A Millionaire of YesterdayOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Philosophy
A Millionaire of Yesterday
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Detective and mystery stories; Fiction
Francis sat up in his chair genuinely surprised. Something like a scowl
was on his dark, sallow face.
“Your wife!” he exclaimed, “aren't you joking, Trent?”
“I am not,” Trent answered sharply. “From the moment I saw her that has
been my fixed intention. Every one thinks of me as simply a speculator
with the money fever in my veins. Perhaps that was true once. It isn't
now! I must be rich to give her the position she deserves. That's all I
care for money.”'
“I am very much interested,” Francis said slowly, “to hear of your
intentions. Hasn't it occurred to you, however, that your behaviour
toward Miss Wendermott's father will take a great deal of explanation?”
“If there is no interference,” Trent said, “I can do it. There is
mystery on her part too, for I offered a large reward and news of him
through my solicitor, and she actually refused to reply. She has refused
any money accruing to her through her father, or to be brought into
contact with any one who could tell her about him.”
“The fact,” Francis remarked drily, “is scarcely to her credit. Monty
may have been disreputable enough, I've no doubt he was; but his
going away and staying there all these years was a piece of noble
unselfishness.”
“Monty has been hardly used in some ways,” Trent said. “I've done my
best by him, though.”
“That,” Francis said coldly, “is a matter of opinion.”
“I know very well,” Trent answered, “what yours is. You are welcome to
it. You can blackguard me all round London if you like in a week--but I
want a week's grace.”
“Why should I grant it you?”
Trent shrugged his shoulders.
“I won't threaten,” he said, “and I won't offer to bribe you, but I've
got to have that week's grace. We're both men, Francis, who've been
accustomed to our own way, I think. I want to know on what terms you'll
grant it me.”
Francis knocked the ash off his cigarette and rose slowly to his feet.
“You want to know,” he repeated meditatively, “on what terms I'll hold
my tongue for a week. Well, here's my answer! On no terms at all!”
“You don't mean that,” Trent said quietly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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