and Estate Agent. There was also an advertisement in the Signal, announcing that Denry managed estates large or small. The next crucial event in Denry's career happened one Monday morning, in a cottage that was very much smaller even than his mother's.
The Countess and himself formed one caste in the group, and the rest another caste. Moreover, he had known Denry as a clerk of Mr Duncalf's, for Mr Duncalf had done a lot of legal work for him in the past. He looked upon Denry as an upstart, a capering mountebank, and he strongly resented Denry's familiarity with the Countess.
They had the compartment to themselves, and they were installed therein with every circumstance of luxury. Both were enwrapped in furs, and a fur rug united their knees in its shelter. Magazines and newspapers were scattered about to the value of a labourer's hire for a whole day; and when Denry's eye met the guard's it said "shilling."
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