Dorothea Hall Mysteries

The Loan

"Never loan to a friend more than you can afford to give." Emory closed the paper and took a bite of his eggs.

"Good advice, but what in the paper made you think of it?" I asked.

"A while back I lent an old friend named Henry Dabs some money for a business venture. I just read in the paper that he had fled the country with his creditors on his heels."

"Is this your way of telling me we're destitute?"

He shook his head. "I took my Father's advice and lent him very little, but I know some of our mutual friends lent him quite a bit more. Henry has the unusual quality of being able to make friends in all levels of society. His father was a noble with few prospects who married a rich farmer's daughter. He had some very wealthy friends as well as working people. I'm thinking of one particular friend who was very unlikely to be moderate in his giving. He could be quiet cross with our old friend."

"What's this toff's name?" Freddy asked. "Have we heard of him?"

"Barton Whitlock. His father owns coal mines in Scotland. They're not nobility, but they are quite rich."

"Rich on the back of their workers," Freddy muttered.

"You could say that of any industrialist, but yes. Mr. Whitlock senior is not a nice man. I once attended a party at their house in Scotland and the people all around had nothing good to say about him. Barton, on the other hand, is the kindest man I know. He doesn't want to think badly of anyone, while his father thinks badly of everyone," Emory said. "I wouldn't want to be Barton right now. I imagine his father is almost as angry at him as he would be at Henry Dabs."

The bell and I went to get it. Freddy had offered to be our official greeter as the youngest person in the house, but I preferred to do it as I felt it was more properly the current caretaker of the house's duty. I peered through the peephole and saw a very well dressed young man with red hair standing on our doorstep.

I opened the door. "How can I help you?"

"You must be Mrs. Hall. My name is Barton Whilock. I'm here to see your husband."

Speak of the devil and he appears, although Emory had described this man as more like an angel. "I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Whitlock. Please, come with me."

When Mr. Whitlock entered the dining room, Emory stood and enthusiastically shook hands with his old friend. "Barty, it's marvelous to see you. I was sorry you couldn't make it to our wedding."

"I was sorry as well, but Father insisted I stay in Scotland and negotiate with the miners. He says the only thing I'm good at is talking to people." Mr. Whitlock took a seat and I offered him some coffee.

"He's selling you short, but you are quite good at speaking with all sorts of people. What brings you here now?" Emory asked.

"Have you heard about the trouble Henry Dabbs is in?"

Emory picked up his paper. "I was just reading about it. I take it you invested in his scheme."

Mr. Whitlock sighed. "I did, without telling Father. He's threatening to disown me if I don't help get the money back. I heard that your wife is good at solving problems. I want her to see if she can find Henry."