‘Naturally,’ said George. ‘He collected some fairly large sums from various quarters. I’ll make you a list. He’s incredibly good at persuading them to part. He’s so good that once I found it inconvenient—’
‘How was that?’
‘Actually,’ George hesitated, ‘I had to stop him taking it from some of my people.’
‘Some of the group? Rachel and the—’
‘Jack tried with this young man — Roy.’ George looked round the study. ‘But he was too cautious. Jack had persuaded Rachel, though; and someone else.’
I said: ‘Why did you stop him?’
‘I should have thought it was obvious enough. There’s bound to be a certain amount of risk in this sort of project. I wasn’t going to have it fall on people I was responsible for and who couldn’t afford it.’
‘One could bring out the fact — significantly.’
‘I’m prepared to account for it.’
His voice was harsh and combative: I paused.
‘How’s this scheme going?’ I asked.
‘Not as well as the first,’ George said slowly. ‘It’s not had long yet. It’s perfectly healthy.’
‘What has started the inquiries, then?’ I said.
‘It’s impossible to say. I’ve been active enough in this place to make a good many people willing to see me disgraced.’
I wondered: was that true or the voice of the persecuted self? the self that was the other side, the complement, of his devotion and unselfseekingness.
‘But did they know of these dealings?’
‘We tried to keep them secret,’ George said. ‘None of the initial arrangements can possibly have got out.’
‘What were the police looking for?’
‘As far as I gathered from the lout who came this afternoon — the obvious thing for them to imagine. Misleading the people who supplied the money. The charge they’re trying for is money by false pretences or conspiracy, I suppose. They might put in conspiracy so as to use all their evidence against each of us.’ Though he was wincing as he spoke, I could not help noticing that his thought was clear and competent, as it had been all that night; his summary of their ventures could hardly have been better done; he was not detached at any time, there was no man less detached, he was in distress, afraid and resentful, and yet anyone — without my affection and concern — would have admired the stamina and precision of his mind.
Then to my amazement his face cleared and he laughed, shortly, not from his full heart, but still as though the distress had abated.
‘It’s scarcely likely they’ll ever have the opportunity to make a charge.’ It came to me like the fantastic optimism with which he sustained himself years ago, during Martineau’s departure. I replied: ‘So you’re completely confident? You don’t think it’ll go any further?’
Remorsefully, I saw the half-laugh drain away; his voice was flat, with no pretence or anger left: ‘If it does, I don’t know how I’m going to face it.’
I said: ‘As a matter of fact, have you done it?’
For an instant he sat without moving. Then slowly he shook his head.
25: Conversations at Night
Roy, quiet and self-effacing, brought in a tray of drinks and again left us alone.
‘By the way,’ I said, ‘does Eden know about these — inquiries?’
‘I’ve not told him.’
‘Oughtn’t you to?’
‘It’s obviously quite unnecessary,’ George said. ‘If these policemen have the sense to keep quiet, there’s no reason why he should know. And if — we have to take other circumstances into account, Eden can be told quickly enough. I see no reason to give him the pleasure until it’s compulsory.’
‘I think he ought to be told,’ I said. ‘This isn’t too large a town, you know. Eden comes across people in the Chief Constable’s office every day.’
‘That would be a breach of privilege.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But it happens — and it would be wiser for you to tell Eden than for someone who doesn’t know you.’
His face was heavy and indrawn.
‘You see,’ I tried to persuade him, ‘there’s a good deal that can be done, if they want to inquire any further. You know that as well as I do. If Eden gives me authority, I could stop quite a few of their tricks. If you heard of anyone in your present position — the first advice you’d give, of course, would be for them to arrange with a solicitor—’
George said: ‘I don’t propose to discuss the matter with Eden.’ He added: ‘You can tell him yourself if you’re so anxious.’
‘You give me permission?’ I said.
‘I suppose so.’
When Roy rejoined us, I left them talking and telephoned Eden. He said he would expect me before eleven, and pressed me to stay in the ‘usual room’.
George showed no curiosity when I said that I should not see him again until the morning.
Sitting in Eden’s drawing-room, stretching my hands to the fire, I told him the events of the afternoon. He had begun by saying amiably: ‘We had another conference about some of your friends here before.’
Eden nodded his head, his lips together, as I told him of their speculations. I finished by saying: ‘It may not come to it, I don’t know. But we ought to be prepared for a charge.’
‘These things will happen,’ he said. ‘Ah well! these things will happen.’
‘What do you think?’ I said.
‘You’re right, of course we’ve got to be prepared,’ he was speaking without heat, with a slight irritability. ‘I must say they’ve been very foolish. They’ve been foolish whatever they’ve been doing. They oughtn’t to try these things without experience. It’s the sort of foolishness that Passant would go in for. I’ve told you that before—’
‘He’s one of the biggest men I’ve met. That still holds after meeting a few more. He’s also one of the ablest,’ I said in the only harsh words that had passed between Eden and myself, making a protest wrung from me years too late.
His deliberation broken for a moment, Eden said: ‘We won’t argue about that. It isn’t the time to argue now. I must consider what ought to be done.’ He laughed without any warmth. ‘I can’t instruct you myself,’ he said slowly, going back to a leisurely professional manner. ‘But I can arrange with someone else to act for Passant. And I shall give instructions that you’re to be used from the beginning. That is, if this business develops as we all hope it won’t—’
The phrase rolled off smooth with use, as he addressed me with the practised cordiality — different from his ordinary familiar manner — into which the disagreement had driven him. It was not until I spoke of visiting Jack Cotery before I went to bed, that he became fully at ease again.
‘I’m sorry he’s mixed up in this,’ Eden said. ‘He ought to have gone a long way. I haven’t seen much of him the last few years.’ He was genuinely distressed. He went on: ‘And you want to find out what’s been happening to him? I expect you do.’ He gave me a latchkey. ‘You can keep it until this is all over. You’ll have to be down here pretty frequently, you know.’ Then I said goodnight and he smiled. ‘Mind you don’t wear yourself out before it properly begins.’
The streets were clearer, but still dank with fog. A tram-car came down the lonely road, going on its last journey to the centre of the town; its light was reddened in the mist. What had happened? Through these stories and suspicions, what had happened? If George was lying (I could not be certain. He might be bound to the others — he might be masking some private guilt) how had he found himself in that kind of dishonesty? — which of all of us, careless as he was of money, self-deceiving as he could be in thought, I should have considered him the least likely to commit. And as well as these doubts, there was a sense, not flickering in questions in the mind, of conflict and fatality; of these lives, the people I had once known best, going as they had to go, each life alone, as it were, walking the dark streets. So, in loneliness, they had come to this.