TheGoldenBallandOtherStories
Contents
Cover
TitlePage
1TheListerdaleMystery
2TheGirlintheTrain
3TheManhoodofEdwardRobinson
4JaneinSearchofaJob
5AFruitfulSunday
6TheGoldenBall
7TheRajah’sEmerald
8SwanSong
9TheHoundofDeath
10TheGipsy
11TheLamp
12TheStrangeCaseofSirAndrewCarmichael
13TheCallofWings
14MagnoliaBlossom
15NexttoaDog
AbouttheAuthor
TheAgathaChristieCollection
RelatedProducts
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
One
THELISTERDALEMYSTERY
“TheListerdaleMystery”wasfirstpublishedas“TheBenevolentButler”inGrandMagazine,December1925.
Mrs.St.Vincentwasaddingupfigures.Onceortwiceshesighed,andherhandstoletoherachingforehead.Shehadalwaysdislikedarithmetic.Itwasunfortunatethatnowadaysherlifeshouldseemtobecomposedentirelyofoneparticularkindofsum,theceaselessaddingtogetherofsmallnecessaryitemsofexpendituremakingatotalthatneverfailedtosurpriseandalarmher.
Surelyitcouldn’tcometothat!Shewentbackoverthefigures.Shehadmadeatriflingerrorinthepence,butotherwisethefigureswerecorrect.
Mrs.St.Vincentsighedagain.Herheadachebynowwasverybadindeed.ShelookedupasthedooropenedandherdaughterBarbaracameintotheroom.BarbaraSt.Vincentwasaveryprettygirl,shehadhermother’sdelicatefeatures,andthesameproudturnofthehead,buthereyesweredarkinsteadofblue,andshehadadifferentmouth,asulkyredmouthnotwithoutattraction.
“Oh!Mother,”shecried.“Stilljugglingwiththosehorridoldaccounts?Throwthemallintothefire.”
“Wemustknowwhereweare,”saidMrs.St.Vincentuncertainly.
Thegirlshruggedhershoulders.
“We’realwaysinthesameboat,”shesaiddrily.“Damnedhardup.Downtothelastpennyasusual.”
Mrs.St.Vincentsighed.
“Iwish—”shebegan,andthenstopped.
“Imustfindsomethingtodo,”saidBarbarainhardtones.“Andfinditquickly.Afterall,Ihavetakenthatshorthandandtypingcourse.SohaveaboutonemillionothergirlsfromallIcansee!‘Whatexperience?’‘None,but—’‘Oh!thankyou,goodmorning.We’llletyouknow.’Buttheyneverdo!Imustfindsomeotherkindofajob—anyjob.”
“Notyet,dear,”pleadedhermother.“Waitalittlelonger.”
Barbarawenttothewindowandstoodlookingoutwithunseeingeyesthattooknonoteofthedingylineofhousesopposite.
“Sometimes,”shesaidslowly,“I’msorryCousinAmytookmewithhertoEgyptlastwinter.Oh!IknowIhadfun—abouttheonlyfunI’veeverhadoramlikelytohaveinmylife.Ididenjoymyself—enjoyedmyselfthoroughly.Butitwasveryunsettling.Imean—comingbacktothis.”
Shesweptahandroundtheroom.Mrs.St.Vincentfolloweditwithhereyesandwinced.Theroomwastypicalofcheapfurnishedlodgings.Adustyaspidistra,showilyornamentalfurniture,agaudywallpaperfadedinpatches.Thereweresignsthatthepersonalityofthetenantshadstruggledwiththatofthelandlady;oneortwopiecesofgoodchina,muchcrackedandmended,sothattheirsaleablevaluewasnil,apieceofembroiderythrownoverthebackofthesofa,awatercoloursketchofayounggirlinthefashionoftwentyyearsago;nearenoughstilltoMrs.St.Vincentnottobemistaken.
“Itwouldn’tmatter,”continuedBarbara,“ifwe’dneverknownanythingelse.ButtothinkofAnsteys—”
Shebrokeoff,nottrustingherselftospeakofthatdearlylovedhomewhichhadbelongedtotheSt.Vincentfamilyforcenturiesandwhichwasnowinthehandsofstrangers.
“Ifonlyfather—hadn’tspeculated—andborrowed—”
“Mydear,”saidMrs.St.Vincent,“yourfatherwasnever,inanysenseoftheword,abusinessman.”
Shesaiditwithagracefulkindoffinality,andBarbaracameoverandgaveheranaimlesssortofkiss,asshemurmured,“PooroldMums.Iwon’tsayanything.”
Mrs.St.Vincenttookupherpenagain,andbentoverherdesk.Barbarawentbacktothewindow.Presentlythegirlsaid:
“Mother.Iheardfrom—fromJimMastertonthismorning.Hewantstocomeoverandseeme.”
Mrs.St.Vincentlaiddownherpenandlookedupsharply.
“Here?”sheexclaimed.
“Well,wecan’taskhimtodinnerattheRitzverywell,”sneeredBarbara.
Hermotherlookedunhappy.Againshelookedroundtheroomwithinnatedistaste.
“You’reright,”saidBarbara.“It’sadisgustingplace.Genteelpoverty!Soundsallright—awhite-washedcottage,inthecountry,shabbychintzesofgooddesign,bowlsofroses,crownDerbyteaservicethatyouwashupyourself.That’swhatit’slikeinbooks.Inreallife,withasonstartingonthebottomrungofofficelife,itmeansLondon.Frowsylandladies,dirtychildrenonthestairs,fellowlodgerswhoalwaysseemtobehalf-castes,haddocksforbreakfaststhataren’tquite—quiteandsoon.”
“Ifonly—”beganMrs.St.Vincent.“But,really,I’mbeginningtobeafraidwecan’taffordeventhisroommuchlonger.”
“Thatmeansabed-sittingroom—horror!—foryouandme,”saidBarbara.“AndacupboardunderthetilesforRupert.AndwhenJimcomestocall,I’llreceivehiminthatdreadfulroomdownstairswithtabbiesallroundthewallsknitting,andstaringatus,andcoughingthatdreadfulkindofgulpingcoughtheyhave!”
Therewasapause.
“Barbara,”saidMrs.St.Vincentatlast.“Doyou—Imean—wouldyou—?”
Shestopped,flushingalittle.
“Youneedn’tbedelicate,Mother,”saidBarbara.“Nobodyisnowadays.MarryJim,Isupposeyoumean?Iwouldlikeashotifheaskedme.ButI’msoawfullyafraidhewon’t.”
“Oh,Barbara,dear.”
“Well,it’sonethingseeingmeouttherewithCousinAmy,moving(astheysayinnovelettes)inthebestsociety.Hedidtakeafancytome.Nowhe’llcomehereandseemeinthis!Andhe’safunnycreature,youknow,fastidiousandold-fashioned.I—Iratherlikehimforthat.ItremindsmeofAnsteysandthevillage—everythingahundredyearsbehindthetimes,butso—so—oh!Idon’tknow—sofragrant.Likelavender!”
Shelaughed,half-ashamedofhereagerness.Mrs.St.Vincentspokewithakindofearnestsimplicity.
“IshouldlikeyoutomarryJimMasterton,”shesaid.“Heis—oneofus.Heisverywelloff,also,butthatIdon’tmindaboutsomuch.”
“Ido,”saidBarbara.“I’msickofbeinghardup.”
“But,Barbara,itisn’t—”
“Onlyforthat?No.Idoreally.I—oh!Mother,can’tyouseeIdo?”
Mrs.St.Vincentlookedveryunhappy.
“Iwishhecouldseeyouinyourpropersetting,darling,”shesaidwistfully.
“Oh,well!”saidBarbara.“Whyworry?Wemightaswelltryandbecheerfulaboutthings.SorryI’vehadsuchagrouch.Cheerup,darling.”
Shebentoverhermother,kissedherforeheadlightly,andwentout.Mrs.St.Vincent,relinquishingallattemptsatfinance,satdownontheuncomfortablesofa.Herthoughtsranroundincircleslikesquirrelsinacage.
“Onemaysaywhatonelikes,appearancesdoputamanoff.Notlater—notiftheywerereallyengaged.He’dknowthenwhatasweet,deargirlsheis.Butit’ssoeasyforyoungpeopletotakethetoneoftheirsurroundings.Rupert,now,he’squitedifferentfromwhatheusedtobe.NotthatIwantmychildrentobestuckup.That’snotitabit.ButIshouldhateitifRupertgotengagedtothatdreadfulgirlinthetobacconist’s.Idaresayshemaybeaverynicegirl,really.Butshe’snotourkind.It’sallsodifficult.PoorlittleBabs.IfIcoulddoanything—anything.Butwhere’sthemoneytocomefrom?We’vesoldeverythingtogiveRuperthisstart.Wereallycan’tevenaffordthis.”
TodistractherselfMrs.St.VincentpickeduptheMorningPost,andglanceddowntheadvertisementsonthefrontpage.Mostofthemsheknewbyheart.Peoplewhowantedcapital,peoplewhohadcapitalandwereanxioustodisposeofitonnoteofhandalone,peoplewhowantedtobuyteeth(shealwayswonderedwhy),peoplewhowantedtosellfursandgownsandwhohadoptimisticideasonthesubjectofprice.
Suddenlyshestiffenedtoattention.Againandagainshereadtheprintedwords.
“Togentlepeopleonly.SmallhouseinWestminster,exquisitelyfurnished,offeredtothosewhowouldreallycareforit.Rentpurelynominal.Noagents.”
Averyordinaryadvertisement.Shehadreadmanythesameor—well,nearlythesame.Nominalrent,thatwaswherethetraplay.
Yet,sinceshewasrestlessandanxioustoescapefromherthoughtssheputonherhatstraightaway,andtookaconvenientbustotheaddressgivenintheadvertisement.
Itprovedtobethatofafirmofhouseagents.Notanewbustlingfirm—aratherdecrepit,old-fashionedplace.Rathertimidlysheproducedtheadvertisement,whichshehadtornout,andaskedforparticulars.
Thewhite-hairedoldgentlemanwhowasattendingtoherstrokedhischinthoughtfully.
“Perfectly.Yes,perfectly,madam.Thathouse,thehousementionedintheadvertisementisNo.7CheviotPlace.Youwouldlikeanorder?”
“Ishouldliketoknowtherentfirst?”saidMrs.St.Vincent.
“Ah!therent.Theexactfigureisnotsettled,butIcanassureyouthatitispurelynominal.”
“Ideasofwhatispurelynominalcanvary,”saidMrs.St.Vincent.
Theoldgentlemanpermittedhimselftochucklealittle.
“Yes,that’sanoldtrick—anoldtrick.Butyoucantakemywordforit,itisn’tsointhiscase.Twoorthreeguineasaweek,perhaps,notmore.”
Mrs.St.Vincentdecidedtohavetheorder.Not,ofcourse,thattherewasanyreallikelihoodofherbeingabletoaffordtheplace.But,afterall,shemightjustseeit.Theremustbesomegravedisadvantageattachingtoit,tobeofferedatsuchaprice.
Butherheartgavealittlethrobasshelookedupattheoutsideof7CheviotPlace.Agemofahouse.QueenAnne,andinperfectcondition!Abutleransweredthedoor,hehadgreyhairandlittlesidewhiskers,andthemeditativecalmofanarchbishop.Akindlyarchbishop,Mrs.St.Vincentthought.
Heacceptedtheorderwithabenevolentair.
“Certainly,madam.Iwillshowyouover.Thehouseisreadyforoccupation.”
Hewentbeforeher,openingdoors,announcingrooms.
“Thedrawingroom,thewhitestudy,apowderclosetthroughhere,madam.”
Itwasperfect—adream.Thefurniturealloftheperiod,eachpiecewithsignsofwear,butpolishedwithlovingcare.Thelooserugswereofbeautifuldimoldcolours.Ineachroomwerebowlsoffreshflowers.ThebackofthehouselookedovertheGreenPark.Thewholeplaceradiatedanold-worldcharm.
ThetearscameintoMrs.St.Vincent’seyes,andshefoughtthembackwithdifficulty.SohadAnsteyslooked—Ansteys….
Shewonderedwhetherthebutlerhadnoticedheremotion.Ifso,hewastoomuchtheperfectlytrainedservanttoshowit.Shelikedtheseoldservants,onefeltsafewiththem,atease.Theywerelikefriends.
“Itisabeautifulhouse,”shesaidsoftly.“Verybeautiful.Iamgladtohaveseenit.”
“Isitforyourselfalone,madam?”
“Formyselfandmysonanddaughter.ButI’mafraid—”
Shebrokeoff.Shewanteditsodreadfully—sodreadfully.
Shefeltinstinctivelythatthebutlerunderstood.Hedidnotlookather,ashesaidinadetachedimpersonalway:
“Ihappentobeaware,madam,thattheownerrequiresaboveall,suitabletenants.Therentisofnoimportancetohim.Hewantsthehousetobetenantedbysomeonewhowillreallycareforandappreciateit.”
“Ishouldappreciateit,”saidMrs.St.Vincentinalowvoice.
Sheturnedtogo.
“Thankyouforshowingmeover,”shesaidcourteously.
“Notatall,madam.”
Hestoodinthedoorway,verycorrectanduprightasshewalkedawaydownthestreet.Shethoughttoherself:“Heknows.He’ssorryforme.He’soneoftheoldlottoo.He’dlikemetohaveit—notalabourmember,orabuttonmanufacturer!We’redyingout,oursort,butwebandtogether.”
Intheendshedecidednottogobacktotheagents.Whatwasthegood?Shecouldaffordtherent—buttherewereservantstobeconsidered.Therewouldhavetobeservantsinahouselikethat.
Thenextmorningaletterlaybyherplate.Itwasfromthehouseagents.Itofferedherthetenancyof7CheviotPlaceforsixmonthsattwoguineasaweek,andwenton:“Youhave,Ipresume,takenintoconsiderationthefactthattheservantsareremainingatthelandlord’sexpense?Itisreallyauniqueoffer.”
Itwas.Sostartledwasshebyit,thatshereadtheletterout.Afireofquestionsfollowedandshedescribedhervisitofyesterday.
“SecretivelittleMums!”criedBarbara.“Isitreallysolovely?”
Rupertclearedhisthroat,andbeganajudicialcross-questioning.
“There’ssomethingbehindallthis.It’sfishyifyouaskme.Decidedlyfishy.”
“So’smyegg,”saidBarbarawrinklinghernose.“Ugh!Whyshouldtherebesomethingbehindit?That’sjustlikeyou,Rupert,alwaysmakingmysteriesoutofnothing.It’sthosedreadfuldetectivestoriesyou’realwaysreading.”
“Therent’sajoke,”saidRupert.“Inthecity,”headdedimportantly,“onegetswisetoallsortsofqueerthings.Itellyou,there’ssomethingveryfishyaboutthisbusiness.”
“Nonsense,”saidBarbara.“Housebelongstoamanwithlotsofmoney,he’sfondofit,andhewantsitlivedinbydecentpeoplewhilsthe’saway.Somethingofthatkind.Money’sprobablynoobjecttohim.”
“Whatdidyousaytheaddresswas?”askedRupertofhismother.
“SevenCheviotPlace.”
“Whew!”Hepushedbackhischair.“Isay,thisisexciting.That’sthehouseLordListerdaledisappearedfrom.”
“Areyousure?”askedMrs.St.Vincentdoubtfully.
“Positive.He’sgotalotofotherhousesalloverLondon,butthisistheonehelivedin.Hewalkedoutofitoneeveningsayinghewasgoingtohisclub,andnobodyeversawhimagain.SupposedtohavedoneabunktoEastAfricaorsomewherelikethat,butnobodyknowswhy.Dependuponit,hewasmurderedinthathouse.Yousaythere’salotofpanelling?”
“Ye-es,”saidMrs.St.Vincentfaintly:“but—”
Rupertgavehernotime.Hewentonwithimmenseenthusiasm.
“Panelling!Thereyouare.Suretobeasecretrecesssomewhere.Body’sbeenstuffedinthereandhasbeenthereeversince.Perhapsitwasembalmedfirst.”
“Rupert,dear,don’ttalknonsense,”saidhismother.
“Don’tbeadouble-dyedidiot,”saidBarbara.“You’vebeentakingthatperoxideblondetothepicturestoomuch.”
Rupertrosewithdignity—suchdignityashislankyandawkwardageallowed,anddeliveredafinalultimatum.
“Youtakethathouse,Mums.I’llferretoutthemystery.YouseeifIdon’t.”
Rupertdepartedhurriedly,infearofbeinglateattheoffice.
Theeyesofthetwowomenmet.
“Couldwe,Mother?”murmuredBarbaratremulously.“Oh!ifwecould.”
“Theservants,”saidMrs.St.Vincentpathetically,“wouldeat,youknow.Imean,ofcourse,onewouldwantthemto—butthat’sthedrawback.Onecansoeasily—justdowithoutthings—whenit’sonlyoneself.”
ShelookedpiteouslyatBarbara,andthegirlnodded.
“Wemustthinkitover,”saidthemother.
Butinrealityhermindwasmadeup.Shehadseenthesparkleinthegirl’seyes.Shethoughttoherself:“JimMastertonmustseeherinpropersurroundings.Thisisachance—awonderfulchance.Imusttakeit.”
Shesatdownandwrotetotheagentsacceptingtheiroffer.
“Quentin,wheredidtheliliescomefrom?Ireallycan’tbuyexpensiveflowers.”
“TheyweresentupfromKing’sCheviot,madam.Ithasalwaysbeenthecustomhere.”
Thebutlerwithdrew.Mrs.St.Vincentheavedasighofrelief.WhatwouldshedowithoutQuentin?Hemadeeverythingsoeasy.Shethoughttoherself,“It’stoogoodtolast.Ishallwakeupsoon,IknowIshall,andfindit’sbeenalladream.I’msohappyhere—twomonthsalready,andit’spassedlikeaflash.”
Lifeindeedhadbeenastonishinglypleasant.Quentin,thebutler,haddisplayedhimselftheautocratof7CheviotPlace.“Ifyouwillleaveeverythingtome,madam,”hehadsaidrespectfully.“Youwillfinditthebestway.”
Eachweek,hebroughtherthehousekeepingbooks,theirtotalsastonishinglylow.Therewereonlytwootherservants,acookandahousemaid.Theywerepleasantinmanner,andefficientintheirduties,butitwasQuentinwhoranthehouse.Gameandpoultryappearedonthetablesometimes,causingMrs.St.Vincentsolicitude.Quentinreassuredher.SentupfromLordListerdale’scountryseat,King’sCheviot,orfromhisYorkshiremoor.“Ithasalwaysbeenthecustom,madam.”
PrivatelyMrs.St.VincentdoubtedwhethertheabsentLordListerdalewouldagreewiththosewords.ShewasinclinedtosuspectQuentinofusurpinghismaster’sauthority.Itwasclearthathehadtakenafancytothem,andthatinhiseyesnothingwastoogoodforthem.
HercuriosityarousedbyRupert’sdeclaration,Mrs.St.VincenthadmakeatentativereferencetoLordListerdalewhenshenextinterviewedthehouseagent.Thewhite-hairedoldgentlemanhadrespondedimmediately.
Yes,LordListerdalewasinEastAfrica,hadbeenthereforthelasteighteenmonths.
“Ourclientisratheraneccentricman,”hehadsaid,smilingbroadly.“HeleftLondoninamostunconventionalmanner,asyoumayperhapsremember?Notawordtoanyone.Thenewspapersgotholdofit.TherewereactuallyinquiriesonfootatScotlandYard.LuckilynewswasreceivedfromLordListerdalehimselffromEastAfrica.Heinvestedhiscousin,ColonelCarfax,withpowerofattorney.ItisthelatterwhoconductsallLordListerdale’saffairs.Yes,rathereccentric,Ifear.Hehasalwaysbeenagreattravellerinthewilds—itisquiteonthecardsthathemaynotreturnforyearstoEngland,thoughheisgettingoninyears.”
“Surelyheisnotsoveryold,”saidMrs.St.Vincent,withasuddenmemoryofabluff,beardedface,ratherlikeanElizabethansailor,whichshehadoncenoticedinanillustratedmagazine.
“Middle-aged,”saidthewhite-hairedgentleman.“Fifty-three,accordingtoDebrett.”
ThisconversationMrs.St.VincenthadretailedtoRupertwiththeintentionofrebukingthatyounggentleman.
Rupert,however,wasundismayed.
“Itlooksfishierthanevertome,”hehaddeclared.“Who’sthisColonelCarfax?ProbablycomesintothetitleifanythinghappenstoListerdale.TheletterfromEastAfricawasprobablyforged.Inthreeyears,orwhateveritis,thisCarfaxwillpresumedeath,andtakethetitle.Meantime,he’sgotallthehandlingoftheestate.Veryfishy,Icallit.”
Hehadcondescendedgraciouslytoapprovethehouse.Inhisleisuremomentshewasinclinedtotapthepanellingandmakeelaboratemeasurementsforthepossiblelocationofasecretroom,butlittlebylittlehisinterestinthemysteryofLordListerdaleabated.Hewasalsolessenthusiasticonthesubjectofthetobacconist’sdaughter.Atmospheretells.
ToBarbarathehousehadbroughtgreatsatisfaction.JimMastertonhadcomehome,andwasafrequentvisitor.HeandMrs.St.Vincentgotonsplendidlytogether,andhesaidsomethingtoBarbaraonedaythatstartledher.
“Thishouseisawonderfulsettingforyourmother,youknow.”
“ForMother?”
“Yes.Itwasmadeforher!Shebelongstoitinanextraordinaryway.Youknowthere’ssomethingqueeraboutthishousealtogether,somethinguncannyandhaunting.”
“Don’tgetlikeRupert,”Barbaraimploredhim.“HeisconvincedthatthewickedColonelCarfaxmurderedLordListerdaleandhidhisbodyunderthefloor.”
Mastertonlaughed.
“IadmireRupert’sdetectivezeal.No,Ididn’tmeananythingofthatkind.Butthere’ssomethingintheair,someatmospherethatonedoesn’tquiteunderstand.”
TheyhadbeenthreemonthsinCheviotPlacewhenBarbaracametohermotherwitharadiantface.
“JimandI—we’reengaged.Yes—lastnight.Oh,Mother!Itallseemslikeafairytalecometrue.”
“Oh,mydear!I’msoglad—soglad.”
Motheranddaughterclaspedeachotherclose.
“YouknowJim’salmostasmuchinlovewithyouasheiswithme,”saidBarbaraatlast,withamischievouslaugh.
Mrs.St.Vincentblushedveryprettily.
“Heis,”persistedthegirl.“Youthoughtthishousewouldmakesuchabeautifulsettingforme,andallthetimeit’sreallyasettingforyou.RupertandIdon’tquitebelonghere.Youdo.”
“Don’ttalknonsense,darling.”
“It’snotnonsense.There’saflavourofenchantedcastleaboutit,withyouasanenchantedprincessandQuentinas—as—oh!abenevolentmagician.”
Mrs.St.Vincentlaughedandadmittedthelastitem.
Rupertreceivedthenewsofhissister’sengagementverycalmly.
“Ithoughttherewassomethingofthekindinthewind,”heobservedsapiently.
Heandhismotherwerediningalonetogether;BarbarawasoutwithJim.
Quentinplacedtheportinfrontofhim,andwithdrewnoiselessly.
“That’sarumoldbird,”saidRupert,noddingtowardsthecloseddoor.“There’ssomethingoddabouthim,youknow,something—”
“Notfishy?”interruptedMrs.St.Vincent,withafaintsmile.
“Why,Mother,howdidyouknowwhatIwasgoingtosay?”demandedRupertinallseriousness.
“It’sratherawordofyours,darling.Youthinkeverythingisfishy.IsupposeyouhaveanideathatitwasQuentinwhodidawaywithLordListerdaleandputhimunderthefloor?”
“Behindthepanelling,”correctedRupert.“Youalwaysgetthingsalittlebitwrong,Mother.No,I’veinquiredaboutthat.QuentinwasdownatKing’sCheviotatthetime.”
Mrs.St.Vincentsmiledathim,assherosefromtableandwentuptothedrawingroom.InsomewaysRupertwasalongtimegrowingup.
YetasuddenwondersweptoverherforthefirsttimeastoLordListerdale’sreasonsforleavingEnglandsoabruptly.Theremustbesomethingbehindit,toaccountforthatsuddendecision.ShewasstillthinkingthematteroverwhenQuentincameinwiththecoffeetray,andshespokeoutimpulsively.
“YouhavebeenwithLordListerdalealongtime,haven’tyou,Quentin?”
“Yes,madam;sinceIwasaladoftwenty-one.ThatwasinthelateLord’stime.Istartedasthirdfootman.”
“YoumustknowLordListerdaleverywell.Whatkindofamanishe?”
Thebutlerturnedthetrayalittle,sothatshecouldhelpherselftosugarmoreconveniently,asherepliedinevenunemotionaltones:
“LordListerdalewasaveryselfishgentleman,madam:withnoconsiderationforothers.”
Heremovedthetrayandboreitfromtheroom.Mrs.St.Vincentsatwithhercoffeecupinherhand,andapuzzledfrownonherface.Somethingstruckherasoddinthespeechapartfromtheviewsitexpressed.Inanotherminuteitflashedhometoher.
Quentinhadusedtheword“was”not“is.”Butthen,hemustthink—mustbelieve—Shepulledherselfup.ShewasasbadasRupert!Butaverydefiniteuneasinessassailedher.Afterwardsshedatedherfirstsuspicionsfromthatmoment.
WithBarbara’shappinessandfutureassured,shehadtimetothinkherownthoughts,andagainstherwill,theybegantocentreroundthemysteryofLordListerdale.Whatwastherealstory?WhateveritwasQuentinknewsomethingaboutit.Thosehadbeenoddwordsofhis—“averyselfishgentleman—noconsiderationforothers.”Whatlaybehindthem?Hehadspokenasajudgemightspeak,detachedlyandimpartially.
WasQuentininvolvedinLordListerdale’sdisappearance?Hadhetakenanactivepartinanytragedytheremighthavebeen?Afterall,ridiculousasRupert’sassumptionhadseemedatthetime,thatsingleletterwithitspowerofattorneycomingfromEastAfricawas—well,opentosuspicion.
Buttryasshewould,shecouldnotbelieveanyrealevilofQuentin.Quentin,shetoldherselfoverandoveragain,wasgood—sheusedthewordassimplyasachildmighthavedone.Quentinwasgood.Butheknewsomething!
Sheneverspokewithhimagainofhismaster.Thesubjectwasapparentlyforgotten.RupertandBarbarahadotherthingstothinkof,andtherewerenofurtherdiscussions.
ItwastowardstheendofAugustthathervaguesurmisescrystallizedintorealities.Ruperthadgoneforafortnight’sholidaywithafriendwhohadamotorcycleandtrailer.ItwassometendaysafterhisdeparturethatMrs.St.Vincentwasstartledtoseehimrushintotheroomwhereshesatwriting.
“Rupert!”sheexclaimed.
“Iknow,Mother.Youdidn’texpecttoseemeforanotherthreedays.Butsomething’shappened.Anderson—mypal,youknow—didn’tmuchcarewherehewent,soIsuggestedhavingalookinatKing’sCheviot—”
“King’sCheviot?Butwhy—?”
“Youknowperfectlywell,Mother,thatI’vealwaysscentedsomethingfishyaboutthingshere.Well,Ihadalookattheoldplace—it’slet,youknow—nothingthere.NotthatIactuallyexpectedtofindanything—Iwasjustnosinground,sotospeak.”
Yes,shethought.Rupertwasverylikeadogatthismoment.Huntingincirclesforsomethingvagueandundefined,ledbyinstinct,busyandhappy.
“Itwaswhenwewerepassingthroughavillageabouteightorninemilesawaythatithappened—thatIsawhim,Imean.”
“Sawwhom?”
“Quentin—justgoingintoalittlecottage.Somethingfishyhere,Isaidtomyself,andwestoppedthebus,andIwentback.Irappedonthedoorandhehimselfopenedit.”
“ButIdon’tunderstand.Quentinhasn’tbeenaway—”
“I’mcomingtothat,Mother.Ifyou’donlylisten,andnotinterrupt.ItwasQuentin,anditwasn’tQuentin,ifyouknowwhatImean.”
Mrs.St.Vincentclearlydidnotknow,soheelucidatedmattersfurther.
“ItwasQuentinallright,butitwasn’tourQuentin.Itwastherealman.”
“Rupert!”
“Youlisten.Iwastakeninmyselfatfirst,andsaid:‘ItisQuentin,isn’tit?’AndtheoldJohnnysaid:‘Quiteright,sir,thatismyname.WhatcanIdoforyou?’AndthenIsawthatitwasn’tourman,thoughitwaspreciouslikehim,voiceandall.Iaskedafewquestions,anditallcameout.Theoldchaphadn’tanideaofanythingfishybeingon.He’dbeenbutlertoLordListerdaleallright,andwasretiredonapensionandgiventhiscottagejustaboutthetimethatLordListerdalewassupposedtohavegoneofftoAfrica.Youseewherethatleadsus.Thisman’sanimpostor—he’splayingthepartofQuentinforpurposesofhisown.Mytheoryisthathecameuptotownthatevening,pretendingtobethebutlerfromKing’sCheviot,gotaninterviewwithLordListerdale,killedhimandhidhisbodybehindthepanelling.It’sanoldhouse,there’ssuretobeasecretrecess—”
“Oh,don’tlet’sgointoallthatagain,”interruptedMrs.St.Vincentwildly.“Ican’tbearit.Whyshouldhe—that’swhatIwanttoknow—why?Ifhedidsuchathing—whichIdon’tbelieveforoneminute,mindyou—whatwasthereasonforitall?”
“You’reright,”saidRupert.“Motive—that’simportant.NowI’vemadeinquiries.LordListerdalehadalotofhouseproperty.InthelasttwodaysI’vediscoveredthatpracticallyeveryoneofthesehousesofhishasbeenletinthelasteighteenmonthstopeoplelikeourselvesforamerelynominalrent—andwiththeprovisothattheservantsshouldremain.AndineverycaseQuentinhimself—themancallinghimselfQuentin,Imean—hasbeenthereforpartofthetimeasbutler.Thatlooksasthoughthereweresomething—jewels,orpapers—secretedinoneofLordListerdale’shouses,andthegangdoesn’tknowwhich.I’massumingagang,butofcoursethisfellowQuentinmaybeinitsingle-handed.There’sa—”
Mrs.St.Vincentinterruptedhimwithacertainamountofdetermination:
“Rupert!Dostoptalkingforoneminute.You’remakingmyheadspin.Anyway,whatyouaresayingisnonsense—aboutgangsandhiddenpapers.”
“There’sanothertheory,”admittedRupert.“ThisQuentinmaybesomeonethatLordListerdalehasinjured.TherealbutlertoldmealongstoryaboutamancalledSamuelLowe—anunder-gardenerhewas,andaboutthesameheightandbuildasQuentinhimself.He’dgotagrudgeagainstListerdale—”
Mrs.St.Vincentstarted.
“Withnoconsiderationforothers.”Thewordscamebacktohermindintheirpassionless,measuredaccents.Inadequatewords,butwhatmighttheynotstandfor?
InherabsorptionshehardlylistenedtoRupert.Hemadearapidexplanationofsomethingthatshedidnottakein,andwenthurriedlyfromtheroom.
Thenshewokeup.WherehadRupertgone?Whatwashegoingtodo?Shehadnotcaughthislastwords.Perhapshewasgoingforthepolice.Inthatcase…
Sheroseabruptlyandrangthebell.Withhisusualpromptness,Quentinansweredit.
“Yourang,madam?”
“Yes.Comein,please,andshutthedoor.”
Thebutlerobeyed,andMrs.St.Vincentwassilentamomentwhilstshestudiedhimwithearnesteyes.
Shethought:“He’sbeenkindtome—nobodyknowshowkind.Thechildrenwouldn’tunderstand.ThiswildstoryofRupert’smaybeallnonsense—ontheotherhand,theremay—yes,theremay—besomethinginit.Whyshouldonejudge?Onecan’tknow.Therightsandwrongsofit,Imean…AndI’dstakemylife—yes,Iwould!—onhisbeingagoodman.”
Flushedandtremulous,shespoke.
“Quentin,Mr.Ruperthasjustgotback.HehasbeendowntoKing’sCheviot—toavillagenearthere—”
Shestopped,noticingthequickstarthewasnotabletoconceal.
“Hehas—seensomeone,”shewentoninmeasuredaccents.
Shethoughttoherself:“There—he’swarned.Atanyrate,he’swarned.”
Afterthatfirstquickstart,Quentinhadresumedhisunruffleddemeanour,buthiseyeswerefixedonherface,watchfulandkeen,withsomethinginthemshehadnotseentherebefore.Theywere,forthefirsttime,theeyesofamanandnotofaservant.
Hehesitatedforaminute,thensaidinavoicewhichalsohadsubtlychanged:
“Whydoyoutellmethis,Mrs.St.Vincent?”
Beforeshecouldanswer,thedoorflewopenandRupertstrodeintotheroom.Withhimwasadignifiedmiddle-agedmanwithlittlesidewhiskersandtheairofabenevolentarchbishop.Quentin!
“Hereheis,”saidRupert.“TherealQuentin.Ihadhimoutsideinthetaxi.Now,Quentin,lookatthismanandtellme—isheSamuelLowe?”
ItwasforRupertatriumphantmoment.Butitwasshort-lived,almostatoncehescentedsomethingwrong.ForwhiletherealQuentinwaslookingabashedandhighlyuncomfortablethesecondQuentinwassmiling,abroadsmileofundisguisedenjoyment.
Heslappedhisembarrassedduplicateontheback.
“It’sallright,Quentin.Gottoletthecatoutofthebagsometime,Isuppose.Youcantell’emwhoIam.”
Thedignifiedstrangerdrewhimselfup.
“This,sir,”heannounced,inareproachfultone,“ismymaster,LordListerdale,sir.”
Thenextminutebeheldmanythings.First,thecompletecollapseofthecocksureRupert.Beforeheknewwhatwashappening,hismouthstillopenfromtheshockofthediscovery,hefoundhimselfbeinggentlymanoeuvredtowardsthedoor,afriendlyvoicethatwas,andyetwasnot,familiarinhisear.
“It’squiteallright,myboy.Nobonesbroken.ButIwantawordwithyourmother.Verygoodworkofyours,toferretmeoutlikethis.”
Hewasoutsideonthelandinggazingattheshutdoor.TherealQuentinwasstandingbyhisside,agentlestreamofexplanationflowingfromhislips.InsidetheroomLordListerdalewasconfrontingMrs.St.Vincent.
“Letmeexplain—ifIcan!I’vebeenaselfishdevilallmylife—thefactcamehometomeoneday.IthoughtI’dtryalittlealtruismforachange,andbeingafantastickindoffool,Istartedmycareerfantastically.I’dsentsubscriptionstooddthings,butIfelttheneedofdoingsomething—well,somethingpersonal.I’vebeensorryalwaysfortheclassthatcan’tbeg,thatmustsufferinsilence—poorgentlefolk.Ihavealotofhouseproperty.Iconceivedtheideaofleasingthesehousestopeoplewho—well,neededandappreciatedthem.Youngcoupleswiththeirwaytomake,widowswithsonsanddaughtersstartingintheworld.Quentinhasbeenmorethanbutlertome,he’safriend.WithhisconsentandassistanceIborrowedhispersonality.I’vealwayshadatalentforacting.Theideacametomeonmywaytotheclubonenight,andIwentstraightofftotalkitoverwithQuentin.WhenIfoundtheyweremakingafussaboutmydisappearance,IarrangedthatalettershouldcomefrommeinEastAfrica.Init,Igavefullinstructionstomycousin,MauriceCarfax.And—well,that’sthelongandshortofit.”
Hebrokeoffratherlamely,withanappealingglanceatMrs.St.Vincent.Shestoodverystraight,andhereyesmethissteadily.
“Itwasakindplan,”shesaid.“Averyunusualone,andonethatdoesyoucredit.Iam—mostgrateful.But—ofcourse,youunderstandthatwecannotstay?”
“Iexpectedthat,”hesaid.“Yourpridewon’tletyouacceptwhatyou’dprobablystyle‘charity.’”
“Isn’tthatwhatitis?”sheaskedsteadily.
“No,”heanswered.“BecauseIasksomethinginexchange.”
“Something?”
“Everything.”Hisvoicerangout,thevoiceofoneaccustomedtodominate.
“WhenIwastwenty-three,”hewenton,“ImarriedthegirlIloved.Shediedayearlater.SincethenIhavebeenverylonely.IhavewishedverymuchIcouldfindacertainlady—theladyofmydreams….”
“AmIthat?”sheasked,verylow.“Iamsoold—sofaded.”
Helaughed.
“Old?Youareyoungerthaneitherofyourchildren.NowIamold,ifyoulike.”
Butherlaughrangoutinturn.Asoftrippleofamusement.
“You?Youareaboystill.Aboywholovestodressup.”
Sheheldoutherhandsandhecaughttheminhis.
Two
THEGIRLINTHETRAIN
“TheGirlintheTrain”wasfirstpublishedinGrandMagazine,February1924.
Andthat’sthat!”observedGeorgeRowlandruefully,ashegazedupattheimposingsmoke-grimedfa?adeofthebuildinghehadjustquitted.
ItmightbesaidtorepresentveryaptlythepowerofMoney—andMoney,inthepersonofWilliamRowland,uncletotheaforementionedGeorge,hadjustspokenitsmindveryfreely.Inthecourseofabrieftenminutes,frombeingtheappleofhisuncle’seye,theheirtohiswealth,andayoungmanwithapromisingbusinesscareerinfrontofhim,Georgehadsuddenlybecomeoneofthevastarmyoftheunemployed.
“Andintheseclothestheywon’tevengivemethedole,”reflectedMr.Rowlandgloomily,“andasforwritingpoemsandsellingthematthedoorattwopence(or‘whatyoucaretogive,lydy’)Isimplyhaven’tgotthebrains.”
ItwastruethatGeorgeembodiedaveritabletriumphofthetailor’sart.Hewasexquisitelyandbeautifullyarrayed.SolomonandtheliliesofthefieldweresimplynotinitwithGeorge.Butmancannotlivebyclothesalone—unlesshehashadsomeconsiderabletrainingintheart—andMr.Rowlandwaspainfullyawareofthefact.
“Andallbecauseofthatrottenshowlastnight,”hereflectedsadly.
TherottenshowlastnighthadbeenaCoventGardenBall.Mr.Rowlandhadreturnedfromitatasomewhatlate—orratherearly—hour—asamatteroffact,hecouldnotstrictlysaythatherememberedreturningatall.Rogers,hisuncle’sbutler,wasahelpfulfellow,andcoulddoubtlessgivemoredetailsonthematter.Asplittinghead,acupofstrongtea,andanarrivalattheofficeatfiveminutestotwelveinsteadofhalf-pastninehadprecipitatedthecatastrophe.Mr.Rowland,senior,whofortwenty-fouryearshadcondonedandpaidupasatactfulrelativeshould,hadsuddenlyabandonedthesetacticsandrevealedhimselfinatotallynewlight.TheinconsequenceofGeorge’sreplies(theyoungman’sheadwasstillopeningandshuttinglikesomemediaevalinstrumentoftheInquisition)haddispleasedhimstillfurther.WilliamRowlandwasnothingifnotthorough.Hecasthisnephewadriftupontheworldinafewshortsuccinctwords,andthensettleddowntohisinterruptedsurveyofsomeoilfieldsinPeru.
GeorgeRowlandshookthedustofhisuncle’sofficefromoffhisfeet,andsteppedoutintotheCityofLondon.Georgewasapracticalfellow.Agoodlunch,heconsidered,wasessentialtoareviewofthesituation.Hehadit.Thenheretracedhisstepstothefamilymansion.Rogersopenedthedoor.Hiswell-trainedfaceexpressednosurpriseatseeingGeorgeatthisunusualhour.
“Goodafternoon,Rogers.Justpackupmythingsforme,willyou?I’mleavinghere.”
“Yes,sir.Justforashortvisit,sir?”
“Forgood,Rogers.Iamgoingtothecoloniesthisafternoon.”
“Indeed,sir?”
“Yes.Thatis,ifthereisasuitableboat.Doyouknowanythingabouttheboats,Rogers?”
“Whichcolonywereyouthinkingofvisiting,sir?”
“I’mnotparticular.Anyof’emwilldo.Let’ssayAustralia.Whatdoyouthinkoftheidea,Rogers?”
Rogerscougheddiscreetly.
“Well,sir,I’vecertainlyhearditsaidthatthere’sroomoutthereforanyonewhoreallywantstowork.”
Mr.Rowlandgazedathimwithinterestandadmiration.
“Veryneatlyput,Rogers.JustwhatIwasthinkingmyself.Ishan’tgotoAustralia—nottoday,atanyrate.FetchmeanA.B.C.,willyou?Wewillselectsomethingnearerathand.”
Rogersbroughttherequiredvolume.Georgeopeneditatrandomandturnedthepageswitharapidhand.
“Perth—toofaraway—PutneyBridge—toonearathand.Ramsgate?Ithinknot.Reigatealsoleavesmecold.Why—whatanextraordinarything!There’sactuallyaplacecalledRowland’sCastle.Everheardofit,Rogers?”
“Ifancy,sir,thatyougotherefromWaterloo.”
“Whatanextraordinaryfellowyouare,Rogers.Youknoweverything.Well,well,Rowland’sCastle!Iwonderwhatsortofaplaceitis.”
“Notmuchofaplace,Ishouldsay,sir.”
“Allthebetter;there’llbelesscompetition.Thesequietlittlecountryhamletshavealotoftheoldfeudalspiritknockingabout.ThelastoftheoriginalRowlandsoughttomeetwithinstantappreciation.Ishouldn’twonderiftheyelectedmemayorinaweek.”
HeshutuptheA.B.C.withabang.
“Thedieiscast.Packmeasmallsuitcase,willyou,Rogers?Alsomycomplimentstothecook,andwillsheobligemewiththeloanofthecat.DickWhittington,youknow.WhenyousetouttobecomeaLordMayor,acatisessential.”
“I’msorry,sir,butthecatisnotavailableatthepresentmoment.”
“Howisthat?”
“Afamilyofeight,sir.Arrivedthismorning.”
“Youdon’tsayso.IthoughtitsnamewasPeter.”
“Soitis,sir.Agreatsurprisetoallofus.”
“Acaseofcarelesschristeningandthedeceitfulsex,eh?Well,well,Ishallhavetogocatless.Packupthosethingsatonce,willyou?”
“Verygood,sir.”
Rogershesitated,thenadvancedalittlefartherintotheroom.
“You’llexcusetheliberty,sir,butifIwasyou,Ishouldn’ttaketoomuchnoticeofanythingMr.Rowlandsaidthismorning.Hewasatoneofthosecitydinnerslastnight,and—”
“Saynomore,”saidGeorge.“Iunderstand.”
“Andbeinginclinedtogout—”
“Iknow,Iknow.Ratherastrenuouseveningforyou,Rogers,withtwoofus,eh?ButI’vesetmyheartondistinguishingmyselfatRowland’sCastle—thecradleofmyhistoricrace—thatwouldgowellinaspeech,wouldn’tit?Awiretomethere,oradiscreetadvertisementinthemorningpapers,willrecallmeatanytimeifafricasséeofvealisinpreparation.Andnow—toWaterloo!—asWellingtonsaidontheeveofthehistoricbattle.”
WaterlooStationwasnotatitsbrightestandbestthatafternoon.Mr.Rowlandeventuallydiscoveredatrainthatwouldtakehimtohisdestination,butitwasanundistinguishedtrain,anunimposingtrain—atrainthatnobodyseemedanxioustotravelby.Mr.Rowlandhadafirst-classcarriagetohimself,upinthefrontofthetrain.Afogwasdescendinginanindeterminatewayoverthemetropolis,nowitlifted,nowitdescended.Theplatformwasdeserted,andonlytheasthmaticbreathingoftheenginebrokethesilence.
Andthen,allofasudden,thingsbegantohappenwithbewilderingrapidity.
Agirlhappenedfirst.Shewrenchedopenthedoorandjumpedin,rousingMr.Rowlandfromsomethingperilouslynearanap,exclaimingasshedidso:“Oh!hideme—oh!pleasehideme.”
Georgewasessentiallyamanofaction—hisnottoreasonwhy,hisbuttodoanddie,etc.Thereisonlyoneplacetohideinarailwaycarriage—undertheseat.Insevensecondsthegirlwasbestowedthere,andGeorge’ssuitcase,negligentlystandingonend,coveredherretreat.Nonetoosoon.Aninfuriatedfaceappearedatthecarriagewindow.
“Myniece!Youhaveherhere.Iwantmyniece.”
George,alittlebreathless,wasreclininginthecorner,deepinthesportingcolumnoftheeveningpaper,one-thirtyedition.Helaiditasidewiththeairofamanrecallinghimselffromfaraway.
“Ibegyourpardon,sir?”hesaidpolitely.
“Myniece—whathaveyoudonewithher?”
Actingonthepolicythatattackisalwaysbetterthandefence,Georgeleapedintoaction.
“Whatthedevildoyoumean?”hecried,withaverycreditableimitationofhisownuncle’smanner.
Theotherpausedaminute,takenabackbythissuddenfierceness.Hewasafatman,stillpantingalittleasthoughhehadrunsomeway.Hishairwascutenbrosse,andhehadamoustacheoftheHohenzollernpersuasion.Hisaccentsweredecidedlyguttural,andthestiffnessofhiscarriagedenotedthathewasmoreathomeinuniformthanoutofit.Georgehadthetrue-bornBriton’sprejudiceagainstforeigners—andanespecialdistasteforGerman-lookingforeigners.
“Whatthedevildoyoumean,sir?”herepeatedangrily.
“Shecameinhere,”saidtheother.“Isawher.Whathaveyoudonewithher?”
Georgeflungasidethepaperandthrusthisheadandshouldersthroughthewindow.
“Sothat’sit,isit?”heroared.“Blackmail.Butyou’vetrieditonthewrongperson.IreadallaboutyouintheDailyMailthismorning.Here,guard,guard!”
Alreadyattractedfromafarbythealtercation,thatfunctionarycamehurryingup.
“Here,guard,”saidMr.Rowland,withthatairofauthoritywhichthelowerclassessoadore.“Thisfellowisannoyingme.I’llgivehiminchargeforattemptedblackmailifnecessary.PretendsI’vegothisniecehiddeninhere.There’saregulargangoftheseforeignerstryingthissortofthingon.Itoughttobestopped.Takehimaway,willyou?Here’smycardifyouwantit.”
Theguardlookedfromonetotheother.Hismindwassoonmadeup.Histrainingledhimtodespiseforeigners,andtorespectandadmirewell-dressedgentlemenwhotravelledfirstclass.
Helaidhishandontheshoulderoftheintruder.
“Here,”hesaid,“youcomeoutofthis.”
Atthiscrisisthestranger’sEnglishfailedhim,andheplungedintopassionateprofanityinhisnativetongue.
“That’senoughofthat,”saidtheguard.“Standaway,willyou?She’sdueout.”
Flagswerewavedandwhistleswereblown.Withanunwillingjerkthetraindrewoutofthestation.
Georgeremainedathisobservationpostuntiltheywereclearoftheplatform.Thenhedrewinhishead,andpickingupthesuit-casetosseditintotherack.
“It’squiteallright.Youcancomeout,”hesaidreassuringly.
Thegirlcrawledout.
“Oh!”shegasped.“HowcanIthankyou?”
“That’squiteallright.It’sbeenapleasure,Iassureyou,”returnedGeorgenonchalantly.
Hesmiledatherreassuringly.Therewasaslightlypuzzledlookinhereyes.Sheseemedtobemissingsomethingtowhichshewasaccustomed.Atthatmoment,shecaughtsightofherselfinthenarrowglassopposite,andgaveaheartfeltgasp.
Whetherthecarriagecleanersdo,ordonot,sweepundertheseatseverydayisdoubtful.Appearanceswereagainsttheirdoingso,butitmaybethateveryparticleofdirtandsmokefindsitswaytherelikeahomingbird.Georgehadhardlyhadtimetotakeinthegirl’sappearance,sosuddenhadbeenherarrival,andsobriefthespaceoftimebeforeshecrawledintohiding,butitwascertainlyatrimandwell-dressedyoungwomanwhohaddisappearedundertheseat.Nowherlittleredhatwascrushedanddented,andherfacewasdisfiguredwithlongstreaksofdirt.
“Oh!”saidthegirl.
Shefumbledforherbag.George,withthetactofatruegentleman,lookedfixedlyoutofthewindowandadmiredthestreetsofLondonsouthoftheThames.
“HowcanIthankyou?”saidthegirlagain.
Takingthisasahintthatconversationmightnowberesumed,Georgewithdrewhisgaze,andmadeanotherpolitedisclaimer,butthistimewithagooddealofaddedwarmthinhismanner.
Thegirlwasabsolutelylovely!Neverbefore,Georgetoldhimself,hadheseensuchalovelygirl.Theempressementofhismannerbecameevenmoremarked.
“Ithinkitwassimplysplendidofyou,”saidthegirlwithenthusiasm.
“Notatall.Easiestthingintheworld.Onlytoopleasedbeenofuse,”mumbledGeorge.
“Splendid,”shereiteratedemphatically.
Itisundoubtedlypleasanttohavetheloveliestgirlyouhaveevenseengazingintoyoureyesandtellingyouhowsplendidyouare.Georgeenjoyeditasmuchasanyonecould.
Thentherecamearatherdifficultsilence.Itseemedtodawnuponthegirlthatfurtherexplanationmightbeexpected.Sheflushedalittle.
“Theawkwardpartofitis,”shesaidnervously,“thatI’mafraidIcan’texplain.”
Shelookedathimwithapiteousairofuncertainty.
“Youcan’texplain?”
“No.”
“Howperfectlysplendid!”saidMr.Rowlandwithenthusiasm.
“Ibegyourpardon?”
“Isaid,Howperfectlysplendid.Justlikeoneofthosebooksthatkeepyouupallnight.Theheroinealwayssays‘Ican’texplain’inthefirstchapter.Sheexplainsinthelast,ofcourse,andthere’sneveranyrealreasonwhysheshouldn’thavedonesointhebeginning—exceptthatitwouldspoilthestory.Ican’ttellyouhowpleasedIamtobemixedupinarealmystery—Ididn’tknowthereweresuchthings.Ihopeit’sgotsomethingtodowithsecretdocumentsofimmenseimportance,andtheBalkanexpress.IdoteupontheBalkanexpress.”
Thegirlstaredathimwithwide,suspiciouseyes.
“WhatmakesyousaytheBalkanexpress?”sheaskedsharply.
“IhopeIhaven’tbeenindiscreet,”Georgehastenedtoputin.“Youruncletravelledbyit,perhaps.”
“Myuncle—”Shepaused,thenbeganagain.“Myuncle—”
“Quiteso,”saidGeorgesympathetically.“I’vegotanunclemyself.Nobodyshouldbeheldresponsiblefortheiruncles.Nature’slittlethrowbacks—that’showIlookatit.”
Thegirlbegantolaughsuddenly.WhenshespokeGeorgewasawareoftheslightforeigninflectioninhervoice.AtfirsthehadtakenhertobeEnglish.
“Whatarefreshingandunusualpersonyouare,Mr.—”
“Rowland.Georgetomyfriends.”
“MynameisElizabeth—”
Shestoppedabruptly.
“IlikethenameofElizabeth,”saidGeorge,tocoverhermomentaryconfusion.“Theydon’tcallyouBessie,oranythinghorriblelikethat,Ihope?”
Sheshookherhead.
“Well,”saidGeorge,“nowthatweknoweachother,we’dbettergetdowntobusiness.Ifyou’llstandup,Elizabeth,I’llbrushdownthebackofyourcoat.”
Shestoodupobediently,andGeorgewasasgoodashisword.
“Thankyou,Mr.Rowland.”
“George.Georgetomyfriends,remember.Andyoucan’tcomeintomyniceemptycarriage,rollundertheseat,inducemetotellliestoyouruncle,andthenrefusetobefriends,canyou?”
“Thankyou,George.”
“That’sbetter.”
“DoIlookquiteallrightnow?”askedElizabeth,tryingtoseeoverherleftshoulder.
“Youlook—oh!youlook—youlookallright,”saidGeorge,curbinghimselfsternly.
“Itwasallsosudden,yousee,”explainedthegirl.
“Itmusthavebeen.”
“Hesawusinthetaxi,andthenatthestationIjustboltedinhereknowinghewasclosebehindme.Whereisthistraingoingto,bytheway?”
“Rowland’sCastle,”saidGeorgefirmly.
Thegirllookedpuzzled.
“Rowland’sCastle?”
“Notatonce,ofcourse.Onlyafteragooddealofstoppingandslowgoing.ButIconfidentlyexpecttobetherebeforemidnight.TheoldSouth-Westernwasaveryreliableline—slowbutsure—andI’msuretheSouthernRailwayiskeepinguptheoldtraditions.”
“Idon’tknowthatIwanttogotoRowland’sCastle,”saidElizabethdoubtfully.
“Youhurtme.It’sadelightfulspot.”
“Haveyoueverbeenthere?”
“Notexactly.Buttherearelotsofotherplacesyoucangoto,ifyoudon’tfancyRowland’sCastle.There’sWoking,andWeybridge,andWimbledon.Thetrainissuretostopatoneorotherofthem.”
“Isee,”saidthegirl.“Yes,Icangetoutthere,andperhapsmotorbacktoLondon.Thatwouldbethebestplan,Ithink.”
Evenasshespoke,thetrainbegantoslowup.Mr.Rowlandgazedatherwithappealingeyes.
“IfIcandoanything—”
“No,indeed.You’vedonealotalready.”
Therewasapause,thenthegirlbrokeoutsuddenly:
“I—IwishIcouldexplain.I—”
“Forheaven’ssakedon’tdothat!Itwouldspoileverything.Butlookhere,isn’tthereanythingthatIcoulddo?CarrythesecretpaperstoVienna—orsomethingofthatkind?Therealwaysaresecretpapers.Dogivemeachance.”
Thetrainhadstopped.Elizabethjumpedquicklyoutontotheplatform.Sheturnedandspoketohimthroughthewindow.
“Areyouinearnest?Wouldyoureallydosomethingforus—forme?”
“I’ddoanythingintheworldforyou,Elizabeth.”
“EvenifIcouldgiveyounoreasons?”
“Rottenthings,reasons!”
“Evenifitwere—dangerous?”
“Themoredanger,thebetter.”
Shehesitatedaminutethenseemedtomakeuphermind.
“Leanoutofthewindow.Lookdowntheplatformasthoughyouweren’treallylooking.”Mr.Rowlandendeavouredtocomplywiththissomewhatdifficultrecommendation.“Doyouseethatmangettingin—withasmalldarkbeard—lightovercoat?Followhim,seewhathedoesandwherehegoes.”
“Isthatall?”askedMr.Rowland.“WhatdoI—?”
Sheinterruptedhim.
“Furtherinstructionswillbesenttoyou.Watchhim—andguardthis.”Shethrustasmallsealedpacketintohishand.“Guarditwithyourlife.It’sthekeytoeverything.”
Thetrainwenton.Mr.Rowlandremainedstaringoutofthewindow,watchingElizabeth’stall,gracefulfigurethreadingitswaydowntheplatform.Inhishandheclutchedthesmallsealedpacket
Therestofhisjourneywasbothmonotonousanduneventful.Thetrainwasaslowone.Itstoppedeverywhere.Ateverystation,George’sheadshotoutofthewindow,incasehisquarryshouldalight.Occasionallyhestrolledupanddowntheplatformwhenthewaitpromisedtobealongone,andreassuredhimselfthatthemanwasstillthere.
TheeventualdestinationofthetrainwasPortsmouth,anditwastherethattheblack-beardedtravelleralighted.Hemadehiswaytoasmallsecond-classhotelwherehebookedaroom.Mr.Rowlandalsobookedaroom.
Theroomswereinthesamecorridor,twodoorsfromeachother.ThearrangementseemedsatisfactorytoGeorge.Hewasacompletenoviceintheartofshadowing,butwasanxioustoacquithimselfwell,andjustifyElizabeth’strustinhim.
AtdinnerGeorgewasgivenatablenotfarfromthatofhisquarry.Theroomwasnotfull,andthemajorityofthedinersGeorgeputdownascommercialtravellers,quietrespectablemenwhoatetheirfoodwithappetite.Onlyonemanattractedhisspecialnotice,asmallmanwithgingerhairandmoustacheandasuggestionofhorsinessinhisapparel.HeseemedtobeinterestedinGeorgealso,andsuggestedadrinkandagameofbilliardswhenthemealhadcometoaclose.ButGeorgehadjustespiedtheblack-beardedmanputtingonhishatandovercoat,anddeclinedpolitely.Inanotherminutehewasoutinthestreet,gainingfreshinsightintothedifficultartofshadowing.Thechasewasalongandawearyone—andintheenditseemedtoleadnowhere.AftertwistingandturningthroughthestreetsofPortsmouthforaboutfourmiles,themanreturnedtothehotel,Georgeharduponhisheels.Afaintdoubtassailedthelatter.Wasitpossiblethatthemanwasawareofhispresence?Ashedebatedthispoint,standinginthehall,theouterdoorwaspushedopen,andthelittlegingermanentered.Evidentlyhe,too,hadbeenoutforastroll.
Georgewassuddenlyawarethatthebeauteousdamselintheofficewasaddressinghim.
“Mr.Rowland,isn’tit?Twogentlemenhavecalledtoseeyou.Twoforeigngentlemen.Theyareinthelittleroomattheendofthepassage.”
Somewhatastonished,Georgesoughttheroominquestion.Twomenwhoweresittingthere,rosetotheirfeetandbowedpunctiliously.
“Mr.Rowland?Ihavenodoubt,sir,thatyoucanguessouridentity.”
Georgegazedfromonetotheotherofthem.Thespokesmanwastheelderofthetwo,agrey-haired,pompousgentlemanwhospokeexcellentEnglish.Theotherwasatall,somewhatpimplyyoungman,withablondTeutoniccastofcountenancewhichwasnotrenderedmoreattractivebythefiercescowlwhichheworeatthepresentmoment.
SomewhatrelievedtofindthatneitherofhisvisitorswastheoldgentlemanhehadencounteredatWaterloo,Georgeassumedhismostdebonairmanner.
“Praysitdown,gentlemen.I’mdelightedtomakeyouracquaintance.Howaboutadrink?”
Theeldermanheldupaprotestinghand
“Thankyou,LordRowland—notforus.Wehavebutafewbriefmoments—justtimeforyoutoansweraquestion.”
“It’sverykindofyoutoelectmetothepeerage,”saidGeorge.“I’msorryyouwon’thaveadrink.Andwhatisthismomentousquestion?”
“LordRowland,youleftLondonincompanywithacertainlady.Youarrivedherealone.Whereisthelady?”
Georgerosetohisfeet.
“Ifailtounderstandthequestion,”hesaidcoldly,speakingasmuchliketheheroofanovelashecould.“Ihavethehonourtowishyougoodevening,gentlemen.”
“Butyoudounderstandit.Youunderstanditperfectly,”criedtheyoungerman,breakingoutsuddenly.“WhathaveyoudonewithAlexa?”
“Becalm,sir,”murmuredtheother.“Ibegofyoutobecalm.”
“Icanassureyou,”saidGeorge,“thatIknownoladyofthatname.Thereissomemistake.”
Theoldermanwaseyeinghimkeenly.
“Thatcanhardlybe,”hesaiddrily.“Itookthelibertyofexaminingthehotelregister.YouenteredyourselfasMr.G.RowlandofRowland’sCastle.”
Georgewasforcedtoblush.
“A—alittlejokeofmine,”heexplainedfeebly.
“Asomewhatpoorsubterfuge.Come,letusnotbeataboutthebush.WhereisHerHighness?”
“IfyoumeanElizabeth—”
Withahowlofragetheyoungmanflunghimselfforwardagain.
“Insolentpig-dog!Tospeakofherthus.”
“Iamreferring,”saidtheotherslowly,“asyouverywellknow,totheGrandDuchessAnastasiaSophiaAlexandraMarieHelenaOlgaElizabethofCatonia.”
“Oh!”saidMr.Rowlandhelplessly.
HetriedtorecallallthathehadeverknownofCatonia.Itwas,asfarasheremembered,asmallBalkankingdom,andheseemedtoremembersomethingaboutarevolutionhavingoccurredthere.Heralliedhimselfwithaneffort.
“Evidentlywemeanthesameperson,”hesaidcheerfully,“onlyIcallherElizabeth.”
“Youwillgivemesatisfactionforthat,”snarledtheyoungerman.“Wewillfight.”
“Fight?”
“Aduel.”
“Ineverfightduels,”saidMr.Rowlandfirmly.
“Whynot?”demandedtheotherunpleasantly.
“I’mtooafraidofgettinghurt.”
“Aha!isthatso?ThenIwillatleastpullyournoseforyou.”
Theyoungermanadvancedfiercely.Exactlywhathappenedwasdifficulttosee,buthedescribedasuddensemicircleintheairandfelltothegroundwithaheavythud.Hepickedhimselfupinadazedmanner.Mr.Rowlandwassmilingpleasantly.
“AsIwassaying,”heremarked,“I’malwaysafraidofgettinghurt.That’swhyIthoughtitwelltolearnjujitsu.”
Therewasapause.Thetwoforeignerslookeddoubtfullyatthisamiablelookingyoungman,asthoughtheysuddenlyrealizedthatsomedangerousqualitylurkedbehindthepleasantnonchalanceofhismanner.TheyoungerTeutonwaswhitewithpassion.
“Youwillrepentthis,”hehissed.
Theoldermanretainedhisdignity.
“Thatisyourlastword,LordRowland?YourefusetotellusHerHighness’swhereabouts?”
“Iamunawareofthemmyself.”
“Youcanhardlyexpectmetobelievethat.”
“Iamafraidyouareofanunbelievingnature,sir.”
Theothermerelyshookhishead,andmurmuring:“Thisisnottheend.Youwillhearfromusagain,”thetwomentooktheirleave.
Georgepassedhishandoverhisbrow.Eventswereproceedingatabewilderingrate.Hewasevidentlymixedupinafirst-classEuropeanscandal.
“Itmightevenmeananotherwar,”saidGeorgehopefully,ashehuntedroundtoseewhathadbecomeofthemanwiththeblackbeard.
Tohisgreatrelief,hediscoveredhimsittinginacornerofthecommercialroom.Georgesatdowninanothercorner.Inaboutthreeminutestheblack-beardedmangotupandwentuptobed.Georgefollowedandsawhimgointohisroomandclosethedoor.Georgeheavedasighofrelief.
“Ineedanight’srest,”hemurmured.“Needitbadly.”
Thenadirethoughtstruckhim.Supposingtheblack-beardedmanhadrealizedthatGeorgewasonhistrail?SupposingthatheshouldslipawayduringthenightwhilstGeorgehimselfwassleepingthesleepofthejust?Afewminutes’reflectionsuggestedtoMr.Rowlandawayofdealingwithhisdifficulty.Heunravelledoneofhissockstillhegotagoodlengthofneutral-colouredwool,thencreepingquietlyoutofhisroom,hepastedoneendofthewooltothefarthersideofthestranger’sdoorwithstamppaper,carryingthewoolacrossitandalongtohisownroom.Therehehungtheendwithasmallsilverbell—arelicoflastnight’sentertainment.Hesurveyedthesearrangementswithagooddealofsatisfaction.Shouldtheblack-beardedmanattempttoleavehisroomGeorgewouldbeinstantlywarnedbytheringingofthebell.
Thismatterdisposedof,Georgelostnotimeinseekinghiscouch.Thesmallpacketheplacedcarefullyunderhispillow.Ashedidso,hefellintoamomentarybrownstudy.Histhoughtscouldhavebeentranslatedthus:
“AnastasiaSophiaMarieAlexandraOlgaElizabeth.Hangitall,I’vemissedoutone.Iwondernow—”
Hewasunabletogotosleepimmediately,beingtantalizedwithhisfailuretograspthesituation.Whatwasitallabout?WhatwastheconnectionbetweentheescapingGrandDuchess,thesealedpacketandtheblack-beardedman?WhatwastheGrandDuchessescapingfrom?Weretheforeignersawarethatthesealedpacketwasinhispossession?Whatwasitlikelytocontain?
Ponderingthesematters,withanirritatedsensethathewasnonearerthesolution,Mr.Rowlandfellasleep.
Hewasawakenedbythefaintjangleofabell.Notoneofthosemenwhoawaketoinstantaction,ittookhimjustaminuteandahalftorealizethesituation.Thenhejumpedup,thrustonsomeslippers,and,openingthedoorwiththeutmostcaution,slippedoutintothecorridor.Afaintmovingpatchofshadowatthefarendofthepassageshowedhimthedirectiontakenbyhisquarry.Movingasnoiselesslyaspossible,Mr.Rowlandfollowedthetrail.Hewasjustintimetoseetheblack-beardedmandisappearintoabathroom.Thatwaspuzzling,particularlysoastherewasabathroomjustoppositehisownroom.Movingupclosetothedoor,whichwasajar,Georgepeeredthroughthecrack.Themanwasonhiskneesbythesideofthebath,doingsomethingtotheskirtingboardimmediatelybehindit.Heremainedthereforaboutfiveminutes,thenherosetohisfeet,andGeorgebeataprudentretreat.Safeintheshadowofhisowndoor,hewatchedtheotherpassandregainhisownroom.
“Good,”saidGeorgetohimself.“Themysteryofthebathroomwillbeinvestigatedtomorrowmorning.”
Hegotintobedandslippedhishandunderthepillowtoassurehimselfthatthepreciouspacketwasstillthere.Inanotherminute,hewasscatteringthebedclothesinapanic.Thepacketwasgone!
ItwasasadlychastenedGeorgewhosatconsumingeggsandbaconthefollowingmorning.HehadfailedElizabeth.Hehadallowedthepreciouspacketshehadentrustedtohischargetobetakenfromhim,andthe“MysteryoftheBathroom”wasmiserablyinadequate.Yes,undoubtedlyGeorgehadmadeamuttofhimself.
Afterbreakfasthestrolledupstairsagain.Achambermaidwasstandinginthepassagelookingperplexed.
“Anythingwrong,mydear?”saidGeorgekindly.
“It’sthegentlemanhere,sir.Heaskedtobecalledathalf-pasteight,andIcan’tgetanyanswerandthedoor’slocked.”
“Youdon’tsayso,”saidGeorge.
Anuneasyfeelingroseinhisownbreast.Hehurriedintohisroom.Whateverplanshewasformingwereinstantlybrushedasidebyamostunexpectedsight.Thereonthedressingtablewasthelittlepacketwhichhadbeenstolenfromhimthenightbefore!
Georgepickeditupandexaminedit.Yes,itwasundoubtedlythesame.Butthesealshadbeenbroken.Afteraminute’shesitation,heunwrappedit.Ifotherpeoplehadseenitscontentstherewasnoreasonwhyheshouldnotseethemalso.Besides,itwaspossiblethatthecontentshadbeenabstracted.Theunwoundpaperrevealedasmallcardboardbox,suchasjewellersuse.Georgeopenedit.Inside,nestlingonabedofcottonwool,wasaplaingoldweddingring.
Hepickeditupandexaminedit.Therewasnoinscriptioninside—nothingwhatevertomakeitoutfromanyotherweddingring.Georgedroppedhisheadintohishandswithagroan.
“Lunacy,”hemurmured.“That’swhatitis.Starkstaringlunacy.There’snosenseanywhere.”
Suddenlyherememberedthechambermaid’sstatement,andatthesametimeheobservedthattherewasabroadparapetoutsidethewindow.Itwasnotafeathewouldordinarilyhaveattempted,buthewassoaflamewithcuriosityandangerthathewasinthemoodtomakelightofdifficulties.Hespranguponthewindowsill.Afewsecondslaterhewas
Georgejumpedinthroughthewindow.Themissingman’seffectswerestillscatteredabout.TheremightbesomeclueamongstthemtoshedlightonGeorge’sperplexities.Hebegantohuntabout,startingwiththecontentsofabatteredkitbag.
Itwasasoundthatarrestedhissearch—averyslightsound,butasoundindubitablyintheroom.George’sglanceleapttothebigwardrobe.Hesprangupandwrenchedopenthedoor.Ashedidso,amanjumpedoutfromitandwentrollingoverthefloorlockedinGeorge’sembrace.Hewasnomeanantagonist.AllGeorge’sspecialtricksavailedverylittle.Theyfellapartatlengthinsheerexhaustion,andforthefirsttimeGeorgesawwhohisadversarywas.Itwasthelittlemanwiththegingermoustache.
“Whothedevilareyou?”demandedGeorge.
Foranswertheotherdrewoutacardandhandedittohim.Georgereaditaloud.
“Detective-InspectorJarrold,ScotlandYard.”
“That’sright,sir.Andyou’ddowelltotellmeallyouknowaboutthisbusiness.”
“Iwould,wouldI?”saidGeorgethoughtfully.“Doyouknow,Inspector,Ibelieveyou’reright.Shallweadjourntoamorecheerfulspot?”
InaquietcornerofthebarGeorgeunfoldedhissoul.InspectorJarroldlistenedsympathetically.
“Verypuzzling,asyousay,sir,”heremarkedwhenGeorgehadfinished.“There’salotasIcan’tmakeheadortailofmyself,butthere’soneortwopointsIcanclearupforyou.IwashereafterMardenberg(yourblack-beardedfriend)andyourturningupandwatchinghimthewayyoudidmademesuspicious.Icouldn’tplaceyou.Islippedintoyourroomlastnightwhenyouwereoutofit,anditwasIwhosneakedthelittlepacketfromunderyourpillow.WhenIopeneditandfounditwasn’twhatIwasafter,Itookthefirstopportunityofreturningittoyourroom.”
“Thatmakesthingsalittleclearercertainly,”saidGeorgethoughtfully.“Iseemtohavemaderatheranassofmyselfallthrough.”
“Iwouldn’tsaythat,sir.Youdiduncommonwellforabeginner.Yousayyouvisitedthebathroomthismorningandtookawaywhatwasconcealedbehindtheskirtingboard?”
“Yes.Butit’sonlyarottenloveletter,”saidGeorgegloomily.“Dashitall,Ididn’tmeantogonosingoutthepoorfellow’sprivatelife.”
“Wouldyoumindlettingmeseeit,sir?”
Georgetookafoldedletterfromhispocketandpassedittotheinspector.Thelatterunfoldedit.
“Asyousay,sir.ButIratherfancythatifyoudrewlinesfromonedotteditoanother,you’dgetadifferentresult.Why,blessyou,sir,thisisaplanofthePortsmouthharbourdefences.”
“What?”
“Yes.We’vehadoureyeonthegentlemanforsometime.Buthewastoosharpforus.Gotawomantodomostofthedirtywork.”
“Awoman?”saidGeorge,inafaintvoice.“Whatwashername?”
“Shegoesbyagoodmany,sir.MostusuallyknownasBettyBrighteyes.Aremarkablygood-lookingyoungwomansheis.”
“Betty—Brighteyes,”saidGeorge.“Thankyou,Inspector.”
“Excuseme,sir,butyou’renotlookingwell.”
“I’mnotwell.I’mveryill.Infact,IthinkI’dbettertakethefirsttrainbacktotown.”
TheInspectorlookedathiswatch.
“Thatwillbeaslowtrain,I’mafraid,sir.Betterwaitfortheexpress.”
“Itdoesn’tmatter,”saidGeorgegloomily.“NotraincouldbeslowerthantheoneIcamedownbyyesterday.”
Seatedoncemoreinafirst-classcarriage,Georgeleisurelyperusedtheday’snews.Suddenlyhesatboltuprightandstaredatthesheetinfrontofhim.
“AromanticweddingtookplaceyesterdayinLondonwhenLordRolandGaigh,secondsonoftheMarquisofAxminster,wasmarriedtotheGrandDuchessAnastasiaofCatonia.Theceremonywaskeptaprofoundsecret.TheGrandDuchesshasbeenlivinginPariswithherunclesincetheupheavalinCatonia.ShemetLordRolandwhenhewassecretarytotheBritishEmbassyinCatoniaandtheirattachmentdatesfromthattime.”
“Well,I’m—”
Mr.Rowlandcouldnotthinkofanythingstrongenoughtoexpresshisfeelings.Hecontinuedtostareintospace.Thetrainstoppedatasmallstationandaladygotin.Shesatdownoppositehim.
“Goodmorning,George,”shesaidsweetly.
“Goodheavens!”criedGeorge.“Elizabeth!”
Shesmiledathim.Shewas,ifpossible,lovelierthanever.
“Lookhere,”criedGeorge,clutchinghishead.“ForGod’ssaketellme.AreyoutheGrandDuchessAnastasia,orareyouBettyBrighteyes?”
Shestaredathim.
“I’mnoteither.I’mElizabethGaigh.Icantellyouallaboutitnow.AndI’vegottoapologizetoo.Yousee,Roland(that’smybrother)hasalwaysbeeninlovewithAlexa—”
“MeaningtheGrandDuchess?”
“Yes,that’swhatthefamilycallher.Well,asIsay,Rolandwasalwaysinlovewithher,andshewithhim.Andthentherevolutioncame,andAlexawasinParis,andtheywerejustgoingtofixitupwhenoldStürm,thechancellor,camealongandinsistedoncarryingoffAlexaandforcinghertomarryPrinceKarl,hercousin,ahorridpimplyperson—”
“IfancyI’vemethim,”saidGeorge.
“Whomshesimplyhates.AndoldPrinceUsric,heruncle,forbadehertoseeRolandagain.SosheranawaytoEngland,andIcameuptotownandmether,andwewiredtoRolandwhowasinScotland.Andjustattheverylastminute,whenweweredrivingtotheRegistryOfficeinataxi,whomshouldwemeetinanothertaxifacetoface,butoldPrinceUsric.Ofcoursehefollowedus,andwewereatourwits’endwhattodobecausehe’dhavemadethemostfearfulscene,and,anyway,heisherguardian.ThenIhadthebrilliantideaofchangingplaces.Youcanpracticallyseenothingofagirlnowadaysbutthetipofhernose.IputonAlexa’sredhatandbrownwrapcoat,andsheputonmygrey
“I’vegotthatallright,”saidGeorge.“It’stherestofit.”
“Iknow.That’swhatI’vegottoapologizeabout.Ihopeyouwon’tbeawfullycross.Yousee,youlookedsokeenonitsbeingarealmystery—likeinbooks,thatIreallycouldn’tresistthetemptation.Ipickedoutarathersinisterlookingmanontheplatformandtoldyoutofollowhim.AndthenIthrusttheparcelonyou.”
“Containingaweddingring.”
“Yes.AlexaandIboughtthat,becauseRolandwasn’tduetoarrivefromScotlanduntiljustbeforethewedding.AndofcourseIknewthatbythetimeIgottoLondontheywouldn’twantit—theywouldhavehadtouseacurtainringorsomething.”
“Isee,”saidGeorge.“It’slikeallthesethings—sosimplewhenyouknow!Allowme,Elizabeth.”
Hestrippedoffherleftglove,andutteredasighofreliefatthesightofthebarethirdfinger.
“That’sallright,”heremarked.“Thatringwon’tbewastedafterall.”
“Oh!”criedElizabeth,“butIdon’tknowanythingaboutyou.”
“YouknowhowniceIam,”saidGeorge.“Bytheway,ithasjustoccurredtome,youaretheLadyElizabethGaigh,ofcourse.”
“Oh!George,areyouasnob?”
“Asamatteroffact,Iam,rather.MybestdreamwasonewhereKingGeorgeborrowedhalfacrownfrommetoseehimovertheweekend.ButIwasthinkingofmyuncle—theonefromwhomIamestranged.He’safrightfulsnob.WhenheknowsI’mgoingtomarryyou,andthatwe’llhaveatitleinthefamily,he’llmakemeapartneratonce!”
“Oh!George,isheveryrich?”
“Elizabeth,areyoumercenary?”
“Very.Iadorespendingmoney.ButIwasthinkingofFather.Fivedaughters,fullofbeautyandblueblood.He’sjustyearningforarichson-in-law.”
“H’m,”saidGeorge.“ItwillbeoneofthosemarriagesmadeinHeavenandapprovedonearth.ShallweliveatRowland’sCastle?They’dbesuretomakemeLordMayorwithyouforawife.Oh!Elizabeth,darling,it’sprobablycontraveningthecompany’sby-laws,butIsimplymustkissyou!”
Three
THEMANHOODOFEDWARDROBINSON
“TheManhoodofEdwardRobinson”wasfirstpublishedas“TheDayofHisDreams”inGrandMagazine,December1924.“Withaswingofhismightyarms,Billliftedherrightoffherfeet,crushinghertohisbreast.Withadeepsighsheyieldedherlipsinsuchakissashehadneverdreamedof—”
Withasigh,Mr.EdwardRobinsonputdownWhenLoveisKingandstaredoutofthewindowoftheundergroundtrain.TheywererunningthroughStamfordBrook.EdwardRobinsonwasthinkingaboutBill.Billwastherealhundredpercenthe-man-belovedofladynovelists.Edwardenviedhimhismuscles,hisruggedgoodlooksandhisterrificpassions.HepickedupthebookagainandreadthedescriptionoftheproudMarchesaBianca(shewhohadyieldedherlips).Soravishingwasherbeauty,theintoxicationofherwassogreat,thatstrongmenwentdownbeforeherlikeninepins,faintandhelplesswithlove.
“Ofcourse,”saidEdwardtohimself,“it’sallbosh,thissortofstuff.Allbosh,itis.Andyet,Iwonder—”
Hiseyeslookedwistful.Wastheresuchathingasaworldofromanceandadventuresomewhere?Weretherewomenwhosebeautyintoxicated?Wastheresuchathingaslovethatdevouredonelikeaflame?
“Thisisreallife,thisis,”saidEdward.“I’vegottogoonthesamejustlikealltheotherchaps.”
Onthewhole,hesupposed,heoughttoconsiderhimselfaluckyyoungman.Hehadanexcellentberth—aclerkshipinaflourishingconcern.Hehadgoodhealth,noonedependentuponhim,andhewasengagedtoMaud.
ButthemerethoughtofMaudbroughtashadowoverhisface.Thoughhewouldneverhaveadmittedit,hewasafraidofMaud.Helovedher—yes—hestillrememberedthethrillwithwhichhehadadmiredthebackofherwhiteneckrisingoutofthecheapfourandelevenpennyblouseonthefirstoccasiontheyhadmet.Hehadsatbehindheratthecinema,
EdwardwonderedwhethertheMarchesaBiancawouldhavemadeanexcellentwife.Somehow,hedoubtedit.Hecouldn’tpicturethevoluptuousBianca,withherredlipsandherswayingform,tamelysewingonbuttons,say,forthevirileBill.No,BiancawasRomance,andthiswasreallife.HeandMaudwouldbeveryhappytogether.Shehadsomuchcommonsense….
Butallthesame,hewishedthatshewasn’tquiteso—well,sharpinmanner.Soproneto“jumpuponhim.”
Itwas,ofcourse,herprudenceandhercommonsensewhichmadeherdoso.Maudwasverysensible.And,asarule,Edwardwasverysensibletoo,butsometimes—HehadwantedtogetmarriedthisChristmas,forinstance.Maudhadpointedouthowmuchmoreprudentitwouldbetowaitawhile—ayearortwo,perhaps.Hissalarywasnotlarge.Hehadwantedtogiveheranexpensivering—shehadbeenhorrorstricken,andhadforcedhimtotakeitbackandexchangeitforacheaperone.Herqualitieswereallexcellentqualities,butsometimesEdwardwishedthatshehadmorefaultsandlessvirtues.Itwashervirtuesthatdrovehimtodesperatedeeds.
Forinstance—
Ablushofguiltoverspreadhisface.Hehadgottotellher—andtellhersoon.Hissecretguiltwasalreadymakinghimbehavestrangely.Tomorrowwasthefirstofthreedaysholiday,ChristmasEve,ChristmasDayandBoxingDay.Shehadsuggestedthatheshouldcomeroundandspendthedaywithherpeople,andinaclumsyfoolishmanner,amannerthatcouldnotfailtoarousehersuspicions,hehadmanagedtogetoutofit—hadtoldalong,lyingstoryaboutapalofhisinthecountrywithwhomhehadpromisedtospendtheday.
Andtherewasnopalinthecountry.Therewasonlyhisguiltysecret.
Threemonthsago,EdwardRobinson,incompanywithafewhundredthousandotheryoungmen,hadgoneinforacompetitioninoneoftheweeklypapers.Twelvegirls’nameshadtobearrangedinorderofpopularity.Edwardhadhadabrilliantidea.Hisownpreferencewassuretobewrong—hehadnoticedthatinseveralsimilarcompetitions.Hewrotedownthetwelvenamesarrangedinhisownorderofmerit,thenhewrotethemdownagainthistimeplacingonefromthetopandonefromthebottomofthelistalternately.
Whentheresultwasannounced,Edwardhadgoteightrightoutofthetwelve,andwasawardedthefirstprizeof￡500.Thisresult,whichmighteasilybeascribedtoluck,Edwardpersistedinregardingasthedirectoutcomeofhis“system.”Hewasinordinatelyproudofhimself.
Thenextthingwas,whatdodowiththe￡500?HeknewverywellwhatMaudwouldsay.Investit.Anicelittlenesteggforthefuture.And,ofcourse,Maudwouldbequiteright,heknewthat.Buttowinmoneyastheresultofacompetitionisanentirelydifferentfeelingfromanythingelseintheworld.
Hadthemoneybeenlefttohimasalegacy,EdwardwouldhaveinvesteditreligiouslyinConversionLoanorSavingsCertificatesasamatterofcourse.Butmoneythatonehasachievedbyamerestrokeofthepen,byaluckyandunbelievablechance,comesunderthesameheadingasachild’ssixpence—“foryourveryown—tospendasyoulike.”
Andinacertainrichshopwhichhepasseddailyonhiswaytotheoffice,wastheunbelievabledream,asmalltwo-seatercar,withalongshiningnose,andthepriceclearlydisplayedonit—￡465.
“IfIwererich,”Edwardhadsaidtoit,dayafterday.“IfIwererich,I’dhaveyou.”
Andnowhewas—ifnotrich—atleastpossessedofalumpsumofmoneysufficienttorealizehisdream.Thatcar,thatshiningalluringpieceofloveliness,washisifhecaredtopaytheprice.
HehadmeanttotellMaudaboutthemoney.Oncehehadtoldher,hewouldhavesecuredhimselfagainsttemptation.InfaceofMaud’shorroranddisapproval,hewouldneverhavethecouragetopersistinhismadness.But,asitchanced,itwasMaudherselfwhoclinchedthematter.Hehadtakenhertothecinema—andtothebestseatsinthehouse.Shehadpointedouttohim,kindlybutfirmly,thecriminalfollyofhisbehaviour—wastinggoodmoney—threeandsixpenceagainsttwoandfourpence,whenonesawjustaswellfromthelatterplaces.
Edwardtookherreproachesinsullensilence.Maudfeltcontentedlythatshewasmakinganimpression.Edwardcouldnotbeallowedtocontinueintheseextravagantways.ShelovedEdward,butsherealizedthathewasweak—hersthetaskofbeingeverathandtoinfluencehiminthewayheshouldgo.Sheobservedhiswormlikedemeanourwithsatisfaction.
Edwardwasindeedwormlike.Likeworms,heturned.Heremainedcrushedbyherwords,butitwasatthatpreciseminutethathemadeuphismindtobuythecar.
“Damnit,”saidEdwardtohimself.“Foronceinmylife,I’lldowhatIlike.Maudcangohang!”
Andtheverynextmorninghehadwalkedintothatpalaceofplateglass,withitslordlyinmatesintheirgloryofgleamingenamelandshimmeringmetal,andwithaninsouciancethatsurprisedhimself,heboughtthecar.Itwastheeasiestthingintheworld,buyingacar!
Ithadbeenhisforfourdaysnow.Hehadgoneabout,outwardlycalm,butinwardlybathedinecstasy.AndtoMaudhehadasyetbreathednoword.Forfourdays,inhisluncheonhour,hehadreceivedinstructioninthehandlingofthelovelycreature.Hewasanaptpupil.
Tomorrow,ChristmasEve,hewastotakeheroutintothecountry.HehadliedtoMaud,andhewouldlieagainifneedbe.Hewasenslavedbodyandsoulbyhisnewpossession.ItstoodtohimforRomance,forAdventure,forallthethingsthathehadlongedforandhadneverhad.Tomorrow,heandhismistresswouldtaketheroadtogether.Theywouldrushthroughthekeencoldair,leavingthethrobandfretofLondonfarbehind—outintothewideclearspaces..
Atthismoment,Edward,thoughhedidnotknowit,wasveryneartobeingapoet.
Tomorrow—
Helookeddownatthebookinhishand—WhenLoveisKing.Helaughedandstuffeditintohispocket.Thecar,andtheredlipsoftheMarchesaBianca,andtheamazingprowessofBillseemedallmixeduptogether.Tomorrow—
Theweather,usuallyasorryjadetothosewhocountuponher,waskindlydisposedtowardsEdward.Shegavehimthedayofhisdreams,adayofglitteringfrost,andpale-bluesky,andaprimrose-yellowsun.
So,inamoodofhighadventure,ofdaredevilwickedness,EdwarddroveoutofLondon.TherewastroubleatHydeParkCorner,andasadcontretempsatPutneyBridge,therewasmuchprotestingofgears,andafrequentjarringofbrakes,andmuchabusewasfreelyshowereduponEdwardbythedriversofothervehicles.Butforanovicehedidnotacquithimselfsobadly,andpresentlyhecameoutontooneofthosefairwideroadsthatarethejoyofthemotorist.Therewaslittlecongestiononthisparticularroadtoday.Edwarddroveonandon,drunkwithhismasteryoverthiscreatureofthegleamingsides,speedingthroughthecoldwhiteworldwiththeelationofagod.
Itwasadeliriousday.Hestoppedforlunchatanold-fashionedinn,andagainlaterfortea.Thenreluctantlyheturnedhomewards—backagaintoLondon,toMaud,totheinevitableexplanation,recriminations….
Heshookoffthethoughtwithasigh.Lettomorrowlookafteritself.Hestillhadtoday.Andwhatcouldbemorefascinatingthanthis?Rushingthroughthedarknesswiththeheadlightssearchingoutthewayinfront.Why,thiswasthebestofall!
Hejudgedthathehadnotimetostopanywherefordinner.Thisdrivingthroughthedarknesswasaticklishbusiness.ItwasgoingtotakelongertogetbacktoLondonthanhehadthought.Itwasjusteighto’clockwhenhepassedthroughHindheadandcameoutupontherimoftheDevil’sPunchBowl.Therewasmoonlight,andthesnowthathadfallen
Hestoppedthecarandstoodstaring.Whatdiditmatterifhedidn’tgetbacktoLondonuntilmidnight?Whatdiditmatterifhenevergotback?Hewasn’tgoingtotearhimselfawayfromthisatonce.
Hegotoutofthecar,andapproachedtheedge.Therewasapathwindingdowntemptinglynearhim.Edwardyieldedtothespell.Forthenexthalfhourhewandereddeliriouslyinasnowboundworld.Neverhadheimaginedanythingquitelikethis.Anditwashis,hisveryown,giventohimbyhisshiningmistresswhowaitedforhimfaithfullyontheroadabove.
Heclimbedupagain,gotintothecaranddroveoff,stillalittledizzyfromthatdiscoveryofsheerbeautywhichcomestothemostprosaicmenonceinawhile.
Then,withasigh,hecametohimself,andthrusthishandintothepocketofthecarwherehehadstuffedanadditionalmufflerearlierintheday.
Butthemufflerwasnolongerthere.Thepocketwasempty.No,notcompletelyempty—therewassomethingscratchyandhard—likepebbles.
Edwardthrusthishanddeepdown.Inanotherminutehewasstaringlikeamanbereftofhissenses.Theobjectthatheheldinhishand,danglingfromhisfingers,withthemoonlightstrikingahundredfiresfromit,wasadiamondnecklace.
Edwardstaredandstared.Buttherewasnodoubtingpossible.Adiamondnecklaceworthprobablythousandsofpounds(forthestoneswerelargeones)hadbeencasuallyreposingintheside-pocketofthecar.
Butwhohadputitthere?Ithadcertainlynotbeentherewhenhestartedfromtown.Someonemusthavecomealongwhenhewaswalkingaboutinthesnow,anddeliberatelythrustitin.Butwhy?Whychoosehiscar?Hadtheownerofthenecklacemadeamistake?Orwasit—coulditpossiblybeastolennecklace?
Andthen,asallthesethoughtswentwhirlingthroughhisbrain,Edwardsuddenlystiffenedandwentcoldallover.Thiswasnothiscar.
Itwasverylikeit,yes.Itwasthesamebrilliantshadeofscarlet—redastheMarchesaBianca’slips—ithadthesamelongandgleamingnose,butbyathousandsmallsigns,Edwardrealizedthatitwasnothiscar.Itsshiningnewnesswasscarredhereandthere,itboresigns,faintbutunmistakeable,ofwearandtear.Inthatcase….
Edward,withoutmoreado,madehastetoturnthecar.Turningwasnothisstrongpoint.Withthecarinreverse,heinvariablylosthisheadandtwistedthewheelthewrongway.Also,hefrequentlybecameentangledbetweentheacceleratorandthefootbrakewithdisastrousresults.Intheend,however,hesucceeded,andstraightawaythecarbeganpurringupthehillagain.
Edwardrememberedthattherehadbeenanothercarstandingsomelittledistanceaway.Hehadnotnoticeditparticularlyatthetime.Hehadreturnedfromhiswalkbyadifferentpathfromthatbywhichhehadgonedownintothehollow.Thissecondpathhadbroughthimoutontheroadimmediatelybehind,ashehadthought,hisowncar.Itmustreallyhavebeentheotherone.
Inabouttenminuteshewasoncemoreatthespotwherehehadhalted.Buttherewasnownocaratallbytheroadside.WhoeverhadownedthiscarmustnowhavegoneoffinEdward’s—healso,perhaps,misledbytheresemblance.
Edwardtookoutthediamondnecklacefromhispocketandletitrunthroughhisfingersperplexedly.
Whattodonext?Runontothenearestpolicestation?Explainthecircumstances,handoverthenecklace,andgivethenumberofhisowncar.
Bytheby,whatwasthenumberofhiscar?Edwardthoughtandthought,butforthelifeofhimhecouldn’tremember.Hefeltacoldsinkingsensation.Hewasgoingtolookthemostutterfoolatthepolicestation.Therewasaneightinit,thatwasallthathecouldremember.Ofcourse,itdidn’treallymatter—atleast…Helookeduncomfortablyatthediamonds.Supposingtheyshouldthink—oh,buttheywouldn’t—andyetagaintheymight—thathehadstolenthecarandthediamonds?Because,afterall,whenonecametothinkofit,wouldanyoneintheirsensesthrustavaluablediamondnecklacecarelesslyintotheopenpocketofacar?
Edwardgotoutandwentroundtothebackofthemotor.ItsnumberwasXR10061.Beyondthefactthatthatwascertainlynotthenumberofhiscar,itconveyednothingtohim.Thenhesettoworksystematicallytosearchallthepockets.Intheonewherehehadfoundthediamondshemadeadiscovery—asmallscrapofpaperwithsomewordspencilledonit.Bythelightoftheheadlights,Edwardreadthemeasilyenough.
“Meetme,Greane,cornerofSalter’sLane,teno’clock.”
HerememberedthenameGreane.Hehadseenitonasign-postearlierintheday.Inaminute,hismindwasmadeup.Hewouldgotothisvillage,Greane,findSalter’sLane,meetthepersonwhohadwrittenthenote,andexplainthecircumstances.Thatwouldbemuchbetterthanlookingafoolinthelocalpolicestation.
Hestartedoffalmosthappily.Afterall,thiswasanadventure.Thiswasthesortofthingthatdidn’thappeneveryday.Thediamondnecklacemadeitexcitingandmysterious.
HehadsomelittledifficultyinfindingGreane,andstillmoredifficultyinfindingSalter’sLane,butafterknockinguptwocottages,hesucceeded.
Still,itwasafewminutesaftertheappointedhourwhenhedrovecautiouslyalonganarrowroad,keepingasharplook-outontheleft-handsidewherehehadbeentoldSalter’sLanebranchedoff.
Hecameuponitquitesuddenlyroundabend,andevenashedrewup,afigurecameforwardoutofthedarkness.
“Atlast!”agirl’svoicecried.“Whatanageyou’vebeen,Gerald!”
Asshespoke,thegirlsteppedrightintotheglareoftheheadlights,andEdwardcaughthisbreath.Shewasthemostgloriouscreaturehehadeverseen.
Shewasquiteyoung,withhairblackasnight,andwonderfulscarletlips.Theheavycloakthatsheworeswungopen,andEdwardsawthatshewasinfulleveningdress—akindofflame-colouredsheath,outliningherperfectbody.Roundherneckwasarowofexquisitepearls
Suddenlythegirlstarted.
“Why,”shecried;“itisn’tGerald.”
“No,”saidEdwardhastily.“Imustexplain.”Hetookthediamondnecklacefromhispocketandhelditouttoher.“MynameisEdward—”
Hegotnofurther,forthegirlclappedherhandsandbrokein:
“Edward,ofcourse!Iamsoglad.ButthatidiotJimmytoldmeoverthephonethathewassendingGeraldalongwiththecar.It’sawfullysportingofyoutocome.I’vebeendyingtomeetyou.RememberIhaven’tseenyousinceIwassixyearsold.Iseeyou’vegotthenecklaceallright.Shoveitinyourpocketagain.Thevillagepolicemanmightcomealongandseeit.Brrr,it’scoldasicewaitinghere!Letmegetin.”
AsthoughinadreamEdwardopenedthedoor,andshespranglightlyinbesidehim.Herfursswepthischeck,andanelusivescent,likethatofvioletsafterrain,assailedhisnostrils.
Hehadnoplan,nodefinitethoughteven.Inaminute,withoutconsciousvolition,hehadyieldedhimselftotheadventure.ShehadcalledhimEdward—whatmatterifhewerethewrongEdward?Shewouldfindhimoutsoonenough.Inthemeantime,letthegamegoon.Heletintheclutchandtheyglidedoff.
Presentlythegirllaughed.Herlaughwasjustaswonderfulastherestofher
“It’seasytoseeyoudon’tknowmuchaboutcars.Isupposetheydon’thavethemoutthere?”
“Iwonderwhere‘outthere’is?”thoughtEdward.Aloudhesaid,“Notmuch.”
“Betterletmedrive,”saidthegirl.“It’strickyworkfindingyourwayroundtheselanesuntilwegetonthemainroadagain.”
Herelinquishedhisplacetohergladly.PresentlytheywerehummingthroughthenightatapaceandwitharecklessnessthatsecretlyappalledEdward.Sheturnedherheadtowardshim.
“Ilikepace.Doyou?Youknow—you’renotabitlikeGerald.Noonewouldevertakeyoutobebrothers.You’renotabitlikewhatIimagined,either.”
“Isuppose,”saidEdward,“thatI’msocompletelyordinary.Isthatit?”
“Notordinary—different.Ican’tmakeyouout.How’spooroldJimmy?Veryfedup,Isuppose?”
“Oh,Jimmy’sallright,”saidEdward
“It’seasyenoughtosaythat—butit’sroughluckonhimhavingasprainedankle.Didhetellyouthewholestory?”
“Notaword.I’mcompletelyinthedark.Iwishyou’denlightenme.”
“Oh,thethingworkedlikeadream.Jimmywentinatthefrontdoor,toggedupinhisgirl’sclothes.Igavehimaminuteortwo,andthenshinneduptothewindow.AgnesLarella’smaidwastherelayingoutAgnes’sdressandjewels,andalltherest.Thentherewasagreatyelldownstairs,andthesquibwentoff,andeveryoneshoutedfire.Themaiddashedout,andIhoppedin,helpedmyselftothenecklace,andwasoutanddowninaflash,andoutoftheplacebythebackwayacrossthePunchBowl.Ishovedthenecklaceandthenoticewheretopickmeupinthepocketofthecarinpassing.ThenIjoinedLouiseatthehotel,havingshedmysnowbootsofcourse.Perfectalibiforme.She’dnoideaI’dbeenoutatall.”
“AndwhataboutJimmy?”
“Well,youknowmoreaboutthatthanIdo.”
“Hedidn’ttellmeanything,”saidEdwardeasily.
“Well,inthegeneralrag,hecaughthisfootinhisskirtandmanagedtosprainit.Theyhadtocarryhimtothecar,andtheLarellas’chauffeurdrovehimhome.Justfancyifthechauffeurhadhappenedtoputhishandinthepocket!”
Edwardlaughedwithher,buthismindwasbusy.Heunderstoodthepositionmoreorlessnow.ThenameofLarellawasvaguelyfamiliartohim—itwasanamethatspeltwealth.Thisgirl,andanunknownmancalledJimmy,hadconspiredtogethertostealthenecklace,andhadsucceeded.OwingtohissprainedankleandthepresenceoftheLarellas’chauffeurJimmyhadnotbeenabletolookinthepocketofthecarbeforetelephoningtothegirl—probablyhadhadnowishtodoso.Butitwasalmostcertainthattheotherunknown“Gerald”woulddosoatanyearlyopportunity.Andinit,hewouldfindEdward’smuffler!
“Goodgoing,”saidthegirl.
Atramflashedpastthem,theywereontheoutskirtsofLondon.Theyflashedinandoutofthetraffic.Edward’sheartstoodinhismouth.Shewasawonderfuldriver,thisgirl,butshetookrisks!
Quarterofanhourlatertheydrewupbeforeanimposinghouseinafrigidsquare.
“Wecanshedsomeofourclothinghere,”saidthegirl,“beforewegoontoRitson’s.”
“Ritson’s?”queriedEdward.Hementionedthefamousnight-clubalmostreverently.
“Yes,didn’tGeraldtellyou?”
“Hedidnot,”saidEdwardgrimly.“Whataboutmyclothes?”
Shefrowned.
“Didn’ttheytellyouanything?We’llrigyouupsomehow.We’vegottocarrythisthrough.”
Astatelybutleropenedthedoorandstoodasidetoletthementer.
“Mr.GeraldChampneysrangup,yourladyship.Hewasveryanxioustospeaktoyou,buthewouldn’tleaveamessage.”
“Ibethewasanxioustospeaktoher,”saidEdwardtohimself.“Atanyrate,Iknowmyfullnamenow.EdwardChampneys.Butwhoisshe?Yourladyship,theycalledher.Whatdoesshewanttostealanecklacefor?Bridgedebts?”
Inthefeuilletonswhichheoccasionallyread,thebeautifulandtitledheroinewasalwaysdrivendesperatebybridgedebts.
Edwardwasledawaybythestatelybutler,anddeliveredovertoasmooth-manneredvalet.Aquarterofanhourlaterherejoinedhishostessinthehall,exquisitelyattiredineveningclothesmadeinSavileRowwhichfittedhimtoanicety.
Heavens!Whatanight!
TheydroveinthecartothefamousRitson’s.IncommonwitheveryoneelseEdwardhadreadscandalousparagraphsconcerningRitson’s.AnyonewhowasanyoneturnedupatRitson’ssoonerorlater.Edward’sonlyfearwasthatsomeonewhoknewtherealEdwardChampneysmightturnup.HeconsoledhimselfbythereflectionthattherealmanhadevidentlybeenoutofEnglandforsomeyears.
Sittingatalittletableagainstthewall,theysippedcocktails.Cocktails!TothesimpleEdwardtheyrepresentedthequintessenceofthefastlife.Thegirl,wrappedinawonderfulembroideredshawl,sippednonchalantly.Suddenlyshedroppedtheshawlfromhershouldersandrose.
“Let’sdance.”
NowtheonethingthatEdwardcoulddotoperfectionwastodance.WhenheandMaudtookthefloortogetheratthePalaisdeDanse,lesserlightsstoodstillandwatchedinadmiration.
“Inearlyforgot,”saidthegirlsuddenly.“Thenecklace?”
Sheheldoutherhand.Edward,completelybewildered,drewitfromhispocketandgaveittoher.Tohisutteramazement,shecoollyclaspeditroundherneck.Thenshesmiledupathimintoxicatingly.
“Now,”shesaidsoftly,“we’lldance.”
Theydanced.AndinallRitson’snothingmoreperfectcouldbeseen.
Then,asatlengththeyreturnedtotheirtable,anoldgentlemanwithawould-berakishairaccostedEdward’scompanion.
“Ah!LadyNoreen,alwaysdancing!Yes,yes.IsCaptainFolliotheretonight?”
“Jimmy’stakenatoss—rackedhisankle.”
“Youdon’tsayso?Howdidthathappen?”
“Nodetailsasyet.”
Shelaughedandpassedon.
Edwardfollowed,hisbraininawhirl.Heknewnow.LadyNoreenEliot,thefamousLadyNoreenherself,perhapsthemosttalkedofgirlinEngland.Celebratedforherbeauty,forherdaring—theleaderofthatsetknownastheBrightYoungPeople.HerengagementtoCaptainJamesFolliot,V.C.,oftheHouseholdCalvalry,hadbeenrecentlyannounced.
Butthenecklace?Hestillcouldn’tunderstandthenecklace.Hemustriskgivinghimselfaway,butknowhemust.
Astheysatdownagain,hepointedtoit.
“Whythat,Noreen?”hesaid.“Tellmewhy?”
Shesmileddreamily,hereyesfaraway,thespellofthedancestillholdingher.
“It’sdifficultforyoutounderstand,Isuppose.Onegetssotiredofthesamething—alwaysthesamething.Treasurehuntswereallverywellforawhile,butonegetsusedtoeverything.‘Burglaries’weremyidea.Fiftypoundsentrancefee,andlotstobedrawn.Thisisthethird.JimmyandIdrewAgnesLarella.Youknowtherules?Burglarytobecarriedoutwithinthreedaysandtheloottobewornforatleastanhourinapublicplace,oryouforfeityourstakeandahundred-poundfine.It’sroughluckonJimmyspraininghisankle,butwe’llscoopthepoolallright.”
“Isee,”saidEdward,drawingadeepbreath.“Isee.”
Noreenrosesuddenly,pullinghershawlroundher.
“Drivemesomewhereinthecar.Downtothedocks.Somewherehorribleandexciting.Waitaminute—”Shereachedupandunclaspedthediamondsfromherneck.“You’dbettertaketheseagain.Idon’twanttobemurderedforthem.”
TheywentoutofRitson’stogether.Thecarstoodinasmallbystreet,narrowanddark.Astheyturnedthecornertowardsit,anothercardrewuptothecurb,andayoungmansprangout.
“ThanktheLord,Noreen,I’vegotholdofyouatlast,”hecried.“There’sthedeviltopay.ThatassJimmygotoffwiththewrongcar.Godknowswherethosediamondsareatthisminute.We’reinthedevilofamess.”
LadyNoreenstaredathim.
“Whatdoyoumean?We’vegotthediamonds—atleastEdwardhas.”
“Edward?”
“Yes.”Shemadeaslightgesturetoindicatethefigurebyherside.
“It’sIwhoaminthedevilofamess,”thoughtEdward.“TentoonethisisbrotherGerald.”
Theyoungmanstaredathim.
“Whatdoyoumean?”hesaidslowly.“Edward’sinScotland.”
“Oh!”criedthegirl.ShestaredatEdward.“Oh!”
Hercolourcameandwent.
“Soyou,”shesaid,inalowvoice,“aretherealthing?”
IttookEdwardjustoneminutetograspthesituation.Therewasaweinthegirl’seyes—wasit,coulditbe—admiration?Shouldheexplain?Nothingsotame!Hewouldplayuptotheend.
Hebowedceremoniously.
“Ihavetothankyou,LadyNoreen,”hesaid,inthebesthighwaymanmanner,“foramostdelightfulevening.”
Onequicklookhecastatthecarfromwhichtheotherhadjustalighted.Ascarletcarwithashiningbonnet.Hiscar!
“AndIwillwishyougoodevening.”
Onequickspringandhewasinside,hisfootontheclutch.Thecarstartedforward.Geraldstoodparalysed,butthegirlwasquicker.Asthecarslidpastsheleaptforit,alightingontherunningboard.
Thecarswerved,shotblindlyroundthecornerandpulledup.Noreen,stillpantingfromherspring,laidherhandonEdward’sarm.
“Youmustgiveitme—oh,youmustgiveitme.I’vegottoreturnittoAgnesLarella.Beasport—we’vehadagoodeveningtogether—we’vedanced—we’vebeen—pals.Won’tyougiveittome?Tome?”
Awomanwhointoxicatedyouwithherbeauty.Thereweresuchwomenthen…
Also,Edwardwasonlytooanxioustogetridofthenecklace.Itwasaheaven-sentopportunityforabeaugeste.
Hetookitfromhispocketanddroppeditintoheroutstretchedhand.
“We’vebeen—pals,”hesaid.
“Ah!”Hereyessmouldered—litup.
Thensurprisinglyshebentherheadtohim.Foramomentheheldher,herlipsagainsthis….
Thenshejumpedoff.Thescarletcarspedforwardwithagreatleap.
Romance!
Adventure!
Attwelveo’clockonChristmasDay,EdwardRobinsonstrodeintothetinydrawingroomofahouseinClaphamwiththecustomarygreetingof“MerryChristmas.”
Maud,whowasrearrangingapieceofholly,greetedhimcoldly.
“Haveagooddayinthecountrywiththatfriendofyours?”sheinquired.
“Lookhere,”saidEdward.“ThatwasalieItoldyou.Iwonacompetition—￡500,andIboughtacarwithit.Ididn’ttellyoubecauseIknewyou’dkickuparowaboutit.That’sthefirstthing.I’veboughtthecarandthere’snothingmoretobesaidaboutit.Thesecondthingisthis—I’mnotgoingtohangaboutforyears.MyprospectsarequitegoodenoughandImeantomarryyounextmonth.See?”
“Oh!”saidMaudfaintly.
Wasthis—couldthisbe—Edwardspeakinginthismasterfulfashion?
“Willyou?”saidEdward.“Yesorno?”
Shegazedathim,fascinated.Therewasaweandadmirationinhereyes,andthesightofthatlookwasintoxicatingtoEdward.Gonewasthatpatientmotherlinesswhichhadrousedhimtoexasperation.
SohadtheLadyNoreenlookedathimlastnight.ButtheLadyNoreenhadrecededfaraway,rightintotheregionofRomance,sidebysidewiththeMarchesaBianca.ThiswastheRealThing.Thiswashiswoman.
“Yesorno?”herepeated,anddrewastepnearer.
“Ye—ye-es,”falteredMaud.“But,oh,Edward,whathashappenedtoyou?You’requitedifferenttoday.”
“Yes,”saidEdward.“Fortwenty-fourhoursI’vebeenamaninsteadofaworm—and,byGod,itpays!”
HecaughtherinhisarmsalmostasBillthesupermanmighthavedone.
“Doyouloveme,Maud?Tellme,doyouloveme?”
“Oh,Edward!”breathedMaud.“Iadoreyou….”
Four
JANEINSEARCHOFAJOB
“JaneinSearchofaJob”wasfirstpublishedinGrandMagazine,August1924.
JaneClevelandrustledthepagesoftheDailyLeaderandsighed.Adeepsighthatcamefromtheinnermostrecessesofherbeing.Shelookedwithdistasteatthemarble-toppedtable,thepoachedeggontoastwhichreposedonit,andthesmallpotoftea.Notbecauseshewasnothungry.Thatwasfarfrombeingthecase.Janewasextremelyhungry.Atthatmomentshefeltlikeconsumingapoundandahalfofwell-cookedbeefsteak,withchippotatoes,andpossiblyFrenchbeans.Thewholewasheddownwithsomemoreexcitingvintagethantea.
Butyoungwomenwhoseexchequersareinaparlousconditioncannotbechoosers.Janewasluckytobeabletoorderapoachedeggandapotoftea.Itseemedunlikelythatshewouldbeabletodosotomorrow.Thatisunless—
SheturnedoncemoretotheadvertisementcolumnsoftheDailyLeader.Toputitplainly,Janewasoutofajob,andthepositionwasbecomingacute.Alreadythegenteelladywhopresidedovertheshabbyboardinghousewaslookingaskanceatthisparticularyoungwoman.
“Andyet,”saidJanetoherself,throwingupherchinindignantly,whichwasahabitofhers,“andyetI’mintelligentandgood-lookingandwelleducated.Whatmoredoesanyonewant?”
AccordingtotheDailyLeader,theyseemedtowantshorthandtypistsofvastexperience,managersforbusinesshouseswithalittlecapitaltoinvest,ladiestoshareintheprofitsofpoultryfarming(hereagainalittlecapitalwasrequired),andinnumerablecooks,housemaidsandparlourmaids—particularlyparlourmaids.
“Iwouldn’tmindbeingaparlourmaid,”saidJanetoherself.“Butthereagain,noonewouldtakemewithoutexperience.Icouldgosomewhere,Idaresay,asaWillingYoungGirl—buttheydon’tpaywillingyounggirlsanythingtospeakof.”
Shesighedagain,proppedthepaperupinfrontofher,andattackedthepoachedeggwithallthevigourofhealthyyouth.
Whenthelastmouthfulhadbeendespatched,sheturnedthepaper,andstudiedtheAgonyandPersonalcolumnwhilstshedrankhertea.TheAgonycolumnwasalwaysthelasthope.
Hadshebutpossessedacoupleofthousandpounds,thethingwouldhavebeeneasyenough.Therewereatleastsevenuniqueopportunities—allyieldingnotlessthanthreethousandayear.Jane’slipcurledalittle.
“IfIhadtwothousandpounds,”shemurmured,“itwouldn’tbeeasytoseparatemefromit.”
Shecasthereyesrapidlydowntothebottomofthecolumnandascendedwiththeeasebornoflongpractice.
Therewastheladywhogavesuchwonderfulpricesforcast-offclothing.“Ladies’wardrobesinspectedattheirowndwellings.”Thereweregentlemenwhoboughtanything—butprincipallyteeth.Therewereladiesoftitlegoingabroadwhowoulddisposeoftheirfursataridiculousfigure.Therewasthedistressedclergymanandthehard-workingwidow,andthedisabledofficer,allneedingsumsvaryingfromfiftypoundstotwothousand.AndthensuddenlyJanecametoanabrupthalt.Sheputdownherteacupandreadtheadvertisementthroughagain.
“There’sacatchinit,ofcourse,”shemurmured.“Therealwaysisacatchinthesesortofthings.Ishallhavetobecareful.Butstill—”
TheadvertisementwhichsointriguedJaneClevelandranasfollows:
Ifayoungladyoftwenty-fivetothirtyyearsofage,eyesdarkblue,veryfairhair,blacklashesandbrows,straightnose,slimfigure,heightfivefeetseveninches,goodmimicandabletospeakFrench,willcallat7EndersleighStreet,between5and6p.m.,shewillhearofsomethingtoheradvantage.
“GuilelessGwendolen,orwhygirlsgowrong,”murmuredJane.“Ishallcertainlyhavetobecareful.Buttherearetoomanyspecifications,really,forthatsortofthing.Iwondernow…Letusoverhaulthecatalogue.”
Sheproceededtodoso.
“Twenty-fivetothirty—I’mtwenty-six.Eyesdarkblue,that’sright.Hairveryfair—blacklashesandbrows—allOK.Straightnose?Ye-es—straightenough,anyway.Itdoesn’thookorturnup.AndI’vegotaslimfigure—slimevenfornowadays.I’monlyfivefeetsixinches—butIcouldwearhighheels.Iamagoodmimic—nothingwonderful,butIcancopypeople’svoices,andIspeakFrenchlikeanangeloraFrenchwoman.Infact,I’mabsolutelythegoods.TheyoughttotumbleoverthemselveswithdelightwhenIturnup.JaneCleveland,goinandwin.”
ResolutelyJanetoreouttheadvertisementandplaceditinherhandbag.Thenshedemandedherbill,withanewbrisknessinhervoice.
AttenminutestofiveJanewasreconnoitringintheneighbourhoodofEndersleighStreet.EndersleighStreetitselfisasmallstreetsandwichedbetweentwolargerstreetsintheneighbourhoodofOxfordCircus.Itisdrab,butrespectable.
No.7seemedinnowaydifferentfromtheneighbouringhouses.Itwascomposedliketheywereofoffices.Butlookingupatit,itdawneduponJaneforthefirsttimethatshewasnottheonlyblue-eyed,fairhaired,straight-nosed,slim-figuredgirlofbetweentwenty-fiveandthirtyyearsofage.Londonwasevidentlyfullofsuchgirls,andfortyorfiftyofthematleastweregroupedoutsideNo.7EndersleighStreet.
“Competition,”saidJane.“I’dbetterjointhequeuequickly.”
Shedidso,justasthreemoregirlsturnedthecornerofthestreet.Othersfollowedthem.Janeamusedherselfbytakingstockofherimmediateneighbours.Ineachcaseshemanagedtofindsomethingwrong—faireyelashesinsteadofdark,eyesmoregreythanblue,fairhairthatoweditsfairnesstoartandnottoNature,interestingvariationsinnoses,andfiguresthatonlyanall-embracingcharitycouldhavedescribedasslim.Jane’sspiritsrose.
“IbelieveI’vegotasgoodanall-roundchanceasanyone,”shemurmuredtoherself.“Iwonderwhatit’sallabout?Abeautychorus,Ihope.”
Thequeuewasmovingslowlybutsteadilyforward.Presentlyasecondstreamofgirlsbegan,issuingfrominsidethehouse.Someofthemtossedtheirheads,someofthemsmirked.
“Rejected,”saidJane,withglee.“Ihopetogoodnesstheywon’tbefullupbeforeIgetin.”
Andstillthequeueofgirlsmovedforwards.Therewereanxiousglancesintinymirrors,andafrenziedpowderingofnoses.Lipstickswerebrandishedfreely
“IwishIhadasmarterhat,”saidJanetoherselfsadly.
Atlastitwasherturn.Insidethedoorofthehousewasaglassdooratoneside,withthelegend,Messrs.Cuthbertsons,inscribedonit.Itwasthroughthisglassdoorthattheapplicantswerepassingonebyone.Jane’sturncame.Shedrewadeepbreathandentered.
Insidewasanouteroffice,obviouslyintendedforclerks.Attheendwasanotherglassdoor.Janewasdirectedtopassthroughthis,anddidso.Shefoundherselfinasmallerroom.Therewasabigdeskinit,andbehindthedeskwasakeen-eyedmanofmiddleagewithathickratherforeign-lookingmoustache.HisglancesweptoverJane,thenhepointedtoadoorontheleft.
“Waitinthere,please,”hesaidcrisply.
Janeobeyed.Theapartmentsheenteredwasalreadyoccupied.Fivegirlssatthere,allveryuprightandallglaringateachother.ItwascleartoJanethatshehadbeenincludedamongstthelikelycandidates,andherspiritsrose.Nevertheless,shewasforcedtoadmitthatthesefivegirlswereequallyeligiblewithherselfasfarasthetermsoftheadvertisementwent.
Thetimepassed.Streamsofgirlswereevidentlypassingthroughtheinneroffice.Mostofthemweredismissedthroughanotherdoorgivingonthecorridor,buteverynowandthenarecruitarrivedtoswelltheselectassembly.Athalf-pastsixtherewerefourteengirlsassembledthere.
Janeheardamurmurofvoicesfromtheinneroffice,andthentheforeign-lookinggentleman,whomshehadnicknamedinhermind“theColonel”owingtothemilitarycharacterofhismoustache,appearedinthedoorway.
“Iwillseeyouladiesoneatatime,ifyouplease,”heannounced.“Intheorderinwhichyouarrived,please.”
Janewas,ofcourse,thesixthonthelist.Twentyminutesclapsedbeforeshewascalledin.“TheColonel”wasstandingwithhishandsbehindhisback.Heputherthrougharapidcatechism,testedherknowledgeofFrench,andmeasuredherheight.
“Itispossible,mademoiselle,”hesaidinFrench,“thatyoumaysuit.Idonotknow.Butitispossible.”
“Whatisthispost,ifImayask?”saidJanebluntly.
Heshruggedhisshoulders.
“ThatIcannottellyouasyet.Ifyouarechosen—thenyoushallknow.”
“Thisseemsverymysterious,”objectedJane.“Icouldn’tpossiblytakeupanythingwithoutknowingallaboutit.Isitconnectedwiththestage,mayIask?”
“Thestage?Indeed,no.”
“Oh!”saidJane,rathertakenaback.
Hewaslookingatherkeenly.
“Youhaveintelligence,yes?Anddiscretion?”
“I’vequantitiesofintelligenceanddiscretion,”saidJanecalmly.“Whataboutthepay?”
“Thepaywillamounttotwothousandpounds—forafortnight’swork.”
“Oh!”saidJanefaintly.
Shewastootakenabackbythemunificenceofthesumnamedtorecoverallatonce.
TheColonelresumedspeaking.
“OneotheryoungladyIhavealreadyselected.Youandsheareequallysuitable.TheremaybeothersIhavenotyetseen.Iwillgiveyouinstructionastoyourfurtherproceedings.YouknowHarridge’sHotel?”
Janegasped.WhoinEnglanddidnotknowHarridge’sHotel?ThatfamoushostelrysituatedmodestlyinabystreetofMayfair,wherenotabilitiesandroyaltiesarrivedanddepartedasamatterofcourse.OnlythismorningJanehadreadofthearrivaloftheGrandDuchessPaulineofOstrova.ShehadcomeovertoopenabigbazaarinaidofRussianrefugees,andwas,ofcourse,stayingatHarridge’s.
“Yes,”saidJane,inanswertotheColonel’squestion.
“Verygood.Gothere.AskforCountStreptitch.Sendupyourcard—youhaveacard?”
Janeproducedone.TheColoneltookitfromherandinscribedinthecorneraminuteP.Hehandedthecardbacktoher.
“Thatensuresthatthecountwillseeyou.Hewillunderstandthatyoucomefromme.Thefinaldecisionlieswithhim—andanother.Ifheconsidersyousuitable,hewillexplainmatterstoyou,andyoucanacceptordeclinehisproposal.Isthatsatisfactory?”
“Perfectlysatisfactory,”saidJane.
“Sofar,”shemurmuredtoherselfassheemergedintothestreet,“Ican’tseethecatch.Andyet,theremustbeone.There’snosuchthingasmoneyfornothing.Itmustbecrime!There’snothingelseleft.”
Herspiritsrose.InmoderationJanedidnotobjecttocrime.Thepapershadbeenfulllatelyoftheexploitsofvariousgirlbandits.Janehadseriouslythoughtofbecomingoneifallelsefailed.
SheenteredtheexclusiveportalsofHarridge’swithslighttrepidation.Morethanever,shewishedthatshehadanewhat.
Butshewalkedbravelyuptothebureauandproducedhercard,andaskedforCountStreptitchwithoutashadeofhesitationinhermanner.Shefanciedthattheclerklookedatherrathercuriously.Hetookthecard,however,andgaveittoasmallpageboywithsomelow-voicedinstructionswhichJanedidnotcatch.Presentlythepagereturned,andJanewasinvitedtoaccompanyhim.Theywentupintheliftandalongacorridortosomebigdoubledoorswherethepageknocked.AmomentlaterJanefoundherselfinabigroom,facingatallthinmanwithafairbeard,whowasholdinghercardinalanguidwhitehand.
“MissJaneCleveland,”hereadslowly.“IamCountStreptitch.”
Hislipspartedsuddenlyinwhatwaspresumablyintendedtobeasmile,disclosingtworowsofwhiteeventeeth.Butnoeffectofmerrimentwasobtained.
“Iunderstandthatyouappliedinanswertoouradvertisement,”continuedthecount.“ThegoodColonelKraninsentyouonhere.”
“Hewasacolonel,”thoughtJane,pleasedwithherperspicacity,butshemerelybowedherhead.
“YouwillpardonmeifIaskyouafewquestions?”
Hedidnotwaitforareply,butproceededtoputJanethroughacatechismverysimilartothatofColonelKranin.Herrepliesseemedtosatisfyhim.Henoddedhisheadonceortwice.
“Iwillaskyounow,mademoiselle,towalktothedoorandbackagainslowly.”
“Perhapstheywantmetobeamannequin,”thoughtJane,asshecomplied.“Buttheywouldn’tpaytwothousandpoundstoamannequin.Still,IsupposeI’dbetternotaskquestionsyetawhile.”
CountStreptitchwasfrowning.Hetappedonthetablewithhiswhitefingers.Suddenlyherose,andopeningthedoorofanadjoiningroom,hespoketosomeoneinside.
Hereturnedtohisseat,andashortmiddle-agedladycamethroughthedoor,closingitbehindher.Shewasplumpandextremelyugly,buthadneverthelesstheairofbeingapersonofimportance.
“Well,AnnaMichaelovna,”saidthecount.“Whatdoyouthinkofher?”
TheladylookedJaneupanddownmuchasthoughthegirlhadbeenawaxworkatashow.Shemadenopretenceofanygreeting.
“Shemightdo,”shesaidatlength.“Ofactuallikenessintherealsenseoftheword,thereisverylittle.Butthefigureandthecolouringareverygood,betterthananyoftheothers.Whatdoyouthinkofit,FeodorAlexandrovitch?”
“Iagreewithyou,AnnaMichaelovna.”
“DoesshespeakFrench?”
“HerFrenchisexcellent.”
Janefeltmoreandmoreofadummy.Neitherofthesestrangepeopleappearedtorememberthatshewasahumanbeing.
“Butwillshebediscreet?”askedthelady,frowningheavilyatthegirl.
“ThisisthePrincessPoporensky,”saidCountStreptitchtoJaneinFrench.“Sheaskswhetheryoucanbediscreet?”
Janeaddressedherreplytotheprincess.
“UntilIhavehadthepositionexplainedtome,Icanhardlymakepromises.”
“Itisjustwhatshesaysthere,thelittleone,”remarkedthelady.“Ithinksheisintelligent,FeodorAlexandrovitch—moreintelligentthantheothers.Tellme,littleone,haveyoualsocourage?”
“Idon’tknow,”saidJane,puzzled.“Idon’tparticularlylikebeinghurt,butIcanbearit.”
“Ah!thatisnotwhatImean.Youdonotminddanger,no?”
“Oh!”saidJane.“Danger!That’sallright.Ilikedanger.”
“Andyouarepoor?Youwouldliketoearnmuchmoney?”
“Tryme,”saidJanewithsomethingapproachingenthusiasm.
CountStreptitchandPrincessPoporenskyexchangedglances.Then,simultaneously,theynodded.
“ShallIexplainmatters,AnnaMichaelovna?”theformerasked.
Theprincessshookherhead.
“HerHighnesswishestodothatherself.”
“Itisunnecessary—andunwise.”
“Neverthelessthosearehercommands.Iwastobringthegirlinassoonasyouhaddonewithher.”
Streptitchshruggedhisshoulders.Clearlyhewasnotpleased.Equallyclearlyhehadnointentionofdisobeyingtheedict.HeturnedtoJane.
“ThePrincessPoporenskywillpresentyoutoHerHighnesstheGrandDuchessPauline.Donotbealarmed.”
Janewasnotintheleastalarmed.Shewasdelightedattheideaofbeingpresentedtoareallivegrandduchess.TherewasnothingoftheSocialistaboutJane.Forthemomentshehadevenceasedtoworryaboutherhat.
ThePrincessPoporenskyledtheway,waddlingalongwithagaitthatshemanagedtoinvestwithacertaindignityinspiteofadversecircumstances.Theypassedthroughtheadjoiningroom,whichwasakindofantechamber,andtheprincessknockeduponadoorinthefartherwall.Avoicefrominsiderepliedandtheprincessopenedthedoorandpassedin,Janecloseuponherheels.
“Letmepresenttoyou,madame,”saidtheprincessinasolemnvoice,“MissJaneCleveland.”
Ayoungwomanwhohadbeensittinginabigarmchairattheotherendoftheroomjumpedupandranforward.ShestaredfixedlyatJaneforaminuteortwo,andthenlaughedmerrily.
“Butthisissplendid,Anna,”shereplied.“Ineverimaginedweshouldsucceedsowell.Come,letusseeourselvessidebyside.”
TakingJane’sarm,shedrewthegirlacrosstheroom,pausingbeforeafull-lengthmirrorwhichhungonthewall.
“Yousee?”shecrieddelightedly.“Itisaperfectmatch!”
Already,withherfirstglanceattheGrandDuchessPauline,Janehadbeguntounderstand.TheGrandDuchesswasayoungwomanperhapsayearortwoolderthanJane.Shehadthesameshadeoffairhair,andthesameslimfigure.Shewas,perhaps,ashadetaller.Nowthattheystoodsidebyside,thelikenesswasveryapparent.Detailfordetail,thecolouringwasalmostexactlythesame
TheGrandDuchessclappedherhands.Sheseemedanextremelycheerfulyoungwoman.
“Nothingcouldbebetter,”shedeclared.“YoumustcongratulateFeodorAlexandrovitchforme,Anna.Hehasindeeddonewell.”
“Asyet,madame,”murmuredtheprincess,inalowvoice,“thisyoungwomandoesnotknowwhatisrequiredofher.”
“True,”saidtheGrandDuchess,becomingsomewhatcalmerinmanner.“Iforgot.Well,Iwillenlightenher.Leaveustogether,AnnaMichaelovna.”
“But,madame—”
“Leaveusalone,Isay.”
Shestampedherfootangrily.WithconsiderablereluctanceAnnaMichaelovnalefttheroom.TheGrandDuchesssatdownandmotionedtoJanetodothesame.
“Theyaretiresome,theseoldwomen,”remarkedPauline.“Butonehastohavethem.AnnaMichaelovnaisbetterthanmost.Nowthen,Miss—ah,yes,MissJaneCleveland.Ilikethename.Ilikeyoutoo.Youaresympathetic.Icantellatonceifpeoplearesympathetic.”
“That’sverycleverofyou,ma’am,”saidJane,speakingforthefirsttime
“Iamclever,”saidPaulinecalmly.“Comenow,Iwillexplainthingstoyou.Notthatthereismuchtoexplain.YouknowthehistoryofOstrova.Practicallyallofmyfamilyaredead—massacredbytheCommunists.Iam,perhaps,thelastofmyline.Iamawoman,Icannotsituponthethrone.Youthinktheywouldletmebe.Butno,whereverIgoattemptsaremadetoassassinateme.Absurd,isitnot?Thesevodka-soakedbrutesneverhaveanysenseofproportion.”
“Isee,”saidJane,feelingthatsomethingwasrequiredofher.
“ForthemostpartIliveinretirement—whereIcantakeprecautions,butnowandthenIhavetotakepartinpublicceremonies.WhileIamhere,forinstance,Ihavetoattendseveralsemipublicfunctions.AlsoinParisonmywayback.IhaveanestateinHungary,youknow.Thesportthereismagnificent.”
“Isitreally?”saidJane.
“Superb.Iadoresport.Also—Ioughtnottotellyouthis,butIshallbecauseyourfaceissosympathetic—thereareplansbeingmadethere—veryquietly,youunderstand.AltogetheritisveryimportantthatIshouldnotbeassassinatedduringthenexttwoweeks.”
“Butsurelythepolice—”beganJane.
“Thepolice?Oh,yes,theyareverygood,Ibelieve.Andwetoo—wehaveourspies.ItispossiblethatIshallbeforewarnedwhentheattemptistotakeplace.Butthen,again,Imightnot.”
Sheshruggedhershoulders.
“Ibegintounderstand,”saidJaneslowly.“Youwantmetotakeyourplace?”
“Onlyoncertainoccasions,”saidtheGrandDuchesseagerly.“Youmustbesomewhereathand,youunderstand?Imayrequireyoutwice,threetimes,fourtimesinthenextfortnight.Eachtimeitwillbeupontheoccasionofsomepublicfunction.Naturallyinintimacyofanykind,youcouldnotrepresentme.”
“Ofcoursenot,”agreedJane.
“Youwilldoverywellindeed.ItwascleverofFeodorAlexandrovitchtothinkofanadvertisement,wasitnot?”
“Supposing,”saidJane,“thatIgetassassinated?”
TheGrandDuchessshruggedhershoulders.
“Thereistherisk,ofcourse,butaccordingtoourownsecretinformation,theywanttokidnapme,notkillmeoutright.ButIwillbequitehonest—itisalwayspossiblethattheymightthrowabomb.”
“Isee,”saidJane.
Shetriedtoimitatethelight-heartedmannerofPauline.Shewantedverymuchtocometothequestionofmoney,butdidnotquiteseehowbesttointroducethesubject.ButPaulinesavedherthetrouble.
“Wewillpayyouwell,ofcourse,”shesaidcarelessly.“IcannotremembernowexactlyhowmuchFeodorAlexandrovitchsuggested.Wewerespeakinginfrancsorkronen.”
“ColonelKranin,”saidJane,“saidsomethingabouttwothousandpounds.”
“Thatwasit,”saidPauline,brightening.“Iremembernow.Itisenough,Ihope?Orwouldyouratherhavethreethousand?”
“Well,”saidJane,“ifit’sallthesametoyou,I’dratherhavethreethousand.”
“Youarebusinesslike,Isee,”saidtheGrandDuchesskindly.“IwishIwas.ButIhavenoideaofmoneyatall.WhatIwantIhavetohave,thatisall.”
ItseemedtoJaneasimplebutadmirableattitudeofmind.
“Andofcourse,asyousay,thereisdanger,”Paulinecontinuedthoughtfully.“Althoughyoudonotlooktomeasthoughyoumindeddanger.Idonotmyself.IhopeyoudonotthinkthatitisbecauseIamacowardthatIwantyoutotakemyplace?Yousee,itismostimportantforOstrovathatIshouldmarryandhaveatleasttwosons.Afterthat,itdoesnotmatterwhathappenstome.”
“Isee,”saidJane.
“Andyouaccept?”
“Yes,”saidJaneresolutely.“Iaccept.”
Paulineclappedherhandsvehementlyseveraltimes.PrincessPoporenskyappearedimmediately.
“Ihavetoldherall,Anna,”announcedtheGrandDuchess.“Shewilldowhatwewant,andsheistohavethreethousandpounds.TellFeodortomakeanoteofit.Sheisreallyverylikeme,isshenot?Ithinksheisbetterlooking,though.”
Theprincesswaddledoutoftheroom,andreturnedwithCountStreptitch.
“Wehavearrangedeverything,FeodorAlexandrovitch,”theGrandDuchesssaid
Hebowed.
“Cansheplayherpart,Iwonder?”hequeried,eyeingJanedoubtfully.
“I’llshowyou,”saidthegirlsuddenly.“Youpermit,ma’am?”shesaidtotheGrandDuchess.
Thelatternoddeddelightedly.
Janestoodup.
“Butthisissplendid,Anna,”shesaid.“Ineverimaginedweshouldsucceedsowell.Come,letusseeourselves,sidebyside.”
And,asPaulinehaddone,shedrewtheothergirltotheglass.
“Yousee?Aperfectmatch!”
Words,mannerandgesture,itwasanexcellentimitationofPauline’sgreeting.Theprincessnoddedherhead,andutteredagruntofapprobation.
“Itisgood,that,”shedeclared.“Itwoulddeceivemostpeople.”
“Youareveryclever,”saidPaulineappreciatively.“Icouldnotimitateanyoneelsetosavemylife.”
Janebelievedher.IthadalreadystruckherthatPaulinewasayoungwomanwhowasverymuchherself.
“Annawillarrangedetailswithyou,”saidtheGrandDuchess.“Takeherintomybedroom,Anna,andtrysomeofmyclothesonher.”
Shenoddedagraciousfarewell,andJanewasconvoyedawaybythePrincessPoporensky.
“ThisiswhatHerHighnesswillweartoopenthebazaar,”explainedtheoldlady,holdingupadaringcreationofwhiteandblack.“Thisisinthreedays’time.Itmaybenecessaryforyoutotakeherplacethere.Wedonotknow.Wehavenotyetreceivedinformation.”
AtAnna’sbidding,Janeslippedoffherownshabbygarments,andtriedonthefrock.Itfittedherperfectly.Theothernoddedapprovingly.
“Itisalmostperfect—justashadelongonyou,becauseyouareaninchorsoshorterthanHerHighness.”
“Thatiseasilyremedied,”saidJanequickly.“TheGrandDuchesswearslow-heeledshoes,Inoticed.IfIwearthesamekindofshoes,butwithhighheels,itwilladjustthingsnicely.”
AnnaMichaelovnashowedhertheshoesthattheGrandDuchessusuallyworewiththedress.Lizardskinwithastrapacross.Janememorizedthem,andarrangedtogetapairjustlikethem,butwithdifferentheels.
“Itwouldbewell,”saidAnnaMichaelovna,“foryoutohaveadressofdistinctivecolourandmaterialquiteunlikeHerHighness’s.Thenincaseitbecomesnecessaryforyoutochangeplacesatamoment’snotice,thesubstitutionislesslikelytobenoticed.”
Janethoughtaminute.
“Whataboutaflame-redmarocain?AndImight,perhaps,haveplainglasspince-nez.Thatalterstheappearanceverymuch.”
Bothsuggestionswereapproved,andtheywentintofurtherdetails.
Janeleftthehotelwithbanknotesforahundredpoundsinherpurse,andinstructionstopurchasethenecessaryoutfitandengageroomsattheBlitzHotelasMissMontresorofNewYork.
Ontheseconddayafterthis,CountStreptitchcalleduponherthere.
“Atransformationindeed,”hesaid,ashebowed.
Janemadehimamockbowinreturn.Shewasenjoyingthenewclothesandtheluxuryofherlifeverymuch.
“Allthisisverynice,”shesighed.“ButIsupposethatyourvisitmeansImustgetbusyandearnmymoney.”
“Thatisso.Wehavereceivedinformation.ItseemspossiblethatanattemptwillbemadetokidnapHerHighnessonthewayhomefromthebazaar.Thatistotakeplace,asyouknow,atOrionHouse,whichisabouttenmilesoutofLondon.HerHighnesswillbeforcedtoattendthebazaarinperson,astheCountessofAnchester,whoispromotingit,knowsherpersonally.ButthefollowingistheplanIhaveconcocted.”
Janelistenedattentivelyasheoutlinedittoher.
Sheaskedafewquestions,andfinallydeclaredthatsheunderstoodperfectlythepartthatshehadtoplay.
Thenextdaydawnedbrightandclear—aperfectdayforoneofthegreateventsoftheLondonSeason,thebazaaratOrionHouse,promotedbytheCountessofAnchesterinaidofOstrovianrefugeesinthiscountry.
HavingregardtotheuncertaintyoftheEnglishclimate,thebazaaritselftookplacewithinthespaciousroomsofOrionHouse,whichhasbeenforfivehundredyearsinthepossessionoftheEarlsofAnchester.Variouscollectionshadbeenloaned,andacharmingideawasthegiftbyahundredsocietywomenofonepearleachtakenfromtheirownnecklaces,eachpearltobesoldbyauctiononthesecondday.Therewerealsonumeroussideshowsandattractionsinthegrounds.
Janewasthereearlyinther?leofMissMontresor.Sheworeadressofflame-colouredmarocain,andasmallredclochehat.Onherfeetwerehigh-heeledlizard-skinshoes.
ThearrivaloftheGrandDuchessPaulinewasagreatevent.Shewasescortedtotheplatformanddulypresentedwithabouquetofrosesbyasmallchild.Shemadeashortbutcharmingspeechanddeclaredthebazaaropen.CountStreptitchandPrincessPoporenskywereinattendanceuponher.
SheworethedressthatJanehadseen,whitewithabolddesignofblack,andherhatwasasmallclocheofblackwithaprofusionofwhiteospreyshangingoverthebrimandatinylaceveilcominghalf-waydowntheface.Janesmiledtoherself.
TheGrandDuchesswentroundthebazaar,visitingeverystall,makingafewpurchases,andbeinguniformlygracious.Thenshepreparedtodepart.
Janewasprompttotakeuphercue.SherequestedawordwiththePrincessPoporenskyandaskedtobepresentedtotheGrandDuchess.
“Ah,yes!”saidPauline,inaclearvoice.“MissMontresor,Irememberthename.SheisanAmericanjournalist,Ibelieve.Shehasdonemuchforourcause.Ishouldbegladtogiveherashortinterviewforherpaper.Isthereanywherewherewecouldbeundisturbed?”
AsmallanteroomwasimmediatelyplacedattheGrandDuchess’sdisposal,andCountStreptitchwasdespatchedtobringinMissMontresor.Assoonashehaddoneso,andwithdrawnagain,thePrincessPoporenskyremaininginattendance,arapidexchangeofgarmentstookplace.
Threeminuteslater,thedooropenedandtheGrandDuchessemerged,herbouquetofroseshelduptoherface.
Bowinggraciously,andutteringafewwordsoffarewelltoLadyAnchesterinFrench,shepassedoutandenteredhercarwhichwaswaiting.PrincessPoporenskytookherplacebesideher,andthecardroveoff.
“Well,”saidJane,“that’sthat.IwonderhowMissMontresor’sgettingon.”
“Noonewillnoticeher.Shecanslipoutquietly.”
“That’strue,”saidJane.“Ididitnicely,didn’tI?”
“Youactedyourpartwithgreatdistinction.”
“Whyisn’tthecountwithus?”
“Hewasforcedtoremain.SomeonemustwatchoverthesafetyofHerHighness.”
“Ihopenobody’sgoingtothrowbombs,”saidJaneapprehensively.“Hi!we’returningoffthemainroad.Why’sthat?”
Gatheringspeed,thecarwasshootingdownasideroad.
Janejumpedupandputherheadoutofthewindow,remonstratingwiththedriver.Heonlylaughedandincreasedhisspeed.Janesankbackintoherseatagain.
“Yourspieswereright,”shesaid,withalaugh.“We’reforitallright.IsupposethelongerIkeepitup,thesaferitisfortheGrandDuchess.AtalleventswemustgivehertimetoreturntoLondonsafely.”
Attheprospectofdanger,Jane’sspiritsrose.Shehadnotrelishedtheprospectofabomb,butthistypeofadventureappealedtohersportinginstincts.
Suddenly,withagrindingofbrakes,thecarpulledupinitsownlength.Amanjumpedonthestep.Inhishandwasarevolver.
“Putyourhandsup,”hesnarled.
ThePrincessPoporensky’shandsroseswiftly,butJanemerelylookedathimdisdainfully,andkeptherhandsonherlap.
“Askhimthemeaningofthisoutrage,”shesaidinFrenchtohercompanion.
Butbeforethelatterhadtimetosayaword,themanbrokein.Hepouredoutatorrentofwordsinsomeforeignlanguage.
Notunderstandingasinglething,Janemerelyshruggedhershouldersandsaidnothing.Thechauffeurhadgotdownfromhisseatandjoinedtheotherman.
“Willtheillustriousladybepleasedtodescend?”heasked,withagrin.
Raisingtheflowerstoherfaceagain,Janesteppedoutofthecar.ThePrincessPoporenskyfollowedher.
“Willtheillustriousladycomethisway?”
Janetooknonoticeoftheman’smockinsolentmanner,butofherownaccordshewalkedtowardsalow-built,ramblinghousewhichstoodaboutahundredyardsawayfromwherethecarhadstopped.Theroadhadbeenacul-de-sacendinginthegatewayanddrivewhichledtothisapparentlyuntenantedbuilding.
Theman,stillbrandishinghispistol,cameclosebehindthetwowomen.Astheypassedupthesteps,hebrushedpastthemandflungopenadoorontheleft.Itwasanemptyroom,intowhichatableandtwochairshadevidentlybeenbrought.
Janepassedinandsatdown.AnnaMichaelovnafollowedher.Themanbangedthedoorandturnedthekey.
Janewalkedtothewindowandlookedout.
“Icouldjumpout,ofcourse,”sheremarked.“ButIshouldn’tgetfar.No,we’lljusthavetostayhereforthepresentandmakethebestofit.Iwonderifthey’llbringusanythingtoeat?”
Abouthalfanhourlaterherquestionwasanswered.
Abigbowlofsteamingsoupwasbroughtinandplacedonthetableinfrontofher.Alsotwopiecesofdrybread.
“Noluxuryforaristocratsevidently,”remarkedJanecheerilyasthedoorwasshutandlockedagain.“Willyoustart,orshallI?”
ThePrincessPoporenskywavedthemereideaoffoodasidewithhorror.
“HowcouldIeat?Whoknowswhatdangermymistressmightnotbein?”
“She’sallright,”saidJane.“It’smyselfI’mworryingabout.Youknowthesepeoplewon’tbeatallpleasedwhentheyfindtheyhavegotholdofthewrongperson.Infact,theymaybeveryunpleasant.IshallkeepupthehaughtyGrandDuchessstuntaslongasIcan,anddoabunkiftheopportunityoffers.”
ThePrincessPoporenskyofferednoreply.
Jane,whowashungry,drankupallthesoup.Ithadacurioustaste,butwashotandsavoury.
Afterwardsshefeltrathersleepy.ThePrincessPoporenskyseemedtobeweepingquietly.Janearrangedherselfonheruncomfortablechairintheleastuncomfortableway,andallowedherheadtodroop.
Sheslept.
Janeawokewithastart.Shehadanideathatshehadbeenaverylongtimeasleep.Herheadfeltheavyanduncomfortable.
Andthensuddenlyshesawsomethingthatjerkedherfacultieswideawakeagain
Shewaswearingtheflame-colouredmarocainfrock.
Shesatupandlookedaroundher.Yes,shewasstillintheroomintheemptyhouse.Everythingwasexactlyasithadbeenwhenshewenttosleep,exceptfortwofacts.ThefirstwasthatthePrincessPoporenskywasnolongersittingontheotherchair.Thesecondwasherowninexplicablechangeofcostume.
“Ican’thavedreamtit,”saidJane.“BecauseifI’ddreamtit,Ishouldn’tbehere.”
Shelookedacrossatthewindowandregisteredasecondsignificantfact.Whenshehadgonetosleepthesunhadbeenpouringthroughthewindow.Nowthehousethrewasharpshadowonthesunlitdrive.
“Thehousefaceswest,”shereflected.“ItwasafternoonwhenIwenttosleep.Thereforeitmustbetomorrowmorningnow.Thereforethatsoupwasdrugged.Therefore—oh,Idon’tknow.Itallseemsmad.”
Shegotupandwenttothedoor.Itwasunlocked.Sheexploredthehouse.Itwassilentandempty.
Janeputherhandtoherachingheadandtriedtothink.
Andthenshecaughtsightofatornnewspaperlyingbythefrontdoor.Ithadglaringheadlineswhichcaughthereye.
“AmericanGirlBanditinEngland,”sheread.“TheGirlintheRedDress.SensationalHoldupatOrionHouseBazaar.”
Janestaggeredoutintothesunlight.Sittingonthestepssheread,hereyesgrowingbiggerandbigger.Thefactswereshortandsuccinct.
JustafterthedepartureoftheGrandDuchessPauline,threemenandagirlinareddresshadproducedrevolversandsuccessfullyheldupthecrowd.Theyhadannexedthehundredpearlsandmadeagetawayinafastracingcar.Uptonow,theyhadnotbeentraced.
Inthestoppress(itwasalateeveningpaper)wereafewwordstotheeffectthatthe“girlbanditinthereddress”hadbeenstayingattheBlitzasaMissMontresorofNewYork.
“I’mdished,”saidJane.“Absolutelydished.Ialwaysknewtherewasacatchinit.”
Andthenshestarted.Astrangesoundhadsmotetheair.Thevoiceofaman,utteringonewordatfrequentintervals.
“Damn,”itsaid.“Damn.”Andyetagain,“Damn!”
Janethrilledtothesound.Itexpressedsoexactlyherownfeelings.Sherandownthesteps.Bythecornerofthemlayayoungman.Hewasendeavouringtoraisehisheadfromtheground.HisfacestruckJaneasoneofthenicestfacesshehadeverseen.Itwasfreckledandslightlyquizzicalinexpression.
“Damnmyhead,”saidtheyoungman.“Damnit.I—”
HebrokeoffandstaredatJane.
“Imustbedreaming,”hesaidfaintly
“That’swhatIsaid,”saidJane.“Butwe’renot.What’sthematterwithyourhead?”
“Somebodyhitmeonit.Fortunatelyit’sathickone.”
Hepulledhimselfintoasittingposition,andmadeawryface.
“Mybrainwillbegintofunctionshortly,Iexpect.I’mstillinthesameoldspot,Isee.”
“Howdidyougethere?”askedJanecuriously.
“That’salongstory.Bytheway,you’renottheGrandDuchessWhat’s-her-name,areyou?”
“I’mnot.I’mplainJaneCleveland.”
“You’renotplainanyway,”saidtheyoungman,lookingatherwithfrankadmiration.
Janeblushed.
“Ioughttogetyousomewaterorsomething,oughtn’tI?”sheaskeduncertainly.
“Ibelieveitiscustomary,”agreedtheyoungman.“Allthesame,I’dratherhavewhiskyifyoucanfindit.”
Janewasunabletofindanywhisky.Theyoungmantookadeepdraughtofwater,andannouncedhimselfbetter.
“ShallIrelatemyadventures,orwillyourelateyours?”heasked.
“Youfirst.”
“There’snothingmuchtomine.IhappenedtonoticethattheGrandDuchesswentintothatroomwithlow-heeledshoesonandcameoutwithhigh-heeledones.Itstruckmeasratherodd.Idon’tlikethingstobeodd.
“Ifollowedthecaronmymotorbicycle,Isawyoutakenintothehouse.Abouttenminuteslaterabigracingcarcametearingup.Agirlinredgotoutandthreemen.Shehadlow-heeledshoeson,allright.Theywentintothehouse.Presentlylowheelscameoutdressedinblackandwhite,andwentoffinthefirstcar,withanoldpussyandatallmanwithafairbeard.Theotherswentoffintheracingcar.Ithoughtthey’dallgone,andwasjusttryingtogetinatthatwindowandrescueyouwhensomeonehitmeontheheadfrombehind.That’sall.Nowforyourturn.”
Janerelatedheradventures.
“Andit’sawfullyluckyformethatyoudidfollow,”sheended.“DoyouseewhatanawfulholeIshouldhavebeeninotherwise?TheGrandDuchesswouldhavehadaperfectalibi.Sheleftthebazaarbeforetheholdupbegan,andarrivedinLondoninhercar.Wouldanybodyeverhavebelievedmyfantasticimprobablestory?”
“Notonyourlife,”saidtheyoungmanwithconviction.
Theyhadbeensoabsorbedintheirrespectivenarrativesthattheyhadbeenquiteobliviousoftheirsurroundings.Theylookedupnowwithaslightstarttoseeatallsad-facedmanleaningagainstthehouse.Henoddedatthem.
“Veryinteresting,”hecommented.
“Whoareyou?”demandedJane.
Thesad-facedman’seyestwinkledalittle.
“Detective-InspectorFarrell,”hesaidgently.“I’vebeenveryinterestedinhearingyourstoryandthisyounglady’s.Wemighthavefoundalittledifficultyinbelievinghers,butforoneortwothings.”
“Forinstance?”
“Well,yousee,weheardthismorningthattherealGrandDuchesshadelopedwithachauffeurinParis.”
Janegasped.
“AndthenweknewthatthisAmerican‘girlbandit’hadcometothiscountry,andweexpectedacoupofsomekind.We’llhavelaidhandsonthemverysoon,Icanpromiseyouthat.Excusemeaminute,willyou?”
Heranupthestepsintothehouse.
“Well!”saidJane.Sheputalotofforceintotheexpression.
“Ithinkitwasawfullycleverofyoutonoticethoseshoes,”shesaidsuddenly.
“Notatall,”saidtheyoungman.“Iwasbroughtupintheboottrade.Myfather’sasortofbootking.Hewantedmetogointothetrade—marryandsettledown.Allthatsortofthing.Nobodyinparticular—justtheprincipleofthething.ButIwantedtobeanartist.”Hesighed.
“I’msosorry,”saidJanekindly.
“I’vebeentryingforsixyears.There’snoblinkingit.I’marottenpainter.I’veagoodmindtochuckitandgohomeliketheprodigalson.There’sagoodbilletwaitingforme.”
“Ajobisthegreatthing,”agreedJanewistfully.“Doyouthinkyoucouldgetmeonetryingonbootssomewhere?”
“Icouldgiveyouabetteronethanthat—ifyou’dtakeit.”
“Oh,what?”
“Nevermindnow.I’lltellyoulater.Youknow,untilyesterdayIneversawagirlIfeltIcouldmarry.”
“Yesterday?”
“Atthebazaar.AndthenIsawher—theoneandonlyHer!”
HelookedveryhardatJane.
“Howbeautifulthedelphiniumsare,”saidJanehurriedly,withverypinkcheeks.
“They’relupins,”saidtheyoungman
“Itdoesn’tmatter,”saidJane.
“Notabit,”heagreed.Andhedrewalittlenearer.
Five
AFRUITFULSUNDAY
“AFruitfulSunday”wasfirstpublishedintheDailyMail,11August1928.
Well,really,Icallthistoodelightful,”saidMissDorothyPrattforthefourthtime.“HowIwishtheoldcatcouldseemenow.SheandherJanes!”
The“oldcat”thusscathinglyalludedtowasMissPratt’shighlyestimableemployer,Mrs.MackenzieJones,whohadstrongviewsupontheChristiannamessuitableforparlourmaidsandhadrepudiatedDorothyinfavourofMissPratt’sdespisedsecondnameofJane.
MissPratt’scompaniondidnotreplyatonce—forthebestofreasons.WhenyouhavejustpurchasedaBabyAustin,fourthhand,forthesumoftwentypounds,andaretakingitoutforthesecondtimeonly,yourwholeattentionisnecessarilyfocusedonthedifficulttaskofusingbothhandsandfeetastheemergenciesofthemomentdictate.
“Er—ah!”saidMr.EdwardPalgroveandnegotiatedacrisiswithahorriblegrindingsoundthatwouldhavesetatruemotorist’steethonedge.
“Well,youdon’ttalktoagirlmuch,”complainedDorothy.
Mr.Palgrovewassavedfromhavingtorespondasatthatmomenthewasroundlyandsoundlycursedbythedriverofamotoromnibus.
“Well,ofalltheimpudence,”saidMissPratt,tossingherhead.
“Ionlywishhehadthisfootbrake,”saidherswainbitterly.
“Isthereanythingwrongwithit?”
“Youcanputyourfootonittillkingdomcomes,”saidMr.Palgrove.“Butnothinghappens.”
“Oh,well,Ted,youcan’texpecteverythingfortwentypounds.Afterall,hereweare,inarealcar,onSundayafternoongoingoutoftownthesameaseverybodyelse.”
Moregrindingandcrashingsounds.
“Ah,”saidTed,flushedwithtriumph.“Thatwasabetterchange.”
“Youdodrivesomethingbeautiful,”saidDorothyadmiringly.
Emboldenedbyfeminineappreciation,Mr.PalgroveattemptedadashacrossHammersmithBroadway,andwasseverelyspokentobyapoliceman.
“Well,Inever,”saidDorothy,astheyproceededtowardsHammersmithBridgeinachastenedfashion.“Idon’tknowwhatthepolicearecomingto.You’dthinkthey’dbeabitmorecivilspokenseeingthewaythey’vebeenshownuplately.”
“Anyway,Ididn’twanttogoalongthisroad,”saidEdwardsadly.“IwantedtogodowntheGreatWestRoadanddoabust.”
“Andbecaughtinatrapaslikelyasnot,”saidDorothy.“That’swhathappenedtothemastertheotherday.Fivepoundsandcosts.”
“Thepolicearen’tsodustyafterall,”saidEdwardgenerously.“Theypitchintotherichallright.Nofavour.ItmakesmemadtothinkoftheseswellswhocanwalkintoaplaceandbuyacoupleofRolls-Royceswithoutturningahair.There’snosenseinit.I’masgoodastheyare.”
“Andthejewellery,”saidDorothy,sighing.“ThoseshopsinBondStreet.DiamondsandpearlsandIdon’tknowwhat!AndmewithastringofWoolworthpearls.”
Shebroodedsadlyuponthesubject.Edwardwasableoncemoretogivehisfullattentiontohisdriving.TheymanagedtogetthroughRichmondwithoutmishap.ThealtercationwiththepolicemanhadshakenEdward’snerve.Henowtookthelineofleastresistance,followingblindlybehindanycarinfrontwheneverachoiceofthoroughfarespresenteditself.
Inthiswayhepresentlyfoundhimselffollowingashadycountrylanewhichmanyanexperiencedmotoristwouldhavegivenhissoultofind.
“RathercleverturningoffthewayIdid,”saidEdward,takingallthecredittohimself.
“Sweetlypretty,Icallit,”saidMissPratt.“AndIdodeclare,there’samanwithfruittosell.”
Sureenough,ataconvenientcorner,wasasmallwickertablewithbasketsoffruitonit,andthelegendeatmorefruitdisplayedonabanner.
“Howmuch?”saidEdwardapprehensivelywhenfrenziedpullingofthehandbrakehadproducedthedesiredresult.
“Lovelystrawberries,”saidthemanincharge.
Hewasanunprepossessing-lookingindividualwithaleer.
“Justthethingforthelady.Ripefruit,freshpicked.Cherriestoo.GenuineEnglish.Haveabasketofcherries,lady?”
“Theydolookniceones,”saidDorothy.
“Lovely,that’swhattheyare,”saidthemanhoarsely.“Bringyouluck,lady,thatbasketwill.”HeatlastcondescendedtoreplytoEdward.“Twoshillings,sir,anddirtcheap.You’dsaysoifyouknewwhatwasinsidethebasket.”
“Theylookawfullynice,”saidDorothy.
Edwardsighedandpaidovertwoshillings.Hismindwasobsessedbycalculation.Tealater,petrol—thisSundaymotoringbusinesswasn’twhatyou’dcallcheap.Thatwastheworstoftakinggirlsout!Theyalwayswantedeverythingtheysaw
“Thankyou,sir,”saidtheunprepossessing-lookingone.“You’vegotmorethanyourmoney’sworthinthatbasketofcherries.”
EdwardshovedhisfootsavagelydownandtheBabyAustinleapedatthecherryvendorafterthemannerofaninfuriatedAlsatian.
“Sorry,”saidEdward.“Iforgotshewasingear.”
“Yououghttobecareful,dear,”saidDorothy.“Youmighthavehurthim.”
Edwarddidnotreply.Anotherhalfmilebroughtthemtoanidealspotbythebanksofastream.TheAustinwasleftbythesideoftheroadandEdwardandDorothysataffectionatelyupontheriverbankandmunchedcherries.ASundaypaperlayunheededattheirfeet.
“What’sthenews?”saidEdwardatlast,stretchinghimselfflatonhisbackandtiltinghishattoshadehiseyes.
Dorothyglancedovertheheadlines.
“TheWoefulWife.Extraordinarystory.Twenty-eightpeopledrownedlastweek.ReporteddeathofAirman.StartlingJewelRobbery.RubyNecklaceworthfiftythousandpoundsmissing.Oh,Ted!Fiftythousandpounds.Justfancy!”Shewentonreading.“Thenecklaceiscomposedoftwenty-onestonessetinplatinumandwassentbyregisteredpostfromParis.Onarrival,thepacketwasfoundtocontainafewpebblesandthejewelsweremissing.”
“Pinchedinthepost,”saidEdward.“ThepostsinFranceareawful,Ibelieve.”
“I’dliketoseeanecklacelikethat,”saidDorothy.“Allglowinglikeblood—pigeon’sblood,that’swhattheycallthecolour.Iwonderwhatitwouldfeelliketohaveathinglikethathangingroundyourneck.”
“Well,you’reneverlikelytoknow,mygirl,”saidEdwardfacetiously.
Dorothytossedherhead.
“Whynot,Ishouldliketoknow.It’samazingthewaygirlscangetonintheworld.Imightgoonthestage.”
“Girlsthatbehavethemselvesdon’tgetanywhere,”saidEdwarddiscouragingly.
Dorothyopenedhermouthtoreply,checkedherself,andmurmured,“Passmethecherries.”
“I’vebeeneatingmorethanyouhave,”sheremarked.“I’lldivideupwhat’sleftand—why,whatever’sthisatthebottomofthebasket?”
Shedrewitoutasshespoke—alongglitteringchainofblood-redstones.
Theybothstaredatitinamazement.
“Inthebasket,didyousay?”saidEdwardatlast.
Dorothynodded.
“Rightatthebottom—underthefruit.”
Againtheystaredateachother.
“Howdiditgetthere,doyouthink?”
“Ican’timagine.It’sodd,Ted,justafterreadingthatbitinthepaper—abouttherubies.”
Edwardlaughed.
“Youdon’timagineyou’reholdingfiftythousandpoundsinyourhand,doyou?”
“Ijustsaiditwasodd.Rubiessetinplatinum.Platinumisthatsortofdullsilverystuff—likethis.Don’ttheysparkleandaren’ttheyalovelycolour?Iwonderhowmanyofthemthereare?”Shecounted.“Isay,Ted,therearetwenty-oneexactly.”
“No!”
“Yes.Thesamenumberasthepapersaid.Oh,Ted,youdon’tthink—”
“Itcouldbe.”Buthespokeirresolutely.“There’ssomesortofwayyoucantell—scratchingthemonglass.”
“That’sdiamonds.Butyouknow,Ted,thatwasaveryodd-lookingman—themanwiththefruit—anasty-lookingman.Andhewasfunnyaboutit—saidwe’dgotmorethanourmoney’sworthinthebasket.”
“Yes,butlookhere,Dorothy,whatwouldhewanttohandusoverfiftythousandpoundsfor?”
MissPrattshookherhead,discouraged.
“Itdoesn’tseemtomakesense,”sheadmitted.“Unlessthepolicewereafterhim.”
“Thepolice?”Edwardpaledslightly.
“Yes.Itgoesontosayinthepaper—‘thepolicehaveaclue.’”
ColdshiversrandownEdward’sspine.
“Idon’tlikethis,Dorothy.Supposingthepolicegetafterus.”
Dorothystaredathimwithhermouthopen.
“Butwehaven’tdoneanything,Ted.Wefounditinthebasket.”
“Andthat’llsoundasillysortofstorytotell!Itisn’tlikely.”
“Itisn’tvery,”admittedDorothy.“Oh,Ted,doyoureallythinkitisit?It’slikeafairystory!”
“Idon’tthinkitsoundslikeafairystory,”saidEdward.“ItsoundstomemorelikethekindofstorywheretheherogoestoDartmoorunjustlyaccusedforfourteenyears.”
ButDorothywasnotlistening.Shehadclaspedthenecklaceroundherneckandwasjudgingtheeffectinasmallmirrortakenfromherhandbag.
“Thesameasaduchessmightwear,”shemurmuredecstatically.
“Iwon’tbelieveit,”saidEdwardviolently.“They’reimitation.Theymustbeimitation.”
“Yes,dear,”saidDorothy,stillintentonherreflectioninthemirror.“Verylikely.”
“Anythingelsewouldbetoomuchofa—acoincidence.”
“Pigeon’sblood,”murmuredDorothy.
“It’sabsurd.That’swhatIsay.Absurd.Lookhere,Dorothy,areyoulisteningtowhatIsay,orareyounot?”
Dorothyputawaythemirror.Sheturnedtohim,onehandontherubiesroundherneck.
“HowdoIlook?”sheasked.
Edwardstaredather,hisgrievanceforgotten.HehadneverseenDorothyquitelikethis.Therewasatriumphabouther,akindofregalbeautythatwascompletelynewtohim.ThebeliefthatshehadjewelsroundherneckworthfiftythousandpoundshadmadeofDorothyPrattanewwoman.Shelookedinsolentlyserene,akindofCleopatraandSemiramisandZenobiarolledintoone.
“Youlook—youlook—stunning,”saidEdwardhumbly.
Dorothylaughed,andherlaugh,too,wasentirelydifferent.
“Lookhere,”saidEdward.“We’vegottodosomething.Wemusttakethemtoapolicestationorsomething.”
“Nonsense,”saidDorothy.“Yousaidyourselfjustnowthattheywouldn’tbelieveyou.You’llprobablybesenttoprisonforstealingthem.”
“But—butwhatelsecanwedo?”
“Keepthem,”saidthenewDorothyPratt.
Edwardstaredather.
“Keepthem?You’remad.”
“Wefoundthem,didn’twe?Whyshouldwethinkthey’revaluable.We’llkeepthemandIshallwearthem.”
“Andthepolicewillpinchyou.”
Dorothyconsideredthisforaminuteortwo.
“Allright,”shesaid.“We’llsellthem.AndyoucanbuyaRollsRoyce,ortwoRolls-Royces,andI’llbuyadiamondhead-thingandsomerings.”
StillEdwardstared.Dorothyshowedimpatience.
“You’vegotyourchancenow—it’suptoyoutotakeit.Wedidn’tstealthething—Iwouldn’tholdwiththat.It’scometousandit’sprobablytheonlychancewe’lleverhaveofgettingallthethingswewant.Haven’tyougotanyspunkatall,EdwardPalgrove?”
Edwardfoundhisvoice.
“Sellit,yousay?Thatwouldn’tbesojollyeasy.AnyjewellerwouldwanttoknowwhereIgotthebloomingthing.”
“Youdon’ttakeittoajeweller.Don’tyoueverreaddetectivestories,Ted?Youtakeittoa‘fence,’ofcourse.”
“AndhowshouldIknowanyfences?I’vebeenbroughtuprespectable.”
“Menoughttoknoweverything,”saidDorothy.“That’swhatthey’refor.”
Helookedather.Shewassereneandunyielding.
“Iwouldn’thavebelieveditofyou,”hesaidweakly.
“Ithoughtyouhadmorespirit.”
Therewasapause.ThenDorothyrosetoherfeet.
“Well,”shesaidlightly.“We’dbestbegettinghome.”
“Wearingthatthingroundyourneck?”
Dorothyremovedthenecklace,lookedatitreverentlyanddroppeditintoherhandbag.
“Lookhere,”saidEdward.“Yougivethattome.”
“No.”
“Yes,youdo.I’vebeenbroughtuphonest,mygirl.”
“Well,youcangoonbeinghonest.Youneedhavenothingtodowithit.”
“Oh,handitover,”saidEdwardrecklessly.“I’lldoit.I’llfindafence.Asyousay,it’stheonlychanceweshalleverhave.Wecamebyithonest—boughtitfortwoshillings.It’snomorethanwhatgentlemendoinantiqueshopseverydayoftheirlifeandareproudofit.”
“That’sit!”saidDorothy.“Oh,Edward,you’resplendid!”
Shehandedoverthenecklaceandhedroppeditintohispocket.Hefeltworkedup,exalted,theverydevilofafellow!InthismoodhestartedtheAustin.Theywerebothtooexcitedtoremembertea.TheydrovebacktoLondoninsilence.Onceatacrossroads,apolicemansteppedtowardsthecar,andEdward’sheartmissedabeat.Byamiracle,theyreachedhomewithoutmishap.
Edward’slastwordstoDorothywereimbuedwiththeadventurousspirit.
“We’llgothroughwiththis.Fiftythousandpounds!It’sworthit!”
HedreamtthatnightofbroadarrowsandDartmoor,androseearly,haggardandunrefreshed.Hehadtosetaboutfindingafence—andhowtodoithehadnottheremotestidea!
Hisworkattheofficewasslovenlyandbroughtdownuponhimtwosharprebukesbeforelunch.
Howdidonefinda“fence?”Whitechapel,hefancied,wasthecorrectneighbourhood—orwasitStepney?
Onhisreturntotheofficeacallcamethroughforhimonthetelephone.Dorothy’svoicespoke—tragicandtearful.
“Isthatyou,Ted?I’musingthetelephone,butshemaycomeinanyminute,andI’llhavetostop.Ted,youhaven’tdoneanything,haveyou?”
Edwardrepliedinthenegative.
“Well,lookhere,Ted,youmustn’t.I’vebeenlyingawakeallnight.It’sbeenawful.ThinkingofhowitsaysintheBibleyoumustn’tsteal.Imusthavebeenmadyesterday—Ireallymust.Youwon’tdoanything,willyou,Ted,dear?”
DidafeelingofreliefstealoverMr.Palgrove?Possiblyitdid—buthewasn’tgoingtoadmitanysuchthing.
“WhenIsayI’mgoingthroughwithathing,Igothroughwithit,”hesaidinavoicesuchasmightbelongtoastrongsupermanwitheyesofsteel.
“Oh,but,Ted,dear,youmustn’t.Oh,Lord,she’scoming.Lookhere,Ted,she’sgoingouttodinnertonight.Icanslipoutandmeetyou.Don’tdoanythingtillyou’veseenme.Eighto’clock.Waitformeroundthecorner.”Hervoicechangedtoaseraphicmurmur.“Yes,ma’am,Ithinkitwasawrongnumber.ItwasBloomsbury0234theywanted.”
AsEdwardlefttheofficeatsixo’clock,ahugeheadlinecaughthiseye.
JEWELROBBERY.LATESTDEVELOPMENTS
Hurriedlyheextendedapenny.SafelyensconcedintheTube,havingdexterouslymanagedtogainaseat,heeagerlyperusedtheprintedsheet.Hefoundwhathesoughteasilyenough.
Asuppressedwhistleescapedhim.
“Well—I’m—”
Andthenanotheradjacentparagraphcaughthiseye.Hereaditthroughandletthepapersliptothefloorunheeded.
Preciselyateighto’clock,hewaswaitingattherendezvous.AbreathlessDorothy,lookingpalebutpretty,camehurryingalongtojoinhim.
“Youhaven’tdoneanything,Ted?”
“Ihaven’tdoneanything.”Hetooktherubychainfromhispocket.“Youcanputiton.”
“But,Ted—”
“Thepolicehavegottherubiesallright—andthemanwhopinchedthem.Andnowreadthis!”
Hethrustanewspaperparagraphunderhernose.Dorothyread:
NEWADVERTISINGSTUNTAclevernewadvertisingdodgeisbeingadoptedbytheAll-EnglishFivepennyFairwhointendtochallengethefamousWoolworths.BasketsoffruitweresoldyesterdayandwillbeonsaleeverySunday.Outofeveryfiftybaskets,onewillcontainanimitationnecklaceindifferentcolouredstones.Thesenecklacesarereallywonderfulvalueforthemoney.GreatexcitementandmerrimentwascausedbythemyesterdayandeatmorefruitwillhaveagreatvoguenextSunday.WecongratulatetheFivepennyFairontheirresourceandwishthemallgoodluckintheircampaignofBuyBritishGoods.
“Well—”saidDorothy.
Andafterapause:“Well!”
“Yes,”saidEdward.“Ifeltthesame.”
Apassingmanthrustapaperintohishand.
“Takeone,brother,”hesaid.
“Thepriceofavirtuouswomanisfaraboverubies.”
“There!”saidEdward.“Ihopethatcheersyouup.”
“Idon’tknow,”saidDorothydoubtfully.“Idon’texactlywanttolooklikeagoodwoman.”
“Youdon’t,”saidEdward.“That’swhythemangavemethatpaper.Withthoserubiesroundyourneckyoudon’tlookonelittlebitlikeagoodwoman.”
Dorothylaughed.
“You’reratheradear,Ted,”shesaid.“Comeon,let’sgotothepictures.”
Six
THEGOLDENBALL
“TheGoldenBall”wasfirstpublishedas“PlayingtheInnocent”intheDailyMail,5August1929.
GeorgeDundasstoodintheCityofLondonmeditating.
Allabouthimtoilersandmoneymakerssurgedandflowedlikeanenvelopingtide.ButGeorge,beautifullydressed,histrousersexquisitelycreased,tooknoheedofthem.Hewasbusythinkingwhattodonext.
Somethinghadoccurred!BetweenGeorgeandhisrichuncle(EphraimLeadbetterofthefirmofLeadbetterandGilling)therehadbeenwhatiscalledinalowerwalkoflife“words.”TobestrictlyaccuratethewordshadbeenalmostentirelyonMr.Leadbetter’sside.Theyhadflowedfromhislipsinasteadystreamofbitterindignation,andthefactthattheyconsistedalmostentirelyofrepetitiondidnotseemtohaveworriedhim.TosayathingoncebeautifullyandthenletitalonewasnotoneofMr.Leadbetter’smottos.
Thethemewasasimpleone—thecriminalfollyandwickednessofayoungman,whohashiswaytomake,takingadayoffinthemiddleoftheweekwithoutevenaskingleave.Mr.Leadbetter,whenhehadsaideverythinghecouldthinkofandseveralthingstwice,pausedforbreathandaskedGeorgewhathemeantbyit.
Georgerepliedsimplythathehadfelthewantedadayoff.Aholiday,infact
Andwhat,Mr.Leadbetterwantedtoknow,wereSaturdayafternoonandSunday?TosaynothingofWhitsuntide,notlongpast,andAugustBankHolidaytocome?
Georgesaidhedidn’tcareforSaturdayafternoons,SundaysorBankHolidays.Hemeantarealday,whenitmightbepossibletofindsomespotwherehalfLondonwasnotassembledalready.
Mr.Leadbetterthensaidthathehaddonehisbestbyhisdeadsister’sson—nobodycouldsayhehadn’tgivenhimachance.Butitwasplainthatitwasnouse.AndinfutureGeorgecouldhavefiverealdayswithSaturdayandSundayaddedtodowithasheliked.
“Thegoldenballofopportunityhasbeenthrownupforyou,myboy,”saidMr.Leadbetterinalasttouchofpoeticalfancy.“Andyouhavefailedtograspit.”
Georgesaiditseemedtohimthatthatwasjustwhathehaddone,andMr.Leadbetterdroppedpoetryforwrathandtoldhimtogetout.
HenceGeorge—meditating.Wouldhisunclerelentorwouldhenot?HadheanysecretaffectionforGeorge,ormerelyacolddistaste?
Itwasjustatthatmomentthatavoice—amostunlikelyvoice—said,“Hallo!”
Ascarlettouringcarwithanimmenselongbonnethaddrawnuptothecurbbesidehim.Atthewheelwasthatbeautifulandpopularsocietygirl,MaryMontresor.(Thedescriptionisthatoftheillustratedpaperswhoproducedaportraitofheratleastfourtimesamonth.)ShewassmilingatGeorgeinanaccomplishedmanner.
“Ineverknewamancouldlooksolikeanisland,”saidMaryMontresor.“Wouldyouliketogetin?”
“Ishouldloveitaboveallthings,”saidGeorgewithnohesitation,andsteppedinbesideher.
Theyproceededslowlybecausethetrafficforbadeanythingelse.
“I’mtiredofthecity,”saidMaryMontresor.“Icametoseewhatitwaslike.IshallgobacktoLondon.”
Withoutpresumingtocorrecthergeography,Georgesaiditwasasplendididea.Theyproceededsometimesslowly,sometimeswithwildburstsofspeedwhenMaryMontresorsawachanceofcuttingin.ItseemedtoGeorgethatshewassomewhatoptimisticinthelatterview,buthereflectedthatonecouldonlydieonce.Hethoughtitbest,however,toessaynoconversation.Hepreferredhisfairdrivertokeepstrictlytothejobinhand.
Itwasshewhoreopenedtheconversation,choosingthemomentwhentheyweredoingawildsweeproundHydeParkCorner.
“Howwouldyouliketomarryme?”sheinquiredcasually.
Georgegaveagasp,butthatmayhavebeenduetoalargebusthatseemedtospellcertaindestruction.Hepridedhimselfonhisquicknessinresponse.
“Ishouldloveit,”herepliedeasily
“Well,”saidMaryMontresor,vaguely.“Perhapsyoumaysomeday.”
Theyturnedintothestraightwithoutaccident,andatthatmomentGeorgeperceivedlargenewbillsatHydeParkCornertubestation.SandwichedbetweenGRAVEPOLITICALSITUATIONandCOLONELINDOCK,onesaidSOCIETYGIRLTOMARRYDUKEandtheotherDUKEOFEDGEHILLANDMISSMONTRESOR
“What’sthisabouttheDukeofEdgehill?”demandedGeorgesternly.
“MeandBingo?We’reengaged.”
“Butthen—whatyousaidjustnow—”
“Oh,that,”saidMaryMontresor.“Yousee,Ihaven’tmadeupmymindwhoIshallactuallymarry.”
“Thenwhydidyougetengagedtohim?”
“JusttoseeifIcould.Everybodyseemedtothinkitwouldbefrightfullydifficult,anditwasn’tabit!”
“Veryroughluckon—er—Bingo,”saidGeorge,masteringhisembarrassmentatcallingareallivedukebyanickname
“Notatall,”saidMaryMontresor.“ItwillbegoodforBingoifanythingcoulddohimgood—whichIdoubt.”
Georgemadeanotherdiscovery—againaidedbyaconvenientposter.
“Why,ofcourse,it’scupdayatAscot.Ishouldhavethoughtthatwastheoneplaceyouweresimplyboundtobetoday.”
MaryMontresorsighed.
“Iwantedaholiday,”shesaidplaintively.
“Why,sodidI,”saidGeorge,delighted.“Andasaresultmyunclehaskickedmeouttostarve.”
“Thenincasewemarry,”saidMary,“mytwentythousandayearmaycomeinuseful?”
“Itwillcertainlyprovideuswithafewhomecomforts,”saidGeorge.
“Talkingofhomes,”saidMary,“let’sgointhecountryandfindahomewewouldliketolivein.”
Itseemedasimpleandcharmingplan.TheynegotiatedPutneyBridge,reachedtheKingstonbypassandwithasighofsatisfactionMarypressedherfootdownontheaccelerator.Theygotintothecountryveryquickly.ItwashalfanhourlaterthatwithasuddenexclamationMaryshotoutadramatichandandpointed.
Onthebrowofahillinfrontofthemtherenestledahouseofwhathouseagentsdescribe(butseldomtruthfully)as“old-world”charm.Imaginethedescriptionofmosthousesinthecountryreallycometrueforonce,andyougetanideaofthishouse.
Marydrewupoutsideawhitegate.
“We’llleavethecarandgoupandlookatit.It’sourhouse!”
“Decidedly,it’sourhouse,”agreedGeorge.“Butjustforthemomentotherpeopleseemtobelivinginit.”
Marydismissedtheotherpeoplewithawaveofherhand.Theywalkedupthewindingdrivetogether.Thehouseappearedevenmoredesirableatclosequarters
“We’llgoandpeepinatallthewindows,”saidMary.
Georgedemurred.
“Doyouthinktheotherpeople—?”
“Ishan’tconsiderthem.It’sourhouse—they’reonlylivinginitbyasortofaccident.Besides,it’salovelydayandthey’resuretobeout.Andifanyonedoescatchus,Ishallsay—Ishallsay—thatIthoughtitwasMrs.—Mrs.Pardonstenger’shouse,andthatIamsosorryImadeamistake.”
“Well,thatoughttobesafeenough,”saidGeorgereflectively.
Theylookedinthroughwindows.Thehousewasdelightfullyfurnished.Theyhadjustgottothestudywhenfootstepscrunchedonthegravelbehindthemandtheyturnedtofaceamostirreproachablebutler.
“Oh!”saidMary.Andthenputtingonhermostenchantingsmile,shesaid,“IsMrs.Pardonstengerin?Iwaslookingtoseeifshewasinthestudy.”
“Mrs.Pardonstengerisathome,madam,”saidthebutler.“Willyoucomethisway,please.”
Theydidtheonlythingtheycould.Theyfollowedhim.Georgewascalculatingwhattheoddsagainstthishappeningcouldpossiblybe.WithanamelikePardonstengerhecametotheconclusionitwasaboutoneintwentythousand.Hiscompanionwhispered,“Leaveittome.Itwillbeallright.”
Georgewasonlytoopleasedtoleaveittoher.Thesituation,heconsidered,calledforfemininefinesse.
Theywereshownintoadrawingroom.Nosoonerhadthebutlerlefttheroomthanthedooralmostimmediatelyreopenedandabigfloridladywithperoxidehaircameinexpectantly.
MaryMontresormadeamovementtowardsher,thenpausedinwell-simulatedsurprise.
“Why!”sheexclaimed.“Itisn’tAmy!Whatanextraordinarything!”
“Itisanextraordinarything,”saidagrimvoice.
AmanhadenteredbehindMrs.Pardonstenger,anenormousmanwithabulldogfaceandasinisterfrown.Georgethoughthehadneverseensuchanunpleasantbrute.Themanclosedthedoorandstoodwithhisbackagainstit.
“Averyextraordinarything,”herepeatedsneeringly.“ButIfancyweunderstandyourlittlegame!”Hesuddenlyproducedwhatseemedanoutsizeinrevolvers.“Handsup.Handsup,Isay.Frisk’em,Bella.”
Georgeinreadingdetectivestorieshadoftenwonderedwhatitmeanttobefrisked.Nowheknew.Bella(aliasMrs.P.)satisfiedherselfthatneitherhenorMaryconcealedanylethalweaponsontheirpersons.
“Thoughtyouweremightyclever,didn’tyou?”sneeredtheman.“Comingherelikethisandplayingtheinnocents.You’vemadeamistakethistime—abadmistake.Infact,Iverymuchdoubtwhetheryourfriendsandrelationswilleverseeyouagain.Ah!youwould,wouldyou?”asGeorgemadeamovement.“Noneofyourgames.I’dshootyouassoonaslookatyou.”
“Becareful,George,”quaveredMary.
“Ishall,”saidGeorgewithfeeling.“Verycareful.”
“Andnowmarch,”saidtheman.“Openthedoor,Bella.Keepyourhandsaboveyourheads,youtwo.Theladyfirst—that’sright.I’llcomebehindyouboth.Acrossthehall.Upstairs….”
Theyobeyed.Whatelsecouldtheydo?Marymountedthestairs,herhandsheldhigh.Georgefollowed.Behindthemcamethehugeruffian,revolverinhand.
Maryreachedthetopofthestaircaseandturnedthecorner.Atthesamemoment,withouttheleastwarning,Georgelungedoutinafiercebackwardkick.Hecaughtthemanfullinthemiddleandhecapsizedbackwardsdownthestairs.InamomentGeorgehadturnedandleapeddownafterhim,kneelingonhischest.Withhisrighthand,hepickeduptherevolverwhichhadfallenfromtheother’shandashefell.
Bellagaveascreamandretreatedthroughabaizedoor.Marycamerunningdownthestairs,herfaceaswhiteaspaper
“George,youhaven’tkilledhim?”
Themanwaslyingabsolutelystill.Georgebentoverhim.
“Idon’tthinkI’vekilledhim,”hesaidregretfully.“Buthe’scertainlytakenthecountallright.”
“ThankGod.”Shewasbreathingrapidly.
“Prettyneat,”saidGeorgewithpermissibleself-admiration.“Manyalessontobelearntfromajollyoldmule.Eh,what?”
Marypulledathishand.
“Comeaway,”shecriedfeverishly.“Comeawayquick.”
“Ifwehadsomethingtotiethisfellowupwith,”saidGeorge,intentonhisownplans.“Isupposeyoucouldn’tfindabitofropeorcordanywhere?”
“No,Icouldn’t,”saidMary.“Andcomeaway,please—please—I’msofrightened.”
“Youneedn’tbefrightened,”saidGeorgewithmanlyarrogance.“I’mhere.”
“DarlingGeorge,please—formysake.Idon’twanttobemixedupinthis.Pleaselet’sgo.”
Theexquisitewayinwhichshebreathedthewords“formysake”shookGeorge’sresolution.Heallowedhimselftobeledforthfromthehouseandhurrieddownthedrivetothewaitingcar.Marysaidfaintly:“Youdrive.Idon’tfeelIcan.”Georgetookcommandofthewheel.
“Butwe’vegottoseethisthingthrough,”hesaid.“Heavenknowswhatblackguardismthatnastylookingfellowisupto.Iwon’tbringthepoliceintoitifyoudon’twantmeto—butI’llhaveatryonmyown.Ioughttobeabletogetontheirtrackallright.”
“No,George,Idon’twantyouto.”
“Wehaveafirst-classadventurelikethis,andyouwantmetobackoutofit?Notonmylife.”
“I’dnoideayouweresobloodthirsty,”saidMarytearfully.
“I’mnotbloodthirsty.Ididn’tbeginit.Thedamnedcheekofthefellow—threateninguswithanoutsizerevolver.Bytheway—whyonearthdidn’tthatrevolvergooffwhenIkickedhimdownstairs?”
Hestoppedthecarandfishedtherevolveroutoftheside-pocketofthecarwherehehadplacedit.Afterexaminingit,hewhistled.
“Well,I’mdamned!Thethingisn’tloaded.IfI’dknownthat—”Hepaused,wrappedinthought.“Mary,thisisaverycuriousbusiness.”
“Iknowitis.That’swhyI’mbeggingyoutoleaveitalone.”
“Never,”saidGeorgefirmly.
Maryutteredaheartrendingsigh.
“Isee,”shesaid,“thatIshallhavetotellyou.AndtheworstofitisthatIhaven’ttheleastideahowyou’lltakeit.”
“Whatdoyoumean—tellme?”
“Yousee,it’slikethis.”Shepaused.“Ifeelgirlsshouldsticktogethernowadays—theyshouldinsistonknowingsomethingaboutthementheymeet.”
“Well?”saidGeorge,utterlyfogged.
“Andthemostimportantthingtoagirlishowamanwillbehaveinanemergency—hashegotpresenceofmind—courage—quickwittedness?That’sthekindofthingyoucanhardlyeverknow—untilit’stoolate.Anemergencymightn’tariseuntilyou’dbeenmarriedforyears.Allyoudoknowaboutamanishowhedancesandifhe’sgoodatgettingtaxisonawetnight.”
“Bothveryusefulaccomplishments,”Georgepointedout.
“Yes,butonewantstofeelamanisaman.”
“Thegreatwide-openspaceswheremenaremen.”Georgequotedabsently.
“Exactly.Butwehavenowide-openspacesinEngland.Soonehastocreateasituationartificially.That’swhatIdid.”
“Doyoumean—?”
“Idomean.Thathouse,asithappens,actuallyismyhouse.Wecametoitbydesign—notbychance.Andtheman—thatmanthatyounearlykilled—”
“Yes?”
“He’sRubeWallace—thefilmactor.Hedoesprizefighters,youknow.Thedearestandgentlestofmen.Iengagedhim.Bella’shiswife.That’swhyIwassoterrifiedthatyou’dkilledhim.Ofcoursetherevolverwasn’tloaded.It’sastageproperty.Oh,George,areyouveryangry?”
“AmIthefirstpersonyouhave—er—triedthisteston?”
“Oh,no.Therehavebeen—letmesee—nineandahalf!”
“Whowasthehalf?”inquiredGeorgewithcuriosity.
“Bingo,”repliedMarycoldly.
“Didanyofthemthinkofkickinglikeamule?”
“No—theydidn’t.Sometriedtoblusterandsomegaveinatonce,buttheyallallowedthemselvestobemarchedupstairsandtiedup,andgagged.Then,ofcourse,Imanagedtoworkmyselfloosefrommybonds—likeinbooks—andIfreedthemandwegotaway—findingthehouseempty.”
“Andnobodythoughtofthemuletrickoranythinglikeit?”
“No.”
“Inthatcase,”saidGeorgegraciously,“Iforgiveyou.”
“Thankyou,George,”saidMarymeekly
“Infact,”saidGeorge,“theonlyquestionthatarisesis:Wheredowegonow?I’mnotsureifit’sLambethPalaceorDoctor’sCommons,whereverthatis.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Thelicence.Aspeciallicence,Ithink,isindicated.You’retoofondofgettingengagedtoonemanandthenimmediatelyaskinganotheronetomarryyou.”
“Ididn’taskyoutomarryme!”
“Youdid.AtHydeParkCorner.NotaplaceIshouldchooseforaproposalmyself,buteveryonehastheiridiosyncrasiesinthesematters.”
“Ididnothingofthekind.Ijustasked,asajoke,whetheryouwouldcaretomarryme?Itwasn’tintendedseriously.”
“IfIweretotakecounsel’sopinion,Iamsurethathewouldsayitconstitutedagenuineproposal.Besides,youknowyouwanttomarryme.”
“Idon’t.”
“Notafternine-and-a-halffailures?Fancywhatafeelingofsecurityitwillgiveyoutogothroughlifewithamanwhocanextricateyoufromanydangeroussituation.”
Maryappearedtoweakenslightlyatthistellingargument.Butshesaidfirmly:“Iwouldn’tmarryanymanunlesshewentonhiskneestome.”
Georgelookedather.Shewasadorable.ButGeorgehadothercharacteristicsofthemulebesideitskick.Hesaidwithequalfirmness:
“Togoonone’skneestoanywomanisdegrading.Iwillnotdoit.”
Marysaidwithenchantingwistfulness:“Whatapity.”
TheydrovebacktoLondon.Georgewassternandsilent.Mary’sfacewashiddenbythebrimofherhat.AstheypassedHydeParkCorner,shemurmuredsoftly:
“Couldn’tyougoonyourkneestome?”
Georgesaidfirmly:“No.”
Hefelthewasbeingasuperman.Sheadmiredhimforhisattitude.Butunluckilyhesuspectedherofmulishtendenciesherself.Hedrewupsuddenly.
“Excuseme,”hesaid.
Hejumpedoutofthecar,retracedhisstepstoafruitbarrowtheyhadjustpassedandreturnedsoquicklythatthepolicemanwhowasbearingdownuponthemtoaskwhattheymeantbyit,hadnothadtimetoarrive.
Georgedroveon,lightlytossinganappleintoMary’slap.
“Eatmorefruit,”hesaid.“Alsosymbolical.”
“Symbolical?”
“Yes.OriginallyEvegaveAdamanapple.NowadaysAdamgivesEveone.See?”
“Yes,”saidMaryratherdoubtfully.
“WhereshallIdriveyou?”inquiredGeorgeformally.
“Home,please.”
HedrovetoGrosvenorSquare.Hisfacewasabsolutelyimpassive.Hejumpedoutandcameroundtohelpherout.Shemadealastappeal.
“DarlingGeorge—couldn’tyou?Justtopleaseme?”
“Never,”saidGeorge.
Andatthatmomentithappened.Heslipped,triedtorecoverhisbalanceandfailed.Hewaskneelinginthemudbeforeher.Marygaveasquealofjoyandclappedherhands.
“DarlingGeorge!NowIwillmarryyou.YoucangostraighttoLambethPalaceandfixupwiththeArchbishopofCanterburyaboutit.”
“Ididn’tmeanto,”saidGeorgehotly.“Itwasabl—er—abananaskin.”Heheldtheoffenderupreproachfully.
“Nevermind,”saidMary.“Ithappened.WhenwequarrelandyouthrowitinmyteeththatIproposedtoyou,IcanretortthatyouhadtogoonyourkneestomebeforeIwouldmarryyou.Andallbecauseofthatblessedbananaskin!Itwasablessedbananaskinyouweregoingtosay?”
“Somethingofthesort,”saidGeorge.
Atfive-thirtythatafternoon,Mr.Leadbetterwasinformedthathisnephewhadcalledandwouldliketoseehim.
“Calledtoeathumblepie,”saidMr.Leadbettertohimself.“IdaresayIwasratherhardonthelad,butitwasforhisowngood.”
AndhegaveordersthatGeorgeshouldbeadmitted.
Georgecameinairily.
“Iwantafewwordswithyou,uncle,”hesaid.“Youdidmeagraveinjusticethismorning.Ishouldliketoknowwhether,atmyage,youcouldhavegoneoutintothestreet,disownedbyyourrelatives,andbetweenthehoursofeleven-fifteenandfive-thirtyacquireanincomeoftwentythousandayear.ThisiswhatIhavedone!”
“You’remad,boy.”
“Notmad,resourceful!Iamgoingtomarryayoung,rich,beautifulsocietygirl.One,moreover,whoisthrowingoveradukeformysake.”
“Marryingagirlforhermoney?I’dnothavethoughtitofyou.”
“Andyou’dhavebeenright.Iwouldneverhavedaredtoaskherifshehadn’t—veryfortunately—askedme.Sheretractedafterwards,butImadeherchangehermind.Anddoyouknow,uncle,howallthiswasdone?Byajudiciousexpenditureoftwopenceandagraspingofthegoldenballofopportunity.”
“Whythetuppence?”askedMr.Leadbetter,financiallyinterested.
“Onebanana—offabarrow.Noteveryonewouldhavethoughtofthatbanana.Wheredoyougetamarriagelicence?IsitDoctor’sCommonsorLambethPalace?”
Seven
THERAJAH’SEMERALD
“TheRajah’sEmerald”wasfirstpublishedinRedMagazine,30July1926.
WithaseriouseffortJamesBondbenthisattentiononcemoreonthelittleyellowbookinhishand.Onitsoutsidethebookborethesimplebutpleasinglegend,“Doyouwantyoursalaryincreasedby￡300perannum?”Itspricewasoneshilling.Jameshadjustfinishedreadingtwopagesofcrispparagraphsinstructinghimtolookhisbossintheface,tocultivateadynamicpersonality,andtoradiateanatmosphereofefficiency.Hehadnowarrivedatasubtlermatter,“Thereisatimeforfrankness,thereisatimefordiscretion,”thelittleyellowbookinformedhim.“Astrongmandoesnotalwaysblurtoutallheknows.”Jamesletthelittlebookclose,andraisinghishead,gazedoutoverablueexpanseofocean.Ahorriblesuspicionassailedhim,thathewasnotastrongman.Astrongmanwouldhavebeenincommandofthepresentsituation,notavictimtoit.ForthesixtiethtimethatmorningJamesrehearsedhiswrongs.
Thiswashisholiday.Hisholiday?Ha,ha!Sardoniclaughter.Whohadpersuadedhimtocometothatfashionableseasideresort,Kimpton-on-Sea?Grace.Whohadurgedhimintoanexpenditureofmorethanhecouldafford?Grace.Andhehadfalleninwiththeplaneagerly.Shehadgothimhere,andwhatwastheresult?Whilsthewasstayinginanobscureboardinghouseaboutamileandahalffromthesea-front,Gracewhoshouldhavebeeninasimilarboardinghouse(notthesameone—theproprietiesofJames’scirclewereverystrict)hadflagrantlydesertedhim,andwasstayingatnolessthantheEsplanadeHotelupontheseafront.
Itseemedthatshehadfriendsthere.Friends!AgainJameslaughedsardonically.HismindwentbackoverthelastthreeyearsofhisleisurelycourtshipofGrace.Extremelypleasedshehadbeenwhenhefirstsingledheroutfornotice.ThatwasbeforeshehadrisentoheightsofgloryinthemillinerysalonatMessrsBartlesintheHighStreet.InthoseearlydaysithadbeenJameswhogavehimselfairs,nowalas!thebootwasontheotherleg.Gracewaswhatistechnicallyknownas“earninggoodmoney.”Ithadmadeheruppish.Yes,thatwasit,thoroughlyuppish.AconfusedfragmentoutofapoetrybookcamebacktoJames’smind,somethingabout“thankingheavenfasting,foragoodman’slove.”ButtherewasnothingofthatkindofthingobservableaboutGrace.WellfedonanEsplanadeHotelbreakfast,shewasignoringagoodman’sloveutterly.ShewasindeedacceptingtheattentionsofapoisonousidiotcalledClaudSopworth,aman,Jamesfeltconvinced,ofnomoralworthwhatsoever.
Jamesgroundaheelintothetheearth,andscowleddarklyatthehorizon.Kimpton-on-Sea.Whathadpossessedhimtocometosuchaplace?Itwaspreeminentlyaresortoftherichandfashionable,itpossessedtwolargehotels,andseveralmilesofpicturesquebungalowsbelongingtofashionableactresses,richJewsandthosemembersoftheEnglisharistocracywhohadmarriedwealthywives.Therent,furnished,ofthesmallestbungalowwastwenty-fiveguineasaweek.Imaginationboggledatwhattherentofthelargeonesmightamountto.TherewasoneofthesepalacesimmediatelybehindJames’sseat.ItbelongedtothatfamoussportsmanLordEdwardCampion,andtherewerestayingthereatthemomentahousefulofdistinguishedguestsincludingtheRajahofMaraputna,whosewealthwasfabulous.Jameshadreadallabouthiminthelocalweeklynewspaperthatmorning;theextentofhisIndianpossessions,hispalaces,hiswonderfulcollectionofjewels,withaspecialmentionofonefamousemeraldwhichthepapersdeclaredenthusiasticallywasthesizeofapigeon’segg.James,beingtownbred,wassomewhathazyaboutthesizeofapigeon’segg,buttheimpressionleftonhismindwasgood
“IfIhadanemeraldlikethat,”saidJames,scowlingatthehorizonagain,“I’dshowGrace.”
Thesentimentwasvague,buttheenunciationofitmadeJamesfeelbetter.Laughingvoiceshailedhimfrombehind,andheturnedabruptlytoconfrontGrace.WithherwasClaraSopworth,AliceSopworth,DorothySopworthand—alas!ClaudSopworth.Thegirlswerearm-in-armandgiggling.
“Why,youarequiteastranger,”criedGracearchly.
“Yes,”saidJames.
Hecould,hefelt,havefoundamoretellingretort.Youcannotconveytheimpressionofadynamicpersonalitybytheuseoftheoneword“yes.”HelookedwithintenseloathingatClaudSopworth.ClaudSopworthwasalmostasbeautifullydressedastheheroofamusicalcomedy.Jameslongedpassionatelyforthemomentwhenanenthusiasticbeachdog
“Isn’ttheairbeautiful?”saidClara,sniffingitappreciatively.“Quitesetsyouup,doesn’tit?”
Shegiggled.
“It’sozone,”saidAliceSopworth.“It’sasgoodasatonic,youknow.”Andshegiggledalso.
Jamesthought:
“Ishouldliketoknocktheirsillyheadstogether.Whatisthesenseoflaughingallthetime?Theyarenotsayinganythingfunny.”
TheimmaculateClaudmurmuredlanguidly:
“Shallwehaveabathe,orisittoomuchofafag?”
Theideaofbathingwasacceptedshrilly.Jamesfellintolinewiththem.Heevenmanaged,withacertainamountofcunning,todrawGracealittlebehindtheothers.
“Lookhere!”hecomplained,“Iamhardlyseeinganythingofyou.”
“Well,Iamsurewearealltogethernow,”saidGrace,“andyoucancomeandlunchwithusatthehotel,atleast—”
ShelookeddubiouslyatJames’slegs.
“Whatisthematter?”demandedJamesferociously.“Notsmartenoughforyou,Isuppose?”
“Idothink,dear,youmighttakealittlemorepains,”saidGrace.“Everyoneissofearfullysmarthere.LookatClaudSopworth!”
“Ihavelookedathim,”saidJamesgrimly.“Ihaveneverseenamanwholookedamorecompleteassthanhedoes.”
Gracedrewherselfup.
“Thereisnoneedtocriticizemyfriends,James,it’snotmanners.He’sdressedjustlikeanyothergentlemanatthehotelisdressed.”
“Bah!”saidJames.“DoyouknowwhatIreadtheotherdayin‘SocietySnippets?’Why,thattheDukeof—theDukeof,Ican’tremember,butoneduke,anyway,wastheworst-dressedmaninEngland,there!”
“Idaresay,”saidGrace,“butthen,yousee,heisaduke.”
“Well?”demandedJames.“Whatiswrongwithmybeingadukesomeday?Atleast,well,notperhapsaduke,butapeer.”
Heslappedtheyellowbookinhispocket,andrecitedtoheralonglistofpeersoftherealmwhohadstartedlifemuchmoreobscurelythanJamesBond.Gracemerelygiggled.
“Don’tbesosoft,James,”shesaid.“FancyyouEarlofKimpton-on-Sea!”
Jamesgazedatherinmingledrageanddespair.TheairofKimpton-on-SeahadcertainlygonetoGrace’shead.
ThebeachatKimptonisalong,straightstretchofsand.Arowofbathinghutsandboxesstretchedevenlyalongitforaboutamileandahalf.Thepartyhadjuststoppedbeforearowofsixhutsalllabelledimposingly,“ForvisitorstotheEsplanadeHotelonly.”
“Hereweare,”saidGracebrightly;“butI’mafraidyoucan’tcomeinwithus,James,you’llhavetogoalongtothepublictentsoverthere.We’llmeetyouinthesea.Solong!”
“Solong!”saidJames,andhestrodeoffinthedirectionindicated.
Twelvedilapidatedtentsstoodsolemnlyconfrontingtheocean.Anagedmarinerguardedthem,arollofbluepaperinhishand.HeacceptedacoinoftherealmfromJames,torehimoffablueticketfromhisroll,threwhimoveratowel,andjerkedonethumboverhisshoulder.
“Takeyourturn,”hesaidhuskily.
ItwasthenthatJamesawoketothefactofcompetition.Othersbesideshimselfhadconceivedtheideaofenteringthesea.Notonlywaseachtentoccupied,butoutsideeachtentwasadetermined-lookingcrowdofpeopleglaringateachother.Jamesattachedhimselftothesmallestgroupandwaited.Thestringsofthetentparted,andabeautifulyoungwoman,sparselyclad,emergedonthescenesettlingherbathingcapwiththeairofonewhohadthewholemorningtowaste.Shestrolleddowntothewater’sedge,andsatdowndreamilyonthesands.
“That’snogood,”saidJamestohimself,andattachedhimselfforthwithtoanothergroup.
Afterwaitingfiveminutes,soundsofactivitywereapparentinthesecondtent.Withheavingsandstrainings,theflapspartedasunderandfourchildrenandafatherandmotheremerged.Thetentbeingsosmall,ithadsomethingoftheappearanceofaconjuringtrick.Ontheinstanttwowomensprangforwardeachgraspingoneflapofthetent.
“Excuseme,”saidthefirstyoungwoman,pantingalittle.
“Excuseme,”saidtheotheryoungwoman,glaring.
“IwouldhaveyouknowIwasherequitetenminutesbeforeyouwere,”saidthefirstyoungwomanrapidly.
“Ihavebeenhereagoodquarterofanhour,asanyonewilltellyou,”saidthesecondyoungwomandefiantly.
“Nowthen,nowthen,”saidtheagedmariner,drawingnear.
Bothyoungwomenspoketohimshrilly.Whentheyhadfinished,hejerkedhisthumbatthesecondyoungwoman,andsaidbriefly:
“It’syours.”
Thenhedeparted,deaftoremonstrances.Heneitherknewnorcaredwhichhadbeentherefirst,buthisdecision,astheysayinnewspapercompetitions,wasfinal.ThedespairingJamescaughtathisarm.
“Lookhere!Isay!”
“Well,mister?”
“HowlongisitgoingtobebeforeIgetatent?”
Theagedmarinerthrewadispassionateglanceoverthewaitingthrong.
“Mightbeanhour,mightbeanhourandahalf,Ican’tsay.”
AtthatmomentJamesespiedGraceandtheSopworthgirlsrunninglightlydownthesandstowardsthesea.
“Damn!”saidJamestohimself.“Oh,damn!”
Hepluckedoncemoreattheagedmariner.
“Can’tIgetatentanywhereelse?Whataboutoneofthesehutsalonghere?Theyallseemempty.”
“Thehuts,”saidtheancientmarinerwithdignity,“areprivate.”
Havingutteredthisrebuke,hepassedon.Withabitterfeelingofhavingbeentricked,Jamesdetachedhimselffromthewaitinggroups,andstrodesavagelydownthebeach.Itwasthelimit!Itwastheabsolute,completelimit!Heglaredsavagelyatthetrimbathingboxeshepassed.InthatmomentfrombeinganIndependentLiberal,hebecameared-hotSocialist.Whyshouldtherichhavebathingboxesandbeabletobatheanyminutetheychosewithoutwaitinginacrowd?“Thissystemofours,”saidJamesvaguely,“isallwrong.”
Fromtheseacamethecoquettishscreamsofthesplashed.Grace’svoice!Andabovehersqueaks,theinane“Ha,ha,ha,”ofClaudSopworth.
“Damn!”saidJames,grindinghisteeth,athingwhichhehadneverbeforeattempted,onlyreadaboutinworksoffiction.
Hecametoastop,twirlinghissticksavagely,andturninghisbackfirmlyonthesea.Instead,hegazedwithconcentratedhatreduponEagle’sNest,BuenaVista,andMonDesir.ItwasthecustomoftheinhabitantsofKimpton-on-Seatolabeltheirbathinghutswithfancynames.Eagle’sNestmerelystruckJamesasbeingsilly,andBuenaVistawasbeyondhislinguisticaccomplishments.ButhisknowledgeofFrenchwassufficienttomakehimrealizetheappositenessofthethirdname.
“MongDesire,”saidJames.“Ishouldjollywellthinkitwas.”
Andonthatmomenthesawthatwhilethedoorsoftheotherbathinghutsweretightlyclosed,thatofMonDesirwasajar.Jameslookedthoughtfullyupanddownthebeach,thisparticularspotwasmainlyoccupiedbymothersoflargefamilies,busilyengagedinsuperintendingtheiroffspring.Itwasonlyteno’clock,tooearlyasyetforthearistocracyofKimpton-on-Seatohavecomedowntobathe.
“Eatingquailsandmushroomsintheirbedsaslikelyasnot,broughttothemontraysbypowderedfootmen,pah!Notoneofthemwillbedownherebeforetwelveo’clock,”thoughtJames.
Helookedagaintowardsthesea.Withtheobedienceofawell-trainedleitmotif,theshrillscreamofGraceroseupontheair.Itwasfollowedbythe“Ha,ha,ha,”ofClaudSopworth.
“Iwill,”saidJamesbetweenhisteeth.
HepushedopenthedoorofMonDesirandentered.Forthemomenthehadafright,ashecaughtsightofsundrygarmentshangingfrompegs,buthewasquicklyreassured.Thehutwaspartitionedintotwo,ontheright-handside,agirl’syellowsweater,abatteredpanamahatandapairofbeachshoesweredependingfromapeg.Ontheleft-handsideanoldpairofgreyflanneltrousers,apullover,andasou’westerproclaimedthefactthatthesexesweresegregated.Jameshastilytransferredhimselftothegentlemen’spartofthehut,andundressedrapidly.Threeminuteslater,hewasintheseapuffingandsnortingimportantly,doingextremelyshortburstsofprofessional-lookingswimming—headunderthewater,armslashingthesea—thatstyle.
“Oh,thereyouare!”criedGrace.“Iwasafraidyouwouldn’tbeinforageswithallthatcrowdofpeoplewaitingthere.”
“Really?”saidJames.
Hethoughtwithaffectionateloyaltyoftheyellowbook.“Thestrongmancanonoccasionsbediscreet.”Forthemomenthistemperwasquiterestored.HewasabletosaypleasantlybutfirmlytoClaudSopworth,whowasteachingGracetheoverarmstroke:
“No,no,oldman,youhavegotitallwrong.I’llshowher.”
Andsuchwastheassuranceofhistone,thatClaudwithdrewdiscomfited.Theonlypityofitwas,thathistriumphwasshort-lived.ThetemperatureofourEnglishwatersisnotsuchastoinducebatherstoremaininthemforanylengthoftime.GraceandtheSopworthgirlswerealreadydisplayingbluechinsandchatteringteeth.Theyracedupthebeach,andJamespursuedhissolitarywaybacktoMonDesir.Ashetowelledhimselfvigorouslyandslippedhisshirtoverhishead,hewaspleasedwithhimself.Hehad,hefelt,displayedadynamicpersonality.
Andthensuddenlyhestoodstill,frozenwithterror.Girlishvoicessoundedfromoutside,andvoicesquitedifferentfromthoseofGraceandherfriends.Amomentlaterhehadrealizedthetruth,therightfulownersofMonDesirwerearriving.ItispossiblethatifJameshadbeenfullydressed,hewouldhavewaitedtheiradventinadignifiedmanner,andattemptedanexplanation.Asitwasheactedonpanic.ThewindowsofMonDesirweremodestlyscreenedbydarkgreencurtains.Jamesflunghimselfonthedoorandheldtheknobinadesperateclutch.Handstriedineffectuallytoturnitfromoutside.
“It’slockedafterall,”saidagirl’svoice.“IthoughtPegsaiditwasopen.”
“No,Wogglesaidso.”
“Woggleisthelimit,”saidtheothergirl.“Howperfectlyfoul,weshallhavetogobackforthekey.”
Jamesheardtheirfootstepsretreating.Hedrewalong,deepbreath.Indesperatehastehehuddledontherestofhisgarments.Twominuteslatersawhimstrollingnegligentlydownthebeachwithanalmostaggressiveairofinnocence.GraceandtheSopworthgirlsjoinedhimonthebeachaquarterofanhourlater.Therestofthemorningpassedagreeablyinstonethrowing,writinginthesandandlightbadinage.ThenClaudglancedathiswatch.
“Lunchtime,”heobserved.“We’dbetterbestrollingback.”
“I’mterriblyhungry,”saidAliceSopworth.
Alltheothergirlssaidthattheywereterriblyhungrytoo.
“Areyoucoming,James?”askedGrace.
DoubtlessJameswasundulytouchy.Hechosetotakeoffenceathertone.
“Notifmyclothesarenotgoodenoughforyou,”hesaidbitterly.“Perhaps,asyouaresoparticular,I’dbetternotcome.”
ThatwasGrace’scueformurmuredprotestations,buttheseasideairhadaffectedGraceunfavourably.Shemerelyreplied:
“Verywell.Justasyoulike,seeyouthisafternoonthen.”
Jameswasleftdumbfounded.
“Well!”hesaid,staringaftertheretreatinggroup.“Well,ofallthe—”
Hestrolledmoodilyintothetown.ThereweretwocafésinKimpton-on-Sea,theyarebothhot,noisyandovercrowded.Itwastheaffairofthebathinghutsoncemore,Jameshadtowaithisturn.Hehadtowaitlongerthanhisturn,anunscrupulousmatronwhohadjustarrivedforestallinghimwhenavacantseatdidpresentitself.Atlasthewasseatedatasmalltable.ClosetohisleftearthreeraggedlybobbedmaidensweremakingadeterminedhashofItalianopera.FortunatelyJameswasnotmusical.Hestudiedthebilloffaredispassionately,hishandsthrustdeepintohispockets.Hethoughttohimself:
“WhateverIaskforit’ssuretobe‘off.’That’sthekindoffellowIam.”
Hisrighthand,gropingintherecessesofhispocket,touchedanunfamiliarobject.Itfeltlikeapebble,alargeroundpebble.
“WhatonearthdidIwanttoputastoneinmypocketfor?”thoughtJames.
Hisfingersclosedroundit.Awaitressdrifteduptohim.
“Friedplaiceandchippedpotatoes,please,”saidJames.
“Friedplaiceis‘off,’”murmuredthewaitress,hereyesfixeddreamilyontheceiling.
“ThenI’llhavecurriedbeef,”saidJames.
“Curriedbeefis‘off.’”
“Isthereanythingonthisbeastlymenuthatisn’t‘off?’”demandedJames.
Thewaitresslookedpained,andplacedapale-greyforefingeragainstharicotmutton.Jamesresignedhimselftotheinevitableandorderedharicotmutton.Hismindstillseethingwithresentmentagainstthewaysofcafés,hedrewhishandoutofhispocket,thestonestillinit.Unclosinghisfingers,helookedabsent-mindedlyattheobjectinhispalm.Thenwithashockalllessermatterspassedfromhismind,andhestaredwithallhiseyes.Thethingheheldwasnotapebble,itwas—hecouldhardlydoubtit—anemerald,anenormousgreenemerald.Jamesstaredatithorror-stricken.No,itcouldn’tbeanemerald,itmustbecolouredglass.Therecouldn’tbeanemeraldofthatsize,unless—printedwordsdancedbeforeJames’seyes,“TheRajahofMaraputna—famousemeraldthesizeofapigeon’segg.”Wasit—coulditbe—thatemeraldatwhichhewasnowlooking?Thewaitressreturnedwiththeharicotmutton,andJamesclosedhisfingersspasmodically.Hotandcoldshiverschasedthemselvesupanddownhisspine.Hehadthesenseofbeingcaughtinaterribledilemma.Ifthiswastheemerald—butwasit?Coulditbe?Heunclosedhisfingersandpeepedanxiously.Jameswasnoexpertonpreciousstones,butthedepthandtheglowofthejewelconvincedhimthiswastherealthing.Heputbothelbowsonthetableandleanedforwardstaringwithunseeingeyesattheharicotmuttonslowlycongealingonthedishinfrontofhim.Hehadgottothinkthisout.IfthiswastheRajah’semerald,whatwashegoingtodoaboutit?Theword“police”flashedintohismind.Ifyoufoundanythingofvalueyoutookittothepolicestation.UponthisaxiomhadJamesbeenbroughtup.
Yes,but—howonearthhadtheemeraldgotintohistrouserpocket?Thatwasdoubtlessthequestionthepolicewouldask.Itwasanawkwardquestion,anditwasmoreoveraquestiontowhichhehadatthemomentnoanswer.Howhadtheemeraldgotintohistrouserpocket?Helookeddespairinglydownathislegs,andashedidsoamisgivingshotthroughhim.Helookedmoreclosely.Onepairofoldgreyflanneltrousersisverymuchlikeanotherpairofoldgreyflanneltrousers,butallthesame,Jameshadaninstinctivefeelingthatthesewerenothistrousersafterall.Hesatbackinhischairstunnedwiththeforceofthediscovery.Hesawnowwhathadhappened,inthehurryofgettingoutofthebathinghut,hehadtakenthewrongtrousers.Hehadhunghisown,heremembered,onanadjacentpegtotheoldpairhangingthere.Yes,thatexplainedmatterssofar,hehadtakenthewrongtrousers.Butallthesame,whatonearthwasanemeraldworthhundredsandthousandsofpoundsdoingthere?Themorehethoughtaboutit,themorecuriousitseemed.Hecould,ofcourse,explaintothepolice—
Itwasawkward,nodoubtaboutit,itwasdecidedlyawkward.Onewouldhavetomentionthefactthatonehaddeliberatelyenteredsomeoneelse’sbathinghut.Itwasnot,ofcourse,aseriousoffence,butitstartedhimoffwrong.
“CanIbringyouanythingelse,sir?”
Itwasthewaitressagain.Shewaslookingpointedlyattheuntouchedharicotmutton.Jameshastilydumpedsomeofitonhisplateandaskedforhisbill.Havingobtainedit,hepaidandwentout.Ashestoodundecidedlyinthestreet,aposteroppositecaughthiseye.TheadjacenttownofHarchesterpossessedaneveningpaper,anditwasthecontentsbillofthispaperthatJameswaslookingat.Itannouncedasimple,sensationalfact:“TheRajah’sEmeraldStolen.”“MyGod,”saidJamesfaintly,andleanedagainstapillar.Pullinghimselftogetherhefishedoutapennyandpurchasedacopyofthepaper.Hewasnotlonginfindingwhathesought.Sensationalitemsoflocalnewswerefewandfarbetween.Largeheadlinesadornedthefrontpage.“SensationalBurglaryatLordEdwardCampion’s.TheftofFamousHistoricalEmerald.RajahofMaraputna’sTerribleLoss.”Thefactswerefewandsimple.LordEdwardCampionhadentertainedseveralfriendstheeveningbefore.Wishingtoshowthestonetooneoftheladiespresent,theRajahhadgonetofetchitandhadfounditmissing.Thepolicehadbeencalledin.Sofarnocluehadbeenobtained.Jamesletthepaperfalltotheground.Itwasstillnotcleartohimhowtheemeraldhadcometobereposinginthepocketofanoldpairofflanneltrousersinabathinghut,butitwasborneinuponhimeveryminutethatthepolicewouldcertainlyregardhisownstoryassuspicious.Whatonearthwashetodo?Herehewas,standingintheprincipalstreetofKimpton-on-Seawithstolenbootyworthaking’sransomreposingidlyinhispocket,whilsttheentirepoliceforceofthedistrictwerebusilysearchingforjustthatsamebooty.Thereweretwocoursesopentohim.Coursenumberone,togostraighttothepolicestationandtellhisstory—butitmustbeadmittedthatJamesfunkedthatcoursebadly.Coursenumbertwo,somehoworothertogetridoftheemerald.ItoccurredtohimtodoitupinaneatlittleparcelandpostitbacktotheRajah.Thenheshookhishead,hehadreadtoomanydetectivestoriesforthatsortofthing.Heknewhowyoursupersleuthcouldgetbusywithamagnifyingglassandeverykindofpatentdevice.AnydetectiveworthhissaltwouldgetbusyonJames’sparcelandwouldinhalfanhourorsohavediscoveredthesender’sprofession,age,habitsandpersonalappearance.Afterthatitwouldbeamerematterofhoursbeforehewastrackeddown.
ItwasthenthataschemeofdazzlingsimplicitysuggesteditselftoJames.Itwastheluncheonhour,thebeachwouldbecomparativelydeserted,hewouldreturntoMonDesir,hangupthetrouserswherehehadfoundthem,andregainhisowngarments.Hestartedbrisklytowardsthebeach.
Nevertheless,hisconscienceprickedhimslightly.TheemeraldoughttobereturnedtotheRajah.Heconceivedtheideathathemightperhapsdoalittledetectivework—once,thatis,thathehadregainedhisowntrousersandreplacedtheothers.Inpursuanceofthisidea,hedirectedhisstepstowardstheagedmariner,whomherightlyregardedasbeinganexhaustiblesourceofKimptoninformation.
“Excuseme!”saidJamespolitely;“butIbelieveafriendofminehasahutonthisbeach,Mr.CharlesLampton.ItiscalledMonDesir,Ifancy.”
Theagedmarinerwassittingverysquarelyinachair,apipeinhismouth,gazingouttosea.Heshiftedhispipealittle,andrepliedwithoutremovinghisgazefromthehorizon:
“MonDesirbelongstohislordship,LordEdwardCampion,everyoneknowsthat.IneverheardofMr.CharlesLampton,hemustbeanewcomer.”
“Thankyou,”saidJames,andwithdrew
Theinformationstaggeredhim.SurelytheRajahcouldnothimselfhaveslippedthestoneintothepocketandforgottenit.Jamesshookhishead,thetheorydidnotsatisfyhim,butevidentlysomememberofthehousepartymustbethethief.ThesituationremindedJamesofsomeofhisfavouriteworksoffiction.
Nevertheless,hisownpurposeremainedunaltered.Allfellouteasilyenough.Thebeachwas,ashehopeditwouldbe,practicallydeserted.Morefortunatestill,thedoorofMonDesirremainedajar.Toslipinwastheworkofamoment,Edwardwasjustliftinghisowntrousersfromthehook,whenavoicebehindhimmadehimspinroundsuddenly.
“SoIhavecaughtyou,myman!”saidthevoice.
Jamesstaredopenmouthed.InthedoorwayofMonDesirstoodastranger;awell-dressedmanofaboutfortyyearsofage,hisfacekeenandhawklike.
“SoIhavecaughtyou!”thestrangerrepeated.
“Who—whoareyou?”stammeredJames.
“Detective-InspectorMerrileesfromtheYard,”saidtheothercrisply.“AndIwilltroubleyoutohandoverthatemerald.”
“The—theemerald?”
Jameswasseekingtogaintime.
“That’swhatIsaid,didn’tI?”saidInspectorMerrilees.
Hehadacrisp,businesslikeenunciation.Jamestriedtopullhimselftogether
“Idon’tknowwhatyouaretalkingabout,”hesaidwithanassumptionofdignity.
“Oh,yes,mylad,Ithinkyoudo.”
“Thewholething,”saidJames,“isamistake.Icanexplainitquiteeasily—”Hepaused.
Alookofwearinesshadsettledonthefaceoftheother.
“Theyalwayssaythat,”murmuredtheScotlandYardmandryly.“Isupposeyoupickeditupasyouwerestrollingalongthebeach,eh?Thatisthesortofexplanation.”
Itdidindeedbeararesemblancetoit,Jamesrecognizedthefact,butstillhetriedtogaintime.
“HowdoIknowyouarewhatyousayyouare?”hedemandedweakly.
Merrileesflappedbackhiscoatforamoment,showingabadge.Edwardstaredathimwitheyesthatpoppedoutofhishead.
“Andnow,”saidtheotheralmostgenially,“youseewhatyouareupagainst!Youareanovice—Icantellthat.Yourfirstjob,isn’tit?”
Jamesnodded.
“Ithoughtasmuch.Now,myboy,areyougoingtohandoverthatemerald,orhaveIgottosearchyou?”
Jamesfoundhisvoice.
“I—Ihaven’tgotitonme,”hedeclared.
Hewasthinkingdesperately.
“Leftitatyourlodgings?”queriedMerrilees.
Jamesnodded.
“Verywell,then,”saidthedetective,“wewillgotheretogether.”
HeslippedhisarmthroughJames’s.
“Iamtakingnochancesofyourgettingawayfromme,”hesaidgently.“Wewillgotoyourlodgings,andyouwillhandthatstoneovertome.”
Jamesspokeunsteadily.
“IfIdo,willyouletmego?”heaskedtremulously.
Merrileesappearedembarrassed.
“Weknowjusthowthatstonewastaken,”heexplained,“andabouttheladyinvolved,and,ofcourse,asfarasthatgoes—well,theRajahwantsithushedup.Youknowwhatthesenativerulersare?”
James,whoknewnothingwhatsoeveraboutnativerulers,exceptforonecausecélèbre,noddedhisheadwithanappearanceofeagercomprehension.
“Itwillbemostirregular,ofcourse,”saidthedetective;“butyoumaygetoffscot-free.”
AgainJamesnodded.TheyhadwalkedthelengthoftheEsplanade,andwerenowturningintothetown.Jamesintimatedthedirection,buttheothermanneverrelinquishedhissharpgriponJames’sarm.
SuddenlyJameshesitatedandhalfspoke.Merrileeslookedupsharply,andthenlaughed.Theywerejustpassingthepolicestation,andhenoticedJames’sagonizedglancesatit.
“Iamgivingyouachancefirst,”hesaidgood-humouredly.
Itwasatthatmomentthatthingsbegantohappen.AloudbellowbrokefromJames,heclutchedtheother’sarm,andyelledatthetopofhisvoice:
“Help!thief.Help!thief.”
Acrowdsurroundedtheminlessthanaminute.MerrileeswastryingtowrenchhisarmfromJames’sgrasp.
“Ichargethisman,”criedJames.“Ichargethisman,hepickedmypocket.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout,youfool?”criedtheother.
Aconstabletookchargeofmatters.Mr.MerrileesandJameswereescortedintothepolicestation.Jamesreiteratedhiscomplaint.
“Thismanhasjustpickedmypocket,”hedeclaredexcitedly.“Hehasgotmynotecaseinhisright-handpocket,there!”
“Themanismad,”grumbledtheother.“Youcanlookforyourself,Inspector,andseeifheistellingthetruth.”
Atasignfromtheinspector,theconstableslippedhishanddeferentiallyintoMerrilees’spocket.Hedrewsomethingoutandhelditupwithagaspofastonishment.
“MyGod!”saidtheinspector,startledoutofprofessionaldecorum.“ItmustbetheRajah’semerald.”
Merrileeslookedmoreincredulousthananyoneelse.
“Thisismonstrous,”hespluttered;“monstrous.Themanmusthaveputitintomypockethimselfaswewerewalkingalongtogether.It’saplant.”
TheforcefulpersonalityofMerrileescausedtheinspectortowaver.HissuspicionsswungroundtoJames.Hewhisperedsomethingtotheconstable,andthelatterwentout.
“Nowthen,gentlemen,”saidtheinspector,“letmehaveyourstatementsplease,oneatatime.”
“Certainly,”saidJames.“Iwaswalkingalongthebeach,whenImetthisgentleman,andhepretendedhewasacquaintedwithme.Icouldnotrememberhavingmethimbefore,butIwastoopolitetosayso.Wewalkedalongtogether.Ihadmysuspicionsofhim,andjustwhenwegotoppositethepolicestation,Ifoundhishandinmypocket.Iheldontohimandshoutedforhelp.”
TheinspectortransferredhisglancetoMerrilees.
“Andnowyou,sir.”
Merrileesseemedalittleembarrassed.
“Thestoryisverynearlyright,”hesaidslowly;“butnotquite.ItwasnotIwhoscrapedacquaintancewithhim,buthewhoscrapedacquaintancewithme.Doubtlesshewastryingtogetridoftheemerald,andslippeditintomypocketwhileweweretalking.”
Theinspectorstoppedwriting.
“Ah!”hesaidimpartially.“Well,therewillbeagentlemanhereinaminutewhowillhelpustogettothebottomofthecase.”
Merrileesfrowned.
“Itisreallyimpossibleformetowait,”hemurmured,pullingouthiswatch.“Ihaveanappointment.Surely,inspector,youcan’tbesoridiculousastosupposeI’dstealtheemeraldandwalkalongwithitinmypocket?”
“Itisnotlikely,sir,Iagree,”theinspectorreplied.“Butyouwillhavetowaitjustamatteroffiveortenminutestillwegetthisthingclearedup.Ah!hereishislordship.”
Atallmanoffortystrodeintotheroom.Hewaswearingapairofdilapidatedtrousersandanoldsweater.
“Nowthen,inspector,whatisallthis?”hesaid.“Youhavegotholdoftheemerald,yousay?That’ssplendid,verysmartwork.Whoarethesepeopleyouhavegothere?”
HiseyesrangedoverJamesandcametorestonMerrilees.Theforcefulpersonalityofthelatterseemedtodwindleandshrink.
“Why—Jones!”exclaimedLordEdwardCampion.
“Yourecognizethisman,LordEdward?”askedtheinspectorsharply.
“CertainlyIdo,”saidLordEdwarddryly.“Heismyvalet,cametomeamonthago.ThefellowtheysentdownfromLondonwasontohimatonce,buttherewasnotatraceoftheemeraldanywhereamonghisbelongings.”
“Hewascarryingitinhiscoatpocket,”theinspectordeclared.“Thisgentlemanputusontohim.”HeindicatedJames.
InanotherminuteJameswasbeingwarmlycongratulatedandshakenbythehand.
“Mydearfellow,”saidLordEdwardCampion.“Soyoususpectedhimallalong,yousay?”
“Yes,”saidJames.“Ihadtotrumpupthestoryaboutmypocketbeingpickedtogethimintothepolicestation.”
“Well,itissplendid,”saidLordEdward,“absolutelysplendid.Youmustcomebackandlunchwithus,thatisifyouhaven’tlunched.Itislate,Iknow,gettingonfortwoo’clock.”
“No,”saidJames;“Ihaven’tlunched—but—”
“Notaword,notaword,”saidLordEdward.“TheRajah,youknow,willwanttothankyouforgettingbackhisemeraldforhim.NotthatIhavequitegotthehangofthestoryyet.”
Theywereoutofthepolicestationbynow,standingonthesteps.
“Asamatteroffact,”saidJames,“IthinkIshouldliketotellyouthetruestory.”
Hedidso.Hislordshipwasverymuchentertained.
“BestthingIeverheardinmylife,”hedeclared.“Iseeitallnow.Jonesmusthavehurrieddowntothebathinghutassoonashehadpinchedthething,knowingthatthepolicewouldmakeathoroughsearchofthehouse.ThatoldpairoftrousersIsometimesputonforgoingoutfishing,nobodywaslikelytotouchthem,andhecouldrecoverthejewelathisleisure.Musthavebeenashocktohimwhenhecametodaytofinditgone.Assoonasyouappeared,herealizedthatyouwerethepersonwhohadremovedthestone.Istilldon’tquiteseehowyoumanagedtoseethroughthatdetectiveposeofhis,though!”
“Astrongman,”thoughtJamestohimself,“knowswhentobefrankandwhentobediscreet.”
Hesmileddeprecatinglywhilsthisfingerspassedgentlyovertheinsideofhiscoatlapelfeelingthesmallsilverbadgeofthatlittle-knownclub,theMertonParkSuperCyclingClub.AnastonishingcoincidencethatthemanJonesshouldalsobeamember,butthereitwas!
“Hallo,James!”
Heturned.GraceandtheSopworthgirlswerecallingtohimfromtheothersideoftheroad.HeturnedtoLordEdward
“Excusemeamoment?”
Hecrossedtheroadtothem.
“Wearegoingtothepictures,”saidGrace.“Thoughtyoumightliketocome.”
“Iamsorry,”saidJames.“IamjustgoingbacktolunchwithLordEdwardCampion.Yes,thatmanoverthereinthecomfortableoldclothes.HewantsmetomeettheRajahofMaraputna.”
HeraisedhishatpolitelyandrejoinedLordEdward.
Eight
SWANSONG
“SwanSong”wasfirstpublishedinGrandMagazine,September1926.
Itwaseleveno’clockonaMaymorninginLondon.Mr.Cowanwaslookingoutofthewindow,behindhimwasthesomewhatornatesplendourofasittingroominasuiteattheRitzHotel.ThesuiteinquestionhadbeenreservedforMme.PaulaNazorkoff,thefamousoperaticstar,whohadjustarrivedinLondon.Mr.Cowan,whowasMadame’sprincipalmanofbusiness,wasawaitinganinterviewwiththelady.Heturnedhisheadsuddenlyasthedooropened,butitwasonlyMissRead,Mme.Nazorkoff’ssecretary,apalegirlwithanefficientmanner.
“Oh,soit’syou,mydear,”saidMr.Cowan.“Madamenotupyet,eh?”
MissReadshookherhead.
“Shetoldmetocomeroundatteno’clock,”Mr.Cowansaid.“Ihavebeenwaitinganhour.”
Hedisplayedneitherresentmentnorsurprise.Mr.Cowanwasindeedaccustomedtothevagariesoftheartistictemperament.Hewasatallman,clean-shaven,withaframerathertoowellcovered,andclothesthatwererathertoofaultless.Hishairwasveryblackandshining,andhisteethwereaggressivelywhite.Whenhespoke,hehadawayofslurringhis“s’s”whichwasnotquitealisp,butcameperilouslyneartoit.Itrequirednostretchofimaginationtorealizethathisfather’snamehadprobablybeenCohen.Atthatminuteadoorattheothersideoftheroomopened,andatrim,Frenchgirlhurriedthrough.
“Madamegettingup?”inquiredCowanhopefully.“Tellusthenews,Elise.”
Eliseimmediatelyelevatedbothhandstoheaven.
“Madamesheislikeseventeendevilsthismorning,nothingpleasesher!Thebeautifulyellowroseswhichmonsieursenttoherlastnight,shesaystheyareallverywellforNewYork,butthatitisimbeciletosendthemtoherinLondon.InLondon,shesays,redrosesaretheonlythingspossible,andstraightawaysheopensthedoor,andprecipitatestheyellowrosesintothepassage,wheretheydescenduponamonsieur,trèscommeilfaut,amilitarygentleman,Ithink,andheisjustlyindignant,thatone!”
Cowanraisedhiseyebrows,butdisplayednoothersignsofemotion.Thenhetookfromhispocketasmallmemorandumbookandpencilledinitthewords“redroses.”
Elisehurriedoutthroughtheotherdoor,andCowanturnedoncemoretothewindow.VeraReadsatdownatthedesk,andbeganopeninglettersandsortingthem.Tenminutespassedinsilence,andthenthedoorofthebedroomburstopen,andPaulaNazorkoffflamedintotheroom.Herimmediateeffectuponitwastomakeitseemsmaller,VeraReadappearedmorecolourless,andCowanretreatedintoamerefigureinthebackground
“Ah,ha!Mychildren,”saidtheprimadonna,“amInotpunctual?”
Shewasatallwoman,andforasingernotundulyfat.Herarmsandlegswerestillslender,andherneckwasabeautifulcolumn.Herhair,whichwascoiledinagreatrollhalfwaydownherneck,wasofadark,glowingred.Ifitowedsomeatleastofitscolourtohenna,theresultwasnonethelesseffective.Shewasnotayoungwoman,fortyatleast,butthelinesofherfacewerestilllovely,thoughtheskinwasloosenedandwrinkledroundtheflashing,darkeyes.Shehadthelaughofachild,thedigestionofanostrich,andthetemperofafiend,andshewasacknowledgedtobethegreatestdramaticsopranoofherday.SheturneddirectlyuponCowan.
“HaveyoudoneasIaskedyou?HaveyoutakenthatabominableEnglishpianoaway,andthrownitintotheThames?”
“Ihavegotanotherforyou,”saidCowan,andgesturedtowardswhereitstoodinthecorner.
Nazorkoffrushedacrosstoit,andliftedthelid.
“AnErard,”shesaid,“thatisbetter.Nowletussee.”
Thebeautifulsopranovoicerangoutinanarpeggio,thenitranlightlyupanddownthescaletwice,thentookasoftlittlerunuptoahighnote,heldit,itsvolumeswellinglouderandlouder,thensoftenedagaintillitdiedawayinnothingness.
“Ah!”saidPaulaNazorkoffinna?vesatisfaction.“WhatabeautifulvoiceIhave!EveninLondonIhaveabeautifulvoice.”
“Thatisso,”agreedCowaninheartycongratulation.“AndyoubetLondonisgoingtofallforyouallright,justasNewYorkdid.”
“Youthinkso?”queriedthesinger.
Therewasaslightsmileonherlips,anditwasevidentthatforherthequestionwasamerecommonplace.
“Surething,”saidCowan.
PaulaNazorkoffclosedthepianoliddownandwalkedacrosstothetable,withthatslowundulatingwalkthatprovedsoeffectiveonthestage.
“Well,well,”shesaid,“letusgettobusiness.Youhaveallthearrangementsthere,myfriend?”
Cowantooksomepapersoutoftheportfoliohehadlaidonachair.
“Nothinghasbeenalteredmuch,”heremarked.“YouwillsingfivetimesatCoventGarden,threetimesinTosca,twiceinAida.”
“Aida!Pah,”saidtheprimadonna;“itwillbeunutterableboredom.Tosca,thatisdifferent.”
“Ah,yes,”saidCowan.“Toscaisyourpart.”
PaulaNazorkoffdrewherselfup.
“IamthegreatestToscaintheworld,”shesaidsimply.
“Thatisso,”agreedCowan.“Noonecantouchyou.”
“Roscariwillsing‘Scarpia,’Isuppose?”
Cowannodded.
“AndEmileLippi.”
“What?”shriekedNazorkoff.“Lippi,thathideouslittlebarkingfrog,croak—croak—croak.Iwillnotsingwithhim,Iwillbitehim,Iwillscratchhisface.”
“Now,now,”saidCowansoothingly.
“Hedoesnotsing,Itellyou,heisamongreldogwhobarks.”
“Well,we’llsee,we’llsee,”saidCowan.
Hewastoowiseevertoarguewithtemperamentalsingers.
“TheCavardossi?”demandedNazorkoff.
“TheAmericantenor,Hensdale.”
Theothernodded.
“Heisanicelittleboy,hesingsprettily.”
“AndBarrèreistosingitonce,Ibelieve.”
“Heisanartist,”saidMadamegenerously.“ButtoletthatcroakingfrogLippibeScarpia!Bah—I’llnotsingwithhim.”
“Youleaveittome,”saidCowansoothingly.
Heclearedhisthroat,andtookupafreshsetofpapers.
“IamarrangingforaspecialconcertattheAlbertHall.”
Nazorkoffmadeagrimace.
“Iknow,Iknow,”saidCowan;“buteverybodydoesit.”
“Iwillbegood,”saidNazorkoff,“anditwillbefilledtotheceiling,andIshallhavemuchmoney.Ecco!”
AgainCowanshuffledpapers.
“Nowhereisquiteadifferentproposition,”hesaid,“fromLadyRustonbury.Shewantsyoutogodownandsing.”
“Rustonbury?”
Theprimadonna’sbrowcontractedasifintheefforttorecollectsomething.
“Ihavereadthatnamelately,verylately.Itisatown—oravillage,isn’tit?”
“That’sright,prettylittleplaceinHertfordshire.AsforLordRustonbury’splace,RustonburyCastle,it’sarealdandyoldfeudalseat,ghostsandfamilypictures,andsecretstaircases,andaslap-upprivatetheatre.Rollinginmoneytheyare,andalwaysgivingsomeprivateshow.Shesuggeststhatwegiveacompleteopera,preferablyButterfly.”
“Butterfly?”
Cowannodded.
“Andtheyarepreparedtopay.We’llhavetosquareCoventGarden,ofcourse,butevenafterthatitwillbewellworthyourwhilefinancially.Inallprobability,royaltywillbepresent.Itwillbeaslap-upadvertisement.”
Madameraisedherstillbeautifulchin.
“DoIneedadvertisement?”shedemandedproudly.
“Youcan’thavetoomuchofagoodthing,”saidCowan,unabashed.
“Rustonbury,”murmuredthesinger,“wheredidIsee—?”
Shesprangupsuddenly,andrunningtothecentretable,beganturningoverthepagesofanillustratedpaperwhichlaythere.Therewasasuddenpauseasherhandstopped,hoveringoveroneofthepages,thenshelettheperiodicalsliptothefloorandreturnedslowlytoherseat.Withoneofherswiftchangesofmood,sheseemednowanentirelydifferentpersonality.Hermannerwasveryquiet,almostaustere.
“MakeallarrangementsforRustonbury,Iwouldliketosingthere,butthereisonecondition—theoperamustbeTosca.”
Cowanlookeddoubtful.
“Thatwillberatherdifficult—foraprivateshow,youknow,sceneryandallthat.”
“Toscaornothing.”
Cowanlookedatherveryclosely.Whathesawseemedtoconvincehim,hegaveabriefnodandrosetohisfeet.
“IwillseewhatIcanarrange,”hesaidquietly.
Nazorkoffrosetoo.Sheseemedmoreanxiousthanwasusual,withher,toexplainherdecision.
“Itismygreatestr?le,Cowan.Icansingthatpartasnootherwomanhaseversungit.”
“Itisafinepart,”saidCowan.“Jeritzamadeagreathitinitlastyear.”
“Jeritza!”criedtheother,aflushmountinginhercheeks.SheproceededtogivehimatgreatlengthheropinionofJeritza.
Cowan,whowasusedtolisteningtosingers’opinionsofothersingers,abstractedhisattentiontillthetiradewasover;hethensaidobstinately:
“Anyway,shesings‘Vissid’Arte’lyingonherstomach.”
“Andwhynot?”demandedNazorkoff.“Whatistheretopreventher?Iwillsingitonmybackwithmylegswavingintheair.”
Cowanshookhisheadwithperfectseriousness.
“Idon’tbelievethatwouldgodownany,”heinformedher.“Allthesame,thatsortofthingtakeson,youknow.”
“Noonecansing‘Vissid’Arte’asIcan,”saidNazorkoffconfidently.“Isingitinthevoiceoftheconvent—asthegoodnunstaughtmetosingyearsandyearsago.Inthevoiceofachoirboyoranangel,withoutfeeling,withoutpassion.”
“Iknow,”saidCowanheartily.“Ihaveheardyou,youarewonderful.”
“Thatisart,”saidtheprimadonna,“topaytheprice,tosuffer,toendure,andintheendnotonlytohaveallknowledge,butalsothepowertogoback,rightbacktothebeginningandrecapturethelostbeautyoftheheartofachild.”
Cowanlookedathercuriously.Shewasstaringpasthimwithastrange,blanklookinhereyes,andsomethingaboutthatlookofhersgavehimacreepyfeeling.Herlipsjustparted,andshewhisperedafewwordssoftlytoherself.Heonlyjustcaughtthem.
“Atlast,”shemurmured.“Atlast—afteralltheseyears.”
LadyRustonburywasbothanambitiousandanartisticwoman,sheranthetwoqualitiesinharnesswithcompletesuccess.Shehadthegoodfortunetohaveahusbandwhocaredforneitherambitionnorartandwhothereforedidnothamperherinanyway.TheEarlofRustonburywasalarge,squareman,withaninterestinhorsefleshandinnothingelse.Headmiredhiswife,andwasproudofher,andwasgladthathisgreatwealthenabledhertoindulgeallherschemes.Theprivatetheatrehadbeenbuiltlessthanahundredyearsagobyhisgrandfather.ItwasLadyRustonbury’schieftoy—shehadalreadygivenanIbsendramainit,andaplayoftheultranewschool,alldivorceanddrugs,alsoaToscahadcreatedwidespreadinterest.LadyRustonburywasentertainingaverydistinguishedhousepartyforit,andallLondonthatcountedwasmotoringdowntoattend.
MmeNazorkoffandhercompanyhadarrivedjustbeforeluncheon.ThenewyoungAmericantenor,Hensdale,wastosing“Cavaradossi,”andRoscari,thefamousItalianbaritone,wastobeScarpia.Theexpenseoftheproductionhadbeenenormous,butnobodycaredaboutthat.PaulaNazorkoffwasinthebestofhumours,shewascharming,gracious,hermostdelightfulandcosmopolitanself.Cowanwasagreeablysurprised,andprayedthatthisstateofthingsmightcontinue.
Afterluncheonthecompanywentouttothetheatre,andinspectedthesceneryandvariousappointments.TheorchestrawasunderthedirectionofMr.SamuelRidge,oneofEngland’smostfamousconductors.Everythingseemedtobegoingwithoutahitch,andstrangelyenough,thatfactworriedMr.Cowan.Hewasmoreathomeinanatmosphereoftrouble,thisunusualpeacedisturbedhim.
“Everythingisgoingadarnedsighttoosmoothly,”murmuredMr.Cowantohimself.“Madameislikeacatthathasbeenfedoncream,it’stoogoodtolast,somethingisboundtohappen.”
Perhapsastheresultofhislongcontactwiththeoperaticworld,Mr.Cowanhaddevelopedthesixthsense,certainlyhisprognosticationswerejustified.Itwasjustbeforeseveno’clockthateveningwhentheFrenchmaid,Elise,camerunningtohimingreatdistress.
“Ah,Mr.Cowan,comequickly,Ibegofyoucomequickly.”
“What’sthematter?”demandedCowananxiously.“Madamegotherbackupaboutanything—ructions,eh,isthatit?”
“No,no,itisnotMadame,itisSignorRoscari,heisill,heisdying!”
“Dying?Oh,comenow.”
CowanhurriedafterherassheledthewaytothestrickenItalian’sbedroom.Thelittlemanwaslyingonhisbed,orratherjerkinghimselfalloveritinaseriesofcontortionsthatwouldhavebeenhumoroushadtheybeenlessgrave.PaulaNazorkoffwasbendingoverhim;shegreetedCowanimperiously.
“Ah!thereyouare.OurpoorRoscari,hesuffershorribly.Doubtlesshehaseatensomething.”
“Iamdying,”groanedthelittleman.“Thepain—itisterrible.Ow!”
Hecontortedhimselfagain,claspingbothhandstohisstomach,androllingaboutonthebed.
“Wemustsendforadoctor,”saidCowan.
Paulaarrestedhimashewasabouttomovetothedoor.
“Thedoctorisalreadyonhisway,hewilldoallthatcanbedoneforthepoorsufferingone,thatisarrangedfor,butneverneverwillRoscaribeabletosingtonight.”
“Ishallneversingagain,Iamdying,”groanedtheItalian.
“No,no,youarenotdying,”saidPaula.“Itisbutanindigestion,butallthesame,impossiblethatyoushouldsing.”
“Ihavebeenpoisoned.”
“Yes,itistheptomainewithoutdoubt,”saidPaula.“Staywithhim,Elise,tillthedoctorcomes.”
ThesingersweptCowanwithherfromtheroom.
“Whatarewetodo?”shedemanded.
Cowanshookhisheadhopelessly.ThehourwassofaradvancedthatitwouldnotbepossibletogetanyonefromLondontotakeRoscari’splace.LadyRustonbury,whohadjustbeeninformedofherguest’sillness,camehurryingalongthecorridortojointhem.Herprincipalconcern,likePaulaNazorkoff’s,wasthesuccessofTosca.
“Iftherewereonlysomeonenearathand,”groanedtheprimadonna.
“Ah!”LadyRustonburygaveasuddencry.“Ofcourse!Bréon.”
“Bréon?”
“Yes,EdouardBréon,youknow,thefamousFrenchbaritone.Helivesnearhere,therewasapictureofhishouseinthisweek’sCountryHomes.Heistheveryman.”
“Itisananswerfromheaven,”criedNazorkoff.“BréonasScarpia,Irememberhimwell,itwasoneofhisgreatestr?les.Buthehasretired,hashenot?”
“Iwillgethim,”saidLadyRustonbury.“Leaveittome.”
Andbeingawomanofdecision,shestraightwayorderedouttheHispanoSuiza.Tenminuteslater,M.EdouardBréon’scountryretreatwasinvadedbyanagitatedcountess.LadyRustonbury,onceshehadmadehermindup,wasaverydeterminedwoman,anddoubtlessM.Bréonrealizedthattherewasnothingforitbuttosubmit.Himselfamanofveryhumbleorigin,hehadclimbedtothetopofhisprofession,andhadconsortedonequaltermswithdukesandprinces,andthefactneverfailedtogratifyhim.Yet,sincehisretirementtothisold-worldEnglishspot,hehadknowndiscontent.Hemissedthelifeofadulationandapplause,andtheEnglishcountryhadnotbeenasprompttorecognizehimashethoughttheyshouldhavebeen.SohewasgreatlyflatteredandcharmedbyLadyRustonbury’srequest.
“Iwilldomypoorbest,”hesaid,smiling.“Asyouknow,Ihavenotsunginpublicforalongtimenow.Idonoteventakepupils,onlyoneortwoasagreatfavour.Butthere—sinceSignorRoscariisunfortunatelyindisposed—”
“Itwasaterribleblow,”saidLadyRustonbury.
“Notthatheisreallyasinger,”saidBréon.
Hetoldheratsomelengthwhythiswasso.Therehadbeen,itseemed,nobaritoneofdistinctionsinceEdouardBréonretired.
“Mme.Nazorkoffissinging‘Tosca,’”saidLadyRustonbury.“Youknowher,Idaresay?”
“Ihavenevermether,”saidBréon.“IheardhersingonceinNewYork.Agreatartist—shehasasenseofdrama.”
LadyRustonburyfeltrelieved—oneneverknewwiththesesingers—theyhadsuchqueerjealousiesandantipathies.
Shereenteredthehallatthecastlesometwentyminuteslaterwavingatriumphanthand.
“Ihavegothim,”shecried,laughing.“DearM.Bréonhasreallybeentookind,Ishallneverforgetit.”
EveryonecrowdedroundtheFrenchman,andtheirgratitudeandappreciationwereasincensetohim.EdouardBréon,thoughnowcloseonsixty,wasstillafine-lookingman,biganddark,withamagneticpersonality.
“Letmesee,”saidLadyRustonbury.“WhereisMadame—?Oh!theresheis.”
PaulaNazorkoffhadtakennopartinthegeneralwelcomingoftheFrenchman.Shehadremainedquietlysittinginahighoakchairintheshadowofthefireplace.Therewas,ofcourse,nofire,fortheeveningwasawarmoneandthesingerwasslowlyfanningherselfwithanimmensepalm-leaffan.Soaloofanddetachedwasshe,thatLadyRustonburyfearedshehadtakenoffence.
“M.Bréon.”Sheledhimuptothesinger.“YouhaveneveryetmetMadameNazorkoff,yousay.”
Withalastwave,almostaflourish,ofthepalmleaf,PaulaNazorkofflaiditdown,andstretchedoutherhandtotheFrenchman.Hetookitandbowedlowoverit,andafaintsighescapedfromtheprimadonna’slips.
“Madame,”saidBréon,“wehaveneversungtogether.Thatisthepenaltyofmyage!Butfatehasbeenkindtome,andcometomyrescue.”
Paulalaughedsoftly.
“Youaretookind,M.Bréon.WhenIwasstillbutapoorlittleunknownsinger,Ihavesatatyourfeet.Your‘Rigoletto’—whatart,whatperfection!Noonecouldtouchyou.”
“Alas!”saidBréon,pretendingtosigh.“Mydayisover.Scarpia,Rigoletto,Radames,Sharpless,howmanytimeshaveInotsungthem,andnow—nomore!”
“Yes—tonight.”
“True,Madame—Iforgot.Tonight.”
“Youhavesungwithmany‘Toscas,’”saidNazorkoffarrogantly;“butneverwithme!”
TheFrenchmanbowed.
“Itwillbeanhonour,”hesaidsoftly.“Itisagreatpart,Madame.”
“Itneedsnotonlyasinger,butanactress,”putinLadyRustonbury.
“Thatistrue,”Bréonagreed.“IrememberwhenIwasayoungmaninItaly,goingtoalittleoutofthewaytheatreinMilan.Myseatcostmeonlyacoupleoflira,butIheardasgoodsingingthatnightasIhaveheardintheMetropolitanOperaHouseinNewYork.Quiteayounggirlsang‘Tosca,’shesangitlikeanangel.NevershallIforgethervoicein‘Vissid’Arte,’theclearnessofit,thepurity.Butthedramaticforce,thatwaslacking.”
Nazorkoffnodded.
“Thatcomeslater,”shesaidquietly.
“True.Thisyounggirl—BiancaCapelli,hernamewas—Iinterestedmyselfinhercareer.Throughmeshehadthechanceofbigengagements,butshewasfoolish—regrettablyfoolish.”
Heshruggedhisshoulders.
“Howwasshefoolish?”
ItwasLadyRustonbury’stwenty-four-year-olddaughter,BlancheAmery,whospoke.Aslendergirlwithwideblueeyes
TheFrenchmanturnedtoheratoncepolitely.
“Alas!Mademoiselle,shehadembroiledherselfwithsomelowfellow,aruffian,amemberoftheCamorra.Hegotintotroublewiththepolice,wascondemnedtodeath;shecametomebeggingmetodosomethingtosaveherlover.”
BlancheAmerywasstaringathim.
“Anddidyou?”sheaskedbreathlessly
“Me,Mademoiselle,whatcouldIdo?Astrangerinthecountry.”
“Youmighthavehadinfluence?”suggestedNazorkoff,inherlowvibrantvoice.
“IfIhad,IdoubtwhetherIshouldhaveexertedit.Themanwasnotworthit.IdidwhatIcouldforthegirl.”
Hesmiledalittle,andhissmilesuddenlystrucktheEnglishgirlashavingsomethingpeculiarlydisagreeableaboutit.Shefeltthat,atthatmoment,hiswordsfellfarshortofrepresentinghisthoughts.
“Youdidwhatyoucould,”saidNazorkoff.“Thatwaskindofyou,andshewasgrateful,eh?”
TheFrenchmanshruggedhisshoulders.
“Themanwasexecuted,”hesaid,“andthegirlenteredaconvent.Eh,voilà!Theworldhaslostasinger.”
Nazorkoffgavealowlaugh.
“WeRussiansaremorefickle,”shesaidlightly.
BlancheAmeryhappenedtobewatchingCowanjustasthesingerspoke,andshesawhisquicklookofastonishment,andhislipsthathalf-openedandthenshuttightinobediencetosomewarningglancefromPaula.
Thebutlerappearedinthedoorway.
“Dinner,”saidLadyRustonbury,rising.“Youpoorthings,Iamsosorryforyou,itmustbedreadfulalwaystohavetostarveyourselfbeforesinging.Buttherewillbeaverygoodsupperafterwards.”
“Weshalllookforwardtoit,”saidPaulaNazorkoff.Shelaughedsoftly.“Afterwards!”
Insidethetheatre,thefirstactofToscahadjustdrawntoaclose.Theaudiencestirred,spoketoeachother.Theroyalties,charmingandgracious,satinthethreevelvetchairsinthefrontrow.Everyonewaswhisperingandmurmuringtoeachother,therewasageneralfeelingthatinthefirstactNazorkoffhadhardlyliveduptohergreatreputation.Mostoftheaudiencedidnotrealizethatinthisthesingershowedherart,inthefirstactshewassavinghervoiceandherself.ShemadeofLaToscaalight,frivolousfigure,toyingwithlove,coquettishlyjealousandexciting.Bréon,thoughthegloryofhisvoicewaspastitsprime,stillstruckamagnificentfigureasthecynicalScarpia.Therewasnohintofthedecrepitrouéinhisconceptionofthepart.HemadeofScarpiaahandsome,almostbenignfigure,withjustahintofthesubtlemalevolencethatunderlaytheoutwardseeming.Inthelastpassage,withtheorganandtheprocession,whenScarpiastandslostinthought,gloatingoverhisplantosecureTosca,Bréonhaddisplayedawonderfulart.Nowthecurtainroseuponthesecondact,thesceneinScarpia’sapartments.
Thistime,whenToscaentered,theartofNazorkoffatoncebecameapparent.Herewasawomanindeadlyterrorplayingherpartwiththeassuranceofafineactress.HereasygreetingofScarpia,hernonchalance,hersmilingrepliestohim!Inthisscene,PaulaNazorkoffactedwithhereyes,shecarriedherselfwithdeadlyquietness,withanimpassive,smilingface.OnlyhereyesthatkeptdartingglancesatScarpiabetrayedhertruefeelings.Andsothestorywenton,thetorturescene,thebreakingdownofTosca’scomposure,andherutterabandonmentwhenshefellatScarpia’sfeetimploringhimvainlyformercy.OldLordLeconmere,aconnoisseurofmusic,movedappreciatively,andaforeignambassadorsittingnexttohimmurmured:
“Shesurpassesherself,Nazorkoff,tonight.Thereisnootherwomanonthestagewhocanletherselfgoasshedoes.”
Leconmerenodded.
AndnowScarpiahasnamedhisprice,andTosca,horrified,fliesfromhimtothewindow.Thencomesthebeatofdrumsfromafar,andToscaflingsherselfwearilydownonthesofa.Scarpiastandingoverher,reciteshowhispeopleareraisingupthegallows—andthensilence,andagainthefar-offbeatofdrums.Nazorkofflayproneonthesofa,herheadhangingdownwardsalmosttouchingthefloor,maskedbyherhair.Then,inexquisitecontrasttothepassionandstressofthelasttwentyminutes,hervoicerangout,highandclear,thevoice,asshehadtoldCowan,ofachoirboyoranangel.
“Vissid’arte,vissid’arte,nofecimaimaleadanimaviva.Conmanfurtivaquantemiserieconobbi,aiutai.”
Itwasthevoiceofawondering,puzzledchild.Thensheisoncemorekneelingandimploring,tilltheinstantwhenSpolettaenters.Tosca,exhausted,givesin,andScarpiauttershisfatefulwordsofdouble-edgedmeaning.Spolettadepartsoncemore.Thencomesthedramaticmoment,wheTosca,raisingaglassofwineinhertremblinghand,catchessightoftheknifeonthetable,andslipsitbehindher.
Bréonroseup,handsome,saturnine,inflamedwithpassion.“Tosca,finalmentemia!”Thelightningstabswiththeknife,andTosca’shissofvengeance:
“QuestoeilbaciodiTosca!”(“ItisthusthatToscakisses.”)
NeverhadNazorkoffshownsuchanappreciationofTosca’sactofvengeance.Thatlastfiercewhispered“Muoridannato,”andtheninastrange,quietvoicethatfilledthetheatre:
“Orgliperdono!”(“NowIforgivehim!”)
ThesoftdeathtunebeganasToscasetaboutherceremonial,placingthecandleseachsideofhishead,thecrucifixonhisbreast,herlastpauseinthedoorwaylookingback,therollofdistantdrums,andthecurtainfell.
Thistimerealenthusiasmbrokeoutintheaudience,butitwasshortlived.Someonehurriedoutfrombehindthewings,andspoketoLordRustonbury.Herose,andafteraminuteortwo’sconsultation,turnedandbeckonedtoSirDonaldCalthorp,whowasaneminentphysician.Almostimmediatelythetruthspreadthroughtheaudience.Somethinghadhappened,anaccident,someonewasbadlyhurt.OneofthesingersappearedbeforethecurtainandexplainedthatM.Bréonhadunfortunatelymetwithanaccident—theoperacouldnotproceed.Againtherumourwentround,Bréonhadbeenstabbed,Nazorkoffhadlostherhead,shehadlivedinherpartsocompletelythatshehadactuallystabbedthemanwhowasactingwithher.LordLeconmere,talkingtohisambassadorfriend,feltatouchonhisarm,andturnedtolookintoBlancheAmery’seyes.
“Itwasnotanaccident,”thegirlwassaying.“Iamsureitwasnotanaccident.Didn’tyouhear,justbeforedinner,thatstoryhewastellingaboutthegirlinItaly?ThatgirlwasPaulaNazorkoff.Justafter,shesaidsomethingaboutbeingRussian,andIsawMr.Cowanlookamazed.ShemayhavetakenaRussianname,butheknowswellenoughthatsheisItalian.”
“MydearBlanche,”saidLordLeconmere.
“ItellyouIamsureofit.ShehadapicturepaperinherbedroomopenedatthepageshowingM.BréoninhisEnglishcountryhome.Sheknewbeforeshecamedownhere.IbelieveshegavesomethingtothatpoorlittleItalianmantomakehimill.”
“Butwhy?”criedLordLeconmere.“Why?”
“Don’tyousee?It’sthestoryofToscaalloveragain.HewantedherinItaly,butshewasfaithfultoherlover,andshewenttohimtotrytogethimtosaveherlover,andhepretendedhewould.Insteadhelethimdie.Andnowatlastherrevengehascome.Didn’tyouhearthewayshehissed‘IamTosca?’AndIsawBréon’sfacewhenshesaidit,heknewthen—herecognizedher!”
Inherdressingroom,PaulaNazorkoffsatmotionless,awhiteerminecloakheldroundher.Therewasaknockatthedoor.
“Comein,”saidtheprimadonna.
Eliseentered.Shewassobbing.
“Madame,Madame,heisdead!And—”
“Yes?”
“Madame,howcanItellyou?Therearetwogentlemenofthepolicethere,theywanttospeaktoyou.”
PaulaNazorkoffrosetoherfullheight
“Iwillgotothem,”shesaidquietly
Sheuntwistedacollarofpearlsfromherneck,andputthemintotheFrenchgirl’shands.
“Thoseareforyou,Elise,youhavebeenagoodgirl.IshallnotneedthemnowwhereIamgoing.Youunderstand,Elise?Ishallnotsing‘Tosca’again.”
Shestoodamomentbythedoor,hereyessweepingoverthedressingroom,asthoughshelookedbackoverthepastthirtyyearsofhercareer.
Thensoftlybetweenherteeth,shemurmuredthelastlineofanotheropera:
“Lacommediaefinita!”
Nine
THEHOUNDOFDEATH
“TheHoundofDeath”wasfirstpublishedinthehardbackTheHoundofDeathandOtherStories(OdhamsPress,1933).Nopreviousappearanceshavebeenfound.
ItwasfromWilliamP.Ryan,Americannewspapercorrespondent,thatIfirstheardoftheaffair.IwasdiningwithhiminLondonontheeveofhisreturntoNewYorkandhappenedtomentionthatonthemorrowIwasgoingdowntoFolbridge.
Helookedupandsaidsharply:“Folbridge,Cornwall?”
NowonlyaboutonepersoninathousandknowsthatthereisaFolbridgeinCornwall.TheyalwaystakeitforgrantedthattheFolbridge,Hampshire,ismeant.SoRyan’sknowledgearousedmycuriosity.
“Yes,”Isaid.“Doyouknowit?”
Hemerelyrepliedthathewasdarned.HethenaskedifIhappenedtoknowahousecalledTrearnedownthere.
Myinterestincreased.
“Verywellindeed.Infact,it’stoTrearneI’mgoing.It’smysister’shouse.”
“Well,”saidWilliamP.Ryan.“Ifthatdoesn’tbeattheband!”
Isuggestedthatheshouldceasemakingcrypticremarksandexplainhimself.
“Well,”hesaid.“TodothatIshallhavetogobacktoanexperienceofmineatthebeginningofthewar.”
Isighed.TheeventswhichIamrelatingtotookplacein1921.Toberemindedofthewarwasthelastthinganymanwanted.Wewere,thankGod,beginningtoforget…Besides,WilliamP.Ryanonhiswarexperienceswasapt,asIknew,tobeunbelievablylong-winded.
Buttherewasnostoppinghimnow.
“Atthestartofthewar,asIdaresayyouknow,IwasinBelgiumformypaper—movingaboutsome.Well,there’salittlevillage—I’llcallitX.Aone-horseplaceifthereeverwasone,butthere’squiteabigconventthere.Nunsinwhitewhatdoyoucall’em—Idon’tknowthenameoftheorder.Anyway,itdoesn’tmatter.Well,thislittleburghwasrightinthewayoftheGermanadvance.TheUhlansarrived—”
Ishifteduneasily.WilliamP.Ryanliftedahandreassuringly.
“It’sallright,”hesaid.“Thisisn’taGermanatrocitystory.Itmighthavebeen,perhaps,butitisn’t.Asamatteroffact,theboot’sontheotherleg.TheHunsmadeforthatconvent—theygotthereandthewholethingblewup.”
“Oh!”Isaid,ratherstartled.
“Oddbusiness,wasn’tit?Ofcourse,offhand,IshouldsaytheHunshadbeencelebratingandhadmonkeyedroundwiththeirownexplosives.Butisseemstheyhadn’tanythingofthatkindwiththem.Theyweren’tthehigh-explosivejohnnies.Well,then,Iaskyou,whatshouldapackofnunsknowabouthighexplosive?Somenuns,Ishouldsay!”
“Itisodd,”Iagreed.
“Iwasinterestedinhearingthepeasants’accountofthematter.They’dgotitallcutanddried.Accordingtothemitwasaslap-uponehundredpercentefficientfirst-classmodernmiracle.Itseemsoneofthenunshadgotsomethingofareputation—abuddingsaint—wentintotrancesandsawvisions.Andaccordingtothemsheworkedthestunt.ShecalleddownthelightningtoblasttheimpiousHun—anditblastedhimallright—andeverythingelsewithinrange.Aprettyefficientmiracle,that!
“Ineverreallygotatthetruthofthematter—hadn’ttime.Butmiracleswerealltheragejustthen—angelsatMonsandallthat.Iwroteupthething,putinabitofsobstuff,andpulledthereligiousstopoutwell,andsentittomypaper.ItwentdownverywellintheStates.Theywerelikingthatkindofthingjustthen.
“But(Idon’tknowifyou’llunderstandthis)inwriting,Igotkinderinterested.IfeltI’dliketoknowwhatreallyhadhappened.Therewasnothingtoseeatthespotitself.Twowallsstillleftstanding,andononeofthemwasablackpowdermarkthatwastheexactshapeofagreathound.
“Thepeasantsroundaboutwerescaredtodeathofthatmark.TheycalledittheHoundofDeathandtheywouldn’tpassthatwayafterdark.
“Superstition’salwaysinteresting.IfeltI’dliketoseetheladywhoworkedthestunt.Shehadn’tperished,itseemed.She’dgonetoEnglandwithabatchofotherrefugees.Itookthetroubletotraceher.Ifoundshe’dbeensenttoTrearne,Folbridge,Cornwall.”
Inodded.
“MysistertookinalotofBelgianrefugeesthebeginningofthewar.Abouttwenty.”
“Well,Ialwaysmeant,ifIhadtime,tolookupthelady.Iwantedtohearherownaccountofthedisaster.Then,whatwithbeingbusyandonethingandanother,itslippedmymemory.Cornwall’sabitoutofthewayanyhow.Infact,I’dforgottenthewholethingtillyourmentioningFolbridgejustnowbroughtitback.”
“Imustaskmysister,”Isaid.“Shemayhaveheardsomethingaboutit.Ofcourse,theBelgianshaveallbeenrepatriatedlongago.”
“Naturally.Allthesame,incaseyoursisterdoesknowanythingI’llbegladifyoupassitontome.”
“OfcourseIwill,”Isaidheartily.
Andthatwasthat.
ItwastheseconddayaftermyarrivalatTrearnethatthestoryrecurredtome.MysisterandIwerehavingteaontheterrace.
“Kitty,”Isaid,“didn’tyouhaveanunamongyourBelgians?”
“Youdon’tmeanSisterMarieAngelique,doyou?”
“PossiblyIdo,”Isaidcautiously.“Tellmeabouther.”
“Oh!mydear,shewasthemostuncannycreature.She’sstillhere,youknow.”
“What?Inthehouse?”
“No,no,inthevillage.Dr.Rose—yourememberDr.Rose?”
Ishookmyhead.
“Irememberanoldmanofabouteighty-three.”
“Dr.Laird.Oh!hedied.Dr.Rosehasonlybeenhereafewyears.He’squiteyoungandverykeenonnewideas.HetookthemostenormousinterestinSisterMarieAngelique.Shehashallucinationsandthings,youknow,andapparentlyismostfrightfullyinterestingfromamedicalpointofview.Poorthing,she’dnowheretogo—andreallywasinmyopinionquitepotty—onlyimpressive,ifyouknowwhatImean—well,asIsay,she’dnowheretogo,andDr.Roseverykindlyfixedherupinthevillage.Ibelievehe’swritingamonographorwhateveritisthatdoctorswrite,abouther.”
Shepausedandthensaid:
“Butwhatdoyouknowabouther?”
“Iheardarathercuriousstory.”
IpassedonthestoryasIhadreceiveditfromRyan.Kittywasverymuchinterested.
“Shelooksthesortofpersonwhocouldblastyou—ifyouknowwhatImean,”shesaid.
“Ireallythink,”Isaid,mycuriosityheightened,“thatImustseethisyoungwoman.”
“Do.I’dliketoknowwhatyouthinkofher.GoandseeDr.Rosefirst.Whynotwalkdowntothevillageaftertea?”
Iacceptedthesuggestion.
IfoundDr.Roseathomeandintroducedmyself.Heseemedapleasantyoungman,yettherewassomethingabouthispersonalitythatratherrepelledme.Itwastooforcefultobealtogetheragreeable.
ThemomentImentionedSisterMarieAngeliquehestiffenedtoattention.Hewasevidentlykeenlyinterested.IgavehimRyan’saccountofthematter.
“Ah!”hesaidthoughtfully.“Thatexplainsagreatdeal.”
Helookedupquicklyatmeandwenton.
“Thecaseisreallyanextraordinarilyinterestingone.Thewomanarrivedherehavingevidentlysufferedsomeseverementalshock.Shewasinastateofgreatmentalexcitementalso.Shewasgiventohallucinationsofamoststartlingcharacter.Herpersonalityismostunusual.Perhapsyouwouldliketocomewithmeandcalluponher.Sheisreallywellworthseeing.”
Iagreedreadily.
Wesetouttogether.Ourobjectivewasasmallcottageontheoutskirtsofthevillage.Folbridgeisamostpicturesqueplace.ItliesatthemouthoftheriverFolmostlyontheeastbank,thewestbankistooprecipitousforbuilding,thoughafewcottagesdoclingtothecliffsidethere.Thedoctor’sowncottagewasperchedontheextremeedgeofthecliffonthewestside.Fromityoulookeddownonthebigwaveslashingagainsttheblackrocks.
Thelittlecottagetowhichwewerenowproceedinglayinlandoutofthesightofthesea.
“Thedistrictnurseliveshere,”explainedDr.Rose.“IhavearrangedforSisterMarieAngeliquetoboardwithher.Itisjustaswellthatsheshouldbeunderskilledsupervision.”
“Isshequitenormalinhermanner?”Iaskedcuriously.
“Youcanjudgeforyourselfinaminute,”hereplied,smiling.
Thedistrictnurse,adumpypleasantlittlebody,wasjustsettingoutonherbicyclewhenwearrived.
“Goodevening,nurse,how’syourpatient?”calledoutthedoctor.
“She’smuchasusual,doctor.Justsittingtherewithherhandsfoldedandhermindfaraway.Oftenenoughshe’llnotanswerwhenIspeaktoher,thoughforthematterofthatit’slittleenoughEnglishsheunderstandsevennow.”
Rosenodded,andasthenursebicycledaway,hewentuptothecottagedoor,rappedsharplyandentered.
SisterMarieAngeliquewaslyinginalongchairnearthewindow.Sheturnedherheadasweentered.
Itwasastrangeface—pale,transparentlooking,withenormouseyes.Thereseemedtobeaninfinitudeoftragedyinthoseeyes.
“Goodevening,mysister,”saidthedoctorinFrench.
“Goodevening,M.ledocteur.”
“Permitmetointroduceafriend,Mr.Anstruther.”
Ibowedandsheinclinedherheadwithafaintsmile.
“Andhowareyoutoday?”inquiredthedoctor,sittingdownbesideher.
“Iammuchthesameasusual.”Shepausedandthenwenton.“Nothingseemsrealtome.Aretheydaysthatpass—ormonths—oryears?Ihardlyknow.Onlymydreamsseemrealtome.”
“Youstilldreamalot,then?”
“Always—always—and,youunderstand?—thedreamsseemmorerealthanlife.”
“Youdreamofyourowncountry—ofBelgium?”
Sheshookherhead.
“No.Idreamofacountrythatneverexisted—never.Butyouknowthis,M.ledocteur.Ihavetoldyoumanytimes.”Shestoppedandthensaidabruptly:“Butperhapsthisgentlemanisalsoadoctor—adoctorperhapsforthediseasesofthebrain?”
“No,no.”Rosesaidreassuring,butashesmiledInoticedhowextraordinarilypointedhiscanineteethwere,anditoccurredtomethattherewassomethingwolflikeabouttheman.Hewenton:
“IthoughtyoumightbeinterestedtomeetMr.Anstruther.HeknowssomethingofBelgium.Hehaslatelybeenhearingnewsofyourconvent.”
Hereyesturnedtome.Afaintflushcreptintohercheeks.
“It’snothing,really,”Ihastenedtoexplain.“ButIwasdiningtheothereveningwithafriendwhowasdescribingtheruinedwallsoftheconventtome.”
“Soitisruined!”
Itwasasoftexclamation,utteredmoretoherselfthantous.Thenlookingatmeoncemoresheaskedhesitatingly:“Tellme,Monsieur,didyourfriendsayhow—inwhatway—itwasruined?”
“Itwasblownup,”Isaid,andadded:“Thepeasantsareafraidtopassthatwayatnight.”
“Whyaretheyafraid?”
“Becauseofablackmarkonaruinedwall.Theyhaveasuperstitiousfearofit.”
Sheleanedforward.
“Tellme,Monsieur—quick—quick—tellme!Whatisthatmarklike?”
“Ithastheshapeofahugehound,”Ianswered.“ThepeasantscallittheHoundofDeath.”
“Ah!”
Ashrillcryburstfromherlips.
“Itistruethen—itistrue.AllthatIrememberistrue.Itisnotsomeblacknightmare.Ithappened!Ithappened!”
“Whathappened,mysister?”askedthedoctorinalowvoice.
Sheturnedtohimeagerly.
“Iremembered.Thereonthesteps,Iremembered.Irememberedthewayofit.Iusedthepowerasweusedtouseit.IstoodonthealtarstepsandIbadethemtocomenofarther.Itoldthemtodepartinpeace.Theywouldnotlisten,theycameonalthoughIwarnedthem.Andso—”Sheleanedforwardandmadeacuriousgesture.“AndsoIloosedtheHoundofDeathonthem….”
Shelaybackonherchairshiveringallover,hereyesclosed.
Thedoctorrose,fetchedaglassfromacupboard,half-filleditwithwater,addedadroportwofromalittlebottlewhichheproducedfromhispocket,thentooktheglasstoher.
“Drinkthis,”hesaidauthoritatively
Sheobeyed—mechanicallyasitseemed.Hereyeslookedfarawayasthoughtheycontemplatedsomeinnervisionofherown.
“Butthenitisalltrue,”shesaid.“Everything.TheCityoftheCircles,thePeopleoftheCrystal—everything.Itisalltrue.”
“Itwouldseemso,”saidRose.
Hisvoicewaslowandsoothing,clearlydesignedtoencourageandnottodisturbhertrainofthought.
“TellmeabouttheCity,”hesaid.“TheCityofCircles,Ithinkyousaid?”
Sheansweredabsentlyandmechanically.
“Yes—therewerethreecircles.Thefirstcircleforthechosen,thesecondforthepriestessesandtheoutercircleforthepriests.”
“Andinthecentre?”
Shedrewherbreathsharplyandhervoicesanktoatoneofindescribableawe.
“TheHouseoftheCrystal….”
Asshebreathedthewords,herrighthandwenttoherforeheadandherfingertracedsomefigurethere.
Herfigureseemedtogrowmorerigid,hereyesclosed,sheswayedalittle—thensuddenlyshesatuprightwithajerk,asthoughshehadsuddenlyawakened.
“Whatisit?”shesaidconfusedly.“WhathaveIbeensaying?”
“Itisnothing,”saidRose.“Youaretired.Youwanttorest.Wewillleaveyou.”
Sheseemedalittledazedaswetookourdeparture.
“Well,”saidRosewhenwewereoutside.“Whatdoyouthinkofit?”
Heshotasharpglancesidewaysatme.
“Isupposehermindmustbetotallyunhinged,”Isaidslowly.
“Itstruckyoulikethat?”
“No—asamatteroffact,shewas—well,curiouslyconvincing.WhenlisteningtoherIhadtheimpressionthatsheactuallyhaddonewhatsheclaimedtodo—workedakindofgiganticmiracle.Herbeliefthatshedidsoseemsgenuineenough.Thatiswhy—”
“Thatiswhyyousayhermindmustbeunhinged.Quiteso.Butnowapproachthematterfromanotherangle.Supposingthatshedidactuallyworkthatmiracle—supposingthatshedid,personally,destroyabuildingandseveralhundredhumanbeings.”
“Bythemereexerciseofwill?”Isaidwithasmile.
“Ishouldnotputitquitelikethat.Youwillagreethatonepersoncoulddestroyamultitudebytouchingaswitchwhichcontrolledasystemofmines.”
“Yes,butthatismechanical.”
“True,thatismechanical,butitis,inessence,theharnessingandcontrollingofnaturalforces.Thethunderstormandthepowerhouseare,fundamentally,thesamething.”
“Yes,buttocontrolthethunderstormwehavetousemechanicalmeans.”
Rosesmiled.
“Iamgoingoffatatangentnow.Thereisasubstancecalledwintergreen.Itoccursinnatureinvegetableform.Itcanalsobebuiltupbymansyntheticallyandchemicallyinthelaboratory.”
“Well?”
“Mypointisthatthereareoftentwowaysofarrivingatthesameresult.Oursis,admittedly,thesyntheticway.Theremightbeanother.TheextraordinaryresultsarrivedatbyIndianfakirsforinstance,cannotbeexplainedawayinanyeasyfashion.Thethingswecallsupernaturalisonlythenaturalofwhichthelawsarenotyetunderstood.”
“Youmean?”Iasked,fascinated.
“ThatIcannotentirelydismissthepossibilitythatahumanbeingmightbeabletotapsomevastdestructiveforceanduseittofurtherhisorherends.Themeansbywhichthiswasaccomplishedmightseemtoussupernatural—butwouldnotbesoinreality.”
Istaredathim.
Helaughed.
“It’saspeculation,that’sall,”hesaidlightly.“Tellme,didyounoticeagestureshemadewhenshementionedtheHouseoftheCrystal?”
“Sheputherhandtoherforehead.”
“Exactly.Andtracedacirclethere.VerymuchasaCatholicmakesthesignofthecross.Now,Iwilltellyousomethingratherinteresting,Mr.Anstruther.Thewordcrystalhavingoccurredsoofteninmypatient’srambling,Itriedanexperiment.Iborrowedacrystalfromsomeoneandproduceditunexpectedlyonedaytotestmypatient’sreactiontoit.”
“Well?”
“Well,theresultwasverycuriousandsuggestive.Herwholebodystiffened.Shestaredatitasthoughunabletobelievehereyes.Thensheslidtoherkneesinfrontofit,murmuredafewwords—andfainted.”
“Whatwerethefewwords?”
“Verycuriousones.Shesaid:‘TheCrystal!ThentheFaithstilllives!’”
“Extraordinary!”
“Suggestive,isitnot?Nowthenextcuriousthing.Whenshecameroundfromherfaintshehadforgottenthewholething.Ishowedherthecrystalandaskedherifsheknewwhatitwas.Sherepliedthatshesupposeditwasacrystalsuchasfortunetellersused.Iaskedherifshehadeverseenonebefore?Shereplied:‘Never,M.ledocteur.’ButIsawapuzzledlookinhereyes.‘Whattroublesyou,mysister?’Iasked.Shereplied:‘Becauseitissostrange.Ihaveneverseenacrystalbeforeandyet—itseemstomethatIknowitwell.Thereissomething—ifonlyIcouldremember…’TheeffortatmemorywasobviouslysodistressingtoherthatIforbadehertothinkanymore.Thatwastwoweeksago.Ihavepurposelybeenbidingmytime.Tomorrow,Ishallproceedtoafurtherexperiment.”
“Withthecrystal?”
“Withthecrystal.Ishallgethertogazeintoit.Ithinktheresultoughttobeinteresting.”
“Whatdoyouexpecttogetholdof?”Iaskedcuriously.
Thewordswereidleonesbuttheyhadanunlooked-forresult.Rosestiffened,flushed,andhismannerwhenhespokechangedinsensibly.Itwasmoreformal,moreprofessional.
“Lightoncertainmentaldisordersimperfectlyunderstood.SisterMarieAngeliqueisamostinterestingstudy.”
SoRose’sinterestwaspurelyprofessional?Iwondered.
“DoyoumindifIcomealongtoo?”Iasked.
Itmayhavebeenmyfancy,butIthoughthehesitatedbeforehereplied.Ihadasuddenintuitionthathedidnotwantme.
“Certainly.Icanseenoobjection.”
Headded:“Isupposeyou’renotgoingtobedownhereverylong?”
“Onlytillthedayaftertomorrow.”
Ifanciedthattheanswerpleasedhim.Hisbrowclearedandhebegantalkingofsomerecentexperimentscarriedoutonguineapigs.
Imetthedoctorbyappointmentthefollowingafternoon,andwewenttogethertoSisterMarieAngelique.Today,thedoctorwasallgeniality.Hewasanxious,Ithought,toeffacetheimpressionhehadmadethedaybefore.
“YoumustnottakewhatIsaidtooseriously,”heobserved,laughing.“Ishouldn’tlikeyoutobelievemeadabblerinoccultsciences.TheworstofmeisIhaveaninfernalweaknessformakingoutacase.”
“Really?”
“Yes,andthemorefantasticitis,thebetterIlikeit.”
Helaughedasamanlaughsatanamusingweakness.
Whenwearrivedatthecottage,thedistrictnursehadsomethingshewantedtoconsultRoseabout,soIwasleftwithSisterMarieAngelique.
Isawherscrutinizingmeclosely.Presentlyshespoke.
“Thegoodnursehere,shetellsmethatyouarethebrotherofthekindladyatthebighousewhereIwasbroughtwhenIcamefromBelgium?”
“Yes,”Isaid.
“Shewasverykindtome.Sheisgood.”
Shewassilent,asthoughfollowingoutsometrainofthought.Thenshesaid:
“M.ledocteur,hetooisagoodman?”
Iwasalittleembarrassed.
“Why,yes.Imean—Ithinkso.”
“Ah!”Shepausedandthensaid:“Certainlyhehasbeenverykindtome.”
“I’msurehehas.”
Shelookedupatmesharply.
“Monsieur—you—youwhospeaktomenow—doyoubelievethatIammad?”
“Why,mysister,suchanideanever—”
Sheshookherheadslowly—interruptingmyprotest.
“AmImad?Idonotknow—thethingsIremember—thethingsIforget….”
Shesighed,andatthatmomentRoseenteredtheroom.
Hegreetedhercheerilyandexplainedwhathewantedhertodo.
“Certainpeople,yousee,haveagiftforseeingthingsinacrystal.Ifancyyoumighthavesuchagift,mysister.”
Shelookeddistressed.
“No,no,Icannotdothat.Totrytoreadthefuture—thatissinful.”
Rosewastakenaback.Itwasthenun’spointofviewforwhichhehadnotallowed.Hechangedhisgroundcleverly.
“Oneshouldnotlookintothefuture.Youarequiteright.Buttolookintothepast—thatisdifferent.”
“Thepast?”
“Yes—therearemanystrangethingsinthepast.Flashescomebacktoone—theyareseenforamoment—thengoneagain.Donotseektoseeanythinginthecrystalsincethatisnotallowedyou.Justtakeitinyourhands—so.Lookintoit—lookdeep.Yes—deeper—deeperstill.Youremember,doyounot?Youremember.Youhearmespeakingtoyou.Youcananswermyquestions.Canyounothearme?”
SisterMarieAngeliquehadtakenthecrystalasbidden,handlingitwithacuriousreverence.Then,asshegazedintoit,hereyesbecameblankandunseeing,herheaddrooped.Sheseemedtosleep
Gentlythedoctortookthecrystalfromherandputitonthetable.Heraisedthecornerofhereyelid.Thenhecameandsatbyme.
“Wemustwaittillshewakes.Itwon’tbelong,Ifancy.”
Hewasright.Attheendoffiveminutes,SisterMarieAngeliquestirred.Hereyesopeneddreamily.
“WhereamI?”
“Youarehere—athome.Youhavehadalittlesleep.Youhavedreamt,haveyounot?”
Shenodded.
“Yes,Ihavedreamt.”
“YouhavedreamtoftheCrystal?”
“Yes.”
“Tellusaboutit.”
“Youwillthinkmemad,M.ledocteur.Forseeyou,inmydream,theCrystalwasaholyemblem.IevenfiguredtomyselfasecondChrist,aTeacheroftheCrystalwhodiedforhisfaith,hisfollowershunteddown—persecuted…Butthefaithendured.
“Yes—forfifteenthousandfullmoons—Imean,forfifteenthousandyears.”
“Howlongwasafullmoon?”
“Thirteenordinarymoons.Yes,itwasinthefifteenthousandthfullmoon—ofcourse,IwasaPriestessoftheFifthSignintheHouseoftheCrystal.ItwasinthefirstdaysofthecomingoftheSixthSign….”
Herbrowsdrewtogether,alookoffearpassedoverherface.
“Toosoon,”shemurmured.“Toosoon.Amistake…Ah!yes,Iremember!TheSixthSign….”
Shehalfsprangtoherfeet,thendroppedback,passingherhandoverherfaceandmurmuring:
“ButwhatamIsaying?Iamraving.Thesethingsneverhappened.”
“Nowdon’tdistressyourself.”
Butshewaslookingathiminanguishedperplexity.
“M.ledocteur,Idonotunderstand.WhyshouldIhavethesedreams—thesefancies?IwasonlysixteenwhenIenteredthereligiouslife.Ihavenevertravelled.YetIdreamofcities,ofstrangepeople,ofstrangecustoms.Why?”Shepressedbothhandstoherhead.
“Haveyoueverbeenhypnotized,mysister?Orbeeninastateoftrance?”
“Ihaveneverbeenhypnotized,M.ledocteur.Fortheother,whenatprayerinthechapel,myspirithasoftenbeencaughtupfrommybody,andIhavebeenasonedeadformanyhours.Itwasundoubtedlyablessedstate,theReverendMothersaid—astateofgrace.Ah!yes,”shecaughtherbreath.“Iremember,wetoocalleditastateofgrace.”
“Iwouldliketotryanexperiment,mysister.”Rosespokeinamatter-of-factvoice.“Itmaydispelthosepainfulhalf-recollections.Iwillaskyoutogazeoncemoreinthecrystal.Iwillthensayacertainwordtoyou.Youwillansweranother.Wewillcontinueinthiswayuntilyoubecometired.Concentrateyourthoughtsonthecrystal,notuponthewords.”
AsIoncemoreunwrappedthecrystalandgaveitintoSisterMarieAngelique’shands,Inoticedthereverentwayherhandstouchedit.Reposingontheblackvelvet,itlaybetweenherslimpalms.Herwonderfuldeepeyesgazedintoit.Therewasashortsilence,andthenthedoctorsaid:
“Hound.”
ImmediatelySisterMarieAngeliqueanswered:“Death.”
Idonotproposetogiveafullaccountoftheexperiment.Manyunimportantandmeaninglesswordswerepurposelyintroducedbythedoctor.Otherwordsherepeatedseveraltimes,sometimesgettingthesameanswertothem,sometimesadifferentone.
Thateveninginthedoctor’slittlecottageonthecliffswediscussedtheresultoftheexperiment.
Heclearedhisthroat,anddrewhisnotebookclosertohim.
“Theseresultsareveryinteresting—verycurious.Inanswertothewords‘SixthSign,’wegetvariouslyDestruction,Purple,Hound,Power,thenagainDestruction,andfinallyPower.Later,asyoumayhavenoticed,Ireversedthemethod,withthefollowingresults.InanswertoDestruction,IgetHound;toPurple,Power;toHound,Death;again,andtoPower,Hound.Thatallholdstogether,butonasecondrepetitionofDestruction,IgetSea,whichappearsutterlyirrelevant.Tothewords‘FifthSign,’IgetBlue,Thoughts,Bird,Blueagain,andfinallytherathersuggestivephraseOpeningofmindtomind.Fromthefactthat‘FourthSign’elicitsthewordYellow,andlaterLight,andthat‘FirstSign’isansweredbyBlood,IdeducethateachSignhadaparticularcolour,andpossiblyaparticularsymbol,thatoftheFifthSignbeingabird,andthatoftheSixthahound.However,IsurmisethattheFifthSignrepresentedwhatisfamiliarlyknownastelepathy—theopeningofmindtomind.TheSixthSignundoubtedlystandsforthePowerofDestruction.”
“WhatisthemeaningofSea?”
“ThatIconfessIcannotexplain.IintroducedthewordlaterandgottheordinaryanswerofBoat.To‘SeventhSign’IgotfirstLife,thesecondtimeLove.To‘EighthSign,’IgottheanswerNone.ItakeitthereforethatSevenwasthesumandnumberofthesigns.”
“ButtheSeventhwasnotachieved,”Isaidonasuddeninspiration.“SincethroughtheSixthcameDestruction!”
“Ah!Youthinkso?Butwearetakingthese—madramblingsveryseriously.Theyarereallyonlyinterestingfromamedicalpointofview.”
“Surelytheywillattracttheattentionofpsychicinvestigators.”
Thedoctor’seyesnarrowed.“Mydearsir,Ihavenointentionofmakingthempublic.”
“Thenyourinterest?”
“Ispurelypersonal.Ishallmakenotesonthecase,ofcourse.”
“Isee.”ButforthefirsttimeIfelt,liketheblindman,thatIdidn’tseeatall.Irosetomyfeet.
“Well,I’llwishyougoodnight,doctor.I’mofftotownagaintomorrow.”
“Ah!”Ifanciedtherewassatisfaction,reliefperhaps,behindtheexclamation.
“Iwishyougoodluckwithyourinvestigations,”Icontinuedlightly.“Don’tloosetheHoundofDeathonmenexttimewemeet!”
HishandwasinmineasIspoke,andIfeltthestartitgave.Herecoveredhimselfquickly.Hislipsdrewbackfromhislongpointedteethinasmile.
“Foramanwholovedpower,whatapowerthatwouldbe!”hesaid.“Toholdeveryhumanbeing’slifeinthehollowofyourhand!”
Andhissmilebroadened.
Thatwastheendofmydirectconnectionwiththeaffair.
Later,thedoctor’snotebookanddiarycameintomyhands.Iwillreproducethefewscantentriesinithere,thoughyouwillunderstandthatitdidnotreallycomeintomypossessionuntilsometimeafterwards.
Aug.5th.Havediscoveredthatby“theChosen,”SisterM.A.meansthosewhoreproducedtherace.Apparentlytheywereheldinthehighesthonour,andexaltedabovethePriesthood.ContrastthiswithearlyChristians.Aug.7th.PersuadedSisterM.A.toletmehypnotizeher.Succeededininducinghypnopticsleepandtrance,butnorapportestablished.Aug.9th.Havetherebeencivilizationsinthepasttowhichoursisasnothing?Strangeifitshouldbeso,andItheonlymanwiththecluetoit….Aug.12th.SisterM.A.notatallamenabletosuggestionwhenhypnotized.Yetstateoftranceeasilyinduced.Cannotunderstandit.Aug.13th.SisterM.A.mentionedtodaythatin“stateofgrace”the“gatemustbeclosed,lestanothershouldcommandthebody.”Interesting—butbafflingAug.18th.SotheFirstSignisnoneotherthan…(wordserasedhere)…thenhowmanycenturieswillittaketoreachtheSixth?ButifthereshouldbeashortcuttoPower.Aug.20th.HavearrangedforM.A.tocomeherewithNurse.Havetoldheritisnecessarytokeeppatientundermorphia.AmImad?OrshallIbetheSuperman,withthePowerofDeathinmyhands?(Heretheentriescease)
Itwas,Ithink,onAugust29ththatIreceivedtheletter.Itwasdirectedtome,careofmysister-in-law,inaslopingforeignhandwriting.Iopeneditwithsomecuriosity.Itranasfollows:
CherMonsieur,Ihaveseenyoubuttwice,butIhavefeltIcouldtrustyou.Whethermydreamsarerealornot,theyhavegrowncleareroflate…And,Monsieur,onethingatallevents,theHoundofDeathisnodream…InthedaysItoldyouof(Whethertheyarerealornot,Idonotknow)HewhowasGuardianoftheCrystalrevealedtheSixthSigntothepeopletoosoon…Evilenteredintotheirhearts.Theyhadthepowertoslayatwill—andtheyslewwithoutjustice—inanger.TheyweredrunkwiththelustofPower.Whenwesawthis,Wewhowereyetpure,weknewthatonceagainweshouldnotcompletetheCircleandcometotheSignofEverlastingLife.HewhowouldhavebeenthenextGuardianoftheCrystalwasbiddentoact.Thattheoldmightdie,andthenew,afterendlessages,mightcomeagain,heloosedtheHoundofDeathuponthesea(beingcarefulnottoclosethecircle),andthesearoseupintheshapeofaHoundandswallowedthelandutterly….OncebeforeIrememberedthis—onthealtarstepsinBelgium…TheDr.Rose,heisoftheBrotherhood.HeknowstheFirstSign,andtheformoftheSecond,thoughitsmeaningishiddentoallsaveachosenfew.HewouldlearnofmetheSixth.Ihavewithstoodhimsofar—butIgrowweak,Monsieur,itisnotwellthatamanshouldcometopowerbeforehistime.Manycenturiesmustgobyeretheworldisreadytohavethepowerofdeathdeliveredintoitshand…Ibeseechyou,Monsieur,youwholovegoodnessandtruth,tohelpme…beforeitistoolate.YoursisterinChrist,MarieAngelique
Iletthepaperfall.Thesolidearthbeneathmeseemedalittlelesssolidthanusual.ThenIbegantorally.Thepoorwoman’sbelief,genuineenough,hadalmostaffectedme!Onethingwasclear.Dr.Rose,inhiszealforacase,wasgrosslyabusinghisprofessionalstanding.Iwouldrundownand—
SuddenlyInoticedaletterfromKittyamongstmyothercorrespondence.Itoreitopen.
“Suchanawfulthinghashappened,”Iread.“YourememberDr.Rose’slittlecottageonthecliff?Itwassweptawaybyalandslidelastnight,thedoctorandthatpoornun,SisterMarieAngelique,werekilled.Thedebrisonthebeachistooawful—allpiledupinafantasticmass—fromadistanceitlookslikeagreathound…”
Theletterdroppedfrommyhand.
Theotherfactsmaybecoincidence.AMr.Rose,whomIdiscoveredtobeawealthyrelativeofthedoctor’s,diedsuddenlythatsamenight—itwassaidstruckbylightning.Asfaraswasknownnothunderstormhadoccurredintheneighbourhood,butoneortwopeopledeclaredtheyhadheardonepealofthunder.Hehadanelectricburnonhim“ofacuriousshape.”Hiswilllefteverythingtohisnephew,Dr.Rose.
Now,supposingthatDr.RosesucceededinobtainingthesecretofthesixthSignfromSisterMarieAngelique.Ihadalwaysfelthimtobeanunscrupulousman—hewouldnotshrinkattakinghisuncle’slifeifheweresureitcouldnotbebroughthometohim.ButonesentenceofSisterMarieAngelique’sletterringsinmybrain…“beingcarefulnottoclosetheCircle…”Dr.Rosedidnotexercisethatcare—wasperhapsunawareofthestepstotake,orevenoftheneedforthem.Sotheforceheemployedreturned,completingitscircuit….
Butofcourseitisallnonsense!Everythingcanbeaccountedforquitenaturally.ThatthedoctorbelievedinSisterMarieAngelique’shallucinationsmerelyprovesthathismind,too,wasslightlyunbalanced.
YetsometimesIdreamofacontinentundertheseaswheremenoncelivedandattainedtoadegreeofcivilizationfaraheadofours….
OrdidSisterMarieAngeliquerememberbackwards—assomesayispossible—andisthisCityoftheCirclesinthefutureandnotinthepast?
Nonsense—ofcoursethewholethingwasmerelyhallucination!
Ten
THEGIPSY
“TheGipsy”wasfirstpublishedinthehardbackTheHoundofDeathandOtherStories(OdhamsPress,1933).Nopreviousappearanceshavebeenfound.
Macfarlanehadoftennoticedthathisfriend,DickieCarpenter,hadastrangeaversiontogipsies.Hehadneverknownthereasonforit.ButwhenDickie’sengagementtoEstherLaweswasbrokenoff,therewasamomentarytearingdownofreservesbetweenthetwomen.
Macfarlanehadbeenengagedtotheyoungersister,Rachel,foraboutayear.HehadknownboththeLawesgirlssincetheywerechildren.Slowandcautiousinallthings,hehadbeenunwillingtoadmittohimselfthegrowingattractionthatRachel’schildlikefaceandhonestbrowneyeshadforhim.NotabeautylikeEsther,no!Butunutterablytruerandsweeter.WithDickie’sengagementtotheeldersister,thebondbetweenthetwomenseemedtobedrawncloser.
Andnow,afterafewbriefweeks,thatengagementwasoffagain,andDickie,simpleDickie,hardhit.Sofarinhisyounglifeallhadgonesosmoothly.HiscareerintheNavyhadbeenwellchosen.Hiscravingfortheseawasinborn.TherewassomethingoftheVikingabouthim,primitiveanddirect,anatureonwhichsubtletiesofthoughtwerewasted.HebelongedtothatinarticulateorderofyoungEnglishmenwhodislikeanyformofemotion,andwhofinditpeculiarlyhardtoexplaintheirmentalprocessesinwords.
Macfarlane,thatdourScot,withaCelticimaginationhiddenawaysomewhere,listenedandsmokedwhilehisfriendflounderedalonginaseaofwords.Hehadknownanunburdeningwascoming.Buthehadexpectedthesubjectmattertobedifferent.Tobeginwith,anyway,therewasnomentionofEstherLawes.Only,itseemed,thestoryofachildishterror.
“ItallstartedwithadreamIhadwhenIwasakid.Notanightmareexactly.She—thegipsy,youknow—wouldjustcomeintoanyolddream—evenagooddream(orakid’sideaofwhat’sgood—apartyandcrackersandthings).I’dbeenjoyingmyselfnoend,andthenI’dfeel,I’dknow,thatifIlookedup,she’dbethere,standingasshealwaysstood,watchingme…Withsadeyes,youknow,asthoughsheunderstoodsomethingthatIdidn’t…Can’texplainwhyitrattledmeso—butitdid!Everytime!Iusedtowakeuphowlingwithterror,andmyoldnurseusedtosay:‘There!MasterDickie’shadoneofhisgipsydreamsagain!’”
“Everbeenfrightenedbyrealgipsies?”
“Neversawonetilllater.Thatwasqueer,too.Iwaschasingapupofmine.He’drunaway.Igotthroughthegardendoor,andalongoneoftheforestpaths.WelivedintheNewForestthen,youknow.Icametoasortofclearingattheend,withawoodenbridgeoverastream.Andjustbesideitagipsywasstanding—witharedhandkerchiefoverherhead—justthesameasinmydream.AndatonceIwasfrightened!Shelookedatme,youknow…Justthesamelook—asthoughsheknewsomethingIdidn’t,andwassorryaboutit…Andthenshesaidquitequietly,noddingherheadatme:‘Ishouldn’tgothatway,ifIwereyou.’Ican’ttellyouwhy,butitfrightenedmetodeath.Idashedpastherontothebridge.Isupposeitwasrotten.Anyway,itgaveway,andIwaschuckedintothestream.Itwasrunningprettyfast,andIwasnearlydrowned.Beastlytobenearlydrowned.I’veneverforgottenit.AndIfeltithadalltodowiththegipsy….”
“Actually,though,shewarnedyouagainstit?”
“Isupposeyoucouldputitlikethat,”Dickiepaused,thenwenton:“I’vetoldyouaboutthisdreamofmine,notbecauseithasanythingtodowithwhathappenedafter(atleast,Isupposeithasn’t),butbecauseit’sthejumpingoffpoint,asitwere.You’llunderstandnowwhatImeanbythe‘gipsyfeeling.’SoI’llgoontothatfirstnightattheLawes.”I’djustcomebackfromthewestcoastthen.ItwasawfullyrumtobeinEnglandagain.TheLaweswereoldfriendsofmypeople’s.Ihadn’tseenthegirlssinceIwasaboutseven,butyoungArthurwasagreatpalofmine,andafterhedied,Estherusedtowritetome,andsendmeoutpapers.Awfullyjollyletters,shewrote!Cheeredmeupnoend.IalwayswishedIwasabetterhandatwritingback.Iwasawfullykeentoseeher.Itseemedoddtoknowagirlquitewellfromherletters,andnototherwise.Well,IwentdowntotheLawes’placefirstthing.EstherwasawaywhenIarrived,butwasexpectedbackthatevening.IsatnexttoRachelatdinner,andasIlookedupanddownthelongtableaqueerfeelingcameoverme.Ifeltsomeonewaswatchingme,anditmademeuncomfortable.ThenIsawher—”
“Sawwho—”
“Mrs.Haworth—whatI’mtellingyouabout.”
ItwasonthetipofMacfarlane’stonguetosay:“IthoughtyouweretellingmeaboutEstherLawes.”Butheremainedsilent,andDickiewenton.
“Therewassomethingaboutherquitedifferentfromalltherest.ShewassittingnexttooldLawes—listeningtohimverygravelywithherheadbentdown.Shehadsomeofthatredtullestuffroundherneck.Ithadgottorn,Ithink,anywayitstoodupbehindherheadlikelittletonguesofflame…IsaidtoRachel:‘Who’sthatwomanoverthere.Dark—witharedscarf?’
“‘DoyoumeanAlistairHaworth?She’sgotaredscarf.Butshe’sfair.Veryfair.’
“Soshewas,youknow.Herhairwasalovelypaleshiningyellow.YetIcouldhaveswornpositivelyshewasdark.Queerwhattricksone’seyesplayonone…Afterdinner,Rachelintroducedus,andwewalkedupanddowninthegarden.Wetalkedaboutreincarnation….”
“Ratheroutofyourline,Dickie!”
“Isupposeitis.Iremembersayingthatitseemedtobeajollysensiblewayofaccountingforhowoneseemstoknowsomepeoplerightoff—asifyou’dmetthembefore.Shesaid:‘Youmeanlovers…’Therewassomethingqueeraboutthewayshesaidit—somethingsoftandeager.Itremindedmeofsomething—butIcouldn’trememberwhat.Wewentonjawingabit,andthenoldLawescalledusfromtheterrace—saidEstherhadcome,andwantedtoseeme.Mrs.Haworthputherhandonmyarmandsaid:‘You’regoingin?’‘Yes,’Isaid.‘Isupposewe’dbetter,’andthen—then—”
“Well?”
“Itsoundssuchrot.Mrs.Haworthsaid:‘Ishouldn’tgoinifIwereyou…’”Hepaused.“Itfrightenedme,youknow.Itfrightenedmebadly.That’swhyItoldyouaboutthedream…Because,yousee,shesaiditjustthesameway—quietly,asthoughsheknewsomethingIdidn’t.Itwasn’tjustaprettywomanwhowantedtokeepmeoutinthegardenwithher.Hervoicewasjustkind—andverysorry.Almostasthoughsheknewwhatwastocome…Isupposeitwasrude,butIturnedandlefther—almostrantothehouse.Itseemedlikesafety.IknewthenthatI’dbeenafraidofherfromthefirst.ItwasarelieftoseeoldLawes.Estherwastherebesidehim…”Hehesitatedaminuteandthenmutteredratherobscurely:“Therewasnoquestion—themomentIsawher.IknewI’dgotitintheneck.”
Macfarlane’smindflewswiftlytoEstherLawes.Hehadonceheardhersummedupas“SixfootoneofJewishperfection.”Ashrewdportrait,hethought,asherememberedherunusualheightandthelongslendernessofher,themarblewhitenessofherfacewithitsdelicatedown-droopingnose,andtheblacksplendourofhairandeyes.Yes,hedidnotwonderthattheboyishsimplicityofDickiehadcapitulated.Esthercouldneverhavemadehisownpulsesbeatonejotfaster,butheadmittedhermagnificence.
“Andthen,”continuedDickie,“wegotengaged.”
“Atonce?”
“Well,afteraboutaweek.Ittookheraboutafortnightafterthattofindoutthatshedidn’tcareafterall…”Hegaveashortbitterlaugh.
“ItwasthelasteveningbeforeIwentbacktotheoldship.Iwascomingbackfromthevillagethroughthewoods—andthenIsawher—Mrs.Haworth,Imean.Shehadonaredtam-o’-shanter,and—justforaminute,youknow—itmademejump!I’vetoldyouaboutmydream,soyou’llunderstand…Thenwewalkedalongabit.NotthattherewasawordEsthercouldn’thaveheard,youknow….”
“No?”Macfarlanelookedathisfriendcuriously.Strangehowpeopletoldyouthingsofwhichtheythemselveswereunconscious!
“Andthen,whenIwasturningtogobacktothehouse,shestoppedme.Shesaid:‘You’llbehomesoonenough.Ishouldn’tgobacktoosoonifIwereyou…’AndthenIknew—thattherewassomethingbeastlywaitingforme…and…assoonasIgotbackEsthermetme,andtoldme—thatshe’dfoundoutshedidn’treallycare….”
Macfarlanegruntedsympathetically.“AndMrs.Haworth?”heasked.
“Ineversawheragain—untiltonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.Atthedoctorjohnny’snursinghome.Theyhadalookatmyleg,theonethatgotmessedupinthattorpedobusiness.It’sworriedmeabitlately.Theoldchapadvisedanoperation—it’llbequiteasimplething.ThenasIlefttheplace,Iranintoagirlinaredjumperoverhernurse’sthings,andshesaid:‘Iwouldn’thavethatoperation,ifIwereyou…’ThenIsawitwasMrs.Haworth.ShepassedonsoquicklyIcouldn’tstopher.Imetanothernurse,andaskedabouther.Butshesaidtherewasn’tanyoneofthatnameinthehome…Queer….”
“Sureitwasher?”
“Oh!yes,yousee—she’sverybeautiful…”Hepaused,andthenadded:“Ishallhavetheoldop,ofcourse—but—butincasemynumbershouldbeup—”
“Rot!”
“Ofcourseit’srot.ButallthesameI’mgladItoldyouaboutthisgipsybusiness…Youknow,there’smoreofitifonlyIcouldremember….”
Macfarlanewalkedupthesteepmoorlandroad.Heturnedinatthegateofthehousenearthecrestofthehill.Settinghisjawsquarely,hepulledthebell
“IsMrs.Haworthin?”
“Yes,sir.I’lltellher.”Themaidlefthiminalowlongroom,withwindowsthatgaveonthewildnessofthemoorland.Hefrownedalittle.Washemakingacolossalassofhimself?
Thenhestarted.Alowvoicewassingingoverhead:
“ThegipsywomanLivesonthemoor—”
Thevoicebrokeoff.Macfarlane’sheartbeatashadefaster.Thedooropened.
Thebewildering,almostScandinavianfairnessofhercameasashock.InspiteofDickie’sdescription,hehadimaginedhergipsydark…AndhesuddenlyrememberedDickie’swords,andthepeculiartoneofthem.“Yousee,she’sverybeautiful…”Perfectunquestionablebeautyisrare,andperfectunquestionablebeautywaswhatAlistairHaworthpossessed.
Hecaughthimselfup,andadvancedtowardsher.“I’mafraidyoudon’tknowmefromAdam.IgotyouraddressfromtheLawes.But—I’mafriendofDickieCarpenter’s.”
Shelookedathimcloselyforaminuteortwo.Thenshesaid:“Iwasgoingout.Uponthemoor.Willyoucometoo?”
Shepushedopenthewindow,andsteppedoutonthehillside.Hefollowedher.Aheavy,ratherfoolish-lookingmanwassittinginabasketchairsmoking.
“Myhusband!We’regoingoutonthemoor,Maurice.AndthenMr.Macfarlanewillcomebacktolunchwithus.Youwill,won’tyou?”
“Thanksverymuch.”Hefollowedhereasystrideupthehill,andthoughttohimself:“Why?Why,onGod’searth,marrythat?”
Alistairmadeherwaytosomerocks.“We’llsithere.Andyoushalltellme—whatyoucametotellme.”
“Youknew?”
“Ialwaysknowwhenbadthingsarecoming.Itisbad,isn’tit?AboutDickie?”
“Heunderwentaslightoperation—quitesuccessfully.Buthisheartmusthavebeenweak.Hediedundertheanaesthetic.”
Whatheexpectedtoseeonherface,hescarcelyknew—hardlythatlookofuttereternalweariness…Heheardhermurmur:“Again—towait—solong—solong…”Shelookedup:“Yes,whatwereyougoingtosay?”
“Onlythis.Someonewarnedhimagainstthisoperation.Anurse.Hethoughtitwasyou.Wasit?”
Sheshookherhead.“No,itwasn’tme.ButI’vegotacousinwhoisanurse.She’sratherlikemeinadimlight.Idaresaythatwasit.”Shelookedupathimagain.“Itdoesn’tmatter,doesit?”Andthensuddenlyhereyeswidened.Shedrewinherbreath.“Oh!”shesaid.“Oh!Howfunny!Youdon’tunderstand….”
Macfarlanewaspuzzled.Shewasstillstaringathim.
“Ithoughtyoudid…Youshoulddo.Youlookasthoughyou’dgotit,too….”
“Gotwhat?”
“Thegift—curse—callitwhatyoulike.Ibelieveyouhave.Lookhardatthathollowintherocks.Don’tthinkofanything,justlook…Ah!”shemarkedhisslightstart.“Well—yousawsomething?”
“Itmusthavebeenimagination.JustforasecondIsawitfullofblood!”
Shenodded.“Iknewyouhadit.That’stheplacewheretheoldsunworshipperssacrificedvictims.Iknewthatbeforeanyonetoldme.AndtherearetimeswhenIknowjusthowtheyfeltaboutit—almostasthoughI’dbeentheremyself…Andthere’ssomethingaboutthemoorthatmakesmefeelasthoughIwerecomingbackhome…Ofcourseit’snaturalthatIshouldhavethegift.I’maFerguesson.There’ssecondsightinthefamily.Andmymotherwasamediumuntilmyfathermarriedher.Cristingwashername.Shewasrathercelebrated.”
“Doyoumeanby‘thegift’thepowerofbeingabletoseethingsbeforetheyhappen?”
“Yes,forwardsorbackwards—it’sallthesame.Forinstance,IsawyouwonderingwhyImarriedMaurice—oh!yes,youdid!—It’ssimplybecauseI’vealwaysknownthatthere’ssomethingdreadfulhangingoverhim…Iwantedtosavehimfromit…Womenarelikethat.Withmygift,Ioughttobeabletopreventithappening…ifoneevercan…Icouldn’thelpDickie.AndDickiewouldn’tunderstand…Hewasafraid.Hewasveryyoung.”
“Twenty-two.”
“AndI’mthirty.ButIdidn’tmeanthat.Therearesomanywaysofbeingdivided,lengthandheightandbreadth…buttobedividedbytimeistheworstwayofall…”Shefellintoalongbroodingsilence.
Thelowpealofagongfromthehousebelowrousedthem.
Atlunch,MacfarlanewatchedMauriceHaworth.Hewasundoubtedlymadlyinlovewithhiswife.Therewastheunquestioninghappyfondnessofadoginhiseyes.Macfarlanemarkedalsothetendernessofherresponse,withitshintofmaternity.Afterlunchhetookhisleave.
“I’mstayingdownattheinnforadayorso.MayIcomeandseeyouagain?Tomorrow,perhaps?”
“Ofcourse.But—”
“Butwhat—”
Shebrushedherhandquicklyacrosshereyes.“Idon’tknow.I—Ifanciedthatweshouldn’tmeetagain—that’sall…Goodbye.”
Hewentdowntheroadslowly.Inspiteofhimself,acoldhandseemedtighteningroundhisheart.Nothinginherwords,ofcourse,but—
Amotorsweptroundthecorner.Heflattenedhimselfagainstthehedge…onlyjustintime.Acuriousgreyishpallorcreptacrosshisface….
“GoodLord,mynervesareinarottenstate,”mutteredMacfarlane,asheawokethefollowingmorning.Hereviewedtheeventsoftheafternoonbeforedispassionately.Themotor,theshortcuttotheinnandthesuddenmistthathadmadehimlosehiswaywiththeknowledgethatadangerousbogwasnodistanceoff.Thenthechimneypotthathadfallenknew
Heflungoffhisbedclotheswithsuddenenergy.Hemustgoupandseeherfirstthing.Thatwouldbreakthespell.Thatis,ifhegottheresafely…Lord,whatafoolhewas!
Hecouldeatlittlebreakfast.Teno’clocksawhimstartinguptheroad.Atten-thirtyhishandwasonthebell.Then,andnottillthen,hepermittedhimselftodrawalongbreathofrelief.
“IsMr.Haworthin?”
Itwasthesameelderlywomanwhohadopenedthedoorbefore.Butherfacewasdifferent—ravagedwithgrief.
“Oh!sir,oh!sir,youhaven’theardthen?”
“Heardwhat?”
“MissAlistair,theprettylamb.Itwashertonic.Shetookiteverynight.Thepoorcaptainisbesidehimself,he’snearlymad.Hetookthewrongbottleofftheshelfinthedark…Theysentforthedoctor,buthewastoolate—”
AndswiftlythererecurredtoMacfarlanethewords:“I’vealwaysknowntherewassomethingdreadfulhangingoverhim.Ioughttobeabletopreventithappening—ifoneevercan—”Ah!butonecouldn’tcheatFate…Strangefatalityofvisionthathaddestroyedwhereitsoughttosave….
Theoldservantwenton:“Myprettylamb!Sosweetandgentleshewas,andsosorryforanythingintrouble.Couldn’tbearanyonetobehurt.”Shehesitated,thenadded:“Wouldyouliketogoupandseeher,sir?Ithink,fromwhatshesaid,thatyoumusthaveknownherlongago.Averylongtimeago,shesaid….”
Macfarlanefollowedtheoldwomanupthestairs,intotheroomoverthedrawingroomwherehehadheardthevoicesingingthedaybefore.Therewasstainedglassatthetopofthewindows.Itthrewaredlightontheheadofthebed.Agipsywitharedhandkerchiefoverherhead…Nonsense,hisnerveswereplayingtricksagain.HetookalonglastlookatAlistairHaworth.
“There’saladytoseeyou,sir.”
“Eh?”Macfarlanelookedatthelandladyabstractedly.“Oh!Ibegyourpardon,Mrs.Rowse,I’vebeenseeingghosts.”
“Notreally,sir?There’squeerthingstobeseenonthemoorafternightfall,Iknow.There’sthewhitelady,andtheDevil’sblacksmith,andthesailorandthegipsy—”
“What’sthat?Asailorandagipsy?”
“Sotheysay,sir.Itwasquiteataleinmyyoungdays.Crossedinlovetheywere,awhileback…Butthey’venotwalkedformanyalongdaynow.”
“No?Iwonderifperhaps—theywillagainnow….”
“Lor!sir,whatthingsyoudosay!Aboutthatyounglady—”
“Whatyounglady?”
“Theonethat’swaitingtoseeyou.She’sintheparlour.MissLawes,shesaidhernamewas.”
“Oh!”
Rachel!Hefeltacuriousfeelingofcontraction,ashiftingofperspective.Hehadbeenpeepingthroughatanotherworld.HehadforgottenRachel,forRachelbelongedtothislifeonly…Againthatcuriousshiftingofperspective,thatslippingbacktoaworldofthreedimensionsonly.
Heopenedtheparlourdoor.Rachel—withherhonestbrowneyes.Andsuddenly,likeamanawakeningfromadream,awarmrushofgladrealitysweptoverhim.Hewasalive—alive!Hethought:“There’sonlyonelifeonecanbesureabout!Thisone!”
“Rachel!”hesaid,and,liftingherchin,hekissedherlips.
Eleven
THELAMP
“TheLamp”wasfirstpublishedinthehardbackTheHoundofDeathandOtherStories(OdhamsPress,1933).Nopreviousappearanceshavebeenfound.
Itwasundoubtedlyanoldhouse.Thewholesquarewasold,withthatdisapprovingdignifiedoldageoftenmetwithinacathedraltown.ButNo.19gavetheimpressionofanelderamongelders;ithadaveritablepatriarchalsolemnity;ittoweredgreyestofthegrey,haughtiestofthehaughty,chillestofthechill.Austere,forbidding,andstampedwiththatparticulardesolationattachingtoallhousesthathavebeenlonguntenanted,itreignedabovetheotherdwellings.
Inanyothertownitwouldhavebeenfreelylabelled“haunted,”butWeyminsterwasaversefromghostsandconsideredthemhardlyrespectableexceptattheappanageofa“countyfamily.”SoNo.19wasneveralludedtoasahauntedhouse;butneverthelessitremained,yearafteryear,TOBELETORSOLD
Mrs.Lancasterlookedatthehousewithapprovalasshedroveupwiththetalkativehouseagent,whowasinanunusuallyhilariousmoodattheideaofgettingNo.19offhisbooks.Heinsertedthekeyinthedoorwithoutceasinghisappreciativecomments.
“Howlonghasthehousebeenempty?”inquiredMrs.Lancaster,cuttingshorthisflowoflanguageratherbrusquely.
Mr.Raddish(ofRaddishandFoplow)becameslightlyconfused.
“E—er—sometime,”heremarkedblandly.
“SoIshouldthink,”saidMrs.Lancasterdrily.
Thedimlylightedhallwaschillwithasinisterchill.Amoreimaginativewomanmighthaveshivered,butthiswomanhappenedtobeeminentlypractical.Shewastallwithmuchdarkbrownhairjusttingedwithgreyandrathercoldblueeyes.
Shewentoverthehousefromattictocellar,askingapertinentquestionfromtimetotime.Theinspectionover,shecamebackintooneofthefrontroomslookingoutonthesquareandfacedtheagentwitharesolutemien.
“Whatisthematterwiththehouse?”
Mr.Raddishwastakenbysurprise.
“Ofcourse,anunfurnishedhouseisalwaysalittlegloomy,”heparriedfeebly.
“Nonsense,”saidMrs.Lancaster.“Therentisridiculouslylowforsuchahouse—purelynominal.Theremustbesomereasonforit.Isupposethehouseishaunted?”
Mr.Raddishgaveanervouslittlestartbutsaidnothing.
Mrs.Lancastereyedhimkeenly.Afterafewmomentsshespokeagain.
“Ofcoursethatisallnonsense,Idon’tbelieveinghostsoranythingofthatsort,andpersonallyitisnodeterrenttomytakingthehouse;butservants,unfortunately,areverycredulousandeasilyfrightened.Itwouldbekindofyoutotellmeexactlywhat—whatthingissupposedtohauntthisplace.”
“I—er—reallydon’tknow,”stammeredthehouseagent.
“Iamsureyoumust,”saidtheladyquietly.“Icannottakethehousewithoutknowing.Whatwasit?Amurder?”
“Oh!no,”criedMr.Raddish,shockedbytheideaofanythingsoalientotherespectabilityofthesquare.“It’s—it’sonlyachild.”
“Achild?”
“Yes.”
“Idon’tknowthestoryexactly,”hecontinuedreluctantly.“Ofcourse,thereareallkindsofdifferentversions,butIbelievethataboutthirtyyearsagoamangoingbythenameofWilliamstookNo.19.Nothingwasknownofhim;hekeptnoservants;hehadnofriends;heseldomwentoutinthedaytime.Hehadonechild,alittleboy.Afterhehadbeenthereabouttwomonths,hewentuptoLondon,andhadbarelysetfootinthemetropolisbeforehewasrecognizedasbeingaman‘wanted’bythepoliceonsomecharge—exactlywhat,Idonotknow.Butitmusthavebeenagraveone,because,soonerthangivehimselfupheshothimself.Meanwhile,thechildlivedonhere,aloneinthehouse.Hehadfoodforalittletime,andhewaiteddayafterdayforhisfather’sreturn.Unfortunately,ithadbeenimpresseduponhimthathewasneverunderanycircumstancestogooutofthehouseorspeaktoanyone.Hewasaweak,ailing,littlecreature,anddidnotdreamofdisobeyingthiscommand.Inthenight,theneighbours,notknowingthathisfatherhadgoneaway,oftenheardhimsobbingintheawfullonelinessanddesolationoftheemptyhouse.”
Mr.Raddishpaused.
“And—er—thechildstarvedtodeath,”heconcluded,inthesametonesashemighthaveannouncedthatithadjustbeguntorain.
“Anditisthechild’sghostthatissupposedtohaunttheplace?”askedMrs.Lancaster.
“Itisnothingofconsequencereally,”Mr.Raddishhastenedtoassureher.“There’snothingseen,notseen,onlypeoplesay,ridiculous,ofcourse,buttheydosaytheyhear—thechild—crying,youknow.”
Mrs.Lancastermovedtowardsthefrontdoor.
“Ilikethehouseverymuch,”shesaid.“Ishallgetnothingasgoodfortheprice.Iwillthinkitoverandletyouknow.”
“Itreallylooksverycheerful,doesn’tit,Papa?”
Mrs.Lancastersurveyedhernewdomainwithapproval.Gayrugs,well-polishedfurniture,andmanyknickknacks,hadquitetransformedthegloomyaspectofNo.19.
Shespoketoathin,bentoldmanwithstoopingshouldersandadelicatemysticalface.Mr.Winburndidnotresemblehisdaughter;indeednogreatercontrastcouldbeimaginedthanthatpresentedbyherresolutepracticalnessandhisdreamyabstraction.
“Yes,”heansweredwithasmile,“noonewoulddreamthehousewashaunted.”
“Papa,don’ttalknonsense!Onourfirstdaytoo.”
Mr.Winburnsmiled.
“Verywell,mydear,wewillagreethattherearenosuchthingsasghosts.”
“Andplease,”continuedMrs.Lancaster,“don’tsayawordbeforeGeoff.He’ssoimaginative.”
GeoffwasMrs.Lancaster’slittleboy.ThefamilyconsistedofMr.Winburn,hiswidoweddaughter,andGeoffrey.
Rainhadbeguntobeatagainstthewindow—pitter-patter,pitter-patter.
“Listen,”saidMr.Winburn.“Isitnotlikelittlefootsteps?”
“Itismorelikerain,”saidMrs.Lancaster,withasmile.
“Butthat,thatisafootstep,”criedherfather,bendingforwardtolisten.
Mrs.Lancasterlaughedoutright.
Mr.Winburnwasobligedtolaughtoo.Theywerehavingteainthehall,andhehadbeensittingwithhisbacktothestaircase.Henowturnedhischairroundtofaceit.
LittleGeoffreywascomingdown,ratherslowlyandsedately,withachild’saweofastrangeplace.Thestairswereofpolishedoak,uncarpeted.Hecameacrossandstoodbyhismother.Mr.Winburngaveaslightstart.Asthechildwascrossingthefloor,hedistinctyheardanotherpairoffootstepsonthestairs,asofsomeonefollowingGeoffrey.Draggingfootsteps,curiouslypainfultheywere.Thenheshruggedhisshouldersincredulously.“Therain,nodoubt,”hethought.
“I’mlookingatthespongecakes,”remarkedGeoffwiththeadmirablydetachedairofonewhopointsoutaninterestingfact.
Hismotherhastenedtocomplywiththehint.
“Well,Sonny,howdoyoulikeyournewhome?”sheasked.
“Lots,”repliedGeoffreywithhismouthgenerouslyfilled.“Poundsandpoundsandpounds.”Afterthislastassertion,whichwasevidentlyexpressiveofthedeepestcontentment,herelapsedintosilence,onlyanxioustoremovethespongecakefromthesightofmanintheleasttimepossible.
Havingboltedthelastmouthful,heburstforthintospeech.
“Oh!Mummy,there’satticshere,Janesays;andcanIgoatonceandeggzplorethem?Andtheremightbeasecretdoor,Janesaysthereisn’t,butIthinktheremustbe,and,anyhow,Iknowthere’llbepipes,waterpipes(withafacefullofecstasy)andcanIplaywiththem,and,oh!canIgoandseetheBoi-i-ler?”Hespunoutthelastwordwithsuchevidentrapturethathisgrandfatherfeltashamedtoreflectthatthispeerlessdelightofchildhoodonlyconjureduptohisimaginationthepictureofhotwaterthatwasn’thot,andheavyandnumerousplumber’sbills.
“We’llseeabouttheatticstomorrow,darling,”saidMrs.Lancaster.“Supposeyoufetchyourbricksandbuildanicehouse,oranengine.”
“Don’twanttobuildan’ouse.”
“House.”
“House,orh’engineh’either.”
“Buildaboiler,”suggestedhisgrandfather.
Geoffreybrightened.
“Withpipes?”
“Yes,lotsofpipes.”
Geoffreyranawayhappilytofetchhisbricks.
Therainwasstillfalling.Mr.Winburnlistened.Yes,itmusthavebeentherainhehadheard;butitdidsoundlikefootsteps.
Hehadaqueerdreamthatnight.
Hedreamtthathewaswalkingthroughatown,agreatcityitseemedtohim.Butitwasachildren’scity;therewerenogrown-uppeoplethere,nothingbutchildren,crowdsofthem.Inhisdreamtheyallrushedtothestrangercrying:“Haveyoubroughthim?”Itseemedthatheunderstoodwhattheymeantandshookhisheadsadly.Whentheysawthis,thechildrenturnedawayandbegantocry,sobbingbitterly.
Thecityandthechildrenfadedawayandheawoketofindhimselfinbed,butthesobbingwasstillinhisears.Thoughwideawake,hehearditdistinctly;andherememberedthatGeoffreysleptonthefloorbelow,whilethissoundofachild’ssorrowdescendedfromabove.Hesatupandstruckamatch.Instantlythesobbingceased.
Mr.Winburndidnottellhisdaughterofthedreamoritssequel.Thatitwasnotrickofhisimagination,hewasconvinced;indeedsoonafterwardshehearditagaininthedaytime.Thewindwashowlinginthechimneybutthiswasaseparatesound—distinct,unmistakable;pitifullittleheartbrokensobs.
Hefoundouttoo,thathewasnottheonlyonetohearthem.Heoverheardthehousemaidsayingtotheparlourmaidthatshe“didn’tthinkasthattherenursewaskindtoMasterGeoffrey,she’d’eard’imcrying’islittle’eartoutonlythatmorning.”Geoffreyhadcomedowntobreakfastandlunchbeamingwithhealthandhappiness;andMr.WinburnknewthatitwasnotGeoffwhohadbeencrying,butthatotherchildwhosedraggingfootstepshadstartledhimmorethanonce.
Mrs.Lancasteraloneneverheardanything.Herearswerenotperhapsattunedtocatchsoundsfromanotherworld.
Yetonedayshealsoreceivedashock.
“Mummy,”saidGeoffplaintively.“Iwishyou’dletmeplaywiththatlittleboy.”
Mrs.Lancasterlookedupfromherwritingtablewithasmile.
“Whatlittleboy,dear?”
“Idon’tknowhisname.Hewasinaattic,sittingonthefloorcrying,butheranawaywhenhesawme.Isupposehewasshy(withslightcontempt),notlikeabigboy,andthen,whenIwasinthenurserybuilding,Isawhimstandinginthedoorwatchingmebuild,andhelookedsoawfullonelyandasthoughhewantedtoplaywivme.Isaid:‘Comeandbuildah’engine,’buthedidn’tsaynothing,justlookedas—asthoughhesawalotofchocolates,andhisMummyhadtoldhimnottotouchthem.”Geoffsighed,sadpersonalreminiscencesevidentlyrecurringtohim.“ButwhenIaskedJanewhohewasandtoldherIwantedtoplaywivhim,shesaidtherewasn’tnolittleboyinthe’ouseandnottotellnaughtystories.Idon’tloveJaneatall.”
Mrs.Lancastergotup.
“Janewasright.Therewasnolittleboy.”
“ButIsawhim.Oh!Mummy,doletmeplaywivhim,hedidlooksoawfullonelyandunhappy.Idowanttodosomethingto‘makehimbetter.’”
Mrs.Lancasterwasabouttospeakagain,butherfathershookhishead.
“Geoff,”hesaidverygently,“thatpoorlittleboyislonely,andperhapsyoumaydosomethingtocomforthim;butyoumustfindouthowbyyourself—likeapuzzle—doyousee?”
“IsitbecauseIamgettingbigImustdoitallmylone?”
“Yes,becauseyouaregettingbig.”
Astheboylefttheroom,Mrs.Lancasterturnedtoherfatherimpatiently.
“Papa,thisisabsurd.Toencouragetheboytobelievetheservants”idletales!”
“Noservanthastoldthechildanything,”saidtheoldmangently.“He’sseen—whatIhear,whatIcouldseeperhapsifIwerehisage.”
“Butit’ssuchnonsense!Whydon’tIseeitorhearit?”
Mr.Winburnsmiled,acuriouslytiredsmile,butdidnotreply.
“Why?”repeatedhisdaughter.“Andwhydidyoutellhimhecouldhelpthe—the—thing.It’s—it’sallsoimpossible.”
Theoldmanlookedatherwithhisthoughtfulglance.
“Whynot?”hesaid.“Doyourememberthesewords:
‘WhatLamphasDestinytoguideHerlittleChildrenstumblingintheDark?“ABlindUnderstanding,”Heavenreplied.’
“Geoffreyhasthat—ablindunderstanding.Allchildrenpossessit.Itisonlyaswegrowolderthatweloseit,thatwecastitawayfromus.Sometimes,whenwearequiteold,afaintgleamcomesbacktous,buttheLampburnsbrightestinchildhood.ThatiswhyIthinkGeoffreymayhelp.”
“Idon’tunderstand,”murmuredMrs.Lancasterfeebly.
“NomoredoI.That—thatchildisintroubleandwants—tobesetfree.Buthow?Idonotknow,but—it’sawfultothinkofit—sobbingitsheartout—achild.”
AmonthafterthisconversationGeoffreyfellveryill.Theeastwindhadbeensevere,andhewasnotastrongchild.Thedoctorshookhisheadandsaidthatitwasagravecase.ToMr.Winburnhedivulgedmoreandconfessedthatthecasewasquitehopeless.“Thechildwouldneverhavelivedtogrowup,underanycircumstances,”headded.
“Therehasbeenseriouslungtroubleforalongtime.”
ItwaswhennursingGeoffthatMrs.Lancasterbecameawareofthat—otherchild.Atfirstthesobswereanindistinguishablepartofthewind,butgraduallytheybecamemoredistinct,moreunmistakable.Finallysheheardtheminmomentsofdeadcalm:achild’ssobs—dull,hopeless,heartbroken.
Geoffgrewsteadilyworseandinhisdeliriumhespokeofthe“littleboy”againandagain.“Idowanttohelphimgetaway,Ido!”hecried.
Succeedingthedeliriumtherecameastateoflethargy.Geoffreylayverystill,hardlybreathing,sunkinoblivion.Therewasnothingtodobutwaitandwatch.Thentherecameastillnight,clearandcalm,withoutonebreathofwind
Suddenlythechildstirred.Hiseyesopened.Helookedpasthismothertowardtheopendoor.Hetriedtospeakandshebentdowntocatchthehalfbreathedwords.
“Allright,I’mcomin’,”hewhispered;thenhesankback.
Themotherfeltsuddenlyterrified,shecrossedtheroomtoherfather.Somewherenearthemtheotherchildwaslaughing.Joyful,contented,triumphantandsilverylaughterechoedthroughtheroom.
“I’mfrightened;I’mfrightened,”shemoaned.
Heputhisarmroundherprotectingly.Asuddengustofwindmadethembothstart,butitpassedswiftlyandlefttheairquietasbefore.
Thelaughterhadceasedandtherecrepttothemafaintsound,sofaintashardlytobeheard,butgrowingloudertilltheycoulddistinguishit.Footsteps—lightfootsteps,swiftlydeparting.
Pitter-patter,pitter-patter,theyran—thosewell-knownhaltinglittlefeet.Yet—surely—nowotherfootstepssuddenlymingledwiththem,movingwithaquickerandalightertread.
Withoneaccordtheyhastenedtothedoor.
Down,down,down,pastthedoor,closetothem,pitter-patter,pitter-patter,wenttheunseenfeetofthelittlechildrentogether.
Mrs.Lancasterlookedupwildly.
“Therearetwoofthem—two!”
Greywithsuddenfear,sheturnedtowardsthecotinthecorner,butherfatherrestrainedhergently,andpointedaway.
“There,”hesaidsimply.
Pitter-patter,pitter-patter—fainterandfainter.
Andthen—silence.
Twelve
THESTRANGECASEOFSIRARTHURCARMICHAEL
“TheStrangeCaseofSirArthurCarmichael”wasfirstpublishedinthehardbackTheHoundofDeathandOtherStories(OdhamsPress,1933).Nopreviousappearanceshavebeenfound.
(TakenfromthenotesofthelateDr.EdwardCarstairs,M.D.,theeminentpsychologist.)
IamperfectlyawarethattherearetwodistinctwaysoflookingatthestrangeandtragiceventswhichIhavesetdownhere.Myownopinionhasneverwavered.Ihavebeenpersuadedtowritethestoryoutinfull,andindeedIbelieveittobeduetosciencethatsuchstrangeandinexplicablefactsshouldnotbeburiedinoblivion.
Itwasawirefrommyfriend,Dr.Settle,thatfirstintroducedmetothematter.BeyondmentioningthenameCarmichael,thewirewasnotexplicit,butinobediencetoitItookthe12:20trainfromPaddingtontoWolden,inHertfordshire.
ThenameofCarmichaelwasnotunfamiliartome.IhadbeenslightlyacquaintedwiththelateSirWilliamCarmichaelofWolden,thoughIhadseennothingofhimforthelastelevenyears.Hehad,Iknew,oneson,thepresentbaronet,whomustnowbeayoungmanofabouttwenty-three.IrememberedvaguelyhavingheardsomerumoursaboutSirWilliam’ssecondmarriage,butcouldrecallnothingdefiniteunlessitwereavagueimpressiondetrimentaltothesecondLadyCarmichael.
Settlemetmeatthestation.
“Goodofyoutocome,”hesaidashewrungmyhand.
“Notatall.Iunderstandthisissomethinginmyline?”
“Verymuchso.”
“Amentalcase,then?”Ihazarded.“Possessingsomeunusualfeatures?”
WehadcollectedmyluggagebythistimeandwereseatedinadogcartdrivingawayfromthestationinthedirectionofWolden,whichlayaboutthreemilesaway.Settledidnotanswerforaminuteortwo.Thenheburstoutsuddenly.
“Thewholething’sincomprehensible!Hereisayoungman,twenty-threeyearsofage,thoroughlynormalineveryrespect.Apleasantamiableboy,withnomorethanhisfairshareofconceit,notbrilliantintellectuallyperhaps,butanexcellenttypeoftheordinaryupper-classyoungEnglishman.Goestobedinhisusualhealthoneevening,andisfoundthenextmorningwanderingaboutthevillageinasemi-idioticcondition,incapableofrecognizinghisnearestanddearest.”
“Ah!”Isaid,stimulated.Thiscasepromisedtobeinteresting.“Completelossofmemory?Andthisoccurred—?”
“Yesterdaymorning.The9thofAugust.”
“Andtherehasbeennothing—noshockthatyouknowof—toaccountforthisstate?”
“Nothing.”
Ihadasuddensuspicion.
“Areyoukeepinganythingback?”
“N—no.”
Hishesitationconfirmedmysuspicion.
“Imustknoweverything.”
“It’snothingtodowithArthur.It’stodowith—withthehouse.”
“Withthehouse,”Irepeated,astonished.
“You’vehadagreatdealtodowiththatsortofthing,haven’tyou,Carstairs?You’ve‘tested’so-calledhauntedhouses.What’syouropinionofthewholething?”
“Inninecasesoutoften,fraud,”Ireplied.“Butthetenth—well,Ihavecomeacrossphenomenathatareabsolutelyunexplainablefromtheordinarymaterialisticstandpoint.Iamabelieverintheoccult.”
Settlenodded.Wewerejustturninginattheparkgates.Hepointedwithhiswhipatalow-lyingwhitemansiononthesideofahill.
“That’sthehouse,”hesaid.“And—there’ssomethinginthathouse,somethinguncanny—horrible.Weallfeelit…AndI’mnotasuperstitiousman….”
“Whatformdoesittake?”Iasked.
Helookedstraightinfrontofhim.“I’dratheryouknewnothing.Yousee,ifyou—cominghereunbiased—knowingnothingaboutit—seeittoo—well—”
“Yes,”Isaid,“it’sbetterso.ButIshouldbegladifyouwilltellmealittlemoreaboutthefamily.”
“SirWilliam,”saidSettle,“wastwicemarried.Arthuristhechildofhisfirstwife.Nineyearsagohemarriedagain,andthepresentLadyCarmichaelissomethingofamystery.SheisonlyhalfEnglish,and,Isuspect,hasAsiaticbloodinherveins.”
Hepaused.
“Settle,”Isaid,“youdon’tlikeLadyCarmichael.”
Headmitteditfrankly.“No,Idon’t.Therehasalwaysseemedtobesomethingsinisterabouther.Well,tocontinue,byhissecondwifeSirWilliamhadanotherchild,alsoaboy,whoisnoweightyearsold.SirWilliamdiedthreeyearsago,andArthurcameintothetitleandplace.HisstepmotherandhalfbrothercontinuedtolivewithhimatWolden.Theestate,Imusttellyou,isverymuchimpoverished.NearlythewholeofSirArthur’sincomegoestokeepingitup.AfewhundredsayearwasallSirWilliamcouldleavehiswife,butfortunatelyArthurhasalwaysgotonsplendidlywithhisstepmother,andhasbeenonlytoodelightedtohaveherlivewithhim.Now—”
“Yes?”
“TwomonthsagoArthurbecameengagedtoacharminggirl,aMissPhyllisPatterson.”Headded,loweringhisvoicewithatouchofemotion:“Theyweretohavebeenmarriednextmonth.Sheisstayingherenow.Youcanimagineherdistress—”
Ibowedmyheadsilently.
Weweredrivingupclosetothehousenow.Onourrightthegreenlawnslopedgentlyaway.AndsuddenlyIsawamostcharmingpicture.Ayounggirlwascomingslowlyacrossthelawntothehouse.Sheworenohat,andthesunlightenhancedthegleamofhergloriousgoldenhair.Shecarriedagreatbasketofroses,andabeautifulgreyPersiancattwineditselflovinglyroundherfeetasshewalked.
IlookedatSettleinterrogatively.
“ThatisMissPatterson,”hesaid.
“Poorgirl,”Isaid,“poorgirl.Whatapictureshemakeswiththerosesandhergreycat.”
Iheardafaintsoundandlookedquicklyroundatmyfriend.Thereinshadslippedoutofhisfingers,andhisfacewasquitewhite.
“What’sthematter?”Iexclaimed.
Herecoveredhimselfwithaneffort.
Inafewmomentsmorewehadarrived,andIwasfollowinghimintothegreendrawingroom,whereteawaslaidout.
Amiddle-agedbutstillbeautifulwomanroseasweenteredandcameforwardwithanoutstretchedhand.
“Thisismyfriend,Dr.Carstairs,LadyCarmichael.”
IcannotexplaintheinstinctivewaveofrepulsionthatsweptovermeasItooktheprofferedhandofthischarmingandstatelywomanwhomovedwiththedarkandlanguorousgracethatrecalledSettle’ssurmiseofOrientalblood.
“Itisverygoodofyoutocome,Dr.Carstairs,”shesaidinalowmusicalvoice,“andtotryandhelpusinourgreattrouble.”
Imadesometrivialreplyandshehandedmemytea.
InafewminutesthegirlIhadseenonthelawnoutsideenteredtheroom.Thecarwasnolongerwithher,butshestillcarriedthebasketofrosesinherhand.Settleintroducedmeandshecameforwardimpulsively.
“Oh!Dr.Carstairs,Dr.Settlehastoldussomuchaboutyou.IhaveafeelingthatyouwillbeabletodosomethingforpoorArthur.”
MissPattersonwascertainlyaverylovelygirl,thoughhercheekswerepale,andherfrankeyeswereoutlinedwithdarkcircles.
“Mydearyounglady,”Isaidreassuringly,“indeedyoumustnotdespair.Thesecasesoflostmemory,orsecondarypersonality,areoftenofveryshortduration.Atanyminutethepatientmayreturntohisfullpowers.”
Sheshookherhead.“Ican’tbelieveinthisbeingasecondpersonality,”shesaid.“Thisisn’tArthuratall.Itisnopersonalityofhis.Itisn’thim.I—”
“Phyllis,dear,”saidLadyCarmichael’ssoftvoice,“hereisyourtea.”
AndsomethingintheexpressionofhereyesastheyrestedonthegirltoldmethatLadyCarmichaelhadlittleloveforherprospectivedaughter-in-law.
MissPattersondeclinedthetea,andIsaid,toeasetheconversation:“Isn’tthepussycatgoingtohaveasaucerofmilk?”
Shelookedatmeratherstrangely.
“The—pussycat?”
“Yes,yourcompanionofafewmomentsagointhegarden—”
Iwasinterruptedbyacrash.LadyCarmichaelhadupsettheteakettle,andthehotwaterwaspouringalloverthefloor.Iremediedthematter,andPhyllisPattersonlookedquestioninglyatSettle.Herose.
“Wouldyouliketoseeyourpatientnow,Carstairs?”
Ifollowedhimatonce.MissPattersoncamewithus.WewentupstairsandSettletookakeyfromhispocket.
“Hesometimeshasafitofwandering,”heexplained.“SoIusuallylockthedoorwhenI’mawayfromthehouse.”
Heturnedthekeyinthelockandwentin.
Theyoungmanwassittingonthewindowseatwherethelastraysofthewesterlysunstruckbroadandyellow.Hesatcuriouslystill,ratherhunchedtogether,witheverymusclerelaxed.IthoughtatfirstthathewasquiteunawareofourpresenceuntilIsuddenlysawthat,underimmovablelids,hewaswatchingusclosely.Hiseyesdroppedastheymetmine,andheblinked.Buthedidnotmove.
“Come,Arthur,”saidSettlecheerfully.“MissPattersonandafriendofminehavecometoseeyou.”
Buttheyoungfellowinthewindowseatonlyblinked.YetamomentortwolaterIsawhimwatchingusagain—furtivelyandsecretly.
“Wantyourtea?”askedSettle,stillloudlyandcheerfully,asthoughtalkingtoachild.
Hesetonthetableacupfullofmilk.Iliftedmyeyebrowsinsurprise,andSettlesmiled.
“Funnything,”hesaid,“theonlydrinkhe’lltouchismilk.”
Inamomentortwo,withoutunduehaste,SirArthuruncoiledhimself,limbbylimb,fromhishuddledposition,andwalkedslowlyovertothetable.Irecognizedsuddenlythathismovementswereabsolutelysilent,hisfeetmadenosoundastheytrod.Justashereachedthetablehegaveatremendousstretch,poisedononelegforward,theotherstretchingoutbehindhim.Heprolongedthisexercisetoitsutmostextent,andthenyawned.NeverhaveIseensuchayawn!Itseemedtoswallowuphisentireface.
Henowturnedhisattentiontothemilk,bendingdowntothetableuntilhislipstouchedthefluid.
Settleansweredmyinquiringlook.
“Won’tmakeuseofhishandsatall.Seemstohavereturnedtoaprimitivestate.Odd,isn’tit?”
IfeltPhyllisPattersonshrinkagainstmealittle,andIlaidmyhandsoothinglyonherarm.
Themilkwasfinishedatlast,andArthurCarmichaelstretchedhimselfoncemore,andthenwiththesamequietnoiselessfootstepsheregainedthewindowseat,wherehesat,huddledupasbefore,blinkingatus.
MissPattersondrewusoutintothecorridor.Shewastremblingallover.
“Oh!Dr.Carstairs,”shecried.“Itisn’thim—thatthinginthereisn’tArthur!Ishouldfeel—Ishouldknow—”
Ishookmyheadsadly.
“Thebraincanplaystrangetricks,MissPatterson.”
IconfessthatIwaspuzzledbythecase.Itpresentedunusualfeatures.ThoughIhadneverseenyoungCarmichaelbeforetherewassomethingabouthispeculiarmannerofwalking,andthewayheblinked,thatremindedmeofsomeoneorsomethingthatIcouldnotquiteplace.
Ourdinnerthatnightwasaquietaffair,theburdenofconversationbeingsustainedbyLadyCarmichaelandmyself.WhentheladieshadwithdrawnSettleaskedmemyimpressionofmyhostess.
“Imustconfess,”Isaid,“thatfornocauseorreasonIdislikeherintensely.Youarequiteright,shehasEasternblood,and,Ishouldsay,possessesmarkedoccultpowers.Sheisawomanofextraordinarymagneticforce.”
Settleseemedonthepointofsayingsomething,butcheckedhimselfandmerelyremarkedafteraminuteortwo:“Sheisabsolutelydevotedtoherlittleson.”
Wesatinthegreendrawingroomagainafterdinner.Wehadjustfinishedcoffeeandwereconversingratherstifflyonthetopicsofthedaywhenthecatbegantomiaowpiteouslyforadmissionoutsidethedoor.Noonetookanynotice,and,asIamfondofanimals,afteramomentortwoIrose.
“MayIletthepoorthingin?”IaskedLadyCarmichael.
Herfaceseemedverywhite,Ithought,butshemadeafaintgestureoftheheadwhichItookasassentand,goingtothedoor,Iopenedit.Butthecorridoroutsidewasquiteempty.
“Strange,”Isaid,“IcouldhaveswornIheardacat.”
AsIcamebacktomychairInoticedtheywereallwatchingmeintently.Itsomehowmademefeelalittleuncomfortable.
Weretiredtobedearly.Settleaccompaniedmetomyroom.
“Goteverythingyouwant?”heasked,lookingaround.
“Yes,thanks.”
Hestilllingeredratherawkwardlyasthoughtherewassomethinghewantedtosaybutcouldnotquitegetout.
“Bytheway,”Iremarked,“yousaidtherewassomethinguncannyaboutthishouse?Asyetitseemsmostnormal.”
“Youcallitacheerfulhouse?”
“Hardlythat,underthecircumstances.Itisobviouslyundertheshadowofagreatsorrow.Butasregardsanyabnormalinfluence,Ishouldgiveitacleanbillofhealth.”
“Goodnight,”saidSettleabruptly.“Andpleasantdreams.”
DreamIcertainlydid.MissPatterson’sgreycatseemedtohaveimpresseditselfuponmybrain.Allnightlong,itseemedtome,Idreamtofthewretchedanimal.
Awakingwithastart,Isuddenlyrealizedwhathadbroughtthecatsoforciblyintomythoughts.Thecreaturewasmiaowingpersistentlyoutsidemydoor.Impossibletosleepwiththatracketgoingon.Ilitmycandleandwenttothedoor.Butthepassageoutsidemyroomwasempty,thoughthemiaowingstillcontinued.Anewideastruckme.Theunfortunateanimalwasshutupsomewhere,unabletogetout.Totheleftwastheendofthepassage,whereLadyCarmichael’sroomwassituated.Iturnedthereforetotherightandhadtakenbutafewpaceswhenthenoisebrokeoutagainfrombehindme.Iturnedsharplyandthesoundcameagain,thistimedistinctlyontherightofme.
Something,probablyadraughtinthecorridor,mademeshiver,andIwentsharplybacktomyroom.Everythingwassilentnow,andIwassoonasleeponcemore—towaketoanotherglorioussummer’sday.
AsIwasdressingIsawfrommywindowthedisturberofmynight’srest.Thegreycatwascreepingslowlyandstealthilyacrossthelawn.Ijudgeditsobjectofattacktobeasmallflockofbirdswhowerebusychirrupingandpreeningthemselvesnotfaraway.
Andthenaverycuriousthinghappened.Thecatcamestraightonandpassedthroughthemidstofthebirds,itsfuralmostbrushingagainstthem—andthebirdsdidnotflyaway.Icouldnotunderstandit—thethingseemedincomprehensible.
SovividlydiditimpressmethatIcouldnotrefrainfrommentioningitatbreakfast.
“Doyouknow?”IsaidtoLadyCarmichael,“thatyouhaveaveryunusualcat?”
Iheardthequickrattleofacuponasaucer,andIsawPhyllisPatterson,herlipspartedandherbreathcomingquickly,gazingearnestlyatme.
Therewasamoment’ssilence,andthenLadyCarmichaelsaidinadistinctlydisagreeablemanner:“Ithinkyoumusthavemadeamistake.Thereisnocathere.Ihaveneverhadacat.”
ItwasevidentthatIhadmanagedtoputmyfootinitbadly,soIhastilychangedthesubject.
Butthematterpuzzledme.WhyhadLadyCarmichaeldeclaredtherewasnocatinthehouse?WasitperhapsMissPatterson’s,anditspresenceconcealedfromthemistressofthehouse?LadyCarmichaelmighthaveoneofthosestrangeantipathiestocatswhicharesooftenmetwithnowadays.Ithardlyseemedaplausibleexplanation,butIwasforcedtorestcontentwithitforthemoment.
Ourpatientwasstillinthesamecondition.ThistimeImadeathoroughexaminationandwasabletostudyhimmorecloselythanthenightbefore.Atmysuggestionitwasarrangedthatheshouldspendasmuchtimewiththefamilyaspossible.Ihopednotonlytohaveabetteropportunityofobservinghimwhenhewasoffhisguard,buttheordinaryeverydayroutinemightawakensomegleamofintelligence.Hisdemeanour,however,remainedunchanged.Hewasquietanddocile,seemedvacant,butwasinpointoffact,intenselyandratherslylywatchful.Onethingcertainlycameasasurprisetome,theintenseaffectionhedisplayedtowardshisstepmother.MissPattersonheignoredcompletely,buthealwaysmanagedtositasnearLadyCarmichaelaspossible,andonceIsawhimrubhisheadagainsthershoulderinadumbexpressionoflove.
Iwasworriedaboutthecase.Icouldnotbutfeelthattherewassomecluetothewholematterwhichhadsofarescapedme.
“Thisisaverystrangecase,”IsaidtoSettle.
“Yes,”saidhe,“it’svery—suggestive.”
Helookedatmeratherfurtively,Ithought.
“Tellme,”hesaid.“Hedoesn’t—remindyouofanything?”
Thewordsstruckmedisagreeably,remindingmeofmyimpressionofthedaybefore.
“Remindmeofwhat?”Iasked.
Heshookhishead.
“Perhapsit’smyfancy,”hemuttered.“Justmyfancy.”
Andhewouldsaynomoreonthematter.
Altogethertherewasmysteryshroudingtheaffair.Iwasstillobsessedwiththatbafflingfeelingofhavingmissedthecluethatshouldelucidateittome.Andconcerningalessermattertherewasalsomystery.Imeanthattriflingaffairofthegreycat.Forsomereasonorotherthethingwasgettingonmynerves.Idreamedofcats—IcontinuallyfanciedIheardhim.NowandtheninthedistanceIcaughtaglimpseofthebeautifulanimal.Andthefactthattherewassomemysteryconnectedwithitfrettedmeunbearably.OnasuddenimpulseIappliedoneafternoontothefootmanforinformation.
“Canyoutellmeanything,”Isaid,“aboutthecatIsee?”
“Thecat,sir?”Heappearedpolitelysurprised.
“Wasn’tthere—isn’tthere—acat?”
“Herladyshiphadacat,sir.Agreatpet.Hadtobeputawaythough.Agreatpity,asitwasabeautifulanimal.”
“Agreycat?”Iaskedslowly.
“Yes,sir.APersian.”
“Andyousayitwasdestroyed?”
“Yes,sir.”
“You’requitesureitwasdestroyed?”
“Oh!quitesure,sir.Herladyshipwouldn’thavehimsenttothevet—butdiditherself.Alittlelessthanaweekagonow.He’sburiedoutthereunderthecopperbeech,sir.”Andhewentoutoftheroom,leavingmetomymeditations.
WhyhadLadyCarmichaelaffirmedsopositivelythatshehadneverhadacat?
Ifeltanintuitionthatthistriflingaffairofthecatwasinsomewaysignificant.IfoundSettleandtookhimaside.
“Settle,”Isaid.“Iwanttoaskyouaquestion.Haveyou,orhaveyounot,bothseenandheardacatinthishouse?”
Hedidnotseemsurprisedatthequestion.Ratherdidheseemtohavebeenexpectingit.
“I’veheardit,”hesaid.“I’venotseenit.”
“Butthefirstday,”Icried.“OnthelawnwithMissPatterson!”
Helookedatmeverysteadily.
“IsawMissPattersonwalkingacrossthelawn.Nothingelse.”
Ibegantounderstand.“Then,”Isaid,“thecat—?”
Henodded.
“Iwantedtoseeifyou—unprejudiced—wouldhearwhatweallhear…?
“Youallhearitthen?”
Henoddedagain.
“It’sstrange,”Imurmuredthoughtfully.“Ineverheardofacathauntingaplacebefore.”
ItoldhimwhatIhadlearntfromthefootman,andheexpressedsurprise.
“That’snewstome.Ididn’tknowthat.”
“Butwhatdoesitmean?”Iaskedhelplessly.
Heshookhishead.“Heavenonlyknows!ButI’lltellyou,Carstairs—I’mafraid.The—thing’svoicesounds—menacing.”
“Menacing?”Isaidsharply.“Towhom?”
Hespreadouthishands.“Ican’tsay.”
ItwasnottillthateveningafterdinnerthatIrealizedthemeaningofhiswords.Weweresittinginthegreendrawingroom,asonthenightofmyarrival,whenitcame—theloudinsistentmiaowingofacatoutsidethedoor.Butthistimeitwasunmistakablyangryinitstone—afiercecatyowl,long-drawnandmenacing.Andthenasitceasedthebrasshookoutsidethedoorwasrattledviolentlyasbyacat’spaw.
Settlestartedup.
“Iswearthat’sreal,”hecried.
Herushedtothedoorandflungitopen
Therewasnothingthere.
Hecamebackmoppinghisbrow.Phylliswaspaleandtrembling,LadyCarmichaeldeathlywhite.OnlyArthur,squattingcontentedlylikeachild,hisheadagainsthisstepmother’sknee,wascalmandundisturbed.
MissPattersonlaidherhandonmyarmandwewentupstairs.
“Oh!Dr.Carstairs,”shecried.“Whatisit?Whatdoesitallmean?”
“Wedon’tknowyet,mydearyounglady,”Isaid.“ButImeantofindout.Butyoumustn’tbeafraid.Iamconvincedthereisnodangertoyoupersonally.”
Shelookedatmedoubtfully.“Youthinkthat?”
“Iamsureofit,”Iansweredfirmly.Irememberedthelovingwaythegreycathadtwineditselfroundherfeet,andIhadnomisgivings.Themenacewasnotforher.
Iwassometimedroppingofftosleep,butatlengthIfellintoanuneasyslumberfromwhichIawokewithasenseofshock.Iheardascratchingsputteringnoiseasofsomethingbeingviolentlyrippedortorn.Isprangoutofbedandrushedoutintothepassage.AtthesamemomentSettleburstoutofhisroomopposite.Thesoundcamefromourleft
“Youhearit,Carstairs?”hecried.“Youhearit?”
WecameswiftlyuptoLadyCarmichael’sdoor.Nothinghadpassedus,butthenoisehadceased.OurcandlesglitteredblanklyontheshinypanelsofLadyCarmichael’sdoor.Westaredatoneanother.
“Youknowwhatitwas?”hehalfwhispered.
Inodded.“Acat’sclawsrippingandtearingsomething.”Ishiveredalittle.SuddenlyIgaveanexclamationandloweredthecandleIheld.
“Lookhere,Settle.”
“Here”wasachairthatrestedagainstthewall—andtheseatofitwasrippedandtorninlongstrips….
Weexamineditclosely.HelookedatmeandInodded.
“Cat’sclaws,”hesaid,drawinginhisbreathsharply.“Unmistakable.”Hiseyeswentfromthechairtothecloseddoor.“That’sthepersonwhoismenaced.LadyCarmichael!”
Isleptnomorethatnight.Thingshadcometoapasswheresomethingmustbedone.AsfarasIknewtherewasonlyonepersonwhohadthekeytothesituation.IsuspectedLadyCarmichaelofknowingmorethanshechosetotell.
Shewasdeathlypalewhenshecamedownthenextmorning,andonlytoyedwiththefoodonherplate.Iwassurethatonlyanirondeterminationkeptherfrombreakingdown.AfterbreakfastIrequestedafewwordswithher.Iwentstraighttothepoint.
“LadyCarmichael,”Isaid.“Ihavereasontobelievethatyouareinverygravedanger.”
“Indeed?”Shebraveditoutwithwonderfulunconcern.
“Thereisinthishouse,”Icontinued,“AThing—aPresence—thatisobviouslyhostiletoyou.”
“Whatnonsense,”shemurmuredscornfully.“AsifIbelievedinanyrubbishofthatkind.”
“Thechairoutsideyourdoor,”Iremarkeddrily,“wasrippedtoribbonslastnight.”
“Indeed?”Withraisedeyebrowsshepretendedsurprise,butIsawthatIhadtoldhernothingshedidnotknow.“Somestupidpracticaljoke,Isuppose.”
“Itwasnotthat,”Irepliedwithsomefeeling.“AndIwantyoutotellme—foryourownsake—”Ipaused.
“Tellyouwhat?”shequeried.
“Anythingthatcanthrowlightonthematter,”Isaidgravely.
Shelaughed.
“Iknownothing,”shesaid.“Absolutelynothing.”
Andnowarningsofdangercouldinducehertorelaxthestatement.YetIwasconvincedthatshedidknowagreatdealmorethananyofus,andheldsomecluetotheaffairofwhichwewereabsolutelyignorant.ButIsawthatitwasquiteimpossibletomakeherspeak.
Idetermined,however,totakeeveryprecautionthatIcould,convincedasIwasthatshewasmenacedbyaveryrealandimmediatedanger.BeforeshewenttoherroomthefollowingnightSettleandImadeathoroughexaminationofit.Wehadagreedthatwewouldtakeitinturnstowatchthepassage.
Itookthefirstwatch,whichpassedwithoutincident,andatthreeo’clockSettlerelievedme.Iwastiredaftermysleeplessnightthedaybefore,anddroppedoffatonce.AndIhadaverycuriousdream.
Idreamedthatthegreycatwassittingatthefootofmybedandthatitseyeswerefixedonminewithacuriouspleading.Then,withtheeaseofdreams,Iknewthatthecreaturewantedmetofollowit.Ididso,anditledmedownthegreatstaircaseandrighttotheoppositewingofthehousetoaroomwhichwasobviouslythelibrary.Itpausedthereatonesideoftheroomandraiseditsfrontpawstilltheyrestedononeofthelowershelvesofbooks,whileitgazedatmeoncemorewiththatsamemovinglookofappeal.
Then—catandlibraryfaded,andIawoketofindthatmorninghadcome.
Settle’swatchhadpassedwithoutincident,buthewaskeenlyinterestedtohearofmydream.Atmyrequesthetookmetothelibrary,whichcoincidedineveryparticularwithmyvisionofit.Icouldevenpointouttheexactspotwheretheanimalhadgivenmethatlastsadlook.
Webothstoodthereinsilentperplexity.Suddenlyanideaoccurredtome,andIstoopedtoreadthetitleofthebookinthatexactplace.Inoticedthattherewasagapintheline.
“Somebookhasbeentakenoutofhere,”IsaidtoSettle.
Hestoopedalsototheshelf.
“Hallo,”hesaid.“There’sanailatthebackherethathastornoffafragmentofthemissingvolume.”
Hedetachedthelittlescrapofpaperwithcare.Itwasnotmorethananinchsquare—butonitwereprintedtwosignificantwords:“Thecat….”
“Thisthinggivesmethecreeps,”saidSettle.“It’ssimplyhorriblyuncanny.”
“I’dgiveanythingtoknow,”Isaid,“whatbookitisthatismissingfromhere.Doyouthinkthereisanywayoffindingout?”
“Maybeacataloguesomewhere.PerhapsLadyCarmichael—”
Ishookmyhead.
“LadyCarmichaelwilltellyounothing.”
“Youthinkso?”
“Iamsureofit.WhileweareguessingandfeelingaboutinthedarkLadyCarmichaelknows.Andforreasonsofherownshewillsaynothing.Shepreferstorunamosthorriblerisksoonerthanbreaksilence.”
Thedaypassedwithanuneventfulnessthatremindedmeofthecalmbeforeastorm.AndIhadastrangefeelingthattheproblemwasnearsolution.Iwasgropingaboutinthedark,butsoonIshouldsee.Thefactswereallthere,ready,waitingforthelittleflashofilluminationthatshouldweldthemtogetherandshowouttheirsignificance.
Andcomeitdid!Inthestrangestway!
Itwaswhenwewereallsittingtogetherinthegreendrawingroomasusualafterdinner.Wehadbeenverysilent.Sonoiselessindeedwastheroomthatalittlemouseranacrossthefloor—andinaninstantthethinghappened.
WithonelongspringArthurCarmichaelleaptfromhischair.Hisquiveringbodywasswiftasanarrowonthemouse’strack.Ithaddisappearedbehindthewainscoting,andtherehecrouched—watchful—hisbodystilltremblingwitheagerness.
Itwashorrible!Ihaveneverknownsuchaparalysingmoment.IwasnolongerpuzzledastothatsomethingthatArthurCarmichaelremindedmeofwithhisstealthyfeetandwatchingeyes.Andinaflashanexplanation,wild,incredible,unbelievable,sweptintomymind.Irejecteditasimpossible—unthinkable!ButIcouldnotdismissitfrommythoughts.
Ihardlyrememberwhathappenednext.Thewholethingseemedblurredandunreal.Iknowthatsomehowwegotupstairsandsaidourgoodnightsbriefly,almostwithadreadofmeetingeachother’seyes,lestweshouldseetheresomeconfirmationofourownfears.
SettleestablishedhimselfoutsideLadyCarmichael’sdoortotakethefirstwatch,arrangingtocallmeat3a.m.IhadnospecialfearsforLadyCarmichael;Iwastootakenupwithmyfantasticimpossibletheory.Itoldmyselfitwasimpossible—butmymindreturnedtoit,fascinated.
Andthensuddenlythestillnessofthenightwasdisturbed.Settle’svoiceroseinashout,callingme.Irushedouttothecorridor.
HewashammeringandpoundingwithallhismightonLadyCarmichael’sdoor.
“Deviltakethewoman!”hecried.“She’slockedit!”
“But—”
“It’sinthere,man!Inwithher!Can’tyouhearit?”
Frombehindthelockeddooralong-drawncatyowlsoundedfiercely.Andthenfollowingitahorriblescream—andanother…IrecognizedLadyCarmichael’svoice.
“Thedoor!”Iyelled.“Wemustbreakitin.Inanotherminuteweshallbetoolate.”
Wesetourshouldersagainstit,andheavedwithallourmight.Itgavewithacrash—andwealmostfellintotheroom.
LadyCarmichaellayonthebedbathedinblood.Ihaveseldomseenamorehorriblesight.Herheartwasstillbeating,butherinjurieswereterrible,fortheskinofthethroatwasallrippedandtorn…Shuddering,Iwhispered:“TheClaws…”Athrillofsuperstitioushorrorranoverme.
IdressedandbandagedthewoundscarefullyandsuggestedtoSettlethattheexactnatureoftheinjurieshadbetterbekeptsecret,especiallyfromMissPatterson.Iwroteoutatelegramforahospitalnurse,tobedespatchedassoonasthetelegraphofficewasopen.
Thedawnwasnowstealinginatthewindow.Ilookedoutonthelawnbelow.
“Getdressedandcomeout,”IsaidabruptlytoSettle.“LadyCarmichaelwillbeallrightnow.”
Hewassoonready,andwewentoutintothegardentogether.
“Whatareyougoingtodo?”
“Digupthecat’sbody,”Isaidbriefly.“Imustbesure—”
Ifoundaspadeinatoolshedandwesettoworkbeneaththelargecopperbeechtree.Atlastourdiggingwasrewarded.Itwasnotapleasantjob.Theanimalhadbeendeadaweek.ButIsawwhatIwantedtosee.
“That’sthecat,”Isaid.“TheidenticalcatIsawthefirstdayIcamehere.”
Settlesniffed.Anodourofbitteralmondswasstillperceptible.
“Prussicacid,”hesaid.
Inodded.
“Whatareyouthinking?”heaskedcuriously.
“Whatyouthinktoo!”
Mysurmisewasnonewonetohim—ithadpassedthroughhisbrainalso,Icouldsee.
“It’simpossible,”hemurmured.“Impossible!It’sagainstallscience—allnature…”Hisvoicetailedoffinashudder.“Thatmouselastnight,”hesaid.“But—oh!itcouldn’tbe!”
“LadyCarmichael,”Isaid,“isaverystrangewoman.Shehasoccultpowers—hypnoticpowers.HerforebearscamefromtheEast.CanweknowwhatuseshemighthavemadeofthesepowersoveraweaklovablenaturesuchasArthurCarmichael’s?Andremember,Settle,ifArthurCarmichaelremainsahopelessimbecile,devotedtoher,thewholepropertyispracticallyhersandherson’s—whomyouhavetoldmesheadores.AndArthurwasgoingtobemarried!”
“Butwhatarewegoingtodo,Carstairs?”
“There’snothingtobedone,”Isaid.“We’lldoourbestthoughtostandbetweenLadyCarmichaelandvengeance.”
LadyCarmichaelimprovedslowly.Herinjurieshealedthemselvesaswellascouldbeexpected—thescarsofthatterribleassaultshewouldprobablybeartotheendofherlife.
Ihadneverfeltmorehelpless.Thepowerthatdefeateduswasstillatlarge,undefeated,andthoughquiescentfortheminutewecouldhardlyregarditasdoingotherwisethanbidingitstime.Iwasdeterminedupononething.AssoonasLadyCarmichaelwaswellenoughtobemovedshemustbetakenawayfromWolden.Therewasjustachancethattheterriblemanifestationmightbeunabletofollowher.Sothedayswenton.
IhadfixedSeptember18thasthedateofLadyCarmichael’sremoval.Itwasonthemorningofthe14thwhentheunexpectedcrisisarose.
IwasinthelibrarydiscussingdetailsofLadyCarmichael’scasewithSettlewhenanagitatedhousemaidrushedintotheroom.
“Oh!sir,”shecried.“Bequick!Mr.Arthur—he’sfallenintothepond.Hesteppedonthepuntanditpushedoffwithhim,andheoverbalancedandfellin!Isawitfromthewindow.”
Iwaitedfornomore,butranstraightoutoftheroomfollowedbySettle.Phylliswasjustoutsideandhadheardthemaid’sstory.Sheranwithus.
“Butyouneedn’tbeafraid,”shecried.“Arthurisamagnificentswimmer.”
Ifeltforebodings,however,andredoubledmypace.Thesurfaceofthepondwasunruffled.Theemptypuntfloatedlazilyabout—butofArthurtherewasnosign.
Settlepulledoffhiscoatandhisboots.“I’mgoingin,”hesaid.“Youtaketheboathookandfishaboutfromtheotherpunt.It’snotverydeep.”
Verylongthetimeseemedaswesearchedvainly.Minutefollowedminute.Andthen,justasweweredespairing,wefoundhim,andboretheapparentlylifelessbodyofArthurCarmichaeltoshore.
AslongasIliveIshallneverforgetthehopelessagonyofPhyllis’sface.
“Not—not—”herlipsrefusedtoframethedreadfulword.
“No,no,mydear,”Icried.“We’llbringhimround,neverfear.”
ButinwardlyIhadlittlehope.Hehadbeenunderwaterforhalfanhour.IsentoffSettletothehouseforhotblanketsandothernecessaries,andbeganmyselftoapplyartificialrespiration.
Weworkedvigorouslywithhimforoveranhourbuttherewasnosignoflife.ImotionedtoSettletotakemyplaceagain,andIapproachedPhyllis.
“I’mafraid,”Isaidgently,“thatitisnogood.Arthurisbeyondourhelp.”
Shestayedquitestillforamomentandthensuddenlyflungherselfdownonthelifelessbody.
“Arthur!”shecrieddesperately.“Arthur!Comebacktome!Arthur—comeback—comeback!”
Hervoiceechoedawayintosilence.SuddenlyItouchedSettle’sarm.“Look!”Isaid.
Afainttingeofcolourcreptintothedrownedman’sface.Ifelthisheart.
“Goonwiththerespiration,”Icried.“He’scominground!”
Themomentsseemedtoflynow.Inamarvellouslyshorttimehiseyesopened.
ThensuddenlyIrealizedadifference.Thesewereintelligenteyes,humaneyes
TheyrestedonPhyllis.
“Hallo!Phil,”hesaidweakly.“Isityou?Ithoughtyouweren’tcominguntiltomorrow.”
Shecouldnotyettrustherselftospeakbutshesmiledathim.Helookedroundwithincreasingbewilderment.
“But,Isay,whereamI?And—howrottenIfeel!What’sthematterwithme?Hallo,Dr.Settle!”
“You’vebeennearlydrowned—that’swhat’sthematter,”returnedSettlegrimly.
SirArthurmadeagrimace.
“I’vealwayshearditwasbeastlycomingbackafterwards!Buthowdidithappen?WasIwalkinginmysleep?”
Settleshookhishead.
“Wemustgethimtothehouse,”Isaid,steppingforward.
Hestaredatme,andPhyllisintroducedme.“Dr.Carstairs,whoisstayinghere.”
Wesupportedhimbetweenusandstartedforthehouse.Helookedupsuddenlyasthoughstruckbyanidea.
“Isay,doctor,thiswon’tknockmeupforthe12th,willit?”
“The12th?”Isaidslowly,“youmeanthe12thofAugust?”
“Yes—nextFriday.”
“Todayisthe14thofSeptember,”saidSettleabruptly.Hisbewildermentwasevident.
“But—butIthoughtitwasthe8thofAugust?Imusthavebeenillthen?”
Phyllisinterposedratherquicklyinhergentlevoice.
“Yes,”shesaid,“you’vebeenveryill.”
Hefrowned.“Ican’tunderstandit.IwasperfectlyallrightwhenIwenttobedlastnight—atleastofcourseitwasn’treallylastnight.Ihaddreamsthough.Iremember,dreams…”Hisbrowfurroweditselfstillmoreashestrovetoremember.“Something—whatwasit?Somethingdreadful—someonehaddoneittome—andIwasangry—desperate…AndthenIdreamedIwasacat—yes,acat!Funny,wasn’tit?Butitwasn’tafunnydream.Itwasmore—horrible!ButIcan’tremember.ItallgoeswhenIthink.”
Ilaidmyhandonhisshoulder.“Don’ttrytothink,SirArthur,”Isaidgravely.“Becontent—toforget.”
Helookedatmeinapuzzledwayandnodded.IheardPhyllisdrawabreathofrelief.Wehadreachedthehouse.
“Bytheway,”saidSirArthursuddenly,“where’sthemater?”
“Shehasbeen—ill,”saidPhyllisafteramomentarypause.
“Oh!pooroldmater!”Hisvoicerangwithgenuineconcern.“Whereisshe?Inherroom?”
“Yes,”Isaid,“butyouhadbetternotdisturb—”
Thewordsfrozeonmylips.ThedoorofthedrawingroomopenedandLadyCarmichael,wrappedinadressinggown,cameoutintothehall.
HereyeswerefixedonArthur,andifeverIhaveseenalookofabsoluteguilt-strickenterrorIsawitthen.Herfacewashardlyhumaninitsfrenziedterror.Herhandwenttoherthroat.
Arthuradvancedtowardsherwithboyishaffection.
“Hello,mater!Soyou’vebeenknockeduptoo?Isay,I’mawfullysorry.”
Sheshrankbackbeforehim,hereyesdilating.Thensuddenly,withashriekofadoomedsoul,shefellbackwardsthroughtheopendoor.
Irushedandbentoverher,thenbeckonedtoSettle.
“Hush,”Isaid.“Takehimupstairsquietlyandthencomedownagain.LadyCarmichaelisdead.”
Hereturnedinafewminutes.
“Whatwasit?”heasked.“Whatcausedit?”
“Shock,”Isaidgrimly.“TheshockofseeingArthurCarmichael,restoredtolife!Oryoumaycallit,asIpreferto,thejudgmentofGod!”
“Youmean—”hehesitated.
Ilookedathimintheeyessothatheunderstood.
“Alifeforalife,”Isaidsignificantly.
“But—”
Oh!IknowthatastrangeandunforeseenaccidentpermittedthespiritofArthurCarmichaeltoreturntohisbody.But,nevertheless,ArthurCarmichaelwasmurdered.”
Helookedatmehalffearfully.“Withprussicacid?”heaskedinalowtone.
“Yes,”Ianswered.“Withprussicacid.”
SettleandIhaveneverspokenourbelief.Itisnotonelikelytobecredited.AccordingtotheorthodoxpointofviewArthurCarmichaelmerelysufferedfromlossofmemory,LadyCarmichaellaceratedherownthroatinatemporaryfitofmania,andtheapparitionoftheGreyCatwasmereimagination.
Buttherearetwofactsthattomymindareunmistakable.Oneistherippedchairinthecorridor.Theotherisevenmoresignificant.Acatalogueofthelibrarywasfound,andafterexhaustivesearchitwasprovedthatthemissingvolumewasanancientandcuriousworkonthepossibilitiesofthemetamorphosisofhumanbeingsintoanimals!
Onethingmore.IamthankfultosaythatArthurknowsnothing.Phyllishaslockedthesecretofthoseweeksinherownheart,andshewillnever,Iamsure,revealthemtothehusbandshelovessodearly,andwhocamebackacrossthebarrierofthegraveatthecallofhervoice.
Thirteen
THECALLOFWINGS
“TheCallofWings”wasfirstpublishedinthehardbackTheHoundofDeathandOtherStories(OdhamsPress,1933).Nopreviousappearanceshavebeenfound.
SilasHamerhearditfirstonawintrynightinFebruary.HeandDickBorrowhadwalkedfromadinnergivenbyBernardSeldon,thenervespecialist.Borrowhadbeenunusuallysilent,andSilasHameraskedhimwithsomecuriositywhathewasthinkingabout.Borrow’sanswerwasunexpected.
“Iwasthinking,thatofallthesementonight,onlytwoamongstthemcouldlayclaimtohappiness.Andthatthesetwo,strangelyenough,wereyouandI!”
Theword“strangely”wasapposite,fornotwomencouldbemoredissimilarthanRichardBorrow,thehardworkingEastEndparson,andSilasHamer,thesleekcomplacentmanwhosemillionswereamatterofhouseholdknowledge.
“It’sodd,youknow,”musedBorrow,“Ibelieveyou’retheonlycontentedmillionaireI’veevermet.”
Hamerwassilentamoment.Whenhespokehistonehadaltered.
“Iusedtobeawretchedshiveringlittlenewspaperboy.Iwantedthen—whatI’vegotnow!—thecomfortandtheluxuryofmoney,notitspower.Iwantedmoney,nottowieldasaforce,buttospendlavishly—onmyself!I’mfrankaboutit,yousee.Moneycan’tbuyeverything,theysay.Verytrue.ButitcanbuyeverythingIwant—thereforeI’msatisfied.I’mamaterialist,Borrow,outandoutamaterialist!”
Thebroadglareofthelightedthoroughfareconfirmedthisconfessionoffaith.ThesleeklinesofSilasHamer’sbodywereamplifiedbytheheavyfur-linedcoat,andthewhitelightemphasizedthethickrollsoffleshbeneathhischin.IncontrasttohimwalkedDickBorrow,withthethinasceticfaceandthestar-gazingfanaticaleyes.
“It’syou,”saidHamerwithemphasis,“thatIcan’tunderstand.”
Borrowsmiled.
“Iliveinthemidstofmisery,want,starvation—alltheillsoftheflesh!AndapredominantVisionupholdsme.It’snoteasytounderstandunlessyoubelieveinVisions,whichIgatheryoudon’t.”
“Idon’tbelieve,”saidSilasHamerstolidly,“inanythingIcan’tsee,hearandtouch.”
“Quiteso.That’sthedifferencebetweenus.Well,good-bye,theearthnowswallowsmeup!”
Theyhadreachedthedoorwayofalightedtubestation,whichwasBorrow’sroutehome.
Hamerproceededalone.Hewasgladhehadsentawaythecartonightandelectedtowalkhome.Theairwaskeenandfrosty,hissensesweredelightfullyconsciousoftheenvelopingwarmthofthefur-linedcoat.
Hepausedforaninstantonthekerbstonebeforecrossingtheroad.Agreatmotorbuswasheavilyploughingitswaytowardshim.Hamer,withthefeelingofinfiniteleisure,waitedforittopass.Ifheweretocrossinfrontofithewouldhavetohurry—andhurrywasdistastefultohim.
Byhissideabatteredderelictofthehumanracerolleddrunkenlyoffthepavement.Hamerwasawareofashout,anineffectualswerveofthemotorbus,andthen—hewaslookingstupidly,withagraduallyawakeninghorror,atalimpinertheapofragsinthemiddleoftheroad.
Acrowdgatheredmagically,withacoupleofpolicemenandthebusdriverasitsnucleus.ButHamer’seyeswererivetedinhorrifiedfascinationonthatlifelessbundlethathadoncebeenaman—amanlikehimself!Heshudderedasatsomemenace.
“Dahn’tyerblimeyerself,guv’nor,”remarkedarough-lookingmanathisside.“Yercouldn’t’adonenothin.”’Ewasdoneforanyways.”
Hamerstaredathim.Theideathatitwaspossibleinanywaytosavethemanhadquitehonestlyneveroccurredtohim.Hescoutedthenotionnowasanabsurdity.Whyifhehadbeensofoolish,hemightatthismoment…Histhoughtsbrokeoffabruptly,andhewalkedawayfromthecrowd.Hefelthimselfshakingwithanamelessunquenchabledread.Hewasforcedtoadmittohimselfthathewasafraid—horriblyafraid—ofDeath…Deaththatcamewithdreadfulswiftnessandremorselesscertaintytorichandpooralike….
Hewalkedfaster,butthenewfearwasstillwithhim,envelopinghiminitscoldandchillinggrasp.
Hewonderedathimself,forheknewthatbynaturehewasnocoward.Fiveyearsago,hereflected,thisfearwouldnothaveattackedhim.ForthenLifehadnotbeensosweet…Yes,thatwasit;loveofLifewasthekeytothemystery.Thezestoflivingwasatitsheightforhim;itknewbutonemenace,Death,thedestroyer!
Heturnedoutofthelightedthoroughfare.Anarrowpassageway,betweenhighwalls,offeredashortcuttotheSquarewherehishouse,famousforitsarttreasures,wassituated.
Thenoiseofthestreetbehindhimlessenedandfaded,thesoftthudofhisownfootstepswastheonlysoundtobeheard.
Andthenoutofthegloominfrontofhimcameanothersound.Sittingagainstthewallwasamanplayingtheflute.Oneoftheenormoustribeofstreetmusicians,ofcourse,butwhyhadhechosensuchapeculiarspot?Surelyatthistimeofnightthepolice—Hamer’sreflectionswereinterruptedsuddenlyasherealizedwithashockthatthemanhadnolegs.Apairofcrutchesrestedagainstthewallbesidehim.Hamersawnowthatitwasnotaflutehewasplayingbutastrangeinstrumentwhosenotesweremuchhigherandclearerthanthoseofaflute.
Themanplayedon.HetooknonoticeofHamer’sapproach.Hisheadwasflungfarbackonhisshoulders,asthoughupliftedinthejoyofhisownmusic,andthenotespouredoutclearlyandjoyously,risinghigherandhigher….
Itwasastrangetune—strictlyspeaking,itwasnotatuneatall,butasinglephrase,notunliketheslowturngivenoutbytheviolinsofRienzi,repeatedagainandagain,passingfromkeytokey,fromharmonytoharmony,butalwaysrisingandattainingeachtimetoagreaterandmoreboundlessfreedom.
ItwasunlikeanythingHamerhadeverheard.Therewassomethingstrangeaboutit,somethinginspiring—anduplifting…it…Hecaughtfranticallywithbothhandstoaprojectioninthewallbesidehim.Hewasconsciousofonethingonly—thathemustkeepdown—atallcostshemustkeepdown…
Hesuddenlyrealizedthatthemusichadstopped.Theleglessmanwasreachingoutforhiscrutches.Andherewashe,SilasHamer,clutchinglikealunaticatastonebuttress,forthesimplereasonthathehadhadtheutterlypreposterousnotion—absurdonthefaceofit!—thathewasrisingfromtheground—thatthemusicwascarryinghimupwards.
Helaughed.Whatawhollymadidea!Ofcoursehisfeethadneverlefttheearthforamoment,butwhatastrangehallucination!Thequicktap-tappingofwoodonthepavementtoldhimthatthecripplewasmovingaway.Helookedafterhimuntiltheman’sfigurewasswallowedupinthegloom.Anoddfellow!
Heproceededonhiswaymoreslowly;hecouldnoteffacefromhismindthememoryofthatstrangeimpossiblesensationwhenthegroundhadfailedbeneathhisfeet….
Andthenonanimpulseheturnedandfollowedhurriedlyinthedirectiontheotherhadtaken.Themancouldnothavegonefar—hewouldsoonovertakehim.
Heshoutedassoonashecaughtsightofthemaimedfigureswingingitselfslowlyalong.
“Hi!Oneminute.”
ThemanstoppedandstoodmotionlessuntilHamercameabreastofhim.Alampburnedjustoverhisheadandrevealedeveryfeature.SilasHamercaughthisbreathininvoluntarysurprise.Themanpossessedthemostsingularlybeautifulheadhehadeverseen.Hemighthavebeenanyage;assuredlyhewasnotaboy,yetyouthwasthemostpredominantcharacteristic—youthandvigourinpassionateintensity!
Hamerfoundanodddifficultyinbeginninghisconversation.
“Lookhere,”hesaidawkwardly,“Iwanttoknowwhatwasthatthingyouwereplayingjustnow?”
Themansmiled…Withhissmiletheworldseemedsuddenlytoleapintojoyousness….
“Itwasanoldtune—averyoldtune…Yearsold—centuriesold.”
Hespokewithanoddpurityanddistinctnessofenunciation,givingequalvaluetoeachsyllable.HewasclearlynotanEnglishman,yetHamerwaspuzzledastohisnationality.
“You’renotEnglish?Wheredoyoucomefrom?”
Againthebroadjoyfulsmile.
“Fromoverthesea,sir.Icame—alongtimeago—averylongtimeago.”
“Youmusthavehadabadaccident.Wasitlately?”
“Sometimenow,sir.”
“Roughlucktolosebothlegs.”
“Itwaswell,”saidthemanverycalmly.Heturnedhiseyeswithastrangesolemnityonhisinterlocutor.“Theywereevil.”
Hamerdroppedashillinginhishandandturnedaway.Hewaspuzzledandvaguelydisquieted.“Theywereevil!”Whatastrangethingtosay!Evidentlyanoperationforsomeformofdisease,but—howoddithadsounded.
Hamerwenthomethoughtful.Hetriedinvaintodismisstheincidentfromhismind.Lyinginbed,withthefirstincipientsensationofdrowsinessstealingoverhim,heheardaneighbouringclockstrikeone.Oneclearstrokeandthensilence—silencethatwasbrokenbyafaintfamiliarsound…Recognitioncameleaping.Hamerfelthisheartbeatingquickly.Itwasthemaninthepassagewayplaying,somewherenotfardistant….
Thenotescamegladly,theslowturnwithitsjoyfulcall,thesamehauntinglittlephrase…“It’suncanny,”murmuredHamer,“it’suncanny.It’sgotwingstoit….”
Clearerandclearer,higherandhigher—eachwaverisingabovethelast,andcatchinghimupwithit.Thistimehedidnotstruggle,helethimselfgo…Up—up…Thewavesofsoundwerecarryinghimhigherandhigher…Triumphantandfree,theyswepton.
Higherandhigher…Theyhadpassedthelimitsofhumansoundnow,buttheystillcontinued—rising,everrising…Wouldtheyreachthefinalgoal,thefullperfectionofheight?
Rising….
Somethingwaspulling—pullinghimdownwards.Somethingbigandheavyandinsistent.Itpulledremorselessly—pulledhimback,anddown…down….
Helayinbedgazingatthewindowopposite.Then,breathingheavilyandpainfully,hestretchedanarmoutofbed.Themovementseemedcuriouslycumbroustohim.Thesoftnessofthebedwasoppressive,oppressivetooweretheheavycurtainsoverthewindowthatblockedoutthelightandair.Theceilingseemedtopressdownuponhim.Hefeltstifledandchoked.Hemovedslightlyunderthebedclothes,andtheweightofhisbodyseemedtohimthemostoppressiveofall….
“Iwantyouradvice,Seldon.”
Seldonpushedbackhischairaninchorsofromthetable.Hehadbeenwonderingwhatwastheobjectofthistête-à-têtedinner.HehadseenlittleofHamersincethewinter,andhewasawaretonightofsomeindefinablechangeinhisfriend.
“It’sjustthis,”saidthemillionaire.“I’mworriedaboutmyself.”
Seldonsmiledashelookedacrossthetable.
“You’relookinginthepinkofcondition.”
“It’snotthat.”Hamerpausedaminute,thenaddedquietly.“I’mafraidI’mgoingmad.”
Thenervespecialistglancedupwithasuddenkeeninterest.Hepouredhimselfoutaglassofportwitharatherslowmovement,andthensaidquietly,butwithasharpglanceattheotherman:“Whatmakesyouthinkthat?”
“Somethingthat’shappenedtome.Somethinginexplicable,unbelievable.Itcan’tbetrue,soImustbegoingmad.”
“Takeyourtime,”saidSeldon,“andtellmeaboutit.”
“Idon’tbelieveinthesupernatural,”beganHamer.“Ineverhave.Butthisthing…Well,I’dbettertellyouthewholestoryfromthebeginning.ItbeganlastwinteroneeveningafterIhaddinedwithyou.”
Thenbrieflyandconciselyhenarratedtheeventsofhiswalkhomeandthestrangesequel.
“Thatwasthebeginningofitall.Ican’texplainittoyouproperly—thefeeling,Imean—butitwaswonderful!UnlikeanythingI’veeverfeltordreamed.Well,it’sgoneoneversince.Noteverynight,justnowandthen.Themusic,thefeelingofbeinguplifted,thesoaringflight…andthentheterribledrag,thepullbacktoearth,andafterwardsthepain,theactualphysicalpainoftheawakening.It’slikecomingdownfromahighmountain—youknowthepainsintheearsonegets?Well,thisisthesamething,butintensified—andwithitgoestheawfulsenseofweight—ofbeinghemmedin,stifled….”
Hebrokeoffandtherewasapause.
“AlreadytheservantsthinkI’mmad.Icouldn’tbeartheroofandthewalls—I’vehadaplacearrangedupatthetopofthehouse,opentothesky,withnofurnitureorcarpets,oranystiflingthings…Buteventhenthehousesallroundarenearlyasbad.It’sopencountryIwant,somewherewhereonecanbreathe…”HelookedacrossatSeldon.“Well,whatdoyousay?Canyouexplainit?”
“H’m,”saidSeldon.“Plentyofexplanations.You’vebeenhypnotized,oryou’vehynotizedyourself.Yournerveshavegonewrong.Oritmaybemerelyadream.”
Hamershookhishead.“Noneofthoseexplanationswilldo.”
“Andthereareothers,”saidSeldonslowly,“butthey’renotgenerallyadmitted.”
“Youarepreparedtoadmitthem?”
“Onthewhole,yes!There’sagreatdealwecan’tunderstandwhichcan’tpossiblybeexplainednormally.We’veanyamounttofindoutstill,andIforonebelieveinkeepinganopenmind.”
“Whatdoyouadvisemetodo?”askedHamerafterasilence.
Seldonleanedforwardbriskly.“Oneofseveralthings.GoawayfromLondon,seekoutyour‘opencountry.’Thedreamsmaycease.”
“Ican’tdothat,”saidHamerquickly.“It’scometothis,thatIcan’tdowithoutthem.Idon’twanttodowithoutthem.”
“Ah!Iguessedasmuch.Anotheralternative,findthisfellow,thiscripple.You’reendowinghimnowwithallsortsofsupernaturalattributes.Talktohim.Breakthespell.”
Hamershookhisheadagain.
“Whynot?”
“I’mafraid,”saidHamersimply.
Seldonmadeagestureofimpatience.“Don’tbelieveinitallsoblindly!Thistunenow,themediumthatstartsitall,whatisitlike?”
Hamerhummedit,andSeldonlistenedwithapuzzledfrown.
“RatherlikeabitoutoftheOverturetoRienzi.Thereissomethingupliftingaboutit—ithaswings.ButI’mnotcarriedofftheearth!Now,theseflightsofyours,aretheyallexactlythesame?”
“No,no.”Hamerleanedforwardeagerly.“Theydevelop.EachtimeIseealittlemore.It’sdifficulttoexplain.Yousee,I’malwaysconsciousofreachingacertainpoint—themusiccarriesmethere—notdirect,butasuccessionofwaves,eachreachinghigherthanthelast,untilthehighestpointwhereonecangonofurther.IstaythereuntilI’mdraggedback.Itisn’taplace,it’smoreastate.Well,notjustatfirst,butafteralittlewhile,IbegantounderstandthattherewereotherthingsallroundmewaitinguntilIwasabletoperceivethem.Thinkofakitten.Ithaseyes,butatfirstitcan’tseewiththem.It’sblindandhastolearntosee.Well,thatwaswhatitwastome.Mortaleyesandearswerenogoodtome,buttherewassomethingcorrespondingtothemthathadn’tyetbeendeveloped—somethingthatwasn’tbodilyatall.Andlittlebylittlethatgrew…thereweresensationsoflight…thenofsound…thenofcolour…Allveryvagueandunformulated.Itwasmoretheknowledgeofthingsthanseeingorhearingthem.Firstitwaslight,alightthatgrewstrongerandclearer…thensand,greatstretchesofreddishsand…andhereandtherestraightlonglinesofwaterlikecanals—”
Seldondrewinhisbreathsharply.“Canals!That’sinteresting.Goon.”
“Butthesethingsdidn’tmatter—theydidn’tcountanylonger.TherealthingswerethethingsIcouldn’tseeyet—butIheardthem…Itwasasoundliketherushingofwings…somehow,Ican’texplainwhy,itwasglorious!There’snothinglikeithere.Andthencameanotherglory—Isawthem—theWings!Oh,Seldon,theWings!”
“Butwhatwerethey?Men—angels—birds?”
“Idon’tknow.Icouldn’tsee—notyet.Butthecolourofthem!Wingcolour—wehaven’tgotithere—it’sawonderfulcolour.”
“Wingcolour?”repeatedSeldon.“What’sitlike?”Hamerflunguphishandsimpatiently.“HowcanItellyou?Explainthecolourbluetoablindperson!It’sacolouryou’veneverseen—Wingcolour!”
“Well?”
“Well?That’sall.That’sasfarasI’vegot.Buteachtimethecomingbackhasbeenworse—morepainful.Ican’tunderstandthat.I’mconvincedmybodyneverleavesthebed.InthisplaceIgettoI’mconvincedI’vegotnophysicalpresence.Whyshouldithurtsoconfoundlythen?”
Seldonshookhisheadinsilence.
“It’ssomethingawful—thecomingback.Thepullofit—thenthepain,painineverylimbandeverynerve,andmyearsfeelasthoughtheywerebursting.Theneverythingpressesso,theweightofitall,thedreadfulsenseofimprisonment.Iwantlight,air,space—aboveallspacetobreathein!AndIwantfreedom.”
“Andwhat,”askedSeldon,“ofalltheotherthingsthatusedtomeansomuchtoyou?”
“That’stheworstofit.Icareforthemstillasmuchas,ifnotmorethan,ever.Andthesethings,comfort,luxury,pleasure,seemtopulloppositewaystotheWings.It’saperpetualstrugglebetweenthem—andIcan’tseehowit’sgoingtoend.”
Seldonsatsilent.Thestrangetalehehadbeenlisteningtowasfantasticenoughinalltruth.Wasitalladelusion,awildhallucination—orcoulditbyanypossibilitybetrue?Andifso,whyHamer,ofallmen…?Surelythematerialist,themanwholovedthefleshanddeniedthespirit,wasthelastmantoseethesightsofanotherworld.
AcrossthetableHamerwatchedhimanxiously.
“Isuppose,”saidSeldonslowly,“thatyoucanonlywait.Waitandseewhathappens.”
“Ican’t!ItellyouIcan’t!Yoursayingthatshowsyoudon’tunderstand.It’stearingmeintwo,thisawfulstruggle—thiskillinglong-drawn-outfightbetween—between—”Hehesitated.
“Thefleshandthespirit?”suggestedSeldon.
Hamerstaredheavilyinfrontofhim.“Isupposeonemightcallitthat.Anyway,it’sunbearable…Ican’tgetfree….”
AgainBernardSeldonshookhishead.Hewascaughtupinthegripoftheinexplicable.Hemadeonemoresuggestion.
“IfIwereyou,”headvised,“Iwouldgetholdofthatcripple.”
Butashewenthomehemutteredtohimself:“Canals—Iwonder.”
SilasHamerwentoutofthehousethefollowingmorningwithanewdeterminationinhisstep.HehaddecidedtotakeSeldon’sadviceandfindtheleglessman.Yetinwardlyhewasconvincedthathissearchwouldbeinvainandthatthemanwouldhavevanishedascompletelyasthoughtheearthhadswallowedhimup.
Thedarkbuildingsoneithersideofthepassagewayshutoutthesunlightandleftitdarkandmysterious.Onlyinoneplace,half-wayupit,therewasabreakinthewall,andthroughittherefellashaftofgoldenlightthatilluminatedwithradianceafiguresittingontheground.Afigure—yes,itwastheman!
Theinstrumentofpipesleanedagainstthewallbesidehiscrutches,andhewascoveringthepavingstoneswithdesignsincolouredchalk.Twowerecompleted,sylvanscenesofmarvellousbeautyanddelicacy,swayingtreesandaleapingbrookthatseemedalive.
AndagainHamerdoubted.Wasthismanamerestreetmusician,apavementartist?Orwashesomethingmore….
Suddenlythemillionaire’sself-controlbrokedown,andhecriedfiercelyandangrily:“Whoareyou?ForGod’ssake,whoareyou?”
Theman’seyesmethis,smiling.
“Whydon’tyouanswer?Speak,man,speak!”
Thenhenoticedthatthemanwasdrawingwithincrediblerapidityonabareslabofstone.Hamerfollowedthemovementwithhiseyes…Afewboldstrokes,andgianttreestookform.Then,seatedonaboulder…aman…playinganinstrumentofpipes.Amanwithastrangelybeautifulface—andgoat’slegs…
Thecripple’shandmadeaswiftmovement.Themanstillsatontherock,butthegoat’slegsweregone.AgainhiseyesmetHamer’s.
“Theywereevil,”hesaid.
Hamerstared,fascinated.Forthefacebeforehimwasthefaceofthepicture,butstrangelyandincrediblybeautified…Purifiedfromallbutanintenseandexquisitejoyofliving.
Hamerturnedandalmostfleddownthepassagewayintothebrightsunlight,repeatingtohimselfincessantly:“It’simpossible.Impossible…I’mmad—dreaming!”Butthefacehauntedhim—thefaceofPan….
HewentintotheParkandsatonachair.Itwasadesertedhour.Afewnursemaidswiththeirchargessatintheshadeofthetrees,anddottedhereandthereinthestretchesofgreen,likeislandsinasea,laytherecumbentformsofmen….
Thewords“awretchedtramp”weretoHameranepitomeofmisery.Butsuddenly,today,heenviedthem….
Theyseemedtohimofallcreatedbeingstheonlyfreeones.Theearthbeneaththem,theskyabovethem,theworldtowanderin…theywerenothemmedinorchained.
Likeaflashitcametohimthatthatwhichboundhimsoremorselesslywasthethinghehadworshippedandprizedaboveallothers—wealth!Hehadthoughtitthestrongestthingonearth,andnow,wrappedroundbyitsgoldenstrength,hesawthetruthofhiswords.Itwashismoneythatheldhiminbondage..
Butwasit?Wasthatreallyit?Wasthereadeeperandmorepointedtruththathehadnotseen?Wasitthemoneyorwasithisownloveofthemoney?Hewasboundinfettersofhisownmaking;notwealthitself,butloveofwealthwasthechain.
Heknewnowclearlythetwoforcesthatweretearingathim,thewarmcompositestrengthofmaterialismthatenclosedandsurroundedhim,and,opposedtoit,theclearimperativecall—henamedittohimselftheCalloftheWings.
Andwhiletheonefoughtandclungtheotherscornedwarandwouldnotstooptostruggle.Itonlycalled—calledunceasingly…Hehearditsoclearlythatitalmostspokeinwords.
“Youcannotmaketermswithme,”itseemedtosay.
“ForIamaboveallotherthings.Ifyoufollowmycallyoumustgiveupallelseandcutawaytheforcesthatholdyou.ForonlytheFreeshallfollowwhereIlead….”
“Ican’t,”criedHamer.“Ican’t….”
Afewpeopleturnedtolookatthebigmanwhosattalkingtohimself.
Sosacrificewasbeingaskedofhim,thesacrificeofthatwhichwasmostdeartohim,thatwhichwaspartofhimself
Partofhimself—herememberedthemanwithoutlegs..
“WhatinthenameofFortunebringsyouhere?”askedBorrow.
IndeedtheEastEndmissionwasanunfamiliarbackgroundtoHamer.
“I’velistenedtoagoodmanysermons,”saidthemillionaire,“allsayingwhatcouldbedoneifyoupeoplehadfunds.I’vecometotellyouthis:youcanhavefunds.”
“Verygoodofyou,”answeredBorrow,withsomesurprise.“Abigsubscription,eh?”
Hamersmileddryly.“Ishouldsayso.JusteverypennyI’vegot.”
“What?”
Hamerrappedoutdetailsinabriskbusinesslikemanner.Borrow’sheadwaswhirling.
“You—youmeantosaythatyou’remakingoveryourentirefortunetobedevotedtothereliefofthepoorintheEastEndwithmyselfappointedastrustee?”
“That’sit.”
“Butwhy—why?”
“Ican’texplain,”saidHamerslowly.“RememberourtalkaboutvisionlastFebruary?Well,avisionhasgotholdofme.”
“It’ssplendid!”Borrowleanedforward,hiseyesgleaming.
“There’snothingparticularlysplendidaboutit,”saidHamergrimly.“Idon’tcareabuttonaboutpovertyintheEastEnd.Alltheywantisgrit!Iwaspoorenough—andIgotoutofit.ButI’vegottogetridofthemoney,andthesetomfoolsocietiesshan’tgetholdofit.You’reamanIcantrust.Feedbodiesorsoulswithit—preferablytheformer.I’vebeenhungry,butyoucandoasyoulike.”
“There’sneverbeensuchathingknown,”stammeredBorrow.
“Thewholething’sdoneandfinishedwith,”continuedHamer.“Thelawyershavefixeditupatlast,andI’vesignedeverything.IcantellyouI’vebeenbusythislastfortnight.It’salmostasdifficultgettingridofafortuneasmakingone.”
“Butyou—you’vekeptsomething?”
“Notapenny,”saidHamercheerfully.“Atleast—that’snotquitetrue.I’vejusttwopenceinmypocket.”Helaughed.
Hesaidgoodbyetohisbewilderedfriend,andwalkedoutofthemissionintothenarrowevil-smellingstreets.Thewordshehadsaidsogailyjustnowcamebacktohimwithanachingsenseofloss.“Notapenny!”Ofallhisvastwealthhehadkeptnothing.Hewasafraidnow—afraidofpovertyandhungerandcold.Sacrificehadnosweetnessforhim
Yetbehinditallhewasconsciousthattheweightandmenaceofthingshadlifted,hewasnolongeroppressedandbounddown.Theseveringofthechainhadsearedandtornhim,butthevisionoffreedomwastheretostrengthenhim.HismaterialneedsmightdimtheCall,buttheycouldnotdeadenit,forheknewittobeathingofimmortalitythatcouldnotdie.
Therewasatouchofautumnintheair,andthewindblewchill.Hefeltthecoldandshivered,andthen,too,hewashungry—hehadforgottentohaveanylunch.Itbroughtthefutureveryneartohim.Itwasincrediblethatheshouldhavegivenitallup;thecase,thecomfort,thewarmth!Hisbodycriedoutimpotently…Andthenonceagaintherecametohimagladandupliftingsenseoffreedom.
Hamerhesitated.HewasneartheTubestation.Hehadtwopenceinhispocket.TheideacametohimtojourneybyittotheParkwherehehadwatchedtherecumbentidlersafortnightago.Beyondthiswhimhedidnotplanforthefuture.Hebelievedhonestlyenoughnowthathewasmad—sanepeopledidnotactashehaddone.Yet,ifso,madnesswasawonderfulandamazingthing.
Yes,hewouldgonowtotheopencountryofthePark,andtherewasaspecialsignificancetohiminreachingitbyTube.FortheTuberepresentedtohimallthehorrorsofburied,shut-inlife…Hewouldascendfromitsimprisonmentfreetothewidegreenandthetreesthatconcealedthemenaceofthepressinghouses.
Theliftborehimswiftlyandrelentlesslydownward.Theairwasheavyandlifeless.Hestoodattheextremeendoftheplatform,awayfromthemassofpeople.Onhisleftwastheopeningofthetunnelfromwhichthetrain,snakelike,wouldpresentlyemerge.Hefeltthewholeplacetobesubtlyevil.Therewasnoonenearhimbutahunched-upladsittingonaseat,sunk,itseemed,inadrunkenstupor.
Inthedistancecamethefaintmenacingroarofthetrain.TheladrosefromhisseatandshuffledunsteadilytoHamer’sside,wherehestoodontheedgeoftheplatformpeeringintothetunnel.
Then—ithappenedsoquicklyastobealmostincredible—helosthisbalanceandfell….
AhundredthoughtsrushedsimultaneouslytoHamer’sbrain.Hesawahuddledheaprunoverbyamotorbus,andheardahoarsevoicesaying:“Dahn’tyerblimeyerself,guv’nor.Yercouldn’t’adonenothin’.”Andwiththatcametheknowledgethatthislifecouldonlybesaved,ifitweresaved,byhimself.Therewasnooneelsenear,andthetrainwasclose…Itallpassedthroughhismindwithlightningrapidity.Heexperiencedacuriouscalmlucidityofthought.
Hehadoneshortsecondinwhichtodecide,andheknewinthatmomentthathisfearofDeathwasunabated.Hewashorriblyafraid.Andthenthetrain,rushingroundthecurveofthetunnel,powerlesstopullupintime.
SwiftlyHamercaughtuptheladinhisarms.Nonaturalgallantimpulseswayedhim,hisshiveringfleshwasbutobeyingthecommandofthealienspiritthatcalledforsacrifice.Withalasteffortheflungtheladforwardontotheplatform,fallinghimself….
ThensuddenlyhisFeardied.Thematerialworldheldhimdownnolonger.Hewasfreeofhisshackles.HefanciedforamomentthatheheardthejoyouspipingofPan.Then—nearerandlouder—swallowingupallelse—camethegladrushingofinnumerableWings…envelopingandencirclinghim….
Fourteen
MAGNOLIABLOSSOM
“MagnoliaBlossom”wasfirstpublishedinRoyalMagazine,March1926.
VincentEastonwaswaitingundertheclockatVictoriaStation.Nowandthenheglancedupatituneasily.Hethoughttohimself:“Howmanyothermenhavewaitedhereforawomanwhodidn’tcome?”
Asharppangshotthroughhim.SupposingthatTheodidn’tcome,thatshehadchangedhermind?Womendidthatsortofthing.Washesureofher—hadheeverbeensureofher?Didhereallyknowanythingatallabouther?Hadn’tshepuzzledhimfromthefirst?Therehadseemedtobetwowomen—thelovely,laughingcreaturewhowasRichardDarrell’swife,andtheother—silent,mysterious,whohadwalkedbyhissideinthegardenofHaymer’sClose.Likeamagnoliaflower—thatwashowhethoughtofher—perhapsbecauseitwasunderthemagnoliatreethattheyhadtastedtheirfirstrapturous,incredulouskiss.Theairhadbeensweetwiththescentofmagnoliabloom,andoneortwopetals,velvety-softandfragrant,hadfloateddown,restingonthatupturnedfacethatwasascreamyandassoftandassilentasthey.Magnoliablossom—exotic,fragrant,mysterious.
Thathadbeenafortnightago—theseconddayhehadmether.Andnowhewaswaitingforhertocometohimforever.Againincredulityshotthroughhim.Shewouldn’tcome.Howcouldheeverhavebelievedit?Itwouldbegivingupsomuch.ThebeautifulMrs.Darrellcouldn’tdothissortofthingquietly.Itwasboundtobeaninedays’wonder,afar-reachingscandalthatwouldneverquitebeforgotten.Therewerebetter,moreexpedientwaysofdoingthesethings—adiscreetdivorce,forinstance.
Buttheyhadneverthoughtofthatforamoment—atleasthehadnot.Hadshe?hewondered.Hehadneverknownanythingofherthoughts.Hehadaskedhertocomeawaywithhimalmosttimorously—forafterall,whatwashe?Nobodyinparticular—oneofathousandorangegrowersintheTransvaal.Whatalifetotakeherto—afterthebrillianceofLondon!Andyet,sincehewantedhersodesperately,hemustneedsask.
Shehadconsentedveryquietly,withnohesitationsorprotests,asthoughitwerethesimplestthingintheworldthathewasaskingher.
“Tomorrow?”hehadsaid,amazed,almostunbelieving.
Andshehadpromisedinthatsoft,brokenvoicethatwassodifferentfromthelaughingbrillianceofhersocialmanner.Hehadcomparedhertoadiamondwhenhefirstsawher—athingofflashingfire,reflectinglightfromahundredfacets.Butatthatfirsttouch,thatfirstkiss,shehadchangedmiraculouslytothecloudedsoftnessofapearl—a
Shehadpromised.Andnowhewaswaitingforhertofulfilthatpromise.
Helookedagainattheclock.Ifshedidnotcomesoon,theywouldmissthetrain.
Sharplyawaveofreactionsetin.Shewouldn’tcome!Ofcourseshewouldn’tcome.Foolthathehadbeenevertoexpectit!Whatwerepromises?Hewouldfindaletterwhenhegotbacktohisrooms—explaining,protesting,sayingallthethingsthatwomendowhentheyareexcusingthemselvesforlackofcourage.
Hefeltanger—angerandthebitternessoffrustration.
Thenhesawhercomingtowardshimdowntheplatform,afaintsmileonherface.Shewalkedslowly,withouthasteorfluster,asonewhohadalleternitybeforeher.Shewasinblack—softblackthatclung,withalittleblackhatthatframedthewonderfulcreamypallorofherface.
Hefoundhimselfgraspingherhand,mutteringstupidly:
“Soyou’vecome—youhavecome.Afterall!”
“Ofcourse.”
Howcalmhervoicesounded!Howcalm!
“Ithoughtyouwouldn’t,”hesaid,releasingherhandandbreathinghard.
Hereyesopened—wide,beautifuleyes.Therewaswonderinthem,thesimplewonderofachild.
“Why?”
Hedidn’tanswer.Insteadheturnedasideandrequisitionedapassingporter.Theyhadnotmuchtime.Thenextfewminuteswereallbustleandconfusion.ThentheyweresittingintheirreservedcompartmentandthedrabhousesofsouthernLondonweredriftingbythem.
TheodoraDarrellwassittingoppositehim.Atlastshewashis.Andheknewnowhowincredulous,uptotheverylastminute,hehadbeen.Hehadnotdaredtolethimselfbelieve.Thatmagical,elusivequalityaboutherhadfrightenedhim.Ithadseemedimpossiblethatsheshouldeverbelongtohim.
Nowthesuspensewasover.Theirrevocablestepwastaken.Helookedacrossather.Shelaybackinthecorner,quitestill.Thefaintsmilelingeredonherlips,hereyeswerecastdown,thelong,blacklashessweptthecreamycurveofhercheek.
Hethought:“What’sinhermindnow?Whatisshethinkingof?Me?Herhusband?Whatdoesshethinkabouthimanyway?Didshecareforhimonce?Ordidshenevercare?Doesshehatehim,orissheindifferenttohim?”Andwithapangthethoughtsweptthroughhim:“Idon’tknow.Inevershallknow.Iloveher,andIdon’tknowanythingabouther—whatshethinksorwhatshefeels.”
HismindcircledroundthethoughtofTheodoraDarrell’shusband.Hehadknownplentyofmarriedwomenwhowereonlytooreadytotalkabouttheirhusbands—ofhowtheyweremisunderstoodbythem,ofhowtheirfinerfeelingswereignored.VincentEastonreflectedcynicallythatitwasoneofthebest-knownopeninggambits.
Butexceptcasually,TheohadneverspokenofRichardDarrell.Eastonknewofhimwhateverybodyknew.Hewasapopularman,handsome,withanengaging,carefreemanner.EverybodylikedDarrell.Hiswifealwaysseemedonexcellenttermswithhim.Butthatprovednothing,Vincentreflected.Theowaswell-bred—shewouldnotairhergrievancesinpublic.
Andbetweenthem,nowordhadpassed.Fromthatsecondeveningoftheirmeeting,whentheyhadwalkedtogetherinthegarden,silent,theirshoulderstouching,andhehadfeltthefainttremorthatshookherathistouch,therehadbeennoexplainings,nodefiningoftheposition.Shehadreturnedhiskisses,adumb,tremblingcreature,shornofallthathardbrilliancewhich,togetherwithhercream-and-rosebeauty,hadmadeherfamous.Neveroncehadshespokenofherhusband.Vincenthadbeenthankfulforthatatthetime.Hehadbeengladtobesparedtheargumentsofawomanwhowishedtoassureherselfandherloverthattheywerejustifiedinyieldingtotheirlove.
Yetnowthetacitconspiracyofsilenceworriedhim.Hehadagainthatpanic-strickensenseofknowingnothingaboutthisstrangecreaturewhowaswillinglylinkingherlifetohis.Hewasafraid
Intheimpulsetoreassurehimself,hebentforwardandlaidahandontheblack-cladkneeoppositehim.Hefeltonceagainthefainttremorthatshookher,andhereachedupforherhand.Bendingforward,hekissedthepalm,along,lingeringkiss.Hefelttheresponseofherfingersonhisand,lookingup,methereyes,andwascontent.
Heleanedbackinhisseat.Forthemoment,hewantednomore.Theyweretogether.Shewashis.Andpresentlyhesaidinalight,almostbanteringtone:
“You’reverysilent?”
“AmI?”
“Yes.”Hewaitedaminute,thensaidinagravertone:“You’resureyoudon’t—regret?”
Hereyesopenedwideatthat.“Oh,no!”
Hedidnotdoubtthereply.Therewasanassuranceofsinceritybehindit.
“Whatareyouthinkingabout?Iwanttoknow.”
Inalowvoicesheanswered:“IthinkI’mafraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Ofhappiness.”
Hemovedoverbesideherthen,heldhertohimandkissedthesoftnessofherfaceandneck.
“Iloveyou,”hesaid.“Iloveyou—loveyou.”
Heranswerwasintheclingingofherbody,theabandonofherlips.
Thenhemovedbacktohisowncorner.Hepickedupamagazineandsodidshe.Everynowandthen,overthetopofthemagazines,theireyesmet.Thentheysmiled.
TheyarrivedatDoverjustafterfive.Theyweretospendthenightthere,andcrosstotheContinentonthefollowingday.TheoenteredtheirsittingroominthehotelwithVincentclosebehindher.Hehadacoupleofeveningpapersinhishandwhichhethrewdownonthetable.Twoofthehotelservantsbroughtintheluggageandwithdrew.
Theoturnedfromthewindowwhereshehadbeenstandinglookingout.Inanotherminutetheywereineachother’sarms.
Therewasadiscreettaponthedoorandtheydrewapartagain.
“Damnitall,”saidVincent,“itdoesn’tseemasthoughwewereevergoingtobealone.”
Theosmiled.“Itdoesn’tlooklikeit,”shesaidsoftly.Sittingdownonthesofa,shepickeduponeofthepapers
Theknockprovedtobeawaiterbearingtea.Helaiditonthetable,drawingthelatteruptothesofaonwhichTheowassitting,castadeftglanceround,inquirediftherewereanythingfurther,andwithdrew.
Vincent,whohadgoneintotheadjoiningroom,camebackintothesittingroom
“Nowfortea,”hesaidcheerily,butstoppedsuddenlyinthemiddleoftheroom.“Anythingwrong?”heasked.
Theowassittingboltuprightonthesofa.Shewasstaringinfrontofherwithdazedeyes,andherfacehadgonedeathlywhite.
Vincenttookaquicksteptowardsher.
“Whatisit,sweetheart?”
Foranswersheheldoutthepapertohim,herfingerpointingtotheheadline.
Vincenttookthepaperfromher.“FAILUREOFHOBSON,JEKYLLANDLUCAS,”heread.Thenameofthebigcityfirmconveyednothingtohimatthemoment,thoughhehadanirritatingconvictioninthebackofhismindthatitoughttodoso.HelookedinquiringlyatTheo.
“RichardisHobson,JekyllandLucas,”sheexplained.
“Yourhusband?”
“Yes.”
Vincentreturnedtothepaperandreadthebaldinformationitconveyedcarefully.Phrasessuchas“suddencrash,”“seriousrevelationstofollow,”“otherhousesaffected”struckhimdisagreeably.
Rousedbyamovement,helookedup.Theowasadjustingherlittleblackhatinfrontofthemirror.Sheturnedatthemovementhemade.Hereyeslookedsteadilyintohis.
“Vincent—ImustgotoRichard.”
Hesprangup.
“Theo—don’tbeabsurd.”
Sherepeatedmechanically:
“ImustgotoRichard.”
“But,mydear—”
Shemadeagesturetowardsthepaperonthefloor.
“Thatmeansruin—bankruptcy.Ican’tchoosethisdayofallotherstoleavehim.”
“Youhadlefthimbeforeyouheardofthis.Bereasonable!”
Sheshookherheadmournfully.
“Youdon’tunderstand.ImustgotoRichard.”
Andfromthathecouldnotmoveher.Strangethatacreaturesosoft,sopliant,couldbesounyielding.Afterthefirst,shedidnotargue.Shelethimsaywhathehadtosayunhindered.Heheldherinhisarms,seekingtobreakherwillbyenslavinghersenses,butthoughhersoftmouthreturnedhiskisses,hefeltinhersomethingaloofandinvinciblethatwithstoodallhispleadings
Helethergoatlast,sickandwearyofthevainendeavour.Frompleadinghehadturnedtobitterness,reproachingherwithneverhavinglovedhim.That,too,shetookinsilence,withoutprotest,herface,dumbandpitiful,givingthelietohiswords.Ragemasteredhimintheend;hehurledathereverycruelwordhecouldthinkof,seekingonlytobruiseandbatterhertoherknees.
Atlastthewordsgaveout;therewasnothingmoretosay.Hesat,hisheadinhishands,staringdownattheredpilecarpet.Bythedoor,Theodorastood,ablackshadowwithawhiteface.
Itwasallover.
Shesaidquietly:“Goodbye,Vincent.”
Hedidnotanswer.
Thedooropened—andshutagain.
TheDarrellslivedinahouseinChelsea—anintriguing,old-worldhouse,standinginalittlegardenofitsown.Upthefrontofthehousegrewamagnoliatree,smutty,dirty,begrimed,butstillamagnolia.
Theolookedupatit,asshestoodonthedoorstepsomethreehourslater.Asuddensmiletwistedhermouthinpain.
Shewentstraighttothestudyatthebackofthehouse.Amanwaspacingupanddownintheroom—ayoungman,withahandsomefaceandahaggardexpression.
Hegaveanejaculationofreliefasshecamein.
“ThankGodyou’veturnedup,Theo.Theysaidyou’dtakenyourluggagewithyouandgoneoffoutoftownsomewhere.”
“Iheardthenewsandcameback.”
RichardDarrellputanarmaboutheranddrewhertothecouch.Theysatdownuponitsidebyside.Theodrewherselffreeoftheencirclingarminwhatseemedaperfectlynaturalmanner.
“Howbadisit,Richard?”sheaskedquietly.
“Justasbadasitcanbe—andthat’ssayingalot.”
“Tellme!”
Hebegantowalkupanddownagainashetalked.Theosatandwatchedhim.Hewasnottoknowthateverynowandthentheroomwentdim,andhisvoicefadedfromherhearing,whileanotherroominahotelatDovercameclearlybeforehereyes.
Neverthelessshemanagedtolistenintelligentlyenough.Hecamebackandsatdownonthecouchbyher.
“Fortunately,”heended,“theycan’ttouchyourmarriagesettlement.Thehouseisyoursalso.”
Theonoddedthoughtfully.
“Weshallhavethatatanyrate,”shesaid.“Thenthingswillnotbetoobad?Itmeansafreshstart,thatisall.”
“Oh!Quiteso.Yes.”
Buthisvoicedidnotringtrue,andTheothoughtsuddenly:“There’ssomethingelse.Hehasn’ttoldmeeverything.”
“There’snothingmore,Richard?”shesaidgently.“Nothingworse?”
Hehesitatedforjusthalfasecond,then:“Worse?Whatshouldtherebe?”
“Idon’tknow,”saidTheo.
“It’llbeallright,”saidRichard,speakingmoreasthoughtoreassurehimselfthanTheo.“Ofcourse,it’llbeallright.”
Heflunganarmabouthersuddenly.
“I’mgladyou’rehere,”hesaid.“It’llbeallrightnowthatyou’rehere.Whateverelsehappens,I’vegotyou,haven’tI?”
Shesaidgently:“Yes,you’vegotme.”Andthistimeshelefthisarmroundher.
Hekissedherandheldherclosetohim,asthoughinsomestrangewayhederivedcomfortfromhernearness.
“I’vegotyou,Theo,”hesaidagainpresently,andsheansweredasbefore:“Yes,Richard.”
Heslippedfromthecouchtotheflooratherfeet.
“I’mtiredout,”hesaidfretfully.“MyGod,it’sbeenaday.Awful!Idon’tknowwhatIshoulddoifyouweren’there.Afterall,one’swifeisone’swife,isn’tshe?”
Shedidnotspeak,onlybowedherheadinassent.
Helaidhisheadonherlap.Thesighhegavewaslikethatofatiredchild.
Theothoughtagain:“There’ssomethinghehasn’ttoldme.Whatisit?”
Mechanicallyherhanddroppedtohissmooth,darkhead,andshestrokeditgently,asamothermightcomfortachild.
Richardmurmuredvaguely:
“It’llbeallrightnowyou’rehere.Youwon’tletmedown.”
Hisbreathinggrewslowandeven.Heslept.Herhandstillsmoothedhishead.
Buthereyeslookedsteadilyintothedarknessinfrontofher,seeingnothing
“Don’tyouthink,Richard,”saidTheodora,“thatyou’dbettertellmeeverything?”
Itwasthreedayslater.Theywereinthedrawingroombeforedinner.
Richardstarted,andflushed.
“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean,”heparried.
“Don’tyou?”
Heshotaquickglanceather.
“Ofcoursethereare—well—details.”
“Ioughttoknoweverything,don’tyouthink,ifIamtohelp?”
Helookedatherstrangely.
“WhatmakesyouthinkIwantyoutohelp?”
Shewasalittleastonished.
“MydearRichard,I’myourwife.”
Hesmiledsuddenly,theold,attractive,carefreesmile.
“Soyouare,Theo.Andaverygood-lookingwife,too.Inevercouldstanduglywomen.”
Hebeganwalkingupanddowntheroom,aswashiscustomwhensomethingwasworryinghim.
“Iwon’tdenyyou’rerightinaway,”hesaidpresently.“Thereissomething.”
Hebrokeoff.
“Yes?”
“It’ssodamnedhardtoexplainthingsofthiskindtowomen.Theygetholdofthewrongendofthestick—fancyathingis—well,whatitisn’t.”
Theosaidnothing.
“Yousee,”wentonRichard,“thelaw’sonething,andrightandwrongarequiteanother.Imaydoathingthat’sperfectlyrightandhonest,butthelawwouldn’ttakethesameviewofit.Ninetimesoutoften,everythingpansoutallright,andthetenthtimeyou—well,hitasnag.”
Theobegantounderstand.Shethoughttoherself:“WhyamInotsurprised?DidIalwaysknow,deepdown,thathewasn’tstraight?”
Richardwentontalking.Heexplainedhimselfatunnecessarylengths.Theowascontentforhimtocloaktheactualdetailsoftheaffairinthismantleofverbosity.ThematterconcernedalargetractofSouthAfricanproperty.ExactlywhatRichardhaddone,shewasnotconcernedtoknow.Morally,heassuredher,everythingwasfairandaboveboard;legally—well,thereitwas;nogettingawayfromthefact,hehadrenderedhimselfliabletocriminalprosecution.
Hekeptshootingquickglancesathiswifeashetalked.Hewasnervousanduncomfortable.Andstillheexcusedhimselfandtriedtoexplainawaythatwhichachildmighthaveseeninitsnakedtruth.Thenfinallyinaburstofjustification,hebrokedown.PerhapsTheo’seyes,momentarilyscornful,hadsomethingtodowithit.Hesankdowninachairbythefireplace,hisheadinhishands.
“Thereitis,Theo,”hesaidbrokenly,“Whatareyougoingtodoaboutit?”
Shecameovertohimwithscarcelyamoment’spauseand,kneelingdownbythechair,putherfaceagainsthis.
“Whatcanbedone,Richard?Whatcanwedo?”
Hecaughthertohim.
“Youmeanit?You’llsticktome?”
“Ofcourse.Mydear,ofcourse.”
Hesaid,movedtosincerityinspiteofhimself:“I’mathief,Theo.That’swhatitmeans,shornoffinelanguage—justathief.”
“ThenI’mathief’swife,Richard.We’llsinkorswimtogether.”
Theyweresilentforalittlewhile.PresentlyRichardrecoveredsomethingofhisjauntymanner.
“Youknow,Theo,I’vegotaplan,butwe’lltalkofthatlater.It’sjustondinnertime.Wemustgoandchange.Putonthatcreamythingummybobofyours,youknow—theCaillotmodel.”
Theoraisedhereyebrowsquizzically.
“Foraneveningathome?”
“Yes,yes,Iknow.ButIlikeit.Putiton,there’sagoodgirl.Itcheersmeuptoseeyoulookingyourbest.”
TheocamedowntodinnerintheCaillot.Itwasacreationincreamybrocade,withafaintpatternofgoldrunningthroughitandanundernoteofpalepinktogivewarmthtothecream.Itwascutdaringlylowintheback,andnothingcouldhavebeenbetterdesignedtoshowoffthedazzlingwhitenessofTheo’sneckandshoulders.Shewastrulynowamagnoliaflower.
Richard’seyeresteduponherinwarmapproval.“Goodgirl.Youknow,youlooksimplystunninginthatdress.”
Theywentintodinner.ThroughouttheeveningRichardwasnervousandunlikehimself,jokingandlaughingaboutnothingatall,asifinavainattempttoshakeoffhiscares.SeveraltimesTheotriedtoleadhimbacktothesubjecttheyhadbeendiscussingbefore,butheedgedawayfromit.
Thensuddenly,assherosetogotobed,hecametothepoint.
“No,don’tgoyet.I’vegotsomethingtosay.Youknow,aboutthismiserablebusiness.”
Shesatdownagain.
Hebegantalkingrapidly.Withabitofluck,thewholethingcouldbehushedup.Hehadcoveredhistracksfairlywell.Solongascertainpapersdidn’tgetintothereceiver’shands—
Hestoppedsignificantly.
“Papers?”askedTheoperplexedly.“Youmeanyouwilldestroythem?”
Richardmadeagrimace.
“I’ddestroythemfastenoughifIcouldgetholdofthem.That’sthedevilofitall!”
“Whohasthem,then?”
“Amanwebothknow—VincentEaston.”
AveryfaintexclamationescapedTheo.Sheforceditback,butRichardhadnoticedit.
“I’vesuspectedheknewsomethingofthebusinessallalong.That’swhyI’veaskedhimhereagoodbit.YoumayrememberthatIaskedyoutobenicetohim?”
“Iremember,”saidTheo.
“SomehowIneverseemtohavegotonreallyfriendlytermswithhim.Don’tknowwhy.Buthelikesyou.Ishouldsayhelikesyouagooddeal.”
Theosaidinaveryclearvoice:“Hedoes.”
“Ah!”saidRichardappreciatively.“That’sgood.NowyouseewhatI’mdrivingat.I’mconvincedthatifyouwenttoVincentEastonandaskedhimtogiveyouthosepapers,hewouldn’trefuse.Prettywoman,youknow—allthatsortofthing.”
“Ican’tdothat,”saidTheoquickly
“Nonsense.”
“It’soutofthequestion.”
TheredcameslowlyoutinblotchesonRichard’sface.Shesawthathewasangry.
“Mydeargirl,Idon’tthinkyouquiterealizetheposition.Ifthiscomesout,I’mliabletogotoprison.It’sruin—disgrace.”
“VincentEastonwillnotusethosepapersagainstyou.Iamsureofthat.”
“That’snotquitethepoint.Hemayn’trealizethattheyincriminateme.It’sonlytakeninconjunctionwith—withmyaffairs—withthefiguresthey’reboundtofind.Oh!Ican’tgointodetails.He’llruinmewithoutknowingwhathe’sdoingunlesssomebodyputsthepositionbeforehim.”
“Youcandothatyourself,surely.Writetohim.”
“Afatlotofgoodthatwouldbe!No,Theo,we’veonlygotonehope.You’rethetrumpcard.You’remywife.Youmusthelpme.GotoEastontonight—”
AcrybrokefromTheo.
“Nottonight.Tomorrowperhaps.”
“MyGod,Theo,can’tyourealizethings?Tomorrowmaybetoolate.Ifyoucouldgonow—atonce—toEaston’srooms.”Hesawherflinch,andtriedtoreassureher.“Iknow,mydeargirl,Iknow.It’sabeastlythingtodo.Butit’slifeordeath.Theo,youwon’tfailme?Yousaidyou’ddoanythingtohelpme—”
Theoheardherselfspeakinginahard,dryvoice.“Notthisthing.Therearereasons.”
“It’slifeordeath,Theo.Imeanit.Seehere.”
Hesnappedopenadrawerofthedeskandtookoutarevolver.Iftherewassomethingtheatricalaboutthataction,itescapedhernotice.
“It’sthatorshootingmyself.Ican’tfacetheracket.Ifyouwon’tdoasIaskyou,I’llbeadeadmanbeforemorning.Isweartoyousolemnlythatthat’sthetruth.”
Theogavealowcry.“No,Richard,notthat!”
“Thenhelpme.”
Heflungtherevolverdownonthetableandkneltbyherside.“Theomydarling—ifyouloveme—ifyou’veeverlovedme—dothisforme.You’remywife,Theo,I’venooneelsetoturnto.”
Onandonhisvoicewent,murmuring,pleading.AndatlastTheoheardherownvoicesaying:“Verywell—yes.”
Richardtookhertothedoorandputherintoataxi.
“Theo!”
VincentEastonsprangupinincredulousdelight.Shestoodinthedoorway.Herwrapofwhiteerminewashangingfromhershoulders.Never,Eastonthought,hadshelookedsobeautiful.
“You’vecomeafterall.”
Sheputoutahandtostophimashecametowardsher.
“No,Vincent,thisisn’twhatyouthink.”
Shespokeinalow,hurriedvoice.
“I’mherefrommyhusband.Hethinkstherearesomepaperswhichmay—dohimharm.Ihavecometoaskyoutogivethemtome.”
Vincentstoodverystill,lookingather.Thenhegaveashortlaugh.
“Sothat’sit,isit?IthoughtHobson,JekyllandLucassoundedfamiliartheotherday,butIcouldn’tplacethemattheminute.Didn’tknowyourhusbandwasconnectedwiththefirm.Thingshavebeengoingwrongthereforsometime.Iwascommissionedtolookintothematter.Isuspectedsomeunderling.Neverthoughtofthemanatthetop.”
Theosaidnothing.Vincentlookedathercuriously.
“Itmakesnodifferencetoyou,this?”heasked.“That—well,toputitplainly,thatyourhusband’saswindler?”
Sheshookherhead.
“Itbeatsme,”saidVincent.Thenheaddedquietly:“Willyouwaitaminuteortwo?Iwillgetthepapers.”
Theosatdowninachair.Hewentintotheotherroom.Presentlyhereturnedanddeliveredasmallpackageintoherhand.
“Thankyou,”saidTheo.“Haveyouamatch?”
Takingthematchboxheproffered,shekneltdownbythefireplace.Whenthepaperswerereducedtoapileofashes,shestoodup.
“Thankyou,”shesaidagain.
“Notatall,”heansweredformally.“Letmegetyouataxi.”
Heputherintoit,sawherdriveaway.Astrange,formallittleinterview.Afterthefirst,theyhadnotevendaredlookateachother.Well,thatwasthat,theend.Hewouldgoaway,abroad,tryandforget.
Theoleanedherheadoutofthewindowandspoketothetaxidriver.ShecouldnotgobackatoncetothehouseinChelsea.Shemusthaveabreathingspace.SeeingVincentagainhadshakenherhorribly.Ifonly—ifonly.Butshepulledherselfup.Loveforherhusbandshehadnone—butsheowedhimloyalty.Hewasdown,shemuststickbyhim.Whateverelsehemighthavedone,helovedher;hisoffencehadbeencommittedagainstsociety,notagainsther.
ThetaximeanderedonthroughthewidestreetsofHampstead.Theycameoutontheheath,andabreathofcool,invigoratingairfannedTheo’scheeks.Shehadherselfinhandagainnow.ThetaxispedbacktowardsChelsea.
Richardcameouttomeetherinthehall.
“Well,”hedemanded,“you’vebeenalongtime.”
“HaveI?”
“Yes—averylongtime.Isit—allright?”
Hefollowedher,acunninglookinhiseyes.Hishandswereshaking.
“It’s—it’sallright,eh?”hesaidagain.
“Iburntthemmyself.”
“Oh!”
Shewentonintothestudy,sinkingintoabigarmchair.Herfacewasdeadwhiteandherwholebodydroopedwithfatigue.Shethoughttoherself:“IfonlyIcouldgotosleepnowandnever,neverwakeupagain!”
Richardwaswatchingher.Hisglance,shy,furtive,keptcomingandgoing.Shenoticednothing.Shewasbeyondnoticing.
“Itwentoffquiteallright,eh?”
“I’vetoldyouso.”
“You’resuretheyweretherightpapers?Didyoulook?”
“No.”
“Butthen—”
“I’msure,Itellyou.Don’tbotherme,Richard.Ican’tbearanymoretonight.”
Richardshiftednervously.
“No,no.Isee.”
Hefidgetedabouttheroom.Presentlyhecameovertoher,laidahandonhershoulder.Sheshookitoff.
“Don’ttouchme.”Shetriedtolaugh.“I’msorry,Richard.Mynervesareonedge.IfeelIcan’tbeartobetouched.”
“Iknow.Iunderstand.”
Againhewanderedupanddown.
“Theo,”heburstoutsuddenly.“I’mdamnedsorry.”
“What?”Shelookedup,vaguelystartled.
“Ioughtn’ttohaveletyougothereatthistimeofnight.Ineverdreamedthatyou’dbesubjectedtoany—unpleasantness.”
“Unpleasantness?”Shelaughed.Thewordseemedtoamuseher.“Youdon’tknow!Oh,Richard,youdon’tknow!”
“Idon’tknowwhat?”
Shesaidverygravely,lookingstraightinfrontofher:“Whatthisnighthascostme.”
“MyGod!Theo!Inevermeant—You—youdidthat,forme?Theswine!Theo—Theo—Icouldn’thaveknown.Icouldn’thaveguessed.MyGod!”
Hewaskneelingbyhernowstammering,hisarmsroundher,andsheturnedandlookedathimwithfaintsurprise,asthoughhiswordshadatlastreallypenetratedtoherattention.
“I—Inevermeant—”
“Younevermeantwhat,Richard?”
Hervoicestartledhim.
“Tellme.Whatwasitthatyounevermeant?”
“Theo,don’tletusspeakofit.Idon’twanttoknow.Iwantnevertothinkofit.”
Shewasstaringathim,wideawakenow,witheveryfacultyalert.Herwordscameclearanddistinct:
“Younevermeant—Whatdoyouthinkhappened?”
“Itdidn’thappen,Theo.Let’ssayitdidn’thappen.”
Andstillshestared,tillthetruthbegantocometoher.
“Youthinkthat—”
“Idon’twant—”
Sheinterruptedhim:“YouthinkthatVincentEastonaskedapriceforthoseletters?YouthinkthatI—paidhim?”
Richardsaidweaklyandunconvincingly:“I—Ineverdreamedhewasthatkindofman.”
“Didn’tyou?”Shelookedathimsearchingly.Hiseyesfellbeforehers.“Whydidyouaskmetoputonthisdressthisevening?Whydidyousendmetherealoneatthistimeofnight?Youguessedhe—caredforme.Youwantedtosaveyourskin—saveitatanycost—evenatthecostofmyhonour.”Shegotup.
“Iseenow.Youmeantthatfromthebeginning—oratleastyousawitasapossibility,anditdidn’tdeteryou.”
“Theo—”
“Youcan’tdenyit.Richard,IthoughtIknewalltherewastoknowaboutyouyearsago.I’veknownalmostfromthefirstthatyouweren’tstraightasregardstheworld.ButIthoughtyouwerestraightwithme.”
“Theo—”
“CanyoudenywhatI’vejustbeensaying?”
Hewassilent,inspiteofhimself.
“Listen,Richard.ThereissomethingImusttellyou.Threedaysagowhenthisblowfellonyou,theservantstoldyouIwasaway—gonetothecountry.Thatwasonlypartlytrue.IhadgoneawaywithVincentEaston—”
Richardmadeaninarticulatesound.Sheheldoutahandtostophim.
“Wait.WewereatDover.Isawapaper—Irealizedwhathadhappened.Then,asyouknow,Icameback.”
Shepaused.
Richardcaughtherbythewrist.Hiseyesburntintohers.
“Youcameback—intime?”
Theogaveashort,bitterlaugh.
“Yes,Icameback,asyousay,‘intime,’Richard.”
Herhusbandrelinquishedhisholdonherarm.Hestoodbythemantelpiece,hisheadthrownback.Helookedhandsomeandrathernoble.
“Inthatcase,”hesaid,“Icanforgive.”
“Icannot.”
Thetwowordscamecrisply.Theyhadthesemblanceandtheeffectofabombinthequietroom.Richardstartedforward,staring,hisjawdroppedwithanalmostludicrouseffect.
“You—er—whatdidyousay,Theo?”
“IsaidIcannotforgive!Inleavingyouforanotherman.Isinned—nottechnically,perhaps,butinintention,whichisthesamething.ButifIsinned,Isinnedthroughlove.You,too,havenotbeenfaithfultomesinceourmarriage.Oh,yes,Iknow.ThatIforgave,becauseIreallybelievedinyourloveforme.Butthethingyouhavedonetonightisdifferent.Itisanuglything,Richard—athingnowomanshouldforgive.Yousoldme,yourownwife,topurchasesafety!”
Shepickedupherwrapandturnedtowardsthedoor.
“Theo,”hestammeredout,“whereareyougoing?”
Shelookedbackoverhershoulderathim.
“Weallhavetopayinthislife,Richard.FormysinImustpayinloneliness.Foryours—well,yougambledwiththethingyoulove,andyouhavelostit!”
“Youaregoing?”
Shedrewalongbreath.
“Tofreedom.Thereisnothingtobindmehere.”
Heheardthedoorshut.Agespassed,orwasitafewminutes?Somethingfluttereddownoutsidethewindow—thelastofthemagnoliapetals,soft,fragrant.
Fifteen
NEXTTOADOG
“NexttoaDog”wasfirstpublishedinGrandMagazine,September1929.
TheladylikewomanbehindtheRegistryOfficetableclearedherthroatandpeeredacrossatthegirlwhosatopposite
“Thenyourefusetoconsiderthepost?Itonlycameinthismorning.AverynicepartofItaly,Ibelieve,awidowerwithalittleboyofthreeandanelderlylady,hismotheroraunt.”
JoyceLambertshookherhead.
“Ican’tgooutofEngland,”shesaidinatiredvoice;“therearereasons.Ifonlyyoucouldfindmeadailypost?”
Hervoiceshookslightly—eversoslightly,forshehaditwellundercontrol.Herdarkblueeyeslookedappealinglyatthewomanoppositeher.
“It’sverydifficult,Mrs.Lambert.Theonlykindofdailygovernessrequiredisonewhohasfullqualifications.Youhavenone.Ihavehundredsonmybooks—literallyhundreds.”Shepaused.“Youhavesomeoneathomeyoucan’tleave?”
Joycenodded.
“Achild?”
“No,notachild.”Andafaintsmileflickeredacrossherface.
“Well,itisveryunfortunate.Iwilldomybest,ofcourse,but—”
Theinterviewwasclearlyatanend.Joycerose.Shewasbitingherliptokeepthetearsfromspringingtohereyesassheemergedfromthefrowsyofficeintothestreet.
“Youmustn’t,”sheadmonishedherselfsternly.“Don’tbeasnivellinglittleidiot.You’repanicking—that’swhatyou’redoing—panicking.Nogoodevercameofgivingwaytopanic.It’squiteearlyinthedaystillandlotsofthingsmayhappen.AuntMaryoughttobegoodforafortnightanyway.Comeon,girl,stepout,anddon’tkeepyourwell-to-dorelationswaiting.”
ShewalkeddownEdgwareRoad,acrossthepark,andthendowntoVictoriaStreet,wheresheturnedintotheArmyandNavyStores.Shewenttotheloungeandsatdownglancingatherwatch.Itwasjusthalfpastone.Fiveminutesspedbyandthenanelderlyladywithherarmsfullofparcelsboredownuponher.
“Ah!Thereyouare,Joyce.I’mafewminuteslate,I’mafraid.Theserviceisnotasgoodasitusedtobeintheluncheonroom.You’vehadlunch,ofcourse?”
Joycehesitatedaminuteortwo,thenshesaidquietly:“Yes,thank-you.”
“Ialwayshavemineathalfpasttwelve,”saidAuntMary,settlingherselfcomfortablywithherparcels.“Lessrushandacleareratmosphere.Thecurriedeggshereareexcellent.”
“Arethey?”saidJoycefaintly.Shefeltthatshecouldhardlybeartothinkofcurriedeggs—thehotsteamrisingfromthem—thedelicioussmell!Shewrenchedherthoughtsresolutelyaside.
“Youlookpeaky,child,”saidAuntMary,whowasherselfofacomfortablefigure.“Don’tgoinforthismodernfadofeatingnomeat.Allfal-de-lal.Agoodsliceoffthejointneverdidanyoneanyharm.”
Joycestoppedherselffromsaying,“Itwouldn’tdomeanyharmnow.”IfonlyAuntMarywouldstoptalkingaboutfood.Toraiseyourhopesbyaskingyoutomeetherathalfpastoneandthentotalkofcurriedeggsandslicesofroastmeat—oh!cruel—cruel.
“Well,mydear,”saidAuntMary.“Igotyourletter—anditwasveryniceofyoutotakemeatmyword.IsaidI’dbepleasedtoseeyouanytimeandsoIshouldhavebeen—butasithappens,I’vejusthadanextremelygoodoffertoletthehouse.Quitetoogoodtobemissed,andbringingtheirownplateandlinen.Fivemonths.TheycomeinonThursdayandIgotoHarrogate.Myrheumatism’sbeentroublingmelately.”
“Isee,”saidJoyce.“I’msosorry.”
“Soit’llhavetobeforanothertime.Alwayspleasedtoseeyou,mydear.”
“Thankyou,AuntMary.”
“Youknow,youdolookpeaky,”saidAuntMary,consideringherattentively.“You’rethin,too;nofleshonyourbones,andwhat’shappenedtoyourprettycolour?Youalwayshadanicehealthycolour.Mindyoutakeplentyofexercise.”
“I’mtakingplentyofexercisetoday,”saidJoycegrimly.Sherose.“Well,AuntMary,Imustbegettingalong.”
Backagain—throughSt.James’sParkthistime,andsoonthroughBerkeleySquareandacrossOxfordStreetandupEdgwareRoad,pastPraedStreettothepointwheretheEdgwareRoadbeginstothinkofbecomingsomethingelse.Thenaside,throughaseriesofdirtylittlestreetstilloneparticulardingyhousewasreached.
Joyceinsertedherlatchkeyandenteredasmallfrowsyhall.Sheranupthestairstillshereachedthetoplanding.Adoorfacedherandfromthebottomofthisdoorasnufflingnoiseproceededsucceededinasecondbyaseriesofjoyfulwhinesandyelps.
“Yes,Terrydarling—it’sMissuscomehome.”
Asthedooropened,awhitebodyprecipitateditselfuponthegirl—anagedwire-hairedterrierveryshaggyastocoatandsuspiciouslyblearyastoeyes.Joycegatheredhimupinherarmsandsatdownonthefloor.
“Terrydarling!Darling,darlingTerry.LoveyourMissus,Terry;loveyourMissusalot!”
AndTerryobeyed,hiseagertongueworkedbusily,helickedherface,herears,herneckandallthetimehisstumpofatailwaggedfuriously.
“Terrydarling,whatarewegoingtodo?What’sgoingtobecomeofus?Oh!Terrydarling,I’msotired.”
“Nowthen,miss,”saidatartvoicebehindher.“Ifyou’llgiveoverhuggingandkissingthatdog,here’sacupofnicehotteaforyou.”
“Oh!Mrs.Barnes,howgoodofyou.”
Joycescrambledtoherfeet.Mrs.Barneswasabig,formidable-lookingwoman.Beneaththeexteriorofadragonsheconcealedanunexpectedlywarmheart.
“Acupofhotteaneverdidanyoneanyharm,”enunciatedMrs.Barnes,voicingtheuniversalsentimentofherclass.
Joycesippedgratefully.Herlandladyeyedhercovertly.
“Anyluck,miss—ma’am,Ishouldsay?”
Joyceshookherhead,herfacecloudedover.
“Ah!”saidMrs.Barneswithasigh.“Well,itdoesn’tseemtobewhatyoumightcallaluckyday.”
Joycelookedupsharply.
“Oh,Mrs.Barnes—youdon’tmean—”
Mrs.Barneswasnoddinggloomily.
“Yes—it’sBarnes.Outofworkagain.Whatwe’regoingtodo,I’msureIdon’tknow.”
“Oh,Mrs.Barnes—Imust—Imeanyou’llwant—”
“Nowdon’tyoufret,mydear.I’mnotdenyingbutthatI’dbegladifyou’dfoundsomething—butifyouhaven’t—youhaven’t.Haveyoufinishedthattea?I’lltakethecup.”
“Notquite.”
“Ah!”saidMrs.Barnesaccusingly.“You’regoingtogivewhat’slefttothatdratteddog—Iknowyou.”
“Oh,please,Mrs.Barnes.Justalittledrop.Youdon’tmindreally,doyou?”
“Itwouldn’tbeanyuseifIdid.You’recrazyaboutthatcantankerousbrute.Yes,that’swhatIsay—andthat’swhatheis.Asnearasnothingbitmethismorning,hedid.”
“Oh,no,Mrs.Barnes!Terrywouldn’tdosuchathing.”
“Growledatme—showedhisteeth.Iwasjusttryingtoseeiftherewasanythingcouldbedonetothoseshoesofyours.”
“Hedoesn’tlikeanyonetouchingmythings.Hethinksheoughttoguardthem.”
“Well,whatdoeshewanttothinkfor?Itisn’tadog’sbusinesstothink.He’dbewellenoughinhisproperplace,tiedupintheyardtokeepoffburglars.Allthiscuddling!Heoughttobeputaway,miss—that’swhatIsay.”
“No,no,no.Never.Never!”
“Pleaseyourself,”saidMrs.Barnes.Shetookthecupfromthetable,retrievedthesaucerfromthefloorwhereTerryhadjustfinishedhisshare,andstalkedfromtheroom.
“Terry,”saidJoyce.“Comehereandtalktome.Whatarewegoingtodo,mysweet?”
Shesettledherselfinthericketyarmchair,withTerryonherknees.Shethrewoffherhatandleanedback.SheputoneofTerry’spawsoneachsideofherneckandkissedhimlovinglyonhisnoseandbetweenhiseyes.Thenshebegantalkingtohiminasoftlowvoice,twistinghisearsgentlybetweenherfingers.
“WhatarewegoingtodoaboutMrs.Barnes,Terry?Weoweherfourweeks—andshe’ssuchalamb,Terry—suchalamb.She’dneverturnusout.Butwecan’ttakeadvantageofherbeingalamb,Terry.Wecan’tdothat.WhydoesBarneswanttobeoutofwork?IhateBarnes.He’salwaysgettingdrunk.Andifyou’realwaysgettingdrunk,youareusuallyoutofwork.ButIdon’tgetdrunk,Terry,andyetI’moutofwork.
“Ican’tleaveyou,darling.Ican’tleaveyou.There’snotevenanyoneIcouldleaveyouwith—nobodywho’dbegoodtoyou.You’regettingold,Terry—twelveyearsold—andnobodywantsanolddogwho’sratherblindandalittledeafandalittle—yes,justalittle—bad-tempered.You’resweettome,darling,butyou’renotsweettoeveryone,areyou?Yougrowl.It’sbecauseyouknowtheworld’sturningagainstyou.We’vejustgoteachother,haven’twe,darling?”
Terrylickedhercheekdelicately.
“Talktome,darling.”
Terrygavealonglingeringgroan—almostasigh,thenhenuzzledhisnoseinbehindJoyce’sear.
“Youtrustme,don’tyou,angel?YouknowI’dneverleaveyou.Butwhatarewegoingtodo?We’rerightdowntoitnow,Terry.”
Shesettledbackfurtherinthechair,hereyeshalfclosed.
“Doyouremember,Terry,allthehappytimesweusedtohave?YouandIandMichaelandDaddy.Oh,Michael—Michael!Itwashisfirstleave,andhewantedtogivemeapresentbeforehewentbacktoFrance.AndItoldhimnottobeextravagant.Andthenweweredowninthecountry—anditwasallasurprise.Hetoldmetolookoutofthewindow,andthereyouwere,dancingupthepathonalonglead.Thefunnylittlemanwhobroughtyou,alittlemanwhosmeltofdogs.Howhetalked.‘Thegoods,that’swhatheis.Lookathim,ma’am,ain’theapicture?Isaidtomyself,assoonastheladyandgentlemanseehimthey’llsay:“Thatdog’sthegoods!’”
“Hekeptonsayingthat—andwecalledyouthatforquitealongtime—theGoods!Oh,Terry,youweresuchadarlingofapuppy,withyourlittleheadononeside,waggingyourabsurdtail!AndMichaelwentawaytoFranceandIhadyou—thedarlingestdogintheworld.YoureadallMichael’sletterswithme,didn’tyou?You’dsniffthem,andI’dsay—‘FromMaster,’andyou’dunderstand.Weweresohappy—sohappy.YouandMichaelandI.AndnowMichael’sdead,andyou’reold,andI—I’msotiredofbeingbrave.”
Terrylickedher.
“Youweretherewhenthetelegramcame.Ifithadn’tbeenforyou,Terry—ifIhadn’thadyoutoholdonto….”
Shestayedsilentforsomeminutes.
“Andwe’vebeentogethereversince—beenthroughalltheupsanddownstogether—therehavebeenalotofdowns,haven’tthere?Andnowwe’vecomerightupagainstit.ThereareonlyMichael’saunts,andtheythinkI’mallright.Theydon’tknowhegambledthatmoneyaway.WemustnevertellanyonethatIdon’tcare—whyshouldn’the?Everyonehastohavesomefault.Helovedusboth,Terry,andthat’sallthatmatters.Hisownrelationswerealwaysinclinedtobedownonhimandtosaynastythings.We’renotgoingtogivethemthechance.ButIwishIhadsomerelationsofmyown.It’sveryawkwardhavingnorelationsatall.
“I’msotired,Terry—andremarkablyhungry.Ican’tbelieveI’monlytwenty-nine—Ifeelsixty-nine.I’mnotreallybrave—Ionlypretendtobe.AndI’mgettingawfullymeanideas.IwalkedallthewaytoEalingyesterdaytoseeCousinCharlotteGreen.IthoughtifIgotthereathalfpasttwelveshe’dbesuretoaskmetostoptolunch.AndthenwhenIgottothehouse,Ifeltitwastoocadgingforanything.Ijustcouldn’t.SoIwalkedallthewayback.Andthat’sfoolish.Youshouldbeadeterminedcadgerorelsenoteventhinkofit.Idon’tthinkI’mastrongcharacter.”
TerrygroanedagainandputablacknoseintoJoyce’seye.
“You’vegotalovelynosestill,Terry—allcoldlikeicecream.Oh,Idoloveyouso!Ican’tpartfromyou.Ican’thaveyou‘putaway,’Ican’t…Ican’t…Ican’t….”
Thewarmtonguelickedeagerly.
“Youunderstandso,mysweet.You’ddoanythingtohelpMissus,wouldn’tyou?”
Terryclambereddownandwentunsteadilytoacorner.Hecamebackholdingabatteredbowlbetweenhisteeth.
Joycewasmidwaybetweentearsandlaughter.
“Washedoinghisonlytrick?TheonlythinghecouldthinkoftohelpMissus.Oh,Terry—Terry—nobodyshallpartus!I’ddoanything.WouldI,though?Onesaysthat—andthenwhenyou’reshownthething,yousay,‘Ididn’tmeananythinglikethat.”WouldIdoanything?”
Shegotdownonthefloorbesidethedog.
“Yousee,Terry,it’slikethis.Nurserygovernessescan’thavedogs,andcompanionstoelderlyladiescan’thavedogs.Onlymarriedwomencanhavedogs,Terry—littlefluffyexpensivedogsthattheytakeshoppingwiththem—andifonepreferredanoldblindterrier—well,whynot?”
Shestoppedfrowningandatthatminutetherewasadoubleknockfrombelow.
“Thepost.Iwonder.”
Shejumpedupandhurrieddownthestairs,returningwithaletter.
“Itmightbe.Ifonly….”
Shetoreitopen.
DearMadam,WehaveinspectedthepictureandouropinionisthatitisnotagenuineCuypandthatitsvalueispracticallynil.Yourstruly,Sloane&Ryder
Joycestoodholdingit.Whenshespoke,hervoicehadchanged.
“That’sthat,”shesaid.“Thelasthopegone.Butwewon’tbeparted.There’saway—anditwon’tbecadging.Terrydarling,I’mgoingout.I’llbebacksoon.”
Joycehurrieddownthestairstowherethetelephonestoodinadarkcorner.Theresheaskedforacertainnumber.Aman’svoiceansweredher,itstonechangingasherealizedheridentity.
“Joyce,mydeargirl.Comeoutandhavesomedinneranddancetonight.”
“Ican’t,”saidJoycelightly.“Nothingfittowear.”
Andshesmiledgrimlyasshethoughtoftheemptypegsintheflimsycupboard.
“HowwoulditbeifIcamealongandsawyounow?What’stheaddress?GoodLord,where’sthat?Rathercomeoffyourhighhorse,haven’tyou?”
“Completely.”
“Well,you’refrankaboutit.Solong.”
ArthurHalliday’scardrewupoutsidethehouseaboutthreequartersofanhourlater.AnawestruckMrs.Barnesconductedhimupstairs.
“Mydeargirl—whatanawfulhole.Whatonearthhasgotyouintothismess?”
“Prideandafewotherunprofitableemotions.”
Shespokelightlyenough;hereyeslookedatthemanoppositehersardonically
ManypeoplecalledHallidayhandsome.Hewasabigmanwithsquareshoulders,fair,withsmall,verypaleblueeyesandaheavychin.
Hesatdownonthericketychairsheindicated.
“Well,”hesaidthoughtfully.“Ishouldsayyou’dhadyourlesson.Isay—willthatbrutebite?”
“No,no,he’sallright.I’vetrainedhimtoberathera—awatchdog.”
Hallidaywaslookingherupanddown.
“Goingtoclimbdown,Joyce,”hesaidsoftly.“Isthatit?”
Joycenodded.
“Itoldyoubefore,mydeargirl.IalwaysgetwhatIwantintheend.Iknewyou’dcomeintimetoseewhichwayyourbreadwasbuttered.”
“It’sluckyformeyouhaven’tchangedyourmind,”saidJoyce.
Helookedathersuspiciously.WithJoyceyouneverknewquitewhatshewasdrivingat.
“You’llmarryme?”
Shenodded.“Assoonasyouplease.”
“Thesooner,thebetter,infact.”Helaughed,lookingroundtheroom.Joyceflushed.
“Bytheway,there’sacondition.”
“Acondition?”Helookedsuspiciousagain.
“Mydog.Hemustcomewithme.”
“Thisoldscarecrow?Youcanhaveanykindofadogyouchoose.Don’tspareexpense.”
“IwantTerry.”
“Oh!Allright,pleaseyourself.”
Joycewasstaringathim.
“Youdoknow—don’tyou—thatIdon’tloveyou?Notintheleast.”
“I’mnotworryingaboutthat.I’mnotthin-skinned.Butnohanky-panky,mygirl.Ifyoumarryme,youplayfair.”
ThecolourflashedintoJoyce’scheeks
“Youwillhaveyourmoney’sworth,”shesaid.
“Whataboutakissnow?”
Headvanceduponher.Shewaited,smiling.Hetookherinhisarms,kissingherface,herlips,herneck.Sheneitherstiffenednordrewback.Hereleasedheratlast.
“I’llgetyouaring,”hesaid.“Whatwouldyoulike,diamondsorpearls?”
“Aruby,”saidJoyce.“Thelargestrubypossible—thecolourofblood.”
“That’sanoddidea.”
“IshouldlikeittobeacontrasttothelittlehalfhoopofpearlsthatwasallthatMichaelcouldaffordtogiveme.”
“Betterluckthistime,eh?”
“Youputthingswonderfully,Arthur.”
Hallidaywentoutchuckling.
“Terry,”saidJoyce.“Lickme—lickhard—allovermyfaceandmyneck—particularlymyneck.”
AndasTerryobeyed,shemurmuredreflectively:
“Thinkingofsomethingelseveryhard—that’stheonlyway.You’dneverguesswhatIthoughtof—jam—jaminagrocer’sshop.Isaiditovertomyself.Strawberry,blackcurrant,raspberry,damson.Andperhaps,Terry,he’llgettiredofmefairlysoon.Ihopeso,don’tyou?Theysaymendowhenthey’remarriedtoyou.ButMichaelwouldn’thavetiredofme—never—never—never—Oh!Michael….”
Joycerosethenextmorningwithaheartlikelead.ShegaveadeepsighandimmediatelyTerry,whosleptonherbed,hadmovedupandwaskissingheraffectionately.
“Oh,darling—darling!We’vegottogothroughwithit.Butifonlysometingwouldhappen.Terrydarling,can’tyouhelpMissus?Youwouldifyoucould,Iknow.”
Mrs.Barnesbroughtupsometeaandbreadandbutterandwasheartilycongratulatory.
“Therenow,ma’am,tothinkofyougoingtomarrythatgentleman.ItwasaRollshecamein.Itwasindeed.ItquitesoberedBarnesuptothinkofoneofthemRollsstandingoutsideourdoor.Why,Ideclarethatdog’ssittingoutonthewindowsill.”
“Helikesthesun,”saidJoyce.“Butit’sratherdangerous.Terry,comein.”
“I’dhavethepoordearputoutofhismiseryifIwasyou,”saidMrs.Barnes,“andgetyourgentlemantobuyyouoneofthemplumydogsasladiescarryintheirmuffs.”
JoycesmiledandcalledagaintoTerry.Thedogroseawkwardlyandjustatthatmomentthenoiseofadogfightrosefromthestreetbelow.Terrycranedhisneckforwardandaddedsomebriskbarking.Thewindowsillwasoldandrotten.IttiltedandTerry,toooldandstifftoregainhisbalance,fell.
Withawildcry,Joycerandownthestairsandoutofthefrontdoor.InafewsecondsshewaskneelingbyTerry’sside.Hewaswhiningpitifullyandhispositionshowedherthathewasbadlyhurt.Shebentoverhim.
“Terry—Terrydarling—darling,darling,darling—”
Veryfeebly,hetriedtowaghistail.
“Terryboy—Missuswillmakeyoubetter—darlingboy—”
Acrowd,mainlycomposedofsmallboys,waspushinground.
“Fellfromthewindow,’edid.”
“My,’elooksbad.”
“Broke’isbackaslikelyasnot.”
Joycepaidnoheed.
“Mrs.Barnes,where’sthenearestvet?”
“There’sJobling—roundinMereStreet—ifyoucouldgethimthere.”
“Ataxi.”
“Allowme.”
Itwasthepleasantvoiceofanelderlymanwhohadjustalightedfromataxi.HekneltdownbyTerryandliftedtheupperlip,thenpassedhishanddownthedog’sbody.
“I’mafraidhemaybebleedinginternally,”hesaid.“Theredon’tseemtobeanybonesbroken.We’dbettergethimalongtothevet’s.”
Betweenthem,heandJoyceliftedthedog.Terrygaveayelpofpain.HisteethmetinJoyce’sarm.
“Terry—it’sallright—allright,oldman.”
Theygothimintothetaxianddroveoff.Joycewrappedahandkerchiefroundherarminanabsentmindedway.Terry,distressed,triedtolickit.
“Iknow,darling;Iknow.Youdidn’tmeantohurtme.It’sallright.It’sallright,Terry.”
Shestrokedhishead.Themanoppositewatchedherbutsaidnothing.
Theyarrivedatthevet’sfairlyquicklyandfoundhimin.Hewasared-facedmanwithanunsympatheticmanner.
HehandledTerrynonetoogentlywhileJoycestoodby,agonized.Thetearswererunningdownherface.Shekeptontalkinginalow,reassuringvoice.
“It’sallright,darling.It’sallright….”
Thevetstraightenedhimself.
“Impossibletosayexactly.Imustmakeaproperexamination.Youmustleavehimhere.”
“Oh!Ican’t.”
“I’mafraidyoumust.Imusttakehimbelow.I’lltelephoneyouin—say—halfanhour.”
Sickatheart,Joycegavein.ShekissedTerryonhisnose.Blindwithtears,shestumbleddownthesteps.Themanwhohadhelpedherwasstillthere.Shehadforgottenhim.
“Thetaxi’sstillhere.I’lltakeyouback.”Sheshookherhead.
“I’dratherwalk.”
“I’llwalkwithyou.”
Hepaidoffthetaxi.Shewashardlyconsciousofhimashewalkedquietlybyhersidewithoutspeaking.WhentheyarrivedatMrs.Barnes’,hespoke.
“Yourwrist.Youmustseetoit.”
Shelookeddownatit.
“Oh!That’sallright.”
“Itwantsproperlywashingandtyingup.I’llcomeinwithyou.”
Hewentwithherupthestairs.Shelethimwashtheplaceandbinditupwithacleanhandkerchief.Sheonlysaidonething.
“Terrydidn’tmeantodoit.Hewouldnever,nevermeantodoit.Hejustdidn’trealizeitwasme.Hemusthavebeenindreadfulpain.”
“I’mafraidso,yes.”
“Andperhapsthey’rehurtinghimdreadfullynow?”
“I’msurethateverythingthatcanbedoneforhimisbeingdone.Whenthevetringsup,youcangoandgethimandnursehimhere.”
“Yes,ofcourse.”
Themanpaused,thenmovedtowardsthedoor.
“Ihopeitwillbeallright,”hesaidawkwardly.“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
Twoorthreeminuteslateritoccurredtoherthathehadbeenkindandthatshehadneverthankedhim.
Mrs.Barnesappeared,cupinhand.
“Now,mypoorlamb,acupofhottea.You’realltopieces,Icanseethat.”
“Thankyou,Mrs.Barnes,butIdon’twantanytea.”
“Itwoulddoyougood,dearie.Don’ttakeonsonow.Thedoggiewillbeallrightandevenifheisn’tthatgentlemanofyourswillgiveyouaprettynewdog—”
“Don’t,Mrs.Barnes.Don’t.Please,ifyoudon’tmind,I’dratherbeleftalone.”
“Well,Inever—there’sthetelephone.”
Joycespeddowntoitlikeanarrow.Sheliftedthereceiver.Mrs.Barnespanteddownafterher.SheheardJoycesay,“Yes—speaking.What?Oh!Oh!Yes.Yes,thankyou.”
Sheputbackthereceiver.ThefacesheturnedtoMrs.Barnesstartledthatgoodwoman.Itseemeddevoidofanylifeorexpression.
“Terry’sdead,Mrs.Barnes,”shesaid.“Hediedalonetherewithoutme.”
Shewentupstairsand,goingintoherroom,shutthedoorverydecisively.
“Well,Inever,”saidMrs.Barnestothehallwallpaper.
Fiveminuteslatershepokedherheadintotheroom.Joycewassittingboltuprightinachair.Shewasnotcrying.
“It’syourgentleman,miss.ShallIsendhimup?”
AsuddenlightcameintoJoyce’seyes.
“Yes,please.I’dliketoseehim.”
Hallidaycameinboisterously.
“Well,hereweare.Ihaven’tlostmuchtime,haveI?I’mpreparedtocarryyouofffromthisdreadfulplacehereandnow.Youcan’tstayhere.Comeon,getyourthingson.”
“There’snoneed,Arthur.”
“Noneed?Whatdoyoumean?”
“Terry’sdead.Idon’tneedtomarryyounow.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Mydog—Terry.He’sdead.Iwasonlymarryingyousothatwecouldbetogether.”
Hallidaystaredather,hisfacegrowingredderandredder.“You’remad.”
“Idaresay.Peoplewholovedogsare.”
“Youseriouslytellmethatyouwereonlymarryingmebecause—Oh,it’sabsurd!”
“WhydidyouthinkIwasmarryingyou?YouknewIhatedyou.”
“YouweremarryingmebecauseIcouldgiveyouajollygoodtime—andsoIcan.”
“Tomymind,”saidJoyce,“thatisamuchmorerevoltingmotivethanmine.Anyway,it’soff.I’mnotmarryingyou!”
“Doyourealizethatyouaretreatingmedamnedbadly?”
Shelookedathimcoollybutwithsuchablazeinhereyesthathedrewbackbeforeit.
“Idon’tthinkso.I’veheardyoutalkaboutgettingakickoutoflife.That’swhatyougotoutofme—andmydislikeofyouheightenedit.YouknewIhatedyouandyouenjoyedit.WhenIletyoukissmeyesterday,youweredisappointedbecauseIdidn’tflinchorwince.There’ssomethingbrutalinyou,Arthur,somethingcruel—somethingthatlikeshurting…Nobodycouldtreatyouasbadlyasyoudeserve.Andnowdoyoumindgettingoutofmyroom?Iwantittomyself.”
Hesplutteredalittle.
“Wh—whatareyougoingtodo?You’venomoney.”
“That’smybusiness.Pleasego.”
“Youlittledevil.Youabsolutelymaddeninglittledevil.Youhaven’tdonewithmeyet.”
Joycelaughed.
Thelaughroutedhimasnothingelsehaddone.Itwassounexpected.Hewentawkwardlydownthestairsanddroveaway
Joyceheavedasigh.Shepulledonhershabbyblackfelthatandinherturnwentout.Shewalkedalongthestreetsmechanically,neitherthinkingnorfeeling.Somewhereatthebackofhermindtherewaspain—painthatshewouldpresentlyfeel,butforthemomenteverythingwasmercifullydulled.
ShepassedtheRegistryOfficeandhesitated.
“Imustdosomething.There’stheriver,ofcourse.I’veoftenthoughtofthat.Justfinisheverything.Butit’ssocoldandwet.Idon’tthinkI’mbraveenough.I’mnotbravereally.”
SheturnedintotheRegistryOffice.
“Goodmorning,Mrs.Lambert.I’mafraidwe’venodailypost.”
“Itdoesn’tmatter,”saidJoyce.“Icantakeanykindofpostnow.Myfriend,whomIlivedwith,has—goneaway.”
“Thenyou’dconsidergoingabroad?”
Joycenodded.
“Yes,asfarawayaspossible.”
“Mr.Allabyisherenow,asithappens,interviewingcandidates.I’llsendyouintohim.”
InanotherminuteJoycewassittinginacubicleansweringquestions.Somethingaboutherinterlocutorseemedvaguelyfamiliartoher,butshecouldnotplacehim.Andthensuddenlyhermindawokealittle,awarethatthelastquestionwasfaintlyoutoftheordinary.
“Doyougetonwellwitholdladies?”Mr.Allabywasasking.
Joycesmiledinspiteofherself.
“Ithinkso.”
“Youseemyaunt,wholiveswithme,isratherdifficult.Sheisveryfondofmeandsheisagreatdearreally,butIfancythatayoungwomanmightfindherratherdifficultsometimes.”
“IthinkI’mpatientandgood-tempered,”saidJoyce,“andIhavealwaysgotonwithelderlypeopleverywell.”
“Youwouldhavetodocertainthingsformyauntandotherwiseyouwouldhavethechargeofmylittleboy,whoisthree.Hismotherdiedayearago.”
“Isee.”
Therewasapause.
“Thenifyouthinkyouwouldlikethepost,wewillconsiderthatsettled.Wetraveloutnextweek.Iwillletyouknowtheexactdate,andIexpectyouwouldlikeasmalladvanceofsalarytofityourselfout.”
“Thankyouverymuch.Thatwouldbeverykindofyou.”
Theyhadbothrisen.SuddenlyMr.Allabysaidawkwardly:
“I—hatetobuttin—ImeanIwish—Iwouldliketoknow—Imean,isyourdogallright?”
ForthefirsttimeJoycelookedathim.Thecolourcameintoherface,herblueeyesdeepenedalmosttoblack.Shelookedstraightathim.Shehadthoughthimelderly,buthewasnotsoveryold.Hairturninggrey,apleasantweatherbeatenface,ratherstoopingshoulders,eyesthatwerebrownandsomethingoftheshykindlinessofadog’s.Helookedalittlelikeadog,Joycethought.
“Oh,it’syou,”shesaid.“Ithoughtafterwards—Ineverthankedyou.”
“Noneed.Didn’texpectit.Knewwhatyouwerefeelinglike.Whataboutthepooroldchap?”
ThetearscameintoJoyce’seyes.Theystreameddownhercheeks.Nothingonearthcouldhavekeptthemback.
“He’sdead.”
“Oh!”
Hesaidnothingelse,buttoJoycethatOh!wasoneofthemostcomfortingthingsshehadeverheard.Therewaseverythinginitthatcouldn’tbeputintowords.
Afteraminuteortwohesaidjerkily:
“Matteroffact,Ihadadog.Diedtwoyearsago.Waswithacrowdofpeopleatthetimewhocouldn’tunderstandmakingheavyweatheraboutit.Prettyrottentohavetocarryonasthoughnothinghadhappened.”
Joycenodded.
“Iknow—”saidMr.Allaby.
Hetookherhand,squeezedithardanddroppedit.Hewentoutofthelittlecubicle.Joycefollowedinaminuteortwoandfixedupvariousdetailswiththeladylikeperson.Whenshearrivedhome.Mrs.Barnesmetheronthedoorstepwiththatrelishingloomtypicalofherclass.
“They’vesentthepoorlittledoggie’sbodyhome,”sheannounced.“It’supinyourroom.IwassayingtoBarnes,andhe’sreadytodiganicelittleholeinthebackgarden—”
AbouttheAuthor
AgathaChristieisthemostwidelypublishedauthorofalltimeandinanylanguage,outsoldonlybytheBibleandShakespeare.HerbookshavesoldmorethanabillioncopiesinEnglishandanotherbillioninahundredforeignlanguages.Sheistheauthorofeightycrimenovelsandshort-storycollections,nineteenplays,twomemoirs,andsixnovelswrittenunderthenameMaryWestmacott.
ShefirsttriedherhandatdetectivefictionwhileworkinginahospitaldispensaryduringWorldWarI,creatingthenowlegendaryHerculePoirotwithherdebutnovelTheMysteriousAffairatStyles.WithTheMurderintheVicarage,publishedin1930,sheintroducedanotherbelovedsleuth,MissJaneMarple.Additionalseriescharactersincludethehusband-and-wifecrime-fightingteamofTommyandTuppenceBeresford,privateinvestigatorParkerPyne,andScotlandYarddetectivesSuperintendentBattleandInspectorJapp.
ManyofChristie’snovelsandshortstorieswereadaptedintoplays,films,andtelevisionseries.TheMousetrap,hermostfamousplayofall,openedin1952andisthelongest-runningplayinhistory.Amongherbest-knownfilmadaptationsareMurderontheOrientExpress(1974)andDeathontheNile(1978),withAlbertFinneyandPeterUstinovplayingHerculePoirot,respectively.OnthesmallscreenPoirothasbeenmostmemorablyportrayedbyDavidSuchet,andMissMarplebyJoanHicksonandsubsequentlyGeraldineMcEwanandJuliaMcKenzie.
ChristiewasfirstmarriedtoArchibaldChristieandthentoarchaeologistSirMaxMallowan,whomsheaccompaniedonexpeditionstocountriesthatwouldalsoserveasthesettingsformanyofhernovels.In1971sheachievedoneofBritain’shighesthonorswhenshewasmadeaDameoftheBritishEmpire.Shediedin1976attheageofeighty-five.Heronehundredandtwentiethanniversarywascelebratedaroundtheworldin2010.
Visitwww.AuthorTracker.comforexclusiveinformationonyourfavoriteHarperCollinsauthors.
www.AgathaChristie.com
THEAGATHACHRISTIECOLLECTION
TheManintheBrownSuit
TheSecretofChimneys
TheSevenDialsMystery
TheMysteriousMr.Quin
TheSittafordMystery
ParkerPyneInvestigates
WhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?
MurderIsEasy
TheRegattaMysteryandOtherStories
AndThenThereWereNone
TowardsZero
DeathComesastheEnd
SparklingCyanide
TheWitnessfortheProsecutionandOtherStories
CrookedHouse
ThreeBlindMiceandOtherStories
TheyCametoBaghdad
DestinationUnknown
OrdealbyInnocence
DoubleSinandOtherStories
ThePaleHorse
StaroverBethlehem:PoemsandHolidayStories
EndlessNight
PassengertoFrankfurt
TheGoldenBallandOtherStories
TheMousetrapandOtherPlays
TheHarlequinTeaSet
TheHerculePoirotMysteries
TheMysteriousAffairatStyles
TheMurderontheLinks
PoirotInvestigates
TheMurderofRogerAckroyd
TheBigFour
TheMysteryoftheBlueTrain
PerilatEndHouse
LordEdgwareDies
MurderontheOrientExpress
ThreeActTragedy
DeathintheClouds
TheA.B.C.Murders
MurderinMesopotamia
CardsontheTable
MurderintheMews
DumbWitness
DeathontheNile
AppointmentwithDeath
HerculePoirot’sChristmas
SadCypress
One,Two,BuckleMyShoe
EvilUndertheSun
FiveLittlePigs
TheHollow
TheLaborsofHercules
TakenattheFlood
TheUnderDogandOtherStories
Mrs.McGinty’sDead
AftertheFuneral
HickoryDickoryDock
DeadMan’sFolly
CatAmongthePigeons
TheClocks
ThirdGirl
Hallowe’enParty
ElephantsCanRemember
Curtain:Poirot’sLastCase
TheMissMarpleMysteries
TheMurderattheVicarage
TheBodyintheLibrary
TheMovingFinger
AMurderIsAnnounced
TheyDoItwithMirrors
APocketFullofRye
4:50fromPaddington
TheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSide
ACaribbeanMystery
AtBertram’sHotel
Nemesis
SleepingMurder
MissMarple:TheCompleteShortStories
TheTommyandTuppenceMysteries
TheSecretAdversary
PartnersinCrime
NorM?
BythePrickingofMyThumbs
PosternofFate
Memoirs
AnAutobiography
Come,TellMeHowYouLive
Copyright
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Thecharacters,incidents,anddialoguearedrawnfromtheauthor’simaginationandarenottobeconstruedasreal.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
AGATHACHRISTIE?THEGOLDENBALLANDOTHERSTORIES?.Copyright?1971AgathaChristieLimited.Allrightsreserved.
THEGOLDENBALLANDOTHERSTORIES?1971.PublishedbypermissionofG.P.Putnam’sSons,amemberofPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenonexclusive,nontransferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthisebookon-screen.Nopartofthistextmaybereproduced,transmitted,downloaded,decompiled,reverse-engineered,orstoredinorintroducedintoanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereinafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollinsebooks.
FIRSTWILLIAMMORROWTRADEPAPERBACKPUBLISHED2012
ISBN978-0-06-209441-4
EpubEdition?AUGUST2012ISBN:9780062244000
1213141516DIX/RRD10987654321
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