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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..50cc517 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55039 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55039) diff --git a/old/55039-0.txt b/old/55039-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 092da23..0000000 --- a/old/55039-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6684 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Man Who Found Himself, by Margaret Stacpoole and Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Man Who Found Himself - (Uncle Simon) - -Author: Margaret Stacpoole and Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -Release Date: July 3, 2017 [eBook #55039] -[Most recently updated: March 15, 2023] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Roger Frank, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN WHO FOUND HIMSELF *** - - - - -THE MAN WHO FOUND HIMSELF - - - - -_By H. DE VERE STACPOOLE_ - - -THE BEACH OF DREAMS -THE GHOST GIRL -THE MAN WHO LOST HIMSELF -THE GOLD TRAIL -SEA PLUNDER -THE PEARL FISHERS -THE PRESENTATION -THE NEW OPTIMISM -POPPYLAND -THE POEMS OF FRANÇOIS VILLON - _Translated by H. De Vere Stacpoole_ - - - - -The Man Who Found Himself -(Uncle Simon) - -_By_ -MARGARET AND H. DE VERE STACPOOLE - -NEW YORK -JOHN LANE COMPANY -MCMXX - - -Copyright, 1920, -BY STREET & SMITH - -Copyright, 1920, -BY JOHN LANE COMPANY - - - - -CONTENTS - - -PART I - -CHAPTER PAGE - I. SIMON 9 - - II. MUDD 12 - - III. DR. OPPENSHAW 20 - - IV. DR. OPPENSHAW--_continued_ 30 - - V. I WILL NOT BE HIM 34 - - VI. TIDD AND RENSHAW 42 - - VII. THE WALLET 46 - - -PART II - - I. THE SOUL'S AWAKENING 51 - - II. MOXON AND MUDD 60 - - III. SIMON'S OLD-FASHIONED NIGHT IN TOWN 73 - - -PART III - - I. THE LAST SOVEREIGN 87 - - II. UNCLE SIMON 105 - - III. THE HUNDRED-POUND NOTE 121 - - IV. THE HUNDRED-POUND NOTE--_continued_ 129 - - V. THE HOME OF THE NIGHTINGALES 144 - - VI. THE FLIGHT OF THE DRAGONFLY 154 - - VII. NINE HUNDRED POUNDS 164 - - III. PALL MALL PLACE 173 - - IX. JULIA 181 - - -PART IV - - I. THE GARDEN-PARTY 191 - - II. HORN 200 - - III. JULIA--_continued_ 209 - - IV. HORN--_continued_ 216 - - V. TIDD _versus_ RENSHAW 221 - - VI. WHAT HAPPENED TO SIMON 234 - - VII. TIDD _versus_ BROWNLOW 238 - -VIII. IN THE ARBOUR 240 - - IX. CHAPTER THE LAST 243 - - - - -PART I - - -THE MAN WHO FOUND HIMSELF - - - - -CHAPTER I - -SIMON - - -King Charles Street lies in Westminster; you turn a corner and find -yourself in Charles Street as one might turn a corner and find oneself -in History. The cheap, the nasty, and the new vanish, and fine old -comfortable houses of red brick, darkened by weather and fog, take you -into their keeping, tell you that Queen Anne is not dead, amuse you with -pictures of Sedan chairs and running footmen and discharge you at the -other end into the twentieth century from whence you came. - -Simon Pettigrew lived at No. 12, where his father, his grandfather, and -his great-grandfather had lived before him--lawyers all of them. So -respected, so rooted in the soil of the Courts as to be less a family of -lawyers than a minor English Institution. Divorce your mind entirely -from all petty matters of litigation in connection with the Pettigrews, -Simon or any of his forebears would have appeared just as readily in -their shirt-sleeves in Fleet Street as in County or Police Court for or -against the defendant; they were old family lawyers and they had a fair -proportion of the old English families in their keeping--deed-boxes -stuffed with papers, secrets to make one's hair curl. - -To the general public this great and potent firm was almost unknown, yet -Pettigrew and Pettigrew had cut off enough heirs to furnish material for -a dozen Braddon novels, had smothered numerous screaming tragedies in -high life and buried them at dead of night, and all without a wrinkle on -the brow of the placid old firm that drove its curricle through the -reigns of the Georges, took snuff in the days of Palmerston, and in the -days of Edward Rex still refused to employ the typewriter. - -Simon, the last of the firm, unmarried and without near relation, was at -the time of this story turned sixty--a clean-shaven, bright-eyed, -old-fashioned type of man, sedate, famed for his cellar, and a member of -the Athenæum. A man you never, never would have imagined to possess such -a thing as a Past. Never would have imagined to have been filled with -that semi-diabolical, semi-angelical joy of life which leads to the -follies of youth. - -All the same, Simon, between the ages of twenty-one and twenty-two, had -raked the town vigorously more than viciously, haunted Evans' -supper-rooms, fallen madly in love with an actress, enjoyed life as only -the young can enjoy life in the gorgeous, dazzling, deceitful country of -Youth. - -Driving in hansom cabs was then a pleasure! New clothes and outrageous -shirts and ties a delight, actresses goddesses. Then, one day his -actress turned out an actress, and the following night he came out of -the Cocoa Tree owing a gambling debt of a thousand pounds that he could -not pay. His father paid on his promising to turn over a new leaf, which -he did. But his youth was checked, his brightness eclipsed, and -arm-in-arm with common sense he set out on the long journey that led him -at last to the high position of a joyless, loveless, desolate, wealthy -solicitor of sixty--respected, very much respected. In fact, less a man -than a firm. Yet there still remained to him as a legacy of his youth, a -very pretty wit of his own, an irresponsible turn of talk when he gave -himself away--as at dinner-parties. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -MUDD - - -Mudd was Simon's factotum, butler, and minister of inferior affairs. -Mudd was sixty-five and a bit; he had been in the services of the -Pettigrew family forty-five years, and had grown up, so to say, side by -side with Simon. For the last twenty years every morning Mudd had -brought up his master's tea, drawn up his blinds and set out his -clothes--seven thousand times or thereabouts, allowing for holidays and -illnesses. He was a clean-shaven old man, with rounded shoulders and a -way that had become blunt with long use; he only "sirred" Simon in the -presence of guests and servants, and had an open way of speaking on -matters of everyday affairs verging on the conjugal in its occasional -frankness. - -This morning, the third of June, Mudd, having drawn up his master's -blinds and set out his boots and shaving things, vanished and returned -with his clothes, brushed and folded, and a jug of shaving water which -he placed on the wash-handstand. - -"The arms will be out of this old coat if you go on wearing it much -longer," grumbled Mudd, as he placed the things on a chair. "It's been -in wear nearly a year and a half; you're heavy on the left elbow--it's -the desk does it." - -"I'll see," said Simon. - -He knew quite well the suggestion that lay in the tone and the words of -Mudd, but a visit to his tailors was almost on a par with a visit to his -dentists, and new clothes were an abhorrence. It took him a fortnight to -get used to a new coat, and as to being shabby, why, a decent shabbiness -was part of his personality and, vaguely perhaps, of his pride in life. -He could afford to be shabby. - -Mudd having vanished, Simon rose and began his toilet, tubbing in a tin -bath--a flat Victorian tin bath--and shaving with a razor taken from a -case of seven, each marked with a day of the week. - -This razor was marked "Tuesday." - -Having carefully dried "Tuesday" and put it back between "Monday" and -"Wednesday," Simon closed the case with the care and precision that -marked all his actions, finished dressing, and looked out of the window -to see what sort of day it was. - -A peep of glorious blue sky caught across the roofs of the opposite -houses informed him, leaving him unenthusiastic, and then, having wound -up his watch, he came downstairs to the Jacobean dining-room, where tea, -toast, frizzled bacon, and a well-aired _Times_ were awaiting him. - -At a quarter to ten precisely Mudd opened the hall door, verified the -fact that the brougham was in waiting and informed his master, helped -him into his overcoat--a light summer overcoat--and closed the carriage -door on him. - -A little after ten Simon reached Old Serjeants' Inn and entered his -office. - -Brownlow, the chief clerk, had just arrived, and Simon, nodding to him, -passed into his private room, where his letters were laid out, hung up -his hat and coat, and set to business. - -It was a sight to watch his face as he read letter after letter, laying -each in order under a marble paper-weight. One might have fancied -oneself watching Law at work, in seclusion and unadorned with robes. He -did not need glasses--his eyes were still the eyes of a young man. - -Having finished his letters, he rang for his stenographer and began -dictating replies, sending out now and again for Brownlow to consult -upon details; then, this business finished and alone again, he sat -resting for a moment, leaning back in his chair and trimming his nails -with the little penknife that lay on the table. It was his custom at -twelve o'clock precisely to have a glass of old brown sherry. It was a -custom of the firm; Andrew Pettigrew had done the same in his day and -had handed on the habit to his son. If a favoured client were present -the client would be asked to have a glass, and the bottle and two -glasses were kept in the John Tann safe in the corner of the room. Ye -gods! Fancy in your modern solicitor's office a wine-bottle in the -principal safe and the solicitor asking a client to "have a drink"! Yet -the green-seal sherry, famous amidst the _cognoscenti_, and the safe and -the atmosphere of the room and the other-day figure of Simon, all were -in keeping, part of a unique and Georgian whole, like the component -parts of a Toby jug. - -The old silver-faced clock on the mantel, having placed its finger on -midday, set up its silvery lisp, and Simon, rousing himself from his -reverie, rose, drew a bunch of keys from his pocket and opened the safe. - -Then he stood looking at what was to be seen inside. - -The safe contained two deed-boxes, one on top of the other, on the iron -fire-and-burglar-proof floor, and by the deed-boxes stood the sherry -bottle and the cut-glass satellite wine-glasses, whilst upon the topmost -deed-box reposed a black leather wallet. - -Simon's eyes were fixed on the wallet, the thing seemed to hold him -spellbound; one might have fancied him gazing into the devilish-diamond -eyes of a coiled snake. The wallet had not been there when he closed the -safe last; there had been nothing in the safe but the boxes, the bottle -and the glasses, and of the safe there were but two keys, one at the -bank, one in his pocket. The manager of Cumber's Bank, a bald-headed -magnate with side-whiskers, even if he had means of access to the safe, -could not have been the author of this little trick, simply because the -key at the bank was out of his reach, being safely locked away in the -Pettigrew private deed-chest, and the key of the Pettigrew private -deed-chest was on the same bunch as that now hanging from the safe door. - -The lock was unpickable. - -Yet the look on Simon's face was less that of surprise at the thing -found than terror of the thing seen. Brownlow's head on a charger could -not have affected him much more. - -Then, stretching out his hand, he took the wallet, brought it to the -table and opened it. - -It contained bank-notes, beautiful, new, crisp Bank of England notes; -but the joy of the ordinary man in discovering a great unexpected wad of -bank-notes was not apparent in the face of Simon, unless beads of -perspiration are indications of joy. He turned to the sherry-bottle, -filled two glasses with a shaky hand and drained them; then he turned -again to the notes. - -He sat down and, pushing the wallet aside, began to count them. Began to -count them feverishly, as though the result of the tally were a matter -of vast importance. There were four notes of a thousand, the rest were -hundreds and a few tens. Ten thousand pounds, that was the total. - -He put the notes back in the case, buckled it, jumped up like a released -spring, flung the wallet on top of the deed-box and closed the safe with -a snap. - -Then he stood, hands in pockets, examining the pattern of the Turkey -carpet. - -At this moment a knock came to the door and a junior clerk appeared. - -"What the devil do you want?" asked Simon. - -The clerk stated his case. A Mr. Smith had called, craving an -interview. - -"Ask Mr. Brownlow to see him," replied Simon; "but ask Mr. Brownlow to -step in here first." - -In a moment Brownlow appeared. - -"Brownlow," said Simon, "look up Dr. Oppenshaw's telephone number and -ask him can he give me ten minutes' interview before luncheon. Say it is -most urgently important. 110A, Harley Street, is his address--and, see -here, have a taxicab called--that's all." - -Whilst Brownlow was away on his mission Simon put on his overcoat, put -on his hat, blew his nose lustily in the red bandanna handkerchief that -was part of his personality, opened the safe and took another peep at -the wallet, as if to make sure that the fairy hand that had placed it -there had not spirited it away again, and was in the act of locking the -safe when the senior clerk entered to say that Dr. Oppenshaw would be -visible at a quarter to one, and that Morgan, the office-boy, had -procured the cab. - -Brownlow, though he managed to conceal his feelings, was disturbed by -the manner of his chief and by the telephone message to the doctor; by -the whole affair, in fact, for Simon never left the office till the -stroke of one, when the brougham called to take him to Simpson's in the -Strand for luncheon. - -Was Simon ill? He ventured to put the question and nearly had his head -snapped off. - -Ill! No, of course he wasn't ill, never better in his life; what on -earth put that idea into Brownlow's head? - -Then the testy one departed in search of the taxi, and Brownlow returned -to his room and his duties. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -DR. OPPENSHAW - - -Just as rabbit-burrows on the Arizona plain give shelter to a mixed -tenantry, a rabbit, an owl, and a snake often occupying the same hole, -so the Harley Street houses are, as a rule, divided up between dentists, -oculists, surgeons, and physicians, so that under the same roof you can, -if you are so minded, have your teeth extracted, your lungs percussed, -your eyes put right, and your surgical ailment seen to, each on a -different floor. Number 110A, Harley Street, however, contained only one -occupant--Dr. Otto Oppenshaw. Dr. Oppenshaw had no need of a sharer in -his rent burdens; a neurologist in the most nerve-ridden city of Europe, -he was making an income of some twenty-five thousand a year. - -People were turned away from his door as from a theatre where a wildly -successful play is running. The main craving of fashionable neurotics, a -craving beyond, though often inspired by the craving for, the opium -alkaloids and cocaine, was to see Oppenshaw. Yet he was not much to -see: a little bald man like a turnip, with the manners of a butcher, and -gold-rimmed spectacles. - -Dukes inspired with the desire to see Oppenshaw had to wait their turn -often behind tradesmen, yet he was at Simon Pettigrew's command. Simon -was his sometime lawyer. It was half-past twelve, or maybe a bit more, -when the taxi drew up at 110A and the lawyer, after a sharp legal -discussion over tuppence with the driver, mounted the steps and pressed -the bell. - -The door was at once opened by a pale-faced man in black, who conducted -the visitor to the waiting-room, where a single patient was seated -reading a last year's volume of _Punch_ and not seeming to realise the -jokes. - -This person was called out presently, and then came Simon's turn. - -Oppenshaw got up from his desk and came forward to meet him. - -"I'm sorry to bother you," said Simon, when they had exchanged -greetings. "It's a difficult matter I have come to consult you about, -and an important one, else I would not have cut into your time like -this." - -"State your case," said the other jovially, retaking his seat and -pointing out a chair. - -"That's the devil of it," replied Simon; "it's a case that lies out of -the jurisdiction of common sense and common knowledge. Look at me. Do I -look as though I were a dreamer or creature of fancies?" - -"You certainly don't," said Oppenshaw frankly. - -"Yet what I have to tell you disgusts me--will disgust you." - -"I'm used to that, I'm used to that," said the other. "Nothing you can -say will alarm, disgust, or leave me incredulous." - -"Well, here it is," said the patient, plunging into the matter as a man -into cold water. "A year ago--a year and four weeks, for it was on the -third of May--I went down to my office one morning and transacted my -business as usual. At twelve o'clock I--er--had occasion to open my -safe, a safe of which I alone possess the key. On the top of a deed-box -in that safe I found a brown-paper parcel tied with red tape. I was -astonished, for I had put no parcel in." - -"You might have forgotten," said Oppenshaw. - -"I never forget," replied Simon. - -"Go on," said Oppenshaw. - -"I opened the parcel. It contained bank-notes to the amount of ten -thousand pounds." - -"H'm--h'm." - -"Ten thousand pounds. I could not believe my eyes. I sent for my chief -clerk, Brownlow. He could not believe his eyes, and I fear he even -doubted the statement of the whole case. Now listen. I determined to go -to my bank, Cumber's, and make enquiries as to my balance, ridden by the -seemingly absurd idea that I myself had drawn this amount and forgotten -the fact. I may say at once this was the truth, I _had_ drawn it, -unknown to myself. Well, that was the third of May, and when and where -do you think I found myself next?" - -"Go on," said Oppenshaw. - -"In Paris on the third of June." - -"Ah--ah." - -"Everything between those dates was a blank." - -"Your case is not absolutely common," said Oppenshaw. "Rare, but not -without precedent--read the papers. Why, only yesterday a woman was -found on a seat at Brighton. She had left London a week ago; the -interval was to her a complete blank, yet she had travelled about and -lived like an ordinary mortal in possession of her ordinary senses." - -"Wait a bit," said Simon. "I was not found on a seat in Paris. I found -myself in a gorgeously-furnished sitting-room of the Bristol Hotel, and -I was dressed in clothes that might have suited a young man--a fool of -twenty, and I very soon found that I had been acting--acting like a -fool. Of the ten thousand only five thousand remained." - -"Five thousand in a month," said Oppenshaw. "Well, you paid the price of -your temporary youth. Tell me," said he, "and be quite frank. What were -you like when you were young? I mean in mind and conduct?" - -Simon moved wearily. - -"I was a fool for a while," said he. "Then I suddenly checked myself and -became sensible." - -Oppenshaw rapped twice with his fingers on his desk as if in triumph -over his own perception. - -"That clears matters," said he. "You were undoubtedly suffering from -Lethmann's disease." - -"Good Lord!" said Simon. "What's that?" - -"It's a form of aberration--most interesting. You have heard of double -personalities, of which a great deal of nonsense has been written? Well, -Lethmann's disease is just this: a man, say, of twenty, suddenly checked -in the course of his youth, becomes practically another person. You, -for instance, became, or fancied you became, another person; you -suddenly 'checked yourself and became sensible,' as you put it, but you -did not destroy that old foolish self. Nothing is destructible in mind -as long as the brain-tissue is normal; you put it in prison, and after -the lapse of many years, owing, perhaps, to some slight declension in -brain power, it broke out, dominated you, and lived again. Youth must be -served. - -"It would have been perhaps better for you to have let your youth run -its course and expend itself normally. You have paid the price of your -own will-power. I am very much interested in this. Tell me as faithfully -as you can what you did in Paris, or at least what you gathered that you -did. When you came to, did you remember your actions during the month of -aberration?" - -"When I came to," said Simon, speaking almost with his teeth set, "I was -like a person stunned. Then I remembered, bit by bit, what I had been -doing, but it was like vaguely remembering what another man had been -doing." - -"Right," said Oppenshaw, "that tallies with your case. Go on." - -"I had been doing foolish things. I had been living, so to say, on the -surface of life, without a thought of anything but pleasure, without the -slightest recollection of myself as I am. I had been doing things that I -might have done at twenty--extravagant follies; yet I believe not any -really vicious acts. I had been drinking too much champagne, for one -thing, and there were several ladies.... Good Lord! Oppenshaw, I'd blush -to confess it to anyone else, but I'd been going on like a boy, picking -flowers at Fontainebleau--writing verses to one of these hussies. I -could remember that. Me!--verses about blue skies and streams and -things! Me! It's horrible!" - -"Used you to write verses when you were young?" - -"Yes," said Simon, "I believe I used to make that sort of fool of -myself." - -"You were full of the joy of living?" - -"I suppose so." - -"You see, everything tallies. Yes, without any manner of doubt it's a -case of Lethmann's disease rounded and complete. Now, tell me, when you -came to, you could remember all your actions in Paris; how far back did -that memory go?" - -"I could remember dimly right back to when I was leaving the office in -Old Serjeants' Inn with the bundle of bank-notes to go to the bank. -Then all of a sudden it would seem I forgot all about my past and -became, as you insist, myself at twenty. I went to the Charing Cross -Hotel, where I had already, it would seem, hired rooms for myself, and -where I had directed new clothes to be sent, and then I went to Paris." - -"This is most important," said Oppenshaw. "You had already hired rooms -for yourself and ordered clothes. Those acts must have been committed -before the great change came on you, and of course without your -knowledge." - -"They must. Also the act of drawing the ten thousand from the bank." - -"The concealed other self must have been working like a mole in the dark -for some days at least," said Oppenshaw, "utterly without your -knowledge." - -"Utterly." - -"Then having prepared in a vague sort of way a means for enjoying -itself, it burst out; it was like a butterfly coming out of a -chrysalis--excuse the simile." - -"Something like that." - -"So far so good. Well, now, when you came to your old self in Paris, -what did you do?" - -"I came back to London, of course." - -"But surely your sudden disappearance must have caused alarm? Why, it -would have been in the papers." - -"Not a bit," said Simon grimly. "My other self, as you call it, had -prepared for that. It seems the night before the thing happened I told -Mudd--you know Mudd, the butler--that I might be called away suddenly -and be absent a considerable time, that I would buy clothes and -nightshirts and things, if that was so, at the place I was going to, and -that he was to tell the office if I went away, and to tell Brownlow to -carry on. Infernal, isn't it?" - -"Infernally ingenious," said Oppenshaw; "but if you had ever studied the -subject of duplex personality you would not be surprised. I have seen a -young religious girl make most complex preparations for a journey as a -missionary to China, utterly without her own knowledge. We caught her at -the station, fortunately, just in time--but how did you find out that -you gave Mudd those instructions?" - -"The whole way back from Paris," said Simon, "I was preparing to meet -all sorts of enquiry and bother as to my absence. Then, when I reached -home, Mudd did not seem to think it out of the way; he told me he had -followed my directions and notified the office when I did not return, -and told them that I might be some time away. Then I got out of him -what I had said about the clothes and so on." - -"Tell me," said Oppenshaw suddenly, "why did you come to me to-day to -tell me all this?" - -"Because," said Simon, "on opening my safe this morning I found in a -wallet on the top of the deed-box another bundle of notes for exactly -the same amount." - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -DR. OPPENSHAW--_continued_ - - -Oppenshaw whistled. - -"A bundle of notes amounting to ten thousand pounds," said Simon; -"exactly the same amount." - -Oppenshaw looked at his nails carefully without speaking. Simon watched -him. - -"Tell me," said Simon, "is this confounded disease, or whatever it is, -recurrent?" - -"You mean is there any fear that your old self--or, rather, your young -self--is preparing for another outbreak?" - -"Precisely." - -"That this drawing of another ten thousand, unknown to yourself, is only -the first act in a similar drama, or shall we say comedy?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, I can't say for certain, for the disease, or the ailment, if you -like the term better, has not been long enough before the eyes of -science to make quite definite statements. But, as far as I can judge, -I'm afraid it is." - -Simon swallowed. - -"Leaving aside the fact of the similarity of the action and the amount -of money drawn, we have the similarity in time. It is true that last -year it was in May you started the business." - -"The third of May, a month's difference," said Simon. - -"True, but it is less a question of a month more or less than of season. -Last early May and April end were abnormally fine. I remember that, for -I had to go to Switzerland. This May has been wretched. Then during the -last week we have had this burst of splendid weather--weather that makes -me feel young again." - -"It doesn't me," said Simon. - -"No, but it has evidently--at least probably--had that effect on your -other 'me.' The something that urges the return of the swallow has acted -in your subconsciousness with the coming of springlike weather just as -last year." - -"Damn swallows!" cried Simon, rising up and pacing the floor. "Suppose -this thing lets me in for another five thousand, and Lord knows what -else? Oppenshaw," wheeling suddenly, "is nothing to be done? How can I -stop it?" - -"Well," said Oppenshaw, "quite frankly, I think that the best means is -the exercise of your own will-power. You might, of course, take the -notes back to the bank and instruct them not to allow you to draw any -more money for, say, a month--but that would be unpleasant." - -"Impossible!" - -"You might, again, put yourself under restraint. I could do that for -you." - -"Put myself in a mad-house?" - -"No, no--a nursing home." - -"Never!" - -"You might, again, instruct your butler to follow you and, as a matter -of fact, keep his eye on you for the next month." - -"Mudd!" - -"Yes." - -"Sooner die. Never could look him in the face again." - -"Have you any near and trustworthy relatives?" - -"Only a nephew, utterly wild and untrustworthy; a chap I've cut out of -my will and had to stop his allowance." - -"And you are not married--that's a pity. A wife----" - -"Hang wives!" cried Simon. "What's the good of talking of the -impracticable?" - -"Well, there we are," continued Oppenshaw, perfectly unruffled. "I have -suggested everything; there is only will left. The greatest friend of a -man is his will. Determine in your own mind that this change will _not_ -take place. I believe that will be your safest plan. The others I have -suggested are all impossible to your sense of _amour propre_, and, -besides that, there is the grave objection that they savour of force. It -might have bad consequences to use force to what would be practically -the subconscious mind. Your will is quite different. Will can never -unbalance mind. In fact, as a famous English neurologist has put it, -'Most cases of mental disturbances are due to an inflated ego--a -deflated will.'" - -"Oh, my will's all right," said Simon. - -"Well, then, use it and don't trouble. Say to yourself definitely--'This -shall not be.'" - -"And that money in the safe?" - -"Leave it there; dare your other self to take it. To remove it and place -it in other keeping would be a weakness." - -"Thanks," said Simon. "I grasp what you mean." He took out his purse and -laid five guineas on the desk. Oppenshaw did not seem to see the money. -He accompanied his patient to the door. It was half-past one. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -I WILL NOT BE HIM - - -Out in Harley Street Simon walked hurriedly and without goal. It was -getting past luncheon-time; he had forgotten the fact. - -Oppenshaw was one of those men who carry conviction. You will have -noticed in life that quite a lot of people don't convince; they may be -good, they may be earnest, but they don't convince. Selling a full-grown -dog in the world's market, they have little chance against a convincing -competitor selling a pup. - -Oppenshaw's twenty-five thousand a year came, in good part, from this -quality. He had convinced Simon of the fact that inside Simon lay Youth -that was once Simon--Youth that, though unseen and unknown to the world, -could still dominate its container even to the extent of meddling with -his bank balance. - -That for Simon was at this moment the main fact in the situation. It was -sufficiently bad that this old imperious youth should be able to make -him act foolishly, but that was nothing to the fact that it was able to -tamper with his money. - -Simon's money was the solid ground under his feet, and he recognised, -now, that it was everything to him--everything. He could have sacrificed -at a pinch all else; he could have sacrificed Mudd, his furniture, his -old prints, his cellar, but his money was even more than the ground -under his feet--it was himself. - -Suppose this disease were to recur often and at shorter intervals, or -become chronic? - -He calculated furiously that at the rate of five thousand a month his -fortune would last, roughly, a year and a half. He saw his securities -being sold, his property in Hertfordshire, his furniture, his pictures. - -He had a remedy, it is true: to put himself under restraint. A nice sort -of remedy! - -In Weymouth Street, the home of nursing homes and doctors, into which he -had wandered, his mind tension became so acute that the impulse came on -him to hurry back to Oppenshaw in the vague hope that something else -might be done--some operation, for instance. He knew little of medicine -and less of surgery, but he had heard of people being operated on for -brain mischief, and he remembered, now, having read of an old admiral -who had lost consciousness owing to an injury at the battle of the Nile, -and had remained unconscious till an operation cured him some months -later. - -He was saved from bothering Oppenshaw again by an instinctive feeling -that it would be useless. You cannot extract the follies of youth by an -operation. He went on trending towards Oxford Street, but still without -object. - -What made his position worse was his instinct as a solicitor. For forty -years he had, amongst other work, been engaged in tying up Youth so that -it could not get at Property, extracting Youth from pitfalls it had -tumbled into whilst carrying Property in its arms. The very words -"youth" and "property," innocent in themselves, were obnoxious to Simon -when combined. He had always held that no young man ought to inherit -till he was twenty-five, and, heaven knows, that opinion had a firm -basis in experience. He had always in law looked askance on youth and -its doings. In practice he had been tolerant enough, though, indeed, -youth comes little in the way of a hard-working and prominent elderly -solicitor, but in law, and he was mostly law, he had little tolerance, -no respect. - -And here was youth with _his_ property in its arms, or what was, -perhaps, even worse, the imminent dread of that unholy alliance. - -In Oxford Street he stopped at a shop window and inspected ladies' -blouses--that was his condition of mind; jewellers' windows held him, -not by the excellence of their goods, but by the necessity to turn his -back to the crowd and think--think--think. - -His mind was in a turmoil, and he could no more control his thoughts -than he could have controlled the traffic; the wares of the merchants -exposed to view seemed to do the thinking. Gold alberts only held his -eye to explain that his lands in Hertfordshire flung on the market in -the present state of agriculture would not fetch a tithe of their worth, -but that his green-seal sherry and all the treasures of his cellar would -bring half the West End to their sale--Old Pettigrew's cellar. - -Other things in other shops spoke to him in a like manner, and then he -found himself at Oxford Circus with the sudden consciousness that _this_ -was not fighting Lethmann's disease by the exercise of will. His will -had, in fact, been in abeyance, his imagination master of him. - -But a refuge in the middle of Oxford Circus was not exactly the place -for the re-equipment of will-power; the effort nearly cost him his life -from a motor-lorry as he crossed. Then, when he had reached the other -side and could resume work free of danger, he found that he had -apparently no will to re-equip. - -He found himself repeating over and over the words, "I will not be -him--I will not be him." That seemed all right for a moment, and he -would have satisfied himself that his will-power was working splendidly, -had not a sudden cold doubt sprung up in his heart as to whether the -proper formula ought not to be, "He will not be me." - -Ah! that was the crux of the business. It was quite easy to determine, -"I will not be him," but when it came to the declaration, "He will not -be me," Simon found that he had no will-power in the matter. It was -quite easy to determine that he would not do foolish things, impossible -to determine that another should not do them. - -Then it came to his mind like a flash that the other one was not a -personality so much as a combination of foolish actions, old desires, -and alien motives let loose on the world without governance. - -He turned mechanically into Verreys' and had a chop. At Simpson's in the -Strand he always had a chop or a cut from the saddle, or a cut from the -sirloin--like the razors, the daily menus following one another in -rotation. This was a chop day, just as it was a "Tuesday" day, and habit -prevented him from forgetting the fact. The chop and a half-bottle of -St. Estéphe made him feel a stronger man. He suddenly became cheerful -and valiant. - -"If worst comes to worst," said he to himself, "I _can put_ myself under -restraint; nobody need know. Yes, begad! I have always that. I can put -myself under surveillance. Why, dash it! I can tie up my money so that I -can't touch it; it's quite easy." - -The chop and St. Estéphe, hauling him out of the slough of despond, told -him this. It was a sure way of escape from losing his money. He had -furiously rejected the idea at Oppenshaw's, but at Oppenshaw's his -Property had not had time to talk fully to him, but in that awful -journey from Harley Street to Verreys' he had walked arm-in-arm with his -Property chattering on one side and dumb Bankruptcy on the other. - -Restraint would have been almost as odious as bankruptcy to him, yet -now, as a sure means of escape from the other, it seemed almost a -pleasant prospect. - -He left Verreys' and walked along feeling brighter and better. He turned -into the Athenæum. It was turning-in time at the Athenæum, and the big -armchairs were full of somnolent ones, bald heads drooping, whiskers -hidden by the sheets of the _Times_. Here he met Sir Ralph Puttick, Hon. -Physician to His Majesty, stiff, urbane, stately, seeming ever supported -on either side by a lion and a unicorn. - -Sir Ralph and Simon were known one to the other and had much in common, -including anti-socialism. - -In armchairs, they talked of Lloyd George--at least, Sir Ralph did, -Simon had other considerations on his mind. Leaning forward in his -chair, he suddenly asked, apropos of nothing: - -"Did you ever hear of a disease called Lethmann's disease?" - -Now Sir Ralph was Chest and Heart, nothing else. He was also nettled at -"shop" being suddenly thrust upon him by a damned attorney, for Simon -was "Simon Pettigrew, quite a character, one of our old-fashioned, -first-class English lawyers," when Sir Ralph was in a good temper and -happened to consider Simon; nettled, Simon was a "damned attorney." - -"Never," said Sir Ralph. "What disease did you say?" - -"Lethmann's. It's a new disease, it seems." - -Another horrid blunder, as though the lion and unicorn man were only -acquainted with old diseases--out of date, in fact. - -"Never," replied the other. "There's no such thing. Who told you about -it?" - -"I read about it," said Simon. He tried to give a picture of the -symptoms and failed to convince, but he managed to irritate. The -semi-royal one listened with a specious appearance of attention and even -interest; then, the other having finished, he opened his batteries. - -Simon left the Club with the feeling that he had been put upon the stand -beside charlatans, quacks, and the purveyor of crank theories; also that -he had been snubbed. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -TIDD AND RENSHAW - - -Did he mind? Not a bit; he enjoyed it. - -If Sir Ralph had kicked him out of the Athenæum for airing false science -there he would have enjoyed it. He would have enjoyed anything casting -odium and discredit on the theory of double personality in the form of -Lethmann's disease. - -For now his hunted soul, that had taken momentary refuge in the thought -of nursing homes and restraint, had left that burrow and was taking -refuge in doubt. - -The whole thing was surely absurd. The affair of last year _must_ have -been a temporary aberration due to overwork, despite the fact that he -had, indeed, drawn another ten thousand unconsciously from the bank; it -was patently foolish to think that a man could be under the dominion of -a story-book disease. He had read Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde--that wild -fiction! Why, if this thing were true, it would be a fiction just as -wild. Oceans of comfort suddenly came to him. It gave him a new grip on -the situation, pointing out that the whole of this business as suggested -by Oppenshaw was on a level with a "silly sensational story," that is to -say with the impossible--therefore impossible. - -He made one grave mistake--the mistake of reckoning Dr. Jekyll and Mr. -Hyde as a "silly sensational story." - -Anyhow, he got comfort from what he considered fact, and at dinner that -night he was so restored that he was able to grumble because the mutton -"was done to rags." - -He dined alone. - -As he had not returned to the office in the afternoon, Brownlow had sent -some papers relative to a law case then pending for his consideration. -It often happened that Simon took business home with him, or, if he were -not able to attend at the office, important papers would be sent to his -house. - -To-night, according to custom, he retired to his library, drank his -coffee, spread open the documents, and, comfortably seated in a huge -leathern armchair, plunged into work. - -It was a difficult case, the case of Tidd _v._ Renshaw, complicated by -all sorts of cross-issues and currents. In its dry legal jargon it -involved the title to London house property, the credit of a woman, the -happiness of a family, and a few other things, all absolutely of no -account to Simon, engaged on the law of the case, and to whom the human -beings involved were simply as the chessmen in the hands of the player; -and necessarily, for a lawyer who allowed human considerations to colour -his view would be an untrustworthy lawyer. - -At ten o'clock Simon, suddenly laying the documents on the floor beside -him, rose up, rang the bell, and stood on the hearthrug with his hands -linked behind him. - -Mudd appeared. - -"Mudd," said Simon, "I may be called away to-morrow and be absent some -time. If I am not at the office when the brougham comes to fetch me for -luncheon, you can notify the office that I have been called away. You -needn't bother about packing things for me; I will buy anything I want -where I am going." - -"I could easily pack a bag for you," said Mudd, "and you could take it -with you to the office." - -"I want no bag. I have given you your directions," said Simon, and Mudd -went off grumbling and snubbed. - -Then the lawyer sat down and plunged into law again, folding up the -documents at eleven o'clock and putting them carefully in his bureau. -Then he switched off the electric light, examined the hall door to see -that it was properly bolted, and went up to bed carrying the case of -Tidd _v._ Renshaw with him as a nightcap. - -It hung about his intellect like a penumbra as he undressed, warding -off, or partly warding off, thoughts about Oppenshaw and his own -condition that were trying to get into his mind. - -Then he popped into bed, and, still pursuing Tidd _v._ Renshaw through -the labyrinths of the law, and holding tight on to their tails, fell -asleep. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE WALLET - - -He awoke to Mudd drawing the blinds and to another perfect day--a summer -morning, luxurious and warm, beautiful even in London. He had lost -clutch of Tidd and Renshaw in the land of sleep, but he had found his -strength and self-confidence again. - -The terror of Lethmann's disease had vanished; the thing was absurd, he -had been frightened by a bogey. Oppenshaw was a clever man, but he was a -specialist, always thinking of nerve diseases, living in an atmosphere -of them. Sir Ralph Puttick, on the contrary, was a man of solid -understanding and wider views--a sane man. - -So he told himself as he took "Wednesday" from its case and shaved -himself. Then he came down to the same frizzled bacon and the same aired -_Times_, put on the same overcoat and hat, and got into the same old -brougham and started for the office. - -He went into his room, where his usual morning letters were laid out -for him. But he did not take off his coat and hat. He had come to a -determination. Oppenshaw had told him to leave the wallet where it was -and not take the notes back to the bank, as that would be a weakness. -Sir Ralph Puttick was telling him now that Oppenshaw was a fool. The -real weakness would be to follow the advice of Oppenshaw. To follow that -advice would be to play with this business and confess that there was -reality in it; besides, with those notes in the safe behind him he could -never do his morning's work. - -No; back those notes should go to the bank. He opened the safe, and -there was the wallet seated like an evil genius on the deed-box. He took -it out and put it under his arm, locked the safe and left the room. - -In the outer office all the clerks were busy, and Brownlow was in his -room with the door shut. - -Simon, with the wallet under his arm, walked out and passed through the -precincts of Old Serjeants' Inn to Fleet Street, where a waft of warm -summer, yet springlike, wind met him in the face. - - - - -PART II - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE SOUL'S AWAKENING - - -He raised his head, sniffed as if inhaling something, and quickened his -step. - -What a glorious day it was; even Fleet Street had a touch of youth about -it. - -A flower-woman and her wares caught his eye; he bought a bunch of late -violets and, with his hat tilted back, dived in his trousers' pocket and -produced a handful of silver. He gave her a shilling and, without asking -for change, walked on, the violets in his buttonhole. - -He was making west like a homing pigeon. He walked like a man in a hurry -but with no purpose, his glance skimmed things and seemed to rest only -on things coloured or pleasant to look on, his eyes showed no -speculation. He seemed like a person with no more past than a dreamer. -The present seemed to him everything--just as it is to the dreamer. - -In the Strand he stopped here and there to glance at the contents of -shops; neckties attracted him. Then Fuller's drew him in by its colour. -He had a vanilla-and-strawberry ice and chatted to the girls, who did -not receive his advances, however, with much favour. - -Then he came to Romanos'; it attracted him, and he went in. Gilded -youths were drinking at the bar, and a cocktail being mixed by the -bar-tender fascinated Simon by its colour; he had one like it, chatted -to the man, paid, and walked out. - -It was now eleven. - -Still walking gaily and lightly, as one walks in a happy dream, he -reached the Charing Cross Hotel, asked the porter to show him the rooms -he had reserved, and enquired if his luggage had come. - -The luggage had come and was deposited in the bedroom of the suite: two -large brand-new portmanteaux and a hat-box, also a band-box from Lincoln -Bennett's. - -The portmanteaux and hat-box were locked, but in the band-box were the -keys, gummed up in an envelope; there was also a straw hat in the -band-box--a boater. - -The porter, having unstrapped the portmanteaux, departed with a tip, and -our gentleman began to unpack swiftly and with the eagerness of a child -going to a party. - -O Youth! What a star thou art, yet what a folly! And yet can all wisdom -give one the pleasure of one's first ball-dress, of the young man's -brand-new suit? And there were brand-new suits and to spare, check -tweed, blue serge, boating flannels; shoes, too, and boots from the -Burlington Arcade, ties and socks from Beale and Inman's. - -It was like a trousseau. - -As he unpacked he whistled. Whistled a tune that was young in the -sixties--"Champagne Charley," no less. - -Then he dressed, vigorously digging his head into a striped shirt, -donning a purple tie, purple socks, and a grey tweed suit of excellent -cut. - -All his movements were feverish, light, rapid. He did not seem to notice -the details of the room around him; he seemed skimming along the surface -of things in a hurry to get to some goal of pleasure. Flushed and -bright-eyed, he scarcely looked fifty now, yet, despite this reduction -in age, his general get-up had a touch of the raffish. Purple socks and -ties are a bit off at fifty; a straw "boater" does not reduce the -effect, nor do tan shoes. - -But Simon was quite satisfied with himself. - -Still whistling, he bundled his old things away in a drawer and left the -other things lying about for the servants to put away, and sat down on -the side of the bed with the wallet in his hands. - -He opened it and turned the notes out on the quilt. The gorgeous bundle -to "bust" or do what he liked with held him in its thrall as he turned -over the contents, not counting the amount, but just reviewing the notes -and the huge sums on most of them. - -Heavens! What a delight even in a dream! To be young and absolutely free -from all restraint, free from all ties, unconscious of relatives, -unconscious of everything but immediate surroundings, with virginal -appetites and desires and countless sovereigns to meet them with. -Dangling his heels, and with his straw hat beside him, he gloated on his -treasure; then, picking out three ten-pound notes and putting the -remainder in the wallet, he locked the wallet away in his portmanteau -and put the key under the wardrobe. - -Then, leaving his room, he came downstairs with his straw hat on the -back of his head and a smile for a pretty chambermaid who passed him -coming up. - -The girl laughed and glanced back, but whether she was laughing at or -with him it would be hard to say. Chambermaids have strange tastes. - -It was in the hall that he met Moxon, senior partner in Plunder's, the -great bill-discounting firm; a tall man, serious of face and manner. - -"Why, God bless my soul, Pettigrew!" cried Moxon, "I scarcely knew you." - -"You have the advantage of me, old cock," replied Simon airily, "for I'm ----- if I ever met you before." - -"My mistake," said Moxon. - -It was Pettigrew's face and voice, but all the rest was not Pettigrew, -and the discounter of bills hurried off, feeling as though he had come -across the uncanny--which he had. - -Simon paused at the office, holding a lady clerk in light conversation -about the weather and turning upon her that sprightly wit already -mentioned. She was busy and stiff, and the weather and his wit didn't -seem to interest her. Then he asked for change of a ten-pound note, and -she gave it to him in sovereigns; then he asked for change of a -sovereign--she gave it to him; then he asked, with a grin, for change of -a shilling. She was outraged now; that which ought to have made her -laugh seemed to incense her. Do what he could, he couldn't warm her. - -She was colder than the ice-cream girls. What the devil was the matter -with them all? She slapped the change for the shilling down and turned -away to her books. - -Tilting his hat further back, he rapped with a penny on the ledge. - -She got up. - -"Well, what is it now?" - -"Can you change me a penny, please?" said Simon. - -"Mrs. Jones!" called the girl. - -A stout lady manageress in black appeared. - -"I don't know what this gentleman means." - -The manageress raised her eyebrows at the jester. - -"I asked the young lady for change of a penny. Can you let me have two -halfpence for a penny, please?" - -The manageress opened the till and gave the change. The gay one -departed, chuckling. He had had the best of the girl, silly creature, -that could not take a joke in good part--but he had enjoyed himself. - -Moving in the line of least resistance towards the phantom of pleasure, -he made for the hotel entrance and the sunlight showing through the -door, bought a cigar at the kiosk outside, and then bundled into a taxi. - -"Where to, sir?" asked the driver. - -"First bar," replied Simon. "First decent one, and look sharp." - -The surly driver--Heavens, how the old hansom cabby of the sixties would -have hailed such a fare, and with what joy!--closed the door without a -word and started winding up the engine. He had difficulties, and as he -went on winding the occupant put his head out of the window and -addressed the station policeman who was looking on. - -"Has the chap a licence for a barrel-organ?" asked Simon. "If he hasn't, -ask him to drive on." - -He shut the window. They started, and stopped at a bar in Leicester -Square. Simon paid and entered. - -It was a long bar, a glittering, loathsome, noxious place where, behind -a long counter, six barmaids were serving all sorts of men with all -sorts of drinks. - -Simon seemed to find it all right. Puffing his cigar, he ordered a -brandy cold--a brandy cold! And sipping his brandy cold, he took stock -of the men around. - -Even his innocence and newness--despite the crave for companionship now -on him--recognised that there were undesirables, and as for the bar -girls, they were frozen images--for him. - -They were laughing and changing words with all sorts of young -men--counter-jumpers and horsey men--but for him they had nothing but -brandy cold and monosyllables. He was beginning to get irritated with -woman; but the sunlight outside and two cold brandies inside restored -his happy humour, and the idea of lunch was now moving before him, -luring him on. - -Thinking thus, he was advancing not towards luncheon but towards Fate. - -At Piccadilly Circus there was a crowd round an omnibus. There generally -are crowds round omnibuses just here, but this was a special crowd, -having for its core an irate bus conductor and a pretty girl. - -Oh, such a pretty girl! Spring itself, dark-haired, dark-eyed, well -dressed, but with just that touch which tells of want of affluence. She -fascinated Simon as a flower fascinates a bee. - -"But, sir, I tell you I have lost my purse; some pocket-picker has taken -it. I shall be pleased to tell you where I live and reward you if you -come for the money. My name is Cerise Rossignol." This, with just a -trace of foreign accent. - -"I've been done twice this week by that game," said the brutal -conductor, speaking, however, the truth. "Come, search in your glove, -you'll find it." - -Simon broke in. - -"How much?" said he. - -"Tuppence," said the conductor. Then the gods that preside over youth -might have observed this new Andromeda, released at the charge of -Tuppence, wandering off with her saviour and turning to him a face -filled with gratitude. - -They were going in the direction of Leicester Square. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -MOXON AND MUDD - - -Now, Moxon had come up that morning from Framlingham in Kent, where he -was taking a holiday, to transact some business. Amongst other things he -had to see Simon Pettigrew on a question about some bills. - -The apparition he had encountered in the hall of the Charing Cross Hotel -pursued him to Plunder's office, where he first went, and, when he left -Plunder's for luncheon at Prosser's, in Chancery Lane, it still pursued -him. - -Though he knew it could not be Pettigrew, some uneasy spirit in his -subconsciousness kept insisting that it was Pettigrew. - -At two o'clock he called at Old Serjeants' Inn. He saw Brownlow, who had -just returned from lunch. - -No, Mr. Pettigrew was not in. He had gone out that morning early and had -not returned. - -"I must see him," said Moxon. "When do you think he will be in?" - -Brownlow couldn't say. - -"Would he be at his house, do you think?" - -"Hardly," said Brownlow; "he might have gone home, but I think it's -improbable." - -"I must see him," said Moxon again. "It's extraordinary. Why, I wrote to -him telling him I was coming this afternoon and he knows the importance -of my business." - -"Mr. Pettigrew hasn't opened his morning letters yet," said Brownlow. - -"Good Lord!" said Moxon. - -Then, after a pause: - -"Will you telephone to his house to see?" - -"Mr. Pettigrew has no telephone," said Brownlow; "he dislikes them, -except in business." - -Moxon remembered this and other old-fashioned traits in Pettigrew; the -remembrance did not ease his irritation. - -"Then I'll go to his house myself," said he. - -When he arrived at King Charles Street, Mudd opened the door. - -Mudd and Moxon were mutually known one to the other, Moxon having often -dined there. - -"Is your master in, Mudd?" asked Moxon. - -"No, sir," answered Mudd; "he's not at home, and mayn't be at home for -some time." - -"What do you mean?" - -"He left me directions that if he wasn't at the office when the -brougham called to take him to luncheon I was to tell the office he was -called away; the coachman has just come back to say he wasn't there, so -I am sending him back to the office to tell them." - -"Called away! For how long?" - -"Well, it might be a month," said Mudd, remembering. - -"Extraordinary!" said Moxon. "Well, I can't help it, and I can't wait; I -must take my business elsewhere. I thought I saw Mr. Pettigrew in the -Charing Cross Hotel, but he was dressed differently and seemed strange. -Well, this is a great nuisance, but it can't be helped, I suppose.... A -month...." - -Off he went in a huff. - -Mudd watched him as he went, then he closed the hall door. Then he sat -down on one of the hall chairs. - -"Dressed differently and seemed strange." It only wanted those words to -start alarm in the mind of Mudd. - -The affair of a year ago had always perplexed him, and now this! - -"Seemed strange." - -Could it be?... H'm.... He got up and went downstairs. - -"Why, what's the matter with you, Mr. Mudd?" asked the -cook-housekeeper. "Why, you're all of a shake." - -"It's my stomach," said Mudd. - -He took a glass of ginger wine, then he fetched his hat. - -"I'm going out to get the air," said Mudd. "I mayn't be back for some -time; don't bother about me if I aren't, and be sure to lock up the -plate." - -"God bless my soul, what's the matter with the man?" murmured the -astonished housekeeper as Mudd vanished. "Blest if he isn't getting as -queer as his master!" - -Out in the street Mudd paused to blow his nose in a bandanna -handkerchief just like Simon's. Then, as though this act had started his -mechanism, off he went, hailed an omnibus in the next street, and got -off at Charing Cross. - -He entered the Charing Cross Hotel. - -"Is a Mr. Pettigrew here?" asked Mudd of the hall porter. - -The hall porter grinned. - -"Yes, there's a Mr. Pettigrew staying here, but he's out." - -"Well, I'm his servant," said Mudd. - -"Staying here with him?" asked the porter. - -"Yes. I've followed him on. What's the number of his room?" - -"The office will know," replied the other. - -"Well, just go to the office and get his key," said Mudd, "and send a -messenger boy to No. 12, King Charles Street--that's our address--to -tell Mrs. Jukes, the housekeeper, I won't be able to get back to-night -maybe. Here's a shilling for him--but show me his room first." - -Mudd carried conviction. - -The hall porter went to the office. - -"Key of Mr. Pettigrew's room," said he; "his servant has just come." - -The superior damsel detached herself from book-keeping, looked up the -number and gave the key. - -Mudd took it and went up in the lift. He opened the door of the room and -went in. The place had not been tidied, clothes lay everywhere. - -Mudd, like a cat in a strange house, looked around. Then he shut the -door. - -Then he took up a coat and looked at the maker's name on the tab. - -"Holland and Woolson"--Simon's tailors! - -Then he examined all the garments. Such garments! Boating flannels, -serge suits! Then the shoes, the patent leather boots. He opened the -chest of drawers and found the bundle of discarded clothes--the old coat -with the left elbow "going," and the rest. He held them up, examined -them, folded them and put them back. - -Then he sat down to recover himself, blew his nose, wondered whether he -or Simon were crazy, and then, rising up, began to fold and put away the -new things in the wardrobe and chest-of-drawers. - -He noticed that one of the portmanteaux was locked. Yet there was -something in it that slid up and down as he tilted and lowered it. - -Having looked round the room once again, he went downstairs, gave up the -key, made arrangements for his room, and started out. - -He made for Sackville Street. Meyer, the foreman of Holland and -Woolson's, was known to him. He had sometimes called regarding Simon's -clothes with directions for this or that. - -"That blue serge suit you've just sent for Mr. Pettigrew don't quite -rightly fit, Mr. Meyer," said the cunning Mudd. "I had the coat done up -in a parcel to bring back to you for the sleeves to be shortened half an -inch, but I forgot it; only remembered I'd forgot it at your door." - -"We'll send for it," said Meyer. - -"Right," said Mudd. Then, "No--on second thoughts, I'll fetch it myself -when I have a moment to spare, for we're going from home for a few -days. Mr. Pettigrew has had a good lot of clothes lately, Mr. Meyer." - -"He has," said Meyer, with a twinkle in his eye; "suits and suits, -almost as if he were going to be married." - -"Married!" cried the other. "What put that into your head, Mr. Meyer? -He's not a marrying man. Why, I've never seen him as much as glance an -eye at a female." - -"Oh, it was only my joke," said Meyer. - -Now, in Mudd's soul there had lain for years an uneasiness, a crumpled -rose-leaf of thought that touched him sometimes as he turned at night in -bed. It was the fear that some day Simon might ruin Mudd's life with a -mistress. He couldn't stand a mistress. He had always sworn that to -himself; the experience of fellow butlers whose lives were made -loathsome by mistresses would have been enough without his own -deep-rooted antipathy to females, except as spectacular objects. Mrs. -Jukes was a relation of his, and he could stand her; the maid-servants -were automata beneath his notice--but a mistress! - -Mad alarm filled his mind, for his heart told him that the words of -Meyer had foundation in probability. - -That affair of last year, when Simon had departed and returned in new -strange clothes, might have been the courting, this the real thing? - -He left the tailor's, called a taxi and drove to the office. - -Brownlow was in. - -"What is it, Mudd?" asked Brownlow, as the latter was shown into his -room. - -"Did you get my message, Mr. Brownlow?" asked Mudd. - -"Yes." - -"Oh, that's all right," said Mudd. "I just thought I'd call and ask. The -master told me to send the message; he's going away for a bit. Wants a -change, too. I think he's been overworking lately, Mr. Brownlow." - -"He's always overworking," said Brownlow. "I think he's been suffering -from brain-fag, Mudd; he's very reticent about himself, but I'm glad he -saw a doctor." - -"Saw a doctor! Why, he never told me." - -"Didn't he? Well, he did--Dr. Oppenshaw, of Harley Street. This is -between you and me. Try and make him rest more, Mudd." - -"I will," said Mudd. "He wants rest. I've been uneasy about him a long -while. What's the doctor's number in Harley Street, Mr. Brownlow?" - -"110A," said Brownlow, picking the number out of his marvellous memory; -"but don't let Mr. Pettigrew know I told you. He's very touchy about -himself." - -"I won't." - -Off he went. - -"Faithful old servitor," thought Brownlow. - -The faithful old servitor got into a taxi. "110A, Harley Street," said -he to the driver; "and drive quick and I'll give you an extra tuppence." - -Oppenshaw was in. - -When he was informed that Pettigrew's servant had called to see him, he -turned over a duchess he was engaged on, gave her a harmless -prescription, bowed her out and rang the bell. - -Mudd was shown in. - -"I've come to ask----" said Mudd. - -"Sit down," said Oppenshaw. - -"I've come to speak----" - -"I know; about your master. How is he?" - -"Well, I've come to ask you, sir; he's at the Charing Cross Hotel at -present." - -"Has he gone there to live?" - -"Well, he's there." - -"I saw him some time ago about the state of his health, and, frankly, -Mr. Mudd, it's serious." - -Mudd nodded. - -"Tell me," said Oppenshaw, "has he been buying new clothes?" - -"Heaps; no end," said Mudd. "And such clothes--things he's never worn -before." - -"So? Well, it's fortunate you found him. What is his conversation like? -Have you talked to him much?" - -"I haven't seen him yet," Mudd explained. - -"Well, stay close to him, and be very careful. He is suffering from a -form of mental upset. You must cross him as little as possible, use -persuasion, gentle persuasion. The thing will run its course. It mustn't -be suddenly checked." - -"Is he mad?" asked the other. - -"No, but he is not himself--or rather, he is himself--in a different -way; but a sudden check might make him mad. You have heard of people -walking in their sleep--well, this is something akin to that. You know -it is highly dangerous to awaken a sleep-walker suddenly. Well, it's -just the same with Mr. Pettigrew; it might imbalance his mind for good." - -"What am I to do?" - -"Just keep watch on him." - -"But suppose he don't know me?" - -"He won't know you, but if you are kind to him he will accept you into -his environment, and then you will link on to his mental state." - -"He's out now, and God knows where, or doing what," said Mudd; "but I'll -be on the watch for him coming in--if he ever comes." - -"Oh, he will come home right enough." - -"Is there any fear of those women getting hold of him?" asked Mudd, -returning to his old dread. - -"That's just what there is--every fear; but you must be very careful not -to interpose your will violently. Get gently between, gently between. -You understand me. Suggestion does a lot in these cases. Another thing, -you must treat him as one treats a boy. You must imagine to yourself -that your master is only twenty, for that, in truth, is what he is. He -has gone back to a younger state--or rather, a younger state has come to -meet him, having lain dormant, just as a wisdom tooth lies dormant, then -grows." - -"Oh, Lord!" said Mudd. "I never did think I'd live to see this day." - -"Oh, it might be worse." - -"I don't see." - -"Well, from what I can make out of his youth, it was not a vicious one, -only foolish; had he been vicious when young he might be terrible now." - -"The first solicitor in London," said Mudd in a dreary voice. - -"Well, he's not the first solicitor in London to make a fool of himself, -nor will he be the last. Cheer up and keep your eyes open and do your -duty; no man can do more than that." - -"Shall I send for you, doctor, if he gets worse?" - -"Well," said Oppenshaw; "from what you tell me he couldn't be much -worse. Oh no, don't bother to send--unless, of course, the thing took a -different course, and he were to become violent without reason; but that -won't happen, you can take my word for it." - -Mudd departed. - -He walked all the way back to the Charing Cross Hotel, but instead of -entering, he suddenly took a taxi, and returned to Charles Street. Here -he packed some things in a handbag, and having again given directions to -Mrs. Jukes to lock up the plate, he told her he might be some time gone. - -"I'm going with the master on some law business," said Mudd. "Make sure -and bolt the front door--and lock up the plate." - -It was the third or fourth time he had given her these instructions. - -"He's out of his mind," said Mrs. Jukes, as she watched him go. She -wasn't far wrong. - -Mudd had been used to a rut--a rut forty years deep. His light and -pleasant duties carried him easily through the day. Of evenings when -Simon was dining out he would join a social circle in the private room -of a highly respectable tavern close by, smoke his pipe, drink two hot -gins, and depart for home at ten-thirty. When Simon was in he could -smoke his pipe and read his paper in his own private room. He had five -hundred pounds laid by in the bank--no stocks and shares for Mudd--and -he would vary his evening amusements by counting the toll of his money. - -It is easy to be seen that this jolt out of the rut was, literally, a -jolt. - -At the Charing Cross Hotel he found the room allotted to him, deposited -his things and, disdaining the servants' quarters, went out to a tavern -to read the paper. - -He reckoned Simon might not return till late, and he reckoned right. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -SIMON'S OLD-FASHIONED NIGHT IN TOWN - - -Madame Rossignol was a charming old lady of sixty, a production of -France--no other country could have produced her. She lived in Duke -Street, Leicester Square, supporting herself and her daughter Cerise by -translating English books into French. Cerise did millinery. Madame -combined absolute innocence with absolute instinct. She knew all about -things; her innocence was not ignorance, it was purity--rising above a -knowledge of the world, and disdaining to look at evil. - -She was dreadfully poor. - -Her love for Cerise was like a disease always preying upon her. Should -she die, what would happen to Cerise? - -Behold these together clasped in each other's arms. Set in the shabby -sitting-room, it might have been a scene at the Port St. Martin. - -"Oh, mother," murmured the girl, "is he not good!" - -"He is more than good," said Madame. "Most surely the _bon Dieu_ sent -him to be your guardian angel." - -"Is he not charming?" went on Cerise, unlinking herself from the -maternal embrace and touching her hair into order again with a little -laugh. "So different from the leaden-faced English, so gay and yet -so--so----" - -"There is a something--I do not know what--about him," said the old -lady; "something of Romance. Is it not like a little tale of Madame -Perichon's or a little play of Monsieur Baree? Might he not just have -come in as in one of those? You go out, lose your purse, are lost. I sit -waiting for you at your non-return in this wilderness of London; you -return, but not alone. With you comes the Marquis de Grandcourt, who -bows and says, 'Madame, I return you your daughter; I ask in return your -friendship. I am alone, like you; let us then be friends.' I reply, -'Monsieur, you behold our poverty, but you cannot behold our hearts or -the gratitude in my mind.' What a little story!" - -"And how he laughed, and said, 'Hang monee!'" cut in Cerise. "What means -that 'hang monee!' maman? And how he pulled out all the gold pieces like -a boy, saying, 'I am rich!'--just as a little boy might say, 'I am -rich! I am rich!' No bourgeois could have done that without offending, -without giving one a shiver of the skin." - -"You have said it," replied Madame. "A little boy--a great and good man, -yet a little boy. He is not in his first youth, but there are people, -like Pierre Pan, who never lose youth. It is so; I have seen it." - -"Simon Pattigrew," murmured Cerise, with a little laugh. - -A knock came to the door and a little maid-of-all-work, and down at -heel, entered with a huge bouquet, one of those bouquets youth flings at -_prima donnas_. - -Simon, after leaving the Rossignols, had struck a flower shop--this was -the result. A piece of paper accompanied the bouquet, and on the paper, -written in a handwriting that hitherto had only appeared on letters of -business and documents of law, were the words: "From your Friend." - -Simon, having struck the flower shop, might have struck a fruit shop and -a bonnet shop, only that the joy of love, the love that comes at first -sight, the love of dreams, made him incapable of any more business--even -the business of buying presents for his fascinator. - -It was now five o'clock, and, pursuing his way West, he found -Piccadilly. He passed girls without looking at them--he saw only the -vision of Cerise. She led him as far as St. George's Hospital, as though -leading him away from the temptations of the West, but the gloomy -prospect of Knightsbridge headed him off, and, turning, he came back. -Big houses, signs of wealth and prosperity, seemed to hold him in a -charm, just as he was held by all things pretty, coloured, or dazzling. - -A glittering restaurant drew him in presently, and here he had a jovial -dinner; all alone, it is true, but with plenty to look at. - -He had also a half-bottle of champagne and a maraschino. - -He had already consumed that day a cocktail coloured, two glasses of -brandy-and-water cold and a half-bottle of champagne. His ordinary -consumption of alcohol was moderate. A glass of green-seal sherry at -twelve, and a half-bottle of St. Estéphe at lunch, and, shall we say, a -small whisky-and-soda at dinner, or, if dining out or with guests, a -couple of glasses of Pommery. - -And to-day he had been drinking restaurant champagne "_tres sec_"--and -two half-bottles of it! The excess was beginning to tell. It told in the -slight flush on his cheeks, which, strange to say, did not make him -look younger; it told in the tip he gave the waiter, and in the way he -put on his hat. He had bought a walking-stick during his peregrinations, -a dandy stick with a tassel--the passing fashion had just come in--and -with this under his arm he left the café in search of pleasures new. - -The West End was now ablaze, and the theatres filling. Simon, like Poe's -man of the crowd, kept with the crowd; a blaze of lights attracted him -as a lamp a moth. - -The Pallaceum sucked him in. Here, in a blue haze of tobacco-smoke and -to the tune of a band, he sat for awhile watching the show, roaring with -laughter at the comic turns, pleased with the conjuring business, and -fascinated--despite Cerise--with the girl in tights who did acrobatic -tricks aided by two poodles and a monkey. - -Then he found the bar, and there he stood adding fuel to pleasure, his -stick under his arm, his hat tilted back, a new cigar in his mouth, and -a smile on his face--a smile with a suggestion of fixity. Alas! if -Cerise could have seen the Marquis de Grandcourt now!--or was it Madame -who raised him to the peerage of France? If she could have been by to -just raise her eyebrows at him! Yet she was there, in a way, for the -ladies of the _foyer_ who glanced at him not unkindly, taken perhaps by -his _bonhomie_, and smiling demeanour and atmosphere of wealth and -enjoyment, found no response. Yet he found momentary acquaintances, of a -sort. A couple of University men up in town for a lark seemed to find -him part of the lark; they all drank together, exchanged views, and then -the University men vanished, giving place to a gentleman in a very -polished hat, with diamond studs, and a face like a hawk, who suggested -"fizz," a small bottle of which was consumed mostly by the hawk, who -then vanished, leaving Simon to pay. - -Simon ordered another, paid for it, forgot it, and found himself in the -entrance hall calling in a loud voice for a hansom. - -A taxi was procured for him and the door opened. He got inside and said, -"Wait a moment--one moment." - -Then he began paying half-crowns to the commissionaire who had opened -the taxi door for him. "That's for your trouble," said Simon. "That's -for your trouble. That's for your trouble. Where am I? Oh yes--shut that -confounded door, will you, and tell the chap to drive on!" - -"Where to, sir?" - -Oppenshaw would have been interested in the fact that champagne beyond -a certain amount had the effect of wakening Simon's remote past. He -answered: - -"Evans'." - -Consultation outside. - -"Evans's? Which Evans's? There ain't no such 'otel, there ain't no such -bar. Ask him which Evans's?" - -"Which Evanses did you say, sir?" asked the commissionaire, putting his -head in. "The driver don't know which you mean. Where does it lay?" - -He got a chuck under the chin that nearly drove his head to the roof of -the taxi. - -Then Simon's head popped out of the window. It looked up and down the -street. - -"Where's that chap that put his head through the window?" asked Simon. - -A small crowd and a policeman drew round. "What is it, sir?" asked the -policeman. - -Simon seemed calculating the distance with a view to the bonneting of -the enquirer. Then he seemed to find the distance too far. - -"Tell him to drive me to the Argyle Rooms," said he. Then he vanished. - -Another council outside, the commissionaire presiding. - -"Take him to the Leicester 'Otel. Why, Lord bless me! the Argyle Rooms -has been closed this forty years. Take him round about and let him have -a snooze." - -The taximan started with the full intention of robbery--not by force, -but by strategy. Robbery on the dock. It was not theatre turning-out -time yet, and he would have the chance of earning a few dishonest -shillings. He turned every corner he could, for every time a taxi turns -a corner the "clock" increases in speed. He drove here and there, but he -never reached the Leicester 'Otel, for in Full Moon Street, the home of -bishops and earls, the noise inside the vehicle made him halt. He opened -the door and Simon burst out, radiant with humour and now much steadier -on his legs. - -"How much?" said Simon, and then, without waiting for a reply, thrust -half a handful of coppers and silver into the fist of the taximan, hit -him a slap on the top of his flat cap that made him see stars, and -walked off. - -The man did not pursue, he was counting his takings: -eleven-and-fivepence, no less. - -"Crazy," said he; then he started his engine and went off, utterly -unconscious of the fact that he had entertained and driven something -worthy to be preserved in the British Museum--a real live reveller of -the sixties. - -The full moon was shining on Full Moon Street, an old street that still -preserves in front of its houses the sockets for the torches of the -linkmen. It does not require much imagination to see phantom sedan -chairs in Full Moon Street on a night like this, or the watchman on his -rounds, and to-night the old street--if old streets have memories--must -surely have stirred in its dreams, for, as Simon went on his way, the -night began suddenly to be filled with cat-calls. - -A lady airing a Pom whisked her treasure into the house as Simon passed, -and shut the door with a bang; such a bang that the knocker gave a jump -and Simon a hint. - -Ten yards further on he went up steps, paused before a hall door that, -in daylight, would have been green, and took the knocker. - -Just a few turns of his wrist and the knocker was his, a glorious brass -knocker, weighing half a pound. No other young man in London that night -could have done the business like that or shown such dexterity in an art -lost as the art of pinchbeck-making. - -He collected two more knockers in that street, retaining only one as a -trophy. He threw the others into an area, pulled the house doorbell -violently, and ran. - -In Berkeley Square he was just beginning to deal with another knocker, -when the door opened to an elderly woman of the housekeeper type and a -dachshund. - -"What do you want?" asked the housekeeper. - -"Does the Duke of Cu-cu-cumberland live here?" hiccupped Simon. - -"No, sir, he does not." - -"Sorry--sorry--sorry," said Simon. "My mistake--entirely my mistake. -Very sorry to trouble you indeed. What a pretty little dog! What's his -name?" - -He was entirely affable now, and, forgetful of knockers, wished to -strike up a friendship, a desire unshared evidently by the lady. - -"I think you had better go away," said she, recognising a gentleman and -mourning the fact. - -He considered this proposition deeply for a moment. - -"That's all very well," said he, "but where am I to go? That's the -question." - -"You had better go home." - -This seemed slightly to irritate him. - -"_I'm_ not going home--_this_ time of night--not likely." He began to -descend the steps as if to get away from admonition. "Not me; you can go -home yourself." - -Off he went. - -He walked three times round Berkeley Square. He met a constable, -enquired where that street ended and when, found sympathy in return for -half-crowns, and was mothered into a straighter street. - -Half-way down the straighter street he remembered he hadn't shown the -sympathetic constable his door-knocker, but the policeman, fortunately, -had passed out of sight. - -Then he stood for awhile remembering Cerise. Her vision had suddenly -appeared before him; it threw him into deep melancholy--profound -melancholy. He went on till the lights and noise of Piccadilly restored -him. Then, further on, he entered a flaming doorway through which came -the music of a band. - - - - -PART III - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE LAST SOVEREIGN - - -On the morning of the fourth of June, the same morning on which Simon -had broken like a butterfly from his chrysalis of long-moulded custom -and stiff routine, Mr. Bobby Ravenshaw, nephew and only near relation of -Simon Pettigrew, awoke in his chambers in Pactolus Mansions, Piccadilly, -yawned, rang for his tea, and, picking up the book he had put beside him -on dropping to sleep, began to read. - -The book was _Monte Cristo_. Now Pactolus Mansions, Piccadilly, sounds a -very grand address, and, as a matter of fact, it is a grand address, but -the address is grander than the place. For one thing, it is not in -Piccadilly, the approach is up a dubious side street; the word -"Pactolus" bears little relationship to it, nor the word "Mansions," and -the rents are moderate. Downstairs there is a restaurant and a lounge -with cosy corners. - -People take chambers in Pactolus Mansions and vanish. The fact is never -reported to the Society for Psychical Research, the levitation being -always accountable for by solid reasons. To stop them from vanishing -before their rent is paid they have to pay their rent in advance. No -credit is given under any circumstances. This seems hard, yet there are -the compensating advantages that the rent is low, the service good, and -the address taking. - -Bobby Ravenshaw had chosen to live in Pactolus Mansions because it was -the cheapest place he could get near the gayest place in town. - -Bobby was an orphan, an Oxford man without a degree, and with a taste -for literature and fine clothes. Absolutely irresponsible. Five hundred -a year, derived from Simon, of whose only sister he was the son, and an -instinct for bridge that was worth another two hundred and fifty -supported Bobby in a lame sort of way, assisted by friends, confiding -tailors and bootmakers, and a genial moneylender who was also a cigar -merchant. - -Bobby had started in life a year or two ago with cleverness of no mean -order and the backing of money, but Fate had dealt him out two bad -cards: a nature that was charming and irresponsible, and good looks. -Girls worshipped Bobby, and if his talents had only cast him on the -stage their worship might have helped. As it was, it hindered, for Bobby -was a literary man, and no girl has ever bought a book on the strength -of the good looks of the author. - -His tea having arrived, Bobby drank it, finished the chapter in _Monte -Cristo_ and then rose and dressed. - -He was leaving Pactolus Mansions that day for the very good reason that, -if he wished to stay beyond twelve o'clock, he would have to pay a -month's rent in advance, and he only had thirty shillings. - -Uncle Simon had "foreclosed." That was Bobby's expression, a month ago. -For a month Bobby had watched the sands running down; no more money to -come in and all the time money running out. Absolutely unalarmed, and -only noticing the fact as he might have noticed a change in the weather, -he had made no provision, trusting to chance, to bridge that betrayed -him, and to friends. Literature could not help. He had got into a wrong -groove as far as moneymaking went. Little articles for literary papers -of limited circulation and a really cultivated taste are not the -immediate means to financial support in a world that devours its -fictional literature like ham sandwiches, forgotten as soon as -eaten--and only fictional literature pays. - -He was thinking more of _Monte Cristo_ than of his own position as he -dressed. The fact that he had to look out for other rooms worried him as -an uncomfortable business to be performed, but not much. If he couldn't -get other rooms that day he could always stay with Tozer. Tozer was an -Oxford man with chambers in the Albany--chambers always open to Bobby at -any hour. A sure stand-by in trouble. - -Then, having dressed, he took his hat and stick and the sovereign and -half-sovereign lying on the mantel, tipped the servant the -half-sovereign, and ordered that his things should be packed and his -luggage taken to the office to be left till he called for it. - -"I'm going to the country," said Bobby, "and I'll send my address for -letters to be forwarded." - -Then he started. - -He called first at the Albany. - -Tozer, the son of a big, defunct Manchester cotton merchant, was a man -of some twenty-three years, red-haired, with a taste for the good things -of life, a taste for boxing, a taste for music, and a hard common sense -that never deserted him even in his gayest and most frivolous moods. -His chambers were newly furnished, the walls of the sitting-room adorned -with old prints, mostly proofs before letter; boxing gloves and -single-sticks hinted of themselves, and a violoncello stood in the -corner. - -He was at breakfast when Bobby arrived. Tozer rang for another cup and -plate. - -"Tozer," said Bobby, "I'm bust." - -"Aren't surprised to hear it," replied Tozer. "Try these kippers." - -"One single sovereign in the world, my boy, and I'm hunting for new -rooms." - -"What's the matter with your old rooms? Have they kicked you out?" - -Bobby explained. - -"Good Lord!" said Tozer. "You've cut the ground from under your feet, -staying at a place like that." - -"It's not all my fault, it's my relative. I always boasted to him that I -paid my rent in advance; he took it as a sign of wisdom." - -"What made him go back on you?" - -"A girl." - -"Which way?" - -"Well, it was this way. I was staying with the Huntingdons, you know, -the Warwickshire lot." - -"I know--bridge and brandy crowd." - -"Oh, they're all right. Well, I was staying with them when I met her." - -"What's her name?" - -"Alice Carruthers." - -"Heave ahead." - -"I got engaged to her; she hadn't a penny." - -"Just like you." - -"And her people haven't a penny, and I wrote like a fool telling the -relative. He gave me the option of cutting her off or being cut off. It -seems her people were the real obstacle. He wrote quite libellous things -about them. I refused." - -"Of course." - -"And he cut me off. Well, the funny thing was she cut me off a week -later, and she's engaged now to a chap called Harkness." - -"Well, why don't you tell the relative and make it up?" - -"Tell him she'd fired me! Besides, it's no use, he'd just go on to other -things--what he calls extravagances and irresponsibilities." - -"I see." - -"That's just how it is." - -"Look here, Bobby," said Tozer, "you've just got to cut all this -nonsense and get to work. You've been making a fool of yourself." - -"I have," said Bobby, helping himself to marmalade. - -"There's no use saying, 'I have,' and then forgetting. I know you. -You're a good sort, Bobby, but you are in the wrong set; you couldn't -keep the pace. You've loads of cleverness and you're going to rot. -Work!" - -"How?" - -"Write," said Tozer, who believed in Bobby and hated to see him going to -waste. "Write. I've always been urging you to settle down and write." - -"I made five pounds ten last year writing," said Bobby. - -"I know--articles on old French poetry and so on. You've got to write -fiction. You can do it. That little story you wrote for Tillson's was -ripping." - -"The devil of it is," said Bobby, "I can't find plots. I can write all -right if I have only something to write about, but I can't find plots." - -"That's rubbish, and pure laziness. Can't find plots, with your -experience of London and life! You've got to find plots, and find them -sharp; it's the only trade open to you. You can do it, and it pays. Now -look here, B. R. I'll finance you----" - -"Thanks awfully," said Bobby, helping himself to a cigarette from a box -on a little table near by. - -"Reserve your thanks. I'm not going to finance a slacker, which you are -at present, but a hard-working literary man, which you will be when I -have done with you. I will give you a room here on the strict conditions -that you keep early hours five days a week." - -"Yes." - -"That you give up bridge." - -"Yes." - -"And fooling after girls." - -"Yes." - -"And this day set out and find a plot for a good, honest, payable piece -of fiction, novel length. I'm not going to let you off with short-story -writing." - -"Yes." - -"I know a good publisher, and I will assure you that the thing shall be -published in the best form, that I will back the advertising and -pushing--see? And I will promise you that, however the thing turns out, -you shall have two hundred pounds. You will get all profits if it is a -success, understand me?" - -"Yes." - -"You shall have five pounds a week pocket-money whilst you are writing, -to be repaid out of profits if the profits exceed two hundred, not to be -repaid if they don't." - -"I don't like taking money for nothing," said Bobby. - -"You won't get it, only for hard work. Besides, it's for my amusement -and interest. I believe in you, and I want to see my belief justified. -You need never bother about taking money from me. First, I have plenty; -secondly, I never give it without a _quid pro quo_, the trading instinct -is too strong in me." - -"Well," said Bobby, "it's jolly good of you, and I'll pay you the lot -back, if----" - -Tozer was lighting a cigarette; he flung the match down impatiently. - -"If! You'll do nothing if you begin with an 'if.' Now, make up your mind -quick without any 'ifs.' Will you, or won't you?" - -"I will," said Bobby, suddenly catching on to the idea and taking fire. -"I believe I can do it if----" - -"If!" shouted Tozer. - -"I _will_ do it. I'll find a plot. I'll dig in my brains right -away--I'll hunt round." - -"Off with you, then," said Tozer, "and send your luggage here and come -back to-night with your plot. You can work in your bedroom and you can -have all your meals here--I forgot to include that. Now I'm going to -have a tune on the 'cello." - -Bobby departed with a light heart. His position, before calling on -Tozer, had really begun to weigh on him. Tozer had given him even more -than the promise of financial support, he had given him the backing of -his common sense. He had "jawed" him mildly, and Bobby felt all the -better for it. It was like a tonic. His high spirits as he descended the -stairs increased with every step taken. - -Bobby was no sponge. Bridge and the relative had kept him going, and he -had always managed to meet his debts, with the exception, perhaps, of a -tradesman or two; nor would he have taken this favour from any other man -than Tozer, and perhaps not even from Tozer had it not been accompanied -by the "jawing." - -So he set out, light of heart, young, good-looking, well-dressed, yet -with only a sovereign, to hunt through the summer landscape of London -for the plot for a novel. - -Why, he was the plot for a novel, or at least the beginning of one, had -he known! - -He did not, but he had an intimate knowledge of Tozer's fictional -proclivities and a fine understanding of exactly what Tozer wanted. -Bones, ribs, and vertebra, construction--or, in other words, story. -Tozer could not be fubbed off with fine writing, with long -introspective chapters dealing with the boyhood of the author, with sham -psychology masquerading as Fiction; nor, indeed, could Bobby have -supplied the two latter features. Tozer wanted action, people moving on -their feet under the dominion of the author's purpose, through -situations, towards a definite goal. - -Out in Vigo Street, and despite the aura of inspiration around the -Bodley Head, Bobby's high spirits came slightly under eclipse; it all at -once seemed to him that he had undertaken a task. In Cork Street, as he -stood for a moment looking at the rare editions exposed in the windows -of Elkin Mathews, this feeling grew and put on horns. - -A task to Bobby meant a thing disagreeable to do, and the elegant -volumes of minor poets, copies of the Yellow Book, and vellum-bound -editions of belles lettres were saying to him, "You've got to write a -novel, my boy, a good Mudie novel, the sort of novel the Tozers of life -will pay for; no little essays written with the little finger turned up. -No modern verses like your 'Harmonies and Discords,' that cost you -twenty-five pounds to produce and sold sixteen copies of itself, -according to last returns. You have got to be the harmonious blacksmith -now; get into your apron, get under your spreading chestnut-tree, and -produce." - -In Bond Street he met Lord Billy Tottenham, a fellow Oxonian, who met -his death in a mud-hole in Flanders the other year. - -Lord Billy, with a boyish, smug, but immovable face adorned with a -tortoiseshell-rimmed eyeglass. - -"Hello, Bobby!" said Billy. - -"Hello, Billy!" said Bobby. - -"What's wrong with you?" asked Billy. - -"Broke to the world, my dear chap." - -"What was the horse?" asked Billy. - -"'Twasn't a horse--a girl, mostly." - -"Well, you're not the first chap that's been broke by a girl," said -Billy. "Walk along a bit--but it might have been worse." - -"How so?" - -"She might have married you." - -"Maybe; but the worst of it is I've got to work--tuck up my sleeves and -work." - -"What at?" - -"Novel-writing." - -"Well, that's easy enough," said Billy cheerfully. "You can easily get -some literary cove to do the writing and stick your name to it, and -we'll all buy your books, my boy, we'll all buy your books; not that I -ever read books much, but I'll buy 'em if you write 'em. Come into -Jubber's." - -Arm-in-arm they entered Long's Hotel, where Billy resided, and over a -mutual whisky-and-soda they forgot books and discussed horses; they -lunched together and discussed dogs, girls, and mutual friends. It was -like old times again, but over the liqueurs and over the cigarette-smoke -suddenly appeared to Bobby the vision of Tozer. He said good-bye to the -affluent one, and departed. "I've got to work," said Bobby. - -His momentary lapse from the direction of the target only served to pull -him together, and it seemed, now, as though the luncheon and the lapse -had made things easier. He told himself if he hadn't brains enough to -scare up some sort of plot for a six-shilling novel he had better drown -himself. If he couldn't do what hundreds of people with half his -knowledge of the world and ability were doing he would be a mug of the -very first water. - -If anything depressed him it was the horrible and futile assurance of -Billy that "his friends would buy his books." He went to Pactolus -Mansions and ordered his luggage to be sent to the Albany, then he -changed his sovereign and bought a cigar, then an omnibus gave him an -inspiration. He would get on top of an omnibus and in that cool and airy -position do a bit of thinking. - -It was not an original idea; he had read, or heard, of a famous author -who thought out his plots on the tops of omnibuses--but it was an idea. -He clambered on to the top of an eastward-going bus, and, behind a fat -lady with bugles on her bonnet, tried to compose his mind. - -Why not make a story about--Billy? People liked reading of the -aristocracy, and Billy was a character in his way and had many stories -attached to him. He could start the book grandly, simply out of -remembered visions of Lord William Tottenham in his gayest moods. L. W. -T. emptying bottles of cliquot into a grand piano at Oxford. Oxford--ay, -grander and grander--the book should begin at Oxford with a fresh and -vigorous picture of University life. Tozer would come in, and a host of -others; then, after Oxford, there was the rub. - -The story that had begun so brightly suddenly ceased. - -A character and a situation do not make a story. - -They had reached the Bank--as if by derision, when he told himself this. -He got off the omnibus and got on a westward-bound one harking back to -the land he knew. He remembered the expression, "racking one's brains to -find a plot." He knew the meaning of it now. - -At Piccadilly Circus, where all the things meet, a lanky, wild-looking, -red-haired girl in a picture hat and a fit of abstraction--that was the -impression she gave--caught his eye. In a moment he was after her. - -Here was salvation. Julia Delyse, the last catch-on, whose books were -selling by the hundred thousand. He had met her at the Three Arts Ball -and once since. She had called him Bobby the second time. He had flirted -with her, as he flirted with everything with skirts on, and forgotten -her. She was very modern; modern enough to raise the hair on a -grandmother's scalp. Her looks were to match. - -"Hello," said he. - -"Hello, Bobby," said Julia. - -"You are just the person I want to see," said Bobby. - -"How's that?" said Julia. - -"I'm in a fix." - -"What sort of fix?" - -"I've got to write a novel." - -"What's the hurry?" asked Julia. - -"Money," said Bobby. - -"Make money?" - -"Yes." - -"If you write for money you're lost," said Julia. - -"I'm lost anyway," replied Bobby. "Where are you going to?" - -"Home; my flat's close by. Come and have some tea." - -"I don't mind. Well now, see here; I've got to do it and I can't find -anything to write about." - -"With all London before you?" - -"I know, but when I start to think it all gets behind me. I want you to -start me with some idea; you're full of ideas and you know the ropes." - -They had reached the flat, and the lady with ideas ushered him in. - -The sitting-room was in a scheme of black with Japanese effects; she -offered cigarettes, lit one herself, and tea was brought in. - -Then the hypnotism began. - -The fact that she was a "famous authoress" would not have mattered a -button to Bobby yesterday; to-day, on his new strange road, it lent her -a charm that completed the fascination of her wondrous eyes. They seemed -wild in the street, but when she looked at one intensively they were -wonderful. Plots were forgotten, and in the twilight Bobby's full, -musical voice might have been heard discussing literature--with long -pauses. - -"Dear old thing.... Is that cushion comfy?... Oh, bother the girl and -the tea-things!... Just put your head so--so...." - -He had been hooked twenty times by girls and pulled off the hook by -parents or been thrown back by the fisherwoman on inspecting his bank -balance, but he had never been hooked like this before, for Julia had no -parents to speak of; she was above bank balances, and her grip was of -iron where passion was concerned, and publishers. Her publishers could -have told you that by the way she gripped her rights when they tried to -cheat her of them, for, despite her wondrous eyes and wild air and the -fact that she was a genius, she was practical as well as tenacious in -hold. - -Then, at the end of the _séance_, Bobby found himself leaving the flat a -semi-tied-up man. He couldn't remember whether he had proposed to her or -she to him, or whether either of them had proposed or actually accepted, -but there was a tie between them, a tie slight enough and not binding in -any court; less an engagement than an attachment formed, so he told -himself. - -He remembered in the street, however, that a tie between him and an -authoress was not what Tozer wanted; he had received no plot or even -literary hint. Had he retained his clear senses during the _séance_, and -had he possessed a knowledge of Julia Delyse's brilliant and cynical -books, he might have wondered where the brilliancy and cynicism came -from. In love, Julia was absolutely unliterary--and a bit -heavy--clinging, as it were. - -The momentary idea of running back to ask for the forgotten plot, as for -a hat left behind, was dispelled by this sudden feeling that she was -heavy. - -Under the fascination of her eyes and in that weird room she seemed -light; in St. James's Street, where he now was, she seemed heavy. And he -would have to go on with the attachment for awhile or be a brute. That -recognition, with the remembrance of Tozer and a recognition of his -failure in his search for the one essential thing, depressed him for a -moment. Then he determined to forget about everything and go and have -dinner. In other words, failing in his search for the thing he wanted, -he stopped searching, leaving the matter in the hands of blind chance. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -UNCLE SIMON - - -Or fate, if you like it better, for it was fated that Bobby should find -that day the thing he was in search of. - -He dined at a little club he patronised in a street off St. James's -Street, met a friend named Foulkes, and adjourned to the Alhambra, -Foulkes insisting on doing all the paying. - -They left the Alhambra at half-past ten. - -"I must be getting back to the Albany," said Bobby. "I'm sharing rooms -with a chap, and he's an early bird." - -"Oh, let him wait," said Foulkes. "Come along for ten minutes to the -Stage Club." - -They went to the Stage Club. Then, the place being empty and little -amusement to be found there, they departed, Foulkes declaring his -determination to see Bobby part of the way home. - -Passing a large entrance hall blazing with light and filled with the -noise of a distant band, Foulkes stopped. - -"Come in here for a moment," said he. In they went. - -The place was gay--very gay. Little marble-topped tables stood about; -French waiters running from table to table and serving guests--ladies -and gentlemen. - -At a long glittering bar many men were standing, and a Red Hungarian -Band was discoursing scarlet music. - -Foulkes took a table and ordered refreshment. The place was horrid. One -could not tell exactly what there was about it that went counter to all -the finer feelings and the sense of home, simplicity, and happiness. - -Bobby, rather depressed, felt this, but Foulkes, a man of tougher fibre, -seemed quite happy. - -"What ails you, Ravenshaw?" asked Foulkes. - -"Nothing," said Bobby. "No, I won't have any more to drink. I've work to -do----" - -Then he stopped and stared before him with eyes wide. - -"What is it now?" asked Foulkes. - -"Good Lord!" said Bobby. "Look at that chap at the bar!" - -"Which one?" - -"The one with the straw hat on the back of his head. It can't be--but -it is--it's the Relative." - -"The one you told me of that fired you out and cut you off with a -shilling?" - -"Yes. Uncle Simon. No, it's not, it can't be. It is, though, in a straw -_hat_." - -"And squiffy," said Foulkes. - -Bobby got up and, leaving the other, strolled to the bar casually. The -man at the bar was toying with a glass of soda-water supplied to him on -sufferance. Bobby got close to him. Yes, that was the right hand with -the white scar--got when a young man "hunting"--and the seal ring. - -The last time Bobby had met Uncle Simon was in the office in Old -Serjeants' Inn. Uncle Simon, seated at his desk-table with his back to -the big John Tann safe, had been in bitter mood; not angry, but stern. -Bobby seated before him, hat in hand, had offered no apologies or -exculpations for his conduct with girls, for his stupid engagement, for -his idleness. He had many bad faults, but he never denied them, nor did -he seek to minimise them by explanations and lies. - -"I tried to float you," had said Uncle Simon, as though Bobby were a -company. "I have failed. Well, I have done my duty, and I clearly see -that I will not be doing my duty by continuing as I have done; the -allowance I have made you is ended. You will now have to swim for -yourself. I should never have put money in your hands; I quite see -that." - -"I can make my own living," said Bobby. "I am not without gratitude for -what you have done----" - -"And a nice way you have shown your gratitude," said the other, -"tangling yourself like that--gaming, frequenting bars." - -So the interview had ended. Frequenting bars! - -"Uncle Simon!" said Bobby half-nervously, touching the other on the arm. - -Uncle Simon swung slowly round. Bobby might have been King Canute for -all Uncle Simon knew. He had got beyond the stage where the word "uncle" -from a stranger would have aroused ire or surprise. - -"H'are you?" said Simon. "Have a drink?" - -Yes, it was Uncle Simon right enough, and Bobby, in all his life, had -never received such a shock as that which came to him now with the full -recognition of the fact. St. Paul's Cathedral turned into a -gambling-shop, the Bishop of London dressed as a clown, would have been -nothing to this. He was horrified. He came to the swift conclusion that -Uncle Simon had come to smash somehow, and gone mad. A vague idea flew -through his mind that his respected relative was dressed like this as a -disguise to avoid creditors, but he had sense enough not to ask -questions. - -"I don't mind," said he; "I'll have a small soda." - -"Small grandmother," said the other; then, nodding to the bar-tender, -"'Nother same as mine." - -"What have you been doing?" asked Bobby vaguely, as he took the glass. - -"Roun' the town--roun' the town," replied the other. "Gl'd to meet you. -What've you been doin'?" - -"Oh, I've just been going round the town." - -"Roun' the town, that's the way--roun' the town," replied the other. -"Roun' an' roun' and roun' the town." - -Foulkes broke into this intellectual discussion. - -"I'm off," said Foulkes. - -"Stay a minit," said Uncle Simon. "What'll you have?" - -"Nothing, thanks," said Foulkes. - -"Come on," said Bobby, taking the arm of his relative. - -"W'ere to?" asked the other, hanging back slightly. - -"Oh, we'll go round the town--round and round. Come on." Then to -Foulkes, "Get a taxi, quick!" - -Foulkes vanished towards the door. - -Then Simon, falling in with the round-the-town idea, arm-in-arm, the -pair threaded their way between the tables, the cynosure of all eyes, -Simon exhibiting dispositions to stop and chat with seated and absolute -strangers, Bobby perspiring and blushing. All the lectures on fast -living he had ever endured were nothing to this; the shame of folly, for -the first time in his life, appeared definitely before him, and the -relief of the street and the waiting taxi beyond words. - -They bundled Simon in. - -"No. 12, King Charles Street, Westminster," said Bobby to the driver. - -Uncle Simon's head and bust appeared at the door of the vehicle, the -address given by Bobby seeming to have paralysed the round-the-town idea -in his mind. - -"Ch'ing Cross Hotel," said he. "Wach you mean givin' wrong address? I'm -staying Ch'ing Cross Hotel." - -"Well, let's go to Charles Street _first_," agreed Bobby. - -"No--Ch'ing Cross Hotel--luggage waitin' there." - -Bobby paused. - -Could it be possible that this was the truth? It couldn't be stranger -than the truth before him. - -"All right," said he. "Charing Cross Hotel, driver." - -He said good-bye to Foulkes, got in, and shut the door. - -Uncle Simon seemed asleep. - -The Charing Cross Hotel was only a very short distance away, and when -they got there Bobby, leaving the sleeping one undisturbed, hopped out -to make enquiries as to whether a Mr. Pettigrew was staying there; if -not, he could go on to Charles Street. - -In the hall he found the night porter and Mudd. - -"Good heavens! Mr. Robert, what are you doing here?" said Mudd. - -Bobby took Mudd aside. - -"What's the matter with my uncle, Mudd?" asked Bobby in a tragic -half-whisper. - -"Matter!" said Mudd, wildly alarmed. "What's he been a-doing of?" - -"I've got him in a cab outside," said Bobby. - -"Oh, thank God!" said Mudd. "He's not hurt, is he?" - -"No; only three sheets in the wind." - -Mudd broke away for the door, followed by the other. - -Simon was still asleep. - -They got him out, and between them they brought him in, Bobby paying the -fare with the last of his sovereign. - -Arrived at the room, Mudd turned on the electric light, and then, -between them, they got the reveller to bed. Folding his coat, Mudd, -searching in the pockets, found a brass door-knocker. "Good Lord!" -murmured Mudd. "He's been a-takin' of knockers." - -He hid the knocker in a drawer and proceeded. Two pounds ten was all the -money to be found in the clothes, but Simon had retained his watch and -chain by a miracle. - -Bobby was astonished at Simon's pyjamas, taken out of a drawer by Mudd; -blue and yellow striped silk, no less. - -"He'll be all right now, and I'll have another look at him," said Mudd. -"Come down, Mr. Robert." - -"Mudd," said Bobby, when they were in the hall again, "what is it?" - -"He's gone," said Mudd; "gone in the head." - -"Mad?" - -"No, not mad; it's a temporary abrogation. Some of them new diseases, -the doctor says. It's his youth come back on him, grown like a wisdom -tooth. Yesterday he was as right as you or me; this morning he started -off for the office as right as myself. It must have struck him sudden. -Same thing happened last year and he got over it. It took a month, -though." - -"Good heavens!" said Bobby. "I met him in a bar, by chance. If he's -going on like this for a month you'll have your work cut out for you, -Mudd." - -"There's no name to it," said Mudd. "Mr. Robert, this has to be kept -close in the family and away from the office; you've got to help with -him." - -"I'll do my best," said Bobby unenthusiastically, "but, hang it, Mudd, -I've got my living to make now. I've no time to hang about bars and -places, and if to-night's a sample----" - -"We've got to get him away to the country or somewhere," said Mudd, -"else it means ruin to the business and Lord knows what all. It's got to -be done, Mr. Robert, and you've got to help, being the only relative." - -"Couldn't that doctor man take care of him?" - -"Not he," said Mudd; "he's given me instructions. The master is just to -be let alone in reason; any thwarting or checking might send him clean -off. He's got to be led, not driven." - -Bobby whistled softly and between his teeth. He couldn't desert Uncle -Simon. He never remembered that Uncle Simon had deserted him for just -such conduct, or even less, for Bobby, stupid as he was, had rarely -descended to the position he had found Uncle Simon in a little while -ago. - -Bobby was young, generous, forgetful and easy to forgive, so the fact -that the Relative had deserted him and cut him off with a shilling never -occurred to his open soul at this critical moment. - -Uncle Simon had to be looked after. He felt the truth of Mudd's words -about the office. If this thing were known it would knock the business -to pieces. Bobby was no fool, and he knew something of Simon's -responsibilities; he administered estates, he had charge of trust-money, -he was the most respected solicitor in London. Heavens! if this were -known, what a rabbit-run for frightened clients Old Serjeants' Inn would -become within twenty-four hours! - -Then, again, Bobby was a Ravenshaw. The Ravenshaws were much above the -Pettigrews. The Ravenshaws were a proud race, and the old Admiral, his -father, who lost all his money in Patagonian Bonds, was the proudest of -the lot, and he had handed his pride to his son. - -Yes, leaving even the office aside, Uncle Simon must be looked after. - -Now if U. S. had been a lunatic the task would have been abominable but -simple, but a man who had suddenly developed extraordinary youth, yet -was, so the doctor said, sane--a man who must be just humoured and -led--was a worse proposition. - -Playing bear-leader to a young fool was an entirely different thing to -being a young fool oneself. Even his experience of an hour ago told -Bobby this; that short experience was his first sharp lesson in the -disgustingness of folly. He shied at the prospect of going on with the -task. But Uncle Simon must be looked after. He couldn't get over or -under that fence. - -"Well, I'll do what I can," said he. "I'll come round to-morrow morning. -But see here, Mudd, where does he get his money from?" - -"He's got ten thousand pounds somewhere hid," said Mudd. - -"Ten thousand what?" - -"Pounds. Ten thousand pounds somewhere hid. The doctor told me he had -it. He drew the same last year and spent five in a month." - -"Five pounds?" - -"Five thousand, Mr. Robert." - -"Five thousand in a month! I say, this is serious, Mudd." - -"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" said Mudd. "Don't tell me--I know--and, me, I've -been working forty years for five hundred." - -"He couldn't have taken it out with him to-day, do you think?" - -"No, Mr. Robert, I don't think he's as far gone as that. He's always -been pretty close with his money, and closeness sticks, abrogation or no -abrogation; but it's not the money I'm worritin' so much about as the -women." - -"What women?" - -"Them that's always looking out for such as he." - -"Well, we must coosh them off," said Bobby. - -"You'll be here in the morning, Mr. Robert?" - -"Yes, I'll be here, and, meanwhile, keep an eye on him." - -"Oh, I'll keep an eye on him," said Mudd. - -Then the yawning night porter saw this weird conference close, Mudd -going off upstairs and Bobby departing, a soberer and wiser young man -even than when he had entered. - -It was late when he reached the Albany. Tozer was sitting up, reading a -book on counterpoint. - -"Well, what luck?" asked Tozer, pleased at the other's gravity and -sobriety. - -"I've found a plot," said Bobby; "at least, the middle of one, but it's -tipsy." - -"Tipsy?" - -"It's my--Tozer, this is a dead secret between you and me--it's my -Relative." - -"Your uncle?" - -"Yes." - -"What on earth do you mean?" - -Bobby explained. - -Tozer made some tea over a spirit lamp as he listened, then he handed -the other a cup. - -"That's interesting," said he, as he sat down again and filled a pipe. -"That's interesting." - -"But look here," said the other, "do you believe it? Can a man get young -again and forget everything and go on like this?" - -"I don't know," said Tozer, "but I believe he can--and he seems to be -doing it, don't he?" - -"He does; we found a knocker in his coat pocket." - -"I beg your pardon, a what?" - -"A door-knocker; he must have wrung it off a door somewhere, a big brass -one, like a lion's head." - -"How old is he?" - -"Uncle?" - -"Yes." - -"Sixty." - -Tozer calculated. - -"Forty years ago--yes, the young chaps about town were still ringing -door-knockers then; it was going out, but I had an uncle who did it. -This is interesting." Then he exploded. He had never seen Simon the -solicitor, or his mirth might have been louder. - -"It's very easy to laugh," said Bobby, rather huffed, "but you would not -laugh if you were in my shoes--I've got to look after him." - -"I beg your pardon," said Tozer. "Now let me be serious. Whatever -happens, you have got a fine _ficelle_ for a story. I'm in earnest; it -only wants working out." - -"Oh, good heavens!" said Bobby. "Does one eat one's grandmother? And how -am I to write stories tied like this?" - -"He'll write it for you," said Tozer, "or I'm greatly mistaken, if you -only hang on and give him a chance. He's begun it for you. And as for -eating your grandmother, uncles aren't grandmothers, and you can change -his name." - -"I wish to goodness I could," said Bobby. "The terror I'm in is lest -his name should come out in some mad escapade." - -"I expect he's been in the same terror of you," said Tozer, "many a -time." - -"Yes, but I hadn't an office to look after and a big business." - -"Well, you've got one now," said Tozer, "and it will teach you -responsibility, Bobby; it will teach you responsibility." - -"Hang responsibility!" - -"I know; that's what your uncle has often said, no doubt. Responsibility -is the only thing that steadies men, and the sense of it is the -grandfather of all the other decent senses. You'll be a much better man -for this, Bobby, or my name is not Tozer." - -"I wish it were Ravenshaw," said Bobby. Then remembrance made him pause. - -"I ought to tell you----" said he, then he stopped. - -"Well?" said Tozer. - -"I promised you to stop--um--fooling after girls." - -"That means, I expect, that you have been doing it." - -"Not exactly, and yet----" - -"Go on." - -Bobby explained. - -"Well," said Tozer, "I forgive you. It was good intent spoiled by -atavism. You returned to your old self for a moment, like your Uncle -Simon. Do you know, Bobby, I believe this disease of your uncle's is -more prevalent than one would imagine--though of course in a less acute -form. We are all of us always returning to our old selves, by fits and -starts--and paying for the return. You see what you have done to-day. -Your Uncle Simon has done nothing more foolish, you both found your old -selves. - -"Lord, that old self! All the experience and wisdom of the world don't -head it off, it seems to me, when it wants to return. Well, you've done -it, and when you write your story you can put yourself in as well as -your uncle, and call the whole thing, 'A Horrible Warning.' Good night." - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE HUNDRED-POUND NOTE - - -Uncle Simon awoke consumed by thirst, but without a headache; a good -constitution and years of regular life had given him a large balance to -draw upon. - -Mudd was in the room arranging things; he had just drawn up the blind. - -"Who's that?" asked Simon. - -"Mudd," replied the other. - -Mudd's _tout ensemble_ as a new sort of hotel servant seemed to please -Simon, and he accepted him at once as he accepted everything that -pleased him. - -"Give me that water-bottle," said Simon. - -Mudd gave it. Simon half-drained it and handed it back. The draught -seemed to act on him like the elixir vitæ. - -"What are you doing with those clothes?" said he. - -"Oh, just folding them," said Mudd. - -"Well, just leave them alone," replied the other. "Is there any money -in the pockets?" - -"These aren't what you wore last night," said Mudd; "there was two -pounds ten in the pockets of what you had on. Here it is, on the -mantel." - -"Good," said Simon. - -"Have you any more money anywhere about?" asked Mudd. - -Now Simon, spendthrift in front of pleasure and heedless of money as the -wind, in front of Mudd seemed cautious and a bit suspicious. It was as -though his subliminal mind recognised in Mudd restraint and guardianship -and common sense. - -"Not a halfpenny," said he. "Give me that two pounds ten." - -Mudd, alarmed at the vigour of the other, put the money on the little -table by the bed. - -Simon was at once placated. - -"Now put me out some clothes," said he. He seemed to have accepted Mudd -now as a personal servant--hired when? Heaven knows when; details like -that were nothing to Simon. - -Mudd, marvelling and sorrowing, put out a suit of blue serge, a blue -tie, a shirt and other things of silk. There was a bathroom, off the -bedroom, and, the things put out, Simon arose and wandered into the -bathroom, and Mudd, taking his seat on a chair, listened to him tubbing -and splashing--whistling, too, evidently in the gayest spirits, spirits -portending another perfect day. - -"Lead him," had said Oppenshaw. Why, Mudd already was being led. There -was something about Simon, despite his irresponsibility and good humour, -that would not brook a halter even if the halter were of silk. Mudd -recognised that. And the money! What had become of the money? The locked -portmanteau might contain it, but where was the key? - -Mudd did not even know whether his unhappy master had recognised him or -not, and he dared not ask, fearing complications. But he knew that Simon -had accepted him as a servant, and that knowledge had to suffice. - -If Simon had refused him, and turned him out, that would have been a -tragedy indeed. - -Simon, re-entering the bedroom, bath towel in hand, began to dress, Mudd -handing things which Simon took as though half oblivious of the presence -of the other. He seemed engaged in some happy vein of thought. - -Dressed and smart, but unshaved, though scarcely showing the fact, Simon -took the two pounds ten and put it in his pocket, then he looked at -Mudd. His expression had changed somewhat; he seemed working out some -problem in his mind. - -"That will do," said he; "I won't want you any more for a few minutes. I -want to arrange things. You can go down and come back in a few minutes." - -Mudd hesitated. Then he went. - -He heard Simon lock the door. He went into an adjoining corridor and -walked up and down, dumbly praying that Mr. Robert would come--confused, -agitated, wondering.... Suppose Simon wanted to be alone to cut his -throat! The horror of this thought was dispelled by the recollection -that there were no razors about; also by the remembered cheerfulness of -the other. But why did he want to be alone? - -Two minutes passed, three, five--then the intrigued one, making for the -closed door, turned the handle. The door was unlocked, and Simon, -standing in the middle of the room, was himself again. - -"I've got a message I want you to take," said Simon. - -Ten minutes later Mr. Robert Ravenshaw, entering the Charing Cross -Hotel, found Mudd with his hat on, waiting for him. - -"Thank the Lord you've come, Mr. Robert!" said Mudd. - -"What's the matter now?" asked Bobby. "Where is he?" - -"He's having breakfast," said Mudd. - -"Well, that's sensible, anyhow. Cheer up, Mudd; why, you look as if -you'd swallowed a funeral." - -"It's the money," said Mudd. Then he burst out, "He told me to go from -the room and come back in a minit. Out I went, and he locked the door. -Back I came; there was he standing. 'Mudd,' said he, 'I've got a message -for you to take. I want you to take a bunch of flowers to a lady.' Me!" - -"Yes?" said Bobby. - -"To a lady!" - -"'Where's the flowers?' said I, wishing to head him off. 'You're to go -and buy them,' said he. 'I have no money,' said I, wishing to head him -off. 'Hang money!' said he, and he puts his hand in his pocket and out -he brings a hundred-pound note and a ten-pound note. And he had only two -pounds ten when I left him. He's got the money in that portmanteau, that -I'm sure, and he got me out of the room to get it." - -"Evidently," said Bobby. - -"'Here's ten pounds,' said he; 'get the best bunch of flowers money can -buy and tell the lady I'm coming to see her later on in the day.' - -"'What lady?' said I, wishing to head him off. - -"'This is the address,' said he, and goes to the writing-table and -writes it out." - -He handed Bobby a sheet of the hotel paper. Simon's handwriting was on -it, and a name and address supplied by that memory of his which clung so -tenaciously to all things pleasant. - -"Miss Rossignol, 10, Duke Street, Leicester Square." - -Bobby whistled. - -"Did I ever dream I'd see this day?" mourned Mudd. "Me! Sent on a -message like that, by _him_!" - -"This is a complication," said Bobby. "I say, Mudd, he must have been -busy yesterday--upon _my_ soul----" - -"Question is, what am I to do?" said Mudd. "I'm goin' to take no flowers -to hussies." - -Bobby thought deeply for a moment. - -"Did he recognise you this morning?" he asked. - -"I don't know," said Mudd, "but he made no bones. I don't believe he -remembered me right, but he made no bones." - -"Well, Mudd, you'd better just swallow your feelings and take those -flowers, for if you don't, and he finds out, he may fire you. Where -would we be then? Besides, he's to be humoured, so the doctor said, -didn't he?" - -"Shall I send for the doctor right off, sir?" asked Mudd, clutching at a -forlorn hope. - -"The doctor can't stop him from fooling after girls," said Bobby, -"unless the doctor could put him away in a lunatic asylum; and he can't, -can he, seeing he says he's not mad? Besides, there's the slur, and the -thing would be sure to leak out. No, Mudd, just swallow your feelings -and trot off and get those flowers, and, meanwhile, I'll do what I can -to divert his mind. And see here, Mudd, you might just see what that -girl is like." - -"Shall I tell her he's off his head and that maybe she'll have the law -on her if she goes on fooling with him?" suggested Mudd. - -"No," said the more worldly-wise Bobby; "if she's the wrong sort that -would only make her more keen. She'd say to herself, 'Here's a queer old -chap with money, half off his nut, and not under restraint; let's make -hay before they lock him up.' If she's the right sort it doesn't matter; -he's safe, and, right sort or wrong sort, if he found you'd been -interfering he might send you about your business. No, Mudd, there's -nothing to be done but get the flowers and leave them, and see the lady -if possible, and make notes about her. Say as little as possible." - -"He told me to tell her he'd call later in the day." - -"Leave that to me," said Bobby. "And now, off with you." - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE HUNDRED-POUND NOTE--_continued_ - - -Mudd departed and Bobby made for the coffee-room. - -He entered and looked around. A good many people were breakfasting in -the big room, the ordinary English breakfast crowd at a big hotel; -family parties, lone men and lone women, some reading letters, some -papers, and all, somehow, with an air of divorcement from home. - -Simon was there, seated at a little table on the right and enjoying -himself. Now, and in his right mind, Simon gave Bobby another shock. -Could it be possible that this pleasant-faced, jovial-looking gentleman, -so well-dressed and _à la mode_, was Uncle Simon? What an improvement! -So it seemed at first glance. - -Simon looked up from his sausages--he was having sausages, saw -Bobby--and with his unfailing memory of pleasant things, even dimly -seen, recognised him as the man of last night. - -"Hullo," said Simon, as the other came up to the table, "there you are -again. Had breakfast?" - -"No," said Bobby. "I'll sit here if I may." He drew a chair to the -second place that was laid and took his seat. - -"Have sausages," said Simon. "Nothing beats sausages." - -Bobby ordered sausages, though he would have preferred anything else. He -didn't want to argue. - -"Nothing beats sausages," said Uncle Simon again. - -Bobby concurred. - -Then the conversation languished, just as it may between two old friends -or boon companions who have no need to keep up talk. - -"Feeling all right this morning?" ventured Bobby. - -"Never felt better in my life," replied the other. "Never felt better in -my life. How did you manage to get home?" - -"Oh, I got home all right." - -Simon scarcely seemed to hear this comforting declaration; scrambled -eggs had been placed before him. - -Bobby, in sudden contemplation of a month of this business, almost -forgot his sausages. The true horror of Uncle Simon appeared to him now -for the first time. You see, he knew all the facts of the case. An -ordinary person, unknowing, would have accepted Simon as all right, but -it seemed to Bobby, now, that it would have been much better if his -companion had been decently and honestly mad, less uncanny. He was -obviously sane, though a bit divorced from things; obviously sane, and -eating scrambled eggs after sausages with the abandon of a schoolboy on -a holiday after a long term at a cheap school; sane, and enjoying -himself after a night like that--yet he was Simon Pettigrew. - -Then he noticed that Simon's eyes were constantly travelling, despite -the scrambled eggs, in a given direction. A pretty young girl was -breakfasting with a family party a little way off--that was the -direction. - -There was a mother, a father, something that looked like an uncle, what -appeared to be an aunt, and what appeared to be May dressed in a washing -silk blouse and plain skirt. - -November was glancing at May. - -Bobby remembered Miss Rossignol and felt a bit comforted; then he began -to feel uncomfortable: the aunt was looking fixedly at Simon. His -admiration had evidently been noted by Watchfulness; then the uncle -seemed to take notice. - -Bobby, blushing, tried to make conversation, and only got replies. -Then, to his relief, the family, having finished breakfast, withdrew, -and Simon became himself again, cheerful and burning for the pleasures -of the day before him, the pleasures to be got from London, money, and -youth. - -His conversation told this, and that he desired to include Bobby in the -scheme of things, and the young man could not help remembering -Thackeray's little story of how, coming up to London, he met a young -Oxford man in the railway carriage, a young man half-tipsy with the -prospect of a day in town and a "tear round"--with the prospect, nothing -more. - -"What are you going to do now?" asked Bobby, as the other rose from the -table. - -"Shaved," said Simon; "come along and get shaved; can't go about like -this." - -Bobby was already shaved, but he followed the other outside to a -barber's and sat reading a _Daily Mirror_ and waiting whilst Simon was -operated on. The latter, having been shaved, had his hair brushed and -trimmed, and all the time during these processes the barber spake in -this wise, Simon turning the monologue to a duologue. - -"Yes, sir, glorious weather, isn't it? London's pretty full, too, for -the time of year--fuller than I've seen for a long time. Ever tried face -massage, sir? Most comforting. Can be applied by yourself. Can sell you -a complete outfit, Parker's face cream and all, two pound ten. Thank -you, sir. Staying in the Charing Cross 'Otel? I'll have it sent to your -room. Yes, sir, the 'otel is full. There's a deal of money being spent -in London, sir. Raise your chin, sir, a leetle more. Ever try a Gillette -razor, sir? Useful should you wish to shave in a 'urry; beautiful -plated. This is it, sir--one guinea--shines like silver, don't it? Thank -you, sir, I'll send it up with the other. Yes, sir, it's most convenient -havin' a barber's close to the 'otel. I supply most of the 'otel people -with toilet rekisites. 'Air's a little thin on the top, sir; didn't mean -no offence, sir, maybe it's the light. Dry, that's what it is; it's the -'ot weather. Now, I'd recommend Coolers' Lotion followed after -application by Goulard's Brillantine. Oh, Lord, no, sir! _Them_ -brillantines is no use. Goulard's is the only real; costs a bit more, -but then, cheap brillantine is rewin. Thank you, sir. And how are you -off for 'air brushes, sir? There's a pair of bargains in that -show-case--travellers' samples--I can let you have, silver-plated, as -good as you'll get in London and 'arf the price. Shine, don't they? And -feel the bristles--real 'og. Thank you, sir. Two ten--one one--one -four--two ten--and a shillin' for the 'air cut and shave. No, sir, I -can't change an 'undred-pound note. A ten? Yes, I can manage a ten. -Thank you, sir." - -Seven pounds and sixpence for a hair-cut and shave--with accompaniments. -Bobby, tongue-tied and aghast, rose up. - -"'Air cut, sir?" asked the barber. - -"No, thanks," replied Bobby. - -Simon, having glanced at himself in the mirror, picked up his straw hat -and walking-stick, and taking the arm of his companion, out they walked. - -"Where are you going?" asked Bobby. - -"Anywhere," replied the other; "I want to get some change." - -"Why, you've got change!" - -Simon unlinked, and in the face of the Strand and the passers-by -produced from his pocket two hundred-pound notes, three or four -one-pound notes, and a ten-pound note; searching in his pockets to see -what gold he had, he dropped a hundred-pound note, which Bobby quickly -recovered. - -"Mind!" said Bobby. "You'll have those notes snatched." - -"That's all right," said Simon. - -He replaced the money in his pocket, and his companion breathed again. - -Bobby had borrowed five pounds from Tozer in view of possibilities. - -"Look here," said he, "what's the good of staying in London a glorious -day like this? Let's go somewhere quiet and enjoy ourselves--Richmond or -Greenwich or somewhere. I'll pay expenses and you need not bother about -change." - -"No, you won't," said Simon. "You're going to have some fun along with -me. What's the matter with London?" - -Bobby couldn't say. - -Renouncing the idea of the country, without any other idea to replace it -except to keep his companion walking and away from shops and bars and -girls, he let himself be led. They were making back towards Charing -Cross. At the _Bureau de Change_ Simon went in, the idea of changing a -hundred-pound note pursuing him. He wanted elbow-room for enjoyment, but -the Bureau refused to make change. The note was all right; perhaps it -was Simon that was the doubtful quantity. He had quite a little quarrel -over the matter and came out arm-in-arm with his companion and flushed. - -"Come along," said Bobby, a new idea striking him. "We'll get change -somewhere." - -From Charing Cross, through Cockspur Street, then through Pall Mall and -up St. James's Street they went, stopping at every likely and unlikely -place to find change. Engaged so, Simon at least was not spending money -or taking refreshment. They tried at shipping offices, at insurance -offices, at gun-shops and tailors, till the weary Bobby began to loathe -the business, began to feel that both he and his companion were under -suspicion and almost that the business they were on was doubtful. - -Simon, however, seemed to pursue it with zest and, now, without anger. -It seemed to Bobby as though he enjoyed being refused, as it gave him -another chance of entering another shop and showing that he had a -hundred-pound note to change--a horrible foolish satisfaction that put a -new edge to the affair. Simon was swanking. - -"Look here,", said the unfortunate, at last, "wasn't there a girl you -told me of last night you wanted to send flowers to? Let's go and get -them; then we can have a drink somewhere." - -"She'll wait," said Simon. "Besides, I've sent them. Come on." - -"Very well," said Bobby, in desperation. "I believe I know a place -where you can get your note changed; it's close by." - -They reached a cigar merchant's. It was the cigar merchants and -moneylenders that had often stood him in good stead. "Wait for me," said -Bobby, and he went in. Behind the counter was a gentleman recalling -Prince Florizel of Bohemia. - -"Good morning, Mr. Ravenshaw," said this individual. - -"Good morning, Alvarez," replied Bobby. "I haven't called about that -little account I owe you though--but cheer up. I've got you a new -customer--he wants a note changed." - -"What sort of note?" asked Alvarez. - -"A hundred-pound note; can you do it?" - -"If the note's all right." - -"Lord bless me, yes! I can vouch for that and for him; only he's strange -to London. He's got heaps of money, too, but you must promise not to -rook him too much over cigars, for he's a relative of mine." - -"Where is he?" asked Alvarez. - -"Outside." - -"Well, bring him in." - -Bobby went out. Uncle Simon was gone. Gone as though he had never been, -swallowed up in the passing crowd, fascinated away by heaven knows -what, and with all those bank-notes in his pocket. He might have got -into a sudden taxi or boarded an omnibus, or vanished up Sackville -Street or Albemarle Street; any passing fancy or sudden temptation would -have been sufficient. - -Bobby, hurrying towards St. James's Street to have a look down it, -stopped a policeman. - -"Have you seen an old gentleman--I mean a youngish-looking gentleman--in -a straw hat?" asked Bobby. "I've lost him." Scarcely waiting for the -inevitable reply, he hurried on, feeling that the constable must have -thought him mad. - -St. James's Street showed nothing of Simon. He was turning back when, -half-blind to everything but the object of his search, he almost ran -into the arms of Julia Delyse. She was carrying a parcel that looked -like a manuscript. - -"Why, Bobby, what is the matter with you?" asked Julia. - -"I'm looking for someone," said Bobby distractedly. "I've lost a -relative of mine." - -"I wish it were one of mine," said Julia. "What sort of relative?" - -"An oldish man in a straw hat. Walk down a bit; you look that side of -the street and I'll watch this; he _may_ have gone into a shop--and I -_must_ get hold of him." - -He walked rapidly on, and Julia, sucked for a moment into this whirlpool -of an Uncle Simon that had already engulfed Mudd, Bobby, and the good -name of the firm of Pettigrew, toiled beside him till they came nearly -to the Park railings. - -"He's gone," said Bobby, stopping suddenly dead. "It's no use; he's -gone." - -"Well, you'll find him again," said Julia hopefully. "Relatives always -turn up." - -"Oh, he's sure to turn up," said the other, "and that's what I'm -dreading--it's the way he'll turn up that's bothering me." - -"I could understand you better if I knew what you meant," said Julia. -"Let's walk back; this is out of my direction." - -They turned. - -Despite his perplexity and annoyance, Bobby could not suppress a feeling -of relief at having done with the business for a moment; all the same, -he was really distressed. The craving for counsel and companionship in -thought seized him. - -"Julia, can you keep a secret?" asked he. - -"Tight," said Julia. - -"Well, it's my uncle." - -"You've lost?" - -"Yes; and he's got his pockets full of hundred-pound bank-notes--and -he's no more fit to be trusted with them than a child." - -"What a delightful uncle!" - -"Don't laugh; it's serious." - -"He's not mad, is he?" - -"No, that's the worst of it. He's got one of these beastly new -diseases--I don't know what it is, but as far as I can make out it's as -if he'd got young again without remembering what he is." - -"How interesting!" - -"Yes, you would find him very interesting if you had anything to do with -him; but, seriously, something has to be done. There's the family name -and there's his business." He explained the case of Simon as well as he -could. - -Julia did not seem in the least shocked. - -"But I think it's beautiful," she broke out. "Strange--but in a way -beautiful and pathetic. Oh, if _only_ a few more people could do the -same--become young, do foolish things instead of this eternal grind of -common sense, hard business, and everything that ruins the world!" - -Bobby tried to imagine the world with an increased population of the -brand of Uncle Simon, and failed. - -"I know," he said, "but it will be the ruin of his business and -reputation. Abstractly, I don't deny there's something to be said for -it, but in the concrete it don't work. Do think, and let's try to find a -way out." - -"I'm thinking," said Julia. - -Then, after a pause: - -"You must get him away from London." - -"That was my idea, but he won't go, not even to Richmond for a few -hours. He won't leave London." - -"There's a place in Wessex I know," said Julia, "where there's a -charming little hotel. I was down there for a week in May. You might -take him there." - -"We'd never get him into the train." - -"Take him in a car." - -"Might do that," said Bobby. "What's the name of it?" - -"Upton-on-Hill; and I'll tell you what, I'll go down with you, if you -like, and help to watch him. I'd like to study him." - -"I'll think of it," said Bobby hurriedly. The affair of Uncle Simon was -taking a new turn; like Fate, it was trying to force him into closer -contact with Julia. Craving for someone to help him to think, he had -welded himself to Julia with this family secret for solder. The idea of -a little hotel in the country with Julia, ever ready for embracements -and passionate scenes, the knowledge that he was almost half-engaged to -her, the instinct that she would suck him into cosy corners and -arbours--all this frankly frightened him. He was beginning to recognise -that Julia was quite light and almost brilliant in the street when -love-making was impossible, but impossibly heavy and dull, though -mesmeric, when alone with him with her head on his shoulder. And away in -the distance of his mind a deformed sort of common sense was telling him -that if once Julia got a good long clutch on him she would marry him; he -would pass from whirlpool to whirlpool of cosy corner and arbour over -the rapids of marriage with Julia clinging to him. - -"I'll think of it," said he. "What's its name?" - -"The Rose Hotel, Upton-on-Hill--think of Upton Sinclair. It's a jolly -little place, and such a nice landlord; we'd have a jolly time, Bobby. -Bobby, have you forgotten yesterday?" - -"No," said Bobby, from his heart. - -"I didn't sleep a wink last night," said the lady of the red hair. "Did -you?" - -"Scarcely." - -"Do you know," said she, "this is almost like Fate. It gives us a -chance to meet under the same roof quite properly since your uncle is -there--not that I care a button for the world, but still, there are the -proprieties, aren't there?" - -"There are." - -"Wait for me," said she. "I want to go into my publishers' with this -manuscript." - -They had reached a fashionable publishers' office that had the -appearance of a bank premises. In she went, returning in a moment -empty-handed. - -"Now I'm free," said she; "free for a month. What are you doing to-day?" - -"I'll be looking for Uncle Simon," he replied. "I must rush back to the -Charing Cross Hotel, and after that--I must go on hunting. I'll see you -to-morrow, Julia." - -"Are you staying at the Charing Cross?" - -"No, I'm staying at B12, the Albany, with a man called Tozer." - -"I wish we could have had the day together. Well, to-morrow, then." - -"To-morrow," said Bobby. - -He put her into a taxi and she gave the address of a female literary -club, then when the taxi had driven away he returned to the Charing -Cross Hotel. - -There he found Mudd, who had just returned. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE HOME OF THE NIGHTINGALES - - -Mudd, with the ten-pound note and the written address, had started that -morning with the intention of doing another errand as well. He first -took a cab to King Charles Street. It was a relief to find it there, and -that the house had not been burned down in the night. Fire was one of -Mudd's haunting dreads--fire and the fear of a mistress. He had -extinguishing-bombs hung in every passage, besides red, cone-shaped -extinguishers. If he could have had bombs to put out the flames of love -and keep women away he no doubt would have had them. - -Mrs. Jukes received him, and he enquired if the plate had been locked -up. Then he visited his own room and examined his bank-book to see if it -were safe and untampered with; then he had a glass of ginger wine for -his stomach's sake. - -"Where are you off to now?" asked Mrs. Jukes. - -"On business for the master," replied Mudd. "I've some law papers to -take to an address. Lord! look at those brasses! Haven't the girls no -hands? Place going to rack and ruin if I leave it two instant minits. -And look at that fender--sure you put the chain on the hall door last -night?" - -"Sure." - -"Well, be sure you do it, for there's another Jack-the-Ripper chap goin' -about the West End, I've heard, and he may be in on you if you don't." - -Having frightened Mrs. Jukes into the sense of the necessity for chains -as well as bolts, Mudd put on his hat, blew his nose, and departed, -banging the door behind him and making sure it was shut. - -There is a flower shop in the street at the end of King Charles Street. -He entered, bought his bouquet, and with it in his hand left the -establishment. He was looking for a cab to hide himself in; he found -none, but he met a fellow butler, Judge Ponsonby's man. - -"Hello, Mr. Mudd," said the other; "going courting?" - -"Mrs. Jukes asked me to take them to a female friend that's goin' to be -married," said Mudd. - -The bouquet was not extraordinarily large, but it seemed to grow -larger. - -Condemned to take an omnibus in lieu of a cab, it seemed to fill the -omnibus; people looked at it and then at Mudd. It seemed to him that he -was condemned to carry Simon's folly bare in the face of the world. Then -he remembered what he had said about the recipient going to be married. -Was that an omen? - -Mudd believed in omens. If his elbow itched--and it had itched -yesterday--he was going to sleep in a strange bed; he never killed -spiders, and he tested "strangers" in the tea-cup to see if they were -male or female. - -The omen was riding him now, and he got out of the omnibus and sought -the street of his destination, feeling almost as though he were a -fantastic bridesmaid at some nightmare wedding, with Simon in the rôle -of groom. - -That Simon should select a wife in this gloomy street off Leicester -Square, and in this drab-looking house at whose door he was knocking, -did not occur to Mudd. What did occur to him was that some hussy living -in this house had put her spell on Simon and might select him for a -husband, marry him at a registrar office before his temporary youth had -departed, and come and reign at Charles Street. - -Mudd's dreaded imaginary mistress had always figured in his mind's eye -as a stout lady--eminently a lady--who would interfere with his ideas of -how the brasses ought to be polished, interfere with tradesmen, order -Mudd about, and make herself generally a nuisance; this new imaginary -horror was a "painted slut," who would bring ridicule and disgrace on -Simon and all belonging to him. - -Mudd had the fine feelings of an old maid on matters like this, backed -by a fine knowledge of what elderly men are capable of in the way of -folly with women. - -Did not Mr. Justice Thurlow marry his cook? - -He rang at the dingy hall door and it was opened by a dingy little girl -in a print dress. - -"Does Miss Rosinol live here?" asked Mudd. - -"Yus." - -"Can I see her?" - -"Wait a minit," said the dingy one. She clattered up the stairs; she -seemed to wear hobnailed boots to judge by the noise. A minute elapsed, -and then she clattered down again. - -"Come in, plaaze," said the little girl. - -Mudd obeyed and followed upstairs, holding on to the shaky banister with -his left hand, carrying the bouquet in his right, feeling as though he -were a vicious man walking upstairs in a dream; feeling no longer like -Mudd. - -The little girl opened a door, and there was the "painted hussy"--old -Madame Rossignol sitting at a table with books spread open before her -and writing. - -She translated--as before said--English books into French, novels -mostly. - -The bouquet of last night had been broken up; there were flowers in -vases and about the room; despite its shabbiness, there was an -atmosphere of cleanliness and high decency that soothed the stricken -soul of Mudd. - -"I'm Mr. Pettigrew's man," said Mudd, "and he asked me to bring you -these flowers." - -"Ah, Monsieur Seemon Pattigrew," cried the old lady, her face lighting. -"Come in, monsieur. Cerise!--Cerise!--a gentilmon from Mr. Pattigrew. -Will you not take a seat, monsieur?" - -Mudd, handing over the flowers, sat down, and at that moment in came -Cerise from the bedroom adjoining. Cerise, fresh and dainty, with wide -blue eyes that took in Mudd and the flowers, that seemed to take in at -the same time the whole of spring and summer. - -"Poor, but decent," said Mudd to himself. - -"Monsieur," said the old lady, as Cerise ran off to get a bowl to put -the flowers in, "you are as welcome to us as your good kind master who -saved my daughter yesterday. Will you convey to him our deepest respects -and our thanks?" - -"Saved her?" said Mudd. - -Madame explained. Cerise, arranging the flowers, joined in; they waxed -enthusiastic. Never had Mudd been so chattered to before. He saw the -whole business and guessed how the land lay now. He felt deeply -relieved. Madame inspired him with instinctive confidence; Cerise in her -youth and innocence repelled any idea of marriage between herself and -Simon. But they'd got to be warned, somehow, that Simon was off the -spot. He began the warning seated there before the women and rubbing his -knees gently, his eyes wandering about as though seeking inspiration -from the furniture. - -Mr. Pettigrew was a very good master, but he had to be took care of; his -health wasn't what it might be. He was older than he looked, but lately -he had had an illness that had made him suddenly grow young again, as -you might say; the doctors could not make it out, but he was just like a -child sometimes, as you might say. - -"I said it," cut in Madame. "A boy--that is his charm." - -Well, Mudd did not know anything about charms, but he was often very -anxious about Mr. Pettigrew. Then, little by little, the confidence the -women inspired opened his flood-gates and his suppressed emotions came -out. - -London was not good for Mr. Pettigrew's health--that was the truth; he -ought to be got away quiet and out of excitement--doorknockers rose up -before him as he said this--but he was very self-willed. It was strange -a gentleman getting young again like this, and a great perplexity and -trouble to an old man like him, Mudd. - -"Ah, monsieur, he has been always young," said Madame; "that heart could -never grow old." - -Mudd shook his head. - -"I've known him for forty year," said he, "and it has hit me cruel hard, -his doing things he's never done before--not much; but there you -are--he's different." - -"I have known an old gentleman," said Madame--"Monsieur de Mirabole--he, -too, changed to be quite gay and young, as though spring had come to -him. He wrote me verses," laughed Madame. "Me, an old woman! I humoured -him, did I not, Cerise? But I never read his verses; I could not humour -him to that point." - -"What happened to him?" asked Mudd gloomily. - -"Oh dear, he fell in love with Cerise," said Madame. "He was very rich; -he wanted to marry Cerise, did he not, Cerise?" - -"Oui, maman," replied Cerise, finishing the flowers. - -All this hit Mudd pleasantly. Sincere as sunshine, patently, obviously, -truthful, this pair of females were beyond suspicion on the charge of -setting nets for Simon. Also, and for the first time in his life, he -came to know the comfort of a female mind when in trouble. His troubles -up to this had been mostly about uncleaned brasses, corked wine, letters -forgotten to be posted. In this whirlpool of amazement, like Poe's man -in the descent of the maelstrom, who, clinging to a barrel, found that -he was being sucked down slower, Mudd, clinging now to the female -saving-something--sense, clarity of outlook, goodness, call it what you -will--found comfort. - -He had opened his mind, the nightmare had lifted somewhat. Opening his -mind to Bobby had not relieved him in the least; on the contrary, -talking with Bobby, the situation had seemed more insane than ever. The -two rigid masculine minds had followed one another, incapable of mutual -help; the buoyant female - -Something incapable of strict definition was now to Mudd as the -supporting barrel. He clutched at the idea of old Monsieur de Mirabole, -who had got young again without coming to much mischief; he felt that -Simon in falling upon these two females had fallen amongst pillows. He -told them of Simon's message, that he would call upon them later in the -day, and they laughed. - -"He will be safe with us," said Madame; "we will not let him come to -'arm. Do not be alarmed, Monsieur Mudd, the bon Dieu will surely protect -an innocent so charming, so good--so much goodness may walk alone, even -amongst tigers, even amongst lions; it will come to no 'arm. We will see -that he returns to the Sharing Cross 'Otel--I will talk to 'im." - -Mudd departed, relieved, so great is the power of goodness, even though -it shines in the persons of an impoverished old French lady and a girl -whose innocence is her only strength. - -But his relief was not to be of long duration, for on entering the -hotel, as before said, he met Bobby. "He's gone," said Bobby; "given me -the slip; and he has two hundred-pound bank-notes with him, to say -nothing of the rest." - -"Oh, Lord!" said Mudd. - -"Can he have gone to see that girl? What's her address?" - -"What girl?" asked Mudd. - -"The girl you took the flowers to." - -"I've just been," said Mudd. "No, he wasn't there. Wish he was; it's an -old lady." - -"Old lady!" - -"And her daughter. They're French folk, poor but honest, not a scrap of -harm in them." He explained the Rossignol affair. - -"Well, there's nothing to be done but sit down and wait," said Bobby. - -"It's easy to say that. Me, with my nerves near gone." - -"I know; mine are nearly as bad. 'Pon my soul, it's just as if one had -lost a child. Mudd, we've got to get him out of London; we've got to do -it." - -"Get him back first," said Mudd. "Get him back alive with all that money -in his pocket. He'll be murdered before night, that's my opinion, I know -London; or gaoled--and he'll give his right name." - -"We'll tip the reporters if he is," said Bobby, "and keep it out of the -papers. I was run in once and I know the ropes. Cheer up, Mudd, and go -and have a whisky-and-soda; you want bucking up, and so do I." - -"Bucking up!" said Mudd. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE FLIGHT OF THE DRAGON-FLY - - -One of the pleasantest, yet perhaps most dangerous, points about Simon -Pettigrew's condition was his un-English open-heartedness towards -strangers--strangers that pleased him. A disposition, in fact, to chum -up with anything that appealed to him, without question, without -thought. Affable strangers, pretty girls--it was all the same to Simon. - -Now, when Bobby Ravenshaw went into the cigar merchant's, leaving Simon -outside, he had not noticed particularly a large Dragon-Fly car, -claret-coloured and adorned with a tiny monogram on the door-panel, -which was standing in front of the shop immediately on the right. It was -the property of the Hon. Dick Pugeot, and just as Bobby disappeared into -the tobacconist's the Hon. Dick appeared from the doorstep of the -next-door shop. - -Dick Pugeot, late of the Guards, was a big, yellow man, quite young, -perhaps not more than twenty-five, yet with a serious and fatherly face -and an air that gave him another five years of apparent age. This -serious and fatherly appearance was deceptive. With the activity of a -gnat, a disregard of all consequences, a big fortune, a good heart, and -a taste for fun of any sort as long as it kept him moving, Dick Pugeot -was generally in trouble of some kind or another. His crave for speed on -the road was only equal to his instinct for fastness in other respects, -but, up to this, thanks to luck and his own personality, he had, with -the exception of a few endorsed licences and other trifles of that sort, -always escaped. - -But once he had come very near to a real disaster. Some eighteen months -ago he found himself involved with a lady, a female shark in the guise -of an angel, a--to put it in his own language--"bad 'un." - -The bad 'un had him firmly hooked. She was a Countess, too! and fried -and eaten he undoubtedly would have been had not the wisdom of an uncle -saved him. - -"Go to my solicitor, Pettigrew," said the uncle. "If she were an -ordinary card-sharper I would advise you to go to Marcus Abraham, but, -seeing what she is, Pettigrew is the man. He wouldn't take up an -ordinary case of this sort, but, seeing what she is, and considering -that you are my nephew, he'll do it--and he knows all the ins and outs -of her family. There's nothing he doesn't know about us." - -"Us" meaning people of high degree. - -Pugeot went, and Simon took up the case, and in forty-eight hours the -fish was off the hook, frantically grateful. He presented Simon with a -silver wine-cooler and then forgot him, till this moment, when, coming -out of Spud and Simpson's shop, he saw Simon standing on the pavement -smoking a cigar and watching the pageant of the street. - -Simon's new clothes and holiday air and straw hat put him off for a -moment, but it was Pettigrew right enough. - -"Hello, Pettigrew!" said Pugeot. - -"Hello," said Simon, pleased with the heartiness and appearance of this -new friend. - -"Why, you look quite gay," said Pugeot. "What are you up to?" - -"Out for some fun," said Simon. "What are you up to?" - -"Same as you," replied Pugeot, delighted, amused, and surprised at -Simon's manner and reply, the vast respect he had for his astuteness -greatly amplified by this evidence of mundane leanings. "Get into the -car; I've got to call at Panton Street for a moment, and then we'll go -and have luncheon or something." - -He opened the car door and Simon hopped in; then he gave the address to -the driver and the car drove off. - -"Well, I never expected to see you this morning," said Pugeot. "Never -can feel grateful enough to you either--you've nothing special to do, -have you? Anywhere I can drive you to?" - -"I've got to see a girl," said Simon, "but she can wait." - -Pugeot laughed. - -That explained the summer garb and straw hat, but the frankness came to -him with the weest bit of a shock. However, he was used to shocks, and -if old Simon Pettigrew was running after girls it was no affair of his. -It was a good joke, though, despite the fact that he could never tell -it. Pugeot was not the man to tell tales out of school. - -"Look here," said Simon, suddenly producing his notes, "I want to change -a hundred; been trying to do it in a lot of shops. You can't have any -fun without some money." - -"Don't you worry," said Pugeot. "This is my show." - -"I want to change a hundred," said Simon, with the persistency of Toddy -wanting to see the wheels go round. - -"Well, I'll get you change, though you don't really want it. Why, you've -got two hundred there--and a tenner!" - -"It's not too much to have a good time with." - -"Oh my!" said Pugeot. "Well, if you're on the razzle-dazzle, I'm with -you, Pettigrew. I feel safe with you, in a way; there's not much you -don't know." - -"Not much," said Simon, puffing himself. - -The car stopped. - -"A minute," said Pugeot. Out he jumped, transacted his business, and was -back again under five minutes. There was a new light in his sober eye. - -"Let's go and have a slap at the Wilderness," said he, lowering his -voice a tone. "You know the Wilderness. I can get you in--jolly good -fun." - -"Right," said Simon. - -Pugeot gave an address to the driver and off they went. They stopped in -a narrow street and Pugeot led the way into a house. - -In the hall of this house he had an interview with a pale-faced -individual in black, an evil, weary-looking person who handed Simon a -visitors' book to sign. They then went into a bar, where Simon imbibed a -cocktail, and from the bar they went upstairs. - -Pugeot opened a door and disclosed Monte Carlo. - -A Monte Carlo shrunk to one room and one table. This was the Wilderness -Club, and around the table were grouped men of all ages and sizes, some -of them of the highest social standing. - -The stakes were high. - -Just as a child gobbles a stolen apple, so these gentlemen seemed to be -trying to make as much out of their furtive business as they could and -get away, winners or losers, as soon as possible lest worse befel them. -Added to the uneasiness of the gambler was the uneasiness of the -law-breaker, the two uneasinesses, combined making a mental cocktail -that, to a large number of the frequenters, had a charm far above -anything to be obtained in a legitimate gambling-shop on the Continent. - -This place supplied Oppenshaw with some of his male patients. - -Pugeot played and lost, and then Simon plunged. - -They were there an hour, and in that hour Simon won seven hundred -pounds! - -Then Pugeot, far more delighted than he, dragged him away. - -It was now nearly one o'clock, and downstairs they had luncheon, of a -sort, and a bottle of cliquot, of a sort. - -"You came in with two hundred and you are going out with nine," said -Pugeot. "I am so jolly glad--you _have_ the luck. When we've finished -we'll go for a great tearing spin and get the air. You'd better get a -cap somewhere; that straw hat will be blown to Jericho. You've never -seen Randall drive? He beats me. We'll run round to my rooms and get -coats--the old car is a Dragon-Fly. I want to show you what a Dragon-Fly -can really do on the hard high-road out of sight of traffic. Two -Benedictines, please." - -They stopped at Scott's, where Simon invested in a cap; then they went -to Pugeot's rooms, where overcoats were obtained. Then they started. - -Pugeot was nicknamed the Baby--Baby Pugeot--and the name sometimes -applied. Mixed with his passion for life, he loved fresh air and a good -many innocent things, speed amongst them. Randall, the chauffeur, seemed -on all fours with him in the latter respect, and the Dragon-Fly was an -able instrument. Clearing London, they made through Sussex for the sea. -The day was perfect and filled for miles with the hum of the Dragon-Fly. -At times they were doing a good seventy miles, at times less; then came -the Downs and a vision of the sea--seacoast towns through which they -passed picking up petrol and liquid refreshments. At Hastings, or -somewhere, where they indulged in a light and early dinner, the vision -of Cerise, always like a guardian angel, arose before the remains of the -mind of Simon, and her address. He wanted to go there at once, which was -manifestly impossible. He tried to explain her to Pugeot, who at the -same time was trying to explain a dark-eyed girl he had met at a dance -the week before last and who was haunting him. "Can't get her blessed -eyes out of my head, my dear chap; and she's engaged two deep to a chap -in the Carabineers, without a cent to his name and a pile of debts as -big as Mount Ararat. She won't be happy--that's what's gettin' me; she -won't be happy. How can she be happy with a chap like that, without a -cent to his name and a pile of debts? Lord, _I_ can't understand women, -they're beyond me. Waiter, _con_found you! do you call this stuff -asparagus? Take it away! Not a cent to her name--and tied to him for -years, maybe. I mean to say, it's absurd.... What were you saying? Oh -yes, I'll take you there--it's only round the corner, so to speak. -Randall will do it. The Dragon-Fly'll have us there in no time. Do you -remember, was this Hastings or Bognor? Waiter, hi! Is this Hastings or -Bognor? All your towns are so confoundedly alike there's no telling -which is which, and I've been through twenty. Hastings, that'll do; put -your information down in the bill--if you can find room for it. You -needn't be a bit alarmed, old chap, she'll be there all right. You said -you sent her those flowers? Well, that will keep her all right and -happy. I mean to say, she'll be right--_ab_solutely--I know women from -hoof to mane. No, no pudding. Bill, please." - -Then they were out in the warm summer twilight listening to a band. Then -they were getting into the car, and Pugeot was saying to Simon: - -"It's a jolly good thing we've got a teetotum driver. What _you_ say, -old chap?" - -Then the warm and purring night took them and sprinkled stars over them, -and a great moon rose behind, which annoyed Pugeot, who kept looking -back at it, abusing it because the reflection from the wind-screen got -in his eyes. Then they burst a tyre and Pugeot, instantly becoming -condensedly clever and active and clear of speech, insisted on putting -on the spare wheel himself. He had a long argument with Randall as to -which was the front and which was the back of the wheel--not the -sideways front and back, but the foreways front and back, Randall -insisting gently that it did not matter. Then the wheel on and all the -nuts re-tested by Randall--an operation which Pugeot took as a sort of -personal insult; the jack was taken down, and Pugeot threw it into a -ditch. They would not want it again as they had not another spare wheel, -and it was a nuisance anyhow, but Randall, with the good humour and -patience which came to him from a salary equal to the salary of a -country curate, free quarters and big tips and perquisites, recovered -the jack and they started. - -A town and an inn that absolutely refused to serve the smiling motorists -with anything stronger than "minerals" was passed. Then ten miles -further on the lights of a town hull down on the horizon brought the dry -"insides" to a dear consideration of the position. - -The town developing an inn, Randall was sent, as the dove from the ark, -with a half-sovereign, and returned with a stone demijohn and two -glasses. It was beer. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -NINE HUNDRED POUNDS - - -Bobby Ravenshaw did not spend the day at the Charing Cross Hotel waiting -for Simon; he amused himself otherwise, leaving Mudd to do the waiting. - -At eleven o'clock he called at the hotel. Mr. Mudd was upstairs in Mr. -Pettigrew's room, and he would be called down. - -Bobby thought that he could trace a lot of things in the porter's tone -and manner, a respect and commiseration for Mr. Mudd and perhaps not -quite such a high respect for himself and Simon. He fancied that the -hotel was beginning to have its eye upon him and Simon as questionable -parties of the _bon vivant_ type--a fancy that may have been baseless, -but was still there. - -Then Mudd appeared. - -"Well, Mudd," said Bobby, "hasn't he turned up yet?" - -"No, Mr. Robert." - -"Where on earth can he be?" - -"I'm givin' him till half-past eleven," said Mudd, "and then I'm off to -Vine Street." - -"What on earth for?" - -"To have the hospitals circulated to ask about him." - -"Oh, nonsense!" - -"It's on my mind he's had an accident," said Mudd. "Robbed and stunned, -or drugged with opium and left in the street. I know London--and him as -he is! He'll be found with his pockets inside out--I know London. You -should have got him down to the country to-day, Mr. Robert, somewhere -quiet; now, maybe, it's too late." - -"It's very easy to say that. I tried to, and he wouldn't go, not even to -Richmond. London seems to hold him like a charm; he's like a bee in a -bottle--can't escape." - -At this moment a horrid little girl in a big hat and feathers, boots too -large for her, and a shawl, made her appearance at the entrance door, -saw the hall porter and came towards him. She had a letter in her hand. - -The hall porter took the letter, looked at it, and brought it to Mudd. - -Mudd glanced at the envelope and tore it open. - - - "10, DUKE STREET, - "LEICESTER SQUARE - - "MR. MODD, - - "Come at once. - - "CELESTINE ROSSIGNOL." - - -That was all, written in an angular, old-fashioned hand and in purple -ink. - -"Where's my hat?" cried Mudd, running about like a decapitated fowl. -"Where's my hat? Oh ay, it's upstairs!" He vanished, and in a minute -reappeared with his hat; then, with Bobby, and followed by the dirty -little girl trotting behind them, off they started. - -They tried to question the little girl on the way, but she knew nothing -definite. - -The gentleman had been brought 'ome--didn't know what was wrong with -him; the lady had given her the letter to take; that was all she knew. - -"He's alive, anyway," said Bobby. - -"The Lord knows!" said Mudd. - -The little girl let them in with a key and, Mudd leading the way, up the -stairs they went. - -Mudd knocked at the door of the sitting-room. - -Madame and Cerise were there, quite calm, and evidently waiting; of -Simon there was not a trace. - -"Oh, Mr. Modd," cried the old lady, "how fortunate you have received my -letter! Poor Monsieur Pattigrew----" - -"He ain't dead?" cried Mudd. - -No, Simon was not dead. She told. Poor Monsieur Pattigrew and a very big -gentleman had arrived over an hour ago. Mr. Pattigrew could not stand; -he had been taken ill, the big gentleman had declared. Such a nice -gentleman, who had sat down and cried whilst Mr. Pattigrew had been -placed on the sofa--taken ill in the street. The big gentleman had gone -for a doctor, but had not yet returned. Mr. Pattigrew had been put to -bed. She and the big gentleman had seen to that. - -Mr. Pattigrew had recovered consciousness for a moment during this -operation and had produced a number of bank-notes--such a number! She -had placed them safely in her desk; that was one of the reasons she had -sent so urgently for Mr. Modd. - -She produced the notes--a huge sheaf. - -Mudd took them and examined them dazedly, hundreds and hundreds of -pounds' worth of notes; and he had only started with two hundred pounds! - -"Why, there's nearly a thousand pounds' worth here," said Mudd. - -Bobby's astonishment might have been greater had not his eyes rested, -from the first moment of their coming in, on Cerise. Cerise with parted -lips, a heightened colour, and the air of a little child at a play she -did not quite understand. - -She was lovely. French, innocent, lovely as a flower--a new thing in -London, he had never seen anything quite like her before. The poverty of -the room, Uncle Simon, his worries and troubles, all were banished or -eased. She was music, and if Saul could have seen her he would have had -no need for David. - -Had Uncle Simon added burglary to knocker-snatching, broken into a -jeweller's and disposed of his takings to a "fence," committed robbery? -All these thoughts strayed over his mind, harmless because of Cerise. - -The unfortunate young man, who had fooled so long with girls, had met -the girl who had been waiting for him since the beginning of the world. -There is always that; she may be blowsy, she may be plain, or lovely -like Cerise--she is Fate. - -"And here is the big gentleman's card," said Madame, taking a visiting -card from her desk, then another and another. - -"He gave me three." - -Mudd handed the card to Bobby, who read: - - - "THE HON. RICHARD PUGEOT, - "PALL MALL PLACE, ST. JAMES. - - "GUARDS' CLUB." - - -"I know him," said Bobby. "_That's_ all right, and Uncle Simon couldn't -have fallen into better hands." - -"Is, then, Monsieur Pattigrew your oncle?" asked the old lady. - -"He is, Madame." - -"Then you are thrice welcome here, monsieur," said she. - -Cerise looked the words, and Bobby's eyes as they met hers returned -thanks. - -"Come," said Madame, "you shall see him and that he is safe." - -She gently opened the door leading to the bedroom, and there, in a -little bed, dainty and white--Cerise's little bed--lay Uncle Simon, -flushed and smiling and snoring. - -"Poor Monsieur Pattigrew!" murmured the old lady. - -Then they withdrew. - -It seemed that there was another bed to be got in the house for Cerise, -and Mudd, taking charge of the patient, the ladies withdrew. It was -agreed that no doctor was wanted. It was also agreed between Bobby and -Mudd that the hotel was impossible after this. - -"We must get him away to the country tomorrow," said Mudd, "if he'll -go." - -"He'll go, if I have to take him tied up and bound," said Bobby. "My -nerves won't stand another day of this. Take care of those notes, Mudd, -and don't let him see them. They'll be useful getting him away. I'll be -round as early as I can. I'll see Pugeot and get the rights of the -matter from him. Good night." - -Off he went. - -In the street he paused for a moment, then he took a passing taxi for -the Albany. - -Tozer was in, playing patience and smoking. He did not interrupt his -game for the other. - -"Well, how's Uncle Simon?" asked Tozer. - -"He's asleep at last after a most rampageous day." - -"You look pretty sober." - -"Don't mention it," said Bobby, going to a tantalus case and helping -himself to some whisky. "My nerves are all unstrung." - -"Trailing after him?" - -"Thank God, no!" said Bobby. "Waiting for him to turn up dead, bruised, -battered, or simply intoxicated and stripped of his money. He gave me -the slip in Piccadilly with two hundred-pound notes in his pocket. The -next place I find him was half an hour ago in a young lady's bed, dead -to the world, smiling, and with nearly a thousand pounds in bank-notes -he'd hived somehow during the day." - -"A thousand pounds!" - -"Yes, and he'd only started with two hundred." - -"I say," said Tozer, forgetting his cards, "what a chap he must have -been when he was young!" - -"When he _was_ young! Lord, I don't want to see him any younger than he -is; if this is youth, give me old age." - -"You'll get it fast enough," said Tozer, "don't you worry; and this will -be a reminder to you to keep old. There's an Arab proverb that says, -'There are two things colder than ice, an old young man and a young old -man.'" - -"Colder than ice!" said Bobby. "I wish you had five minutes with Uncle -Simon." - -"But who was this lady--this young----" - -"Two of the nicest people on earth," said Bobby, "an old lady and her -daughter--French. He saved the girl in an omnibus accident or something -in one of his escapades, and took her home to her mother. Then to-night -he must have remembered them, and got a friend to take him there. Fancy, -the cheek! What made him, in his state, able to remember them?" - -"What is the young lady like?" - -"She's beautiful," said Bobby; then he took a sip of whisky-and-soda and -failed to meet Tozer's eye as he put down the glass. - -"That's what made him remember her," said Tozer. - -Bobby laughed. - -"It's no laughing matter," said the other, "at his age--when the heart -is young." - -Bobby laughed again. - -"Bobby," said Tozer, "beware of that girl." - -"I'm not thinking of the girl," said Bobby; "I'm thinking how on earth -the old man----" - -"The youth, you mean." - -"Got all that money." - -"You're a liar," said Tozer; "you are thinking of the girl." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -PALL MALL PLACE - - -"Higgs!" cried the Hon. Richard Pugeot. - -"Sir?" answered a voice from behind the silk curtains cutting off the -dressing and bathroom from the bedroom. - -"What o'clock is it?" - -"Just gone eight, sir." - -"Get me some soda-water." - -"Yes, sir." - -The Hon. Richard lay still. - -Higgs, a clean-shaven and smart-looking young man, appeared with a -bottle of Schweppes and a tumbler on a salver. - -The cork popped and the sufferer drank. - -"What o'clock did I come home?" - -"After twelve, sir--pretty nigh one." - -"Was there anyone with me?" - -"No, sir." - -"No old gentleman?" - -"No, sir." - -"Was Randall there?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And the car?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"There was no old gentleman in the car?" - -"No, sir." - -"Good heavens!" said Pugeot. "What can I have done with him?" - -Higgs, not knowing, said nothing, moving about putting things in order -and getting his master's bath ready. - -"I've lost an old gentleman, Higgs," said Pugeot, for Higgs was a -confidential servant as well as a valet. - -"Indeed, sir," said Higgs, as though losing old gentlemen was as common -as losing umbrellas. - -"And the whole business is so funny I can scarcely believe it's true. I -haven't a touch of the jim-jams, have I, Higgs?" - -"Lord, sir, no! You're all right." - -"Am I? See here, Higgs. Yesterday morning I met old Mr. Simon Pettigrew, -the lawyer; mind, you are to say nothing about this to anyone--but stay -a moment, go into the sitting-room and fetch me _Who's Who_." - -Higgs fetched the book. - -"'Pettigrew, Simon,'" read out Pugeot, with the book resting on his -knees, "'Justice of the Peace for Herts--President of the United Law -Society--Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries'--h'm, h'm--'Club, -Athenæum.' Well, I met the old gentleman in Piccadilly. We went for a -spin together, and the last thing I remember was seeing him chasing a -stableman round some inn yard, where we had stopped for petrol or whisky -or something; chasing him round with a bucket. He was trying to put the -bucket over the stableman's head." - -"Fresh," said Higgs. - -"As you say, fresh--but I want to know, was that an optical illusion? -There were other things, too. If it wasn't an optical illusion I want to -know what has become of the old gentleman? I'm nervous--for he did me a -good turn once, and I hope to heaven I haven't let him in for any -bother." - -"Well, sir," said Higgs, "I wouldn't worry, not if I were you. It was -only his little lark, and most likely he's home safe by this." - -"I have also a recollection of two ladies that got mixed up in the -affair," went on the other, "but who they were I can't say. Little lark! -The bother of it is, Higgs, one can't play little larks like that, -safely, if one is a highly respectable person and a J.P. and a member -of the what's-its-name society." - -He got up and tubbed and dressed, greatly troubled in his mind. People -sucked into the Simon-whirl were generally troubled in their minds, so -great is the Power of High Respectability when linked to the follies of -youth. - -At breakfast Mr. Robert Ravenshaw's card was presented by Higgs. - -"Show him in," said Pugeot. - -"Hullo, Ravenshaw!" said Pugeot. "Glad to see you. Have you had -breakfast?" - -"Yes, thanks. I only called for a moment to see you about my uncle." - -"Which uncle?" - -"Pettigrew----" - -"Good heavens! You don't say he's----" - -Bobby explained. - -It was like a millstone removed from Pugeot's neck. - -Then he, in his turn, explained. - -Then Bobby went into details. - -Then they consulted. - -"You can't get him out of London without telling him where you are -taking him to," said Pugeot. "He'll kick the car over on the road if -he's anything like what he was last night. Leave it to me and _I'll_ do -the trick. But the question is, where shall we take him? There's no use -going to a place like Brighton; too many attractions for him. A moated -grange is what he wants, and even then he'll be tumbling into the moat." - -"I know of a place," said Bobby, "down at Upton-on-Hill. A girl told me -of it; it's the Rose Hotel." - -"I know it," said Pugeot; "couldn't be better. I have a cousin there -living at a place called The Nook. There's a bowling-green at the hotel -and a golf-course near. Can't hurt himself. Leave it all to me." - -He told Higgs to telephone for the car, and then they sat and smoked -whilst Pugeot showed Bobby just the way to deal with people of Uncle -Simon's description. - -"It's all nonsense, that doctor man's talk," said Pugeot. "The poor old -chap has shed a nut or two. I ought to know something about it for I've -had the same bother in my family. Got his youth back--pish! Cracked, -that's the real name for it. I've seen it. I've seen my own uncle, when -he was seventy, get his youth back--and the last time I saw him he was -pulling a toy elephant along with a string. He'd got a taste also for -playing with matches. Is that the car, Higgs? Well, come along, and -let's try the power of a little gentle persuasion." - -Simon was finishing breakfast when they arrived, assisted by Madame and -Cerise. Poor Monsieur Pattigrew did not seem in the least in the need of -pity either, though the women hung about him as women hang about an -invalid. He was talking and laughing, and he greeted the newcomers as -good companions who had just turned up. His geniality was not to be -denied, and it struck Bobby, in a weird sort of manner, that Uncle Simon -like this was a much pleasanter person than the old original article. -Like this: that is to say, for a moment out of danger from the vicious -grinding wheels of a city that destroys butterflies and a society that -requests respectable old solicitors to remain respectable old -solicitors. - -Then, the women having discreetly retired for a while, Pugeot began his -gentle persuasion. - -Uncle Simon, with visions of yesterday's rural pleasures in his mind, -required no persuasion, and he would come for a run into the country -with pleasure; but Pugeot was not taking that sort of thing on any more. -He was gay, but a very little of that sort of gaiety sufficed him for a -long time. - -"I don't mean that," said he; "I mean let's go down and stay for a while -quietly at some nice place--I mean you and Ravenshaw here--for business -will oblige me to come back to town." - -"No, thanks," said Simon; "I'm quite happy in London." - -"But think how nice it will be in the country this weather," said Bobby. -"London's so hot." - -"I like it hot," said Simon; "weather can't be too hot for me." - -Then the gentle persuaders alternately began offering -inducements--bowls, golf, a jolly bar at an hotel they knew, even girls. - -They might just as well have been offering buns to the lions of -Trafalgar Square. - -Then Bobby had an idea, and, leaving the room, he had a conference on -the stairs with Madame Rossignol; with Cerise also. - -Then leaving Simon to the women for a while, they went for a walk, and -returned to find the marble wax. - -Simon did not mind a few days in the country if the ladies would come as -his guests; he was enthusiastic on the subject now. They would all go -and have a jolly time in the country. The old poetical instinct that had -not shown itself up to this, restrained, no doubt, by the mesmerism of -London, seemed to be awakening and promising new developments. - -Bobby did not care; poetry or a Pickford's van were all the same to him -as long as they got Simon out of London. - -He had promised Julia Delyse, if you remember, to see her that day, but -he had quite forgotten her for the moment. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -JULIA - - -She hadn't forgotten him. - -Julia, with her hair down, in an eau-de-Nil morning wrapper, and frying -bacon over a Duplex oilstove, was not lovely--though, indeed, few of us -are lovely in the early morning. She had started the flat before she was -famous. It was a bachelor girl's flat, where the bachelor girl was -supposed to do her own cooking as far as breakfast and tea were -concerned. Money coming in, Julia had refurnished the flat and -requisitioned the part-time service of a maid. - -Like the doctors of Harley Street who share houses, she shared the -services of the maid with another flat-dweller, the maid coming to Julia -after three o'clock to tidy up and to bring in afternoon tea and admit -callers. She was quite well enough off to have employed a whole maid, -but she was careful--her publishers could have told you that. - -The bacon fried and breakfast over and cleared away, Julia, with her -hair still down, set to work at the cleared table before a pile of -papers and account-books. - -Never could you have imagined her the Julia of the other evening -discoursing "literature" with Bobby. - -She employed no literary agent, being that rare thing, a writer with an -instinct for business. When you see vast publishing houses and opulent -publishers rolling in their motor-cars you behold an optical illusion. -What you see, or, rather, what you ought to see, is a host of writers -without the instinct for business. - -Julia, seated before her papers and turning them over in search of a -letter, came just now upon the first letter she had ever received from a -publisher, a very curt, business-like communication saying that the -publisher thought he saw his way to the publishing of her MS. entitled -"The World at the Gate," and requesting an interview. With it was tied, -as a sort of curiosity, the agreement that had been put before her to -sign and which she had not signed. - -It gave--or would have given--the publisher the copyright and half the -American, serial, dramatic and other rights. It offered ten per cent, on -the published price of all copies sold _after_ the first five hundred -copies; it stipulated that she should give him the next four novels on -the same terms as an inducement to advertise the book properly--and it -had drawn from Julia the prompt reply, "Send the typescript of my novel -back _at once_." - -So ended the first lesson. - -Then, heartened by this evidently good opinion of her work, she had gone -to another publisher? Not a bit--or at least, not at first. She had -joined the Society of Authors--an act as necessary to the making of a -successful author as baptism to the making of a Christian. She had -studied the publishing tribe, its ways and its works, discovered that -they had no more love for books than greengrocers for potatoes, and that -such a love, should it exist, would be unhealthy. For no seller of -commodities ought to love the commodities he sells. - -Then she had gone to a great impudently-advertising roaring trading-firm -that dealt with books as men deal with goods in bulk, and, interviewing -the manager as man to man, had driven her bargain, and a good one, too. - -These people published poets and men of letters--but they respected -Julia. - -Free of creative work this morning, she could give her full attention to -accounts and so forth. - -Then she turned to a little book which she sometimes scribbled in, and -the contents of which she had a vague idea of some time publishing under -a pseudonym. It was entitled "Never," and it was not poetry. It was a -thumb-book for authors, made up of paragraphs, some long, some short. - -"Never dine with a publisher--luncheon is even worse." - -"Never give free copies of books to friends, or lend them. The given -book is not valued, the lent book is always lost--besides, the -booksellers and lending libraries are your real friends." - -"Never lower your price." - -"Never attempt to raise your public." - -"Never argue with a critic." - -"Never be elated with good reviews, or depressed by bad reviews, or -enraged by base reviews. The Public is your reviewer--_It_ knows," and -so on. - -She shut up "Never," having included: - -"Never give a plot away." Then she did her hair and thought of Bobby. - -He had not fixed what hour he would call; that was a clause in the -agreement she had forgotten--she, who was so careful about agreements, -too. - -Then she dressed and sat down to read "De Maupassant" and smoked a -cigarette. - -She had luncheon in the restaurant below stairs and then returned to the -flat. Tea-time came and no Bobby. - -She felt piqued, put on her hat, and as the mountain would not come to -Mohammed, Mohammed determined to go to the mountain. - -Her memory held his address, "care of Tozer, B12, the Albany." - -She walked to the Albany, arriving there a little after five o'clock, -found B12, and climbed the stairs. - -Tozer was in, and he opened the door himself. - -"Is Mr. Ravenshaw at home?" asked Julia. - -"No," said Tozer; "he's away, gone to the country." - -"Gone to the country?" - -"Yes; he went to-day." - -Tozer had at once spotted Julia as the Lady of the Plot. He was as -unconventional as she, and he wanted further acquaintance with this -fascinator of his _protégé_. - -"I think we are almost mutual acquaintances," said he; "won't you come -in? My name is Tozer and Ravenshaw is my best friend. I'd like to talk -to you about him. Won't you come in?" - -"Certainly," said the other. "My name is Delyse--I daresay you know it." - -"I know it well," said Tozer. - -"I don't mean by my books," said Julia, taking her seat in the -comfortable sitting-room, "but from Mr. Ravenshaw." - -"From both," said Tozer, "and what I want to see is Ravenshaw's name as -well known as yours some day. Bobby has been a spendthrift with his -time, and he has lots of cleverness." - -"Lots," said Julia. - -Tozer, who had a keen eye for character, had passed Julia as a sensible -person--he had never seen her in one of her love-fits--and she was a -lady. Just the person to look after Bobby. - -"He has gone down to the country to-day with an old gentleman, his -uncle." - -"I know all about _him_," said Julia. - -"Bobby has told you, then?" - -"Yes." - -"About the attack of youth?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, a whole family party of them went off in a motor-car to-day. -Bobby called here for his luggage and I went into Vigo Street and saw -them off." - -"How do you mean--a family party?" - -"The youthful old gentleman and a big blonde man, and Bobby, and an old -lady and a pretty girl." - -Julia swallowed slightly. - -"Relations?" - -"No, French, I think, the ladies were. Quite nice people, I believe, -though poor. The old gentleman had picked them up in some of his -wanderings." - -"Bob--Mr. Ravenshaw promised to see me to-day," said Julia. "We are -engaged--I speak quite frankly--at least, as good as engaged, you can -understand." - -"Quite." - -"He ought to have let me know," said she broodingly. - -"He ought." - -"Have they gone to Upton-on-Hill, do you know?" - -"They have. The Rose Hotel." - -Julia thought for awhile. Then she got up to go. - -"If you want my opinion," said Tozer, "I think the whole lot want -looking after. They seemed quite a pleasant party, but responsibility -seemed somewhat absent; the old lady, charming though she was, seemed to -me scarcely enough ballast for so much youth." - -"I understand," said Julia. Then she went off and Tozer lit a pipe. - -The pretty young French girl was troubling him. She had charmed even -him--and he knew Bobby, and his wisdom indicated that a penniless beauty -was not the first rung of the ladder to success in life. - -Julia, on the other hand, was solid. So he thought. - - - - -PART IV - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE GARDEN-PARTY - - -Upton-On-Hill stands on a hogback of land running north and south, -timbered with pines mostly, and commanding a view of half Wessex, not -the Wessex of Thomas Hardy, however. You can see seven church spires -from Upton, and the Roman road takes it in its sweep, becomes the Upton -High Street for a moment, and passes on to be the Roman road again -leading to the Downs and the distant sea. - -It is a restful place, and in spring the shouting of the birds and the -measured call of the cuckoo fills the village, mixing with the voice of -the ever-talking pine-trees. In summer Upton sleeps amongst roses in an -atmosphere of sunlight and drowsiness, sung to by the bees and the -birds. The Rose Hotel stands, set back from the High Street, in its own -grounds, and beside the Rose there are two other houses for refreshment, -the Bricklayer's Arms and the Saracen's Head, of which more hereafter. - -It is a pleasant place as well as a restful. Passing through it, people -say, "Oh, what a dream!" living in it one is driven at last to admit -there are dreams and dreams. It is not the place that forces this -conviction but the people. - -Just as the Roman road narrows at the beginning of the High Street, so -the life of a stranger coming, say, from London, narrows at the -beginning of his or her residence in Upton. If you are a villager you -find yourself under a microscope with three hundred eyes at the -eyepiece; if you are a genteel person, but without introductions, you -find yourself the target of half a score of telescopes levelled at you -by the residents. - -Colonel Salmon--who owned the fishing rights of the trout-stream below -hill--the Talbot-Tomsons, the Griffith-Smiths, the Grosvenor-Jones and -the rest, all these, failing introductions, you will find to be passive -resisters to your presence. - -Now, caution towards strangers and snobbishness are two different -things. The Uptonians are snobbish because, though you may be as -beautiful as a dream or as innocent as a saint, you will be sniffed at -and turned over; but if you are wealthy it is another matter, as in the -case of the Smyth-Smyths, who were neither beautiful nor innocent--but -that is another story. - - -"The village is a mile further on," said Pugeot; "let's turn down here -before we go to the hotel and have afternoon tea with my cousin. -Randall, steer for The Nook." - -The car was not the Dragon-Fly, but a huge closed limousine, with Mudd -seated beside Randall, and inside, the rest of that social menagerie -about to be landed on the residents of Upton upon the landing-stage of -the social position of Dick Pugeot's cousin, Sir Squire Simpson. - -All the introductions in the world could not be better than the personal -introduction to _the_ Resident of Upton by the Hon. Richard Pugeot. - -They passed lodge gates and then up a pleasant drive to a big -house-front, before which a small garden-party seemed to be going on; a -big afternoon tea it was, and there were men in flannels, and girls in -summer frocks, and discarded tennis racquets lying about, and the sight -of all this gave Bobby a horrible turn. - -Uncle Simon had been very quiet during the journey--happy but -quiet--squeezed between the two women, but this was not the sort of -place he wanted to land Uncle Simon in despite his quietude and -happiness. Mudd evidently also had qualms, for he kept looking back -through the glass front of the car and seemed trying to catch Bobby's -eye. - -But there was no turning back. - -The car swept along the drive, past the party on the lawn, and drew up -at the front door. Then, as they bundled out, a tall old man, without a -hat and dressed in grey tweed, detached himself from the lawn crowd and -came towards them. - -This was Sir Squire Simpson, Bart. His head was dome-shaped, and he had -heavy eyelids that reminded one of half-closed shutters, and a face that -seemed carved from old ivory--an extremely serious-looking person and a -stately; but he was glad to see Pugeot, and he advanced with a hand -outstretched and the ghost of an old-fashioned sort of smile. - -"I've brought some friends down to stay at the hotel," said Pugeot, "and -I thought we would drop in here for tea first. Didn't expect to find a -party going on." - -"Delighted," said the Squire. - -He was introduced to "My friend, Mr. Pettigrew, Madame--er--de -Rossignol, Mademoiselle de Rossignol, Mr. Ravenshaw." - -Then the party moving towards the lawn, they were all introduced to -Lady Simpson, a harmless-looking individual who welcomed them and broke -them up amongst her guests and gave them tea. - -Bobby, detaching himself for a moment from the charms of Miss Squire -Simpson, managed to get hold of Pugeot. - -"I say," said he, "don't you think this may be a bit too much for -uncle?" - -"Oh, he's all right," said Pugeot; "can't come to any harm here. Look at -him, he's quite happy." - -Simon seemed happy enough, talking to a dowager-looking woman and -drinking his tea; but Bobby was not happy. It all seemed wrong, somehow, -and he abused Pugeot in his heart. Pugeot had said himself a moated -grange was the proper place for Uncle Simon, and even then he might -tumble into the moat--and now, with the splendid inconsequence of his -nature, he had tumbled him into this whirl of local society. This was -not seclusion in the country. Why, some of these people might, by -chance, be Uncle Simon's clients! - -But there was no use in troubling, and he could do nothing but watch and -hope. He noticed that the women-folk had evidently taken up with Cerise -and her mother, and he could not but wonder vaguely how it would have -been if they could have seen the rooms in Duke Street, Leicester Square, -and the picture of Uncle Simon tucked up and snoring in Cerise's little -bed. - -The tennis began again, and Bobby, firmly pinned by Miss Squire -Simpson--she was a plain girl--had to sit watching a game and trying to -talk. - -The fact that Madame and Cerise were foreigners had evidently condoned -their want of that touch in dress which makes for style. They were being -led about and shown things by their hostess. - -Uncle Simon had vanished towards the rose-garden at the back of the -house, in company with a female; she seemed elderly. Bobby hoped for the -best. - -"Are you down here for long?" asked Miss Squire Simpson. - -"Not very long, I think," replied he. "We may be here a month or so--it -all depends on my uncle's health." - -"That gentleman you came with?" - -"Yes." - -"He seems awfully jolly." - -"Yes--but he suffers from insomnia." - -"Then he'll get lots of sleep here," said she. "Oh, do tell me the name -of that pretty girl who came with you! I never can catch a name when I -am introduced to a person." - -"A Miss Rossignol--she's a friend of uncle's--she's French." - -"And the dear old lady is her mother, I suppose?" - -"Yes. She writes books." - -"An authoress?" - -"Yes--at least, I believe she translates books. She is awfully clever." - -"Well played!" cried Miss Squire Simpson, breaking from the subject into -an ecstasy at a stroke made by one of the flannelled fools--then -resuming: - -"She _must_ be clever. And are you all staying here together?" - -"Yes, at the Rose Hotel." - -"You will find it a dear little place," said she, unconscious of any -_double entendre_, "and you will get lots of tennis down here. Do you -fish?" - -"A little." - -"Then you must make up to Colonel Salmon--that's him at the nets--he -owns the best trout-stream about here." - -Bobby looked at Colonel Salmon, a stout, red-faced man with a head that -resembled somewhat the head of a salmon--a salmon with a high sense of -its own importance. - -Then Pugeot came along smoking a cigarette, and then some of the people -began to go. The big limousine reappeared from the back premises with -Mudd and the luggage, and Pugeot began to collect his party. Simon -reappeared with the elderly lady; they were both smiling and he had -evidently done no harm. It would have been better, perhaps, if he had, -right at the start. The French ladies were recaptured, and as they -bundled into the car quite a bevy of residents surrounded the door, -bidding them good-bye for the present. - -"Remember, you must come and see my roses," said Mrs. Fisher-Fisher. -"Don't bother about formality, just drop in, all of you." - -"You'll find Anderson stopping at the hotel; he's quite a nice fellow," -cried Sir Squire Simpson. "So long--so long." - -"Are they not charming?" said old Madame Rossignol, whose face was -slightly flushed with the good time she had been having; "and the -beautiful house--and the beautiful garden." - -She had not seen a garden for years; verily, Simon _was_ a good fairy as -far as the Rossignols were concerned. - -They drew up at the Rose Hotel. A vast clambering vine of wisteria -shadowed the hall door, and out came the landlord to meet them. Pugeot -had telegraphed for rooms; he knew Pugeot, and his reception of them -spoke of the fact. - -Then the Rossignols were shown to their room, where their poor luggage, -such as it was, had been carried before them. - -It was a big bedroom, with chintz hangings and a floor with hills and -valleys in it; it had black oak beams and the window opened on the -garden. - -The old lady sat down. - -"How happy I am!" said she. "Does it not seem like a dream, _ma fée_?" - -"It is like heaven," said Cerise, kissing her. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -HORN - - -"No, sir," said Mudd, "he don't take scarcely anything in the bar of the -hotel, but he was sitting last night till closing-time in the -Bricklayer's Arms." - -"Oh, that's where he was," said Bobby. "How did you find out?" - -"Well, sir," said Mudd, "I was in there myself in the parlour, having a -drop of hot water and gin with a bit of lemon in it. It's a decent -house, and the servants' room in this hotel don't please me, nor Mr. -Anderson's man. I was sitting there smoking my pipe when in he came to -the bar outside. I heard his voice. Down he sits and talks quite -friendly with the folk there and orders a pint of beer all round. Quite -affable and friendly." - -"Well, there's no harm in that," said Bobby. "I've often done the same -in a country inn. Did he stick to beer?" - -"He did," said Mudd grimly. "He'd got that ten-pound note I was fool -enough to let him have. Yes, he stuck to beer, and so did the chaps he -was treating." - -"The funny thing is," said Bobby, "that though he knows we have his -money--and, begad, there's nearly eleven thousand of it--he doesn't kick -at our taking it--he must have known we cut open that portmanteau--but -comes to you for money like a schoolboy." - -"That's what he is," said Mudd. "It's my belief, Mr. Robert, that he's -getting younger and younger; he's artful as a child after sweets. And he -knows we're looking after him, I believe, and he doesn't mind, for it's -part of his amusement to give us the slip. Well, as I was saying, there -he sat talking away and all these village chaps listening to him as if -he was the Sultan of Turkey laying down the law. That's what pleased -him. He likes being the middle of everything; and as the beer went down -the talk went up--till he was telling them he'd been at the battle of -Waterloo." - -"Good Lord!" - -"_They_ didn't know no different," said Mudd, "but it made me crawl to -listen to him." - -"The bother is," said Bobby, "that we are dealing, not only with a young -man, but with the sort of young man who was young forty years ago. -That's our trouble, Mudd; we can't calculate on what he'll do because -we haven't the data. And another bother is that his foolishness seems to -have increased by being bottled so long, like old beer, but he can't -come to harm with the villagers, they're an innocent lot." - -"Are they?" said Mudd. "One of the chaps he was talking to was a -gallows-looking chap. Horn's his name, and a poacher he is, I believe. -Then there's the blacksmith and a squint-eyed chap that calls himself a -butcher; the pair of _them_ aren't up to much. Innocent lot! Why, if you -had the stories Mr. Anderson's man has told me about this village the -hair would rise on your head. Why, London's a girl-school to these -country villages, if all's true one hears. No, Mr. Robert, he wants -looking after here more than anywhere, and it seems to me the only -person who has any real hold on him is the young lady." - -"Miss Rossignol?" - -"Yes, Mr. Robert, he's gone on her in his foolish way, and she can twist -him round her finger like a child. When he's with her he's a different -person, out of sight of her he's another man." - -"Look here, Mudd," said the other, "he can't be in love with her, for -there's not a girl he sees he doesn't cast his eye after." - -"Maybe," said Mudd, "but when he's with her he's in love with her; I've -been watching him and I know. He worships her, I believe, and if she -wasn't so sensible I'd be afeard of it. It's a blessing he came across -her; she's the only hold on him, and a good hold she is." - -"It is a blessing," said Bobby. Then, after a pause, "Mudd, you've -always been a good friend of mine, and this business has made me know -what you really are. I'm bothered about something--I'm in love with her -myself. There, you have it." - -"With Miss Rossignol?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, you might choose worse," said Mudd. - -"But that's not all," said Bobby. "There's another girl--Mudd, I've been -a damn fool." - -"We've all been fools in our time," said Mudd. - -"I know, but it's jolly unpleasant when one's follies come home to roost -on one. She's a nice girl enough, Miss Delyse, but I don't care for her. -Yet somehow I've got mixed up with her--not exactly engaged, but very -near it. It all happened in a moment, and she's coming down here; I had -a letter from her this morning." - -"Oh, Lord!" said Mudd, "another mixture. As if there wasn't enough of us -in the business!" - -"That's a good name for it, 'business.' I feel as if I was helping to -run a sort of beastly factory, a mad sort of show where we're trying to -condense folly and make it consume its own smoke--an illicit -whisky-still, for we're trying to hide our business all the time, and it -gives me the jim-jams to think that at any moment a client may turn up -and see him like that. I feel sometimes, Mudd, as fellows must feel when -they have the police after them." - -"Don't talk of the police," said Mudd, "the very word gives me the -shivers. When is she coming, Mr. Robert?" - -"Miss Delyse? She's coming by the 3.15 train to-day to Farnborough -station, and I've got to meet her. I've just booked her a room here. You -see how I am tied. If I was here alone she couldn't come, because it -wouldn't be proper, but having _him_ here makes it proper." - -"Have you told her the state he's in?" - -"Yes. She doesn't mind; she said she wished everyone else was the -same--she said it was beautiful." - -They were talking in Bobby's room, which overlooked the garden of the -hotel, and glancing out of the window now, he saw Cerise. - -Then he detached himself from Mudd. He reached her as she was passing -through the little rambler-roofed alley that leads from the garden to -the bowling-green. There is an arbour in the garden tucked away in a -corner, and there is an arbour close to the bowling-green; there are -several other arbours, for the hotel-planner was an expert in his work, -but these are the only two arbours that have to do with our story. - -Bobby caught up with the girl before she had reached the green, and they -walked together towards it, chatting as young people only can chat with -life and gaiety about nothing. They were astonishingly well-matched in -mind. Minds have colours just like eyes; there are black minds and brown -minds and muddy-coloured minds and grey minds, and blue minds. Bobby's -was a blue mind, though, indeed, it sometimes almost seemed green. -Cerise's was blue, a happy blue like the blue of her eyes. - -They had been two and a half days now in pretty close propinquity, and -had got to know each other well despite Uncle Simon, or rather, perhaps, -because of him. They discussed him freely and without reserve, and they -were discussing him now, as the following extraordinary conversation -will show. - -"He's good, as you say," said Bobby, "but he's more trouble to me than a -child." - -Said Cerise: "Shall I tell you a little secret?" - -"Yes." - -"You will promise me surely, most surely, you will never tell my little -secret?" - -"I swear." - -"He is in loff with me--I thought it was maman, but it is me." A ripple -of laughter that caught the echo of the bowling-alley followed this -confession. - -"Last night he said to me before dinner, 'Cerise, I loff you.'" - -"And what did you say?" - -"Then the dinner-gong rang," said Cerise, "and I said, 'Oh, Monsieur -Pattigrew, I must run and change my dress.' Then I ran off. I did not -want to change my dress, but I did want to change the conversation," -finished Cerise. - -Then with a smile, "He loffs me more than any of the other girls." - -"Why, how do you know he loves other girls?" - -"I have seen him look at girls," said Cerise. "He likes all the world, -but girls he likes most." - -"Are you in love with him, Cerise?" asked Bobby, with a grin. - -"Yes," said Cerise candidly. "Who could help?" - -"How much are you in love with him, Cerise?" - -"I would walk to London for him without my shoes," said Cerise. - -"Well, that's something," said Bobby. "Come into this little arbour, -Cerise, and let's sit down. You don't mind my smoking?" - -"Not one bit" - -"It's good to have anyone love one like that," said he, lighting a -cigarette. - -"He draws it from me," said Cerise. - -"Well, I must say he's more likeable as he is than as he was; you should -have seen him before he got young, Cerise." - -"He was always good," said she, as though speaking from sure knowledge; -"always good and kind and sweet." - -"He managed to hide it," said Bobby. - -"Ah yes--maybe so--there are many old gentlemen who seem rough and not -nice, and then underneath it is different." - -"How would you like to marry uncle?" asked he, laughing. - -"If he were young outside as he is young inside of him--why, then I do -not know. I might--I might not." - -Then the unfortunate young man, forgetting all things, even the -approaching Julia, let his voice fall half a tone; he wandered from -Uncle; Simon into the question of the beauty of the roses. - -The conversation flagged a bit, then he was holding one of her fingers. - -Then came steps on the gravel. A servant. - -"The fly is ready to take you to the station, sir." - -It was three o'clock. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -JULIA--_continued_ - - -It was a cross between a hansom cab and a "growler," with the voice of -the latter, and the dust of the Farnborough road, with the prospect of a -three-mile drive to meet Julia and a three-mile drive back again, did -not fill Bobby with joy--also the prospect of having to make -explanations. - -He had quite determined on that. After the arbour business it was -impossible to go on with Julia; he had to break whatever bonds there -existed between them, and he had to do the business before she got to -the hotel. Then came the prospect of having to live with her in the -hotel, even for a night. He questioned himself, asking himself were he a -cad or not, had he trifled with Julia? As far as memory went, they had -both trifled with one another. It was a sudden affair, and no actual -promise had been made; he had not even said "I love you"--but he had -kissed her. The legal mind would, no doubt, have construed that into a -declaration of affection, but Bobby's mind was not legal--anything -but--and as for kissing a girl, if he had been condemned to marry all -the girls he had kissed he would have been forced to live in Utah. - -He had to wait half an hour for the train at Farnborough, and when it -drew up out stepped Julia, hot, and dressed in green, dragging a -hold-all and a bundle of magazines and newspapers. - -"H'are you?" said Bobby, as they shook hands. - -"Hot," said Julia. - -"Isn't it?" - -He carried the hold-all to the fly and a porter followed with a -basket-work portmanteau. When the luggage was stowed in they got in and -the fly moved off. - -Julia was not in a passionate mood; no person is or ever has been after -a journey on the London and Wessex and South Coast Railway--unless it is -a mood of passion against the railway. She seemed, indeed, disgruntled -and critical, and a tone of complaint in her voice cheered up Bobby. - -"I know it's an awful old fly," said he, "but it's the best they had; -the hotel motor-car is broken down or something." - -"Why didn't you wire me that day," said She, "that you were going off -so soon? I only got your wire from here next morning. You promised to -meet me and you never turned up. I went to the Albany to see if you were -in, and I saw Mr. Tozer. He said you had gone off with half a dozen -people in a car----" - -"Only four, not including me," cut in Bobby. - -"Two ladies----" - -"An old French lady and her daughter." - -"Well, that's two ladies, isn't it?" - -"I suppose so--you can't make it three. Then there was uncle; it's true -he's a host in himself." - -"How's he going on?" - -"Splendidly." - -"I'm very anxious to see him," said Julia. "It's so seldom one meets -anyone really original in this life; most people are copies of others, -and generally bad ones at that." - -"That's so," said Bobby. - -"How's the novel going on?" said Julia. - -"Heavens!" said Bobby, "do you think I can add literary work to my other -distractions? The novel is not going on, but the plot is." - -"How d'you mean?" - -"Uncle Simon. I've got the beginning and middle of a novel in him, but -I haven't got the end." - -"You are going to put him in a book?" - -"I wish to goodness I could, and close the covers on him. No, I'm going -to weave him into a story--he's doing most of the weaving, but that's a -detail. Look here, Julia----" - -"Yes?" - -"I've been thinking." - -"Yes?" - -"I've been thinking we have made a mistake." - -"Who?" - -"Well, we. I didn't write, I thought I'd wait till I saw you." - -"How d'you mean?" said Julia dryly. - -"Us." - -"Yes?" - -"Well, you know what I mean. It's just this way, people do foolish -things on the spur of the moment." - -"What have we done foolish?" - -"We haven't done anything foolish, only I think we were in too great a -hurry." - -"How?" - -"Oh, you know, that evening at your flat." - -"Oh!" - -"Yes." - -"You mean to say you don't care for me any more?" - -"Oh, it's not that; I care for you very much." - -"Say it at once," said Julia. "You care for me as a sister." - -"Well, that's about it," said Bobby. - -Julia was silent, and only the voice of the fly filled the air. - -Then she said: - -"It's just as well to know where one is." - -"Are you angry?" - -"Not a bit." - -He glanced at her. - -"Not a bit. You have met someone else. Why not say so?" - -"I have," said Bobby. "You know quite well, Julia, one can't help these -things." - -"I don't know anything about 'these things,' as you call them; I only -know that you have ceased to care for me--let that suffice." - -She was very calm, and a feeling came to Bobby that she did not care so -very deeply for him. It was not a pleasant feeling somehow, although it -gave him relief. He had expected her to weep or fly out in a temper, but -she was quite calm and ordinary; he almost felt like making love to her -again to see if she _had_ cared for him, but fortunately this feeling -passed. - -"We'll be friends," said he. - -"Absolutely," said Julia. "How could a little thing like that spoil -friendship?" - -Was she jesting with him or in earnest? Bitter, or just herself? - -"Is she staying at the hotel?" asked she, after a moment's silence. - -"She is," said Bobby. - -"It's the French girl?" - -"How did you guess that?" - -"I knew." - -"When?" - -"When you explained them and began with the old lady. But the old lady -will, no doubt, have her turn next, and to the next girl you'll explain -them, beginning with the girl." - -Bobby felt very hot and uncomfortable. - -"Now you're angry with me," said he. - -"Not a bit." - -"Well, let's be friends." - -"Absolutely. I could never fancy you as the enemy of anyone but -yourself." - -Bobby wasn't enjoying the drive, and there was a mile more of -it--uphill, mostly. - -"I think I'll get out and give the poor old horse a chance," said he; -"these hills are beastly for it." - -He got out and walked by the fly, glancing occasionally at the -silhouette of Julia, who seemed ruminating matters. - -He was beginning to feel, now, that he had done her an injury, and she -had said nothing about going back to-morrow or anything like that, and -he was held as by a vice, and Cerise and he would be under the -microscope, and Cerise knew nothing about Julia. - -Then he got into the fly again and five minutes later they drove up to -the Rose. Simon was standing in the porch as they drove up; his straw -hat was on the back of his head and he had a cigar in his mouth. - -He looked at Bobby and Julia and grinned slightly. It seemed suddenly to -have got into his head that Bobby had been fetching a sweetheart as well -as a young lady from the station. It had, in fact, and things that got -into Simon's youthful head in this fashion, allied to things pleasant, -were difficult to remove. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -HORN--_continued_ - - -Simon had been that day all alone to see Mrs. Fisher-Fisher's roses; he -said so at dinner that night. He had remembered the general invitation -and had taken it, evidently, as a personal one. Bobby did not enquire -details; besides, his mind was occupied at that dinner-table, where -Cerise was constantly seeking his glance and where Julia sat watching. -Brooding and watching and talking chiefly to Simon. - -She and Simon seemed to get on well together, and a close observer might -have fancied that Simon was attracted, perhaps less by her charms than -by the fact that he considered her Bobby's girl and was making to cut -Bobby out, in a mild way, by his own superior attractions. - -After dinner Simon forgot her. He had other business on hand. He had not -dressed for dinner, he was simply and elegantly attired in the blue -serge suit he had worn in London. Taking his straw hat and lighting a -cigar, he left the others and, having strolled round the garden for a -few minutes, left the hotel premises and strolled down the street. - -The street was deserted. He reached the Bricklayer's Arms, and, having -admired the view for a while from the porch of that hostelry, strolled -into the bar. - -The love of low company, which is sometimes a distinguishing feature of -the youthful, comes from several causes: a taste for dubious sport, a -kicking against restraint, simply the love of low company, or a kind of -megalomania--a wish to be first person in the company present, a wish -easily satisfied at the cost of a few pounds. - -In Simon's case it was probably a compound of the lot. - -In the bar of the Bricklayer's Arms he was first person by a mile; and -this evening, owing to hay-harvest work, he was first by twenty miles, -for the only occupant of the bar was Dick Horn. - -Horn, as before hinted by Mudd, was a very dubious character. In old -days he would have been a poacher pure and simple, to-day he was that -and other things as well. Socialism had touched him. He desired, not -only other men's game and fish, but their houses and furniture. - -He was six feet two, very thin, with lantern jaws, and a dark look -suggestive of Romany antecedents--a most fascinating individual to the -philosopher, the police, and those members of the public of artistic -leanings. He was seated smoking and in company of a brown mug of beer -when Simon came in. - -They gave each other good evening, Simon rapped with a half-crown on the -counter, ordered some beer for himself, had Horn's mug replenished, and -then sat down. The landlord, having served them, left them together, and -they fell into talk on the weather. - -"Yes," said Horn, "it's fine enough for them that like it, weather's no -account to me. I'm used to weather." - -"So am I," said Simon. - -"Gentlefolk don't know what weather is," said Horn; "they can take it or -leave it. It's the pore that knows what weather is." - -They agreed on this point. - -After a while Horn got up, craned his head round the bar partition to -see that no one was listening, and sat down again. - -"You remember what I said to you about them night lines?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, I'm going to set some to-night down in the river below." - -"By Jove!" said Simon, vastly interested. - -"If you're wanting to see a bit of sport maybe you'd like to jine me?" -said Horn. - -For a moment Simon held back, playing with this idea, then he succumbed. - -"I'm with you," said he. - -"The keeper's away at Ditchin'ham that minds this bit of the stream," -said Horn. "Not that it matters, for he ain't no good, and the -constable's no more than a blind horse. He's away, so we'll have the -place proper to ourselves, and you said you was anxious to see how night -linin' was done. Well, you'll see it, if you come along with me. Mind -you, it's not every gentleman I'd take on a job like this, but you're -different. Mind you, they'd call this poachin', some of them blistered -magistrits, and I'm takin' a risk lettin' you into it." - -"I'll say nothing," said Simon. - -"It's a risk all the same," said Horn. - -"I'll pay you," said Simon. - -"'Aff a quid?" - -"Yes, here it is. What time do you start?" - -"Not for two hours," said Horn. "My bit of a place is below hill there. -Y'know the Ditchin'ham road?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, it's that shack down there on the right of the road before it -jines the village. I've got the lines there and all. You walk down there -in two hours' time and you'll find me at the gate." - -"I'll come," said Simon. - -Then these two worthies parted; Horn wiping his mouth with the back of -his hand, saying he had to see a man about some ferrets, Simon walking -back to the hotel. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -TIDD _versus_ RENSHAW - - -The head of a big office or business house cannot move out of his orbit -without creating perturbations. Brownlow, the head clerk and second in -command of the Pettigrew business, was to learn this fact to his cost. - -Brownlow was a man of forty-five, whose habits and ideas seemed -regulated by clockwork. He lived at Hampstead with his wife and three -children, and went each day to the office. That was the summary of his -life as read by an outsider. Often the bald statement covers everything. -It almost did in the case of Brownlow. He had no initiative. He kept -things together, he was absolutely perfect in routine, he had a profound -knowledge of the law, he was correct, a good husband and a good father, -but he had no initiative, and, outside of the law, very little knowledge -of the world. - -Imagine this correct gentleman, then, seated at his desk on the morning -of the day after that on which Simon made his poaching arrangements -with Horn. He was turning over some papers when Balls, the second in -command, came in. Balls was young and wore eyeglasses and had ambitions. -He and Brownlow were old friends, and when together talked as equals. - -"I've had that James man just in to see me," said Balls. "Same old game; -wanted to see Pettigrew. He knows I have the whole thread of the case in -my hands, but that's nothing to him, he wants to see Pettigrew." - -"I know," said Brownlow. "I've had the same bother. They _will_ see the -head." - -"When's he back?" asked Balls. - -"I don't know," said Brownlow. - -"Where's he gone?" - -"I don't know," said Brownlow. "I only know he's gone, same as this time -last year. He was a month away then." - -"Oh, Lord!" said Balls, who had only joined the office nine months -before and who knew nothing of last year's escapade. "A month more of -this sort of bother--a month!" - -"Yes," said Brownlow. "I had it to do last year, and he left no address, -same as now." Then, after a moment's pause, "I'm worried about him. I -can't help it, there was a strange thing happened last year. I've never -told it to a soul before. He called me in one day to his room and he -showed me a bundle of bank-notes. 'See here, Brownlow,' said he, 'did -you put these in my safe?' I'd never seen the things before and I have -no key to his private safe. I told him I hadn't. He showed me the notes, -ten thousand pounds' worth. Ten thousand pounds' worth, he couldn't -account for--asked _me_ if I'd put them in his safe. I said 'No,' as I -told you. 'Well, it's very strange,' said he. Then he stood looking at -the floor. Then he said all of a sudden, 'It doesn't matter.' Next day -he went off on a month's holiday, sending word for me to carry on." - -"Queer," said Balls. - -"More than queer," replied Brownlow. "I've put it down to mental strain; -he's a hard worker." - -"It's not mental strain," said Balls. "He's as alive as you or me and as -keen, and he doesn't overwork; it's something else." - -"Well, I wish it would stop," said Brownlow, "for I'm nearly worried to -death with clients writing to see him and trying to invent excuses, and -my work is doubled." - -"So's mine," said Balls. He went out and Brownlow continued his -business. He had not been engaged on it for long when Morgan, the -office-boy, appeared. - -"Mr. Tidd, sir, to see Mr. Pettigrew." - -"Show him in," said Brownlow. - -A moment later Mr. Tidd appeared. - -Mr. Tidd was a small, slight, old-maidish man; he walked lightly, like a -bird, and carried a tall hat with a black band in one hand and a -tightly-folded umbrella in the other. Incidentally he was one of -Pettigrew's best clients. - -"Good morning," said Mr. Tidd. "I've called to see Mr. Pettigrew with -regard to those papers." - -"Oh yes," said Brownlow. "Sit down, Mr. Tidd. Those papers--Mr. -Pettigrew has been considering them." - -"Is not Mr. Pettigrew in?" - -"No, Mr. Tidd, he's not in just at present." - -"When is he likely to return?" - -"Well, that's doubtful; he has left me in charge." - -The end of Mr. Tidd's nose moved uneasily. - -"You are in charge of my case?" - -"Yes, of the whole business." - -"I can speak confidentially?" - -"Absolutely." - -"Well, I have decided to stop proceedings--in fact, I am caught in a -hole." - -"Oh!" - -"Yes. Mrs. Renshaw has, in some illicit manner, got a document with my -signature attached--a very grave document. This is strictly between -ourselves." - -"Strictly." - -"And she threatens to use it against me." - -"Yes." - -"To use it against me, unless I return to her at once the letter of hers -which I put in Mr. Pettigrew's keeping." - -"Oh!" - -"Yes. She is a violent and very vicious woman. I have not slept all -night. I live, as you perhaps know, at Hitchin. I took the first train I -could conveniently catch to town this morning." - -The horrible fact was beginning to dawn on Brownlow that Simon had not -brought those papers back to the office. He said nothing; his lips, for -a moment, had gone dry. - -"How she got hold of that document with my name to it I cannot tell," -said Mr. Tidd, "but she will use it against me most certainly unless I -return that letter." - -"Perhaps," said Brownlow, recovering himself, "perhaps she is only -threatening--bluffing, as they call it." - -"Oh no, she's not," said the other. "If you knew her you would not say -that; no, indeed, you would not say that. She is the last woman to -threaten what she will not perform. Till that document is in her hands I -will not feel safe." - -"You must be careful," said Brownlow, fighting for time. "How would it -be if I were to see her?" - -"Useless," said Mr. Tidd. - -"May I ask----" - -"Yes?" - -"Is the document to which your name is attached, and which is in her -possession, is it--er--detrimental--I mean, plainly, is it likely to do -you a grave injury?" - -"The document," said Mr. Tidd, "was written by me in a moment of impulse -to a lady who is--another gentleman's wife." - -"It is a letter?" - -"Yes, it is a letter." - -"I see. Well, Mr. Tidd, _your_ document, the one you are anxious to -return in exchange for this document, is in the possession of Mr. -Pettigrew; it is quite safe." - -"Doubtless," said Mr. Tidd, "but I want it in my hands to return it -myself to-day." - -"I sent it with the other papers to Mr. Pettigrew's private house," said -Brownlow, "and he has not yet returned it." - -"Oh! But I want it to-day." - -"It's very unfortunate," said Brownlow, "but he's away--and I'm afraid -he must have taken the papers with him for consideration." - -"Good heavens!" said Tidd. "But if that is so what am I to do?" - -"You can't wait?" - -"How can I wait?" - -"Dear me, dear me," said Brownlow, almost driven to distraction, "this -is very unfortunate." - -Tidd seemed to concur. - -His lips had become pale. Then he broke out: "I placed my vital -interests in the hands of Mr. Pettigrew, and now at the critical moment -I find this!" said he. "Away! But you must find him--you must find him, -and find him at once." - -If he had only known what he would find he might have been less eager -perhaps. - -"I'll find him if I can," said Brownlow. He rang a bell, and when Morgan -appeared he sent for Balls. - -"Mr. Balls," said Brownlow with a spasmodic attempt at a wink, "can you -not get Mr. Pettigrew's present address?" - -Balls understood. - -"I'll see," said he. Out he went, returning in a minute. - -"I'm sorry I can't," said Balls. "Mr. Pettigrew did not leave his -address when he went away." - -"Thank you, Mr. Balls," said Brownlow. Then to Tidd, when they were -alone: "This is as hard for me as for you, Mr. Tidd; I can't think what -to do." - -"We've got to find him," said Tidd. - -"Certainly." - -"Will he by any chance have left his address at his private house?" - -"We can see," said Brownlow. "He has no telephone, but I'll go myself." - -"I will go with you," said Tidd. "You understand me, this is a matter of -life and death--ruin--my wife--that woman, and the other one." - -"I see, I see, I see," said Brownlow, taking his hat from its peg on the -wall. "Come with me; we will find him if he is to be found." - -He hurried out, followed by Mr. Tidd, and in Fleet Street he managed to -get a taxi. They got into it and drove to King Charles Street. - -There was a long pause after the knock, and then the door opened, -disclosing Mrs. Jukes. Brownlow was known to her. - -"Mrs. Jukes," said Brownlow, "can you give me Mr. Pettigrew's present -address?" - -"No, sir, I can't." - -"He was called away, was he not?" - -"I don't think so, sir; he went off on some business or other. Mudd has -gone with him." - -"Oh, dear!" said Tidd. - -"They stopped at the Charing Cross Hotel," said Mrs. Jukes, "and then I -had a message they were going into the country. It was from Mr. Mudd, -and he said they might be a month away." - -"A month away!" said Tidd, his voice strangely calm. - -"Yes, sir." - -"Good gracious!" said Brownlow. Then to Tidd, "You see how I am placed?" - -"A month away," said Tidd; he seemed unable to get over that obstacle of -thought. - -"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Jukes. - -They got into the taxi and went to the Charing Cross Hotel, where they -were informed that Mr. Pettigrew was gone and had left no address. - -Then suddenly an idea came to Brownlow--Oppenshaw. The doctor might -know; failing the doctor, they were done. - -"Come with me," said he; "I think I know a person who may have the -address." He got into the taxi again with the other, gave the Harley -Street address, and they drove off. The horrible irregularity of the -whole of this business was poisoning Brownlow's mind--hunting for the -head of a firm who ought to be at his office and who held possession of -a client's vitally important document. - -He said nothing, neither did Mr. Tidd, who was probably engaged in -reviewing the facts of his case and the position his wife would take up -when that letter was put into her hands by Mrs. Renshaw. - -They stopped at 110A, Harley Street. - -"Why, it's a doctor's house," said Tidd. - -"Yes," said Brownlow. - -They knocked at the door and were let in. - -The servant, in the absence of an appointment, said he would see what he -could do, and showed them into the waiting-room. - -"Tell Dr. Oppenshaw it is Mr. Brownlow from Mr. Pettigrew's office," -said Brownlow, "on very urgent business." - -They took their seats, and while Mr. Tidd tried to read a volume of -_Punch_ upside down, Brownlow bit his nails. - -In a marvellously short time the servant returned and asked Mr. Brownlow -to step in. - -Oppenshaw did not beat about the bush. When he heard what Brownlow -wanted he said frankly he did not know where Mr. Pettigrew was; he only -knew that he had been staying at the Charing Cross Hotel. Mudd, the -manservant, was with him. - -"It's only right that you should know the position," said Oppenshaw, "as -you say you are the chief clerk and all responsibility rests on you in -Mr. Pettigrew's absence." Then he explained. - -"But if he's like that, where's the use of finding him?" said the -horrified Brownlow. "A man with mind disease!" - -"More a malady than a disease," put in Oppenshaw. - -"Yes, but--like that." - -"Of course," said Oppenshaw, "he may at any moment turn back into -himself again, like the finger of a glove turning inside out." - -"Perhaps," said the other hopelessly, "but till he does turn----" - -At that moment the sound of a telephone-bell came from outside. - -"Till he does turn, of course, he's useless for business purposes," said -Oppenshaw; "he would have no memory, for one thing--at least, no memory -of business." - -The servant entered. - -"Please, sir, an urgent call for you." - -"One moment," said Oppenshaw. Out he went. - -He was back in less than two minutes. - -"I have his address," said he. - -"Thank goodness!" said Brownlow. - -"H'm," said Oppenshaw; "but there's not good news with it. He's staying -at the Rose Hotel, Upton-on-Hill, and he's been getting into trouble of -some sort. It was Mudd who 'phoned, and he seemed half off his head; -said he didn't like to go into details over the telephone, but wanted me -to come down to arrange matters. I told him it was quite impossible -to-day; then he seemed to collapse and cut me off." - -"What am I to do?" - -"Well, there's only two things to be done: tell this gentleman that Mr. -Pettigrew's mind is affected, or take him down there on the chance that -this shock may have restored Mr. Pettigrew." - -"I can't tell him Mr. Pettigrew's mind is affected," said Brownlow. "I'd -sooner do anything than that. I'd sooner take him down there on the -chance of his being better--perhaps even if he's not, the sight of me -and Mr. Tidd might recall him to himself." - -"Possibly," said Oppenshaw, who was in a hurry and only too glad of any -chance of cutting the business short. "Possibly. Anyhow, there is some -use in trying, and tell Mudd it's absolutely useless my going. I shall -be glad to do anything I can by letter or telephone." - -Brownlow took up his hat, then he recaptured Tidd and gave him the -cheering news that he had Simon's address. "I'll go with you myself," -said Brownlow. "Of course, the expense will fall on the office. I must -send a telegram to the office and my wife to say I won't be back -to-night. We can't get to Upton till this evening. We'll have to go as -we are, without even waiting to pack a bag." - -"That doesn't matter; that doesn't matter," said Tidd. - -They were in the street now and bundling into the waiting taxi. - -"Victoria Station," said Brownlow to the driver. Then to Tidd, "I can -telegraph from the station." - -They drove off. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -WHAT HAPPENED TO SIMON - - -"He came back two hours ago, sir, and he was in his room ten minutes -ago--but he's gone." - -"Well," said Bobby, who was just off to bed, "he'll be back again soon; -can't come to much harm here. You'd better sit up for him, Mudd." - -Off he went to bed. He lay reading for awhile and thinking of Cerise; -then he put out the light and dropped off to sleep. - -He was awakened by Mudd. Mudd with a candle in his hand. - -"He's not back yet, Mr. Robert." - -Bobby sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Not back? Oh, Uncle Simon! What's the -time?" - -"Gone one, sir." - -"Bother! What can have happened to him, Mudd?" - -"That's what I'm asking myself," said Mudd. - -A heavy step sounded on the gravel drive in front of the hotel, then -came a ring at the bell. Mudd, candle in hand, darted off. - -Bobby heard voices down below. Five minutes passed and then reappeared -Mudd--ghastly to look at. - -"They've took him," said Mudd. - -"What?" - -"He's been took poachin'." - -"Poaching!" - -"Colonel Salmon's river, he and a man, and the man's got off. He's at -the policeman's house, and he says he'll let us have him if we'll go -bail for him, seeing he's an old gentleman and only did it for the lark -of the thing." - -"Thank God!" - -"But he'll have to go before the magistrates on We'n'sday, whether or -no--before the magistrates--_him_!" - -"The devil!" said Bobby. He got up and hurried on some clothes. - -"Him before the magistrates--in his present state! _Oh_, Lord!" - -"Shut up!" said Bobby. His hands were shaking as he put on his things. -Pictures of Simon before the magistrates were fleeting before him. Money -was the only chance. Could the policeman be bribed? - -Hurrying downstairs and outside into the moonlit night, he found the -officer. None of the hotel folk had turned out at the ring of the bell. -Bobby, in a muted voice and beneath the stars, listened to the tale of -the Law, then he tried corruption. - -Useless. Constable Copper, though he might be no more good than a blind -horse, according to Horn, was incorruptible yet consolatory. - -"It'll only be a couple of quid fine," said he. "Maybe not that, seeing -what he is and it was done for a lark. Horn will get it in the neck, but -not him. He's at my house now, and you can have him back if you'll go -bail he won't get loose again. He's a nice old gentleman, but a bit -peculiar, I think." - -Constable Copper seemed quite light-hearted over the matter, and to -think little of it as an offence. A couple of quid would cover it! He -did not, perhaps, appreciate fully the light and shade of the -situation--a J.P. and member of the Athenæum and of the Society of -Antiquaries brought up for poaching in company with an evil character -named Horn! - -Neither did Simon, whom they found seated on the side of the table in -the Coppers' sitting-room talking to Mrs. Copper, who was wrapped in a -shawl. - -He went back to the hotel with them rather silent but not depressed; he -tried, indeed, to talk and laugh over the affair. This was the last -straw, and Bobby burst out, giving him a "jawing" complete and of the -first pattern. Then they saw him to bed and put out the light. - -At breakfast he was quite himself again, and the summons which arrived -at eleven o'clock was not shown to him. No one knew of the affair with -the exception of the whole village, all the hotel servants, Bobby and -Mudd. - -The distracted Mudd spent the morning walking about, hither and thither, -trying to collect his wits and make a plan. Simon had given his name, of -course, though indeed it did not matter much as he was a resident at the -hotel. It was impossible to deport him or move him or pretend he was -ill; nothing was possible but the bench of magistrates--Colonel Salmon -presiding--and Publicity. - -At half-past eleven or quarter to twelve he sent the despairing message -to Oppenshaw; then he collapsed into a cold sort of resignation with hot -fits at times. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -TIDD _versus_ BROWNLOW - - -At four o'clock that day a carriage drove up to the hotel and two -gentlemen alighted. They were shown into the coffee-room and Mudd was -sent for. He came, expecting to find police officers, and found Brownlow -and Mr. Tidd. - -"One moment, Mr. Tidd," said Brownlow, then he took Mudd outside into -the hall. - -"He's not fit to be seen," said Mudd, when the other had explained. "No -client must see him. He's right enough to look at and speak to, but he's -not himself. What made you bring him here, Mr. Brownlow--now, of all -times?" - -Brownlow started and turned. Mr. Tidd had opened the coffee-room door, -and how much of their conversation he had heard Heaven knows. - -"One moment," said Brownlow. - -"I will wait no longer," said Mr. Tidd. "This must be explained. Is Mr. -Pettigrew here or is he not? No, I will not wait." - -A waiter passed at that moment with an afternoon-tea-tray. - -"Is Mr. Pettigrew in this hotel?" asked Tidd. - -"He's in the garden, I believe, sir." - -Brownlow tried to get in front of Tidd to round him off from the garden; -Mudd tried to take his arm. He pushed them aside. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -IN THE ARBOUR - - -We must go back to three o'clock. At three o'clock Bobby, walking in the -garden smoking a cigarette, had crossed the front of the arbour--Arbour -No. 1. The grass path, soundless as a Turkey carpet, did not betray his -footsteps. - -There were two people in the arbour and they were "canoodling"--Simon -and Julia Delyse. She was keeping her hand in, perhaps, or the -attraction Simon had always had for her had betrayed her into allowing -him to hold her hand. Anyhow, he was holding it. Bobby looked at her, -and Julia snatched her hand away. Simon laughed; he seemed to think it a -good joke, and his vain soul was doubtless pleased with having got the -better of Bobby with Bobby's girl. - -Bobby passed on, saying, "I beg your pardon." It was the only thing he -could think of to say. Then, when out of hearing, he too laughed. He had -got the better of Julia. That brooding presence would brood no more. - -An hour later Simon, walking in the garden alone and in meditation, -reached the bowling-green. He drew close to Arbour No. 2. The grass -silencing his footsteps, he passed the arbour opening and looked in. The -two people there did not see him for a moment, then they unlocked. - -It was Cerise and Bobby. - -Simon stood, mouth open, stock still, cigar dropped on grass. - -He had laughed when Bobby had caught him with Julia. He did not laugh -now. - -The shock of the poaching business had left him untouched, unshaken, but -Cerise, in some strange way, was his centre of gravity, his compass, and -sometimes his rudder. He loved Cerise; the other girls were phantoms. -Perhaps Cerise was the only real thing in his mental state. - -For a moment he stood, his hand to his head like a man stunned. - -Bobby ran to him and caught him. - -"Where am I?" said Uncle Simon. "Oh--oh--I see." He leaned heavily on -Bobby, looking about him in a dazed way like a man half awakened. Madame -Rossignol, who had just come out of the hotel, seeing his condition, ran -towards him, and Simon, as though recognising a guardian angel, held out -his hand. - -Then Bobby and the old lady gently, very gently, began to lead him back -to the house. - -As they drew near the back entrance three men, one following the other, -came out. - -Simon stopped. - -He had recognised Tidd; he seemed also to recognise more fully his own -position and to remember. Bobby felt his hand tightly clasping his own. - -"Why, this is Mr. Tidd," said Simon. - -"Mr. Pettigrew," said Tidd, "where are my papers--the papers in the case -of Renshaw?" - -"Tidd _v._ Renshaw," said Simon's accurate mind. "They are in the top -left-hand drawer of my bureau in Charles Street, Westminster." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -CHAPTER THE LAST - - -"You are all absolutely wrong." Julia Delyse was speaking. She had been -sitting mumchance at a general meeting of the Pettigrew confraternity -held half an hour before Bench in a sitting-room of the Rose Hotel. - -Simon had vetoed the idea of a solicitor to defend him--it would only -create more talk, and from what he could make out his case was -defenceless. He would throw himself on the mercy of the court. The rest -had concurred. - -"Throw yourself on the mercy of the court! Have you ever lived in the -country? Do you know what these old magistrates are like? Don't you know -that the _Wessex Chronicle_ will publish yards about it, to say nothing -of the local rag? I've thought out the whole thing. I've wired for Dick -Pugeot." - -"You wired?" said Bobby. - -"Last night. You remember I asked you for his address--and there he is." - -The toot of a motor-horn came from outside. - -Julia rose and left the room. - -Bobby followed and stopped her in the passage. - -"Julia," said he, "if you can get him out of this and save his name -being in the papers, you'll be a brick. You are a brick, and I've been -a--a----" - -"I know," said Julia, "but you could not help yourself--nor can I. I'm -not Cerise. Love is lunacy and the world's all wrong. Now go back and -tell your uncle to say nothing in court and to pretend he's a fool. If -Pugeot is the man you say he is, he'll save his name. Old Mr. Pettigrew -has got to be camouflaged." - -"Good heavens, Julia," cried Bobby, the vision of gnus emulating zebras -rising before him, "you can't mean to paint him?" - -"Never mind what I mean," said Julia. - - -The Upton Bench was an old Bench. It had been in existence since the -time of Mr. Justice Shallow. It held its sittings in the court-room of -the Upton Police Court, and there it dispensed justice, of a sort, of a -Wednesday morning upon "drunks," petty pilferers, poachers, tramps, and -any other unfortunates appearing before it. - -Colonel Grouse was the chairman. With him this morning sat Major -Partridge-Cooper, Colonel Salmon, Mr. Teal, and General Grampound. The -reporters of the local rag and the _Wessex Chronicle_ were in their -places. The Clerk of the Court, old Mr. Quail, half-blind and fumbling -with his papers, was at his table; a few village constables, including -Constable Copper, were by the door, and there was no general public. - -The general public was free to enter, but none of the villagers ever -came. It was an understood thing that the Bench discouraged idlers and -inquisitive people. - -The inalienable right of the public to enter a Court of Justice and see -Themis at work had never been pushed. The Bench was much more than the -Bench--it was the Gentry and the Power of Upton,[1] against which no man -could run counter. Horn alone, in pot-houses and public places, had -fought against this shibboleth; he had found a few agreers, but no -backers. - -At eleven to the moment the Pettigrew contingent filed in and took their -places, and after them a big yellow man, the Hon. Dick Pugeot. He was -known to the magistrates, but Justice is blind and no mark of -recognition was shown, whilst a constable, detaching himself from the -others, went to the door and shouted: - -"Richard Horn." - -Horn, who had been caught and bailed, and who had evidently washed -himself and put on his best clothes, entered, made for the dock, as a -matter of long practice, and got into it. - -"Simon Pettigrew," called the Clerk. - -Simon rose and followed Horn. Instructed by Julia to say nothing, he -said nothing. - -Then Pugeot rose. - -"I beg your pardon," said Pugeot; "you have got my friend's name wrong. -Pattigraw, please; he's a Frenchman, though long resident in England; -and it's not Simon--but Sigismond." - -"Rectify the charge-sheet," said Colonel Grouse. "First witness." - -Simon, dazed, and horrified as a solicitor by this line of action, tried -to speak, but failed. The brilliant idea of Julia's, taken up with -enthusiasm by Pugeot, was evidently designed to fool the newspaper men -and save the name of Simon the Solicitor. Still, it was horrible, and he -felt as though Pugeot were trying to carry him pick-a-back across an -utterly impossible bridge. - -He guessed now why this had been sprung on him. They knew that as a -lawyer he would never have agreed to such a statement. - -Then Copper, hoisting himself into the witness-stand, hitching his belt -and kissing the Testament, began: - -"I swear before A'mighty Gawd that the evidence I shall give shall be -the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me Gawd, -Amen on the evening of the 16th pursuin' my beat by Porter's Meadows I -see defendant in the company of Horn----" - -"What were they doing?" asked old Mr. Teal, who was busily taking notes -just like any real judge. - -"Walkin' towards the river, sir." - -"In which direction?" - -"Up stream, sir." - -"Go on." - -Copper went on. - -"Crossin' the meadows, they kept to the river, me after them----" - -"How far behind?" asked Major Partridge-Cooper. - -"Half a field's length, sir, till they reached the bend of the stream -beyond which the prisoner Horn began to set his night lines, assisted by -the prisoner Puttigraw. 'Hullo,' says I, and Horn bolted, and I closed -with the other one." - -"Did he make resistance?" - -"No, sir. I walked him up to my house quite quiet." - -"That all?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"You can stand down." - -The prisoners had pleaded guilty and there was no other evidence. Simon -began to see light. He could perceive at once that it would be a -question of a fine, that the magistrates and Press had swallowed him as -specified by Pugeot, that his name was saved. But he reckoned without -Pugeot. - -Pugeot had done everything in life except act as an advocate, and he was -determined not to let the chance escape. Several brandies-and-sodas at -the hotel had not lessened his enthusiasm for Publicity, and he rose. - -"Mr. Chairman and Justices," said Pugeot. "I would like to say a few -words on behalf of my friend, the prisoner, whom I have known for many -years and who now finds himself in this unfortunate position through no -fault of his own." - -"How do you make that out?" asked Colonel Grouse. - -"I beg your pardon?" said Pugeot, checked in his eloquence. "Oh yes, I -see what you mean. Well, as a matter of fact, as a matter of fact--well, -not to put too fine a point upon it, leaving aside the fact that he is -the last man to do a thing of this sort, he has had money troubles in -France." - -"Do you wish to make out a case of _non compos mentis_?" asked old Mr. -Teal. "There is no medical evidence adduced." - -"Not in the least," said Pugeot; "he's as right as I am, only he has had -worries." Then, confidentially, and speaking to the Bench as fellow-men: -"If you will make it a question of a fine, I will guarantee everything -will be all right--and besides"--a brilliant thought--"his wife will -look after him." - -"Is his wife present?" asked Colonel Grouse. - -"That is the lady, I believe," said Colonel Salmon, looking in the -direction of the Rossignols, whom he dimly remembered having seen at the -Squire Simpson's with Simon. - -Pugeot, cornered, turned round and looked at the blushing Madame -Rossignol. - -"Yes," said he, without turning a hair, "that is the lady." - -Then the recollection struck him with a thud that he had introduced the -Rossignols as Rossignols to the Squire Simpson's and that they were -registered at the hotel as Rossignols. He felt as though he were in a -skidding car, but nothing happened, no accusing voice rose to give him -the lie, and the Bench retired to consider its sentence, which was one -guinea fine for Sigismond and a month for Horn. - -"You've married them," said Julia, as they walked back to the hotel, -leaving the others to follow. "I _never_ meant you to say that. But -perhaps it's for the best; she's a good woman and will look after him, -and he'll _have_ to finish the business, won't he?" - -"Rather, and a jolly good job!" said Pugeot. "Now I've got to bribe the -hotel man and stuff old Simpson with the hard facts. Never had such fun -in my life. I say, old thing, where do you hang out in London?" - -Julia gave him her address. - - -That was the beginning of the end of Pugeot as a bachelor--also of -Simon, who never would have been brought up to the scratch but for -Pugeot's speech--also of Mr. Ravenshaw, who never in his wildest dreams -could have foreseen his marriage to Simon's step-daughter a week after -Simon's marriage to her mother. - -Mudd alone remains unmarried out of all these people, for the simple -and efficient reason that there is no one to marry him to. He lives with -the Pettigrews in Charles Street, and his only trouble in life is dread -of another outbreak on the part of Simon. This has not occurred -yet--will never occur, if there is any truth in the dictum of Oppenshaw -that marriage is the only cure for the delusions of youth. - - -THE END - -FOOTNOTE: - -[1] This was before the Politicians had amended the Bench. - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN WHO FOUND HIMSELF *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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De Vere Stacpoole</title> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> -<style type="text/css"> - - p { margin-top: .75em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .75em; - } - - p.bold {text-align: center; font-weight: bold;} - p.bold2 {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;} - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; - } - h1 span, h2 span { display: block; text-align: center; } - #id1 { font-size: smaller } - - - hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; - } - - hr.full { - width: 100%; - margin-top: 0.5em; - margin-bottom: 0.5em; - margin-left: 0%; - margin-right: 0%; - clear: both; - } - - body{margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; - } - - table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 5px; border-collapse: collapse; border: none; text-align: right;} - - .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - text-indent: 0px; - } /* page numbers */ - - .center {text-align: center;} - .smaller {font-size: smaller;} - .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - .box {max-width: 20em; margin: 1.5em auto; border: 1px black solid; padding: 10px;} - .space-above {margin-top: 3em;} - .right {text-align: right;} - .left {text-align: left;} - - </style> - </head> -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Man Who Found Himself, by Margaret Stacpoole and Henry De Vere Stacpoole</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Man Who Found Himself<br /> - (Uncle Simon)</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Margaret Stacpoole and Henry De Vere Stacpoole</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 3, 2017 [eBook #55039]<br /> -[Most recently updated: March 15, 2023]</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Roger Frank, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN WHO FOUND HIMSELF ***</div> - -<div class="center"><a name="cover.jpg"></a><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p class="bold2">THE MAN WHO FOUND HIMSELF</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="box"> -<h2><i>By H. DE VERE STACPOOLE</i></h2> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Beach of Dreams</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">The Ghost Girl</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">The Man Who Lost Himself</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">The Gold Trail</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Sea Plunder</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">The Pearl Fishers</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">The Presentation</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">The New Optimism</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Poppyland</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">The Poems of François Villon</span></p> - -<p class="center"><i>Translated by<br />H. De Vere Stacpoole</i></p></div> - -<hr /> - -<h1>The Man<br />Who Found Himself</h1> - -<p class="bold2">(Uncle Simon)</p> - -<p class="bold space-above"><i>By</i><br />MARGARET<br />AND<br />H. DE VERE STACPOOLE</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">NEW YORK<br />JOHN LANE COMPANY<br />MCMXX</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center">Copyright, 1920,<br /><span class="smcap">By Street & Smith</span></p> - -<p class="center">Copyright, 1920,<br /><span class="smcap">By John Lane Company</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="center">PART I</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="left"><span class="smaller">CHAPTER</span></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Simon</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Mudd</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Dr. Oppenshaw</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Dr. Oppenshaw</span>—<i>continued</i></td> - <td><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>V.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">I Will Not Be Him</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VI.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Tidd and Renshaw</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VII.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Wallet</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="center">PART II</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Soul's Awakening</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Moxon and Mudd</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Simon's Old-Fashioned Night in Town</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="center">PART III</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Last Sovereign</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Uncle Simon</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Hundred-Pound Note</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Hundred-Pound Note</span>—<i>continued</i></td> - <td><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>V.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Home of the Nightingales</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VI.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Flight of the Dragonfly</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VII.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Nine Hundred Pounds</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VIII.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Pall Mall Place</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IX.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Julia</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="center">PART IV</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Garden-Party</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Horn</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Julia</span>—<i>continued</i></td> - <td><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Horn</span>—<i>continued</i></td> - <td><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>V.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Tidd</span> <i>versus</i> <span class="smcap">Renshaw</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VI.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">What Happened to Simon</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_234">234</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VII.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Tidd</span> <i>versus</i> <span class="smcap">Brownlow</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VIII.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">In the Arbour</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IX.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Chapter the Last</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PART I</h2> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">THE MAN WHO FOUND<br />HIMSELF</p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">SIMON</span></h2> - -<p>King Charles Street lies in Westminster; you turn a corner and find -yourself in Charles Street as one might turn a corner and find oneself -in History. The cheap, the nasty, and the new vanish, and fine old -comfortable houses of red brick, darkened by weather and fog, take you -into their keeping, tell you that Queen Anne is not dead, amuse you with -pictures of Sedan chairs and running footmen and discharge you at the -other end into the twentieth century from whence you came.</p> - -<p>Simon Pettigrew lived at No. 12, where his father, his grandfather, and -his great-grandfather had lived before him—lawyers all of them. So -respected, so rooted in the soil of the Courts as to be less a family of -lawyers than a minor English Institution. Divorce your mind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> entirely -from all petty matters of litigation in connection with the Pettigrews, -Simon or any of his forebears would have appeared just as readily in -their shirt-sleeves in Fleet Street as in County or Police Court for or -against the defendant; they were old family lawyers and they had a fair -proportion of the old English families in their keeping—deed-boxes -stuffed with papers, secrets to make one's hair curl.</p> - -<p>To the general public this great and potent firm was almost unknown, yet -Pettigrew and Pettigrew had cut off enough heirs to furnish material for -a dozen Braddon novels, had smothered numerous screaming tragedies in -high life and buried them at dead of night, and all without a wrinkle on -the brow of the placid old firm that drove its curricle through the -reigns of the Georges, took snuff in the days of Palmerston, and in the -days of Edward Rex still refused to employ the typewriter.</p> - -<p>Simon, the last of the firm, unmarried and without near relation, was at -the time of this story turned sixty—a clean-shaven, bright-eyed, -old-fashioned type of man, sedate, famed for his cellar, and a member of -the Athenæum. A man you never, never would have imagined to possess such -a thing as a Past. Never would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> have imagined to have been filled with -that semi-diabolical, semi-angelical joy of life which leads to the -follies of youth.</p> - -<p>All the same, Simon, between the ages of twenty-one and twenty-two, had -raked the town vigorously more than viciously, haunted Evans' -supper-rooms, fallen madly in love with an actress, enjoyed life as only -the young can enjoy life in the gorgeous, dazzling, deceitful country of -Youth.</p> - -<p>Driving in hansom cabs was then a pleasure! New clothes and outrageous -shirts and ties a delight, actresses goddesses. Then, one day his -actress turned out an actress, and the following night he came out of -the Cocoa Tree owing a gambling debt of a thousand pounds that he could -not pay. His father paid on his promising to turn over a new leaf, which -he did. But his youth was checked, his brightness eclipsed, and -arm-in-arm with common sense he set out on the long journey that led him -at last to the high position of a joyless, loveless, desolate, wealthy -solicitor of sixty—respected, very much respected. In fact, less a man -than a firm. Yet there still remained to him as a legacy of his youth, a -very pretty wit of his own, an irresponsible turn of talk when he gave -himself away—as at dinner-parties.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">MUDD</span></h2> - -<p>Mudd was Simon's factotum, butler, and minister of inferior affairs. -Mudd was sixty-five and a bit; he had been in the services of the -Pettigrew family forty-five years, and had grown up, so to say, side by -side with Simon. For the last twenty years every morning Mudd had -brought up his master's tea, drawn up his blinds and set out his -clothes—seven thousand times or thereabouts, allowing for holidays and -illnesses. He was a clean-shaven old man, with rounded shoulders and a -way that had become blunt with long use; he only "sirred" Simon in the -presence of guests and servants, and had an open way of speaking on -matters of everyday affairs verging on the conjugal in its occasional -frankness.</p> - -<p>This morning, the third of June, Mudd, having drawn up his master's -blinds and set out his boots and shaving things, vanished and returned -with his clothes, brushed and folded, and a jug<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> of shaving water which -he placed on the wash-handstand.</p> - -<p>"The arms will be out of this old coat if you go on wearing it much -longer," grumbled Mudd, as he placed the things on a chair. "It's been -in wear nearly a year and a half; you're heavy on the left elbow—it's -the desk does it."</p> - -<p>"I'll see," said Simon.</p> - -<p>He knew quite well the suggestion that lay in the tone and the words of -Mudd, but a visit to his tailors was almost on a par with a visit to his -dentists, and new clothes were an abhorrence. It took him a fortnight to -get used to a new coat, and as to being shabby, why, a decent shabbiness -was part of his personality and, vaguely perhaps, of his pride in life. -He could afford to be shabby.</p> - -<p>Mudd having vanished, Simon rose and began his toilet, tubbing in a tin -bath—a flat Victorian tin bath—and shaving with a razor taken from a -case of seven, each marked with a day of the week.</p> - -<p>This razor was marked "Tuesday."</p> - -<p>Having carefully dried "Tuesday" and put it back between "Monday" and -"Wednesday," Simon closed the case with the care and precision that -marked all his actions, finished<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> dressing, and looked out of the window -to see what sort of day it was.</p> - -<p>A peep of glorious blue sky caught across the roofs of the opposite -houses informed him, leaving him unenthusiastic, and then, having wound -up his watch, he came downstairs to the Jacobean dining-room, where tea, -toast, frizzled bacon, and a well-aired <i>Times</i> were awaiting him.</p> - -<p>At a quarter to ten precisely Mudd opened the hall door, verified the -fact that the brougham was in waiting and informed his master, helped -him into his overcoat—a light summer overcoat—and closed the carriage -door on him.</p> - -<p>A little after ten Simon reached Old Serjeants' Inn and entered his -office.</p> - -<p>Brownlow, the chief clerk, had just arrived, and Simon, nodding to him, -passed into his private room, where his letters were laid out, hung up -his hat and coat, and set to business.</p> - -<p>It was a sight to watch his face as he read letter after letter, laying -each in order under a marble paper-weight. One might have fancied -oneself watching Law at work, in seclusion and unadorned with robes. He -did not need glasses—his eyes were still the eyes of a young man.</p> - -<p>Having finished his letters, he rang for his stenographer and began -dictating replies, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>sending out now and again for Brownlow to consult -upon details; then, this business finished and alone again, he sat -resting for a moment, leaning back in his chair and trimming his nails -with the little penknife that lay on the table. It was his custom at -twelve o'clock precisely to have a glass of old brown sherry. It was a -custom of the firm; Andrew Pettigrew had done the same in his day and -had handed on the habit to his son. If a favoured client were present -the client would be asked to have a glass, and the bottle and two -glasses were kept in the John Tann safe in the corner of the room. Ye -gods! Fancy in your modern solicitor's office a wine-bottle in the -principal safe and the solicitor asking a client to "have a drink"! Yet -the green-seal sherry, famous amidst the <i>cognoscenti</i>, and the safe and -the atmosphere of the room and the other-day figure of Simon, all were -in keeping, part of a unique and Georgian whole, like the component -parts of a Toby jug.</p> - -<p>The old silver-faced clock on the mantel, having placed its finger on -midday, set up its silvery lisp, and Simon, rousing himself from his -reverie, rose, drew a bunch of keys from his pocket and opened the safe.</p> - -<p>Then he stood looking at what was to be seen inside.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p><p>The safe contained two deed-boxes, one on top of the other, on the iron -fire-and-burglar-proof floor, and by the deed-boxes stood the sherry -bottle and the cut-glass satellite wine-glasses, whilst upon the topmost -deed-box reposed a black leather wallet.</p> - -<p>Simon's eyes were fixed on the wallet, the thing seemed to hold him -spellbound; one might have fancied him gazing into the devilish-diamond -eyes of a coiled snake. The wallet had not been there when he closed the -safe last; there had been nothing in the safe but the boxes, the bottle -and the glasses, and of the safe there were but two keys, one at the -bank, one in his pocket. The manager of Cumber's Bank, a bald-headed -magnate with side-whiskers, even if he had means of access to the safe, -could not have been the author of this little trick, simply because the -key at the bank was out of his reach, being safely locked away in the -Pettigrew private deed-chest, and the key of the Pettigrew private -deed-chest was on the same bunch as that now hanging from the safe door.</p> - -<p>The lock was unpickable.</p> - -<p>Yet the look on Simon's face was less that of surprise at the thing -found than terror of the thing seen. Brownlow's head on a charger could -not have affected him much more.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p><p>Then, stretching out his hand, he took the wallet, brought it to the -table and opened it.</p> - -<p>It contained bank-notes, beautiful, new, crisp Bank of England notes; -but the joy of the ordinary man in discovering a great unexpected wad of -bank-notes was not apparent in the face of Simon, unless beads of -perspiration are indications of joy. He turned to the sherry-bottle, -filled two glasses with a shaky hand and drained them; then he turned -again to the notes.</p> - -<p>He sat down and, pushing the wallet aside, began to count them. Began to -count them feverishly, as though the result of the tally were a matter -of vast importance. There were four notes of a thousand, the rest were -hundreds and a few tens. Ten thousand pounds, that was the total.</p> - -<p>He put the notes back in the case, buckled it, jumped up like a released -spring, flung the wallet on top of the deed-box and closed the safe with -a snap.</p> - -<p>Then he stood, hands in pockets, examining the pattern of the Turkey -carpet.</p> - -<p>At this moment a knock came to the door and a junior clerk appeared.</p> - -<p>"What the devil do you want?" asked Simon.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p><p>The clerk stated his case. A Mr. Smith had called, craving an -interview.</p> - -<p>"Ask Mr. Brownlow to see him," replied Simon; "but ask Mr. Brownlow to -step in here first."</p> - -<p>In a moment Brownlow appeared.</p> - -<p>"Brownlow," said Simon, "look up Dr. Oppenshaw's telephone number and -ask him can he give me ten minutes' interview before luncheon. Say it is -most urgently important. <span class="smaller">110A</span>, Harley Street, is his address—and, see -here, have a taxicab called—that's all."</p> - -<p>Whilst Brownlow was away on his mission Simon put on his overcoat, put -on his hat, blew his nose lustily in the red bandanna handkerchief that -was part of his personality, opened the safe and took another peep at -the wallet, as if to make sure that the fairy hand that had placed it -there had not spirited it away again, and was in the act of locking the -safe when the senior clerk entered to say that Dr. Oppenshaw would be -visible at a quarter to one, and that Morgan, the office-boy, had -procured the cab.</p> - -<p>Brownlow, though he managed to conceal his feelings, was disturbed by -the manner of his chief and by the telephone message to the doctor; by -the whole affair, in fact, for Simon never left the office till the -stroke of one, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> the brougham called to take him to Simpson's in the -Strand for luncheon.</p> - -<p>Was Simon ill? He ventured to put the question and nearly had his head -snapped off.</p> - -<p>Ill! No, of course he wasn't ill, never better in his life; what on -earth put that idea into Brownlow's head?</p> - -<p>Then the testy one departed in search of the taxi, and Brownlow returned -to his room and his duties.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">DR. OPPENSHAW</span></h2> - -<p>Just as rabbit-burrows on the Arizona plain give shelter to a mixed -tenantry, a rabbit, an owl, and a snake often occupying the same hole, -so the Harley Street houses are, as a rule, divided up between dentists, -oculists, surgeons, and physicians, so that under the same roof you can, -if you are so minded, have your teeth extracted, your lungs percussed, -your eyes put right, and your surgical ailment seen to, each on a -different floor. Number <span class="smaller">110A</span>, Harley Street, however, contained only one -occupant—Dr. Otto Oppenshaw. Dr. Oppenshaw had no need of a sharer in -his rent burdens; a neurologist in the most nerve-ridden city of Europe, -he was making an income of some twenty-five thousand a year.</p> - -<p>People were turned away from his door as from a theatre where a wildly -successful play is running. The main craving of fashionable neurotics, a -craving beyond, though often inspired by the craving for, the opium -alkaloids<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> and cocaine, was to see Oppenshaw. Yet he was not much to -see: a little bald man like a turnip, with the manners of a butcher, and -gold-rimmed spectacles.</p> - -<p>Dukes inspired with the desire to see Oppenshaw had to wait their turn -often behind tradesmen, yet he was at Simon Pettigrew's command. Simon -was his sometime lawyer. It was half-past twelve, or maybe a bit more, -when the taxi drew up at <span class="smaller">110A</span> and the lawyer, after a sharp legal -discussion over tuppence with the driver, mounted the steps and pressed -the bell.</p> - -<p>The door was at once opened by a pale-faced man in black, who conducted -the visitor to the waiting-room, where a single patient was seated -reading a last year's volume of <i>Punch</i> and not seeming to realise the -jokes.</p> - -<p>This person was called out presently, and then came Simon's turn.</p> - -<p>Oppenshaw got up from his desk and came forward to meet him.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry to bother you," said Simon, when they had exchanged -greetings. "It's a difficult matter I have come to consult you about, -and an important one, else I would not have cut into your time like -this."</p> - -<p>"State your case," said the other jovially, retaking his seat and -pointing out a chair.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p><p>"That's the devil of it," replied Simon; "it's a case that lies out of -the jurisdiction of common sense and common knowledge. Look at me. Do I -look as though I were a dreamer or creature of fancies?"</p> - -<p>"You certainly don't," said Oppenshaw frankly.</p> - -<p>"Yet what I have to tell you disgusts me—will disgust you."</p> - -<p>"I'm used to that, I'm used to that," said the other. "Nothing you can -say will alarm, disgust, or leave me incredulous."</p> - -<p>"Well, here it is," said the patient, plunging into the matter as a man -into cold water. "A year ago—a year and four weeks, for it was on the -third of May—I went down to my office one morning and transacted my -business as usual. At twelve o'clock I—er—had occasion to open my -safe, a safe of which I alone possess the key. On the top of a deed-box -in that safe I found a brown-paper parcel tied with red tape. I was -astonished, for I had put no parcel in."</p> - -<p>"You might have forgotten," said Oppenshaw.</p> - -<p>"I never forget," replied Simon.</p> - -<p>"Go on," said Oppenshaw.</p> - -<p>"I opened the parcel. It contained <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>bank-notes to the amount of ten -thousand pounds."</p> - -<p>"H'm—h'm."</p> - -<p>"Ten thousand pounds. I could not believe my eyes. I sent for my chief -clerk, Brownlow. He could not believe his eyes, and I fear he even -doubted the statement of the whole case. Now listen. I determined to go -to my bank, Cumber's, and make enquiries as to my balance, ridden by the -seemingly absurd idea that I myself had drawn this amount and forgotten -the fact. I may say at once this was the truth, I <i>had</i> drawn it, -unknown to myself. Well, that was the third of May, and when and where -do you think I found myself next?"</p> - -<p>"Go on," said Oppenshaw.</p> - -<p>"In Paris on the third of June."</p> - -<p>"Ah—ah."</p> - -<p>"Everything between those dates was a blank."</p> - -<p>"Your case is not absolutely common," said Oppenshaw. "Rare, but not -without precedent—read the papers. Why, only yesterday a woman was -found on a seat at Brighton. She had left London a week ago; the -interval was to her a complete blank, yet she had travelled about and -lived like an ordinary mortal in possession of her ordinary senses."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p><p>"Wait a bit," said Simon. "I was not found on a seat in Paris. I found -myself in a gorgeously-furnished sitting-room of the Bristol Hotel, and -I was dressed in clothes that might have suited a young man—a fool of -twenty, and I very soon found that I had been acting—acting like a -fool. Of the ten thousand only five thousand remained."</p> - -<p>"Five thousand in a month," said Oppenshaw. "Well, you paid the price of -your temporary youth. Tell me," said he, "and be quite frank. What were -you like when you were young? I mean in mind and conduct?"</p> - -<p>Simon moved wearily.</p> - -<p>"I was a fool for a while," said he. "Then I suddenly checked myself and -became sensible."</p> - -<p>Oppenshaw rapped twice with his fingers on his desk as if in triumph -over his own perception.</p> - -<p>"That clears matters," said he. "You were undoubtedly suffering from -Lethmann's disease."</p> - -<p>"Good Lord!" said Simon. "What's that?"</p> - -<p>"It's a form of aberration—most interesting. You have heard of double -personalities, of which a great deal of nonsense has been written? Well, -Lethmann's disease is just this: a man, say, of twenty, suddenly checked -in the course<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> of his youth, becomes practically another person. You, -for instance, became, or fancied you became, another person; you -suddenly 'checked yourself and became sensible,' as you put it, but you -did not destroy that old foolish self. Nothing is destructible in mind -as long as the brain-tissue is normal; you put it in prison, and after -the lapse of many years, owing, perhaps, to some slight declension in -brain power, it broke out, dominated you, and lived again. Youth must be -served.</p> - -<p>"It would have been perhaps better for you to have let your youth run -its course and expend itself normally. You have paid the price of your -own will-power. I am very much interested in this. Tell me as faithfully -as you can what you did in Paris, or at least what you gathered that you -did. When you came to, did you remember your actions during the month of -aberration?"</p> - -<p>"When I came to," said Simon, speaking almost with his teeth set, "I was -like a person stunned. Then I remembered, bit by bit, what I had been -doing, but it was like vaguely remembering what another man had been -doing."</p> - -<p>"Right," said Oppenshaw, "that tallies with your case. Go on."</p> - -<p>"I had been doing foolish things. I had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> living, so to say, on the -surface of life, without a thought of anything but pleasure, without the -slightest recollection of myself as I am. I had been doing things that I -might have done at twenty—extravagant follies; yet I believe not any -really vicious acts. I had been drinking too much champagne, for one -thing, and there were several ladies.... Good Lord! Oppenshaw, I'd blush -to confess it to anyone else, but I'd been going on like a boy, picking -flowers at Fontainebleau—writing verses to one of these hussies. I -could remember that. Me!—verses about blue skies and streams and -things! Me! It's horrible!"</p> - -<p>"Used you to write verses when you were young?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Simon, "I believe I used to make that sort of fool of -myself."</p> - -<p>"You were full of the joy of living?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose so."</p> - -<p>"You see, everything tallies. Yes, without any manner of doubt it's a -case of Lethmann's disease rounded and complete. Now, tell me, when you -came to, you could remember all your actions in Paris; how far back did -that memory go?"</p> - -<p>"I could remember dimly right back to when I was leaving the office in -Old Serjeants' Inn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> with the bundle of bank-notes to go to the bank. -Then all of a sudden it would seem I forgot all about my past and -became, as you insist, myself at twenty. I went to the Charing Cross -Hotel, where I had already, it would seem, hired rooms for myself, and -where I had directed new clothes to be sent, and then I went to Paris."</p> - -<p>"This is most important," said Oppenshaw. "You had already hired rooms -for yourself and ordered clothes. Those acts must have been committed -before the great change came on you, and of course without your -knowledge."</p> - -<p>"They must. Also the act of drawing the ten thousand from the bank."</p> - -<p>"The concealed other self must have been working like a mole in the dark -for some days at least," said Oppenshaw, "utterly without your -knowledge."</p> - -<p>"Utterly."</p> - -<p>"Then having prepared in a vague sort of way a means for enjoying -itself, it burst out; it was like a butterfly coming out of a -chrysalis—excuse the simile."</p> - -<p>"Something like that."</p> - -<p>"So far so good. Well, now, when you came to your old self in Paris, -what did you do?"</p> - -<p>"I came back to London, of course."</p> - -<p>"But surely your sudden disappearance must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> have caused alarm? Why, it -would have been in the papers."</p> - -<p>"Not a bit," said Simon grimly. "My other self, as you call it, had -prepared for that. It seems the night before the thing happened I told -Mudd—you know Mudd, the butler—that I might be called away suddenly -and be absent a considerable time, that I would buy clothes and -nightshirts and things, if that was so, at the place I was going to, and -that he was to tell the office if I went away, and to tell Brownlow to -carry on. Infernal, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>"Infernally ingenious," said Oppenshaw; "but if you had ever studied the -subject of duplex personality you would not be surprised. I have seen a -young religious girl make most complex preparations for a journey as a -missionary to China, utterly without her own knowledge. We caught her at -the station, fortunately, just in time—but how did you find out that -you gave Mudd those instructions?"</p> - -<p>"The whole way back from Paris," said Simon, "I was preparing to meet -all sorts of enquiry and bother as to my absence. Then, when I reached -home, Mudd did not seem to think it out of the way; he told me he had -followed my directions and notified the office when I did not return, -and told them that I might be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> some time away. Then I got out of him -what I had said about the clothes and so on."</p> - -<p>"Tell me," said Oppenshaw suddenly, "why did you come to me to-day to -tell me all this?"</p> - -<p>"Because," said Simon, "on opening my safe this morning I found in a -wallet on the top of the deed-box another bundle of notes for exactly -the same amount."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IV</span> <span class="smaller">DR. OPPENSHAW—<i>continued</i></span></h2> - -<p>Oppenshaw whistled.</p> - -<p>"A bundle of notes amounting to ten thousand pounds," said Simon; -"exactly the same amount."</p> - -<p>Oppenshaw looked at his nails carefully without speaking. Simon watched -him.</p> - -<p>"Tell me," said Simon, "is this confounded disease, or whatever it is, -recurrent?"</p> - -<p>"You mean is there any fear that your old self—or, rather, your young -self—is preparing for another outbreak?"</p> - -<p>"Precisely."</p> - -<p>"That this drawing of another ten thousand, unknown to yourself, is only -the first act in a similar drama, or shall we say comedy?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Well, I can't say for certain, for the disease, or the ailment, if you -like the term better, has not been long enough before the eyes of -science to make quite definite statements. But, as far as I can judge, -I'm afraid it is."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p><p>Simon swallowed.</p> - -<p>"Leaving aside the fact of the similarity of the action and the amount -of money drawn, we have the similarity in time. It is true that last -year it was in May you started the business."</p> - -<p>"The third of May, a month's difference," said Simon.</p> - -<p>"True, but it is less a question of a month more or less than of season. -Last early May and April end were abnormally fine. I remember that, for -I had to go to Switzerland. This May has been wretched. Then during the -last week we have had this burst of splendid weather—weather that makes -me feel young again."</p> - -<p>"It doesn't me," said Simon.</p> - -<p>"No, but it has evidently—at least probably—had that effect on your -other 'me.' The something that urges the return of the swallow has acted -in your subconsciousness with the coming of springlike weather just as -last year."</p> - -<p>"Damn swallows!" cried Simon, rising up and pacing the floor. "Suppose -this thing lets me in for another five thousand, and Lord knows what -else? Oppenshaw," wheeling suddenly, "is nothing to be done? How can I -stop it?"</p> - -<p>"Well," said Oppenshaw, "quite frankly, I think that the best means is -the exercise of your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> own will-power. You might, of course, take the -notes back to the bank and instruct them not to allow you to draw any -more money for, say, a month—but that would be unpleasant."</p> - -<p>"Impossible!"</p> - -<p>"You might, again, put yourself under restraint. I could do that for -you."</p> - -<p>"Put myself in a mad-house?"</p> - -<p>"No, no—a nursing home."</p> - -<p>"Never!"</p> - -<p>"You might, again, instruct your butler to follow you and, as a matter -of fact, keep his eye on you for the next month."</p> - -<p>"Mudd!"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Sooner die. Never could look him in the face again."</p> - -<p>"Have you any near and trustworthy relatives?"</p> - -<p>"Only a nephew, utterly wild and untrustworthy; a chap I've cut out of -my will and had to stop his allowance."</p> - -<p>"And you are not married—that's a pity. A wife——"</p> - -<p>"Hang wives!" cried Simon. "What's the good of talking of the -impracticable?"</p> - -<p>"Well, there we are," continued Oppenshaw, perfectly unruffled. "I have -suggested <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>everything; there is only will left. The greatest friend of a -man is his will. Determine in your own mind that this change will <i>not</i> -take place. I believe that will be your safest plan. The others I have -suggested are all impossible to your sense of <i>amour propre</i>, and, -besides that, there is the grave objection that they savour of force. It -might have bad consequences to use force to what would be practically -the subconscious mind. Your will is quite different. Will can never -unbalance mind. In fact, as a famous English neurologist has put it, -'Most cases of mental disturbances are due to an inflated ego—a -deflated will.'"</p> - -<p>"Oh, my will's all right," said Simon.</p> - -<p>"Well, then, use it and don't trouble. Say to yourself definitely—'This -shall not be.'"</p> - -<p>"And that money in the safe?"</p> - -<p>"Leave it there; dare your other self to take it. To remove it and place -it in other keeping would be a weakness."</p> - -<p>"Thanks," said Simon. "I grasp what you mean." He took out his purse and -laid five guineas on the desk. Oppenshaw did not seem to see the money. -He accompanied his patient to the door. It was half-past one.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER V</span> <span class="smaller">I WILL NOT BE HIM</span></h2> - -<p>Out in Harley Street Simon walked hurriedly and without goal. It was -getting past luncheon-time; he had forgotten the fact.</p> - -<p>Oppenshaw was one of those men who carry conviction. You will have -noticed in life that quite a lot of people don't convince; they may be -good, they may be earnest, but they don't convince. Selling a full-grown -dog in the world's market, they have little chance against a convincing -competitor selling a pup.</p> - -<p>Oppenshaw's twenty-five thousand a year came, in good part, from this -quality. He had convinced Simon of the fact that inside Simon lay Youth -that was once Simon—Youth that, though unseen and unknown to the world, -could still dominate its container even to the extent of meddling with -his bank balance.</p> - -<p>That for Simon was at this moment the main fact in the situation. It was -sufficiently bad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> that this old imperious youth should be able to make -him act foolishly, but that was nothing to the fact that it was able to -tamper with his money.</p> - -<p>Simon's money was the solid ground under his feet, and he recognised, -now, that it was everything to him—everything. He could have sacrificed -at a pinch all else; he could have sacrificed Mudd, his furniture, his -old prints, his cellar, but his money was even more than the ground -under his feet—it was himself.</p> - -<p>Suppose this disease were to recur often and at shorter intervals, or -become chronic?</p> - -<p>He calculated furiously that at the rate of five thousand a month his -fortune would last, roughly, a year and a half. He saw his securities -being sold, his property in Hertfordshire, his furniture, his pictures.</p> - -<p>He had a remedy, it is true: to put himself under restraint. A nice sort -of remedy!</p> - -<p>In Weymouth Street, the home of nursing homes and doctors, into which he -had wandered, his mind tension became so acute that the impulse came on -him to hurry back to Oppenshaw in the vague hope that something else -might be done—some operation, for instance. He knew little of medicine -and less of surgery, but he had heard of people being operated on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> for -brain mischief, and he remembered, now, having read of an old admiral -who had lost consciousness owing to an injury at the battle of the Nile, -and had remained unconscious till an operation cured him some months -later.</p> - -<p>He was saved from bothering Oppenshaw again by an instinctive feeling -that it would be useless. You cannot extract the follies of youth by an -operation. He went on trending towards Oxford Street, but still without -object.</p> - -<p>What made his position worse was his instinct as a solicitor. For forty -years he had, amongst other work, been engaged in tying up Youth so that -it could not get at Property, extracting Youth from pitfalls it had -tumbled into whilst carrying Property in its arms. The very words -"youth" and "property," innocent in themselves, were obnoxious to Simon -when combined. He had always held that no young man ought to inherit -till he was twenty-five, and, heaven knows, that opinion had a firm -basis in experience. He had always in law looked askance on youth and -its doings. In practice he had been tolerant enough, though, indeed, -youth comes little in the way of a hard-working and prominent elderly -solicitor, but in law, and he was mostly law, he had little tolerance, -no respect.</p> - -<p>And here was youth with <i>his</i> property in its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> arms, or what was, -perhaps, even worse, the imminent dread of that unholy alliance.</p> - -<p>In Oxford Street he stopped at a shop window and inspected ladies' -blouses—that was his condition of mind; jewellers' windows held him, -not by the excellence of their goods, but by the necessity to turn his -back to the crowd and think—think—think.</p> - -<p>His mind was in a turmoil, and he could no more control his thoughts -than he could have controlled the traffic; the wares of the merchants -exposed to view seemed to do the thinking. Gold alberts only held his -eye to explain that his lands in Hertfordshire flung on the market in -the present state of agriculture would not fetch a tithe of their worth, -but that his green-seal sherry and all the treasures of his cellar would -bring half the West End to their sale—Old Pettigrew's cellar.</p> - -<p>Other things in other shops spoke to him in a like manner, and then he -found himself at Oxford Circus with the sudden consciousness that <i>this</i> -was not fighting Lethmann's disease by the exercise of will. His will -had, in fact, been in abeyance, his imagination master of him.</p> - -<p>But a refuge in the middle of Oxford Circus was not exactly the place -for the re-equipment of will-power; the effort nearly cost him his life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> -from a motor-lorry as he crossed. Then, when he had reached the other -side and could resume work free of danger, he found that he had -apparently no will to re-equip.</p> - -<p>He found himself repeating over and over the words, "I will not be -him—I will not be him." That seemed all right for a moment, and he -would have satisfied himself that his will-power was working splendidly, -had not a sudden cold doubt sprung up in his heart as to whether the -proper formula ought not to be, "He will not be me."</p> - -<p>Ah! that was the crux of the business. It was quite easy to determine, -"I will not be him," but when it came to the declaration, "He will not -be me," Simon found that he had no will-power in the matter. It was -quite easy to determine that he would not do foolish things, impossible -to determine that another should not do them.</p> - -<p>Then it came to his mind like a flash that the other one was not a -personality so much as a combination of foolish actions, old desires, -and alien motives let loose on the world without governance.</p> - -<p>He turned mechanically into Verreys' and had a chop. At Simpson's in the -Strand he always had a chop or a cut from the saddle, or a cut<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> from the -sirloin—like the razors, the daily menus following one another in -rotation. This was a chop day, just as it was a "Tuesday" day, and habit -prevented him from forgetting the fact. The chop and a half-bottle of -St. Estéphe made him feel a stronger man. He suddenly became cheerful -and valiant.</p> - -<p>"If worst comes to worst," said he to himself, "I <i>can put</i> myself under -restraint; nobody need know. Yes, begad! I have always that. I can put -myself under surveillance. Why, dash it! I can tie up my money so that I -can't touch it; it's quite easy."</p> - -<p>The chop and St. Estéphe, hauling him out of the slough of despond, told -him this. It was a sure way of escape from losing his money. He had -furiously rejected the idea at Oppenshaw's, but at Oppenshaw's his -Property had not had time to talk fully to him, but in that awful -journey from Harley Street to Verreys' he had walked arm-in-arm with his -Property chattering on one side and dumb Bankruptcy on the other.</p> - -<p>Restraint would have been almost as odious as bankruptcy to him, yet -now, as a sure means of escape from the other, it seemed almost a -pleasant prospect.</p> - -<p>He left Verreys' and walked along feeling brighter and better. He turned -into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> Athenæum. It was turning-in time at the Athenæum, and the big -armchairs were full of somnolent ones, bald heads drooping, whiskers -hidden by the sheets of the <i>Times</i>. Here he met Sir Ralph Puttick, Hon. -Physician to His Majesty, stiff, urbane, stately, seeming ever supported -on either side by a lion and a unicorn.</p> - -<p>Sir Ralph and Simon were known one to the other and had much in common, -including anti-socialism.</p> - -<p>In armchairs, they talked of Lloyd George—at least, Sir Ralph did, -Simon had other considerations on his mind. Leaning forward in his -chair, he suddenly asked, apropos of nothing:</p> - -<p>"Did you ever hear of a disease called Lethmann's disease?"</p> - -<p>Now Sir Ralph was Chest and Heart, nothing else. He was also nettled at -"shop" being suddenly thrust upon him by a damned attorney, for Simon -was "Simon Pettigrew, quite a character, one of our old-fashioned, -first-class English lawyers," when Sir Ralph was in a good temper and -happened to consider Simon; nettled, Simon was a "damned attorney."</p> - -<p>"Never," said Sir Ralph. "What disease did you say?"</p> - -<p>"Lethmann's. It's a new disease, it seems."</p> - -<p>Another horrid blunder, as though the lion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> and unicorn man were only -acquainted with old diseases—out of date, in fact.</p> - -<p>"Never," replied the other. "There's no such thing. Who told you about -it?"</p> - -<p>"I read about it," said Simon. He tried to give a picture of the -symptoms and failed to convince, but he managed to irritate. The -semi-royal one listened with a specious appearance of attention and even -interest; then, the other having finished, he opened his batteries.</p> - -<p>Simon left the Club with the feeling that he had been put upon the stand -beside charlatans, quacks, and the purveyor of crank theories; also that -he had been snubbed.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VI</span> <span class="smaller">TIDD AND RENSHAW</span></h2> - -<p>Did he mind? Not a bit; he enjoyed it.</p> - -<p>If Sir Ralph had kicked him out of the Athenæum for airing false science -there he would have enjoyed it. He would have enjoyed anything casting -odium and discredit on the theory of double personality in the form of -Lethmann's disease.</p> - -<p>For now his hunted soul, that had taken momentary refuge in the thought -of nursing homes and restraint, had left that burrow and was taking -refuge in doubt.</p> - -<p>The whole thing was surely absurd. The affair of last year <i>must</i> have -been a temporary aberration due to overwork, despite the fact that he -had, indeed, drawn another ten thousand unconsciously from the bank; it -was patently foolish to think that a man could be under the dominion of -a story-book disease. He had read Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—that wild -fiction! Why, if this thing were true, it would be a fiction just as -wild. Oceans of comfort suddenly came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> to him. It gave him a new grip on -the situation, pointing out that the whole of this business as suggested -by Oppenshaw was on a level with a "silly sensational story," that is to -say with the impossible—therefore impossible.</p> - -<p>He made one grave mistake—the mistake of reckoning Dr. Jekyll and Mr. -Hyde as a "silly sensational story."</p> - -<p>Anyhow, he got comfort from what he considered fact, and at dinner that -night he was so restored that he was able to grumble because the mutton -"was done to rags."</p> - -<p>He dined alone.</p> - -<p>As he had not returned to the office in the afternoon, Brownlow had sent -some papers relative to a law case then pending for his consideration. -It often happened that Simon took business home with him, or, if he were -not able to attend at the office, important papers would be sent to his -house.</p> - -<p>To-night, according to custom, he retired to his library, drank his -coffee, spread open the documents, and, comfortably seated in a huge -leathern armchair, plunged into work.</p> - -<p>It was a difficult case, the case of Tidd <i>v.</i> Renshaw, complicated by -all sorts of cross-issues and currents. In its dry legal jargon it -involved the title to London house property, the credit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> of a woman, the -happiness of a family, and a few other things, all absolutely of no -account to Simon, engaged on the law of the case, and to whom the human -beings involved were simply as the chessmen in the hands of the player; -and necessarily, for a lawyer who allowed human considerations to colour -his view would be an untrustworthy lawyer.</p> - -<p>At ten o'clock Simon, suddenly laying the documents on the floor beside -him, rose up, rang the bell, and stood on the hearthrug with his hands -linked behind him.</p> - -<p>Mudd appeared.</p> - -<p>"Mudd," said Simon, "I may be called away to-morrow and be absent some -time. If I am not at the office when the brougham comes to fetch me for -luncheon, you can notify the office that I have been called away. You -needn't bother about packing things for me; I will buy anything I want -where I am going."</p> - -<p>"I could easily pack a bag for you," said Mudd, "and you could take it -with you to the office."</p> - -<p>"I want no bag. I have given you your directions," said Simon, and Mudd -went off grumbling and snubbed.</p> - -<p>Then the lawyer sat down and plunged into law again, folding up the -documents at eleven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> o'clock and putting them carefully in his bureau. -Then he switched off the electric light, examined the hall door to see -that it was properly bolted, and went up to bed carrying the case of -Tidd <i>v.</i> Renshaw with him as a nightcap.</p> - -<p>It hung about his intellect like a penumbra as he undressed, warding -off, or partly warding off, thoughts about Oppenshaw and his own -condition that were trying to get into his mind.</p> - -<p>Then he popped into bed, and, still pursuing Tidd <i>v.</i> Renshaw through -the labyrinths of the law, and holding tight on to their tails, fell asleep.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VII</span> <span class="smaller">THE WALLET</span></h2> - -<p>He awoke to Mudd drawing the blinds and to another perfect day—a summer -morning, luxurious and warm, beautiful even in London. He had lost -clutch of Tidd and Renshaw in the land of sleep, but he had found his -strength and self-confidence again.</p> - -<p>The terror of Lethmann's disease had vanished; the thing was absurd, he -had been frightened by a bogey. Oppenshaw was a clever man, but he was a -specialist, always thinking of nerve diseases, living in an atmosphere -of them. Sir Ralph Puttick, on the contrary, was a man of solid -understanding and wider views—a sane man.</p> - -<p>So he told himself as he took "Wednesday" from its case and shaved -himself. Then he came down to the same frizzled bacon and the same aired -<i>Times</i>, put on the same overcoat and hat, and got into the same old -brougham and started for the office.</p> - -<p>He went into his room, where his usual<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> morning letters were laid out -for him. But he did not take off his coat and hat. He had come to a -determination. Oppenshaw had told him to leave the wallet where it was -and not take the notes back to the bank, as that would be a weakness. -Sir Ralph Puttick was telling him now that Oppenshaw was a fool. The -real weakness would be to follow the advice of Oppenshaw. To follow that -advice would be to play with this business and confess that there was -reality in it; besides, with those notes in the safe behind him he could -never do his morning's work.</p> - -<p>No; back those notes should go to the bank. He opened the safe, and -there was the wallet seated like an evil genius on the deed-box. He took -it out and put it under his arm, locked the safe and left the room.</p> - -<p>In the outer office all the clerks were busy, and Brownlow was in his -room with the door shut.</p> - -<p>Simon, with the wallet under his arm, walked out and passed through the -precincts of Old Serjeants' Inn to Fleet Street, where a waft of warm -summer, yet springlike, wind met him in the face.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PART II</h2> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">THE SOUL'S AWAKENING</span></h2> - -<p>He raised his head, sniffed as if inhaling something, and quickened his step.</p> - -<p>What a glorious day it was; even Fleet Street had a touch of youth about it.</p> - -<p>A flower-woman and her wares caught his eye; he bought a bunch of late -violets and, with his hat tilted back, dived in his trousers' pocket and -produced a handful of silver. He gave her a shilling and, without asking -for change, walked on, the violets in his buttonhole.</p> - -<p>He was making west like a homing pigeon. He walked like a man in a hurry -but with no purpose, his glance skimmed things and seemed to rest only -on things coloured or pleasant to look on, his eyes showed no -speculation. He seemed like a person with no more past than a dreamer. -The present seemed to him everything—just as it is to the dreamer.</p> - -<p>In the Strand he stopped here and there to glance at the contents of -shops; neckties attracted him. Then Fuller's drew him in by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> its colour. -He had a vanilla-and-strawberry ice and chatted to the girls, who did -not receive his advances, however, with much favour.</p> - -<p>Then he came to Romanos'; it attracted him, and he went in. Gilded -youths were drinking at the bar, and a cocktail being mixed by the -bar-tender fascinated Simon by its colour; he had one like it, chatted -to the man, paid, and walked out.</p> - -<p>It was now eleven.</p> - -<p>Still walking gaily and lightly, as one walks in a happy dream, he -reached the Charing Cross Hotel, asked the porter to show him the rooms -he had reserved, and enquired if his luggage had come.</p> - -<p>The luggage had come and was deposited in the bedroom of the suite: two -large brand-new portmanteaux and a hat-box, also a band-box from Lincoln -Bennett's.</p> - -<p>The portmanteaux and hat-box were locked, but in the band-box were the -keys, gummed up in an envelope; there was also a straw hat in the -band-box—a boater.</p> - -<p>The porter, having unstrapped the portmanteaux, departed with a tip, and -our gentleman began to unpack swiftly and with the eagerness of a child -going to a party.</p> - -<p>O Youth! What a star thou art, yet what a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> folly! And yet can all wisdom -give one the pleasure of one's first ball-dress, of the young man's -brand-new suit? And there were brand-new suits and to spare, check -tweed, blue serge, boating flannels; shoes, too, and boots from the -Burlington Arcade, ties and socks from Beale and Inman's.</p> - -<p>It was like a trousseau.</p> - -<p>As he unpacked he whistled. Whistled a tune that was young in the -sixties—"Champagne Charley," no less.</p> - -<p>Then he dressed, vigorously digging his head into a striped shirt, -donning a purple tie, purple socks, and a grey tweed suit of excellent -cut.</p> - -<p>All his movements were feverish, light, rapid. He did not seem to notice -the details of the room around him; he seemed skimming along the surface -of things in a hurry to get to some goal of pleasure. Flushed and -bright-eyed, he scarcely looked fifty now, yet, despite this reduction -in age, his general get-up had a touch of the raffish. Purple socks and -ties are a bit off at fifty; a straw "boater" does not reduce the -effect, nor do tan shoes.</p> - -<p>But Simon was quite satisfied with himself.</p> - -<p>Still whistling, he bundled his old things away in a drawer and left the -other things lying about for the servants to put away, and sat down on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> -the side of the bed with the wallet in his hands.</p> - -<p>He opened it and turned the notes out on the quilt. The gorgeous bundle -to "bust" or do what he liked with held him in its thrall as he turned -over the contents, not counting the amount, but just reviewing the notes -and the huge sums on most of them.</p> - -<p>Heavens! What a delight even in a dream! To be young and absolutely free -from all restraint, free from all ties, unconscious of relatives, -unconscious of everything but immediate surroundings, with virginal -appetites and desires and countless sovereigns to meet them with. -Dangling his heels, and with his straw hat beside him, he gloated on his -treasure; then, picking out three ten-pound notes and putting the -remainder in the wallet, he locked the wallet away in his portmanteau -and put the key under the wardrobe.</p> - -<p>Then, leaving his room, he came downstairs with his straw hat on the -back of his head and a smile for a pretty chambermaid who passed him -coming up.</p> - -<p>The girl laughed and glanced back, but whether she was laughing at or -with him it would be hard to say. Chambermaids have strange tastes.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p><p>It was in the hall that he met Moxon, senior partner in Plunder's, the -great bill-discounting firm; a tall man, serious of face and manner.</p> - -<p>"Why, God bless my soul, Pettigrew!" cried Moxon, "I scarcely knew you."</p> - -<p>"You have the advantage of me, old cock," replied Simon airily, "for I'm -—— if I ever met you before."</p> - -<p>"My mistake," said Moxon.</p> - -<p>It was Pettigrew's face and voice, but all the rest was not Pettigrew, -and the discounter of bills hurried off, feeling as though he had come -across the uncanny—which he had.</p> - -<p>Simon paused at the office, holding a lady clerk in light conversation -about the weather and turning upon her that sprightly wit already -mentioned. She was busy and stiff, and the weather and his wit didn't -seem to interest her. Then he asked for change of a ten-pound note, and -she gave it to him in sovereigns; then he asked for change of a -sovereign—she gave it to him; then he asked, with a grin, for change of -a shilling. She was outraged now; that which ought to have made her -laugh seemed to incense her. Do what he could, he couldn't warm her.</p> - -<p>She was colder than the ice-cream girls. What the devil was the matter -with them all? She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> slapped the change for the shilling down and turned -away to her books.</p> - -<p>Tilting his hat further back, he rapped with a penny on the ledge.</p> - -<p>She got up.</p> - -<p>"Well, what is it now?"</p> - -<p>"Can you change me a penny, please?" said Simon.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Jones!" called the girl.</p> - -<p>A stout lady manageress in black appeared.</p> - -<p>"I don't know what this gentleman means."</p> - -<p>The manageress raised her eyebrows at the jester.</p> - -<p>"I asked the young lady for change of a penny. Can you let me have two -halfpence for a penny, please?"</p> - -<p>The manageress opened the till and gave the change. The gay one -departed, chuckling. He had had the best of the girl, silly creature, -that could not take a joke in good part—but he had enjoyed himself.</p> - -<p>Moving in the line of least resistance towards the phantom of pleasure, -he made for the hotel entrance and the sunlight showing through the -door, bought a cigar at the kiosk outside, and then bundled into a taxi.</p> - -<p>"Where to, sir?" asked the driver.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p><p>"First bar," replied Simon. "First decent one, and look sharp."</p> - -<p>The surly driver—Heavens, how the old hansom cabby of the sixties would -have hailed such a fare, and with what joy!—closed the door without a -word and started winding up the engine. He had difficulties, and as he -went on winding the occupant put his head out of the window and -addressed the station policeman who was looking on.</p> - -<p>"Has the chap a licence for a barrel-organ?" asked Simon. "If he hasn't, -ask him to drive on."</p> - -<p>He shut the window. They started, and stopped at a bar in Leicester -Square. Simon paid and entered.</p> - -<p>It was a long bar, a glittering, loathsome, noxious place where, behind -a long counter, six barmaids were serving all sorts of men with all -sorts of drinks.</p> - -<p>Simon seemed to find it all right. Puffing his cigar, he ordered a -brandy cold—a brandy cold! And sipping his brandy cold, he took stock -of the men around.</p> - -<p>Even his innocence and newness—despite the crave for companionship now -on him—recognised that there were undesirables, and as for the bar -girls, they were frozen images—for him.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p><p>They were laughing and changing words with all sorts of young -men—counter-jumpers and horsey men—but for him they had nothing but -brandy cold and monosyllables. He was beginning to get irritated with -woman; but the sunlight outside and two cold brandies inside restored -his happy humour, and the idea of lunch was now moving before him, -luring him on.</p> - -<p>Thinking thus, he was advancing not towards luncheon but towards Fate.</p> - -<p>At Piccadilly Circus there was a crowd round an omnibus. There generally -are crowds round omnibuses just here, but this was a special crowd, -having for its core an irate bus conductor and a pretty girl.</p> - -<p>Oh, such a pretty girl! Spring itself, dark-haired, dark-eyed, well -dressed, but with just that touch which tells of want of affluence. She -fascinated Simon as a flower fascinates a bee.</p> - -<p>"But, sir, I tell you I have lost my purse; some pocket-picker has taken -it. I shall be pleased to tell you where I live and reward you if you -come for the money. My name is Cerise Rossignol." This, with just a -trace of foreign accent.</p> - -<p>"I've been done twice this week by that game," said the brutal -conductor, speaking,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> however, the truth. "Come, search in your glove, -you'll find it."</p> - -<p>Simon broke in.</p> - -<p>"How much?" said he.</p> - -<p>"Tuppence," said the conductor. Then the gods that preside over youth -might have observed this new Andromeda, released at the charge of -Tuppence, wandering off with her saviour and turning to him a face -filled with gratitude.</p> - -<p>They were going in the direction of Leicester Square.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">MOXON AND MUDD</span></h2> - -<p>Now, Moxon had come up that morning from Framlingham in Kent, where he -was taking a holiday, to transact some business. Amongst other things he -had to see Simon Pettigrew on a question about some bills.</p> - -<p>The apparition he had encountered in the hall of the Charing Cross Hotel -pursued him to Plunder's office, where he first went, and, when he left -Plunder's for luncheon at Prosser's, in Chancery Lane, it still pursued -him.</p> - -<p>Though he knew it could not be Pettigrew, some uneasy spirit in his -subconsciousness kept insisting that it was Pettigrew.</p> - -<p>At two o'clock he called at Old Serjeants' Inn. He saw Brownlow, who had -just returned from lunch.</p> - -<p>No, Mr. Pettigrew was not in. He had gone out that morning early and had -not returned.</p> - -<p>"I must see him," said Moxon. "When do you think he will be in?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p><p>Brownlow couldn't say.</p> - -<p>"Would he be at his house, do you think?"</p> - -<p>"Hardly," said Brownlow; "he might have gone home, but I think it's -improbable."</p> - -<p>"I must see him," said Moxon again. "It's extraordinary. Why, I wrote to -him telling him I was coming this afternoon and he knows the importance -of my business."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Pettigrew hasn't opened his morning letters yet," said Brownlow.</p> - -<p>"Good Lord!" said Moxon.</p> - -<p>Then, after a pause:</p> - -<p>"Will you telephone to his house to see?"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Pettigrew has no telephone," said Brownlow; "he dislikes them, -except in business."</p> - -<p>Moxon remembered this and other old-fashioned traits in Pettigrew; the -remembrance did not ease his irritation.</p> - -<p>"Then I'll go to his house myself," said he.</p> - -<p>When he arrived at King Charles Street, Mudd opened the door.</p> - -<p>Mudd and Moxon were mutually known one to the other, Moxon having often -dined there.</p> - -<p>"Is your master in, Mudd?" asked Moxon.</p> - -<p>"No, sir," answered Mudd; "he's not at home, and mayn't be at home for -some time."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p><p>"He left me directions that if he wasn't at the office when the -brougham called to take him to luncheon I was to tell the office he was -called away; the coachman has just come back to say he wasn't there, so -I am sending him back to the office to tell them."</p> - -<p>"Called away! For how long?"</p> - -<p>"Well, it might be a month," said Mudd, remembering.</p> - -<p>"Extraordinary!" said Moxon. "Well, I can't help it, and I can't wait; I -must take my business elsewhere. I thought I saw Mr. Pettigrew in the -Charing Cross Hotel, but he was dressed differently and seemed strange. -Well, this is a great nuisance, but it can't be helped, I suppose.... A -month...."</p> - -<p>Off he went in a huff.</p> - -<p>Mudd watched him as he went, then he closed the hall door. Then he sat -down on one of the hall chairs.</p> - -<p>"Dressed differently and seemed strange." It only wanted those words to -start alarm in the mind of Mudd.</p> - -<p>The affair of a year ago had always perplexed him, and now this!</p> - -<p>"Seemed strange."</p> - -<p>Could it be?... H'm.... He got up and went downstairs.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p><p>"Why, what's the matter with you, Mr. Mudd?" asked the -cook-housekeeper. "Why, you're all of a shake."</p> - -<p>"It's my stomach," said Mudd.</p> - -<p>He took a glass of ginger wine, then he fetched his hat.</p> - -<p>"I'm going out to get the air," said Mudd. "I mayn't be back for some -time; don't bother about me if I aren't, and be sure to lock up the -plate."</p> - -<p>"God bless my soul, what's the matter with the man?" murmured the -astonished housekeeper as Mudd vanished. "Blest if he isn't getting as -queer as his master!"</p> - -<p>Out in the street Mudd paused to blow his nose in a bandanna -handkerchief just like Simon's. Then, as though this act had started his -mechanism, off he went, hailed an omnibus in the next street, and got -off at Charing Cross.</p> - -<p>He entered the Charing Cross Hotel.</p> - -<p>"Is a Mr. Pettigrew here?" asked Mudd of the hall porter.</p> - -<p>The hall porter grinned.</p> - -<p>"Yes, there's a Mr. Pettigrew staying here, but he's out."</p> - -<p>"Well, I'm his servant," said Mudd.</p> - -<p>"Staying here with him?" asked the porter.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p><p>"Yes. I've followed him on. What's the number of his room?"</p> - -<p>"The office will know," replied the other.</p> - -<p>"Well, just go to the office and get his key," said Mudd, "and send a -messenger boy to No. 12, King Charles Street—that's our address—to -tell Mrs. Jukes, the housekeeper, I won't be able to get back to-night -maybe. Here's a shilling for him—but show me his room first."</p> - -<p>Mudd carried conviction.</p> - -<p>The hall porter went to the office.</p> - -<p>"Key of Mr. Pettigrew's room," said he; "his servant has just come."</p> - -<p>The superior damsel detached herself from book-keeping, looked up the -number and gave the key.</p> - -<p>Mudd took it and went up in the lift. He opened the door of the room and -went in. The place had not been tidied, clothes lay everywhere.</p> - -<p>Mudd, like a cat in a strange house, looked around. Then he shut the -door.</p> - -<p>Then he took up a coat and looked at the maker's name on the tab.</p> - -<p>"Holland and Woolson"—Simon's tailors!</p> - -<p>Then he examined all the garments. Such garments! Boating flannels, -serge suits! Then the shoes, the patent leather boots. He opened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> the -chest of drawers and found the bundle of discarded clothes—the old coat -with the left elbow "going," and the rest. He held them up, examined -them, folded them and put them back.</p> - -<p>Then he sat down to recover himself, blew his nose, wondered whether he -or Simon were crazy, and then, rising up, began to fold and put away the -new things in the wardrobe and chest-of-drawers.</p> - -<p>He noticed that one of the portmanteaux was locked. Yet there was -something in it that slid up and down as he tilted and lowered it.</p> - -<p>Having looked round the room once again, he went downstairs, gave up the -key, made arrangements for his room, and started out.</p> - -<p>He made for Sackville Street. Meyer, the foreman of Holland and -Woolson's, was known to him. He had sometimes called regarding Simon's -clothes with directions for this or that.</p> - -<p>"That blue serge suit you've just sent for Mr. Pettigrew don't quite -rightly fit, Mr. Meyer," said the cunning Mudd. "I had the coat done up -in a parcel to bring back to you for the sleeves to be shortened half an -inch, but I forgot it; only remembered I'd forgot it at your door."</p> - -<p>"We'll send for it," said Meyer.</p> - -<p>"Right," said Mudd. Then, "No—on second thoughts, I'll fetch it myself -when I have a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> moment to spare, for we're going from home for a few -days. Mr. Pettigrew has had a good lot of clothes lately, Mr. Meyer."</p> - -<p>"He has," said Meyer, with a twinkle in his eye; "suits and suits, -almost as if he were going to be married."</p> - -<p>"Married!" cried the other. "What put that into your head, Mr. Meyer? -He's not a marrying man. Why, I've never seen him as much as glance an -eye at a female."</p> - -<p>"Oh, it was only my joke," said Meyer.</p> - -<p>Now, in Mudd's soul there had lain for years an uneasiness, a crumpled -rose-leaf of thought that touched him sometimes as he turned at night in -bed. It was the fear that some day Simon might ruin Mudd's life with a -mistress. He couldn't stand a mistress. He had always sworn that to -himself; the experience of fellow butlers whose lives were made -loathsome by mistresses would have been enough without his own -deep-rooted antipathy to females, except as spectacular objects. Mrs. -Jukes was a relation of his, and he could stand her; the maid-servants -were automata beneath his notice—but a mistress!</p> - -<p>Mad alarm filled his mind, for his heart told him that the words of -Meyer had foundation in probability.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p><p>That affair of last year, when Simon had departed and returned in new -strange clothes, might have been the courting, this the real thing?</p> - -<p>He left the tailor's, called a taxi and drove to the office.</p> - -<p>Brownlow was in.</p> - -<p>"What is it, Mudd?" asked Brownlow, as the latter was shown into his -room.</p> - -<p>"Did you get my message, Mr. Brownlow?" asked Mudd.</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Oh, that's all right," said Mudd. "I just thought I'd call and ask. The -master told me to send the message; he's going away for a bit. Wants a -change, too. I think he's been overworking lately, Mr. Brownlow."</p> - -<p>"He's always overworking," said Brownlow. "I think he's been suffering -from brain-fag, Mudd; he's very reticent about himself, but I'm glad he -saw a doctor."</p> - -<p>"Saw a doctor! Why, he never told me."</p> - -<p>"Didn't he? Well, he did—Dr. Oppenshaw, of Harley Street. This is -between you and me. Try and make him rest more, Mudd."</p> - -<p>"I will," said Mudd. "He wants rest. I've been uneasy about him a long -while. What's the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> doctor's number in Harley Street, Mr. Brownlow?"</p> - -<p>"<span class="smaller">110A</span>," said Brownlow, picking the number out of his marvellous memory; -"but don't let Mr. Pettigrew know I told you. He's very touchy about -himself."</p> - -<p>"I won't."</p> - -<p>Off he went.</p> - -<p>"Faithful old servitor," thought Brownlow.</p> - -<p>The faithful old servitor got into a taxi. "<span class="smaller">110A</span>, Harley Street," said -he to the driver; "and drive quick and I'll give you an extra tuppence."</p> - -<p>Oppenshaw was in.</p> - -<p>When he was informed that Pettigrew's servant had called to see him, he -turned over a duchess he was engaged on, gave her a harmless -prescription, bowed her out and rang the bell.</p> - -<p>Mudd was shown in.</p> - -<p>"I've come to ask——" said Mudd.</p> - -<p>"Sit down," said Oppenshaw.</p> - -<p>"I've come to speak——"</p> - -<p>"I know; about your master. How is he?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I've come to ask you, sir; he's at the Charing Cross Hotel at -present."</p> - -<p>"Has he gone there to live?"</p> - -<p>"Well, he's there."</p> - -<p>"I saw him some time ago about the state of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> his health, and, frankly, -Mr. Mudd, it's serious."</p> - -<p>Mudd nodded.</p> - -<p>"Tell me," said Oppenshaw, "has he been buying new clothes?"</p> - -<p>"Heaps; no end," said Mudd. "And such clothes—things he's never worn -before."</p> - -<p>"So? Well, it's fortunate you found him. What is his conversation like? -Have you talked to him much?"</p> - -<p>"I haven't seen him yet," Mudd explained.</p> - -<p>"Well, stay close to him, and be very careful. He is suffering from a -form of mental upset. You must cross him as little as possible, use -persuasion, gentle persuasion. The thing will run its course. It mustn't -be suddenly checked."</p> - -<p>"Is he mad?" asked the other.</p> - -<p>"No, but he is not himself—or rather, he is himself—in a different -way; but a sudden check might make him mad. You have heard of people -walking in their sleep—well, this is something akin to that. You know -it is highly dangerous to awaken a sleep-walker suddenly. Well, it's -just the same with Mr. Pettigrew; it might imbalance his mind for good."</p> - -<p>"What am I to do?"</p> - -<p>"Just keep watch on him."</p> - -<p>"But suppose he don't know me?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p><p>"He won't know you, but if you are kind to him he will accept you into -his environment, and then you will link on to his mental state."</p> - -<p>"He's out now, and God knows where, or doing what," said Mudd; "but I'll -be on the watch for him coming in—if he ever comes."</p> - -<p>"Oh, he will come home right enough."</p> - -<p>"Is there any fear of those women getting hold of him?" asked Mudd, -returning to his old dread.</p> - -<p>"That's just what there is—every fear; but you must be very careful not -to interpose your will violently. Get gently between, gently between. -You understand me. Suggestion does a lot in these cases. Another thing, -you must treat him as one treats a boy. You must imagine to yourself -that your master is only twenty, for that, in truth, is what he is. He -has gone back to a younger state—or rather, a younger state has come to -meet him, having lain dormant, just as a wisdom tooth lies dormant, then -grows."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Lord!" said Mudd. "I never did think I'd live to see this day."</p> - -<p>"Oh, it might be worse."</p> - -<p>"I don't see."</p> - -<p>"Well, from what I can make out of his youth, it was not a vicious one, -only foolish;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> had he been vicious when young he might be terrible now."</p> - -<p>"The first solicitor in London," said Mudd in a dreary voice.</p> - -<p>"Well, he's not the first solicitor in London to make a fool of himself, -nor will he be the last. Cheer up and keep your eyes open and do your -duty; no man can do more than that."</p> - -<p>"Shall I send for you, doctor, if he gets worse?"</p> - -<p>"Well," said Oppenshaw; "from what you tell me he couldn't be much -worse. Oh no, don't bother to send—unless, of course, the thing took a -different course, and he were to become violent without reason; but that -won't happen, you can take my word for it."</p> - -<p>Mudd departed.</p> - -<p>He walked all the way back to the Charing Cross Hotel, but instead of -entering, he suddenly took a taxi, and returned to Charles Street. Here -he packed some things in a handbag, and having again given directions to -Mrs. Jukes to lock up the plate, he told her he might be some time gone.</p> - -<p>"I'm going with the master on some law business," said Mudd. "Make sure -and bolt the front door—and lock up the plate."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p><p>It was the third or fourth time he had given her these instructions.</p> - -<p>"He's out of his mind," said Mrs. Jukes, as she watched him go. She -wasn't far wrong.</p> - -<p>Mudd had been used to a rut—a rut forty years deep. His light and -pleasant duties carried him easily through the day. Of evenings when -Simon was dining out he would join a social circle in the private room -of a highly respectable tavern close by, smoke his pipe, drink two hot -gins, and depart for home at ten-thirty. When Simon was in he could -smoke his pipe and read his paper in his own private room. He had five -hundred pounds laid by in the bank—no stocks and shares for Mudd—and -he would vary his evening amusements by counting the toll of his money.</p> - -<p>It is easy to be seen that this jolt out of the rut was, literally, a -jolt.</p> - -<p>At the Charing Cross Hotel he found the room allotted to him, deposited -his things and, disdaining the servants' quarters, went out to a tavern -to read the paper.</p> - -<p>He reckoned Simon might not return till late, and he reckoned right.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">SIMON'S OLD-FASHIONED NIGHT IN TOWN</span></h2> - -<p>Madame Rossignol was a charming old lady of sixty, a production of -France—no other country could have produced her. She lived in Duke -Street, Leicester Square, supporting herself and her daughter Cerise by -translating English books into French. Cerise did millinery. Madame -combined absolute innocence with absolute instinct. She knew all about -things; her innocence was not ignorance, it was purity—rising above a -knowledge of the world, and disdaining to look at evil.</p> - -<p>She was dreadfully poor.</p> - -<p>Her love for Cerise was like a disease always preying upon her. Should -she die, what would happen to Cerise?</p> - -<p>Behold these together clasped in each other's arms. Set in the shabby -sitting-room, it might have been a scene at the Port St. Martin.</p> - -<p>"Oh, mother," murmured the girl, "is he not good!"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p><p>"He is more than good," said Madame. "Most surely the <i>bon Dieu</i> sent -him to be your guardian angel."</p> - -<p>"Is he not charming?" went on Cerise, unlinking herself from the -maternal embrace and touching her hair into order again with a little -laugh. "So different from the leaden-faced English, so gay and yet -so—so——"</p> - -<p>"There is a something—I do not know what—about him," said the old -lady; "something of Romance. Is it not like a little tale of Madame -Perichon's or a little play of Monsieur Baree? Might he not just have -come in as in one of those? You go out, lose your purse, are lost. I sit -waiting for you at your non-return in this wilderness of London; you -return, but not alone. With you comes the Marquis de Grandcourt, who -bows and says, 'Madame, I return you your daughter; I ask in return your -friendship. I am alone, like you; let us then be friends.' I reply, -'Monsieur, you behold our poverty, but you cannot behold our hearts or -the gratitude in my mind.' What a little story!"</p> - -<p>"And how he laughed, and said, 'Hang monee!'" cut in Cerise. "What means -that 'hang monee!' maman? And how he pulled out all the gold pieces like -a boy, saying, 'I am rich!'—just as a little boy might say, 'I am<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> -rich! I am rich!' No bourgeois could have done that without offending, -without giving one a shiver of the skin."</p> - -<p>"You have said it," replied Madame. "A little boy—a great and good man, -yet a little boy. He is not in his first youth, but there are people, -like Pierre Pan, who never lose youth. It is so; I have seen it."</p> - -<p>"Simon Pattigrew," murmured Cerise, with a little laugh.</p> - -<p>A knock came to the door and a little maid-of-all-work, and down at -heel, entered with a huge bouquet, one of those bouquets youth flings at -<i>prima donnas</i>.</p> - -<p>Simon, after leaving the Rossignols, had struck a flower shop—this was -the result. A piece of paper accompanied the bouquet, and on the paper, -written in a handwriting that hitherto had only appeared on letters of -business and documents of law, were the words: "From your Friend."</p> - -<p>Simon, having struck the flower shop, might have struck a fruit shop and -a bonnet shop, only that the joy of love, the love that comes at first -sight, the love of dreams, made him incapable of any more business—even -the business of buying presents for his fascinator.</p> - -<p>It was now five o'clock, and, pursuing his way<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> West, he found -Piccadilly. He passed girls without looking at them—he saw only the -vision of Cerise. She led him as far as St. George's Hospital, as though -leading him away from the temptations of the West, but the gloomy -prospect of Knightsbridge headed him off, and, turning, he came back. -Big houses, signs of wealth and prosperity, seemed to hold him in a -charm, just as he was held by all things pretty, coloured, or dazzling.</p> - -<p>A glittering restaurant drew him in presently, and here he had a jovial -dinner; all alone, it is true, but with plenty to look at.</p> - -<p>He had also a half-bottle of champagne and a maraschino.</p> - -<p>He had already consumed that day a cocktail coloured, two glasses of -brandy-and-water cold and a half-bottle of champagne. His ordinary -consumption of alcohol was moderate. A glass of green-seal sherry at -twelve, and a half-bottle of St. Estéphe at lunch, and, shall we say, a -small whisky-and-soda at dinner, or, if dining out or with guests, a -couple of glasses of Pommery.</p> - -<p>And to-day he had been drinking restaurant champagne "<i>tres sec</i>"—and -two half-bottles of it! The excess was beginning to tell. It told in the -slight flush on his cheeks, which, strange to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> say, did not make him -look younger; it told in the tip he gave the waiter, and in the way he -put on his hat. He had bought a walking-stick during his peregrinations, -a dandy stick with a tassel—the passing fashion had just come in—and -with this under his arm he left the café in search of pleasures new.</p> - -<p>The West End was now ablaze, and the theatres filling. Simon, like Poe's -man of the crowd, kept with the crowd; a blaze of lights attracted him -as a lamp a moth.</p> - -<p>The Pallaceum sucked him in. Here, in a blue haze of tobacco-smoke and -to the tune of a band, he sat for awhile watching the show, roaring with -laughter at the comic turns, pleased with the conjuring business, and -fascinated—despite Cerise—with the girl in tights who did acrobatic -tricks aided by two poodles and a monkey.</p> - -<p>Then he found the bar, and there he stood adding fuel to pleasure, his -stick under his arm, his hat tilted back, a new cigar in his mouth, and -a smile on his face—a smile with a suggestion of fixity. Alas! if -Cerise could have seen the Marquis de Grandcourt now!—or was it Madame -who raised him to the peerage of France? If she could have been by to -just raise her eyebrows at him! Yet she was there, in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> way, for the -ladies of the <i>foyer</i> who glanced at him not unkindly, taken perhaps by -his <i>bonhomie</i>, and smiling demeanour and atmosphere of wealth and -enjoyment, found no response. Yet he found momentary acquaintances, of a -sort. A couple of University men up in town for a lark seemed to find -him part of the lark; they all drank together, exchanged views, and then -the University men vanished, giving place to a gentleman in a very -polished hat, with diamond studs, and a face like a hawk, who suggested -"fizz," a small bottle of which was consumed mostly by the hawk, who -then vanished, leaving Simon to pay.</p> - -<p>Simon ordered another, paid for it, forgot it, and found himself in the -entrance hall calling in a loud voice for a hansom.</p> - -<p>A taxi was procured for him and the door opened. He got inside and said, -"Wait a moment—one moment."</p> - -<p>Then he began paying half-crowns to the commissionaire who had opened -the taxi door for him. "That's for your trouble," said Simon. "That's -for your trouble. That's for your trouble. Where am I? Oh yes—shut that -confounded door, will you, and tell the chap to drive on!"</p> - -<p>"Where to, sir?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p><p>Oppenshaw would have been interested in the fact that champagne beyond -a certain amount had the effect of wakening Simon's remote past. He -answered:</p> - -<p>"Evans'."</p> - -<p>Consultation outside.</p> - -<p>"Evans's? Which Evans's? There ain't no such 'otel, there ain't no such -bar. Ask him which Evans's?"</p> - -<p>"Which Evanses did you say, sir?" asked the commissionaire, putting his -head in. "The driver don't know which you mean. Where does it lay?"</p> - -<p>He got a chuck under the chin that nearly drove his head to the roof of -the taxi.</p> - -<p>Then Simon's head popped out of the window. It looked up and down the -street.</p> - -<p>"Where's that chap that put his head through the window?" asked Simon.</p> - -<p>A small crowd and a policeman drew round. "What is it, sir?" asked the -policeman.</p> - -<p>Simon seemed calculating the distance with a view to the bonneting of -the enquirer. Then he seemed to find the distance too far.</p> - -<p>"Tell him to drive me to the Argyle Rooms," said he. Then he vanished.</p> - -<p>Another council outside, the commissionaire presiding.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p><p>"Take him to the Leicester 'Otel. Why, Lord bless me! the Argyle Rooms -has been closed this forty years. Take him round about and let him have -a snooze."</p> - -<p>The taximan started with the full intention of robbery—not by force, -but by strategy. Robbery on the dock. It was not theatre turning-out -time yet, and he would have the chance of earning a few dishonest -shillings. He turned every corner he could, for every time a taxi turns -a corner the "clock" increases in speed. He drove here and there, but he -never reached the Leicester 'Otel, for in Full Moon Street, the home of -bishops and earls, the noise inside the vehicle made him halt. He opened -the door and Simon burst out, radiant with humour and now much steadier -on his legs.</p> - -<p>"How much?" said Simon, and then, without waiting for a reply, thrust -half a handful of coppers and silver into the fist of the taximan, hit -him a slap on the top of his flat cap that made him see stars, and -walked off.</p> - -<p>The man did not pursue, he was counting his takings: -eleven-and-fivepence, no less.</p> - -<p>"Crazy," said he; then he started his engine and went off, utterly -unconscious of the fact that he had entertained and driven something -worthy to be preserved in the British<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> Museum—a real live reveller of -the sixties.</p> - -<p>The full moon was shining on Full Moon Street, an old street that still -preserves in front of its houses the sockets for the torches of the -linkmen. It does not require much imagination to see phantom sedan -chairs in Full Moon Street on a night like this, or the watchman on his -rounds, and to-night the old street—if old streets have memories—must -surely have stirred in its dreams, for, as Simon went on his way, the -night began suddenly to be filled with cat-calls.</p> - -<p>A lady airing a Pom whisked her treasure into the house as Simon passed, -and shut the door with a bang; such a bang that the knocker gave a jump -and Simon a hint.</p> - -<p>Ten yards further on he went up steps, paused before a hall door that, -in daylight, would have been green, and took the knocker.</p> - -<p>Just a few turns of his wrist and the knocker was his, a glorious brass -knocker, weighing half a pound. No other young man in London that night -could have done the business like that or shown such dexterity in an art -lost as the art of pinchbeck-making.</p> - -<p>He collected two more knockers in that street, retaining only one as a -trophy. He threw the others into an area, pulled the house doorbell -violently, and ran.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p><p>In Berkeley Square he was just beginning to deal with another knocker, -when the door opened to an elderly woman of the housekeeper type and a -dachshund.</p> - -<p>"What do you want?" asked the housekeeper.</p> - -<p>"Does the Duke of Cu-cu-cumberland live here?" hiccupped Simon.</p> - -<p>"No, sir, he does not."</p> - -<p>"Sorry—sorry—sorry," said Simon. "My mistake—entirely my mistake. -Very sorry to trouble you indeed. What a pretty little dog! What's his -name?"</p> - -<p>He was entirely affable now, and, forgetful of knockers, wished to -strike up a friendship, a desire unshared evidently by the lady.</p> - -<p>"I think you had better go away," said she, recognising a gentleman and -mourning the fact.</p> - -<p>He considered this proposition deeply for a moment.</p> - -<p>"That's all very well," said he, "but where am I to go? That's the -question."</p> - -<p>"You had better go home."</p> - -<p>This seemed slightly to irritate him.</p> - -<p>"<i>I'm</i> not going home—<i>this</i> time of night—not likely." He began to -descend the steps as if to get away from admonition. "Not me; you can go -home yourself."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p><p>Off he went.</p> - -<p>He walked three times round Berkeley Square. He met a constable, -enquired where that street ended and when, found sympathy in return for -half-crowns, and was mothered into a straighter street.</p> - -<p>Half-way down the straighter street he remembered he hadn't shown the -sympathetic constable his door-knocker, but the policeman, fortunately, -had passed out of sight.</p> - -<p>Then he stood for awhile remembering Cerise. Her vision had suddenly -appeared before him; it threw him into deep melancholy—profound -melancholy. He went on till the lights and noise of Piccadilly restored -him. Then, further on, he entered a flaming doorway through which came -the music of a band.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PART III</h2> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">THE LAST SOVEREIGN</span></h2> - -<p>On the morning of the fourth of June, the same morning on which Simon -had broken like a butterfly from his chrysalis of long-moulded custom -and stiff routine, Mr. Bobby Ravenshaw, nephew and only near relation of -Simon Pettigrew, awoke in his chambers in Pactolus Mansions, Piccadilly, -yawned, rang for his tea, and, picking up the book he had put beside him -on dropping to sleep, began to read.</p> - -<p>The book was <i>Monte Cristo</i>. Now Pactolus Mansions, Piccadilly, sounds a -very grand address, and, as a matter of fact, it is a grand address, but -the address is grander than the place. For one thing, it is not in -Piccadilly, the approach is up a dubious side street; the word -"Pactolus" bears little relationship to it, nor the word "Mansions," and -the rents are moderate. Downstairs there is a restaurant and a lounge -with cosy corners.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p><p>People take chambers in Pactolus Mansions and vanish. The fact is never -reported to the Society for Psychical Research, the levitation being -always accountable for by solid reasons. To stop them from vanishing -before their rent is paid they have to pay their rent in advance. No -credit is given under any circumstances. This seems hard, yet there are -the compensating advantages that the rent is low, the service good, and -the address taking.</p> - -<p>Bobby Ravenshaw had chosen to live in Pactolus Mansions because it was -the cheapest place he could get near the gayest place in town.</p> - -<p>Bobby was an orphan, an Oxford man without a degree, and with a taste -for literature and fine clothes. Absolutely irresponsible. Five hundred -a year, derived from Simon, of whose only sister he was the son, and an -instinct for bridge that was worth another two hundred and fifty -supported Bobby in a lame sort of way, assisted by friends, confiding -tailors and bootmakers, and a genial moneylender who was also a cigar -merchant.</p> - -<p>Bobby had started in life a year or two ago with cleverness of no mean -order and the backing of money, but Fate had dealt him out two bad -cards: a nature that was charming and irresponsible, and good looks. -Girls <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>worshipped Bobby, and if his talents had only cast him on the -stage their worship might have helped. As it was, it hindered, for Bobby -was a literary man, and no girl has ever bought a book on the strength -of the good looks of the author.</p> - -<p>His tea having arrived, Bobby drank it, finished the chapter in <i>Monte -Cristo</i> and then rose and dressed.</p> - -<p>He was leaving Pactolus Mansions that day for the very good reason that, -if he wished to stay beyond twelve o'clock, he would have to pay a -month's rent in advance, and he only had thirty shillings.</p> - -<p>Uncle Simon had "foreclosed." That was Bobby's expression, a month ago. -For a month Bobby had watched the sands running down; no more money to -come in and all the time money running out. Absolutely unalarmed, and -only noticing the fact as he might have noticed a change in the weather, -he had made no provision, trusting to chance, to bridge that betrayed -him, and to friends. Literature could not help. He had got into a wrong -groove as far as moneymaking went. Little articles for literary papers -of limited circulation and a really cultivated taste are not the -immediate means to financial support in a world that devours its -fictional literature like ham sandwiches, forgotten<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> as soon as -eaten—and only fictional literature pays.</p> - -<p>He was thinking more of <i>Monte Cristo</i> than of his own position as he -dressed. The fact that he had to look out for other rooms worried him as -an uncomfortable business to be performed, but not much. If he couldn't -get other rooms that day he could always stay with Tozer. Tozer was an -Oxford man with chambers in the Albany—chambers always open to Bobby at -any hour. A sure stand-by in trouble.</p> - -<p>Then, having dressed, he took his hat and stick and the sovereign and -half-sovereign lying on the mantel, tipped the servant the -half-sovereign, and ordered that his things should be packed and his -luggage taken to the office to be left till he called for it.</p> - -<p>"I'm going to the country," said Bobby, "and I'll send my address for -letters to be forwarded."</p> - -<p>Then he started.</p> - -<p>He called first at the Albany.</p> - -<p>Tozer, the son of a big, defunct Manchester cotton merchant, was a man -of some twenty-three years, red-haired, with a taste for the good things -of life, a taste for boxing, a taste for music, and a hard common sense -that never deserted him even in his gayest and most <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>frivolous moods. -His chambers were newly furnished, the walls of the sitting-room adorned -with old prints, mostly proofs before letter; boxing gloves and -single-sticks hinted of themselves, and a violoncello stood in the -corner.</p> - -<p>He was at breakfast when Bobby arrived. Tozer rang for another cup and -plate.</p> - -<p>"Tozer," said Bobby, "I'm bust."</p> - -<p>"Aren't surprised to hear it," replied Tozer. "Try these kippers."</p> - -<p>"One single sovereign in the world, my boy, and I'm hunting for new -rooms."</p> - -<p>"What's the matter with your old rooms? Have they kicked you out?"</p> - -<p>Bobby explained.</p> - -<p>"Good Lord!" said Tozer. "You've cut the ground from under your feet, -staying at a place like that."</p> - -<p>"It's not all my fault, it's my relative. I always boasted to him that I -paid my rent in advance; he took it as a sign of wisdom."</p> - -<p>"What made him go back on you?"</p> - -<p>"A girl."</p> - -<p>"Which way?"</p> - -<p>"Well, it was this way. I was staying with the Huntingdons, you know, -the Warwickshire lot."</p> - -<p>"I know—bridge and brandy crowd."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, they're all right. Well, I was staying with them when I met her."</p> - -<p>"What's her name?"</p> - -<p>"Alice Carruthers."</p> - -<p>"Heave ahead."</p> - -<p>"I got engaged to her; she hadn't a penny."</p> - -<p>"Just like you."</p> - -<p>"And her people haven't a penny, and I wrote like a fool telling the -relative. He gave me the option of cutting her off or being cut off. It -seems her people were the real obstacle. He wrote quite libellous things -about them. I refused."</p> - -<p>"Of course."</p> - -<p>"And he cut me off. Well, the funny thing was she cut me off a week -later, and she's engaged now to a chap called Harkness."</p> - -<p>"Well, why don't you tell the relative and make it up?"</p> - -<p>"Tell him she'd fired me! Besides, it's no use, he'd just go on to other -things—what he calls extravagances and irresponsibilities."</p> - -<p>"I see."</p> - -<p>"That's just how it is."</p> - -<p>"Look here, Bobby," said Tozer, "you've just got to cut all this -nonsense and get to work. You've been making a fool of yourself."</p> - -<p>"I have," said Bobby, helping himself to marmalade.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p><p>"There's no use saying, 'I have,' and then forgetting. I know you. -You're a good sort, Bobby, but you are in the wrong set; you couldn't -keep the pace. You've loads of cleverness and you're going to rot. -Work!"</p> - -<p>"How?"</p> - -<p>"Write," said Tozer, who believed in Bobby and hated to see him going to -waste. "Write. I've always been urging you to settle down and write."</p> - -<p>"I made five pounds ten last year writing," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"I know—articles on old French poetry and so on. You've got to write -fiction. You can do it. That little story you wrote for Tillson's was -ripping."</p> - -<p>"The devil of it is," said Bobby, "I can't find plots. I can write all -right if I have only something to write about, but I can't find plots."</p> - -<p>"That's rubbish, and pure laziness. Can't find plots, with your -experience of London and life! You've got to find plots, and find them -sharp; it's the only trade open to you. You can do it, and it pays. Now -look here, B. R. I'll finance you——"</p> - -<p>"Thanks awfully," said Bobby, helping himself to a cigarette from a box -on a little table near by.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p><p>"Reserve your thanks. I'm not going to finance a slacker, which you are -at present, but a hard-working literary man, which you will be when I -have done with you. I will give you a room here on the strict conditions -that you keep early hours five days a week."</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"That you give up bridge."</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"And fooling after girls."</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"And this day set out and find a plot for a good, honest, payable piece -of fiction, novel length. I'm not going to let you off with short-story -writing."</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"I know a good publisher, and I will assure you that the thing shall be -published in the best form, that I will back the advertising and -pushing—see? And I will promise you that, however the thing turns out, -you shall have two hundred pounds. You will get all profits if it is a -success, understand me?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"You shall have five pounds a week pocket-money whilst you are writing, -to be repaid out of profits if the profits exceed two hundred, not to be -repaid if they don't."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p><p>"I don't like taking money for nothing," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"You won't get it, only for hard work. Besides, it's for my amusement -and interest. I believe in you, and I want to see my belief justified. -You need never bother about taking money from me. First, I have plenty; -secondly, I never give it without a <i>quid pro quo</i>, the trading instinct -is too strong in me."</p> - -<p>"Well," said Bobby, "it's jolly good of you, and I'll pay you the lot -back, if——"</p> - -<p>Tozer was lighting a cigarette; he flung the match down impatiently.</p> - -<p>"If! You'll do nothing if you begin with an 'if.' Now, make up your mind -quick without any 'ifs.' Will you, or won't you?"</p> - -<p>"I will," said Bobby, suddenly catching on to the idea and taking fire. -"I believe I can do it if——"</p> - -<p>"If!" shouted Tozer.</p> - -<p>"I <i>will</i> do it. I'll find a plot. I'll dig in my brains right -away—I'll hunt round."</p> - -<p>"Off with you, then," said Tozer, "and send your luggage here and come -back to-night with your plot. You can work in your bedroom and you can -have all your meals here—I forgot to include that. Now I'm going to -have a tune on the 'cello."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p><p>Bobby departed with a light heart. His position, before calling on -Tozer, had really begun to weigh on him. Tozer had given him even more -than the promise of financial support, he had given him the backing of -his common sense. He had "jawed" him mildly, and Bobby felt all the -better for it. It was like a tonic. His high spirits as he descended the -stairs increased with every step taken.</p> - -<p>Bobby was no sponge. Bridge and the relative had kept him going, and he -had always managed to meet his debts, with the exception, perhaps, of a -tradesman or two; nor would he have taken this favour from any other man -than Tozer, and perhaps not even from Tozer had it not been accompanied -by the "jawing."</p> - -<p>So he set out, light of heart, young, good-looking, well-dressed, yet -with only a sovereign, to hunt through the summer landscape of London -for the plot for a novel.</p> - -<p>Why, he was the plot for a novel, or at least the beginning of one, had -he known!</p> - -<p>He did not, but he had an intimate knowledge of Tozer's fictional -proclivities and a fine understanding of exactly what Tozer wanted. -Bones, ribs, and vertebra, construction—or, in other words, story. -Tozer could not be fubbed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> off with fine writing, with long -introspective chapters dealing with the boyhood of the author, with sham -psychology masquerading as Fiction; nor, indeed, could Bobby have -supplied the two latter features. Tozer wanted action, people moving on -their feet under the dominion of the author's purpose, through -situations, towards a definite goal.</p> - -<p>Out in Vigo Street, and despite the aura of inspiration around the -Bodley Head, Bobby's high spirits came slightly under eclipse; it all at -once seemed to him that he had undertaken a task. In Cork Street, as he -stood for a moment looking at the rare editions exposed in the windows -of Elkin Mathews, this feeling grew and put on horns.</p> - -<p>A task to Bobby meant a thing disagreeable to do, and the elegant -volumes of minor poets, copies of the Yellow Book, and vellum-bound -editions of belles lettres were saying to him, "You've got to write a -novel, my boy, a good Mudie novel, the sort of novel the Tozers of life -will pay for; no little essays written with the little finger turned up. -No modern verses like your 'Harmonies and Discords,' that cost you -twenty-five pounds to produce and sold sixteen copies of itself, -according to last returns. You have got to be the harmonious blacksmith -now;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> get into your apron, get under your spreading chestnut-tree, and -produce."</p> - -<p>In Bond Street he met Lord Billy Tottenham, a fellow Oxonian, who met -his death in a mud-hole in Flanders the other year.</p> - -<p>Lord Billy, with a boyish, smug, but immovable face adorned with a -tortoiseshell-rimmed eyeglass.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Bobby!" said Billy.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Billy!" said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"What's wrong with you?" asked Billy.</p> - -<p>"Broke to the world, my dear chap."</p> - -<p>"What was the horse?" asked Billy.</p> - -<p>"'Twasn't a horse—a girl, mostly."</p> - -<p>"Well, you're not the first chap that's been broke by a girl," said -Billy. "Walk along a bit—but it might have been worse."</p> - -<p>"How so?"</p> - -<p>"She might have married you."</p> - -<p>"Maybe; but the worst of it is I've got to work—tuck up my sleeves and -work."</p> - -<p>"What at?"</p> - -<p>"Novel-writing."</p> - -<p>"Well, that's easy enough," said Billy cheerfully. "You can easily get -some literary cove to do the writing and stick your name to it, and -we'll all buy your books, my boy, we'll all buy your books; not that I -ever read books much,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> but I'll buy 'em if you write 'em. Come into -Jubber's."</p> - -<p>Arm-in-arm they entered Long's Hotel, where Billy resided, and over a -mutual whisky-and-soda they forgot books and discussed horses; they -lunched together and discussed dogs, girls, and mutual friends. It was -like old times again, but over the liqueurs and over the cigarette-smoke -suddenly appeared to Bobby the vision of Tozer. He said good-bye to the -affluent one, and departed. "I've got to work," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>His momentary lapse from the direction of the target only served to pull -him together, and it seemed, now, as though the luncheon and the lapse -had made things easier. He told himself if he hadn't brains enough to -scare up some sort of plot for a six-shilling novel he had better drown -himself. If he couldn't do what hundreds of people with half his -knowledge of the world and ability were doing he would be a mug of the -very first water.</p> - -<p>If anything depressed him it was the horrible and futile assurance of -Billy that "his friends would buy his books." He went to Pactolus -Mansions and ordered his luggage to be sent to the Albany, then he -changed his sovereign and bought a cigar, then an omnibus gave him an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -inspiration. He would get on top of an omnibus and in that cool and airy -position do a bit of thinking.</p> - -<p>It was not an original idea; he had read, or heard, of a famous author -who thought out his plots on the tops of omnibuses—but it was an idea. -He clambered on to the top of an eastward-going bus, and, behind a fat -lady with bugles on her bonnet, tried to compose his mind.</p> - -<p>Why not make a story about—Billy? People liked reading of the -aristocracy, and Billy was a character in his way and had many stories -attached to him. He could start the book grandly, simply out of -remembered visions of Lord William Tottenham in his gayest moods. L. W. -T. emptying bottles of cliquot into a grand piano at Oxford. Oxford—ay, -grander and grander—the book should begin at Oxford with a fresh and -vigorous picture of University life. Tozer would come in, and a host of -others; then, after Oxford, there was the rub.</p> - -<p>The story that had begun so brightly suddenly ceased.</p> - -<p>A character and a situation do not make a story.</p> - -<p>They had reached the Bank—as if by derision, when he told himself this. -He got off the omnibus and got on a westward-bound one <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>harking back to -the land he knew. He remembered the expression, "racking one's brains to -find a plot." He knew the meaning of it now.</p> - -<p>At Piccadilly Circus, where all the things meet, a lanky, wild-looking, -red-haired girl in a picture hat and a fit of abstraction—that was the -impression she gave—caught his eye. In a moment he was after her.</p> - -<p>Here was salvation. Julia Delyse, the last catch-on, whose books were -selling by the hundred thousand. He had met her at the Three Arts Ball -and once since. She had called him Bobby the second time. He had flirted -with her, as he flirted with everything with skirts on, and forgotten -her. She was very modern; modern enough to raise the hair on a -grandmother's scalp. Her looks were to match.</p> - -<p>"Hello," said he.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Bobby," said Julia.</p> - -<p>"You are just the person I want to see," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"How's that?" said Julia.</p> - -<p>"I'm in a fix."</p> - -<p>"What sort of fix?"</p> - -<p>"I've got to write a novel."</p> - -<p>"What's the hurry?" asked Julia.</p> - -<p>"Money," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"Make money?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p><p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"If you write for money you're lost," said Julia.</p> - -<p>"I'm lost anyway," replied Bobby. "Where are you going to?"</p> - -<p>"Home; my flat's close by. Come and have some tea."</p> - -<p>"I don't mind. Well now, see here; I've got to do it and I can't find -anything to write about."</p> - -<p>"With all London before you?"</p> - -<p>"I know, but when I start to think it all gets behind me. I want you to -start me with some idea; you're full of ideas and you know the ropes."</p> - -<p>They had reached the flat, and the lady with ideas ushered him in.</p> - -<p>The sitting-room was in a scheme of black with Japanese effects; she -offered cigarettes, lit one herself, and tea was brought in.</p> - -<p>Then the hypnotism began.</p> - -<p>The fact that she was a "famous authoress" would not have mattered a -button to Bobby yesterday; to-day, on his new strange road, it lent her -a charm that completed the fascination of her wondrous eyes. They seemed -wild in the street, but when she looked at one intensively they were -wonderful. Plots were forgotten, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> in the twilight Bobby's full, -musical voice might have been heard discussing literature—with long -pauses.</p> - -<p>"Dear old thing.... Is that cushion comfy?... Oh, bother the girl and -the tea-things!... Just put your head so—so...."</p> - -<p>He had been hooked twenty times by girls and pulled off the hook by -parents or been thrown back by the fisherwoman on inspecting his bank -balance, but he had never been hooked like this before, for Julia had no -parents to speak of; she was above bank balances, and her grip was of -iron where passion was concerned, and publishers. Her publishers could -have told you that by the way she gripped her rights when they tried to -cheat her of them, for, despite her wondrous eyes and wild air and the -fact that she was a genius, she was practical as well as tenacious in -hold.</p> - -<p>Then, at the end of the <i>séance</i>, Bobby found himself leaving the flat a -semi-tied-up man. He couldn't remember whether he had proposed to her or -she to him, or whether either of them had proposed or actually accepted, -but there was a tie between them, a tie slight enough and not binding in -any court; less an engagement than an attachment formed, so he told -himself.</p> - -<p>He remembered in the street, however, that a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> tie between him and an -authoress was not what Tozer wanted; he had received no plot or even -literary hint. Had he retained his clear senses during the <i>séance</i>, and -had he possessed a knowledge of Julia Delyse's brilliant and cynical -books, he might have wondered where the brilliancy and cynicism came -from. In love, Julia was absolutely unliterary—and a bit -heavy—clinging, as it were.</p> - -<p>The momentary idea of running back to ask for the forgotten plot, as for -a hat left behind, was dispelled by this sudden feeling that she was -heavy.</p> - -<p>Under the fascination of her eyes and in that weird room she seemed -light; in St. James's Street, where he now was, she seemed heavy. And he -would have to go on with the attachment for awhile or be a brute. That -recognition, with the remembrance of Tozer and a recognition of his -failure in his search for the one essential thing, depressed him for a -moment. Then he determined to forget about everything and go and have -dinner. In other words, failing in his search for the thing he wanted, -he stopped searching, leaving the matter in the hands of blind chance.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">UNCLE SIMON</span></h2> - -<p>Or fate, if you like it better, for it was fated that Bobby should find -that day the thing he was in search of.</p> - -<p>He dined at a little club he patronised in a street off St. James's -Street, met a friend named Foulkes, and adjourned to the Alhambra, -Foulkes insisting on doing all the paying.</p> - -<p>They left the Alhambra at half-past ten.</p> - -<p>"I must be getting back to the Albany," said Bobby. "I'm sharing rooms -with a chap, and he's an early bird."</p> - -<p>"Oh, let him wait," said Foulkes. "Come along for ten minutes to the -Stage Club."</p> - -<p>They went to the Stage Club. Then, the place being empty and little -amusement to be found there, they departed, Foulkes declaring his -determination to see Bobby part of the way home.</p> - -<p>Passing a large entrance hall blazing with light and filled with the -noise of a distant band, Foulkes stopped.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p><p>"Come in here for a moment," said he. In they went.</p> - -<p>The place was gay—very gay. Little marble-topped tables stood about; -French waiters running from table to table and serving guests—ladies -and gentlemen.</p> - -<p>At a long glittering bar many men were standing, and a Red Hungarian -Band was discoursing scarlet music.</p> - -<p>Foulkes took a table and ordered refreshment. The place was horrid. One -could not tell exactly what there was about it that went counter to all -the finer feelings and the sense of home, simplicity, and happiness.</p> - -<p>Bobby, rather depressed, felt this, but Foulkes, a man of tougher fibre, -seemed quite happy.</p> - -<p>"What ails you, Ravenshaw?" asked Foulkes.</p> - -<p>"Nothing," said Bobby. "No, I won't have any more to drink. I've work to -do——"</p> - -<p>Then he stopped and stared before him with eyes wide.</p> - -<p>"What is it now?" asked Foulkes.</p> - -<p>"Good Lord!" said Bobby. "Look at that chap at the bar!"</p> - -<p>"Which one?"</p> - -<p>"The one with the straw hat on the back of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> his head. It can't be—but -it is—it's the Relative."</p> - -<p>"The one you told me of that fired you out and cut you off with a -shilling?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Uncle Simon. No, it's not, it can't be. It is, though, in a straw -<i>hat</i>."</p> - -<p>"And squiffy," said Foulkes.</p> - -<p>Bobby got up and, leaving the other, strolled to the bar casually. The -man at the bar was toying with a glass of soda-water supplied to him on -sufferance. Bobby got close to him. Yes, that was the right hand with -the white scar—got when a young man "hunting"—and the seal ring.</p> - -<p>The last time Bobby had met Uncle Simon was in the office in Old -Serjeants' Inn. Uncle Simon, seated at his desk-table with his back to -the big John Tann safe, had been in bitter mood; not angry, but stern. -Bobby seated before him, hat in hand, had offered no apologies or -exculpations for his conduct with girls, for his stupid engagement, for -his idleness. He had many bad faults, but he never denied them, nor did -he seek to minimise them by explanations and lies.</p> - -<p>"I tried to float you," had said Uncle Simon, as though Bobby were a -company. "I have failed. Well, I have done my duty, and I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> clearly see -that I will not be doing my duty by continuing as I have done; the -allowance I have made you is ended. You will now have to swim for -yourself. I should never have put money in your hands; I quite see -that."</p> - -<p>"I can make my own living," said Bobby. "I am not without gratitude for -what you have done——"</p> - -<p>"And a nice way you have shown your gratitude," said the other, -"tangling yourself like that—gaming, frequenting bars."</p> - -<p>So the interview had ended. Frequenting bars!</p> - -<p>"Uncle Simon!" said Bobby half-nervously, touching the other on the arm.</p> - -<p>Uncle Simon swung slowly round. Bobby might have been King Canute for -all Uncle Simon knew. He had got beyond the stage where the word "uncle" -from a stranger would have aroused ire or surprise.</p> - -<p>"H'are you?" said Simon. "Have a drink?"</p> - -<p>Yes, it was Uncle Simon right enough, and Bobby, in all his life, had -never received such a shock as that which came to him now with the full -recognition of the fact. St. Paul's Cathedral turned into a -gambling-shop, the Bishop of London dressed as a clown, would have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> -nothing to this. He was horrified. He came to the swift conclusion that -Uncle Simon had come to smash somehow, and gone mad. A vague idea flew -through his mind that his respected relative was dressed like this as a -disguise to avoid creditors, but he had sense enough not to ask -questions.</p> - -<p>"I don't mind," said he; "I'll have a small soda."</p> - -<p>"Small grandmother," said the other; then, nodding to the bar-tender, -"'Nother same as mine."</p> - -<p>"What have you been doing?" asked Bobby vaguely, as he took the glass.</p> - -<p>"Roun' the town—roun' the town," replied the other. "Gl'd to meet you. -What've you been doin'?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I've just been going round the town."</p> - -<p>"Roun' the town, that's the way—roun' the town," replied the other. -"Roun' an' roun' and roun' the town."</p> - -<p>Foulkes broke into this intellectual discussion.</p> - -<p>"I'm off," said Foulkes.</p> - -<p>"Stay a minit," said Uncle Simon. "What'll you have?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, thanks," said Foulkes.</p> - -<p>"Come on," said Bobby, taking the arm of his relative.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p><p>"W'ere to?" asked the other, hanging back slightly.</p> - -<p>"Oh, we'll go round the town—round and round. Come on." Then to -Foulkes, "Get a taxi, quick!"</p> - -<p>Foulkes vanished towards the door.</p> - -<p>Then Simon, falling in with the round-the-town idea, arm-in-arm, the -pair threaded their way between the tables, the cynosure of all eyes, -Simon exhibiting dispositions to stop and chat with seated and absolute -strangers, Bobby perspiring and blushing. All the lectures on fast -living he had ever endured were nothing to this; the shame of folly, for -the first time in his life, appeared definitely before him, and the -relief of the street and the waiting taxi beyond words.</p> - -<p>They bundled Simon in.</p> - -<p>"No. 12, King Charles Street, Westminster," said Bobby to the driver.</p> - -<p>Uncle Simon's head and bust appeared at the door of the vehicle, the -address given by Bobby seeming to have paralysed the round-the-town idea -in his mind.</p> - -<p>"Ch'ing Cross Hotel," said he. "Wach you mean givin' wrong address? I'm -staying Ch'ing Cross Hotel."</p> - -<p>"Well, let's go to Charles Street <i>first</i>," agreed Bobby.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p><p>"No—Ch'ing Cross Hotel—luggage waitin' there."</p> - -<p>Bobby paused.</p> - -<p>Could it be possible that this was the truth? It couldn't be stranger -than the truth before him.</p> - -<p>"All right," said he. "Charing Cross Hotel, driver."</p> - -<p>He said good-bye to Foulkes, got in, and shut the door.</p> - -<p>Uncle Simon seemed asleep.</p> - -<p>The Charing Cross Hotel was only a very short distance away, and when -they got there Bobby, leaving the sleeping one undisturbed, hopped out -to make enquiries as to whether a Mr. Pettigrew was staying there; if -not, he could go on to Charles Street.</p> - -<p>In the hall he found the night porter and Mudd.</p> - -<p>"Good heavens! Mr. Robert, what are you doing here?" said Mudd.</p> - -<p>Bobby took Mudd aside.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter with my uncle, Mudd?" asked Bobby in a tragic -half-whisper.</p> - -<p>"Matter!" said Mudd, wildly alarmed. "What's he been a-doing of?"</p> - -<p>"I've got him in a cab outside," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"Oh, thank God!" said Mudd. "He's not hurt, is he?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p><p>"No; only three sheets in the wind."</p> - -<p>Mudd broke away for the door, followed by the other.</p> - -<p>Simon was still asleep.</p> - -<p>They got him out, and between them they brought him in, Bobby paying the -fare with the last of his sovereign.</p> - -<p>Arrived at the room, Mudd turned on the electric light, and then, -between them, they got the reveller to bed. Folding his coat, Mudd, -searching in the pockets, found a brass door-knocker. "Good Lord!" -murmured Mudd. "He's been a-takin' of knockers."</p> - -<p>He hid the knocker in a drawer and proceeded. Two pounds ten was all the -money to be found in the clothes, but Simon had retained his watch and -chain by a miracle.</p> - -<p>Bobby was astonished at Simon's pyjamas, taken out of a drawer by Mudd; -blue and yellow striped silk, no less.</p> - -<p>"He'll be all right now, and I'll have another look at him," said Mudd. -"Come down, Mr. Robert."</p> - -<p>"Mudd," said Bobby, when they were in the hall again, "what is it?"</p> - -<p>"He's gone," said Mudd; "gone in the head."</p> - -<p>"Mad?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p><p>"No, not mad; it's a temporary abrogation. Some of them new diseases, -the doctor says. It's his youth come back on him, grown like a wisdom -tooth. Yesterday he was as right as you or me; this morning he started -off for the office as right as myself. It must have struck him sudden. -Same thing happened last year and he got over it. It took a month, -though."</p> - -<p>"Good heavens!" said Bobby. "I met him in a bar, by chance. If he's -going on like this for a month you'll have your work cut out for you, -Mudd."</p> - -<p>"There's no name to it," said Mudd. "Mr. Robert, this has to be kept -close in the family and away from the office; you've got to help with -him."</p> - -<p>"I'll do my best," said Bobby unenthusiastically, "but, hang it, Mudd, -I've got my living to make now. I've no time to hang about bars and -places, and if to-night's a sample——"</p> - -<p>"We've got to get him away to the country or somewhere," said Mudd, -"else it means ruin to the business and Lord knows what all. It's got to -be done, Mr. Robert, and you've got to help, being the only relative."</p> - -<p>"Couldn't that doctor man take care of him?"</p> - -<p>"Not he," said Mudd; "he's given me <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>instructions. The master is just to -be let alone in reason; any thwarting or checking might send him clean -off. He's got to be led, not driven."</p> - -<p>Bobby whistled softly and between his teeth. He couldn't desert Uncle -Simon. He never remembered that Uncle Simon had deserted him for just -such conduct, or even less, for Bobby, stupid as he was, had rarely -descended to the position he had found Uncle Simon in a little while -ago.</p> - -<p>Bobby was young, generous, forgetful and easy to forgive, so the fact -that the Relative had deserted him and cut him off with a shilling never -occurred to his open soul at this critical moment.</p> - -<p>Uncle Simon had to be looked after. He felt the truth of Mudd's words -about the office. If this thing were known it would knock the business -to pieces. Bobby was no fool, and he knew something of Simon's -responsibilities; he administered estates, he had charge of trust-money, -he was the most respected solicitor in London. Heavens! if this were -known, what a rabbit-run for frightened clients Old Serjeants' Inn would -become within twenty-four hours!</p> - -<p>Then, again, Bobby was a Ravenshaw. The Ravenshaws were much above the -Pettigrews. The Ravenshaws were a proud race, and the old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> Admiral, his -father, who lost all his money in Patagonian Bonds, was the proudest of -the lot, and he had handed his pride to his son.</p> - -<p>Yes, leaving even the office aside, Uncle Simon must be looked after.</p> - -<p>Now if U. S. had been a lunatic the task would have been abominable but -simple, but a man who had suddenly developed extraordinary youth, yet -was, so the doctor said, sane—a man who must be just humoured and -led—was a worse proposition.</p> - -<p>Playing bear-leader to a young fool was an entirely different thing to -being a young fool oneself. Even his experience of an hour ago told -Bobby this; that short experience was his first sharp lesson in the -disgustingness of folly. He shied at the prospect of going on with the -task. But Uncle Simon must be looked after. He couldn't get over or -under that fence.</p> - -<p>"Well, I'll do what I can," said he. "I'll come round to-morrow morning. -But see here, Mudd, where does he get his money from?"</p> - -<p>"He's got ten thousand pounds somewhere hid," said Mudd.</p> - -<p>"Ten thousand what?"</p> - -<p>"Pounds. Ten thousand pounds somewhere hid. The doctor told me he had -it. He drew the same last year and spent five in a month."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p><p>"Five pounds?"</p> - -<p>"Five thousand, Mr. Robert."</p> - -<p>"Five thousand in a month! I say, this is serious, Mudd."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" said Mudd. "Don't tell me—I know—and, me, I've -been working forty years for five hundred."</p> - -<p>"He couldn't have taken it out with him to-day, do you think?"</p> - -<p>"No, Mr. Robert, I don't think he's as far gone as that. He's always -been pretty close with his money, and closeness sticks, abrogation or no -abrogation; but it's not the money I'm worritin' so much about as the -women."</p> - -<p>"What women?"</p> - -<p>"Them that's always looking out for such as he."</p> - -<p>"Well, we must coosh them off," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"You'll be here in the morning, Mr. Robert?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I'll be here, and, meanwhile, keep an eye on him."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I'll keep an eye on him," said Mudd.</p> - -<p>Then the yawning night porter saw this weird conference close, Mudd -going off upstairs and Bobby departing, a soberer and wiser young man -even than when he had entered.</p> - -<p>It was late when he reached the Albany.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> Tozer was sitting up, reading a -book on counterpoint.</p> - -<p>"Well, what luck?" asked Tozer, pleased at the other's gravity and -sobriety.</p> - -<p>"I've found a plot," said Bobby; "at least, the middle of one, but it's -tipsy."</p> - -<p>"Tipsy?"</p> - -<p>"It's my—Tozer, this is a dead secret between you and me—it's my -Relative."</p> - -<p>"Your uncle?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"What on earth do you mean?"</p> - -<p>Bobby explained.</p> - -<p>Tozer made some tea over a spirit lamp as he listened, then he handed -the other a cup.</p> - -<p>"That's interesting," said he, as he sat down again and filled a pipe. -"That's interesting."</p> - -<p>"But look here," said the other, "do you believe it? Can a man get young -again and forget everything and go on like this?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," said Tozer, "but I believe he can—and he seems to be -doing it, don't he?"</p> - -<p>"He does; we found a knocker in his coat pocket."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon, a what?"</p> - -<p>"A door-knocker; he must have wrung it off a door somewhere, a big brass -one, like a lion's head."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p><p>"How old is he?"</p> - -<p>"Uncle?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Sixty."</p> - -<p>Tozer calculated.</p> - -<p>"Forty years ago—yes, the young chaps about town were still ringing -door-knockers then; it was going out, but I had an uncle who did it. -This is interesting." Then he exploded. He had never seen Simon the -solicitor, or his mirth might have been louder.</p> - -<p>"It's very easy to laugh," said Bobby, rather huffed, "but you would not -laugh if you were in my shoes—I've got to look after him."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," said Tozer. "Now let me be serious. Whatever -happens, you have got a fine <i>ficelle</i> for a story. I'm in earnest; it -only wants working out."</p> - -<p>"Oh, good heavens!" said Bobby. "Does one eat one's grandmother? And how -am I to write stories tied like this?"</p> - -<p>"He'll write it for you," said Tozer, "or I'm greatly mistaken, if you -only hang on and give him a chance. He's begun it for you. And as for -eating your grandmother, uncles aren't grandmothers, and you can change -his name."</p> - -<p>"I wish to goodness I could," said Bobby.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> "The terror I'm in is lest -his name should come out in some mad escapade."</p> - -<p>"I expect he's been in the same terror of you," said Tozer, "many a -time."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but I hadn't an office to look after and a big business."</p> - -<p>"Well, you've got one now," said Tozer, "and it will teach you -responsibility, Bobby; it will teach you responsibility."</p> - -<p>"Hang responsibility!"</p> - -<p>"I know; that's what your uncle has often said, no doubt. Responsibility -is the only thing that steadies men, and the sense of it is the -grandfather of all the other decent senses. You'll be a much better man -for this, Bobby, or my name is not Tozer."</p> - -<p>"I wish it were Ravenshaw," said Bobby. Then remembrance made him pause.</p> - -<p>"I ought to tell you——" said he, then he stopped.</p> - -<p>"Well?" said Tozer.</p> - -<p>"I promised you to stop—um—fooling after girls."</p> - -<p>"That means, I expect, that you have been doing it."</p> - -<p>"Not exactly, and yet——"</p> - -<p>"Go on."</p> - -<p>Bobby explained.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p><p>"Well," said Tozer, "I forgive you. It was good intent spoiled by -atavism. You returned to your old self for a moment, like your Uncle -Simon. Do you know, Bobby, I believe this disease of your uncle's is -more prevalent than one would imagine—though of course in a less acute -form. We are all of us always returning to our old selves, by fits and -starts—and paying for the return. You see what you have done to-day. -Your Uncle Simon has done nothing more foolish, you both found your old -selves.</p> - -<p>"Lord, that old self! All the experience and wisdom of the world don't -head it off, it seems to me, when it wants to return. Well, you've done -it, and when you write your story you can put yourself in as well as -your uncle, and call the whole thing, 'A Horrible Warning.' Good night."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">THE HUNDRED-POUND NOTE</span></h2> - -<p>Uncle Simon awoke consumed by thirst, but without a headache; a good -constitution and years of regular life had given him a large balance to -draw upon.</p> - -<p>Mudd was in the room arranging things; he had just drawn up the blind.</p> - -<p>"Who's that?" asked Simon.</p> - -<p>"Mudd," replied the other.</p> - -<p>Mudd's <i>tout ensemble</i> as a new sort of hotel servant seemed to please -Simon, and he accepted him at once as he accepted everything that -pleased him.</p> - -<p>"Give me that water-bottle," said Simon.</p> - -<p>Mudd gave it. Simon half-drained it and handed it back. The draught -seemed to act on him like the elixir vitæ.</p> - -<p>"What are you doing with those clothes?" said he.</p> - -<p>"Oh, just folding them," said Mudd.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p><p>"Well, just leave them alone," replied the other. "Is there any money -in the pockets?"</p> - -<p>"These aren't what you wore last night," said Mudd; "there was two -pounds ten in the pockets of what you had on. Here it is, on the -mantel."</p> - -<p>"Good," said Simon.</p> - -<p>"Have you any more money anywhere about?" asked Mudd.</p> - -<p>Now Simon, spendthrift in front of pleasure and heedless of money as the -wind, in front of Mudd seemed cautious and a bit suspicious. It was as -though his subliminal mind recognised in Mudd restraint and guardianship -and common sense.</p> - -<p>"Not a halfpenny," said he. "Give me that two pounds ten."</p> - -<p>Mudd, alarmed at the vigour of the other, put the money on the little -table by the bed.</p> - -<p>Simon was at once placated.</p> - -<p>"Now put me out some clothes," said he. He seemed to have accepted Mudd -now as a personal servant—hired when? Heaven knows when; details like -that were nothing to Simon.</p> - -<p>Mudd, marvelling and sorrowing, put out a suit of blue serge, a blue -tie, a shirt and other things of silk. There was a bathroom, off the -bedroom, and, the things put out, Simon arose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> and wandered into the -bathroom, and Mudd, taking his seat on a chair, listened to him tubbing -and splashing—whistling, too, evidently in the gayest spirits, spirits -portending another perfect day.</p> - -<p>"Lead him," had said Oppenshaw. Why, Mudd already was being led. There -was something about Simon, despite his irresponsibility and good humour, -that would not brook a halter even if the halter were of silk. Mudd -recognised that. And the money! What had become of the money? The locked -portmanteau might contain it, but where was the key?</p> - -<p>Mudd did not even know whether his unhappy master had recognised him or -not, and he dared not ask, fearing complications. But he knew that Simon -had accepted him as a servant, and that knowledge had to suffice.</p> - -<p>If Simon had refused him, and turned him out, that would have been a -tragedy indeed.</p> - -<p>Simon, re-entering the bedroom, bath towel in hand, began to dress, Mudd -handing things which Simon took as though half oblivious of the presence -of the other. He seemed engaged in some happy vein of thought.</p> - -<p>Dressed and smart, but unshaved, though scarcely showing the fact, Simon -took the two pounds ten and put it in his pocket, then he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> looked at -Mudd. His expression had changed somewhat; he seemed working out some -problem in his mind.</p> - -<p>"That will do," said he; "I won't want you any more for a few minutes. I -want to arrange things. You can go down and come back in a few minutes."</p> - -<p>Mudd hesitated. Then he went.</p> - -<p>He heard Simon lock the door. He went into an adjoining corridor and -walked up and down, dumbly praying that Mr. Robert would come—confused, -agitated, wondering.... Suppose Simon wanted to be alone to cut his -throat! The horror of this thought was dispelled by the recollection -that there were no razors about; also by the remembered cheerfulness of -the other. But why did he want to be alone?</p> - -<p>Two minutes passed, three, five—then the intrigued one, making for the -closed door, turned the handle. The door was unlocked, and Simon, -standing in the middle of the room, was himself again.</p> - -<p>"I've got a message I want you to take," said Simon.</p> - -<p>Ten minutes later Mr. Robert Ravenshaw, entering the Charing Cross -Hotel, found Mudd with his hat on, waiting for him.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p><p>"Thank the Lord you've come, Mr. Robert!" said Mudd.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter now?" asked Bobby. "Where is he?"</p> - -<p>"He's having breakfast," said Mudd.</p> - -<p>"Well, that's sensible, anyhow. Cheer up, Mudd; why, you look as if -you'd swallowed a funeral."</p> - -<p>"It's the money," said Mudd. Then he burst out, "He told me to go from -the room and come back in a minit. Out I went, and he locked the door. -Back I came; there was he standing. 'Mudd,' said he, 'I've got a message -for you to take. I want you to take a bunch of flowers to a lady.' Me!"</p> - -<p>"Yes?" said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"To a lady!"</p> - -<p>"'Where's the flowers?' said I, wishing to head him off. 'You're to go -and buy them,' said he. 'I have no money,' said I, wishing to head him -off. 'Hang money!' said he, and he puts his hand in his pocket and out -he brings a hundred-pound note and a ten-pound note. And he had only two -pounds ten when I left him. He's got the money in that portmanteau, that -I'm sure, and he got me out of the room to get it."</p> - -<p>"Evidently," said Bobby.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p><p>"'Here's ten pounds,' said he; 'get the best bunch of flowers money can -buy and tell the lady I'm coming to see her later on in the day.'</p> - -<p>"'What lady?' said I, wishing to head him off.</p> - -<p>"'This is the address,' said he, and goes to the writing-table and -writes it out."</p> - -<p>He handed Bobby a sheet of the hotel paper. Simon's handwriting was on -it, and a name and address supplied by that memory of his which clung so -tenaciously to all things pleasant.</p> - -<p>"Miss Rossignol, 10, Duke Street, Leicester Square."</p> - -<p>Bobby whistled.</p> - -<p>"Did I ever dream I'd see this day?" mourned Mudd. "Me! Sent on a -message like that, by <i>him</i>!"</p> - -<p>"This is a complication," said Bobby. "I say, Mudd, he must have been -busy yesterday—upon <i>my</i> soul——"</p> - -<p>"Question is, what am I to do?" said Mudd. "I'm goin' to take no flowers -to hussies."</p> - -<p>Bobby thought deeply for a moment.</p> - -<p>"Did he recognise you this morning?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"I don't know," said Mudd, "but he made no bones. I don't believe he -remembered me right, but he made no bones."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p><p>"Well, Mudd, you'd better just swallow your feelings and take those -flowers, for if you don't, and he finds out, he may fire you. Where -would we be then? Besides, he's to be humoured, so the doctor said, -didn't he?"</p> - -<p>"Shall I send for the doctor right off, sir?" asked Mudd, clutching at a -forlorn hope.</p> - -<p>"The doctor can't stop him from fooling after girls," said Bobby, -"unless the doctor could put him away in a lunatic asylum; and he can't, -can he, seeing he says he's not mad? Besides, there's the slur, and the -thing would be sure to leak out. No, Mudd, just swallow your feelings -and trot off and get those flowers, and, meanwhile, I'll do what I can -to divert his mind. And see here, Mudd, you might just see what that -girl is like."</p> - -<p>"Shall I tell her he's off his head and that maybe she'll have the law -on her if she goes on fooling with him?" suggested Mudd.</p> - -<p>"No," said the more worldly-wise Bobby; "if she's the wrong sort that -would only make her more keen. She'd say to herself, 'Here's a queer old -chap with money, half off his nut, and not under restraint; let's make -hay before they lock him up.' If she's the right sort it doesn't matter; -he's safe, and, right sort or wrong sort, if he found you'd been -interfering he might send<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> you about your business. No, Mudd, there's -nothing to be done but get the flowers and leave them, and see the lady -if possible, and make notes about her. Say as little as possible."</p> - -<p>"He told me to tell her he'd call later in the day."</p> - -<p>"Leave that to me," said Bobby. "And now, off with you."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IV</span> <span class="smaller">THE HUNDRED-POUND NOTE—<i>continued</i></span></h2> - -<p>Mudd departed and Bobby made for the coffee-room.</p> - -<p>He entered and looked around. A good many people were breakfasting in -the big room, the ordinary English breakfast crowd at a big hotel; -family parties, lone men and lone women, some reading letters, some -papers, and all, somehow, with an air of divorcement from home.</p> - -<p>Simon was there, seated at a little table on the right and enjoying -himself. Now, and in his right mind, Simon gave Bobby another shock. -Could it be possible that this pleasant-faced, jovial-looking gentleman, -so well-dressed and <i>à la mode</i>, was Uncle Simon? What an improvement! -So it seemed at first glance.</p> - -<p>Simon looked up from his sausages—he was having sausages, saw -Bobby—and with his unfailing memory of pleasant things, even dimly -seen, recognised him as the man of last night.</p> - -<p>"Hullo," said Simon, as the other came up to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> the table, "there you are -again. Had breakfast?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Bobby. "I'll sit here if I may." He drew a chair to the -second place that was laid and took his seat.</p> - -<p>"Have sausages," said Simon. "Nothing beats sausages."</p> - -<p>Bobby ordered sausages, though he would have preferred anything else. He -didn't want to argue.</p> - -<p>"Nothing beats sausages," said Uncle Simon again.</p> - -<p>Bobby concurred.</p> - -<p>Then the conversation languished, just as it may between two old friends -or boon companions who have no need to keep up talk.</p> - -<p>"Feeling all right this morning?" ventured Bobby.</p> - -<p>"Never felt better in my life," replied the other. "Never felt better in -my life. How did you manage to get home?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I got home all right."</p> - -<p>Simon scarcely seemed to hear this comforting declaration; scrambled -eggs had been placed before him.</p> - -<p>Bobby, in sudden contemplation of a month of this business, almost -forgot his sausages. The true horror of Uncle Simon appeared to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> him now -for the first time. You see, he knew all the facts of the case. An -ordinary person, unknowing, would have accepted Simon as all right, but -it seemed to Bobby, now, that it would have been much better if his -companion had been decently and honestly mad, less uncanny. He was -obviously sane, though a bit divorced from things; obviously sane, and -eating scrambled eggs after sausages with the abandon of a schoolboy on -a holiday after a long term at a cheap school; sane, and enjoying -himself after a night like that—yet he was Simon Pettigrew.</p> - -<p>Then he noticed that Simon's eyes were constantly travelling, despite -the scrambled eggs, in a given direction. A pretty young girl was -breakfasting with a family party a little way off—that was the -direction.</p> - -<p>There was a mother, a father, something that looked like an uncle, what -appeared to be an aunt, and what appeared to be May dressed in a washing -silk blouse and plain skirt.</p> - -<p>November was glancing at May.</p> - -<p>Bobby remembered Miss Rossignol and felt a bit comforted; then he began -to feel uncomfortable: the aunt was looking fixedly at Simon. His -admiration had evidently been noted by Watchfulness; then the uncle -seemed to take notice.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p><p>Bobby, blushing, tried to make conversation, and only got replies. -Then, to his relief, the family, having finished breakfast, withdrew, -and Simon became himself again, cheerful and burning for the pleasures -of the day before him, the pleasures to be got from London, money, and -youth.</p> - -<p>His conversation told this, and that he desired to include Bobby in the -scheme of things, and the young man could not help remembering -Thackeray's little story of how, coming up to London, he met a young -Oxford man in the railway carriage, a young man half-tipsy with the -prospect of a day in town and a "tear round"—with the prospect, nothing -more.</p> - -<p>"What are you going to do now?" asked Bobby, as the other rose from the -table.</p> - -<p>"Shaved," said Simon; "come along and get shaved; can't go about like -this."</p> - -<p>Bobby was already shaved, but he followed the other outside to a -barber's and sat reading a <i>Daily Mirror</i> and waiting whilst Simon was -operated on. The latter, having been shaved, had his hair brushed and -trimmed, and all the time during these processes the barber spake in -this wise, Simon turning the monologue to a duologue.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir, glorious weather, isn't it? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>London's pretty full, too, for -the time of year—fuller than I've seen for a long time. Ever tried face -massage, sir? Most comforting. Can be applied by yourself. Can sell you -a complete outfit, Parker's face cream and all, two pound ten. Thank -you, sir. Staying in the Charing Cross 'Otel? I'll have it sent to your -room. Yes, sir, the 'otel is full. There's a deal of money being spent -in London, sir. Raise your chin, sir, a leetle more. Ever try a Gillette -razor, sir? Useful should you wish to shave in a 'urry; beautiful -plated. This is it, sir—one guinea—shines like silver, don't it? Thank -you, sir, I'll send it up with the other. Yes, sir, it's most convenient -havin' a barber's close to the 'otel. I supply most of the 'otel people -with toilet rekisites. 'Air's a little thin on the top, sir; didn't mean -no offence, sir, maybe it's the light. Dry, that's what it is; it's the -'ot weather. Now, I'd recommend Coolers' Lotion followed after -application by Goulard's Brillantine. Oh, Lord, no, sir! <i>Them</i> -brillantines is no use. Goulard's is the only real; costs a bit more, -but then, cheap brillantine is rewin. Thank you, sir. And how are you -off for 'air brushes, sir? There's a pair of bargains in that -show-case—travellers' samples—I can let you have, silver-plated, as -good as you'll get in London and 'arf<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> the price. Shine, don't they? And -feel the bristles—real 'og. Thank you, sir. Two ten—one one—one -four—two ten—and a shillin' for the 'air cut and shave. No, sir, I -can't change an 'undred-pound note. A ten? Yes, I can manage a ten. -Thank you, sir."</p> - -<p>Seven pounds and sixpence for a hair-cut and shave—with accompaniments. -Bobby, tongue-tied and aghast, rose up.</p> - -<p>"'Air cut, sir?" asked the barber.</p> - -<p>"No, thanks," replied Bobby.</p> - -<p>Simon, having glanced at himself in the mirror, picked up his straw hat -and walking-stick, and taking the arm of his companion, out they walked.</p> - -<p>"Where are you going?" asked Bobby.</p> - -<p>"Anywhere," replied the other; "I want to get some change."</p> - -<p>"Why, you've got change!"</p> - -<p>Simon unlinked, and in the face of the Strand and the passers-by -produced from his pocket two hundred-pound notes, three or four -one-pound notes, and a ten-pound note; searching in his pockets to see -what gold he had, he dropped a hundred-pound note, which Bobby quickly -recovered.</p> - -<p>"Mind!" said Bobby. "You'll have those notes snatched."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p><p>"That's all right," said Simon.</p> - -<p>He replaced the money in his pocket, and his companion breathed again.</p> - -<p>Bobby had borrowed five pounds from Tozer in view of possibilities.</p> - -<p>"Look here," said he, "what's the good of staying in London a glorious -day like this? Let's go somewhere quiet and enjoy ourselves—Richmond or -Greenwich or somewhere. I'll pay expenses and you need not bother about -change."</p> - -<p>"No, you won't," said Simon. "You're going to have some fun along with -me. What's the matter with London?"</p> - -<p>Bobby couldn't say.</p> - -<p>Renouncing the idea of the country, without any other idea to replace it -except to keep his companion walking and away from shops and bars and -girls, he let himself be led. They were making back towards Charing -Cross. At the <i>Bureau de Change</i> Simon went in, the idea of changing a -hundred-pound note pursuing him. He wanted elbow-room for enjoyment, but -the Bureau refused to make change. The note was all right; perhaps it -was Simon that was the doubtful quantity. He had quite a little quarrel -over the matter and came out arm-in-arm with his companion and flushed.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p><p>"Come along," said Bobby, a new idea striking him. "We'll get change -somewhere."</p> - -<p>From Charing Cross, through Cockspur Street, then through Pall Mall and -up St. James's Street they went, stopping at every likely and unlikely -place to find change. Engaged so, Simon at least was not spending money -or taking refreshment. They tried at shipping offices, at insurance -offices, at gun-shops and tailors, till the weary Bobby began to loathe -the business, began to feel that both he and his companion were under -suspicion and almost that the business they were on was doubtful.</p> - -<p>Simon, however, seemed to pursue it with zest and, now, without anger. -It seemed to Bobby as though he enjoyed being refused, as it gave him -another chance of entering another shop and showing that he had a -hundred-pound note to change—a horrible foolish satisfaction that put a -new edge to the affair. Simon was swanking.</p> - -<p>"Look here,", said the unfortunate, at last, "wasn't there a girl you -told me of last night you wanted to send flowers to? Let's go and get -them; then we can have a drink somewhere."</p> - -<p>"She'll wait," said Simon. "Besides, I've sent them. Come on."</p> - -<p>"Very well," said Bobby, in desperation. "I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> believe I know a place -where you can get your note changed; it's close by."</p> - -<p>They reached a cigar merchant's. It was the cigar merchants and -moneylenders that had often stood him in good stead. "Wait for me," said -Bobby, and he went in. Behind the counter was a gentleman recalling -Prince Florizel of Bohemia.</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Mr. Ravenshaw," said this individual.</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Alvarez," replied Bobby. "I haven't called about that -little account I owe you though—but cheer up. I've got you a new -customer—he wants a note changed."</p> - -<p>"What sort of note?" asked Alvarez.</p> - -<p>"A hundred-pound note; can you do it?"</p> - -<p>"If the note's all right."</p> - -<p>"Lord bless me, yes! I can vouch for that and for him; only he's strange -to London. He's got heaps of money, too, but you must promise not to -rook him too much over cigars, for he's a relative of mine."</p> - -<p>"Where is he?" asked Alvarez.</p> - -<p>"Outside."</p> - -<p>"Well, bring him in."</p> - -<p>Bobby went out. Uncle Simon was gone. Gone as though he had never been, -swallowed up in the passing crowd, fascinated away by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> heaven knows -what, and with all those bank-notes in his pocket. He might have got -into a sudden taxi or boarded an omnibus, or vanished up Sackville -Street or Albemarle Street; any passing fancy or sudden temptation would -have been sufficient.</p> - -<p>Bobby, hurrying towards St. James's Street to have a look down it, -stopped a policeman.</p> - -<p>"Have you seen an old gentleman—I mean a youngish-looking gentleman—in -a straw hat?" asked Bobby. "I've lost him." Scarcely waiting for the -inevitable reply, he hurried on, feeling that the constable must have -thought him mad.</p> - -<p>St. James's Street showed nothing of Simon. He was turning back when, -half-blind to everything but the object of his search, he almost ran -into the arms of Julia Delyse. She was carrying a parcel that looked -like a manuscript.</p> - -<p>"Why, Bobby, what is the matter with you?" asked Julia.</p> - -<p>"I'm looking for someone," said Bobby distractedly. "I've lost a -relative of mine."</p> - -<p>"I wish it were one of mine," said Julia. "What sort of relative?"</p> - -<p>"An oldish man in a straw hat. Walk down a bit; you look that side of -the street and I'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> watch this; he <i>may</i> have gone into a shop—and I -<i>must</i> get hold of him."</p> - -<p>He walked rapidly on, and Julia, sucked for a moment into this whirlpool -of an Uncle Simon that had already engulfed Mudd, Bobby, and the good -name of the firm of Pettigrew, toiled beside him till they came nearly -to the Park railings.</p> - -<p>"He's gone," said Bobby, stopping suddenly dead. "It's no use; he's -gone."</p> - -<p>"Well, you'll find him again," said Julia hopefully. "Relatives always -turn up."</p> - -<p>"Oh, he's sure to turn up," said the other, "and that's what I'm -dreading—it's the way he'll turn up that's bothering me."</p> - -<p>"I could understand you better if I knew what you meant," said Julia. -"Let's walk back; this is out of my direction."</p> - -<p>They turned.</p> - -<p>Despite his perplexity and annoyance, Bobby could not suppress a feeling -of relief at having done with the business for a moment; all the same, -he was really distressed. The craving for counsel and companionship in -thought seized him.</p> - -<p>"Julia, can you keep a secret?" asked he.</p> - -<p>"Tight," said Julia.</p> - -<p>"Well, it's my uncle."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p><p>"You've lost?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; and he's got his pockets full of hundred-pound bank-notes—and -he's no more fit to be trusted with them than a child."</p> - -<p>"What a delightful uncle!"</p> - -<p>"Don't laugh; it's serious."</p> - -<p>"He's not mad, is he?"</p> - -<p>"No, that's the worst of it. He's got one of these beastly new -diseases—I don't know what it is, but as far as I can make out it's as -if he'd got young again without remembering what he is."</p> - -<p>"How interesting!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, you would find him very interesting if you had anything to do with -him; but, seriously, something has to be done. There's the family name -and there's his business." He explained the case of Simon as well as he -could.</p> - -<p>Julia did not seem in the least shocked.</p> - -<p>"But I think it's beautiful," she broke out. "Strange—but in a way -beautiful and pathetic. Oh, if <i>only</i> a few more people could do the -same—become young, do foolish things instead of this eternal grind of -common sense, hard business, and everything that ruins the world!"</p> - -<p>Bobby tried to imagine the world with an increased population of the -brand of Uncle Simon, and failed.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p><p>"I know," he said, "but it will be the ruin of his business and -reputation. Abstractly, I don't deny there's something to be said for -it, but in the concrete it don't work. Do think, and let's try to find a -way out."</p> - -<p>"I'm thinking," said Julia.</p> - -<p>Then, after a pause:</p> - -<p>"You must get him away from London."</p> - -<p>"That was my idea, but he won't go, not even to Richmond for a few -hours. He won't leave London."</p> - -<p>"There's a place in Wessex I know," said Julia, "where there's a -charming little hotel. I was down there for a week in May. You might -take him there."</p> - -<p>"We'd never get him into the train."</p> - -<p>"Take him in a car."</p> - -<p>"Might do that," said Bobby. "What's the name of it?"</p> - -<p>"Upton-on-Hill; and I'll tell you what, I'll go down with you, if you -like, and help to watch him. I'd like to study him."</p> - -<p>"I'll think of it," said Bobby hurriedly. The affair of Uncle Simon was -taking a new turn; like Fate, it was trying to force him into closer -contact with Julia. Craving for someone to help him to think, he had -welded himself to Julia with this family secret for solder. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> idea of -a little hotel in the country with Julia, ever ready for embracements -and passionate scenes, the knowledge that he was almost half-engaged to -her, the instinct that she would suck him into cosy corners and -arbours—all this frankly frightened him. He was beginning to recognise -that Julia was quite light and almost brilliant in the street when -love-making was impossible, but impossibly heavy and dull, though -mesmeric, when alone with him with her head on his shoulder. And away in -the distance of his mind a deformed sort of common sense was telling him -that if once Julia got a good long clutch on him she would marry him; he -would pass from whirlpool to whirlpool of cosy corner and arbour over -the rapids of marriage with Julia clinging to him.</p> - -<p>"I'll think of it," said he. "What's its name?"</p> - -<p>"The Rose Hotel, Upton-on-Hill—think of Upton Sinclair. It's a jolly -little place, and such a nice landlord; we'd have a jolly time, Bobby. -Bobby, have you forgotten yesterday?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Bobby, from his heart.</p> - -<p>"I didn't sleep a wink last night," said the lady of the red hair. "Did -you?"</p> - -<p>"Scarcely."</p> - -<p>"Do you know," said she, "this is almost like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> Fate. It gives us a -chance to meet under the same roof quite properly since your uncle is -there—not that I care a button for the world, but still, there are the -proprieties, aren't there?"</p> - -<p>"There are."</p> - -<p>"Wait for me," said she. "I want to go into my publishers' with this -manuscript."</p> - -<p>They had reached a fashionable publishers' office that had the -appearance of a bank premises. In she went, returning in a moment -empty-handed.</p> - -<p>"Now I'm free," said she; "free for a month. What are you doing to-day?"</p> - -<p>"I'll be looking for Uncle Simon," he replied. "I must rush back to the -Charing Cross Hotel, and after that—I must go on hunting. I'll see you -to-morrow, Julia."</p> - -<p>"Are you staying at the Charing Cross?"</p> - -<p>"No, I'm staying at <span class="smaller">B12</span>, the Albany, with a man called Tozer."</p> - -<p>"I wish we could have had the day together. Well, to-morrow, then."</p> - -<p>"To-morrow," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>He put her into a taxi and she gave the address of a female literary -club, then when the taxi had driven away he returned to the Charing -Cross Hotel.</p> - -<p>There he found Mudd, who had just returned.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER V</span> <span class="smaller">THE HOME OF THE NIGHTINGALES</span></h2> - -<p>Mudd, with the ten-pound note and the written address, had started that -morning with the intention of doing another errand as well. He first -took a cab to King Charles Street. It was a relief to find it there, and -that the house had not been burned down in the night. Fire was one of -Mudd's haunting dreads—fire and the fear of a mistress. He had -extinguishing-bombs hung in every passage, besides red, cone-shaped -extinguishers. If he could have had bombs to put out the flames of love -and keep women away he no doubt would have had them.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Jukes received him, and he enquired if the plate had been locked -up. Then he visited his own room and examined his bank-book to see if it -were safe and untampered with; then he had a glass of ginger wine for -his stomach's sake.</p> - -<p>"Where are you off to now?" asked Mrs. Jukes.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p><p>"On business for the master," replied Mudd. "I've some law papers to -take to an address. Lord! look at those brasses! Haven't the girls no -hands? Place going to rack and ruin if I leave it two instant minits. -And look at that fender—sure you put the chain on the hall door last -night?"</p> - -<p>"Sure."</p> - -<p>"Well, be sure you do it, for there's another Jack-the-Ripper chap goin' -about the West End, I've heard, and he may be in on you if you don't."</p> - -<p>Having frightened Mrs. Jukes into the sense of the necessity for chains -as well as bolts, Mudd put on his hat, blew his nose, and departed, -banging the door behind him and making sure it was shut.</p> - -<p>There is a flower shop in the street at the end of King Charles Street. -He entered, bought his bouquet, and with it in his hand left the -establishment. He was looking for a cab to hide himself in; he found -none, but he met a fellow butler, Judge Ponsonby's man.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Mr. Mudd," said the other; "going courting?"</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Jukes asked me to take them to a female friend that's goin' to be -married," said Mudd.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p><p>The bouquet was not extraordinarily large, but it seemed to grow -larger.</p> - -<p>Condemned to take an omnibus in lieu of a cab, it seemed to fill the -omnibus; people looked at it and then at Mudd. It seemed to him that he -was condemned to carry Simon's folly bare in the face of the world. Then -he remembered what he had said about the recipient going to be married. -Was that an omen?</p> - -<p>Mudd believed in omens. If his elbow itched—and it had itched -yesterday—he was going to sleep in a strange bed; he never killed -spiders, and he tested "strangers" in the tea-cup to see if they were -male or female.</p> - -<p>The omen was riding him now, and he got out of the omnibus and sought -the street of his destination, feeling almost as though he were a -fantastic bridesmaid at some nightmare wedding, with Simon in the rôle -of groom.</p> - -<p>That Simon should select a wife in this gloomy street off Leicester -Square, and in this drab-looking house at whose door he was knocking, -did not occur to Mudd. What did occur to him was that some hussy living -in this house had put her spell on Simon and might select him for a -husband, marry him at a registrar office before his temporary youth had -departed, and come and reign at Charles Street.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p><p>Mudd's dreaded imaginary mistress had always figured in his mind's eye -as a stout lady—eminently a lady—who would interfere with his ideas of -how the brasses ought to be polished, interfere with tradesmen, order -Mudd about, and make herself generally a nuisance; this new imaginary -horror was a "painted slut," who would bring ridicule and disgrace on -Simon and all belonging to him.</p> - -<p>Mudd had the fine feelings of an old maid on matters like this, backed -by a fine knowledge of what elderly men are capable of in the way of -folly with women.</p> - -<p>Did not Mr. Justice Thurlow marry his cook?</p> - -<p>He rang at the dingy hall door and it was opened by a dingy little girl -in a print dress.</p> - -<p>"Does Miss Rosinol live here?" asked Mudd.</p> - -<p>"Yus."</p> - -<p>"Can I see her?"</p> - -<p>"Wait a minit," said the dingy one. She clattered up the stairs; she -seemed to wear hobnailed boots to judge by the noise. A minute elapsed, -and then she clattered down again.</p> - -<p>"Come in, plaaze," said the little girl.</p> - -<p>Mudd obeyed and followed upstairs, holding on to the shaky banister with -his left hand,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> carrying the bouquet in his right, feeling as though he -were a vicious man walking upstairs in a dream; feeling no longer like -Mudd.</p> - -<p>The little girl opened a door, and there was the "painted hussy"—old -Madame Rossignol sitting at a table with books spread open before her -and writing.</p> - -<p>She translated—as before said—English books into French, novels -mostly.</p> - -<p>The bouquet of last night had been broken up; there were flowers in -vases and about the room; despite its shabbiness, there was an -atmosphere of cleanliness and high decency that soothed the stricken -soul of Mudd.</p> - -<p>"I'm Mr. Pettigrew's man," said Mudd, "and he asked me to bring you -these flowers."</p> - -<p>"Ah, Monsieur Seemon Pattigrew," cried the old lady, her face lighting. -"Come in, monsieur. Cerise!—Cerise!—a gentilmon from Mr. Pattigrew. -Will you not take a seat, monsieur?"</p> - -<p>Mudd, handing over the flowers, sat down, and at that moment in came -Cerise from the bedroom adjoining. Cerise, fresh and dainty, with wide -blue eyes that took in Mudd and the flowers, that seemed to take in at -the same time the whole of spring and summer.</p> - -<p>"Poor, but decent," said Mudd to himself.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p><p>"Monsieur," said the old lady, as Cerise ran off to get a bowl to put -the flowers in, "you are as welcome to us as your good kind master who -saved my daughter yesterday. Will you convey to him our deepest respects -and our thanks?"</p> - -<p>"Saved her?" said Mudd.</p> - -<p>Madame explained. Cerise, arranging the flowers, joined in; they waxed -enthusiastic. Never had Mudd been so chattered to before. He saw the -whole business and guessed how the land lay now. He felt deeply -relieved. Madame inspired him with instinctive confidence; Cerise in her -youth and innocence repelled any idea of marriage between herself and -Simon. But they'd got to be warned, somehow, that Simon was off the -spot. He began the warning seated there before the women and rubbing his -knees gently, his eyes wandering about as though seeking inspiration -from the furniture.</p> - -<p>Mr. Pettigrew was a very good master, but he had to be took care of; his -health wasn't what it might be. He was older than he looked, but lately -he had had an illness that had made him suddenly grow young again, as -you might say; the doctors could not make it out, but he was just like a -child sometimes, as you might say.</p> - -<p>"I said it," cut in Madame. "A boy—that is his charm."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p><p>Well, Mudd did not know anything about charms, but he was often very -anxious about Mr. Pettigrew. Then, little by little, the confidence the -women inspired opened his flood-gates and his suppressed emotions came -out.</p> - -<p>London was not good for Mr. Pettigrew's health—that was the truth; he -ought to be got away quiet and out of excitement—doorknockers rose up -before him as he said this—but he was very self-willed. It was strange -a gentleman getting young again like this, and a great perplexity and -trouble to an old man like him, Mudd.</p> - -<p>"Ah, monsieur, he has been always young," said Madame; "that heart could -never grow old."</p> - -<p>Mudd shook his head.</p> - -<p>"I've known him for forty year," said he, "and it has hit me cruel hard, -his doing things he's never done before—not much; but there you -are—he's different."</p> - -<p>"I have known an old gentleman," said Madame—"Monsieur de Mirabole—he, -too, changed to be quite gay and young, as though spring had come to -him. He wrote me verses," laughed Madame. "Me, an old woman! I humoured -him, did I not, Cerise? But I never read his verses; I could not humour -him to that point."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p><p>"What happened to him?" asked Mudd gloomily.</p> - -<p>"Oh dear, he fell in love with Cerise," said Madame. "He was very rich; -he wanted to marry Cerise, did he not, Cerise?"</p> - -<p>"Oui, maman," replied Cerise, finishing the flowers.</p> - -<p>All this hit Mudd pleasantly. Sincere as sunshine, patently, obviously, -truthful, this pair of females were beyond suspicion on the charge of -setting nets for Simon. Also, and for the first time in his life, he -came to know the comfort of a female mind when in trouble. His troubles -up to this had been mostly about uncleaned brasses, corked wine, letters -forgotten to be posted. In this whirlpool of amazement, like Poe's man -in the descent of the maelstrom, who, clinging to a barrel, found that -he was being sucked down slower, Mudd, clinging now to the female -saving-something—sense, clarity of outlook, goodness, call it what you -will—found comfort.</p> - -<p>He had opened his mind, the nightmare had lifted somewhat. Opening his -mind to Bobby had not relieved him in the least; on the contrary, -talking with Bobby, the situation had seemed more insane than ever. The -two rigid masculine minds had followed one another, incapable of mutual -help; the buoyant female</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p><p>Something incapable of strict definition was now to Mudd as the -supporting barrel. He clutched at the idea of old Monsieur de Mirabole, -who had got young again without coming to much mischief; he felt that -Simon in falling upon these two females had fallen amongst pillows. He -told them of Simon's message, that he would call upon them later in the -day, and they laughed.</p> - -<p>"He will be safe with us," said Madame; "we will not let him come to -'arm. Do not be alarmed, Monsieur Mudd, the bon Dieu will surely protect -an innocent so charming, so good—so much goodness may walk alone, even -amongst tigers, even amongst lions; it will come to no 'arm. We will see -that he returns to the Sharing Cross 'Otel—I will talk to 'im."</p> - -<p>Mudd departed, relieved, so great is the power of goodness, even though -it shines in the persons of an impoverished old French lady and a girl -whose innocence is her only strength.</p> - -<p>But his relief was not to be of long duration, for on entering the -hotel, as before said, he met Bobby. "He's gone," said Bobby; "given me -the slip; and he has two hundred-pound bank-notes with him, to say -nothing of the rest."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Lord!" said Mudd.</p> - -<p>"Can he have gone to see that girl? What's her address?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p><p>"What girl?" asked Mudd.</p> - -<p>"The girl you took the flowers to."</p> - -<p>"I've just been," said Mudd. "No, he wasn't there. Wish he was; it's an -old lady."</p> - -<p>"Old lady!"</p> - -<p>"And her daughter. They're French folk, poor but honest, not a scrap of -harm in them." He explained the Rossignol affair.</p> - -<p>"Well, there's nothing to be done but sit down and wait," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"It's easy to say that. Me, with my nerves near gone."</p> - -<p>"I know; mine are nearly as bad. 'Pon my soul, it's just as if one had -lost a child. Mudd, we've got to get him out of London; we've got to do -it."</p> - -<p>"Get him back first," said Mudd. "Get him back alive with all that money -in his pocket. He'll be murdered before night, that's my opinion, I know -London; or gaoled—and he'll give his right name."</p> - -<p>"We'll tip the reporters if he is," said Bobby, "and keep it out of the -papers. I was run in once and I know the ropes. Cheer up, Mudd, and go -and have a whisky-and-soda; you want bucking up, and so do I."</p> - -<p>"Bucking up!" said Mudd.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VI</span> <span class="smaller">THE FLIGHT OF THE DRAGON-FLY</span></h2> - -<p>One of the pleasantest, yet perhaps most dangerous, points about Simon -Pettigrew's condition was his un-English open-heartedness towards -strangers—strangers that pleased him. A disposition, in fact, to chum -up with anything that appealed to him, without question, without -thought. Affable strangers, pretty girls—it was all the same to Simon.</p> - -<p>Now, when Bobby Ravenshaw went into the cigar merchant's, leaving Simon -outside, he had not noticed particularly a large Dragon-Fly car, -claret-coloured and adorned with a tiny monogram on the door-panel, -which was standing in front of the shop immediately on the right. It was -the property of the Hon. Dick Pugeot, and just as Bobby disappeared into -the tobacconist's the Hon. Dick appeared from the doorstep of the -next-door shop.</p> - -<p>Dick Pugeot, late of the Guards, was a big, yellow man, quite young, -perhaps not more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> than twenty-five, yet with a serious and fatherly face -and an air that gave him another five years of apparent age. This -serious and fatherly appearance was deceptive. With the activity of a -gnat, a disregard of all consequences, a big fortune, a good heart, and -a taste for fun of any sort as long as it kept him moving, Dick Pugeot -was generally in trouble of some kind or another. His crave for speed on -the road was only equal to his instinct for fastness in other respects, -but, up to this, thanks to luck and his own personality, he had, with -the exception of a few endorsed licences and other trifles of that sort, -always escaped.</p> - -<p>But once he had come very near to a real disaster. Some eighteen months -ago he found himself involved with a lady, a female shark in the guise -of an angel, a—to put it in his own language—"bad 'un."</p> - -<p>The bad 'un had him firmly hooked. She was a Countess, too! and fried -and eaten he undoubtedly would have been had not the wisdom of an uncle -saved him.</p> - -<p>"Go to my solicitor, Pettigrew," said the uncle. "If she were an -ordinary card-sharper I would advise you to go to Marcus Abraham, but, -seeing what she is, Pettigrew is the man. He wouldn't take up an -ordinary case of this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> sort, but, seeing what she is, and considering -that you are my nephew, he'll do it—and he knows all the ins and outs -of her family. There's nothing he doesn't know about us."</p> - -<p>"Us" meaning people of high degree.</p> - -<p>Pugeot went, and Simon took up the case, and in forty-eight hours the -fish was off the hook, frantically grateful. He presented Simon with a -silver wine-cooler and then forgot him, till this moment, when, coming -out of Spud and Simpson's shop, he saw Simon standing on the pavement -smoking a cigar and watching the pageant of the street.</p> - -<p>Simon's new clothes and holiday air and straw hat put him off for a -moment, but it was Pettigrew right enough.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Pettigrew!" said Pugeot.</p> - -<p>"Hello," said Simon, pleased with the heartiness and appearance of this -new friend.</p> - -<p>"Why, you look quite gay," said Pugeot. "What are you up to?"</p> - -<p>"Out for some fun," said Simon. "What are you up to?"</p> - -<p>"Same as you," replied Pugeot, delighted, amused, and surprised at -Simon's manner and reply, the vast respect he had for his astuteness -greatly amplified by this evidence of mundane leanings. "Get into the -car; I've got to call<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> at Panton Street for a moment, and then we'll go -and have luncheon or something."</p> - -<p>He opened the car door and Simon hopped in; then he gave the address to -the driver and the car drove off.</p> - -<p>"Well, I never expected to see you this morning," said Pugeot. "Never -can feel grateful enough to you either—you've nothing special to do, -have you? Anywhere I can drive you to?"</p> - -<p>"I've got to see a girl," said Simon, "but she can wait."</p> - -<p>Pugeot laughed.</p> - -<p>That explained the summer garb and straw hat, but the frankness came to -him with the weest bit of a shock. However, he was used to shocks, and -if old Simon Pettigrew was running after girls it was no affair of his. -It was a good joke, though, despite the fact that he could never tell -it. Pugeot was not the man to tell tales out of school.</p> - -<p>"Look here," said Simon, suddenly producing his notes, "I want to change -a hundred; been trying to do it in a lot of shops. You can't have any -fun without some money."</p> - -<p>"Don't you worry," said Pugeot. "This is my show."</p> - -<p>"I want to change a hundred," said Simon,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> with the persistency of Toddy -wanting to see the wheels go round.</p> - -<p>"Well, I'll get you change, though you don't really want it. Why, you've -got two hundred there—and a tenner!"</p> - -<p>"It's not too much to have a good time with."</p> - -<p>"Oh my!" said Pugeot. "Well, if you're on the razzle-dazzle, I'm with -you, Pettigrew. I feel safe with you, in a way; there's not much you -don't know."</p> - -<p>"Not much," said Simon, puffing himself.</p> - -<p>The car stopped.</p> - -<p>"A minute," said Pugeot. Out he jumped, transacted his business, and was -back again under five minutes. There was a new light in his sober eye.</p> - -<p>"Let's go and have a slap at the Wilderness," said he, lowering his -voice a tone. "You know the Wilderness. I can get you in—jolly good -fun."</p> - -<p>"Right," said Simon.</p> - -<p>Pugeot gave an address to the driver and off they went. They stopped in -a narrow street and Pugeot led the way into a house.</p> - -<p>In the hall of this house he had an interview with a pale-faced -individual in black, an evil, weary-looking person who handed Simon a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> -visitors' book to sign. They then went into a bar, where Simon imbibed a -cocktail, and from the bar they went upstairs.</p> - -<p>Pugeot opened a door and disclosed Monte Carlo.</p> - -<p>A Monte Carlo shrunk to one room and one table. This was the Wilderness -Club, and around the table were grouped men of all ages and sizes, some -of them of the highest social standing.</p> - -<p>The stakes were high.</p> - -<p>Just as a child gobbles a stolen apple, so these gentlemen seemed to be -trying to make as much out of their furtive business as they could and -get away, winners or losers, as soon as possible lest worse befel them. -Added to the uneasiness of the gambler was the uneasiness of the -law-breaker, the two uneasinesses, combined making a mental cocktail -that, to a large number of the frequenters, had a charm far above -anything to be obtained in a legitimate gambling-shop on the Continent.</p> - -<p>This place supplied Oppenshaw with some of his male patients.</p> - -<p>Pugeot played and lost, and then Simon plunged.</p> - -<p>They were there an hour, and in that hour Simon won seven hundred -pounds!</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p><p>Then Pugeot, far more delighted than he, dragged him away.</p> - -<p>It was now nearly one o'clock, and downstairs they had luncheon, of a -sort, and a bottle of cliquot, of a sort.</p> - -<p>"You came in with two hundred and you are going out with nine," said -Pugeot. "I am so jolly glad—you <i>have</i> the luck. When we've finished -we'll go for a great tearing spin and get the air. You'd better get a -cap somewhere; that straw hat will be blown to Jericho. You've never -seen Randall drive? He beats me. We'll run round to my rooms and get -coats—the old car is a Dragon-Fly. I want to show you what a Dragon-Fly -can really do on the hard high-road out of sight of traffic. Two -Benedictines, please."</p> - -<p>They stopped at Scott's, where Simon invested in a cap; then they went -to Pugeot's rooms, where overcoats were obtained. Then they started.</p> - -<p>Pugeot was nicknamed the Baby—Baby Pugeot—and the name sometimes -applied. Mixed with his passion for life, he loved fresh air and a good -many innocent things, speed amongst them. Randall, the chauffeur, seemed -on all fours with him in the latter respect, and the Dragon-Fly was an -able instrument. Clearing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> London, they made through Sussex for the sea. -The day was perfect and filled for miles with the hum of the Dragon-Fly. -At times they were doing a good seventy miles, at times less; then came -the Downs and a vision of the sea—seacoast towns through which they -passed picking up petrol and liquid refreshments. At Hastings, or -somewhere, where they indulged in a light and early dinner, the vision -of Cerise, always like a guardian angel, arose before the remains of the -mind of Simon, and her address. He wanted to go there at once, which was -manifestly impossible. He tried to explain her to Pugeot, who at the -same time was trying to explain a dark-eyed girl he had met at a dance -the week before last and who was haunting him. "Can't get her blessed -eyes out of my head, my dear chap; and she's engaged two deep to a chap -in the Carabineers, without a cent to his name and a pile of debts as -big as Mount Ararat. She won't be happy—that's what's gettin' me; she -won't be happy. How can she be happy with a chap like that, without a -cent to his name and a pile of debts? Lord, <i>I</i> can't understand women, -they're beyond me. Waiter, <i>con</i>found you! do you call this stuff -asparagus? Take it away! Not a cent to her name—and tied to him for -years, maybe. I mean to say, it's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> absurd.... What were you saying? Oh -yes, I'll take you there—it's only round the corner, so to speak. -Randall will do it. The Dragon-Fly'll have us there in no time. Do you -remember, was this Hastings or Bognor? Waiter, hi! Is this Hastings or -Bognor? All your towns are so confoundedly alike there's no telling -which is which, and I've been through twenty. Hastings, that'll do; put -your information down in the bill—if you can find room for it. You -needn't be a bit alarmed, old chap, she'll be there all right. You said -you sent her those flowers? Well, that will keep her all right and -happy. I mean to say, she'll be right—<i>ab</i>solutely—I know women from -hoof to mane. No, no pudding. Bill, please."</p> - -<p>Then they were out in the warm summer twilight listening to a band. Then -they were getting into the car, and Pugeot was saying to Simon:</p> - -<p>"It's a jolly good thing we've got a teetotum driver. What <i>you</i> say, -old chap?"</p> - -<p>Then the warm and purring night took them and sprinkled stars over them, -and a great moon rose behind, which annoyed Pugeot, who kept looking -back at it, abusing it because the reflection from the wind-screen got -in his eyes. Then they burst a tyre and Pugeot, instantly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> becoming -condensedly clever and active and clear of speech, insisted on putting -on the spare wheel himself. He had a long argument with Randall as to -which was the front and which was the back of the wheel—not the -sideways front and back, but the foreways front and back, Randall -insisting gently that it did not matter. Then the wheel on and all the -nuts re-tested by Randall—an operation which Pugeot took as a sort of -personal insult; the jack was taken down, and Pugeot threw it into a -ditch. They would not want it again as they had not another spare wheel, -and it was a nuisance anyhow, but Randall, with the good humour and -patience which came to him from a salary equal to the salary of a -country curate, free quarters and big tips and perquisites, recovered -the jack and they started.</p> - -<p>A town and an inn that absolutely refused to serve the smiling motorists -with anything stronger than "minerals" was passed. Then ten miles -further on the lights of a town hull down on the horizon brought the dry -"insides" to a dear consideration of the position.</p> - -<p>The town developing an inn, Randall was sent, as the dove from the ark, -with a half-sovereign, and returned with a stone demijohn and two -glasses. It was beer.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VII</span> <span class="smaller">NINE HUNDRED POUNDS</span></h2> - -<p>Bobby Ravenshaw did not spend the day at the Charing Cross Hotel waiting -for Simon; he amused himself otherwise, leaving Mudd to do the waiting.</p> - -<p>At eleven o'clock he called at the hotel. Mr. Mudd was upstairs in Mr. -Pettigrew's room, and he would be called down.</p> - -<p>Bobby thought that he could trace a lot of things in the porter's tone -and manner, a respect and commiseration for Mr. Mudd and perhaps not -quite such a high respect for himself and Simon. He fancied that the -hotel was beginning to have its eye upon him and Simon as questionable -parties of the <i>bon vivant</i> type—a fancy that may have been baseless, -but was still there.</p> - -<p>Then Mudd appeared.</p> - -<p>"Well, Mudd," said Bobby, "hasn't he turned up yet?"</p> - -<p>"No, Mr. Robert."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p><p>"Where on earth can he be?"</p> - -<p>"I'm givin' him till half-past eleven," said Mudd, "and then I'm off to -Vine Street."</p> - -<p>"What on earth for?"</p> - -<p>"To have the hospitals circulated to ask about him."</p> - -<p>"Oh, nonsense!"</p> - -<p>"It's on my mind he's had an accident," said Mudd. "Robbed and stunned, -or drugged with opium and left in the street. I know London—and him as -he is! He'll be found with his pockets inside out—I know London. You -should have got him down to the country to-day, Mr. Robert, somewhere -quiet; now, maybe, it's too late."</p> - -<p>"It's very easy to say that. I tried to, and he wouldn't go, not even to -Richmond. London seems to hold him like a charm; he's like a bee in a -bottle—can't escape."</p> - -<p>At this moment a horrid little girl in a big hat and feathers, boots too -large for her, and a shawl, made her appearance at the entrance door, -saw the hall porter and came towards him. She had a letter in her hand.</p> - -<p>The hall porter took the letter, looked at it, and brought it to Mudd.</p> - -<p>Mudd glanced at the envelope and tore it open.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote><p class="right">"10, <span class="smcap">Duke Street</span>,<br />"<span class="smcap">Leicester Square</span></p> - -<p>"<span class="smcap">Mr. Modd</span>,</p> - -<p>"Come at once.</p> - -<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Celestine Rossignol.</span>"</p></blockquote> - -<p>That was all, written in an angular, old-fashioned hand and in purple ink.</p> - -<p>"Where's my hat?" cried Mudd, running about like a decapitated fowl. -"Where's my hat? Oh ay, it's upstairs!" He vanished, and in a minute -reappeared with his hat; then, with Bobby, and followed by the dirty -little girl trotting behind them, off they started.</p> - -<p>They tried to question the little girl on the way, but she knew nothing -definite.</p> - -<p>The gentleman had been brought 'ome—didn't know what was wrong with -him; the lady had given her the letter to take; that was all she knew.</p> - -<p>"He's alive, anyway," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"The Lord knows!" said Mudd.</p> - -<p>The little girl let them in with a key and, Mudd leading the way, up the -stairs they went.</p> - -<p>Mudd knocked at the door of the sitting-room.</p> - -<p>Madame and Cerise were there, quite calm,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> and evidently waiting; of -Simon there was not a trace.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Mr. Modd," cried the old lady, "how fortunate you have received my -letter! Poor Monsieur Pattigrew——"</p> - -<p>"He ain't dead?" cried Mudd.</p> - -<p>No, Simon was not dead. She told. Poor Monsieur Pattigrew and a very big -gentleman had arrived over an hour ago. Mr. Pattigrew could not stand; -he had been taken ill, the big gentleman had declared. Such a nice -gentleman, who had sat down and cried whilst Mr. Pattigrew had been -placed on the sofa—taken ill in the street. The big gentleman had gone -for a doctor, but had not yet returned. Mr. Pattigrew had been put to -bed. She and the big gentleman had seen to that.</p> - -<p>Mr. Pattigrew had recovered consciousness for a moment during this -operation and had produced a number of bank-notes—such a number! She -had placed them safely in her desk; that was one of the reasons she had -sent so urgently for Mr. Modd.</p> - -<p>She produced the notes—a huge sheaf.</p> - -<p>Mudd took them and examined them dazedly, hundreds and hundreds of -pounds' worth of notes; and he had only started with two hundred pounds!</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p><p>"Why, there's nearly a thousand pounds' worth here," said Mudd.</p> - -<p>Bobby's astonishment might have been greater had not his eyes rested, -from the first moment of their coming in, on Cerise. Cerise with parted -lips, a heightened colour, and the air of a little child at a play she -did not quite understand.</p> - -<p>She was lovely. French, innocent, lovely as a flower—a new thing in -London, he had never seen anything quite like her before. The poverty of -the room, Uncle Simon, his worries and troubles, all were banished or -eased. She was music, and if Saul could have seen her he would have had -no need for David.</p> - -<p>Had Uncle Simon added burglary to knocker-snatching, broken into a -jeweller's and disposed of his takings to a "fence," committed robbery? -All these thoughts strayed over his mind, harmless because of Cerise.</p> - -<p>The unfortunate young man, who had fooled so long with girls, had met -the girl who had been waiting for him since the beginning of the world. -There is always that; she may be blowsy, she may be plain, or lovely -like Cerise—she is Fate.</p> - -<p>"And here is the big gentleman's card," said Madame, taking a visiting -card from her desk, then another and another.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p><p>"He gave me three."</p> - -<p>Mudd handed the card to Bobby, who read:</p> - -<p class="center">"<span class="smcap">The Hon. Richard Pugeot,</span><br />"<span class="smcap">Pall Mall Place, St. James.</span></p> - -<p class="center">"<span class="smcap">Guards' Club.</span>"</p> - -<p>"I know him," said Bobby. "<i>That's</i> all right, and Uncle Simon couldn't -have fallen into better hands."</p> - -<p>"Is, then, Monsieur Pattigrew your oncle?" asked the old lady.</p> - -<p>"He is, Madame."</p> - -<p>"Then you are thrice welcome here, monsieur," said she.</p> - -<p>Cerise looked the words, and Bobby's eyes as they met hers returned -thanks.</p> - -<p>"Come," said Madame, "you shall see him and that he is safe."</p> - -<p>She gently opened the door leading to the bedroom, and there, in a -little bed, dainty and white—Cerise's little bed—lay Uncle Simon, -flushed and smiling and snoring.</p> - -<p>"Poor Monsieur Pattigrew!" murmured the old lady.</p> - -<p>Then they withdrew.</p> - -<p>It seemed that there was another bed to be got in the house for Cerise, -and Mudd, taking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> charge of the patient, the ladies withdrew. It was -agreed that no doctor was wanted. It was also agreed between Bobby and -Mudd that the hotel was impossible after this.</p> - -<p>"We must get him away to the country tomorrow," said Mudd, "if he'll -go."</p> - -<p>"He'll go, if I have to take him tied up and bound," said Bobby. "My -nerves won't stand another day of this. Take care of those notes, Mudd, -and don't let him see them. They'll be useful getting him away. I'll be -round as early as I can. I'll see Pugeot and get the rights of the -matter from him. Good night."</p> - -<p>Off he went.</p> - -<p>In the street he paused for a moment, then he took a passing taxi for -the Albany.</p> - -<p>Tozer was in, playing patience and smoking. He did not interrupt his -game for the other.</p> - -<p>"Well, how's Uncle Simon?" asked Tozer.</p> - -<p>"He's asleep at last after a most rampageous day."</p> - -<p>"You look pretty sober."</p> - -<p>"Don't mention it," said Bobby, going to a tantalus case and helping -himself to some whisky. "My nerves are all unstrung."</p> - -<p>"Trailing after him?"</p> - -<p>"Thank God, no!" said Bobby. "Waiting for him to turn up dead, bruised, -battered, or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> simply intoxicated and stripped of his money. He gave me -the slip in Piccadilly with two hundred-pound notes in his pocket. The -next place I find him was half an hour ago in a young lady's bed, dead -to the world, smiling, and with nearly a thousand pounds in bank-notes -he'd hived somehow during the day."</p> - -<p>"A thousand pounds!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, and he'd only started with two hundred."</p> - -<p>"I say," said Tozer, forgetting his cards, "what a chap he must have -been when he was young!"</p> - -<p>"When he <i>was</i> young! Lord, I don't want to see him any younger than he -is; if this is youth, give me old age."</p> - -<p>"You'll get it fast enough," said Tozer, "don't you worry; and this will -be a reminder to you to keep old. There's an Arab proverb that says, -'There are two things colder than ice, an old young man and a young old -man.'"</p> - -<p>"Colder than ice!" said Bobby. "I wish you had five minutes with Uncle -Simon."</p> - -<p>"But who was this lady—this young——"</p> - -<p>"Two of the nicest people on earth," said Bobby, "an old lady and her -daughter—French. He saved the girl in an omnibus accident or something -in one of his escapades, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> took her home to her mother. Then to-night -he must have remembered them, and got a friend to take him there. Fancy, -the cheek! What made him, in his state, able to remember them?"</p> - -<p>"What is the young lady like?"</p> - -<p>"She's beautiful," said Bobby; then he took a sip of whisky-and-soda and -failed to meet Tozer's eye as he put down the glass.</p> - -<p>"That's what made him remember her," said Tozer.</p> - -<p>Bobby laughed.</p> - -<p>"It's no laughing matter," said the other, "at his age—when the heart -is young."</p> - -<p>Bobby laughed again.</p> - -<p>"Bobby," said Tozer, "beware of that girl."</p> - -<p>"I'm not thinking of the girl," said Bobby; "I'm thinking how on earth -the old man——"</p> - -<p>"The youth, you mean."</p> - -<p>"Got all that money."</p> - -<p>"You're a liar," said Tozer; "you are thinking of the girl."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII</span> <span class="smaller">PALL MALL PLACE</span></h2> - -<p>"Higgs!" cried the Hon. Richard Pugeot.</p> - -<p>"Sir?" answered a voice from behind the silk curtains cutting off the -dressing and bathroom from the bedroom.</p> - -<p>"What o'clock is it?"</p> - -<p>"Just gone eight, sir."</p> - -<p>"Get me some soda-water."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>The Hon. Richard lay still.</p> - -<p>Higgs, a clean-shaven and smart-looking young man, appeared with a -bottle of Schweppes and a tumbler on a salver.</p> - -<p>The cork popped and the sufferer drank.</p> - -<p>"What o'clock did I come home?"</p> - -<p>"After twelve, sir—pretty nigh one."</p> - -<p>"Was there anyone with me?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir."</p> - -<p>"No old gentleman?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p><p>"Was Randall there?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"And the car?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"There was no old gentleman in the car?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir."</p> - -<p>"Good heavens!" said Pugeot. "What can I have done with him?"</p> - -<p>Higgs, not knowing, said nothing, moving about putting things in order -and getting his master's bath ready.</p> - -<p>"I've lost an old gentleman, Higgs," said Pugeot, for Higgs was a -confidential servant as well as a valet.</p> - -<p>"Indeed, sir," said Higgs, as though losing old gentlemen was as common -as losing umbrellas.</p> - -<p>"And the whole business is so funny I can scarcely believe it's true. I -haven't a touch of the jim-jams, have I, Higgs?"</p> - -<p>"Lord, sir, no! You're all right."</p> - -<p>"Am I? See here, Higgs. Yesterday morning I met old Mr. Simon Pettigrew, -the lawyer; mind, you are to say nothing about this to anyone—but stay -a moment, go into the sitting-room and fetch me <i>Who's Who</i>."</p> - -<p>Higgs fetched the book.</p> - -<p>"'Pettigrew, Simon,'" read out Pugeot,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> with the book resting on his -knees, "'Justice of the Peace for Herts—President of the United Law -Society—Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries'—h'm, h'm—'Club, -Athenæum.' Well, I met the old gentleman in Piccadilly. We went for a -spin together, and the last thing I remember was seeing him chasing a -stableman round some inn yard, where we had stopped for petrol or whisky -or something; chasing him round with a bucket. He was trying to put the -bucket over the stableman's head."</p> - -<p>"Fresh," said Higgs.</p> - -<p>"As you say, fresh—but I want to know, was that an optical illusion? -There were other things, too. If it wasn't an optical illusion I want to -know what has become of the old gentleman? I'm nervous—for he did me a -good turn once, and I hope to heaven I haven't let him in for any -bother."</p> - -<p>"Well, sir," said Higgs, "I wouldn't worry, not if I were you. It was -only his little lark, and most likely he's home safe by this."</p> - -<p>"I have also a recollection of two ladies that got mixed up in the -affair," went on the other, "but who they were I can't say. Little lark! -The bother of it is, Higgs, one can't play little larks like that, -safely, if one is a highly respectable person and a J.P. and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> a member -of the what's-its-name society."</p> - -<p>He got up and tubbed and dressed, greatly troubled in his mind. People -sucked into the Simon-whirl were generally troubled in their minds, so -great is the Power of High Respectability when linked to the follies of -youth.</p> - -<p>At breakfast Mr. Robert Ravenshaw's card was presented by Higgs.</p> - -<p>"Show him in," said Pugeot.</p> - -<p>"Hullo, Ravenshaw!" said Pugeot. "Glad to see you. Have you had -breakfast?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, thanks. I only called for a moment to see you about my uncle."</p> - -<p>"Which uncle?"</p> - -<p>"Pettigrew——"</p> - -<p>"Good heavens! You don't say he's——"</p> - -<p>Bobby explained.</p> - -<p>It was like a millstone removed from Pugeot's neck.</p> - -<p>Then he, in his turn, explained.</p> - -<p>Then Bobby went into details.</p> - -<p>Then they consulted.</p> - -<p>"You can't get him out of London without telling him where you are -taking him to," said Pugeot. "He'll kick the car over on the road if -he's anything like what he was last night. Leave it to me and <i>I'll</i> do -the trick. But the question is, where shall we take him? There's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> no use -going to a place like Brighton; too many attractions for him. A moated -grange is what he wants, and even then he'll be tumbling into the moat."</p> - -<p>"I know of a place," said Bobby, "down at Upton-on-Hill. A girl told me -of it; it's the Rose Hotel."</p> - -<p>"I know it," said Pugeot; "couldn't be better. I have a cousin there -living at a place called The Nook. There's a bowling-green at the hotel -and a golf-course near. Can't hurt himself. Leave it all to me."</p> - -<p>He told Higgs to telephone for the car, and then they sat and smoked -whilst Pugeot showed Bobby just the way to deal with people of Uncle -Simon's description.</p> - -<p>"It's all nonsense, that doctor man's talk," said Pugeot. "The poor old -chap has shed a nut or two. I ought to know something about it for I've -had the same bother in my family. Got his youth back—pish! Cracked, -that's the real name for it. I've seen it. I've seen my own uncle, when -he was seventy, get his youth back—and the last time I saw him he was -pulling a toy elephant along with a string. He'd got a taste also for -playing with matches. Is that the car, Higgs? Well, come along, and -let's try the power of a little gentle persuasion."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p><p>Simon was finishing breakfast when they arrived, assisted by Madame and -Cerise. Poor Monsieur Pattigrew did not seem in the least in the need of -pity either, though the women hung about him as women hang about an -invalid. He was talking and laughing, and he greeted the newcomers as -good companions who had just turned up. His geniality was not to be -denied, and it struck Bobby, in a weird sort of manner, that Uncle Simon -like this was a much pleasanter person than the old original article. -Like this: that is to say, for a moment out of danger from the vicious -grinding wheels of a city that destroys butterflies and a society that -requests respectable old solicitors to remain respectable old -solicitors.</p> - -<p>Then, the women having discreetly retired for a while, Pugeot began his -gentle persuasion.</p> - -<p>Uncle Simon, with visions of yesterday's rural pleasures in his mind, -required no persuasion, and he would come for a run into the country -with pleasure; but Pugeot was not taking that sort of thing on any more. -He was gay, but a very little of that sort of gaiety sufficed him for a -long time.</p> - -<p>"I don't mean that," said he; "I mean let's go down and stay for a while -quietly at some nice place—I mean you and Ravenshaw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> here—for business -will oblige me to come back to town."</p> - -<p>"No, thanks," said Simon; "I'm quite happy in London."</p> - -<p>"But think how nice it will be in the country this weather," said Bobby. -"London's so hot."</p> - -<p>"I like it hot," said Simon; "weather can't be too hot for me."</p> - -<p>Then the gentle persuaders alternately began offering -inducements—bowls, golf, a jolly bar at an hotel they knew, even girls.</p> - -<p>They might just as well have been offering buns to the lions of -Trafalgar Square.</p> - -<p>Then Bobby had an idea, and, leaving the room, he had a conference on -the stairs with Madame Rossignol; with Cerise also.</p> - -<p>Then leaving Simon to the women for a while, they went for a walk, and -returned to find the marble wax.</p> - -<p>Simon did not mind a few days in the country if the ladies would come as -his guests; he was enthusiastic on the subject now. They would all go -and have a jolly time in the country. The old poetical instinct that had -not shown itself up to this, restrained, no doubt, by the mesmerism of -London, seemed to be awakening and promising new developments.</p> - -<p>Bobby did not care; poetry or a Pickford's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> van were all the same to him -as long as they got Simon out of London.</p> - -<p>He had promised Julia Delyse, if you remember, to see her that day, but -he had quite forgotten her for the moment.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IX</span> <span class="smaller">JULIA</span></h2> - -<p>She hadn't forgotten him.</p> - -<p>Julia, with her hair down, in an eau-de-Nil morning wrapper, and frying -bacon over a Duplex oilstove, was not lovely—though, indeed, few of us -are lovely in the early morning. She had started the flat before she was -famous. It was a bachelor girl's flat, where the bachelor girl was -supposed to do her own cooking as far as breakfast and tea were -concerned. Money coming in, Julia had refurnished the flat and -requisitioned the part-time service of a maid.</p> - -<p>Like the doctors of Harley Street who share houses, she shared the -services of the maid with another flat-dweller, the maid coming to Julia -after three o'clock to tidy up and to bring in afternoon tea and admit -callers. She was quite well enough off to have employed a whole maid, -but she was careful—her publishers could have told you that.</p> - -<p>The bacon fried and breakfast over and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> cleared away, Julia, with her -hair still down, set to work at the cleared table before a pile of -papers and account-books.</p> - -<p>Never could you have imagined her the Julia of the other evening -discoursing "literature" with Bobby.</p> - -<p>She employed no literary agent, being that rare thing, a writer with an -instinct for business. When you see vast publishing houses and opulent -publishers rolling in their motor-cars you behold an optical illusion. -What you see, or, rather, what you ought to see, is a host of writers -without the instinct for business.</p> - -<p>Julia, seated before her papers and turning them over in search of a -letter, came just now upon the first letter she had ever received from a -publisher, a very curt, business-like communication saying that the -publisher thought he saw his way to the publishing of her MS. entitled -"The World at the Gate," and requesting an interview. With it was tied, -as a sort of curiosity, the agreement that had been put before her to -sign and which she had not signed.</p> - -<p>It gave—or would have given—the publisher the copyright and half the -American, serial, dramatic and other rights. It offered ten per cent, on -the published price of all copies sold <i>after</i> the first five hundred -copies; it stipulated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> that she should give him the next four novels on -the same terms as an inducement to advertise the book properly—and it -had drawn from Julia the prompt reply, "Send the typescript of my novel -back <i>at once</i>."</p> - -<p>So ended the first lesson.</p> - -<p>Then, heartened by this evidently good opinion of her work, she had gone -to another publisher? Not a bit—or at least, not at first. She had -joined the Society of Authors—an act as necessary to the making of a -successful author as baptism to the making of a Christian. She had -studied the publishing tribe, its ways and its works, discovered that -they had no more love for books than greengrocers for potatoes, and that -such a love, should it exist, would be unhealthy. For no seller of -commodities ought to love the commodities he sells.</p> - -<p>Then she had gone to a great impudently-advertising roaring trading-firm -that dealt with books as men deal with goods in bulk, and, interviewing -the manager as man to man, had driven her bargain, and a good one, too.</p> - -<p>These people published poets and men of letters—but they respected -Julia.</p> - -<p>Free of creative work this morning, she could give her full attention to -accounts and so forth.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p><p>Then she turned to a little book which she sometimes scribbled in, and -the contents of which she had a vague idea of some time publishing under -a pseudonym. It was entitled "Never," and it was not poetry. It was a -thumb-book for authors, made up of paragraphs, some long, some short.</p> - -<p>"Never dine with a publisher—luncheon is even worse."</p> - -<p>"Never give free copies of books to friends, or lend them. The given -book is not valued, the lent book is always lost—besides, the -booksellers and lending libraries are your real friends."</p> - -<p>"Never lower your price."</p> - -<p>"Never attempt to raise your public."</p> - -<p>"Never argue with a critic."</p> - -<p>"Never be elated with good reviews, or depressed by bad reviews, or -enraged by base reviews. The Public is your reviewer—<i>It</i> knows," and -so on.</p> - -<p>She shut up "Never," having included:</p> - -<p>"Never give a plot away." Then she did her hair and thought of Bobby.</p> - -<p>He had not fixed what hour he would call; that was a clause in the -agreement she had forgotten—she, who was so careful about agreements, -too.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p><p>Then she dressed and sat down to read "De Maupassant" and smoked a -cigarette.</p> - -<p>She had luncheon in the restaurant below stairs and then returned to the -flat. Tea-time came and no Bobby.</p> - -<p>She felt piqued, put on her hat, and as the mountain would not come to -Mohammed, Mohammed determined to go to the mountain.</p> - -<p>Her memory held his address, "care of Tozer, <span class="smaller">B12</span>, the Albany."</p> - -<p>She walked to the Albany, arriving there a little after five o'clock, -found <span class="smaller">B12</span>, and climbed the stairs.</p> - -<p>Tozer was in, and he opened the door himself.</p> - -<p>"Is Mr. Ravenshaw at home?" asked Julia.</p> - -<p>"No," said Tozer; "he's away, gone to the country."</p> - -<p>"Gone to the country?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; he went to-day."</p> - -<p>Tozer had at once spotted Julia as the Lady of the Plot. He was as -unconventional as she, and he wanted further acquaintance with this -fascinator of his <i>protégé</i>.</p> - -<p>"I think we are almost mutual acquaintances," said he; "won't you come -in? My name is Tozer and Ravenshaw is my best friend.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> I'd like to talk -to you about him. Won't you come in?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly," said the other. "My name is Delyse—I daresay you know it."</p> - -<p>"I know it well," said Tozer.</p> - -<p>"I don't mean by my books," said Julia, taking her seat in the -comfortable sitting-room, "but from Mr. Ravenshaw."</p> - -<p>"From both," said Tozer, "and what I want to see is Ravenshaw's name as -well known as yours some day. Bobby has been a spendthrift with his -time, and he has lots of cleverness."</p> - -<p>"Lots," said Julia.</p> - -<p>Tozer, who had a keen eye for character, had passed Julia as a sensible -person—he had never seen her in one of her love-fits—and she was a -lady. Just the person to look after Bobby.</p> - -<p>"He has gone down to the country to-day with an old gentleman, his -uncle."</p> - -<p>"I know all about <i>him</i>," said Julia.</p> - -<p>"Bobby has told you, then?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"About the attack of youth?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Well, a whole family party of them went off in a motor-car to-day. -Bobby called here for his luggage and I went into Vigo Street and saw -them off."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p><p>"How do you mean—a family party?"</p> - -<p>"The youthful old gentleman and a big blonde man, and Bobby, and an old -lady and a pretty girl."</p> - -<p>Julia swallowed slightly.</p> - -<p>"Relations?"</p> - -<p>"No, French, I think, the ladies were. Quite nice people, I believe, -though poor. The old gentleman had picked them up in some of his -wanderings."</p> - -<p>"Bob—Mr. Ravenshaw promised to see me to-day," said Julia. "We are -engaged—I speak quite frankly—at least, as good as engaged, you can -understand."</p> - -<p>"Quite."</p> - -<p>"He ought to have let me know," said she broodingly.</p> - -<p>"He ought."</p> - -<p>"Have they gone to Upton-on-Hill, do you know?"</p> - -<p>"They have. The Rose Hotel."</p> - -<p>Julia thought for awhile. Then she got up to go.</p> - -<p>"If you want my opinion," said Tozer, "I think the whole lot want -looking after. They seemed quite a pleasant party, but responsibility -seemed somewhat absent; the old lady, charming though she was, seemed to -me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> scarcely enough ballast for so much youth."</p> - -<p>"I understand," said Julia. Then she went off and Tozer lit a pipe.</p> - -<p>The pretty young French girl was troubling him. She had charmed even -him—and he knew Bobby, and his wisdom indicated that a penniless beauty -was not the first rung of the ladder to success in life.</p> - -<p>Julia, on the other hand, was solid. So he thought.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PART IV</h2> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">THE GARDEN-PARTY</span></h2> - -<p>Upton-On-Hill stands on a hogback of land running north and south, -timbered with pines mostly, and commanding a view of half Wessex, not -the Wessex of Thomas Hardy, however. You can see seven church spires -from Upton, and the Roman road takes it in its sweep, becomes the Upton -High Street for a moment, and passes on to be the Roman road again -leading to the Downs and the distant sea.</p> - -<p>It is a restful place, and in spring the shouting of the birds and the -measured call of the cuckoo fills the village, mixing with the voice of -the ever-talking pine-trees. In summer Upton sleeps amongst roses in an -atmosphere of sunlight and drowsiness, sung to by the bees and the -birds. The Rose Hotel stands, set back from the High Street, in its own -grounds, and beside the Rose there are two other houses for refreshment, -the Bricklayer's Arms and the Saracen's Head, of which more hereafter.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p><p>It is a pleasant place as well as a restful. Passing through it, people -say, "Oh, what a dream!" living in it one is driven at last to admit -there are dreams and dreams. It is not the place that forces this -conviction but the people.</p> - -<p>Just as the Roman road narrows at the beginning of the High Street, so -the life of a stranger coming, say, from London, narrows at the -beginning of his or her residence in Upton. If you are a villager you -find yourself under a microscope with three hundred eyes at the -eyepiece; if you are a genteel person, but without introductions, you -find yourself the target of half a score of telescopes levelled at you -by the residents.</p> - -<p>Colonel Salmon—who owned the fishing rights of the trout-stream below -hill—the Talbot-Tomsons, the Griffith-Smiths, the Grosvenor-Jones and -the rest, all these, failing introductions, you will find to be passive -resisters to your presence.</p> - -<p>Now, caution towards strangers and snobbishness are two different -things. The Uptonians are snobbish because, though you may be as -beautiful as a dream or as innocent as a saint, you will be sniffed at -and turned over; but if you are wealthy it is another matter, as in the -case<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> of the Smyth-Smyths, who were neither beautiful nor innocent—but -that is another story.</p> - -<p class="space-above">"The village is a mile further on," said Pugeot; "let's turn down here -before we go to the hotel and have afternoon tea with my cousin. -Randall, steer for The Nook."</p> - -<p>The car was not the Dragon-Fly, but a huge closed limousine, with Mudd -seated beside Randall, and inside, the rest of that social menagerie -about to be landed on the residents of Upton upon the landing-stage of -the social position of Dick Pugeot's cousin, Sir Squire Simpson.</p> - -<p>All the introductions in the world could not be better than the personal -introduction to <i>the</i> Resident of Upton by the Hon. Richard Pugeot.</p> - -<p>They passed lodge gates and then up a pleasant drive to a big -house-front, before which a small garden-party seemed to be going on; a -big afternoon tea it was, and there were men in flannels, and girls in -summer frocks, and discarded tennis racquets lying about, and the sight -of all this gave Bobby a horrible turn.</p> - -<p>Uncle Simon had been very quiet during the journey—happy but -quiet—squeezed between the two women, but this was not the sort of -place he wanted to land Uncle Simon in despite his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> quietude and -happiness. Mudd evidently also had qualms, for he kept looking back -through the glass front of the car and seemed trying to catch Bobby's -eye.</p> - -<p>But there was no turning back.</p> - -<p>The car swept along the drive, past the party on the lawn, and drew up -at the front door. Then, as they bundled out, a tall old man, without a -hat and dressed in grey tweed, detached himself from the lawn crowd and -came towards them.</p> - -<p>This was Sir Squire Simpson, Bart. His head was dome-shaped, and he had -heavy eyelids that reminded one of half-closed shutters, and a face that -seemed carved from old ivory—an extremely serious-looking person and a -stately; but he was glad to see Pugeot, and he advanced with a hand -outstretched and the ghost of an old-fashioned sort of smile.</p> - -<p>"I've brought some friends down to stay at the hotel," said Pugeot, "and -I thought we would drop in here for tea first. Didn't expect to find a -party going on."</p> - -<p>"Delighted," said the Squire.</p> - -<p>He was introduced to "My friend, Mr. Pettigrew, Madame—er—de -Rossignol, Mademoiselle de Rossignol, Mr. Ravenshaw."</p> - -<p>Then the party moving towards the lawn,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> they were all introduced to -Lady Simpson, a harmless-looking individual who welcomed them and broke -them up amongst her guests and gave them tea.</p> - -<p>Bobby, detaching himself for a moment from the charms of Miss Squire -Simpson, managed to get hold of Pugeot.</p> - -<p>"I say," said he, "don't you think this may be a bit too much for -uncle?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, he's all right," said Pugeot; "can't come to any harm here. Look at -him, he's quite happy."</p> - -<p>Simon seemed happy enough, talking to a dowager-looking woman and -drinking his tea; but Bobby was not happy. It all seemed wrong, somehow, -and he abused Pugeot in his heart. Pugeot had said himself a moated -grange was the proper place for Uncle Simon, and even then he might -tumble into the moat—and now, with the splendid inconsequence of his -nature, he had tumbled him into this whirl of local society. This was -not seclusion in the country. Why, some of these people might, by -chance, be Uncle Simon's clients!</p> - -<p>But there was no use in troubling, and he could do nothing but watch and -hope. He noticed that the women-folk had evidently taken up with Cerise -and her mother, and he could not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> but wonder vaguely how it would have -been if they could have seen the rooms in Duke Street, Leicester Square, -and the picture of Uncle Simon tucked up and snoring in Cerise's little -bed.</p> - -<p>The tennis began again, and Bobby, firmly pinned by Miss Squire -Simpson—she was a plain girl—had to sit watching a game and trying to -talk.</p> - -<p>The fact that Madame and Cerise were foreigners had evidently condoned -their want of that touch in dress which makes for style. They were being -led about and shown things by their hostess.</p> - -<p>Uncle Simon had vanished towards the rose-garden at the back of the -house, in company with a female; she seemed elderly. Bobby hoped for the -best.</p> - -<p>"Are you down here for long?" asked Miss Squire Simpson.</p> - -<p>"Not very long, I think," replied he. "We may be here a month or so—it -all depends on my uncle's health."</p> - -<p>"That gentleman you came with?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"He seems awfully jolly."</p> - -<p>"Yes—but he suffers from insomnia."</p> - -<p>"Then he'll get lots of sleep here," said she.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> "Oh, do tell me the name -of that pretty girl who came with you! I never can catch a name when I -am introduced to a person."</p> - -<p>"A Miss Rossignol—she's a friend of uncle's—she's French."</p> - -<p>"And the dear old lady is her mother, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. She writes books."</p> - -<p>"An authoress?"</p> - -<p>"Yes—at least, I believe she translates books. She is awfully clever."</p> - -<p>"Well played!" cried Miss Squire Simpson, breaking from the subject into -an ecstasy at a stroke made by one of the flannelled fools—then -resuming:</p> - -<p>"She <i>must</i> be clever. And are you all staying here together?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, at the Rose Hotel."</p> - -<p>"You will find it a dear little place," said she, unconscious of any -<i>double entendre</i>, "and you will get lots of tennis down here. Do you -fish?"</p> - -<p>"A little."</p> - -<p>"Then you must make up to Colonel Salmon—that's him at the nets—he -owns the best trout-stream about here."</p> - -<p>Bobby looked at Colonel Salmon, a stout, red-faced man with a head that -resembled <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>somewhat the head of a salmon—a salmon with a high sense of -its own importance.</p> - -<p>Then Pugeot came along smoking a cigarette, and then some of the people -began to go. The big limousine reappeared from the back premises with -Mudd and the luggage, and Pugeot began to collect his party. Simon -reappeared with the elderly lady; they were both smiling and he had -evidently done no harm. It would have been better, perhaps, if he had, -right at the start. The French ladies were recaptured, and as they -bundled into the car quite a bevy of residents surrounded the door, -bidding them good-bye for the present.</p> - -<p>"Remember, you must come and see my roses," said Mrs. Fisher-Fisher. -"Don't bother about formality, just drop in, all of you."</p> - -<p>"You'll find Anderson stopping at the hotel; he's quite a nice fellow," -cried Sir Squire Simpson. "So long—so long."</p> - -<p>"Are they not charming?" said old Madame Rossignol, whose face was -slightly flushed with the good time she had been having; "and the -beautiful house—and the beautiful garden."</p> - -<p>She had not seen a garden for years; verily, Simon <i>was</i> a good fairy as -far as the Rossignols were concerned.</p> - -<p>They drew up at the Rose Hotel. A vast<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> clambering vine of wisteria -shadowed the hall door, and out came the landlord to meet them. Pugeot -had telegraphed for rooms; he knew Pugeot, and his reception of them -spoke of the fact.</p> - -<p>Then the Rossignols were shown to their room, where their poor luggage, -such as it was, had been carried before them.</p> - -<p>It was a big bedroom, with chintz hangings and a floor with hills and -valleys in it; it had black oak beams and the window opened on the -garden.</p> - -<p>The old lady sat down.</p> - -<p>"How happy I am!" said she. "Does it not seem like a dream, <i>ma fée</i>?"</p> - -<p>"It is like heaven," said Cerise, kissing her.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">HORN</span></h2> - -<p>"No, sir," said Mudd, "he don't take scarcely anything in the bar of the -hotel, but he was sitting last night till closing-time in the -Bricklayer's Arms."</p> - -<p>"Oh, that's where he was," said Bobby. "How did you find out?"</p> - -<p>"Well, sir," said Mudd, "I was in there myself in the parlour, having a -drop of hot water and gin with a bit of lemon in it. It's a decent -house, and the servants' room in this hotel don't please me, nor Mr. -Anderson's man. I was sitting there smoking my pipe when in he came to -the bar outside. I heard his voice. Down he sits and talks quite -friendly with the folk there and orders a pint of beer all round. Quite -affable and friendly."</p> - -<p>"Well, there's no harm in that," said Bobby. "I've often done the same -in a country inn. Did he stick to beer?"</p> - -<p>"He did," said Mudd grimly. "He'd got that ten-pound note I was fool -enough to let him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> have. Yes, he stuck to beer, and so did the chaps he -was treating."</p> - -<p>"The funny thing is," said Bobby, "that though he knows we have his -money—and, begad, there's nearly eleven thousand of it—he doesn't kick -at our taking it—he must have known we cut open that portmanteau—but -comes to you for money like a schoolboy."</p> - -<p>"That's what he is," said Mudd. "It's my belief, Mr. Robert, that he's -getting younger and younger; he's artful as a child after sweets. And he -knows we're looking after him, I believe, and he doesn't mind, for it's -part of his amusement to give us the slip. Well, as I was saying, there -he sat talking away and all these village chaps listening to him as if -he was the Sultan of Turkey laying down the law. That's what pleased -him. He likes being the middle of everything; and as the beer went down -the talk went up—till he was telling them he'd been at the battle of -Waterloo."</p> - -<p>"Good Lord!"</p> - -<p>"<i>They</i> didn't know no different," said Mudd, "but it made me crawl to -listen to him."</p> - -<p>"The bother is," said Bobby, "that we are dealing, not only with a young -man, but with the sort of young man who was young forty years ago. -That's our trouble, Mudd; we can't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> calculate on what he'll do because -we haven't the data. And another bother is that his foolishness seems to -have increased by being bottled so long, like old beer, but he can't -come to harm with the villagers, they're an innocent lot."</p> - -<p>"Are they?" said Mudd. "One of the chaps he was talking to was a -gallows-looking chap. Horn's his name, and a poacher he is, I believe. -Then there's the blacksmith and a squint-eyed chap that calls himself a -butcher; the pair of <i>them</i> aren't up to much. Innocent lot! Why, if you -had the stories Mr. Anderson's man has told me about this village the -hair would rise on your head. Why, London's a girl-school to these -country villages, if all's true one hears. No, Mr. Robert, he wants -looking after here more than anywhere, and it seems to me the only -person who has any real hold on him is the young lady."</p> - -<p>"Miss Rossignol?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Robert, he's gone on her in his foolish way, and she can twist -him round her finger like a child. When he's with her he's a different -person, out of sight of her he's another man."</p> - -<p>"Look here, Mudd," said the other, "he can't be in love with her, for -there's not a girl he sees he doesn't cast his eye after."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p><p>"Maybe," said Mudd, "but when he's with her he's in love with her; I've -been watching him and I know. He worships her, I believe, and if she -wasn't so sensible I'd be afeard of it. It's a blessing he came across -her; she's the only hold on him, and a good hold she is."</p> - -<p>"It is a blessing," said Bobby. Then, after a pause, "Mudd, you've -always been a good friend of mine, and this business has made me know -what you really are. I'm bothered about something—I'm in love with her -myself. There, you have it."</p> - -<p>"With Miss Rossignol?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Well, you might choose worse," said Mudd.</p> - -<p>"But that's not all," said Bobby. "There's another girl—Mudd, I've been -a damn fool."</p> - -<p>"We've all been fools in our time," said Mudd.</p> - -<p>"I know, but it's jolly unpleasant when one's follies come home to roost -on one. She's a nice girl enough, Miss Delyse, but I don't care for her. -Yet somehow I've got mixed up with her—not exactly engaged, but very -near it. It all happened in a moment, and she's coming down here; I had -a letter from her this morning."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Lord!" said Mudd, "another mixture. As if there wasn't enough of us -in the business!"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p><p>"That's a good name for it, 'business.' I feel as if I was helping to -run a sort of beastly factory, a mad sort of show where we're trying to -condense folly and make it consume its own smoke—an illicit -whisky-still, for we're trying to hide our business all the time, and it -gives me the jim-jams to think that at any moment a client may turn up -and see him like that. I feel sometimes, Mudd, as fellows must feel when -they have the police after them."</p> - -<p>"Don't talk of the police," said Mudd, "the very word gives me the -shivers. When is she coming, Mr. Robert?"</p> - -<p>"Miss Delyse? She's coming by the 3.15 train to-day to Farnborough -station, and I've got to meet her. I've just booked her a room here. You -see how I am tied. If I was here alone she couldn't come, because it -wouldn't be proper, but having <i>him</i> here makes it proper."</p> - -<p>"Have you told her the state he's in?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. She doesn't mind; she said she wished everyone else was the -same—she said it was beautiful."</p> - -<p>They were talking in Bobby's room, which overlooked the garden of the -hotel, and glancing out of the window now, he saw Cerise.</p> - -<p>Then he detached himself from Mudd. He reached her as she was passing -through the little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> rambler-roofed alley that leads from the garden to -the bowling-green. There is an arbour in the garden tucked away in a -corner, and there is an arbour close to the bowling-green; there are -several other arbours, for the hotel-planner was an expert in his work, -but these are the only two arbours that have to do with our story.</p> - -<p>Bobby caught up with the girl before she had reached the green, and they -walked together towards it, chatting as young people only can chat with -life and gaiety about nothing. They were astonishingly well-matched in -mind. Minds have colours just like eyes; there are black minds and brown -minds and muddy-coloured minds and grey minds, and blue minds. Bobby's -was a blue mind, though, indeed, it sometimes almost seemed green. -Cerise's was blue, a happy blue like the blue of her eyes.</p> - -<p>They had been two and a half days now in pretty close propinquity, and -had got to know each other well despite Uncle Simon, or rather, perhaps, -because of him. They discussed him freely and without reserve, and they -were discussing him now, as the following extraordinary conversation -will show.</p> - -<p>"He's good, as you say," said Bobby, "but he's more trouble to me than a -child."</p> - -<p>Said Cerise: "Shall I tell you a little secret?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p><p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"You will promise me surely, most surely, you will never tell my little -secret?"</p> - -<p>"I swear."</p> - -<p>"He is in loff with me—I thought it was maman, but it is me." A ripple -of laughter that caught the echo of the bowling-alley followed this -confession.</p> - -<p>"Last night he said to me before dinner, 'Cerise, I loff you.'"</p> - -<p>"And what did you say?"</p> - -<p>"Then the dinner-gong rang," said Cerise, "and I said, 'Oh, Monsieur -Pattigrew, I must run and change my dress.' Then I ran off. I did not -want to change my dress, but I did want to change the conversation," -finished Cerise.</p> - -<p>Then with a smile, "He loffs me more than any of the other girls."</p> - -<p>"Why, how do you know he loves other girls?"</p> - -<p>"I have seen him look at girls," said Cerise. "He likes all the world, -but girls he likes most."</p> - -<p>"Are you in love with him, Cerise?" asked Bobby, with a grin.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Cerise candidly. "Who could help?"</p> - -<p>"How much are you in love with him, Cerise?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p><p>"I would walk to London for him without my shoes," said Cerise.</p> - -<p>"Well, that's something," said Bobby. "Come into this little arbour, -Cerise, and let's sit down. You don't mind my smoking?"</p> - -<p>"Not one bit"</p> - -<p>"It's good to have anyone love one like that," said he, lighting a -cigarette.</p> - -<p>"He draws it from me," said Cerise.</p> - -<p>"Well, I must say he's more likeable as he is than as he was; you should -have seen him before he got young, Cerise."</p> - -<p>"He was always good," said she, as though speaking from sure knowledge; -"always good and kind and sweet."</p> - -<p>"He managed to hide it," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"Ah yes—maybe so—there are many old gentlemen who seem rough and not -nice, and then underneath it is different."</p> - -<p>"How would you like to marry uncle?" asked he, laughing.</p> - -<p>"If he were young outside as he is young inside of him—why, then I do -not know. I might—I might not."</p> - -<p>Then the unfortunate young man, forgetting all things, even the -approaching Julia, let his voice fall half a tone; he wandered from -Uncle;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> Simon into the question of the beauty of the roses.</p> - -<p>The conversation flagged a bit, then he was holding one of her fingers.</p> - -<p>Then came steps on the gravel. A servant.</p> - -<p>"The fly is ready to take you to the station, sir."</p> - -<p>It was three o'clock.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">JULIA—<i>continued</i></span></h2> - -<p>It was a cross between a hansom cab and a "growler," with the voice of -the latter, and the dust of the Farnborough road, with the prospect of a -three-mile drive to meet Julia and a three-mile drive back again, did -not fill Bobby with joy—also the prospect of having to make -explanations.</p> - -<p>He had quite determined on that. After the arbour business it was -impossible to go on with Julia; he had to break whatever bonds there -existed between them, and he had to do the business before she got to -the hotel. Then came the prospect of having to live with her in the -hotel, even for a night. He questioned himself, asking himself were he a -cad or not, had he trifled with Julia? As far as memory went, they had -both trifled with one another. It was a sudden affair, and no actual -promise had been made; he had not even said "I love you"—but he had -kissed her. The legal mind would, no doubt, have construed that into a -declaration<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> of affection, but Bobby's mind was not legal—anything -but—and as for kissing a girl, if he had been condemned to marry all -the girls he had kissed he would have been forced to live in Utah.</p> - -<p>He had to wait half an hour for the train at Farnborough, and when it -drew up out stepped Julia, hot, and dressed in green, dragging a -hold-all and a bundle of magazines and newspapers.</p> - -<p>"H'are you?" said Bobby, as they shook hands.</p> - -<p>"Hot," said Julia.</p> - -<p>"Isn't it?"</p> - -<p>He carried the hold-all to the fly and a porter followed with a -basket-work portmanteau. When the luggage was stowed in they got in and -the fly moved off.</p> - -<p>Julia was not in a passionate mood; no person is or ever has been after -a journey on the London and Wessex and South Coast Railway—unless it is -a mood of passion against the railway. She seemed, indeed, disgruntled -and critical, and a tone of complaint in her voice cheered up Bobby.</p> - -<p>"I know it's an awful old fly," said he, "but it's the best they had; -the hotel motor-car is broken down or something."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p><p>"Why didn't you wire me that day," said She, "that you were going off -so soon? I only got your wire from here next morning. You promised to -meet me and you never turned up. I went to the Albany to see if you were -in, and I saw Mr. Tozer. He said you had gone off with half a dozen -people in a car——"</p> - -<p>"Only four, not including me," cut in Bobby.</p> - -<p>"Two ladies——"</p> - -<p>"An old French lady and her daughter."</p> - -<p>"Well, that's two ladies, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose so—you can't make it three. Then there was uncle; it's true -he's a host in himself."</p> - -<p>"How's he going on?"</p> - -<p>"Splendidly."</p> - -<p>"I'm very anxious to see him," said Julia. "It's so seldom one meets -anyone really original in this life; most people are copies of others, -and generally bad ones at that."</p> - -<p>"That's so," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"How's the novel going on?" said Julia.</p> - -<p>"Heavens!" said Bobby, "do you think I can add literary work to my other -distractions? The novel is not going on, but the plot is."</p> - -<p>"How d'you mean?"</p> - -<p>"Uncle Simon. I've got the beginning and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> middle of a novel in him, but -I haven't got the end."</p> - -<p>"You are going to put him in a book?"</p> - -<p>"I wish to goodness I could, and close the covers on him. No, I'm going -to weave him into a story—he's doing most of the weaving, but that's a -detail. Look here, Julia——"</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>"I've been thinking."</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>"I've been thinking we have made a mistake."</p> - -<p>"Who?"</p> - -<p>"Well, we. I didn't write, I thought I'd wait till I saw you."</p> - -<p>"How d'you mean?" said Julia dryly.</p> - -<p>"Us."</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>"Well, you know what I mean. It's just this way, people do foolish -things on the spur of the moment."</p> - -<p>"What have we done foolish?"</p> - -<p>"We haven't done anything foolish, only I think we were in too great a -hurry."</p> - -<p>"How?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, you know, that evening at your flat."</p> - -<p>"Oh!"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p><p>"You mean to say you don't care for me any more?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's not that; I care for you very much."</p> - -<p>"Say it at once," said Julia. "You care for me as a sister."</p> - -<p>"Well, that's about it," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>Julia was silent, and only the voice of the fly filled the air.</p> - -<p>Then she said:</p> - -<p>"It's just as well to know where one is."</p> - -<p>"Are you angry?"</p> - -<p>"Not a bit."</p> - -<p>He glanced at her.</p> - -<p>"Not a bit. You have met someone else. Why not say so?"</p> - -<p>"I have," said Bobby. "You know quite well, Julia, one can't help these -things."</p> - -<p>"I don't know anything about 'these things,' as you call them; I only -know that you have ceased to care for me—let that suffice."</p> - -<p>She was very calm, and a feeling came to Bobby that she did not care so -very deeply for him. It was not a pleasant feeling somehow, although it -gave him relief. He had expected her to weep or fly out in a temper, but -she was quite calm and ordinary; he almost felt like making love to her -again to see if she <i>had</i> cared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> for him, but fortunately this feeling -passed.</p> - -<p>"We'll be friends," said he.</p> - -<p>"Absolutely," said Julia. "How could a little thing like that spoil -friendship?"</p> - -<p>Was she jesting with him or in earnest? Bitter, or just herself?</p> - -<p>"Is she staying at the hotel?" asked she, after a moment's silence.</p> - -<p>"She is," said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"It's the French girl?"</p> - -<p>"How did you guess that?"</p> - -<p>"I knew."</p> - -<p>"When?"</p> - -<p>"When you explained them and began with the old lady. But the old lady -will, no doubt, have her turn next, and to the next girl you'll explain -them, beginning with the girl."</p> - -<p>Bobby felt very hot and uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>"Now you're angry with me," said he.</p> - -<p>"Not a bit."</p> - -<p>"Well, let's be friends."</p> - -<p>"Absolutely. I could never fancy you as the enemy of anyone but -yourself."</p> - -<p>Bobby wasn't enjoying the drive, and there was a mile more of -it—uphill, mostly.</p> - -<p>"I think I'll get out and give the poor old horse a chance," said he; -"these hills are beastly for it."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p><p>He got out and walked by the fly, glancing occasionally at the -silhouette of Julia, who seemed ruminating matters.</p> - -<p>He was beginning to feel, now, that he had done her an injury, and she -had said nothing about going back to-morrow or anything like that, and -he was held as by a vice, and Cerise and he would be under the -microscope, and Cerise knew nothing about Julia.</p> - -<p>Then he got into the fly again and five minutes later they drove up to -the Rose. Simon was standing in the porch as they drove up; his straw -hat was on the back of his head and he had a cigar in his mouth.</p> - -<p>He looked at Bobby and Julia and grinned slightly. It seemed suddenly to -have got into his head that Bobby had been fetching a sweetheart as well -as a young lady from the station. It had, in fact, and things that got -into Simon's youthful head in this fashion, allied to things pleasant, -were difficult to remove.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IV</span> <span class="smaller">HORN—<i>continued</i></span></h2> - -<p>Simon had been that day all alone to see Mrs. Fisher-Fisher's roses; he -said so at dinner that night. He had remembered the general invitation -and had taken it, evidently, as a personal one. Bobby did not enquire -details; besides, his mind was occupied at that dinner-table, where -Cerise was constantly seeking his glance and where Julia sat watching. -Brooding and watching and talking chiefly to Simon.</p> - -<p>She and Simon seemed to get on well together, and a close observer might -have fancied that Simon was attracted, perhaps less by her charms than -by the fact that he considered her Bobby's girl and was making to cut -Bobby out, in a mild way, by his own superior attractions.</p> - -<p>After dinner Simon forgot her. He had other business on hand. He had not -dressed for dinner, he was simply and elegantly attired in the blue -serge suit he had worn in London. Taking his straw hat and lighting a -cigar, he left<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> the others and, having strolled round the garden for a -few minutes, left the hotel premises and strolled down the street.</p> - -<p>The street was deserted. He reached the Bricklayer's Arms, and, having -admired the view for a while from the porch of that hostelry, strolled -into the bar.</p> - -<p>The love of low company, which is sometimes a distinguishing feature of -the youthful, comes from several causes: a taste for dubious sport, a -kicking against restraint, simply the love of low company, or a kind of -megalomania—a wish to be first person in the company present, a wish -easily satisfied at the cost of a few pounds.</p> - -<p>In Simon's case it was probably a compound of the lot.</p> - -<p>In the bar of the Bricklayer's Arms he was first person by a mile; and -this evening, owing to hay-harvest work, he was first by twenty miles, -for the only occupant of the bar was Dick Horn.</p> - -<p>Horn, as before hinted by Mudd, was a very dubious character. In old -days he would have been a poacher pure and simple, to-day he was that -and other things as well. Socialism had touched him. He desired, not -only other men's game and fish, but their houses and furniture.</p> - -<p>He was six feet two, very thin, with lantern<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> jaws, and a dark look -suggestive of Romany antecedents—a most fascinating individual to the -philosopher, the police, and those members of the public of artistic -leanings. He was seated smoking and in company of a brown mug of beer -when Simon came in.</p> - -<p>They gave each other good evening, Simon rapped with a half-crown on the -counter, ordered some beer for himself, had Horn's mug replenished, and -then sat down. The landlord, having served them, left them together, and -they fell into talk on the weather.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Horn, "it's fine enough for them that like it, weather's no -account to me. I'm used to weather."</p> - -<p>"So am I," said Simon.</p> - -<p>"Gentlefolk don't know what weather is," said Horn; "they can take it or -leave it. It's the pore that knows what weather is."</p> - -<p>They agreed on this point.</p> - -<p>After a while Horn got up, craned his head round the bar partition to -see that no one was listening, and sat down again.</p> - -<p>"You remember what I said to you about them night lines?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Well, I'm going to set some to-night down in the river below."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p><p>"By Jove!" said Simon, vastly interested.</p> - -<p>"If you're wanting to see a bit of sport maybe you'd like to jine me?" -said Horn.</p> - -<p>For a moment Simon held back, playing with this idea, then he succumbed.</p> - -<p>"I'm with you," said he.</p> - -<p>"The keeper's away at Ditchin'ham that minds this bit of the stream," -said Horn. "Not that it matters, for he ain't no good, and the -constable's no more than a blind horse. He's away, so we'll have the -place proper to ourselves, and you said you was anxious to see how night -linin' was done. Well, you'll see it, if you come along with me. Mind -you, it's not every gentleman I'd take on a job like this, but you're -different. Mind you, they'd call this poachin', some of them blistered -magistrits, and I'm takin' a risk lettin' you into it."</p> - -<p>"I'll say nothing," said Simon.</p> - -<p>"It's a risk all the same," said Horn.</p> - -<p>"I'll pay you," said Simon.</p> - -<p>"'Aff a quid?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, here it is. What time do you start?"</p> - -<p>"Not for two hours," said Horn. "My bit of a place is below hill there. -Y'know the Ditchin'ham road?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Well, it's that shack down there on the right<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> of the road before it -jines the village. I've got the lines there and all. You walk down there -in two hours' time and you'll find me at the gate."</p> - -<p>"I'll come," said Simon.</p> - -<p>Then these two worthies parted; Horn wiping his mouth with the back of -his hand, saying he had to see a man about some ferrets, Simon walking -back to the hotel.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER V</span> <span class="smaller">TIDD <i>versus</i> RENSHAW</span></h2> - -<p>The head of a big office or business house cannot move out of his orbit -without creating perturbations. Brownlow, the head clerk and second in -command of the Pettigrew business, was to learn this fact to his cost.</p> - -<p>Brownlow was a man of forty-five, whose habits and ideas seemed -regulated by clockwork. He lived at Hampstead with his wife and three -children, and went each day to the office. That was the summary of his -life as read by an outsider. Often the bald statement covers everything. -It almost did in the case of Brownlow. He had no initiative. He kept -things together, he was absolutely perfect in routine, he had a profound -knowledge of the law, he was correct, a good husband and a good father, -but he had no initiative, and, outside of the law, very little knowledge -of the world.</p> - -<p>Imagine this correct gentleman, then, seated at his desk on the morning -of the day after that on which Simon made his poaching <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>arrangements -with Horn. He was turning over some papers when Balls, the second in -command, came in. Balls was young and wore eyeglasses and had ambitions. -He and Brownlow were old friends, and when together talked as equals.</p> - -<p>"I've had that James man just in to see me," said Balls. "Same old game; -wanted to see Pettigrew. He knows I have the whole thread of the case in -my hands, but that's nothing to him, he wants to see Pettigrew."</p> - -<p>"I know," said Brownlow. "I've had the same bother. They <i>will</i> see the -head."</p> - -<p>"When's he back?" asked Balls.</p> - -<p>"I don't know," said Brownlow.</p> - -<p>"Where's he gone?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," said Brownlow. "I only know he's gone, same as this time -last year. He was a month away then."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Lord!" said Balls, who had only joined the office nine months -before and who knew nothing of last year's escapade. "A month more of -this sort of bother—a month!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Brownlow. "I had it to do last year, and he left no address, -same as now." Then, after a moment's pause, "I'm worried about him. I -can't help it, there was a strange thing happened last year. I've never -told it to a soul before. He called me in one day to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> room and he -showed me a bundle of bank-notes. 'See here, Brownlow,' said he, 'did -you put these in my safe?' I'd never seen the things before and I have -no key to his private safe. I told him I hadn't. He showed me the notes, -ten thousand pounds' worth. Ten thousand pounds' worth, he couldn't -account for—asked <i>me</i> if I'd put them in his safe. I said 'No,' as I -told you. 'Well, it's very strange,' said he. Then he stood looking at -the floor. Then he said all of a sudden, 'It doesn't matter.' Next day -he went off on a month's holiday, sending word for me to carry on."</p> - -<p>"Queer," said Balls.</p> - -<p>"More than queer," replied Brownlow. "I've put it down to mental strain; -he's a hard worker."</p> - -<p>"It's not mental strain," said Balls. "He's as alive as you or me and as -keen, and he doesn't overwork; it's something else."</p> - -<p>"Well, I wish it would stop," said Brownlow, "for I'm nearly worried to -death with clients writing to see him and trying to invent excuses, and -my work is doubled."</p> - -<p>"So's mine," said Balls. He went out and Brownlow continued his -business. He had not been engaged on it for long when Morgan, the -office-boy, appeared.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p><p>"Mr. Tidd, sir, to see Mr. Pettigrew."</p> - -<p>"Show him in," said Brownlow.</p> - -<p>A moment later Mr. Tidd appeared.</p> - -<p>Mr. Tidd was a small, slight, old-maidish man; he walked lightly, like a -bird, and carried a tall hat with a black band in one hand and a -tightly-folded umbrella in the other. Incidentally he was one of -Pettigrew's best clients.</p> - -<p>"Good morning," said Mr. Tidd. "I've called to see Mr. Pettigrew with -regard to those papers."</p> - -<p>"Oh yes," said Brownlow. "Sit down, Mr. Tidd. Those papers—Mr. -Pettigrew has been considering them."</p> - -<p>"Is not Mr. Pettigrew in?"</p> - -<p>"No, Mr. Tidd, he's not in just at present."</p> - -<p>"When is he likely to return?"</p> - -<p>"Well, that's doubtful; he has left me in charge."</p> - -<p>The end of Mr. Tidd's nose moved uneasily.</p> - -<p>"You are in charge of my case?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, of the whole business."</p> - -<p>"I can speak confidentially?"</p> - -<p>"Absolutely."</p> - -<p>"Well, I have decided to stop proceedings—in fact, I am caught in a -hole."</p> - -<p>"Oh!"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Mrs. Renshaw has, in some illicit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> manner, got a document with my -signature attached—a very grave document. This is strictly between -ourselves."</p> - -<p>"Strictly."</p> - -<p>"And she threatens to use it against me."</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"To use it against me, unless I return to her at once the letter of hers -which I put in Mr. Pettigrew's keeping."</p> - -<p>"Oh!"</p> - -<p>"Yes. She is a violent and very vicious woman. I have not slept all -night. I live, as you perhaps know, at Hitchin. I took the first train I -could conveniently catch to town this morning."</p> - -<p>The horrible fact was beginning to dawn on Brownlow that Simon had not -brought those papers back to the office. He said nothing; his lips, for -a moment, had gone dry.</p> - -<p>"How she got hold of that document with my name to it I cannot tell," -said Mr. Tidd, "but she will use it against me most certainly unless I -return that letter."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps," said Brownlow, recovering himself, "perhaps she is only -threatening—bluffing, as they call it."</p> - -<p>"Oh no, she's not," said the other. "If you knew her you would not say -that; no, indeed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> you would not say that. She is the last woman to -threaten what she will not perform. Till that document is in her hands I -will not feel safe."</p> - -<p>"You must be careful," said Brownlow, fighting for time. "How would it -be if I were to see her?"</p> - -<p>"Useless," said Mr. Tidd.</p> - -<p>"May I ask——"</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>"Is the document to which your name is attached, and which is in her -possession, is it—er—detrimental—I mean, plainly, is it likely to do -you a grave injury?"</p> - -<p>"The document," said Mr. Tidd, "was written by me in a moment of impulse -to a lady who is—another gentleman's wife."</p> - -<p>"It is a letter?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, it is a letter."</p> - -<p>"I see. Well, Mr. Tidd, <i>your</i> document, the one you are anxious to -return in exchange for this document, is in the possession of Mr. -Pettigrew; it is quite safe."</p> - -<p>"Doubtless," said Mr. Tidd, "but I want it in my hands to return it -myself to-day."</p> - -<p>"I sent it with the other papers to Mr. Pettigrew's private house," said -Brownlow, "and he has not yet returned it."</p> - -<p>"Oh! But I want it to-day."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p><p>"It's very unfortunate," said Brownlow, "but he's away—and I'm afraid -he must have taken the papers with him for consideration."</p> - -<p>"Good heavens!" said Tidd. "But if that is so what am I to do?"</p> - -<p>"You can't wait?"</p> - -<p>"How can I wait?"</p> - -<p>"Dear me, dear me," said Brownlow, almost driven to distraction, "this -is very unfortunate."</p> - -<p>Tidd seemed to concur.</p> - -<p>His lips had become pale. Then he broke out: "I placed my vital -interests in the hands of Mr. Pettigrew, and now at the critical moment -I find this!" said he. "Away! But you must find him—you must find him, -and find him at once."</p> - -<p>If he had only known what he would find he might have been less eager -perhaps.</p> - -<p>"I'll find him if I can," said Brownlow. He rang a bell, and when Morgan -appeared he sent for Balls.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Balls," said Brownlow with a spasmodic attempt at a wink, "can you -not get Mr. Pettigrew's present address?"</p> - -<p>Balls understood.</p> - -<p>"I'll see," said he. Out he went, returning in a minute.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry I can't," said Balls. "Mr. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>Pettigrew did not leave his -address when he went away."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Mr. Balls," said Brownlow. Then to Tidd, when they were -alone: "This is as hard for me as for you, Mr. Tidd; I can't think what -to do."</p> - -<p>"We've got to find him," said Tidd.</p> - -<p>"Certainly."</p> - -<p>"Will he by any chance have left his address at his private house?"</p> - -<p>"We can see," said Brownlow. "He has no telephone, but I'll go myself."</p> - -<p>"I will go with you," said Tidd. "You understand me, this is a matter of -life and death—ruin—my wife—that woman, and the other one."</p> - -<p>"I see, I see, I see," said Brownlow, taking his hat from its peg on the -wall. "Come with me; we will find him if he is to be found."</p> - -<p>He hurried out, followed by Mr. Tidd, and in Fleet Street he managed to -get a taxi. They got into it and drove to King Charles Street.</p> - -<p>There was a long pause after the knock, and then the door opened, -disclosing Mrs. Jukes. Brownlow was known to her.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Jukes," said Brownlow, "can you give me Mr. Pettigrew's present -address?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir, I can't."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p><p>"He was called away, was he not?"</p> - -<p>"I don't think so, sir; he went off on some business or other. Mudd has -gone with him."</p> - -<p>"Oh, dear!" said Tidd.</p> - -<p>"They stopped at the Charing Cross Hotel," said Mrs. Jukes, "and then I -had a message they were going into the country. It was from Mr. Mudd, -and he said they might be a month away."</p> - -<p>"A month away!" said Tidd, his voice strangely calm.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"Good gracious!" said Brownlow. Then to Tidd, "You see how I am placed?"</p> - -<p>"A month away," said Tidd; he seemed unable to get over that obstacle of -thought.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Jukes.</p> - -<p>They got into the taxi and went to the Charing Cross Hotel, where they -were informed that Mr. Pettigrew was gone and had left no address.</p> - -<p>Then suddenly an idea came to Brownlow—Oppenshaw. The doctor might -know; failing the doctor, they were done.</p> - -<p>"Come with me," said he; "I think I know a person who may have the -address." He got into the taxi again with the other, gave the Harley -Street address, and they drove off. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> horrible irregularity of the -whole of this business was poisoning Brownlow's mind—hunting for the -head of a firm who ought to be at his office and who held possession of -a client's vitally important document.</p> - -<p>He said nothing, neither did Mr. Tidd, who was probably engaged in -reviewing the facts of his case and the position his wife would take up -when that letter was put into her hands by Mrs. Renshaw.</p> - -<p>They stopped at <span class="smaller">110A</span>, Harley Street.</p> - -<p>"Why, it's a doctor's house," said Tidd.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Brownlow.</p> - -<p>They knocked at the door and were let in.</p> - -<p>The servant, in the absence of an appointment, said he would see what he -could do, and showed them into the waiting-room.</p> - -<p>"Tell Dr. Oppenshaw it is Mr. Brownlow from Mr. Pettigrew's office," -said Brownlow, "on very urgent business."</p> - -<p>They took their seats, and while Mr. Tidd tried to read a volume of -<i>Punch</i> upside down, Brownlow bit his nails.</p> - -<p>In a marvellously short time the servant returned and asked Mr. Brownlow -to step in.</p> - -<p>Oppenshaw did not beat about the bush. When he heard what Brownlow -wanted he said frankly he did not know where Mr. Pettigrew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> was; he only -knew that he had been staying at the Charing Cross Hotel. Mudd, the -manservant, was with him.</p> - -<p>"It's only right that you should know the position," said Oppenshaw, "as -you say you are the chief clerk and all responsibility rests on you in -Mr. Pettigrew's absence." Then he explained.</p> - -<p>"But if he's like that, where's the use of finding him?" said the -horrified Brownlow. "A man with mind disease!"</p> - -<p>"More a malady than a disease," put in Oppenshaw.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but—like that."</p> - -<p>"Of course," said Oppenshaw, "he may at any moment turn back into -himself again, like the finger of a glove turning inside out."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps," said the other hopelessly, "but till he does turn——"</p> - -<p>At that moment the sound of a telephone-bell came from outside.</p> - -<p>"Till he does turn, of course, he's useless for business purposes," said -Oppenshaw; "he would have no memory, for one thing—at least, no memory -of business."</p> - -<p>The servant entered.</p> - -<p>"Please, sir, an urgent call for you."</p> - -<p>"One moment," said Oppenshaw. Out he went.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p><p>He was back in less than two minutes.</p> - -<p>"I have his address," said he.</p> - -<p>"Thank goodness!" said Brownlow.</p> - -<p>"H'm," said Oppenshaw; "but there's not good news with it. He's staying -at the Rose Hotel, Upton-on-Hill, and he's been getting into trouble of -some sort. It was Mudd who 'phoned, and he seemed half off his head; -said he didn't like to go into details over the telephone, but wanted me -to come down to arrange matters. I told him it was quite impossible -to-day; then he seemed to collapse and cut me off."</p> - -<p>"What am I to do?"</p> - -<p>"Well, there's only two things to be done: tell this gentleman that Mr. -Pettigrew's mind is affected, or take him down there on the chance that -this shock may have restored Mr. Pettigrew."</p> - -<p>"I can't tell him Mr. Pettigrew's mind is affected," said Brownlow. "I'd -sooner do anything than that. I'd sooner take him down there on the -chance of his being better—perhaps even if he's not, the sight of me -and Mr. Tidd might recall him to himself."</p> - -<p>"Possibly," said Oppenshaw, who was in a hurry and only too glad of any -chance of cutting the business short. "Possibly. Anyhow, there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> is some -use in trying, and tell Mudd it's absolutely useless my going. I shall -be glad to do anything I can by letter or telephone."</p> - -<p>Brownlow took up his hat, then he recaptured Tidd and gave him the -cheering news that he had Simon's address. "I'll go with you myself," -said Brownlow. "Of course, the expense will fall on the office. I must -send a telegram to the office and my wife to say I won't be back -to-night. We can't get to Upton till this evening. We'll have to go as -we are, without even waiting to pack a bag."</p> - -<p>"That doesn't matter; that doesn't matter," said Tidd.</p> - -<p>They were in the street now and bundling into the waiting taxi.</p> - -<p>"Victoria Station," said Brownlow to the driver. Then to Tidd, "I can -telegraph from the station."</p> - -<p>They drove off.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VI</span> <span class="smaller">WHAT HAPPENED TO SIMON</span></h2> - -<p>"He came back two hours ago, sir, and he was in his room ten minutes -ago—but he's gone."</p> - -<p>"Well," said Bobby, who was just off to bed, "he'll be back again soon; -can't come to much harm here. You'd better sit up for him, Mudd."</p> - -<p>Off he went to bed. He lay reading for awhile and thinking of Cerise; -then he put out the light and dropped off to sleep.</p> - -<p>He was awakened by Mudd. Mudd with a candle in his hand.</p> - -<p>"He's not back yet, Mr. Robert."</p> - -<p>Bobby sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Not back? Oh, Uncle Simon! What's the -time?"</p> - -<p>"Gone one, sir."</p> - -<p>"Bother! What can have happened to him, Mudd?"</p> - -<p>"That's what I'm asking myself," said Mudd.</p> - -<p>A heavy step sounded on the gravel drive in front of the hotel, then -came a ring at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> bell. Mudd, candle in hand, darted off.</p> - -<p>Bobby heard voices down below. Five minutes passed and then reappeared -Mudd—ghastly to look at.</p> - -<p>"They've took him," said Mudd.</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"He's been took poachin'."</p> - -<p>"Poaching!"</p> - -<p>"Colonel Salmon's river, he and a man, and the man's got off. He's at -the policeman's house, and he says he'll let us have him if we'll go -bail for him, seeing he's an old gentleman and only did it for the lark -of the thing."</p> - -<p>"Thank God!"</p> - -<p>"But he'll have to go before the magistrates on We'n'sday, whether or -no—before the magistrates—<i>him</i>!"</p> - -<p>"The devil!" said Bobby. He got up and hurried on some clothes.</p> - -<p>"Him before the magistrates—in his present state! <i>Oh</i>, Lord!"</p> - -<p>"Shut up!" said Bobby. His hands were shaking as he put on his things. -Pictures of Simon before the magistrates were fleeting before him. Money -was the only chance. Could the policeman be bribed?</p> - -<p>Hurrying downstairs and outside into the moonlit night, he found the -officer. None of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> the hotel folk had turned out at the ring of the bell. -Bobby, in a muted voice and beneath the stars, listened to the tale of -the Law, then he tried corruption.</p> - -<p>Useless. Constable Copper, though he might be no more good than a blind -horse, according to Horn, was incorruptible yet consolatory.</p> - -<p>"It'll only be a couple of quid fine," said he. "Maybe not that, seeing -what he is and it was done for a lark. Horn will get it in the neck, but -not him. He's at my house now, and you can have him back if you'll go -bail he won't get loose again. He's a nice old gentleman, but a bit -peculiar, I think."</p> - -<p>Constable Copper seemed quite light-hearted over the matter, and to -think little of it as an offence. A couple of quid would cover it! He -did not, perhaps, appreciate fully the light and shade of the -situation—a J.P. and member of the Athenæum and of the Society of -Antiquaries brought up for poaching in company with an evil character -named Horn!</p> - -<p>Neither did Simon, whom they found seated on the side of the table in -the Coppers' sitting-room talking to Mrs. Copper, who was wrapped in a -shawl.</p> - -<p>He went back to the hotel with them rather silent but not depressed; he -tried, indeed, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> talk and laugh over the affair. This was the last -straw, and Bobby burst out, giving him a "jawing" complete and of the -first pattern. Then they saw him to bed and put out the light.</p> - -<p>At breakfast he was quite himself again, and the summons which arrived -at eleven o'clock was not shown to him. No one knew of the affair with -the exception of the whole village, all the hotel servants, Bobby and -Mudd.</p> - -<p>The distracted Mudd spent the morning walking about, hither and thither, -trying to collect his wits and make a plan. Simon had given his name, of -course, though indeed it did not matter much as he was a resident at the -hotel. It was impossible to deport him or move him or pretend he was -ill; nothing was possible but the bench of magistrates—Colonel Salmon -presiding—and Publicity.</p> - -<p>At half-past eleven or quarter to twelve he sent the despairing message -to Oppenshaw; then he collapsed into a cold sort of resignation with hot -fits at times.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VII</span> <span class="smaller">TIDD <i>versus</i> BROWNLOW</span></h2> - -<p>At four o'clock that day a carriage drove up to the hotel and two -gentlemen alighted. They were shown into the coffee-room and Mudd was -sent for. He came, expecting to find police officers, and found Brownlow -and Mr. Tidd.</p> - -<p>"One moment, Mr. Tidd," said Brownlow, then he took Mudd outside into -the hall.</p> - -<p>"He's not fit to be seen," said Mudd, when the other had explained. "No -client must see him. He's right enough to look at and speak to, but he's -not himself. What made you bring him here, Mr. Brownlow—now, of all -times?"</p> - -<p>Brownlow started and turned. Mr. Tidd had opened the coffee-room door, -and how much of their conversation he had heard Heaven knows.</p> - -<p>"One moment," said Brownlow.</p> - -<p>"I will wait no longer," said Mr. Tidd. "This must be explained. Is Mr. -Pettigrew here or is he not? No, I will not wait."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p><p>A waiter passed at that moment with an afternoon-tea-tray.</p> - -<p>"Is Mr. Pettigrew in this hotel?" asked Tidd.</p> - -<p>"He's in the garden, I believe, sir."</p> - -<p>Brownlow tried to get in front of Tidd to round him off from the garden; -Mudd tried to take his arm. He pushed them aside.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII</span> <span class="smaller">IN THE ARBOUR</span></h2> - -<p>We must go back to three o'clock. At three o'clock Bobby, walking in the -garden smoking a cigarette, had crossed the front of the arbour—Arbour -No. 1. The grass path, soundless as a Turkey carpet, did not betray his -footsteps.</p> - -<p>There were two people in the arbour and they were "canoodling"—Simon -and Julia Delyse. She was keeping her hand in, perhaps, or the -attraction Simon had always had for her had betrayed her into allowing -him to hold her hand. Anyhow, he was holding it. Bobby looked at her, -and Julia snatched her hand away. Simon laughed; he seemed to think it a -good joke, and his vain soul was doubtless pleased with having got the -better of Bobby with Bobby's girl.</p> - -<p>Bobby passed on, saying, "I beg your pardon." It was the only thing he -could think of to say. Then, when out of hearing, he too laughed. He had -got the better of Julia. That brooding presence would brood no more.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p><p>An hour later Simon, walking in the garden alone and in meditation, -reached the bowling-green. He drew close to Arbour No. 2. The grass -silencing his footsteps, he passed the arbour opening and looked in. The -two people there did not see him for a moment, then they unlocked.</p> - -<p>It was Cerise and Bobby.</p> - -<p>Simon stood, mouth open, stock still, cigar dropped on grass.</p> - -<p>He had laughed when Bobby had caught him with Julia. He did not laugh -now.</p> - -<p>The shock of the poaching business had left him untouched, unshaken, but -Cerise, in some strange way, was his centre of gravity, his compass, and -sometimes his rudder. He loved Cerise; the other girls were phantoms. -Perhaps Cerise was the only real thing in his mental state.</p> - -<p>For a moment he stood, his hand to his head like a man stunned.</p> - -<p>Bobby ran to him and caught him.</p> - -<p>"Where am I?" said Uncle Simon. "Oh—oh—I see." He leaned heavily on -Bobby, looking about him in a dazed way like a man half awakened. Madame -Rossignol, who had just come out of the hotel, seeing his condition, ran -towards him, and Simon, as though recognising a guardian angel, held out -his hand.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p><p>Then Bobby and the old lady gently, very gently, began to lead him back -to the house.</p> - -<p>As they drew near the back entrance three men, one following the other, -came out.</p> - -<p>Simon stopped.</p> - -<p>He had recognised Tidd; he seemed also to recognise more fully his own -position and to remember. Bobby felt his hand tightly clasping his own.</p> - -<p>"Why, this is Mr. Tidd," said Simon.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Pettigrew," said Tidd, "where are my papers—the papers in the case -of Renshaw?"</p> - -<p>"Tidd <i>v.</i> Renshaw," said Simon's accurate mind. "They are in the top -left-hand drawer of my bureau in Charles Street, Westminster."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IX</span> <span class="smaller">CHAPTER THE LAST</span></h2> - -<p>"You are all absolutely wrong." Julia Delyse was speaking. She had been -sitting mumchance at a general meeting of the Pettigrew confraternity -held half an hour before Bench in a sitting-room of the Rose Hotel.</p> - -<p>Simon had vetoed the idea of a solicitor to defend him—it would only -create more talk, and from what he could make out his case was -defenceless. He would throw himself on the mercy of the court. The rest -had concurred.</p> - -<p>"Throw yourself on the mercy of the court! Have you ever lived in the -country? Do you know what these old magistrates are like? Don't you know -that the <i>Wessex Chronicle</i> will publish yards about it, to say nothing -of the local rag? I've thought out the whole thing. I've wired for Dick -Pugeot."</p> - -<p>"You wired?" said Bobby.</p> - -<p>"Last night. You remember I asked you for his address—and there he is."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p><p>The toot of a motor-horn came from outside.</p> - -<p>Julia rose and left the room.</p> - -<p>Bobby followed and stopped her in the passage.</p> - -<p>"Julia," said he, "if you can get him out of this and save his name -being in the papers, you'll be a brick. You are a brick, and I've been -a—a——"</p> - -<p>"I know," said Julia, "but you could not help yourself—nor can I. I'm -not Cerise. Love is lunacy and the world's all wrong. Now go back and -tell your uncle to say nothing in court and to pretend he's a fool. If -Pugeot is the man you say he is, he'll save his name. Old Mr. Pettigrew -has got to be camouflaged."</p> - -<p>"Good heavens, Julia," cried Bobby, the vision of gnus emulating zebras -rising before him, "you can't mean to paint him?"</p> - -<p>"Never mind what I mean," said Julia.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The Upton Bench was an old Bench. It had been in existence since the -time of Mr. Justice Shallow. It held its sittings in the court-room of -the Upton Police Court, and there it dispensed justice, of a sort, of a -Wednesday morning upon "drunks," petty pilferers, poachers, tramps, and -any other unfortunates appearing before it.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p><p>Colonel Grouse was the chairman. With him this morning sat Major -Partridge-Cooper, Colonel Salmon, Mr. Teal, and General Grampound. The -reporters of the local rag and the <i>Wessex Chronicle</i> were in their -places. The Clerk of the Court, old Mr. Quail, half-blind and fumbling -with his papers, was at his table; a few village constables, including -Constable Copper, were by the door, and there was no general public.</p> - -<p>The general public was free to enter, but none of the villagers ever -came. It was an understood thing that the Bench discouraged idlers and -inquisitive people.</p> - -<p>The inalienable right of the public to enter a Court of Justice and see -Themis at work had never been pushed. The Bench was much more than the -Bench—it was the Gentry and the Power of Upton,<a name="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> against which no man -could run counter. Horn alone, in pot-houses and public places, had -fought against this shibboleth; he had found a few agreers, but no -backers.</p> - -<p>At eleven to the moment the Pettigrew contingent filed in and took their -places, and after them a big yellow man, the Hon. Dick Pugeot. He was -known to the magistrates, but Justice is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> blind and no mark of -recognition was shown, whilst a constable, detaching himself from the -others, went to the door and shouted:</p> - -<p>"Richard Horn."</p> - -<p>Horn, who had been caught and bailed, and who had evidently washed -himself and put on his best clothes, entered, made for the dock, as a -matter of long practice, and got into it.</p> - -<p>"Simon Pettigrew," called the Clerk.</p> - -<p>Simon rose and followed Horn. Instructed by Julia to say nothing, he -said nothing.</p> - -<p>Then Pugeot rose.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," said Pugeot; "you have got my friend's name wrong. -Pattigraw, please; he's a Frenchman, though long resident in England; -and it's not Simon—but Sigismond."</p> - -<p>"Rectify the charge-sheet," said Colonel Grouse. "First witness."</p> - -<p>Simon, dazed, and horrified as a solicitor by this line of action, tried -to speak, but failed. The brilliant idea of Julia's, taken up with -enthusiasm by Pugeot, was evidently designed to fool the newspaper men -and save the name of Simon the Solicitor. Still, it was horrible, and he -felt as though Pugeot were trying to carry him pick-a-back across an -utterly impossible bridge.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p><p>He guessed now why this had been sprung on him. They knew that as a -lawyer he would never have agreed to such a statement.</p> - -<p>Then Copper, hoisting himself into the witness-stand, hitching his belt -and kissing the Testament, began:</p> - -<p>"I swear before A'mighty Gawd that the evidence I shall give shall be -the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me Gawd, -Amen on the evening of the 16th pursuin' my beat by Porter's Meadows I -see defendant in the company of Horn——"</p> - -<p>"What were they doing?" asked old Mr. Teal, who was busily taking notes -just like any real judge.</p> - -<p>"Walkin' towards the river, sir."</p> - -<p>"In which direction?"</p> - -<p>"Up stream, sir."</p> - -<p>"Go on."</p> - -<p>Copper went on.</p> - -<p>"Crossin' the meadows, they kept to the river, me after them——"</p> - -<p>"How far behind?" asked Major Partridge-Cooper.</p> - -<p>"Half a field's length, sir, till they reached the bend of the stream -beyond which the prisoner Horn began to set his night lines, assisted by -the prisoner Puttigraw. 'Hullo,' says I, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> Horn bolted, and I closed -with the other one."</p> - -<p>"Did he make resistance?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir. I walked him up to my house quite quiet."</p> - -<p>"That all?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"You can stand down."</p> - -<p>The prisoners had pleaded guilty and there was no other evidence. Simon -began to see light. He could perceive at once that it would be a -question of a fine, that the magistrates and Press had swallowed him as -specified by Pugeot, that his name was saved. But he reckoned without -Pugeot.</p> - -<p>Pugeot had done everything in life except act as an advocate, and he was -determined not to let the chance escape. Several brandies-and-sodas at -the hotel had not lessened his enthusiasm for Publicity, and he rose.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Chairman and Justices," said Pugeot. "I would like to say a few -words on behalf of my friend, the prisoner, whom I have known for many -years and who now finds himself in this unfortunate position through no -fault of his own."</p> - -<p>"How do you make that out?" asked Colonel Grouse.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p><p>"I beg your pardon?" said Pugeot, checked in his eloquence. "Oh yes, I -see what you mean. Well, as a matter of fact, as a matter of fact—well, -not to put too fine a point upon it, leaving aside the fact that he is -the last man to do a thing of this sort, he has had money troubles in -France."</p> - -<p>"Do you wish to make out a case of <i>non compos mentis</i>?" asked old Mr. -Teal. "There is no medical evidence adduced."</p> - -<p>"Not in the least," said Pugeot; "he's as right as I am, only he has had -worries." Then, confidentially, and speaking to the Bench as fellow-men: -"If you will make it a question of a fine, I will guarantee everything -will be all right—and besides"—a brilliant thought—"his wife will -look after him."</p> - -<p>"Is his wife present?" asked Colonel Grouse.</p> - -<p>"That is the lady, I believe," said Colonel Salmon, looking in the -direction of the Rossignols, whom he dimly remembered having seen at the -Squire Simpson's with Simon.</p> - -<p>Pugeot, cornered, turned round and looked at the blushing Madame -Rossignol.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said he, without turning a hair, "that is the lady."</p> - -<p>Then the recollection struck him with a thud<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> that he had introduced the -Rossignols as Rossignols to the Squire Simpson's and that they were -registered at the hotel as Rossignols. He felt as though he were in a -skidding car, but nothing happened, no accusing voice rose to give him -the lie, and the Bench retired to consider its sentence, which was one -guinea fine for Sigismond and a month for Horn.</p> - -<p>"You've married them," said Julia, as they walked back to the hotel, -leaving the others to follow. "I <i>never</i> meant you to say that. But -perhaps it's for the best; she's a good woman and will look after him, -and he'll <i>have</i> to finish the business, won't he?"</p> - -<p>"Rather, and a jolly good job!" said Pugeot. "Now I've got to bribe the -hotel man and stuff old Simpson with the hard facts. Never had such fun -in my life. I say, old thing, where do you hang out in London?"</p> - -<p>Julia gave him her address.</p> - -<p class="space-above">That was the beginning of the end of Pugeot as a bachelor—also of -Simon, who never would have been brought up to the scratch but for -Pugeot's speech—also of Mr. Ravenshaw, who never in his wildest dreams -could have foreseen his marriage to Simon's step-daughter a week after -Simon's marriage to her mother.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p><p>Mudd alone remains unmarried out of all these people, for the simple -and efficient reason that there is no one to marry him to. He lives with -the Pettigrews in Charles Street, and his only trouble in life is dread -of another outbreak on the part of Simon. This has not occurred -yet—will never occur, if there is any truth in the dictum of Oppenshaw -that marriage is the only cure for the delusions of youth.</p> - -<p class="center space-above">THE END</p> - -<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This was before the Politicians had amended the Bench.</p></div> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN WHO FOUND HIMSELF ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Man Who Found Himself - (Uncle Simon) - -Author: Margaret Stacpoole - Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -Release Date: July 3, 2017 [EBook #55039] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN WHO FOUND HIMSELF *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, Martin Pettit and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -THE MAN WHO FOUND HIMSELF - - - - -_By H. DE VERE STACPOOLE_ - - -THE BEACH OF DREAMS -THE GHOST GIRL -THE MAN WHO LOST HIMSELF -THE GOLD TRAIL -SEA PLUNDER -THE PEARL FISHERS -THE PRESENTATION -THE NEW OPTIMISM -POPPYLAND -THE POEMS OF FRANOIS VILLON - _Translated by H. De Vere Stacpoole_ - - - - -The Man Who Found Himself -(Uncle Simon) - -_By_ -MARGARET AND H. DE VERE STACPOOLE - -NEW YORK -JOHN LANE COMPANY -MCMXX - - -Copyright, 1920, -BY STREET & SMITH - -Copyright, 1920, -BY JOHN LANE COMPANY - - - - -CONTENTS - - -PART I - -CHAPTER PAGE - I. SIMON 9 - - II. MUDD 12 - - III. DR. OPPENSHAW 20 - - IV. DR. OPPENSHAW--_continued_ 30 - - V. I WILL NOT BE HIM 34 - - VI. TIDD AND RENSHAW 42 - - VII. THE WALLET 46 - - -PART II - - I. THE SOUL'S AWAKENING 51 - - II. MOXON AND MUDD 60 - - III. SIMON'S OLD-FASHIONED NIGHT IN TOWN 73 - - -PART III - - I. THE LAST SOVEREIGN 87 - - II. UNCLE SIMON 105 - - III. THE HUNDRED-POUND NOTE 121 - - IV. THE HUNDRED-POUND NOTE--_continued_ 129 - - V. THE HOME OF THE NIGHTINGALES 144 - - VI. THE FLIGHT OF THE DRAGONFLY 154 - - VII. NINE HUNDRED POUNDS 164 - - III. PALL MALL PLACE 173 - - IX. JULIA 181 - - -PART IV - - I. THE GARDEN-PARTY 191 - - II. HORN 200 - - III. JULIA--_continued_ 209 - - IV. HORN--_continued_ 216 - - V. TIDD _versus_ RENSHAW 221 - - VI. WHAT HAPPENED TO SIMON 234 - - VII. TIDD _versus_ BROWNLOW 238 - -VIII. IN THE ARBOUR 240 - - IX. CHAPTER THE LAST 243 - - - - -PART I - - -THE MAN WHO FOUND HIMSELF - - - - -CHAPTER I - -SIMON - - -King Charles Street lies in Westminster; you turn a corner and find -yourself in Charles Street as one might turn a corner and find oneself -in History. The cheap, the nasty, and the new vanish, and fine old -comfortable houses of red brick, darkened by weather and fog, take you -into their keeping, tell you that Queen Anne is not dead, amuse you with -pictures of Sedan chairs and running footmen and discharge you at the -other end into the twentieth century from whence you came. - -Simon Pettigrew lived at No. 12, where his father, his grandfather, and -his great-grandfather had lived before him--lawyers all of them. So -respected, so rooted in the soil of the Courts as to be less a family of -lawyers than a minor English Institution. Divorce your mind entirely -from all petty matters of litigation in connection with the Pettigrews, -Simon or any of his forebears would have appeared just as readily in -their shirt-sleeves in Fleet Street as in County or Police Court for or -against the defendant; they were old family lawyers and they had a fair -proportion of the old English families in their keeping--deed-boxes -stuffed with papers, secrets to make one's hair curl. - -To the general public this great and potent firm was almost unknown, yet -Pettigrew and Pettigrew had cut off enough heirs to furnish material for -a dozen Braddon novels, had smothered numerous screaming tragedies in -high life and buried them at dead of night, and all without a wrinkle on -the brow of the placid old firm that drove its curricle through the -reigns of the Georges, took snuff in the days of Palmerston, and in the -days of Edward Rex still refused to employ the typewriter. - -Simon, the last of the firm, unmarried and without near relation, was at -the time of this story turned sixty--a clean-shaven, bright-eyed, -old-fashioned type of man, sedate, famed for his cellar, and a member of -the Athenum. A man you never, never would have imagined to possess such -a thing as a Past. Never would have imagined to have been filled with -that semi-diabolical, semi-angelical joy of life which leads to the -follies of youth. - -All the same, Simon, between the ages of twenty-one and twenty-two, had -raked the town vigorously more than viciously, haunted Evans' -supper-rooms, fallen madly in love with an actress, enjoyed life as only -the young can enjoy life in the gorgeous, dazzling, deceitful country of -Youth. - -Driving in hansom cabs was then a pleasure! New clothes and outrageous -shirts and ties a delight, actresses goddesses. Then, one day his -actress turned out an actress, and the following night he came out of -the Cocoa Tree owing a gambling debt of a thousand pounds that he could -not pay. His father paid on his promising to turn over a new leaf, which -he did. But his youth was checked, his brightness eclipsed, and -arm-in-arm with common sense he set out on the long journey that led him -at last to the high position of a joyless, loveless, desolate, wealthy -solicitor of sixty--respected, very much respected. In fact, less a man -than a firm. Yet there still remained to him as a legacy of his youth, a -very pretty wit of his own, an irresponsible turn of talk when he gave -himself away--as at dinner-parties. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -MUDD - - -Mudd was Simon's factotum, butler, and minister of inferior affairs. -Mudd was sixty-five and a bit; he had been in the services of the -Pettigrew family forty-five years, and had grown up, so to say, side by -side with Simon. For the last twenty years every morning Mudd had -brought up his master's tea, drawn up his blinds and set out his -clothes--seven thousand times or thereabouts, allowing for holidays and -illnesses. He was a clean-shaven old man, with rounded shoulders and a -way that had become blunt with long use; he only "sirred" Simon in the -presence of guests and servants, and had an open way of speaking on -matters of everyday affairs verging on the conjugal in its occasional -frankness. - -This morning, the third of June, Mudd, having drawn up his master's -blinds and set out his boots and shaving things, vanished and returned -with his clothes, brushed and folded, and a jug of shaving water which -he placed on the wash-handstand. - -"The arms will be out of this old coat if you go on wearing it much -longer," grumbled Mudd, as he placed the things on a chair. "It's been -in wear nearly a year and a half; you're heavy on the left elbow--it's -the desk does it." - -"I'll see," said Simon. - -He knew quite well the suggestion that lay in the tone and the words of -Mudd, but a visit to his tailors was almost on a par with a visit to his -dentists, and new clothes were an abhorrence. It took him a fortnight to -get used to a new coat, and as to being shabby, why, a decent shabbiness -was part of his personality and, vaguely perhaps, of his pride in life. -He could afford to be shabby. - -Mudd having vanished, Simon rose and began his toilet, tubbing in a tin -bath--a flat Victorian tin bath--and shaving with a razor taken from a -case of seven, each marked with a day of the week. - -This razor was marked "Tuesday." - -Having carefully dried "Tuesday" and put it back between "Monday" and -"Wednesday," Simon closed the case with the care and precision that -marked all his actions, finished dressing, and looked out of the window -to see what sort of day it was. - -A peep of glorious blue sky caught across the roofs of the opposite -houses informed him, leaving him unenthusiastic, and then, having wound -up his watch, he came downstairs to the Jacobean dining-room, where tea, -toast, frizzled bacon, and a well-aired _Times_ were awaiting him. - -At a quarter to ten precisely Mudd opened the hall door, verified the -fact that the brougham was in waiting and informed his master, helped -him into his overcoat--a light summer overcoat--and closed the carriage -door on him. - -A little after ten Simon reached Old Serjeants' Inn and entered his -office. - -Brownlow, the chief clerk, had just arrived, and Simon, nodding to him, -passed into his private room, where his letters were laid out, hung up -his hat and coat, and set to business. - -It was a sight to watch his face as he read letter after letter, laying -each in order under a marble paper-weight. One might have fancied -oneself watching Law at work, in seclusion and unadorned with robes. He -did not need glasses--his eyes were still the eyes of a young man. - -Having finished his letters, he rang for his stenographer and began -dictating replies, sending out now and again for Brownlow to consult -upon details; then, this business finished and alone again, he sat -resting for a moment, leaning back in his chair and trimming his nails -with the little penknife that lay on the table. It was his custom at -twelve o'clock precisely to have a glass of old brown sherry. It was a -custom of the firm; Andrew Pettigrew had done the same in his day and -had handed on the habit to his son. If a favoured client were present -the client would be asked to have a glass, and the bottle and two -glasses were kept in the John Tann safe in the corner of the room. Ye -gods! Fancy in your modern solicitor's office a wine-bottle in the -principal safe and the solicitor asking a client to "have a drink"! Yet -the green-seal sherry, famous amidst the _cognoscenti_, and the safe and -the atmosphere of the room and the other-day figure of Simon, all were -in keeping, part of a unique and Georgian whole, like the component -parts of a Toby jug. - -The old silver-faced clock on the mantel, having placed its finger on -midday, set up its silvery lisp, and Simon, rousing himself from his -reverie, rose, drew a bunch of keys from his pocket and opened the safe. - -Then he stood looking at what was to be seen inside. - -The safe contained two deed-boxes, one on top of the other, on the iron -fire-and-burglar-proof floor, and by the deed-boxes stood the sherry -bottle and the cut-glass satellite wine-glasses, whilst upon the topmost -deed-box reposed a black leather wallet. - -Simon's eyes were fixed on the wallet, the thing seemed to hold him -spellbound; one might have fancied him gazing into the devilish-diamond -eyes of a coiled snake. The wallet had not been there when he closed the -safe last; there had been nothing in the safe but the boxes, the bottle -and the glasses, and of the safe there were but two keys, one at the -bank, one in his pocket. The manager of Cumber's Bank, a bald-headed -magnate with side-whiskers, even if he had means of access to the safe, -could not have been the author of this little trick, simply because the -key at the bank was out of his reach, being safely locked away in the -Pettigrew private deed-chest, and the key of the Pettigrew private -deed-chest was on the same bunch as that now hanging from the safe door. - -The lock was unpickable. - -Yet the look on Simon's face was less that of surprise at the thing -found than terror of the thing seen. Brownlow's head on a charger could -not have affected him much more. - -Then, stretching out his hand, he took the wallet, brought it to the -table and opened it. - -It contained bank-notes, beautiful, new, crisp Bank of England notes; -but the joy of the ordinary man in discovering a great unexpected wad of -bank-notes was not apparent in the face of Simon, unless beads of -perspiration are indications of joy. He turned to the sherry-bottle, -filled two glasses with a shaky hand and drained them; then he turned -again to the notes. - -He sat down and, pushing the wallet aside, began to count them. Began to -count them feverishly, as though the result of the tally were a matter -of vast importance. There were four notes of a thousand, the rest were -hundreds and a few tens. Ten thousand pounds, that was the total. - -He put the notes back in the case, buckled it, jumped up like a released -spring, flung the wallet on top of the deed-box and closed the safe with -a snap. - -Then he stood, hands in pockets, examining the pattern of the Turkey -carpet. - -At this moment a knock came to the door and a junior clerk appeared. - -"What the devil do you want?" asked Simon. - -The clerk stated his case. A Mr. Smith had called, craving an -interview. - -"Ask Mr. Brownlow to see him," replied Simon; "but ask Mr. Brownlow to -step in here first." - -In a moment Brownlow appeared. - -"Brownlow," said Simon, "look up Dr. Oppenshaw's telephone number and -ask him can he give me ten minutes' interview before luncheon. Say it is -most urgently important. 110A, Harley Street, is his address--and, see -here, have a taxicab called--that's all." - -Whilst Brownlow was away on his mission Simon put on his overcoat, put -on his hat, blew his nose lustily in the red bandanna handkerchief that -was part of his personality, opened the safe and took another peep at -the wallet, as if to make sure that the fairy hand that had placed it -there had not spirited it away again, and was in the act of locking the -safe when the senior clerk entered to say that Dr. Oppenshaw would be -visible at a quarter to one, and that Morgan, the office-boy, had -procured the cab. - -Brownlow, though he managed to conceal his feelings, was disturbed by -the manner of his chief and by the telephone message to the doctor; by -the whole affair, in fact, for Simon never left the office till the -stroke of one, when the brougham called to take him to Simpson's in the -Strand for luncheon. - -Was Simon ill? He ventured to put the question and nearly had his head -snapped off. - -Ill! No, of course he wasn't ill, never better in his life; what on -earth put that idea into Brownlow's head? - -Then the testy one departed in search of the taxi, and Brownlow returned -to his room and his duties. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -DR. OPPENSHAW - - -Just as rabbit-burrows on the Arizona plain give shelter to a mixed -tenantry, a rabbit, an owl, and a snake often occupying the same hole, -so the Harley Street houses are, as a rule, divided up between dentists, -oculists, surgeons, and physicians, so that under the same roof you can, -if you are so minded, have your teeth extracted, your lungs percussed, -your eyes put right, and your surgical ailment seen to, each on a -different floor. Number 110A, Harley Street, however, contained only one -occupant--Dr. Otto Oppenshaw. Dr. Oppenshaw had no need of a sharer in -his rent burdens; a neurologist in the most nerve-ridden city of Europe, -he was making an income of some twenty-five thousand a year. - -People were turned away from his door as from a theatre where a wildly -successful play is running. The main craving of fashionable neurotics, a -craving beyond, though often inspired by the craving for, the opium -alkaloids and cocaine, was to see Oppenshaw. Yet he was not much to -see: a little bald man like a turnip, with the manners of a butcher, and -gold-rimmed spectacles. - -Dukes inspired with the desire to see Oppenshaw had to wait their turn -often behind tradesmen, yet he was at Simon Pettigrew's command. Simon -was his sometime lawyer. It was half-past twelve, or maybe a bit more, -when the taxi drew up at 110A and the lawyer, after a sharp legal -discussion over tuppence with the driver, mounted the steps and pressed -the bell. - -The door was at once opened by a pale-faced man in black, who conducted -the visitor to the waiting-room, where a single patient was seated -reading a last year's volume of _Punch_ and not seeming to realise the -jokes. - -This person was called out presently, and then came Simon's turn. - -Oppenshaw got up from his desk and came forward to meet him. - -"I'm sorry to bother you," said Simon, when they had exchanged -greetings. "It's a difficult matter I have come to consult you about, -and an important one, else I would not have cut into your time like -this." - -"State your case," said the other jovially, retaking his seat and -pointing out a chair. - -"That's the devil of it," replied Simon; "it's a case that lies out of -the jurisdiction of common sense and common knowledge. Look at me. Do I -look as though I were a dreamer or creature of fancies?" - -"You certainly don't," said Oppenshaw frankly. - -"Yet what I have to tell you disgusts me--will disgust you." - -"I'm used to that, I'm used to that," said the other. "Nothing you can -say will alarm, disgust, or leave me incredulous." - -"Well, here it is," said the patient, plunging into the matter as a man -into cold water. "A year ago--a year and four weeks, for it was on the -third of May--I went down to my office one morning and transacted my -business as usual. At twelve o'clock I--er--had occasion to open my -safe, a safe of which I alone possess the key. On the top of a deed-box -in that safe I found a brown-paper parcel tied with red tape. I was -astonished, for I had put no parcel in." - -"You might have forgotten," said Oppenshaw. - -"I never forget," replied Simon. - -"Go on," said Oppenshaw. - -"I opened the parcel. It contained bank-notes to the amount of ten -thousand pounds." - -"H'm--h'm." - -"Ten thousand pounds. I could not believe my eyes. I sent for my chief -clerk, Brownlow. He could not believe his eyes, and I fear he even -doubted the statement of the whole case. Now listen. I determined to go -to my bank, Cumber's, and make enquiries as to my balance, ridden by the -seemingly absurd idea that I myself had drawn this amount and forgotten -the fact. I may say at once this was the truth, I _had_ drawn it, -unknown to myself. Well, that was the third of May, and when and where -do you think I found myself next?" - -"Go on," said Oppenshaw. - -"In Paris on the third of June." - -"Ah--ah." - -"Everything between those dates was a blank." - -"Your case is not absolutely common," said Oppenshaw. "Rare, but not -without precedent--read the papers. Why, only yesterday a woman was -found on a seat at Brighton. She had left London a week ago; the -interval was to her a complete blank, yet she had travelled about and -lived like an ordinary mortal in possession of her ordinary senses." - -"Wait a bit," said Simon. "I was not found on a seat in Paris. I found -myself in a gorgeously-furnished sitting-room of the Bristol Hotel, and -I was dressed in clothes that might have suited a young man--a fool of -twenty, and I very soon found that I had been acting--acting like a -fool. Of the ten thousand only five thousand remained." - -"Five thousand in a month," said Oppenshaw. "Well, you paid the price of -your temporary youth. Tell me," said he, "and be quite frank. What were -you like when you were young? I mean in mind and conduct?" - -Simon moved wearily. - -"I was a fool for a while," said he. "Then I suddenly checked myself and -became sensible." - -Oppenshaw rapped twice with his fingers on his desk as if in triumph -over his own perception. - -"That clears matters," said he. "You were undoubtedly suffering from -Lethmann's disease." - -"Good Lord!" said Simon. "What's that?" - -"It's a form of aberration--most interesting. You have heard of double -personalities, of which a great deal of nonsense has been written? Well, -Lethmann's disease is just this: a man, say, of twenty, suddenly checked -in the course of his youth, becomes practically another person. You, -for instance, became, or fancied you became, another person; you -suddenly 'checked yourself and became sensible,' as you put it, but you -did not destroy that old foolish self. Nothing is destructible in mind -as long as the brain-tissue is normal; you put it in prison, and after -the lapse of many years, owing, perhaps, to some slight declension in -brain power, it broke out, dominated you, and lived again. Youth must be -served. - -"It would have been perhaps better for you to have let your youth run -its course and expend itself normally. You have paid the price of your -own will-power. I am very much interested in this. Tell me as faithfully -as you can what you did in Paris, or at least what you gathered that you -did. When you came to, did you remember your actions during the month of -aberration?" - -"When I came to," said Simon, speaking almost with his teeth set, "I was -like a person stunned. Then I remembered, bit by bit, what I had been -doing, but it was like vaguely remembering what another man had been -doing." - -"Right," said Oppenshaw, "that tallies with your case. Go on." - -"I had been doing foolish things. I had been living, so to say, on the -surface of life, without a thought of anything but pleasure, without the -slightest recollection of myself as I am. I had been doing things that I -might have done at twenty--extravagant follies; yet I believe not any -really vicious acts. I had been drinking too much champagne, for one -thing, and there were several ladies.... Good Lord! Oppenshaw, I'd blush -to confess it to anyone else, but I'd been going on like a boy, picking -flowers at Fontainebleau--writing verses to one of these hussies. I -could remember that. Me!--verses about blue skies and streams and -things! Me! It's horrible!" - -"Used you to write verses when you were young?" - -"Yes," said Simon, "I believe I used to make that sort of fool of -myself." - -"You were full of the joy of living?" - -"I suppose so." - -"You see, everything tallies. Yes, without any manner of doubt it's a -case of Lethmann's disease rounded and complete. Now, tell me, when you -came to, you could remember all your actions in Paris; how far back did -that memory go?" - -"I could remember dimly right back to when I was leaving the office in -Old Serjeants' Inn with the bundle of bank-notes to go to the bank. -Then all of a sudden it would seem I forgot all about my past and -became, as you insist, myself at twenty. I went to the Charing Cross -Hotel, where I had already, it would seem, hired rooms for myself, and -where I had directed new clothes to be sent, and then I went to Paris." - -"This is most important," said Oppenshaw. "You had already hired rooms -for yourself and ordered clothes. Those acts must have been committed -before the great change came on you, and of course without your -knowledge." - -"They must. Also the act of drawing the ten thousand from the bank." - -"The concealed other self must have been working like a mole in the dark -for some days at least," said Oppenshaw, "utterly without your -knowledge." - -"Utterly." - -"Then having prepared in a vague sort of way a means for enjoying -itself, it burst out; it was like a butterfly coming out of a -chrysalis--excuse the simile." - -"Something like that." - -"So far so good. Well, now, when you came to your old self in Paris, -what did you do?" - -"I came back to London, of course." - -"But surely your sudden disappearance must have caused alarm? Why, it -would have been in the papers." - -"Not a bit," said Simon grimly. "My other self, as you call it, had -prepared for that. It seems the night before the thing happened I told -Mudd--you know Mudd, the butler--that I might be called away suddenly -and be absent a considerable time, that I would buy clothes and -nightshirts and things, if that was so, at the place I was going to, and -that he was to tell the office if I went away, and to tell Brownlow to -carry on. Infernal, isn't it?" - -"Infernally ingenious," said Oppenshaw; "but if you had ever studied the -subject of duplex personality you would not be surprised. I have seen a -young religious girl make most complex preparations for a journey as a -missionary to China, utterly without her own knowledge. We caught her at -the station, fortunately, just in time--but how did you find out that -you gave Mudd those instructions?" - -"The whole way back from Paris," said Simon, "I was preparing to meet -all sorts of enquiry and bother as to my absence. Then, when I reached -home, Mudd did not seem to think it out of the way; he told me he had -followed my directions and notified the office when I did not return, -and told them that I might be some time away. Then I got out of him -what I had said about the clothes and so on." - -"Tell me," said Oppenshaw suddenly, "why did you come to me to-day to -tell me all this?" - -"Because," said Simon, "on opening my safe this morning I found in a -wallet on the top of the deed-box another bundle of notes for exactly -the same amount." - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -DR. OPPENSHAW--_continued_ - - -Oppenshaw whistled. - -"A bundle of notes amounting to ten thousand pounds," said Simon; -"exactly the same amount." - -Oppenshaw looked at his nails carefully without speaking. Simon watched -him. - -"Tell me," said Simon, "is this confounded disease, or whatever it is, -recurrent?" - -"You mean is there any fear that your old self--or, rather, your young -self--is preparing for another outbreak?" - -"Precisely." - -"That this drawing of another ten thousand, unknown to yourself, is only -the first act in a similar drama, or shall we say comedy?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, I can't say for certain, for the disease, or the ailment, if you -like the term better, has not been long enough before the eyes of -science to make quite definite statements. But, as far as I can judge, -I'm afraid it is." - -Simon swallowed. - -"Leaving aside the fact of the similarity of the action and the amount -of money drawn, we have the similarity in time. It is true that last -year it was in May you started the business." - -"The third of May, a month's difference," said Simon. - -"True, but it is less a question of a month more or less than of season. -Last early May and April end were abnormally fine. I remember that, for -I had to go to Switzerland. This May has been wretched. Then during the -last week we have had this burst of splendid weather--weather that makes -me feel young again." - -"It doesn't me," said Simon. - -"No, but it has evidently--at least probably--had that effect on your -other 'me.' The something that urges the return of the swallow has acted -in your subconsciousness with the coming of springlike weather just as -last year." - -"Damn swallows!" cried Simon, rising up and pacing the floor. "Suppose -this thing lets me in for another five thousand, and Lord knows what -else? Oppenshaw," wheeling suddenly, "is nothing to be done? How can I -stop it?" - -"Well," said Oppenshaw, "quite frankly, I think that the best means is -the exercise of your own will-power. You might, of course, take the -notes back to the bank and instruct them not to allow you to draw any -more money for, say, a month--but that would be unpleasant." - -"Impossible!" - -"You might, again, put yourself under restraint. I could do that for -you." - -"Put myself in a mad-house?" - -"No, no--a nursing home." - -"Never!" - -"You might, again, instruct your butler to follow you and, as a matter -of fact, keep his eye on you for the next month." - -"Mudd!" - -"Yes." - -"Sooner die. Never could look him in the face again." - -"Have you any near and trustworthy relatives?" - -"Only a nephew, utterly wild and untrustworthy; a chap I've cut out of -my will and had to stop his allowance." - -"And you are not married--that's a pity. A wife----" - -"Hang wives!" cried Simon. "What's the good of talking of the -impracticable?" - -"Well, there we are," continued Oppenshaw, perfectly unruffled. "I have -suggested everything; there is only will left. The greatest friend of a -man is his will. Determine in your own mind that this change will _not_ -take place. I believe that will be your safest plan. The others I have -suggested are all impossible to your sense of _amour propre_, and, -besides that, there is the grave objection that they savour of force. It -might have bad consequences to use force to what would be practically -the subconscious mind. Your will is quite different. Will can never -unbalance mind. In fact, as a famous English neurologist has put it, -'Most cases of mental disturbances are due to an inflated ego--a -deflated will.'" - -"Oh, my will's all right," said Simon. - -"Well, then, use it and don't trouble. Say to yourself definitely--'This -shall not be.'" - -"And that money in the safe?" - -"Leave it there; dare your other self to take it. To remove it and place -it in other keeping would be a weakness." - -"Thanks," said Simon. "I grasp what you mean." He took out his purse and -laid five guineas on the desk. Oppenshaw did not seem to see the money. -He accompanied his patient to the door. It was half-past one. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -I WILL NOT BE HIM - - -Out in Harley Street Simon walked hurriedly and without goal. It was -getting past luncheon-time; he had forgotten the fact. - -Oppenshaw was one of those men who carry conviction. You will have -noticed in life that quite a lot of people don't convince; they may be -good, they may be earnest, but they don't convince. Selling a full-grown -dog in the world's market, they have little chance against a convincing -competitor selling a pup. - -Oppenshaw's twenty-five thousand a year came, in good part, from this -quality. He had convinced Simon of the fact that inside Simon lay Youth -that was once Simon--Youth that, though unseen and unknown to the world, -could still dominate its container even to the extent of meddling with -his bank balance. - -That for Simon was at this moment the main fact in the situation. It was -sufficiently bad that this old imperious youth should be able to make -him act foolishly, but that was nothing to the fact that it was able to -tamper with his money. - -Simon's money was the solid ground under his feet, and he recognised, -now, that it was everything to him--everything. He could have sacrificed -at a pinch all else; he could have sacrificed Mudd, his furniture, his -old prints, his cellar, but his money was even more than the ground -under his feet--it was himself. - -Suppose this disease were to recur often and at shorter intervals, or -become chronic? - -He calculated furiously that at the rate of five thousand a month his -fortune would last, roughly, a year and a half. He saw his securities -being sold, his property in Hertfordshire, his furniture, his pictures. - -He had a remedy, it is true: to put himself under restraint. A nice sort -of remedy! - -In Weymouth Street, the home of nursing homes and doctors, into which he -had wandered, his mind tension became so acute that the impulse came on -him to hurry back to Oppenshaw in the vague hope that something else -might be done--some operation, for instance. He knew little of medicine -and less of surgery, but he had heard of people being operated on for -brain mischief, and he remembered, now, having read of an old admiral -who had lost consciousness owing to an injury at the battle of the Nile, -and had remained unconscious till an operation cured him some months -later. - -He was saved from bothering Oppenshaw again by an instinctive feeling -that it would be useless. You cannot extract the follies of youth by an -operation. He went on trending towards Oxford Street, but still without -object. - -What made his position worse was his instinct as a solicitor. For forty -years he had, amongst other work, been engaged in tying up Youth so that -it could not get at Property, extracting Youth from pitfalls it had -tumbled into whilst carrying Property in its arms. The very words -"youth" and "property," innocent in themselves, were obnoxious to Simon -when combined. He had always held that no young man ought to inherit -till he was twenty-five, and, heaven knows, that opinion had a firm -basis in experience. He had always in law looked askance on youth and -its doings. In practice he had been tolerant enough, though, indeed, -youth comes little in the way of a hard-working and prominent elderly -solicitor, but in law, and he was mostly law, he had little tolerance, -no respect. - -And here was youth with _his_ property in its arms, or what was, -perhaps, even worse, the imminent dread of that unholy alliance. - -In Oxford Street he stopped at a shop window and inspected ladies' -blouses--that was his condition of mind; jewellers' windows held him, -not by the excellence of their goods, but by the necessity to turn his -back to the crowd and think--think--think. - -His mind was in a turmoil, and he could no more control his thoughts -than he could have controlled the traffic; the wares of the merchants -exposed to view seemed to do the thinking. Gold alberts only held his -eye to explain that his lands in Hertfordshire flung on the market in -the present state of agriculture would not fetch a tithe of their worth, -but that his green-seal sherry and all the treasures of his cellar would -bring half the West End to their sale--Old Pettigrew's cellar. - -Other things in other shops spoke to him in a like manner, and then he -found himself at Oxford Circus with the sudden consciousness that _this_ -was not fighting Lethmann's disease by the exercise of will. His will -had, in fact, been in abeyance, his imagination master of him. - -But a refuge in the middle of Oxford Circus was not exactly the place -for the re-equipment of will-power; the effort nearly cost him his life -from a motor-lorry as he crossed. Then, when he had reached the other -side and could resume work free of danger, he found that he had -apparently no will to re-equip. - -He found himself repeating over and over the words, "I will not be -him--I will not be him." That seemed all right for a moment, and he -would have satisfied himself that his will-power was working splendidly, -had not a sudden cold doubt sprung up in his heart as to whether the -proper formula ought not to be, "He will not be me." - -Ah! that was the crux of the business. It was quite easy to determine, -"I will not be him," but when it came to the declaration, "He will not -be me," Simon found that he had no will-power in the matter. It was -quite easy to determine that he would not do foolish things, impossible -to determine that another should not do them. - -Then it came to his mind like a flash that the other one was not a -personality so much as a combination of foolish actions, old desires, -and alien motives let loose on the world without governance. - -He turned mechanically into Verreys' and had a chop. At Simpson's in the -Strand he always had a chop or a cut from the saddle, or a cut from the -sirloin--like the razors, the daily menus following one another in -rotation. This was a chop day, just as it was a "Tuesday" day, and habit -prevented him from forgetting the fact. The chop and a half-bottle of -St. Estphe made him feel a stronger man. He suddenly became cheerful -and valiant. - -"If worst comes to worst," said he to himself, "I _can put_ myself under -restraint; nobody need know. Yes, begad! I have always that. I can put -myself under surveillance. Why, dash it! I can tie up my money so that I -can't touch it; it's quite easy." - -The chop and St. Estphe, hauling him out of the slough of despond, told -him this. It was a sure way of escape from losing his money. He had -furiously rejected the idea at Oppenshaw's, but at Oppenshaw's his -Property had not had time to talk fully to him, but in that awful -journey from Harley Street to Verreys' he had walked arm-in-arm with his -Property chattering on one side and dumb Bankruptcy on the other. - -Restraint would have been almost as odious as bankruptcy to him, yet -now, as a sure means of escape from the other, it seemed almost a -pleasant prospect. - -He left Verreys' and walked along feeling brighter and better. He turned -into the Athenum. It was turning-in time at the Athenum, and the big -armchairs were full of somnolent ones, bald heads drooping, whiskers -hidden by the sheets of the _Times_. Here he met Sir Ralph Puttick, Hon. -Physician to His Majesty, stiff, urbane, stately, seeming ever supported -on either side by a lion and a unicorn. - -Sir Ralph and Simon were known one to the other and had much in common, -including anti-socialism. - -In armchairs, they talked of Lloyd George--at least, Sir Ralph did, -Simon had other considerations on his mind. Leaning forward in his -chair, he suddenly asked, apropos of nothing: - -"Did you ever hear of a disease called Lethmann's disease?" - -Now Sir Ralph was Chest and Heart, nothing else. He was also nettled at -"shop" being suddenly thrust upon him by a damned attorney, for Simon -was "Simon Pettigrew, quite a character, one of our old-fashioned, -first-class English lawyers," when Sir Ralph was in a good temper and -happened to consider Simon; nettled, Simon was a "damned attorney." - -"Never," said Sir Ralph. "What disease did you say?" - -"Lethmann's. It's a new disease, it seems." - -Another horrid blunder, as though the lion and unicorn man were only -acquainted with old diseases--out of date, in fact. - -"Never," replied the other. "There's no such thing. Who told you about -it?" - -"I read about it," said Simon. He tried to give a picture of the -symptoms and failed to convince, but he managed to irritate. The -semi-royal one listened with a specious appearance of attention and even -interest; then, the other having finished, he opened his batteries. - -Simon left the Club with the feeling that he had been put upon the stand -beside charlatans, quacks, and the purveyor of crank theories; also that -he had been snubbed. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -TIDD AND RENSHAW - - -Did he mind? Not a bit; he enjoyed it. - -If Sir Ralph had kicked him out of the Athenum for airing false science -there he would have enjoyed it. He would have enjoyed anything casting -odium and discredit on the theory of double personality in the form of -Lethmann's disease. - -For now his hunted soul, that had taken momentary refuge in the thought -of nursing homes and restraint, had left that burrow and was taking -refuge in doubt. - -The whole thing was surely absurd. The affair of last year _must_ have -been a temporary aberration due to overwork, despite the fact that he -had, indeed, drawn another ten thousand unconsciously from the bank; it -was patently foolish to think that a man could be under the dominion of -a story-book disease. He had read Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde--that wild -fiction! Why, if this thing were true, it would be a fiction just as -wild. Oceans of comfort suddenly came to him. It gave him a new grip on -the situation, pointing out that the whole of this business as suggested -by Oppenshaw was on a level with a "silly sensational story," that is to -say with the impossible--therefore impossible. - -He made one grave mistake--the mistake of reckoning Dr. Jekyll and Mr. -Hyde as a "silly sensational story." - -Anyhow, he got comfort from what he considered fact, and at dinner that -night he was so restored that he was able to grumble because the mutton -"was done to rags." - -He dined alone. - -As he had not returned to the office in the afternoon, Brownlow had sent -some papers relative to a law case then pending for his consideration. -It often happened that Simon took business home with him, or, if he were -not able to attend at the office, important papers would be sent to his -house. - -To-night, according to custom, he retired to his library, drank his -coffee, spread open the documents, and, comfortably seated in a huge -leathern armchair, plunged into work. - -It was a difficult case, the case of Tidd _v._ Renshaw, complicated by -all sorts of cross-issues and currents. In its dry legal jargon it -involved the title to London house property, the credit of a woman, the -happiness of a family, and a few other things, all absolutely of no -account to Simon, engaged on the law of the case, and to whom the human -beings involved were simply as the chessmen in the hands of the player; -and necessarily, for a lawyer who allowed human considerations to colour -his view would be an untrustworthy lawyer. - -At ten o'clock Simon, suddenly laying the documents on the floor beside -him, rose up, rang the bell, and stood on the hearthrug with his hands -linked behind him. - -Mudd appeared. - -"Mudd," said Simon, "I may be called away to-morrow and be absent some -time. If I am not at the office when the brougham comes to fetch me for -luncheon, you can notify the office that I have been called away. You -needn't bother about packing things for me; I will buy anything I want -where I am going." - -"I could easily pack a bag for you," said Mudd, "and you could take it -with you to the office." - -"I want no bag. I have given you your directions," said Simon, and Mudd -went off grumbling and snubbed. - -Then the lawyer sat down and plunged into law again, folding up the -documents at eleven o'clock and putting them carefully in his bureau. -Then he switched off the electric light, examined the hall door to see -that it was properly bolted, and went up to bed carrying the case of -Tidd _v._ Renshaw with him as a nightcap. - -It hung about his intellect like a penumbra as he undressed, warding -off, or partly warding off, thoughts about Oppenshaw and his own -condition that were trying to get into his mind. - -Then he popped into bed, and, still pursuing Tidd _v._ Renshaw through -the labyrinths of the law, and holding tight on to their tails, fell -asleep. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE WALLET - - -He awoke to Mudd drawing the blinds and to another perfect day--a summer -morning, luxurious and warm, beautiful even in London. He had lost -clutch of Tidd and Renshaw in the land of sleep, but he had found his -strength and self-confidence again. - -The terror of Lethmann's disease had vanished; the thing was absurd, he -had been frightened by a bogey. Oppenshaw was a clever man, but he was a -specialist, always thinking of nerve diseases, living in an atmosphere -of them. Sir Ralph Puttick, on the contrary, was a man of solid -understanding and wider views--a sane man. - -So he told himself as he took "Wednesday" from its case and shaved -himself. Then he came down to the same frizzled bacon and the same aired -_Times_, put on the same overcoat and hat, and got into the same old -brougham and started for the office. - -He went into his room, where his usual morning letters were laid out -for him. But he did not take off his coat and hat. He had come to a -determination. Oppenshaw had told him to leave the wallet where it was -and not take the notes back to the bank, as that would be a weakness. -Sir Ralph Puttick was telling him now that Oppenshaw was a fool. The -real weakness would be to follow the advice of Oppenshaw. To follow that -advice would be to play with this business and confess that there was -reality in it; besides, with those notes in the safe behind him he could -never do his morning's work. - -No; back those notes should go to the bank. He opened the safe, and -there was the wallet seated like an evil genius on the deed-box. He took -it out and put it under his arm, locked the safe and left the room. - -In the outer office all the clerks were busy, and Brownlow was in his -room with the door shut. - -Simon, with the wallet under his arm, walked out and passed through the -precincts of Old Serjeants' Inn to Fleet Street, where a waft of warm -summer, yet springlike, wind met him in the face. - - - - -PART II - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE SOUL'S AWAKENING - - -He raised his head, sniffed as if inhaling something, and quickened his -step. - -What a glorious day it was; even Fleet Street had a touch of youth about -it. - -A flower-woman and her wares caught his eye; he bought a bunch of late -violets and, with his hat tilted back, dived in his trousers' pocket and -produced a handful of silver. He gave her a shilling and, without asking -for change, walked on, the violets in his buttonhole. - -He was making west like a homing pigeon. He walked like a man in a hurry -but with no purpose, his glance skimmed things and seemed to rest only -on things coloured or pleasant to look on, his eyes showed no -speculation. He seemed like a person with no more past than a dreamer. -The present seemed to him everything--just as it is to the dreamer. - -In the Strand he stopped here and there to glance at the contents of -shops; neckties attracted him. Then Fuller's drew him in by its colour. -He had a vanilla-and-strawberry ice and chatted to the girls, who did -not receive his advances, however, with much favour. - -Then he came to Romanos'; it attracted him, and he went in. Gilded -youths were drinking at the bar, and a cocktail being mixed by the -bar-tender fascinated Simon by its colour; he had one like it, chatted -to the man, paid, and walked out. - -It was now eleven. - -Still walking gaily and lightly, as one walks in a happy dream, he -reached the Charing Cross Hotel, asked the porter to show him the rooms -he had reserved, and enquired if his luggage had come. - -The luggage had come and was deposited in the bedroom of the suite: two -large brand-new portmanteaux and a hat-box, also a band-box from Lincoln -Bennett's. - -The portmanteaux and hat-box were locked, but in the band-box were the -keys, gummed up in an envelope; there was also a straw hat in the -band-box--a boater. - -The porter, having unstrapped the portmanteaux, departed with a tip, and -our gentleman began to unpack swiftly and with the eagerness of a child -going to a party. - -O Youth! What a star thou art, yet what a folly! And yet can all wisdom -give one the pleasure of one's first ball-dress, of the young man's -brand-new suit? And there were brand-new suits and to spare, check -tweed, blue serge, boating flannels; shoes, too, and boots from the -Burlington Arcade, ties and socks from Beale and Inman's. - -It was like a trousseau. - -As he unpacked he whistled. Whistled a tune that was young in the -sixties--"Champagne Charley," no less. - -Then he dressed, vigorously digging his head into a striped shirt, -donning a purple tie, purple socks, and a grey tweed suit of excellent -cut. - -All his movements were feverish, light, rapid. He did not seem to notice -the details of the room around him; he seemed skimming along the surface -of things in a hurry to get to some goal of pleasure. Flushed and -bright-eyed, he scarcely looked fifty now, yet, despite this reduction -in age, his general get-up had a touch of the raffish. Purple socks and -ties are a bit off at fifty; a straw "boater" does not reduce the -effect, nor do tan shoes. - -But Simon was quite satisfied with himself. - -Still whistling, he bundled his old things away in a drawer and left the -other things lying about for the servants to put away, and sat down on -the side of the bed with the wallet in his hands. - -He opened it and turned the notes out on the quilt. The gorgeous bundle -to "bust" or do what he liked with held him in its thrall as he turned -over the contents, not counting the amount, but just reviewing the notes -and the huge sums on most of them. - -Heavens! What a delight even in a dream! To be young and absolutely free -from all restraint, free from all ties, unconscious of relatives, -unconscious of everything but immediate surroundings, with virginal -appetites and desires and countless sovereigns to meet them with. -Dangling his heels, and with his straw hat beside him, he gloated on his -treasure; then, picking out three ten-pound notes and putting the -remainder in the wallet, he locked the wallet away in his portmanteau -and put the key under the wardrobe. - -Then, leaving his room, he came downstairs with his straw hat on the -back of his head and a smile for a pretty chambermaid who passed him -coming up. - -The girl laughed and glanced back, but whether she was laughing at or -with him it would be hard to say. Chambermaids have strange tastes. - -It was in the hall that he met Moxon, senior partner in Plunder's, the -great bill-discounting firm; a tall man, serious of face and manner. - -"Why, God bless my soul, Pettigrew!" cried Moxon, "I scarcely knew you." - -"You have the advantage of me, old cock," replied Simon airily, "for I'm ----- if I ever met you before." - -"My mistake," said Moxon. - -It was Pettigrew's face and voice, but all the rest was not Pettigrew, -and the discounter of bills hurried off, feeling as though he had come -across the uncanny--which he had. - -Simon paused at the office, holding a lady clerk in light conversation -about the weather and turning upon her that sprightly wit already -mentioned. She was busy and stiff, and the weather and his wit didn't -seem to interest her. Then he asked for change of a ten-pound note, and -she gave it to him in sovereigns; then he asked for change of a -sovereign--she gave it to him; then he asked, with a grin, for change of -a shilling. She was outraged now; that which ought to have made her -laugh seemed to incense her. Do what he could, he couldn't warm her. - -She was colder than the ice-cream girls. What the devil was the matter -with them all? She slapped the change for the shilling down and turned -away to her books. - -Tilting his hat further back, he rapped with a penny on the ledge. - -She got up. - -"Well, what is it now?" - -"Can you change me a penny, please?" said Simon. - -"Mrs. Jones!" called the girl. - -A stout lady manageress in black appeared. - -"I don't know what this gentleman means." - -The manageress raised her eyebrows at the jester. - -"I asked the young lady for change of a penny. Can you let me have two -halfpence for a penny, please?" - -The manageress opened the till and gave the change. The gay one -departed, chuckling. He had had the best of the girl, silly creature, -that could not take a joke in good part--but he had enjoyed himself. - -Moving in the line of least resistance towards the phantom of pleasure, -he made for the hotel entrance and the sunlight showing through the -door, bought a cigar at the kiosk outside, and then bundled into a taxi. - -"Where to, sir?" asked the driver. - -"First bar," replied Simon. "First decent one, and look sharp." - -The surly driver--Heavens, how the old hansom cabby of the sixties would -have hailed such a fare, and with what joy!--closed the door without a -word and started winding up the engine. He had difficulties, and as he -went on winding the occupant put his head out of the window and -addressed the station policeman who was looking on. - -"Has the chap a licence for a barrel-organ?" asked Simon. "If he hasn't, -ask him to drive on." - -He shut the window. They started, and stopped at a bar in Leicester -Square. Simon paid and entered. - -It was a long bar, a glittering, loathsome, noxious place where, behind -a long counter, six barmaids were serving all sorts of men with all -sorts of drinks. - -Simon seemed to find it all right. Puffing his cigar, he ordered a -brandy cold--a brandy cold! And sipping his brandy cold, he took stock -of the men around. - -Even his innocence and newness--despite the crave for companionship now -on him--recognised that there were undesirables, and as for the bar -girls, they were frozen images--for him. - -They were laughing and changing words with all sorts of young -men--counter-jumpers and horsey men--but for him they had nothing but -brandy cold and monosyllables. He was beginning to get irritated with -woman; but the sunlight outside and two cold brandies inside restored -his happy humour, and the idea of lunch was now moving before him, -luring him on. - -Thinking thus, he was advancing not towards luncheon but towards Fate. - -At Piccadilly Circus there was a crowd round an omnibus. There generally -are crowds round omnibuses just here, but this was a special crowd, -having for its core an irate bus conductor and a pretty girl. - -Oh, such a pretty girl! Spring itself, dark-haired, dark-eyed, well -dressed, but with just that touch which tells of want of affluence. She -fascinated Simon as a flower fascinates a bee. - -"But, sir, I tell you I have lost my purse; some pocket-picker has taken -it. I shall be pleased to tell you where I live and reward you if you -come for the money. My name is Cerise Rossignol." This, with just a -trace of foreign accent. - -"I've been done twice this week by that game," said the brutal -conductor, speaking, however, the truth. "Come, search in your glove, -you'll find it." - -Simon broke in. - -"How much?" said he. - -"Tuppence," said the conductor. Then the gods that preside over youth -might have observed this new Andromeda, released at the charge of -Tuppence, wandering off with her saviour and turning to him a face -filled with gratitude. - -They were going in the direction of Leicester Square. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -MOXON AND MUDD - - -Now, Moxon had come up that morning from Framlingham in Kent, where he -was taking a holiday, to transact some business. Amongst other things he -had to see Simon Pettigrew on a question about some bills. - -The apparition he had encountered in the hall of the Charing Cross Hotel -pursued him to Plunder's office, where he first went, and, when he left -Plunder's for luncheon at Prosser's, in Chancery Lane, it still pursued -him. - -Though he knew it could not be Pettigrew, some uneasy spirit in his -subconsciousness kept insisting that it was Pettigrew. - -At two o'clock he called at Old Serjeants' Inn. He saw Brownlow, who had -just returned from lunch. - -No, Mr. Pettigrew was not in. He had gone out that morning early and had -not returned. - -"I must see him," said Moxon. "When do you think he will be in?" - -Brownlow couldn't say. - -"Would he be at his house, do you think?" - -"Hardly," said Brownlow; "he might have gone home, but I think it's -improbable." - -"I must see him," said Moxon again. "It's extraordinary. Why, I wrote to -him telling him I was coming this afternoon and he knows the importance -of my business." - -"Mr. Pettigrew hasn't opened his morning letters yet," said Brownlow. - -"Good Lord!" said Moxon. - -Then, after a pause: - -"Will you telephone to his house to see?" - -"Mr. Pettigrew has no telephone," said Brownlow; "he dislikes them, -except in business." - -Moxon remembered this and other old-fashioned traits in Pettigrew; the -remembrance did not ease his irritation. - -"Then I'll go to his house myself," said he. - -When he arrived at King Charles Street, Mudd opened the door. - -Mudd and Moxon were mutually known one to the other, Moxon having often -dined there. - -"Is your master in, Mudd?" asked Moxon. - -"No, sir," answered Mudd; "he's not at home, and mayn't be at home for -some time." - -"What do you mean?" - -"He left me directions that if he wasn't at the office when the -brougham called to take him to luncheon I was to tell the office he was -called away; the coachman has just come back to say he wasn't there, so -I am sending him back to the office to tell them." - -"Called away! For how long?" - -"Well, it might be a month," said Mudd, remembering. - -"Extraordinary!" said Moxon. "Well, I can't help it, and I can't wait; I -must take my business elsewhere. I thought I saw Mr. Pettigrew in the -Charing Cross Hotel, but he was dressed differently and seemed strange. -Well, this is a great nuisance, but it can't be helped, I suppose.... A -month...." - -Off he went in a huff. - -Mudd watched him as he went, then he closed the hall door. Then he sat -down on one of the hall chairs. - -"Dressed differently and seemed strange." It only wanted those words to -start alarm in the mind of Mudd. - -The affair of a year ago had always perplexed him, and now this! - -"Seemed strange." - -Could it be?... H'm.... He got up and went downstairs. - -"Why, what's the matter with you, Mr. Mudd?" asked the -cook-housekeeper. "Why, you're all of a shake." - -"It's my stomach," said Mudd. - -He took a glass of ginger wine, then he fetched his hat. - -"I'm going out to get the air," said Mudd. "I mayn't be back for some -time; don't bother about me if I aren't, and be sure to lock up the -plate." - -"God bless my soul, what's the matter with the man?" murmured the -astonished housekeeper as Mudd vanished. "Blest if he isn't getting as -queer as his master!" - -Out in the street Mudd paused to blow his nose in a bandanna -handkerchief just like Simon's. Then, as though this act had started his -mechanism, off he went, hailed an omnibus in the next street, and got -off at Charing Cross. - -He entered the Charing Cross Hotel. - -"Is a Mr. Pettigrew here?" asked Mudd of the hall porter. - -The hail porter grinned. - -"Yes, there's a Mr. Pettigrew staying here, but he's out." - -"Well, I'm his servant," said Mudd. - -"Staying here with him?" asked the porter. - -"Yes. I've followed him on. What's the number of his room?" - -"The office will know," replied the other. - -"Well, just go to the office and get his key," said Mudd, "and send a -messenger boy to No. 12, King Charles Street--that's our address--to -tell Mrs. Jukes, the housekeeper, I won't be able to get back to-night -maybe. Here's a shilling for him--but show me his room first." - -Mudd carried conviction. - -The hall porter went to the office. - -"Key of Mr. Pettigrew's room," said he; "his servant has just come." - -The superior damsel detached herself from book-keeping, looked up the -number and gave the key. - -Mudd took it and went up in the lift. He opened the door of the room and -went in. The place had not been tidied, clothes lay everywhere. - -Mudd, like a cat in a strange house, looked around. Then he shut the -door. - -Then he took up a coat and looked at the maker's name on the tab. - -"Holland and Woolson"--Simon's tailors! - -Then he examined all the garments. Such garments! Boating flannels, -serge suits! Then the shoes, the patent leather boots. He opened the -chest of drawers and found the bundle of discarded clothes--the old coat -with the left elbow "going," and the rest. He held them up, examined -them, folded them and put them back. - -Then he sat down to recover himself, blew his nose, wondered whether he -or Simon were crazy, and then, rising up, began to fold and put away the -new things in the wardrobe and chest-of-drawers. - -He noticed that one of the portmanteaux was locked. Yet there was -something in it that slid up and down as he tilted and lowered it. - -Having looked round the room once again, he went downstairs, gave up the -key, made arrangements for his room, and started out. - -He made for Sackville Street. Meyer, the foreman of Holland and -Woolson's, was known to him. He had sometimes called regarding Simon's -clothes with directions for this or that. - -"That blue serge suit you've just sent for Mr. Pettigrew don't quite -rightly fit, Mr. Meyer," said the cunning Mudd. "I had the coat done up -in a parcel to bring back to you for the sleeves to be shortened half an -inch, but I forgot it; only remembered I'd forgot it at your door." - -"We'll send for it," said Meyer. - -"Right," said Mudd. Then, "No--on second thoughts, I'll fetch it myself -when I have a moment to spare, for we're going from home for a few -days. Mr. Pettigrew has had a good lot of clothes lately, Mr. Meyer." - -"He has," said Meyer, with a twinkle in his eye; "suits and suits, -almost as if he were going to be married." - -"Married!" cried the other. "What put that into your head, Mr. Meyer? -He's not a marrying man. Why, I've never seen him as much as glance an -eye at a female." - -"Oh, it was only my joke," said Meyer. - -Now, in Mudd's soul there had lain for years an uneasiness, a crumpled -rose-leaf of thought that touched him sometimes as he turned at night in -bed. It was the fear that some day Simon might ruin Mudd's life with a -mistress. He couldn't stand a mistress. He had always sworn that to -himself; the experience of fellow butlers whose lives were made -loathsome by mistresses would have been enough without his own -deep-rooted antipathy to females, except as spectacular objects. Mrs. -Jukes was a relation of his, and he could stand her; the maid-servants -were automata beneath his notice--but a mistress! - -Mad alarm filled his mind, for his heart told him that the words of -Meyer had foundation in probability. - -That affair of last year, when Simon had departed and returned in new -strange clothes, might have been the courting, this the real thing? - -He left the tailor's, called a taxi and drove to the office. - -Brownlow was in. - -"What is it, Mudd?" asked Brownlow, as the latter was shown into his -room. - -"Did you get my message, Mr. Brownlow?" asked Mudd. - -"Yes." - -"Oh, that's all right," said Mudd. "I just thought I'd call and ask. The -master told me to send the message; he's going away for a bit. Wants a -change, too. I think he's been overworking lately, Mr. Brownlow." - -"He's always overworking," said Brownlow. "I think he's been suffering -from brain-fag, Mudd; he's very reticent about himself, but I'm glad he -saw a doctor." - -"Saw a doctor! Why, he never told me." - -"Didn't he? Well, he did--Dr. Oppenshaw, of Harley Street. This is -between you and me. Try and make him rest more, Mudd." - -"I will," said Mudd. "He wants rest. I've been uneasy about him a long -while. What's the doctor's number in Harley Street, Mr. Brownlow?" - -"110A," said Brownlow, picking the number out of his marvellous memory; -"but don't let Mr. Pettigrew know I told you. He's very touchy about -himself." - -"I won't." - -Off he went. - -"Faithful old servitor," thought Brownlow. - -The faithful old servitor got into a taxi. "110A, Harley Street," said -he to the driver; "and drive quick and I'll give you an extra tuppence." - -Oppenshaw was in. - -When he was informed that Pettigrew's servant had called to see him, he -turned over a duchess he was engaged on, gave her a harmless -prescription, bowed her out and rang the bell. - -Mudd was shown in. - -"I've come to ask----" said Mudd. - -"Sit down," said Oppenshaw. - -"I've come to speak----" - -"I know; about your master. How is he?" - -"Well, I've come to ask you, sir; he's at the Charing Cross Hotel at -present." - -"Has he gone there to live?" - -"Well, he's there." - -"I saw him some time ago about the state of his health, and, frankly, -Mr. Mudd, it's serious." - -Mudd nodded. - -"Tell me," said Oppenshaw, "has he been buying new clothes?" - -"Heaps; no end," said Mudd. "And such clothes--things he's never worn -before." - -"So? Well, it's fortunate you found him. What is his conversation like? -Have you talked to him much?" - -"I haven't seen him yet," Mudd explained. - -"Well, stay close to him, and be very careful. He is suffering from a -form of mental upset. You must cross him as little as possible, use -persuasion, gentle persuasion. The thing will run its course. It mustn't -be suddenly checked." - -"Is he mad?" asked the other. - -"No, but he is not himself--or rather, he is himself--in a different -way; but a sudden check might make him mad. You have heard of people -walking in their sleep--well, this is something akin to that. You know -it is highly dangerous to awaken a sleep-walker suddenly. Well, it's -just the same with Mr. Pettigrew; it might imbalance his mind for good." - -"What am I to do?" - -"Just keep watch on him." - -"But suppose he don't know me?" - -"He won't know you, but if you are kind to him he will accept you into -his environment, and then you will link on to his mental state." - -"He's out now, and God knows where, or doing what," said Mudd; "but I'll -be on the watch for him coming in--if he ever comes." - -"Oh, he will come home right enough." - -"Is there any fear of those women getting hold of him?" asked Mudd, -returning to his old dread. - -"That's just what there is--every fear; but you must be very careful not -to interpose your will violently. Get gently between, gently between. -You understand me. Suggestion does a lot in these cases. Another thing, -you must treat him as one treats a boy. You must imagine to yourself -that your master is only twenty, for that, in truth, is what he is. He -has gone back to a younger state--or rather, a younger state has come to -meet him, having lain dormant, just as a wisdom tooth lies dormant, then -grows." - -"Oh, Lord!" said Mudd. "I never did think I'd live to see this day." - -"Oh, it might be worse." - -"I don't see." - -"Well, from what I can make out of his youth, it was not a vicious one, -only foolish; had he been vicious when young he might be terrible now." - -"The first solicitor in London," said Mudd in a dreary voice. - -"Well, he's not the first solicitor in London to make a fool of himself, -nor will he be the last. Cheer up and keep your eyes open and do your -duty; no man can do more than that." - -"Shall I send for you, doctor, if he gets worse?" - -"Well," said Oppenshaw; "from what you tell me he couldn't be much -worse. Oh no, don't bother to send--unless, of course, the thing took a -different course, and he were to become violent without reason; but that -won't happen, you can take my word for it." - -Mudd departed. - -He walked all the way back to the Charing Cross Hotel, but instead of -entering, he suddenly took a taxi, and returned to Charles Street. Here -he packed some things in a handbag, and having again given directions to -Mrs. Jukes to lock up the plate, he told her he might be some time gone. - -"I'm going with the master on some law business," said Mudd. "Make sure -and bolt the front door--and lock up the plate." - -It was the third or fourth time he had given her these instructions. - -"He's out of his mind," said Mrs. Jukes, as she watched him go. She -wasn't far wrong. - -Mudd had been used to a rut--a rut forty years deep. His light and -pleasant duties carried him easily through the day. Of evenings when -Simon was dining out he would join a social circle in the private room -of a highly respectable tavern close by, smoke his pipe, drink two hot -gins, and depart for home at ten-thirty. When Simon was in he could -smoke his pipe and read his paper in his own private room. He had five -hundred pounds laid by in the bank--no stocks and shares for Mudd--and -he would vary his evening amusements by counting the toll of his money. - -It is easy to be seen that this jolt out of the rut was, literally, a -jolt. - -At the Charing Cross Hotel he found the room allotted to him, deposited -his things and, disdaining the servants' quarters, went out to a tavern -to read the paper. - -He reckoned Simon might not return till late, and he reckoned right. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -SIMON'S OLD-FASHIONED NIGHT IN TOWN - - -Madame Rossignol was a charming old lady of sixty, a production of -France--no other country could have produced her. She lived in Duke -Street, Leicester Square, supporting herself and her daughter Cerise by -translating English books into French. Cerise did millinery. Madame -combined absolute innocence with absolute instinct. She knew all about -things; her innocence was not ignorance, it was purity--rising above a -knowledge of the world, and disdaining to look at evil. - -She was dreadfully poor. - -Her love for Cerise was like a disease always preying upon her. Should -she die, what would happen to Cerise? - -Behold these together clasped in each other's arms. Set in the shabby -sitting-room, it might have been a scene at the Port St. Martin. - -"Oh, mother," murmured the girl, "is he not good!" - -"He is more than good," said Madame. "Most surely the _bon Dieu_ sent -him to be your guardian angel." - -"Is he not charming?" went on Cerise, unlinking herself from the -maternal embrace and touching her hair into order again with a little -laugh. "So different from the leaden-faced English, so gay and yet -so--so----" - -"There is a something--I do not know what--about him," said the old -lady; "something of Romance. Is it not like a little tale of Madame -Perichon's or a little play of Monsieur Baree? Might he not just have -come in as in one of those? You go out, lose your purse, are lost. I sit -waiting for you at your non-return in this wilderness of London; you -return, but not alone. With you comes the Marquis de Grandcourt, who -bows and says, 'Madame, I return you your daughter; I ask in return your -friendship. I am alone, like you; let us then be friends.' I reply, -'Monsieur, you behold our poverty, but you cannot behold our hearts or -the gratitude in my mind.' What a little story!" - -"And how he laughed, and said, 'Hang monee!'" cut in Cerise. "What means -that 'hang monee!' maman? And how he pulled out all the gold pieces like -a boy, saying, 'I am rich!'--just as a little boy might say, 'I am -rich! I am rich!' No bourgeois could have done that without offending, -without giving one a shiver of the skin." - -"You have said it," replied Madame. "A little boy--a great and good man, -yet a little boy. He is not in his first youth, but there are people, -like Pierre Pan, who never lose youth. It is so; I have seen it." - -"Simon Pattigrew," murmured Cerise, with a little laugh. - -A knock came to the door and a little maid-of-all-work, and down at -heel, entered with a huge bouquet, one of those bouquets youth flings at -_prima donnas_. - -Simon, after leaving the Rossignols, had struck a flower shop--this was -the result. A piece of paper accompanied the bouquet, and on the paper, -written in a handwriting that hitherto had only appeared on letters of -business and documents of law, were the words: "From your Friend." - -Simon, having struck the flower shop, might have struck a fruit shop and -a bonnet shop, only that the joy of love, the love that comes at first -sight, the love of dreams, made him incapable of any more business--even -the business of buying presents for his fascinator. - -It was now five o'clock, and, pursuing his way West, he found -Piccadilly. He passed girls without looking at them--he saw only the -vision of Cerise. She led him as far as St. George's Hospital, as though -leading him away from the temptations of the West, but the gloomy -prospect of Knightsbridge headed him off, and, turning, he came back. -Big houses, signs of wealth and prosperity, seemed to hold him in a -charm, just as he was held by all things pretty, coloured, or dazzling. - -A glittering restaurant drew him in presently, and here he had a jovial -dinner; all alone, it is true, but with plenty to look at. - -He had also a half-bottle of champagne and a maraschino. - -He had already consumed that day a cocktail coloured, two glasses of -brandy-and-water cold and a half-bottle of champagne. His ordinary -consumption of alcohol was moderate. A glass of green-seal sherry at -twelve, and a half-bottle of St. Estphe at lunch, and, shall we say, a -small whisky-and-soda at dinner, or, if dining out or with guests, a -couple of glasses of Pommery. - -And to-day he had been drinking restaurant champagne "_tres sec_"--and -two half-bottles of it! The excess was beginning to tell. It told in the -slight flush on his cheeks, which, strange to say, did not make him -look younger; it told in the tip he gave the waiter, and in the way he -put on his hat. He had bought a walking-stick during his peregrinations, -a dandy stick with a tassel--the passing fashion had just come in--and -with this under his arm he left the caf in search of pleasures new. - -The West End was now ablaze, and the theatres filling. Simon, like Poe's -man of the crowd, kept with the crowd; a blaze of lights attracted him -as a lamp a moth. - -The Pallaceum sucked him in. Here, in a blue haze of tobacco-smoke and -to the tune of a band, he sat for awhile watching the show, roaring with -laughter at the comic turns, pleased with the conjuring business, and -fascinated--despite Cerise--with the girl in tights who did acrobatic -tricks aided by two poodles and a monkey. - -Then he found the bar, and there he stood adding fuel to pleasure, his -stick under his arm, his hat tilted back, a new cigar in his mouth, and -a smile on his face--a smile with a suggestion of fixity. Alas! if -Cerise could have seen the Marquis de Grandcourt now!--or was it Madame -who raised him to the peerage of France? If she could have been by to -just raise her eyebrows at him! Yet she was there, in a way, for the -ladies of the _foyer_ who glanced at him not unkindly, taken perhaps by -his _bonhomie_, and smiling demeanour and atmosphere of wealth and -enjoyment, found no response. Yet he found momentary acquaintances, of a -sort. A couple of University men up in town for a lark seemed to find -him part of the lark; they all drank together, exchanged views, and then -the University men vanished, giving place to a gentleman in a very -polished hat, with diamond studs, and a face like a hawk, who suggested -"fizz," a small bottle of which was consumed mostly by the hawk, who -then vanished, leaving Simon to pay. - -Simon ordered another, paid for it, forgot it, and found himself in the -entrance hall calling in a loud voice for a hansom. - -A taxi was procured for him and the door opened. He got inside and said, -"Wait a moment--one moment." - -Then he began paying half-crowns to the commissionaire who had opened -the taxi door for him. "That's for your trouble," said Simon. "That's -for your trouble. That's for your trouble. Where am I? Oh yes--shut that -confounded door, will you, and tell the chap to drive on!" - -"Where to, sir?" - -Oppenshaw would have been interested in the fact that champagne beyond -a certain amount had the effect of wakening Simon's remote past. He -answered: - -"Evans'." - -Consultation outside. - -"Evans's? Which Evans's? There ain't no such 'otel, there ain't no such -bar. Ask him which Evans's?" - -"Which Evanses did you say, sir?" asked the commissionaire, putting his -head in. "The driver don't know which you mean. Where does it lay?" - -He got a chuck under the chin that nearly drove his head to the roof of -the taxi. - -Then Simon's head popped out of the window. It looked up and down the -street. - -"Where's that chap that put his head through the window?" asked Simon. - -A small crowd and a policeman drew round. "What is it, sir?" asked the -policeman. - -Simon seemed calculating the distance with a view to the bonneting of -the enquirer. Then he seemed to find the distance too far. - -"Tell him to drive me to the Argyle Rooms," said he. Then he vanished. - -Another council outside, the commissionaire presiding. - -"Take him to the Leicester 'Otel. Why, Lord bless me! the Argyle Rooms -has been closed this forty years. Take him round about and let him have -a snooze." - -The taximan started with the full intention of robbery--not by force, -but by strategy. Robbery on the dock. It was not theatre turning-out -time yet, and he would have the chance of earning a few dishonest -shillings. He turned every corner he could, for every time a taxi turns -a corner the "clock" increases in speed. He drove here and there, but he -never reached the Leicester 'Otel, for in Full Moon Street, the home of -bishops and earls, the noise inside the vehicle made him halt. He opened -the door and Simon burst out, radiant with humour and now much steadier -on his legs. - -"How much?" said Simon, and then, without waiting for a reply, thrust -half a handful of coppers and silver into the fist of the taximan, hit -him a slap on the top of his flat cap that made him see stars, and -walked off. - -The man did not pursue, he was counting his takings: -eleven-and-fivepence, no less. - -"Crazy," said he; then he started his engine and went off, utterly -unconscious of the fact that he had entertained and driven something -worthy to be preserved in the British Museum--a real live reveller of -the sixties. - -The full moon was shining on Full Moon Street, an old street that still -preserves in front of its houses the sockets for the torches of the -linkmen. It does not require much imagination to see phantom sedan -chairs in Full Moon Street on a night like this, or the watchman on his -rounds, and to-night the old street--if old streets have memories--must -surely have stirred in its dreams, for, as Simon went on his way, the -night began suddenly to be filled with cat-calls. - -A lady airing a Pom whisked her treasure into the house as Simon passed, -and shut the door with a bang; such a bang that the knocker gave a jump -and Simon a hint. - -Ten yards further on he went up steps, paused before a hall door that, -in daylight, would have been green, and took the knocker. - -Just a few turns of his wrist and the knocker was his, a glorious brass -knocker, weighing half a pound. No other young man in London that night -could have done the business like that or shown such dexterity in an art -lost as the art of pinchbeck-making. - -He collected two more knockers in that street, retaining only one as a -trophy. He threw the others into an area, pulled the house doorbell -violently, and ran. - -In Berkeley Square he was just beginning to deal with another knocker, -when the door opened to an elderly woman of the housekeeper type and a -dachshund. - -"What do you want?" asked the housekeeper. - -"Does the Duke of Cu-cu-cumberland live here?" hiccupped Simon. - -"No, sir, he does not." - -"Sorry--sorry--sorry," said Simon. "My mistake--entirely my mistake. -Very sorry to trouble you indeed. What a pretty little dog! What's his -name?" - -He was entirely affable now, and, forgetful of knockers, wished to -strike up a friendship, a desire unshared evidently by the lady. - -"I think you had better go away," said she, recognising a gentleman and -mourning the fact. - -He considered this proposition deeply for a moment. - -"That's all very well," said he, "but where am I to go? That's the -question." - -"You had better go home." - -This seemed slightly to irritate him. - -"_I'm_ not going home--_this_ time of night--not likely." He began to -descend the steps as if to get away from admonition. "Not me; you can go -home yourself." - -Off he went. - -He walked three times round Berkeley Square. He met a constable, -enquired where that street ended and when, found sympathy in return for -half-crowns, and was mothered into a straighter street. - -Half-way down the straighter street he remembered he hadn't shown the -sympathetic constable his door-knocker, but the policeman, fortunately, -had passed out of sight. - -Then he stood for awhile remembering Cerise. Her vision had suddenly -appeared before him; it threw him into deep melancholy--profound -melancholy. He went on till the lights and noise of Piccadilly restored -him. Then, further on, he entered a flaming doorway through which came -the music of a band. - - - - -PART III - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE LAST SOVEREIGN - - -On the morning of the fourth of June, the same morning on which Simon -had broken like a butterfly from his chrysalis of long-moulded custom -and stiff routine, Mr. Bobby Ravenshaw, nephew and only near relation of -Simon Pettigrew, awoke in his chambers in Pactolus Mansions, Piccadilly, -yawned, rang for his tea, and, picking up the book he had put beside him -on dropping to sleep, began to read. - -The book was _Monte Cristo_. Now Pactolus Mansions, Piccadilly, sounds a -very grand address, and, as a matter of fact, it is a grand address, but -the address is grander than the place. For one thing, it is not in -Piccadilly, the approach is up a dubious side street; the word -"Pactolus" bears little relationship to it, nor the word "Mansions," and -the rents are moderate. Downstairs there is a restaurant and a lounge -with cosy corners. - -People take chambers in Pactolus Mansions and vanish. The fact is never -reported to the Society for Psychical Research, the levitation being -always accountable for by solid reasons. To stop them from vanishing -before their rent is paid they have to pay their rent in advance. No -credit is given under any circumstances. This seems hard, yet there are -the compensating advantages that the rent is low, the service good, and -the address taking. - -Bobby Ravenshaw had chosen to live in Pactolus Mansions because it was -the cheapest place he could get near the gayest place in town. - -Bobby was an orphan, an Oxford man without a degree, and with a taste -for literature and fine clothes. Absolutely irresponsible. Five hundred -a year, derived from Simon, of whose only sister he was the son, and an -instinct for bridge that was worth another two hundred and fifty -supported Bobby in a lame sort of way, assisted by friends, confiding -tailors and bootmakers, and a genial moneylender who was also a cigar -merchant. - -Bobby had started in life a year or two ago with cleverness of no mean -order and the backing of money, but Fate had dealt him out two bad -cards: a nature that was charming and irresponsible, and good looks. -Girls worshipped Bobby, and if his talents had only cast him on the -stage their worship might have helped. As it was, it hindered, for Bobby -was a literary man, and no girl has ever bought a book on the strength -of the good looks of the author. - -His tea having arrived, Bobby drank it, finished the chapter in _Monte -Cristo_ and then rose and dressed. - -He was leaving Pactolus Mansions that day for the very good reason that, -if he wished to stay beyond twelve o'clock, he would have to pay a -month's rent in advance, and he only had thirty shillings. - -Uncle Simon had "foreclosed." That was Bobby's expression, a month ago. -For a month Bobby had watched the sands running down; no more money to -come in and all the time money running out. Absolutely unalarmed, and -only noticing the fact as he might have noticed a change in the weather, -he had made no provision, trusting to chance, to bridge that betrayed -him, and to friends. Literature could not help. He had got into a wrong -groove as far as moneymaking went. Little articles for literary papers -of limited circulation and a really cultivated taste are not the -immediate means to financial support in a world that devours its -fictional literature like ham sandwiches, forgotten as soon as -eaten--and only fictional literature pays. - -He was thinking more of _Monte Cristo_ than of his own position as he -dressed. The fact that he had to look out for other rooms worried him as -an uncomfortable business to be performed, but not much. If he couldn't -get other rooms that day he could always stay with Tozer. Tozer was an -Oxford man with chambers in the Albany--chambers always open to Bobby at -any hour. A sure stand-by in trouble. - -Then, having dressed, he took his hat and stick and the sovereign and -half-sovereign lying on the mantel, tipped the servant the -half-sovereign, and ordered that his things should be packed and his -luggage taken to the office to be left till he called for it. - -"I'm going to the country," said Bobby, "and I'll send my address for -letters to be forwarded." - -Then he started. - -He called first at the Albany. - -Tozer, the son of a big, defunct Manchester cotton merchant, was a man -of some twenty-three years, red-haired, with a taste for the good things -of life, a taste for boxing, a taste for music, and a hard common sense -that never deserted him even in his gayest and most frivolous moods. -His chambers were newly furnished, the walls of the sitting-room adorned -with old prints, mostly proofs before letter; boxing gloves and -single-sticks hinted of themselves, and a violoncello stood in the -corner. - -He was at breakfast when Bobby arrived. Tozer rang for another cup and -plate. - -"Tozer," said Bobby, "I'm bust." - -"Aren't surprised to hear it," replied Tozer. "Try these kippers." - -"One single sovereign in the world, my boy, and I'm hunting for new -rooms." - -"What's the matter with your old rooms? Have they kicked you out?" - -Bobby explained. - -"Good Lord!" said Tozer. "You've cut the ground from under your feet, -staying at a place like that." - -"It's not all my fault, it's my relative. I always boasted to him that I -paid my rent in advance; he took it as a sign of wisdom." - -"What made him go back on you?" - -"A girl." - -"Which way?" - -"Well, it was this way. I was staying with the Huntingdons, you know, -the Warwickshire lot." - -"I know--bridge and brandy crowd." - -"Oh, they're all right. Well, I was staying with them when I met her." - -"What's her name?" - -"Alice Carruthers." - -"Heave ahead." - -"I got engaged to her; she hadn't a penny." - -"Just like you." - -"And her people haven't a penny, and I wrote like a fool telling the -relative. He gave me the option of cutting her off or being cut off. It -seems her people were the real obstacle. He wrote quite libellous things -about them. I refused." - -"Of course." - -"And he cut me off. Well, the funny thing was she cut me off a week -later, and she's engaged now to a chap called Harkness." - -"Well, why don't you tell the relative and make it up?" - -"Tell him she'd fired me! Besides, it's no use, he'd just go on to other -things--what he calls extravagances and irresponsibilities." - -"I see." - -"That's just how it is." - -"Look here, Bobby," said Tozer, "you've just got to cut all this -nonsense and get to work. You've been making a fool of yourself." - -"I have," said Bobby, helping himself to marmalade. - -"There's no use saying, 'I have,' and then forgetting. I know you. -You're a good sort, Bobby, but you are in the wrong set; you couldn't -keep the pace. You've loads of cleverness and you're going to rot. -Work!" - -"How?" - -"Write," said Tozer, who believed in Bobby and hated to see him going to -waste. "Write. I've always been urging you to settle down and write." - -"I made five pounds ten last year writing," said Bobby. - -"I know--articles on old French poetry and so on. You've got to write -fiction. You can do it. That little story you wrote for Tillson's was -ripping." - -"The devil of it is," said Bobby, "I can't find plots. I can write all -right if I have only something to write about, but I can't find plots." - -"That's rubbish, and pure laziness. Can't find plots, with your -experience of London and life! You've got to find plots, and find them -sharp; it's the only trade open to you. You can do it, and it pays. Now -look here, B. R. I'll finance you----" - -"Thanks awfully," said Bobby, helping himself to a cigarette from a box -on a little table near by. - -"Reserve your thanks. I'm not going to finance a slacker, which you are -at present, but a hard-working literary man, which you will be when I -have done with you. I will give you a room here on the strict conditions -that you keep early hours five days a week." - -"Yes." - -"That you give up bridge." - -"Yes." - -"And fooling after girls." - -"Yes." - -"And this day set out and find a plot for a good, honest, payable piece -of fiction, novel length. I'm not going to let you off with short-story -writing." - -"Yes." - -"I know a good publisher, and I will assure you that the thing shall be -published in the best form, that I will back the advertising and -pushing--see? And I will promise you that, however the thing turns out, -you shall have two hundred pounds. You will get all profits if it is a -success, understand me?" - -"Yes." - -"You shall have five pounds a week pocket-money whilst you are writing, -to be repaid out of profits if the profits exceed two hundred, not to be -repaid if they don't." - -"I don't like taking money for nothing," said Bobby. - -"You won't get it, only for hard work. Besides, it's for my amusement -and interest. I believe in you, and I want to see my belief justified. -You need never bother about taking money from me. First, I have plenty; -secondly, I never give it without a _quid pro quo_, the trading instinct -is too strong in me." - -"Well," said Bobby, "it's jolly good of you, and I'll pay you the lot -back, if----" - -Tozer was lighting a cigarette; he flung the match down impatiently. - -"If! You'll do nothing if you begin with an 'if.' Now, make up your mind -quick without any 'ifs.' Will you, or won't you?" - -"I will," said Bobby, suddenly catching on to the idea and taking fire. -"I believe I can do it if----" - -"If!" shouted Tozer. - -"I _will_ do it. I'll find a plot. I'll dig in my brains right -away--I'll hunt round." - -"Off with you, then," said Tozer, "and send your luggage here and come -back to-night with your plot. You can work in your bedroom and you can -have all your meals here--I forgot to include that. Now I'm going to -have a tune on the 'cello." - -Bobby departed with a light heart. His position, before calling on -Tozer, had really begun to weigh on him. Tozer had given him even more -than the promise of financial support, he had given him the backing of -his common sense. He had "jawed" him mildly, and Bobby felt all the -better for it. It was like a tonic. His high spirits as he descended the -stairs increased with every step taken. - -Bobby was no sponge. Bridge and the relative had kept him going, and he -had always managed to meet his debts, with the exception, perhaps, of a -tradesman or two; nor would he have taken this favour from any other man -than Tozer, and perhaps not even from Tozer had it not been accompanied -by the "jawing." - -So he set out, light of heart, young, good-looking, well-dressed, yet -with only a sovereign, to hunt through the summer landscape of London -for the plot for a novel. - -Why, he was the plot for a novel, or at least the beginning of one, had -he known! - -He did not, but he had an intimate knowledge of Tozer's fictional -proclivities and a fine understanding of exactly what Tozer wanted. -Bones, ribs, and vertebra, construction--or, in other words, story. -Tozer could not be fubbed off with fine writing, with long -introspective chapters dealing with the boyhood of the author, with sham -psychology masquerading as Fiction; nor, indeed, could Bobby have -supplied the two latter features. Tozer wanted action, people moving on -their feet under the dominion of the author's purpose, through -situations, towards a definite goal. - -Out in Vigo Street, and despite the aura of inspiration around the -Bodley Head, Bobby's high spirits came slightly under eclipse; it all at -once seemed to him that he had undertaken a task. In Cork Street, as he -stood for a moment looking at the rare editions exposed in the windows -of Elkin Mathews, this feeling grew and put on horns. - -A task to Bobby meant a thing disagreeable to do, and the elegant -volumes of minor poets, copies of the Yellow Book, and vellum-bound -editions of belles lettres were saying to him, "You've got to write a -novel, my boy, a good Mudie novel, the sort of novel the Tozers of life -will pay for; no little essays written with the little finger turned up. -No modern verses like your 'Harmonies and Discords,' that cost you -twenty-five pounds to produce and sold sixteen copies of itself, -according to last returns. You have got to be the harmonious blacksmith -now; get into your apron, get under your spreading chestnut-tree, and -produce." - -In Bond Street he met Lord Billy Tottenham, a fellow Oxonian, who met -his death in a mud-hole in Flanders the other year. - -Lord Billy, with a boyish, smug, but immovable face adorned with a -tortoiseshell-rimmed eyeglass. - -"Hello, Bobby!" said Billy. - -"Hello, Billy!" said Bobby. - -"What's wrong with you?" asked Billy. - -"Broke to the world, my dear chap." - -"What was the horse?" asked Billy. - -"'Twasn't a horse--a girl, mostly." - -"Well, you're not the first chap that's been broke by a girl," said -Billy. "Walk along a bit--but it might have been worse." - -"How so?" - -"She might have married you." - -"Maybe; but the worst of it is I've got to work--tuck up my sleeves and -work." - -"What at?" - -"Novel-writing." - -"Well, that's easy enough," said Billy cheerfully. "You can easily get -some literary cove to do the writing and stick your name to it, and -we'll all buy your books, my boy, we'll all buy your books; not that I -ever read books much, but I'll buy 'em if you write 'em. Come into -Jubber's." - -Arm-in-arm they entered Long's Hotel, where Billy resided, and over a -mutual whisky-and-soda they forgot books and discussed horses; they -lunched together and discussed dogs, girls, and mutual friends. It was -like old times again, but over the liqueurs and over the cigarette-smoke -suddenly appeared to Bobby the vision of Tozer. He said good-bye to the -affluent one, and departed. "I've got to work," said Bobby. - -His momentary lapse from the direction of the target only served to pull -him together, and it seemed, now, as though the luncheon and the lapse -had made things easier. He told himself if he hadn't brains enough to -scare up some sort of plot for a six-shilling novel he had better drown -himself. If he couldn't do what hundreds of people with half his -knowledge of the world and ability were doing he would be a mug of the -very first water. - -If anything depressed him it was the horrible and futile assurance of -Billy that "his friends would buy his books." He went to Pactolus -Mansions and ordered his luggage to be sent to the Albany, then he -changed his sovereign and bought a cigar, then an omnibus gave him an -inspiration. He would get on top of an omnibus and in that cool and airy -position do a bit of thinking. - -It was not an original idea; he had read, or heard, of a famous author -who thought out his plots on the tops of omnibuses--but it was an idea. -He clambered on to the top of an eastward-going bus, and, behind a fat -lady with bugles on her bonnet, tried to compose his mind. - -Why not make a story about--Billy? People liked reading of the -aristocracy, and Billy was a character in his way and had many stories -attached to him. He could start the book grandly, simply out of -remembered visions of Lord William Tottenham in his gayest moods. L. W. -T. emptying bottles of cliquot into a grand piano at Oxford. Oxford--ay, -grander and grander--the book should begin at Oxford with a fresh and -vigorous picture of University life. Tozer would come in, and a host of -others; then, after Oxford, there was the rub. - -The story that had begun so brightly suddenly ceased. - -A character and a situation do not make a story. - -They had reached the Bank--as if by derision, when he told himself this. -He got off the omnibus and got on a westward-bound one harking back to -the land he knew. He remembered the expression, "racking one's brains to -find a plot." He knew the meaning of it now. - -At Piccadilly Circus, where all the things meet, a lanky, wild-looking, -red-haired girl in a picture hat and a fit of abstraction--that was the -impression she gave--caught his eye. In a moment he was after her. - -Here was salvation. Julia Delyse, the last catch-on, whose books were -selling by the hundred thousand. He had met her at the Three Arts Ball -and once since. She had called him Bobby the second time. He had flirted -with her, as he flirted with everything with skirts on, and forgotten -her. She was very modern; modern enough to raise the hair on a -grandmother's scalp. Her looks were to match. - -"Hello," said he. - -"Hello, Bobby," said Julia. - -"You are just the person I want to see," said Bobby. - -"How's that?" said Julia. - -"I'm in a fix." - -"What sort of fix?" - -"I've got to write a novel." - -"What's the hurry?" asked Julia. - -"Money," said Bobby. - -"Make money?" - -"Yes." - -"If you write for money you're lost," said Julia. - -"I'm lost anyway," replied Bobby. "Where are you going to?" - -"Home; my flat's close by. Come and have some tea." - -"I don't mind. Well now, see here; I've got to do it and I can't find -anything to write about." - -"With all London before you?" - -"I know, but when I start to think it all gets behind me. I want you to -start me with some idea; you're full of ideas and you know the ropes." - -They had reached the flat, and the lady with ideas ushered him in. - -The sitting-room was in a scheme of black with Japanese effects; she -offered cigarettes, lit one herself, and tea was brought in. - -Then the hypnotism began. - -The fact that she was a "famous authoress" would not have mattered a -button to Bobby yesterday; to-day, on his new strange road, it lent her -a charm that completed the fascination of her wondrous eyes. They seemed -wild in the street, but when she looked at one intensively they were -wonderful. Plots were forgotten, and in the twilight Bobby's full, -musical voice might have been heard discussing literature--with long -pauses. - -"Dear old thing.... Is that cushion comfy?... Oh, bother the girl and -the tea-things!... Just put your head so--so...." - -He had been hooked twenty times by girls and pulled off the hook by -parents or been thrown back by the fisherwoman on inspecting his bank -balance, but he had never been hooked like this before, for Julia had no -parents to speak of; she was above bank balances, and her grip was of -iron where passion was concerned, and publishers. Her publishers could -have told you that by the way she gripped her rights when they tried to -cheat her of them, for, despite her wondrous eyes and wild air and the -fact that she was a genius, she was practical as well as tenacious in -hold. - -Then, at the end of the _sance_, Bobby found himself leaving the flat a -semi-tied-up man. He couldn't remember whether he had proposed to her or -she to him, or whether either of them had proposed or actually accepted, -but there was a tie between them, a tie slight enough and not binding in -any court; less an engagement than an attachment formed, so he told -himself. - -He remembered in the street, however, that a tie between him and an -authoress was not what Tozer wanted; he had received no plot or even -literary hint. Had he retained his clear senses during the _sance_, and -had he possessed a knowledge of Julia Delyse's brilliant and cynical -books, he might have wondered where the brilliancy and cynicism came -from. In love, Julia was absolutely unliterary--and a bit -heavy--clinging, as it were. - -The momentary idea of running back to ask for the forgotten plot, as for -a hat left behind, was dispelled by this sudden feeling that she was -heavy. - -Under the fascination of her eyes and in that weird room she seemed -light; in St. James's Street, where he now was, she seemed heavy. And he -would have to go on with the attachment for awhile or be a brute. That -recognition, with the remembrance of Tozer and a recognition of his -failure in his search for the one essential thing, depressed him for a -moment. Then he determined to forget about everything and go and have -dinner. In other words, failing in his search for the thing he wanted, -he stopped searching, leaving the matter in the hands of blind chance. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -UNCLE SIMON - - -Or fate, if you like it better, for it was fated that Bobby should find -that day the thing he was in search of. - -He dined at a little club he patronised in a street off St. James's -Street, met a friend named Foulkes, and adjourned to the Alhambra, -Foulkes insisting on doing all the paying. - -They left the Alhambra at half-past ten. - -"I must be getting back to the Albany," said Bobby. "I'm sharing rooms -with a chap, and he's an early bird." - -"Oh, let him wait," said Foulkes. "Come along for ten minutes to the -Stage Club." - -They went to the Stage Club. Then, the place being empty and little -amusement to be found there, they departed, Foulkes declaring his -determination to see Bobby part of the way home. - -Passing a large entrance hall blazing with light and filled with the -noise of a distant band, Foulkes stopped. - -"Come in here for a moment," said he. In they went. - -The place was gay--very gay. Little marble-topped tables stood about; -French waiters running from table to table and serving guests--ladies -and gentlemen. - -At a long glittering bar many men were standing, and a Red Hungarian -Band was discoursing scarlet music. - -Foulkes took a table and ordered refreshment. The place was horrid. One -could not tell exactly what there was about it that went counter to all -the finer feelings and the sense of home, simplicity, and happiness. - -Bobby, rather depressed, felt this, but Foulkes, a man of tougher fibre, -seemed quite happy. - -"What ails you, Ravenshaw?" asked Foulkes. - -"Nothing," said Bobby. "No, I won't have any more to drink. I've work to -do----" - -Then he stopped and stared before him with eyes wide. - -"What is it now?" asked Foulkes. - -"Good Lord!" said Bobby. "Look at that chap at the bar!" - -"Which one?" - -"The one with the straw hat on the back of his head. It can't be--but -it is--it's the Relative." - -"The one you told me of that fired you out and cut you off with a -shilling?" - -"Yes. Uncle Simon. No, it's not, it can't be. It is, though, in a straw -_hat_." - -"And squiffy," said Foulkes. - -Bobby got up and, leaving the other, strolled to the bar casually. The -man at the bar was toying with a glass of soda-water supplied to him on -sufferance. Bobby got close to him. Yes, that was the right hand with -the white scar--got when a young man "hunting"--and the seal ring. - -The last time Bobby had met Uncle Simon was in the office in Old -Serjeants' Inn. Uncle Simon, seated at his desk-table with his back to -the big John Tann safe, had been in bitter mood; not angry, but stern. -Bobby seated before him, hat in hand, had offered no apologies or -exculpations for his conduct with girls, for his stupid engagement, for -his idleness. He had many bad faults, but he never denied them, nor did -he seek to minimise them by explanations and lies. - -"I tried to float you," had said Uncle Simon, as though Bobby were a -company. "I have failed. Well, I have done my duty, and I clearly see -that I will not be doing my duty by continuing as I have done; the -allowance I have made you is ended. You will now have to swim for -yourself. I should never have put money in your hands; I quite see -that." - -"I can make my own living," said Bobby. "I am not without gratitude for -what you have done----" - -"And a nice way you have shown your gratitude," said the other, -"tangling yourself like that--gaming, frequenting bars." - -So the interview had ended. Frequenting bars! - -"Uncle Simon!" said Bobby half-nervously, touching the other on the arm. - -Uncle Simon swung slowly round. Bobby might have been King Canute for -all Uncle Simon knew. He had got beyond the stage where the word "uncle" -from a stranger would have aroused ire or surprise. - -"H'are you?" said Simon. "Have a drink?" - -Yes, it was Uncle Simon right enough, and Bobby, in all his life, had -never received such a shock as that which came to him now with the full -recognition of the fact. St. Paul's Cathedral turned into a -gambling-shop, the Bishop of London dressed as a clown, would have been -nothing to this. He was horrified. He came to the swift conclusion that -Uncle Simon had come to smash somehow, and gone mad. A vague idea flew -through his mind that his respected relative was dressed like this as a -disguise to avoid creditors, but he had sense enough not to ask -questions. - -"I don't mind," said he; "I'll have a small soda." - -"Small grandmother," said the other; then, nodding to the bar-tender, -"'Nother same as mine." - -"What have you been doing?" asked Bobby vaguely, as he took the glass. - -"Roun' the town--roun' the town," replied the other. "Gl'd to meet you. -What've you been doin'?" - -"Oh, I've just been going round the town." - -"Roun' the town, that's the way--roun' the town," replied the other. -"Roun' an' roun' and roun' the town." - -Foulkes broke into this intellectual discussion. - -"I'm off," said Foulkes. - -"Stay a minit," said Uncle Simon. "What'll you have?" - -"Nothing, thanks," said Foulkes. - -"Come on," said Bobby, taking the arm of his relative. - -"W'ere to?" asked the other, hanging back slightly. - -"Oh, we'll go round the town--round and round. Come on." Then to -Foulkes, "Get a taxi, quick!" - -Foulkes vanished towards the door. - -Then Simon, falling in with the round-the-town idea, arm-in-arm, the -pair threaded their way between the tables, the cynosure of all eyes, -Simon exhibiting dispositions to stop and chat with seated and absolute -strangers, Bobby perspiring and blushing. All the lectures on fast -living he had ever endured were nothing to this; the shame of folly, for -the first time in his life, appeared definitely before him, and the -relief of the street and the waiting taxi beyond words. - -They bundled Simon in. - -"No. 12, King Charles Street, Westminster," said Bobby to the driver. - -Uncle Simon's head and bust appeared at the door of the vehicle, the -address given by Bobby seeming to have paralysed the round-the-town idea -in his mind. - -"Ch'ing Cross Hotel," said he. "Wach you mean givin' wrong address? I'm -staying Ch'ing Cross Hotel." - -"Well, let's go to Charles Street _first_," agreed Bobby. - -"No--Ch'ing Cross Hotel--luggage waitin' there." - -Bobby paused. - -Could it be possible that this was the truth? It couldn't be stranger -than the truth before him. - -"All right," said he. "Charing Cross Hotel, driver." - -He said good-bye to Foulkes, got in, and shut the door. - -Uncle Simon seemed asleep. - -The Charing Cross Hotel was only a very short distance away, and when -they got there Bobby, leaving the sleeping one undisturbed, hopped out -to make enquiries as to whether a Mr. Pettigrew was staying there; if -not, he could go on to Charles Street. - -In the hall he found the night porter and Mudd. - -"Good heavens! Mr. Robert, what are you doing here?" said Mudd. - -Bobby took Mudd aside. - -"What's the matter with my uncle, Mudd?" asked Bobby in a tragic -half-whisper. - -"Matter!" said Mudd, wildly alarmed. "What's he been a-doing of?" - -"I've got him in a cab outside," said Bobby. - -"Oh, thank God!" said Mudd. "He's not hurt, is he?" - -"No; only three sheets in the wind." - -Mudd broke away for the door, followed by the other. - -Simon was still asleep. - -They got him out, and between them they brought him in, Bobby paying the -fare with the last of his sovereign. - -Arrived at the room, Mudd turned on the electric light, and then, -between them, they got the reveller to bed. Folding his coat, Mudd, -searching in the pockets, found a brass door-knocker. "Good Lord!" -murmured Mudd. "He's been a-takin' of knockers." - -He hid the knocker in a drawer and proceeded. Two pounds ten was all the -money to be found in the clothes, but Simon had retained his watch and -chain by a miracle. - -Bobby was astonished at Simon's pyjamas, taken out of a drawer by Mudd; -blue and yellow striped silk, no less. - -"He'll be all right now, and I'll have another look at him," said Mudd. -"Come down, Mr. Robert." - -"Mudd," said Bobby, when they were in the hall again, "what is it?" - -"He's gone," said Mudd; "gone in the head." - -"Mad?" - -"No, not mad; it's a temporary abrogation. Some of them new diseases, -the doctor says. It's his youth come back on him, grown like a wisdom -tooth. Yesterday he was as right as you or me; this morning he started -off for the office as right as myself. It must have struck him sudden. -Same thing happened last year and he got over it. It took a month, -though." - -"Good heavens!" said Bobby. "I met him in a bar, by chance. If he's -going on like this for a month you'll have your work cut out for you, -Mudd." - -"There's no name to it," said Mudd. "Mr. Robert, this has to be kept -close in the family and away from the office; you've got to help with -him." - -"I'll do my best," said Bobby unenthusiastically, "but, hang it, Mudd, -I've got my living to make now. I've no time to hang about bars and -places, and if to-night's a sample----" - -"We've got to get him away to the country or somewhere," said Mudd, -"else it means ruin to the business and Lord knows what all. It's got to -be done, Mr. Robert, and you've got to help, being the only relative." - -"Couldn't that doctor man take care of him?" - -"Not he," said Mudd; "he's given me instructions. The master is just to -be let alone in reason; any thwarting or checking might send him clean -off. He's got to be led, not driven." - -Bobby whistled softly and between his teeth. He couldn't desert Uncle -Simon. He never remembered that Uncle Simon had deserted him for just -such conduct, or even less, for Bobby, stupid as he was, had rarely -descended to the position he had found Uncle Simon in a little while -ago. - -Bobby was young, generous, forgetful and easy to forgive, so the fact -that the Relative had deserted him and cut him off with a shilling never -occurred to his open soul at this critical moment. - -Uncle Simon had to be looked after. He felt the truth of Mudd's words -about the office. If this thing were known it would knock the business -to pieces. Bobby was no fool, and he knew something of Simon's -responsibilities; he administered estates, he had charge of trust-money, -he was the most respected solicitor in London. Heavens! if this were -known, what a rabbit-run for frightened clients Old Serjeants' Inn would -become within twenty-four hours! - -Then, again, Bobby was a Ravenshaw. The Ravenshaws were much above the -Pettigrews. The Ravenshaws were a proud race, and the old Admiral, his -father, who lost all his money in Patagonian Bonds, was the proudest of -the lot, and he had handed his pride to his son. - -Yes, leaving even the office aside, Uncle Simon must be looked after. - -Now if U. S. had been a lunatic the task would have been abominable but -simple, but a man who had suddenly developed extraordinary youth, yet -was, so the doctor said, sane--a man who must be just humoured and -led--was a worse proposition. - -Playing bear-leader to a young fool was an entirely different thing to -being a young fool oneself. Even his experience of an hour ago told -Bobby this; that short experience was his first sharp lesson in the -disgustingness of folly. He shied at the prospect of going on with the -task. But Uncle Simon must be looked after. He couldn't get over or -under that fence. - -"Well, I'll do what I can," said he. "I'll come round to-morrow morning. -But see here, Mudd, where does he get his money from?" - -"He's got ten thousand pounds somewhere hid," said Mudd. - -"Ten thousand what?" - -"Pounds. Ten thousand pounds somewhere hid. The doctor told me he had -it. He drew the same last year and spent five in a month." - -"Five pounds?" - -"Five thousand, Mr. Robert." - -"Five thousand in a month! I say, this is serious, Mudd." - -"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" said Mudd. "Don't tell me--I know--and, me, I've -been working forty years for five hundred." - -"He couldn't have taken it out with him to-day, do you think?" - -"No, Mr. Robert, I don't think he's as far gone as that. He's always -been pretty close with his money, and closeness sticks, abrogation or no -abrogation; but it's not the money I'm worritin' so much about as the -women." - -"What women?" - -"Them that's always looking out for such as he." - -"Well, we must coosh them off," said Bobby. - -"You'll be here in the morning, Mr. Robert?" - -"Yes, I'll be here, and, meanwhile, keep an eye on him." - -"Oh, I'll keep an eye on him," said Mudd. - -Then the yawning night porter saw this weird conference close, Mudd -going off upstairs and Bobby departing, a soberer and wiser young man -even than when he had entered. - -It was late when he reached the Albany. Tozer was sitting up, reading a -book on counterpoint. - -"Well, what luck?" asked Tozer, pleased at the other's gravity and -sobriety. - -"I've found a plot," said Bobby; "at least, the middle of one, but it's -tipsy." - -"Tipsy?" - -"It's my--Tozer, this is a dead secret between you and me--it's my -Relative." - -"Your uncle?" - -"Yes." - -"What on earth do you mean?" - -Bobby explained. - -Tozer made some tea over a spirit lamp as he listened, then he handed -the other a cup. - -"That's interesting," said he, as he sat down again and filled a pipe. -"That's interesting." - -"But look here," said the other, "do you believe it? Can a man get young -again and forget everything and go on like this?" - -"I don't know," said Tozer, "but I believe he can--and he seems to be -doing it, don't he?" - -"He does; we found a knocker in his coat pocket." - -"I beg your pardon, a what?" - -"A door-knocker; he must have wrung it off a door somewhere, a big brass -one, like a lion's head." - -"How old is he?" - -"Uncle?" - -"Yes." - -"Sixty." - -Tozer calculated. - -"Forty years ago--yes, the young chaps about town were still ringing -door-knockers then; it was going out, but I had an uncle who did it. -This is interesting." Then he exploded. He had never seen Simon the -solicitor, or his mirth might have been louder. - -"It's very easy to laugh," said Bobby, rather huffed, "but you would not -laugh if you were in my shoes--I've got to look after him." - -"I beg your pardon," said Tozer. "Now let me be serious. Whatever -happens, you have got a fine _ficelle_ for a story. I'm in earnest; it -only wants working out." - -"Oh, good heavens!" said Bobby. "Does one eat one's grandmother? And how -am I to write stories tied like this?" - -"He'll write it for you," said Tozer, "or I'm greatly mistaken, if you -only hang on and give him a chance. He's begun it for you. And as for -eating your grandmother, uncles aren't grandmothers, and you can change -his name." - -"I wish to goodness I could," said Bobby. "The terror I'm in is lest -his name should come out in some mad escapade." - -"I expect he's been in the same terror of you," said Tozer, "many a -time." - -"Yes, but I hadn't an office to look after and a big business." - -"Well, you've got one now," said Tozer, "and it will teach you -responsibility, Bobby; it will teach you responsibility." - -"Hang responsibility!" - -"I know; that's what your uncle has often said, no doubt. Responsibility -is the only thing that steadies men, and the sense of it is the -grandfather of all the other decent senses. You'll be a much better man -for this, Bobby, or my name is not Tozer." - -"I wish it were Ravenshaw," said Bobby. Then remembrance made him pause. - -"I ought to tell you----" said he, then he stopped. - -"Well?" said Tozer. - -"I promised you to stop--um--fooling after girls." - -"That means, I expect, that you have been doing it." - -"Not exactly, and yet----" - -"Go on." - -Bobby explained. - -"Well," said Tozer, "I forgive you. It was good intent spoiled by -atavism. You returned to your old self for a moment, like your Uncle -Simon. Do you know, Bobby, I believe this disease of your uncle's is -more prevalent than one would imagine--though of course in a less acute -form. We are all of us always returning to our old selves, by fits and -starts--and paying for the return. You see what you have done to-day. -Your Uncle Simon has done nothing more foolish, you both found your old -selves. - -"Lord, that old self! All the experience and wisdom of the world don't -head it off, it seems to me, when it wants to return. Well, you've done -it, and when you write your story you can put yourself in as well as -your uncle, and call the whole thing, 'A Horrible Warning.' Good night." - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE HUNDRED-POUND NOTE - - -Uncle Simon awoke consumed by thirst, but without a headache; a good -constitution and years of regular life had given him a large balance to -draw upon. - -Mudd was in the room arranging things; he had just drawn up the blind. - -"Who's that?" asked Simon. - -"Mudd," replied the other. - -Mudd's _tout ensemble_ as a new sort of hotel servant seemed to please -Simon, and he accepted him at once as he accepted everything that -pleased him. - -"Give me that water-bottle," said Simon. - -Mudd gave it. Simon half-drained it and handed it back. The draught -seemed to act on him like the elixir vit. - -"What are you doing with those clothes?" said he. - -"Oh, just folding them," said Mudd. - -"Well, just leave them alone," replied the other. "Is there any money -in the pockets?" - -"These aren't what you wore last night," said Mudd; "there was two -pounds ten in the pockets of what you had on. Here it is, on the -mantel." - -"Good," said Simon. - -"Have you any more money anywhere about?" asked Mudd. - -Now Simon, spendthrift in front of pleasure and heedless of money as the -wind, in front of Mudd seemed cautious and a bit suspicious. It was as -though his subliminal mind recognised in Mudd restraint and guardianship -and common sense. - -"Not a halfpenny," said he. "Give me that two pounds ten." - -Mudd, alarmed at the vigour of the other, put the money on the little -table by the bed. - -Simon was at once placated. - -"Now put me out some clothes," said he. He seemed to have accepted Mudd -now as a personal servant--hired when? Heaven knows when; details like -that were nothing to Simon. - -Mudd, marvelling and sorrowing, put out a suit of blue serge, a blue -tie, a shirt and other things of silk. There was a bathroom, off the -bedroom, and, the things put out, Simon arose and wandered into the -bathroom, and Mudd, taking his seat on a chair, listened to him tubbing -and splashing--whistling, too, evidently in the gayest spirits, spirits -portending another perfect day. - -"Lead him," had said Oppenshaw. Why, Mudd already was being led. There -was something about Simon, despite his irresponsibility and good humour, -that would not brook a halter even if the halter were of silk. Mudd -recognised that. And the money! What had become of the money? The locked -portmanteau might contain it, but where was the key? - -Mudd did not even know whether his unhappy master had recognised him or -not, and he dared not ask, fearing complications. But he knew that Simon -had accepted him as a servant, and that knowledge had to suffice. - -If Simon had refused him, and turned him out, that would have been a -tragedy indeed. - -Simon, re-entering the bedroom, bath towel in hand, began to dress, Mudd -handing things which Simon took as though half oblivious of the presence -of the other. He seemed engaged in some happy vein of thought. - -Dressed and smart, but unshaved, though scarcely showing the fact, Simon -took the two pounds ten and put it in his pocket, then he looked at -Mudd. His expression had changed somewhat; he seemed working out some -problem in his mind. - -"That will do," said he; "I won't want you any more for a few minutes. I -want to arrange things. You can go down and come back in a few minutes." - -Mudd hesitated. Then he went. - -He heard Simon lock the door. He went into an adjoining corridor and -walked up and down, dumbly praying that Mr. Robert would come--confused, -agitated, wondering.... Suppose Simon wanted to be alone to cut his -throat! The horror of this thought was dispelled by the recollection -that there were no razors about; also by the remembered cheerfulness of -the other. But why did he want to be alone? - -Two minutes passed, three, five--then the intrigued one, making for the -closed door, turned the handle. The door was unlocked, and Simon, -standing in the middle of the room, was himself again. - -"I've got a message I want you to take," said Simon. - -Ten minutes later Mr. Robert Ravenshaw, entering the Charing Cross -Hotel, found Mudd with his hat on, waiting for him. - -"Thank the Lord you've come, Mr. Robert!" said Mudd. - -"What's the matter now?" asked Bobby. "Where is he?" - -"He's having breakfast," said Mudd. - -"Well, that's sensible, anyhow. Cheer up, Mudd; why, you look as if -you'd swallowed a funeral." - -"It's the money," said Mudd. Then he burst out, "He told me to go from -the room and come back in a minit. Out I went, and he locked the door. -Back I came; there was he standing. 'Mudd,' said he, 'I've got a message -for you to take. I want you to take a bunch of flowers to a lady.' Me!" - -"Yes?" said Bobby. - -"To a lady!" - -"'Where's the flowers?' said I, wishing to head him off. 'You're to go -and buy them,' said he. 'I have no money,' said I, wishing to head him -off. 'Hang money!' said he, and he puts his hand in his pocket and out -he brings a hundred-pound note and a ten-pound note. And he had only two -pounds ten when I left him. He's got the money in that portmanteau, that -I'm sure, and he got me out of the room to get it." - -"Evidently," said Bobby. - -"'Here's ten pounds,' said he; 'get the best bunch of flowers money can -buy and tell the lady I'm coming to see her later on in the day.' - -"'What lady?' said I, wishing to head him off. - -"'This is the address,' said he, and goes to the writing-table and -writes it out." - -He handed Bobby a sheet of the hotel paper. Simon's handwriting was on -it, and a name and address supplied by that memory of his which clung so -tenaciously to all things pleasant. - -"Miss Rossignol, 10, Duke Street, Leicester Square." - -Bobby whistled. - -"Did I ever dream I'd see this day?" mourned Mudd. "Me! Sent on a -message like that, by _him_!" - -"This is a complication," said Bobby. "I say, Mudd, he must have been -busy yesterday--upon _my_ soul----" - -"Question is, what am I to do?" said Mudd. "I'm goin' to take no flowers -to hussies." - -Bobby thought deeply for a moment. - -"Did he recognise you this morning?" he asked. - -"I don't know," said Mudd, "but he made no bones. I don't believe he -remembered me right, but he made no bones." - -"Well, Mudd, you'd better just swallow your feelings and take those -flowers, for if you don't, and he finds out, he may fire you. Where -would we be then? Besides, he's to be humoured, so the doctor said, -didn't he?" - -"Shall I send for the doctor right off, sir?" asked Mudd, clutching at a -forlorn hope. - -"The doctor can't stop him from fooling after girls," said Bobby, -"unless the doctor could put him away in a lunatic asylum; and he can't, -can he, seeing he says he's not mad? Besides, there's the slur, and the -thing would be sure to leak out. No, Mudd, just swallow your feelings -and trot off and get those flowers, and, meanwhile, I'll do what I can -to divert his mind. And see here, Mudd, you might just see what that -girl is like." - -"Shall I tell her he's off his head and that maybe she'll have the law -on her if she goes on fooling with him?" suggested Mudd. - -"No," said the more worldly-wise Bobby; "if she's the wrong sort that -would only make her more keen. She'd say to herself, 'Here's a queer old -chap with money, half off his nut, and not under restraint; let's make -hay before they lock him up.' If she's the right sort it doesn't matter; -he's safe, and, right sort or wrong sort, if he found you'd been -interfering he might send you about your business. No, Mudd, there's -nothing to be done but get the flowers and leave them, and see the lady -if possible, and make notes about her. Say as little as possible." - -"He told me to tell her he'd call later in the day." - -"Leave that to me," said Bobby. "And now, off with you." - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE HUNDRED-POUND NOTE--_continued_ - - -Mudd departed and Bobby made for the coffee-room. - -He entered and looked around. A good many people were breakfasting in -the big room, the ordinary English breakfast crowd at a big hotel; -family parties, lone men and lone women, some reading letters, some -papers, and all, somehow, with an air of divorcement from home. - -Simon was there, seated at a little table on the right and enjoying -himself. Now, and in his right mind, Simon gave Bobby another shock. -Could it be possible that this pleasant-faced, jovial-looking gentleman, -so well-dressed and _ la mode_, was Uncle Simon? What an improvement! -So it seemed at first glance. - -Simon looked up from his sausages--he was having sausages, saw -Bobby--and with his unfailing memory of pleasant things, even dimly -seen, recognised him as the man of last night. - -"Hullo," said Simon, as the other came up to the table, "there you are -again. Had breakfast?" - -"No," said Bobby. "I'll sit here if I may." He drew a chair to the -second place that was laid and took his seat. - -"Have sausages," said Simon. "Nothing beats sausages." - -Bobby ordered sausages, though he would have preferred anything else. He -didn't want to argue. - -"Nothing beats sausages," said Uncle Simon again. - -Bobby concurred. - -Then the conversation languished, just as it may between two old friends -or boon companions who have no need to keep up talk. - -"Feeling all right this morning?" ventured Bobby. - -"Never felt better in my life," replied the other. "Never felt better in -my life. How did you manage to get home?" - -"Oh, I got home all right." - -Simon scarcely seemed to hear this comforting declaration; scrambled -eggs had been placed before him. - -Bobby, in sudden contemplation of a month of this business, almost -forgot his sausages. The true horror of Uncle Simon appeared to him now -for the first time. You see, he knew all the facts of the case. An -ordinary person, unknowing, would have accepted Simon as all right, but -it seemed to Bobby, now, that it would have been much better if his -companion had been decently and honestly mad, less uncanny. He was -obviously sane, though a bit divorced from things; obviously sane, and -eating scrambled eggs after sausages with the abandon of a schoolboy on -a holiday after a long term at a cheap school; sane, and enjoying -himself after a night like that--yet he was Simon Pettigrew. - -Then he noticed that Simon's eyes were constantly travelling, despite -the scrambled eggs, in a given direction. A pretty young girl was -breakfasting with a family party a little way off--that was the -direction. - -There was a mother, a father, something that looked like an uncle, what -appeared to be an aunt, and what appeared to be May dressed in a washing -silk blouse and plain skirt. - -November was glancing at May. - -Bobby remembered Miss Rossignol and felt a bit comforted; then he began -to feel uncomfortable: the aunt was looking fixedly at Simon. His -admiration had evidently been noted by Watchfulness; then the uncle -seemed to take notice. - -Bobby, blushing, tried to make conversation, and only got replies. -Then, to his relief, the family, having finished breakfast, withdrew, -and Simon became himself again, cheerful and burning for the pleasures -of the day before him, the pleasures to be got from London, money, and -youth. - -His conversation told this, and that he desired to include Bobby in the -scheme of things, and the young man could not help remembering -Thackeray's little story of how, coming up to London, he met a young -Oxford man in the railway carriage, a young man half-tipsy with the -prospect of a day in town and a "tear round"--with the prospect, nothing -more. - -"What are you going to do now?" asked Bobby, as the other rose from the -table. - -"Shaved," said Simon; "come along and get shaved; can't go about like -this." - -Bobby was already shaved, but he followed the other outside to a -barber's and sat reading a _Daily Mirror_ and waiting whilst Simon was -operated on. The latter, having been shaved, had his hair brushed and -trimmed, and all the time during these processes the barber spake in -this wise, Simon turning the monologue to a duologue. - -"Yes, sir, glorious weather, isn't it? London's pretty full, too, for -the time of year--fuller than I've seen for a long time. Ever tried face -massage, sir? Most comforting. Can be applied by yourself. Can sell you -a complete outfit, Parker's face cream and all, two pound ten. Thank -you, sir. Staying in the Charing Cross 'Otel? I'll have it sent to your -room. Yes, sir, the 'otel is full. There's a deal of money being spent -in London, sir. Raise your chin, sir, a leetle more. Ever try a Gillette -razor, sir? Useful should you wish to shave in a 'urry; beautiful -plated. This is it, sir--one guinea--shines like silver, don't it? Thank -you, sir, I'll send it up with the other. Yes, sir, it's most convenient -havin' a barber's close to the 'otel. I supply most of the 'otel people -with toilet rekisites. 'Air's a little thin on the top, sir; didn't mean -no offence, sir, maybe it's the light. Dry, that's what it is; it's the -'ot weather. Now, I'd recommend Coolers' Lotion followed after -application by Goulard's Brillantine. Oh, Lord, no, sir! _Them_ -brillantines is no use. Goulard's is the only real; costs a bit more, -but then, cheap brillantine is rewin. Thank you, sir. And how are you -off for 'air brushes, sir? There's a pair of bargains in that -show-case--travellers' samples--I can let you have, silver-plated, as -good as you'll get in London and 'arf the price. Shine, don't they? And -feel the bristles--real 'og. Thank you, sir. Two ten--one one--one -four--two ten--and a shillin' for the 'air cut and shave. No, sir, I -can't change an 'undred-pound note. A ten? Yes, I can manage a ten. -Thank you, sir." - -Seven pounds and sixpence for a hair-cut and shave--with accompaniments. -Bobby, tongue-tied and aghast, rose up. - -"'Air cut, sir?" asked the barber. - -"No, thanks," replied Bobby. - -Simon, having glanced at himself in the mirror, picked up his straw hat -and walking-stick, and taking the arm of his companion, out they walked. - -"Where are you going?" asked Bobby. - -"Anywhere," replied the other; "I want to get some change." - -"Why, you've got change!" - -Simon unlinked, and in the face of the Strand and the passers-by -produced from his pocket two hundred-pound notes, three or four -one-pound notes, and a ten-pound note; searching in his pockets to see -what gold he had, he dropped a hundred-pound note, which Bobby quickly -recovered. - -"Mind!" said Bobby. "You'll have those notes snatched." - -"That's all right," said Simon. - -He replaced the money in his pocket, and his companion breathed again. - -Bobby had borrowed five pounds from Tozer in view of possibilities. - -"Look here," said he, "what's the good of staying in London a glorious -day like this? Let's go somewhere quiet and enjoy ourselves--Richmond or -Greenwich or somewhere. I'll pay expenses and you need not bother about -change." - -"No, you won't," said Simon. "You're going to have some fun along with -me. What's the matter with London?" - -Bobby couldn't say. - -Renouncing the idea of the country, without any other idea to replace it -except to keep his companion walking and away from shops and bars and -girls, he let himself be led. They were making back towards Charing -Cross. At the _Bureau de Change_ Simon went in, the idea of changing a -hundred-pound note pursuing him. He wanted elbow-room for enjoyment, but -the Bureau refused to make change. The note was all right; perhaps it -was Simon that was the doubtful quantity. He had quite a little quarrel -over the matter and came out arm-in-arm with his companion and flushed. - -"Come along," said Bobby, a new idea striking him. "We'll get change -somewhere." - -From Charing Cross, through Cockspur Street, then through Pall Mall and -up St. James's Street they went, stopping at every likely and unlikely -place to find change. Engaged so, Simon at least was not spending money -or taking refreshment. They tried at shipping offices, at insurance -offices, at gun-shops and tailors, till the weary Bobby began to loathe -the business, began to feel that both he and his companion were under -suspicion and almost that the business they were on was doubtful. - -Simon, however, seemed to pursue it with zest and, now, without anger. -It seemed to Bobby as though he enjoyed being refused, as it gave him -another chance of entering another shop and showing that he had a -hundred-pound note to change--a horrible foolish satisfaction that put a -new edge to the affair. Simon was swanking. - -"Look here,", said the unfortunate, at last, "wasn't there a girl you -told me of last night you wanted to send flowers to? Let's go and get -them; then we can have a drink somewhere." - -"She'll wait," said Simon. "Besides, I've sent them. Come on." - -"Very well," said Bobby, in desperation. "I believe I know a place -where you can get your note changed; it's close by." - -They reached a cigar merchant's. It was the cigar merchants and -moneylenders that had often stood him in good stead. "Wait for me," said -Bobby, and he went in. Behind the counter was a gentleman recalling -Prince Florizel of Bohemia. - -"Good morning, Mr. Ravenshaw," said this individual. - -"Good morning, Alvarez," replied Bobby. "I haven't called about that -little account I owe you though--but cheer up. I've got you a new -customer--he wants a note changed." - -"What sort of note?" asked Alvarez. - -"A hundred-pound note; can you do it?" - -"If the note's all right." - -"Lord bless me, yes! I can vouch for that and for him; only he's strange -to London. He's got heaps of money, too, but you must promise not to -rook him too much over cigars, for he's a relative of mine." - -"Where is he?" asked Alvarez. - -"Outside." - -"Well, bring him in." - -Bobby went out. Uncle Simon was gone. Gone as though he had never been, -swallowed up in the passing crowd, fascinated away by heaven knows -what, and with all those bank-notes in his pocket. He might have got -into a sudden taxi or boarded an omnibus, or vanished up Sackville -Street or Albemarle Street; any passing fancy or sudden temptation would -have been sufficient. - -Bobby, hurrying towards St. James's Street to have a look down it, -stopped a policeman. - -"Have you seen an old gentleman--I mean a youngish-looking gentleman--in -a straw hat?" asked Bobby. "I've lost him." Scarcely waiting for the -inevitable reply, he hurried on, feeling that the constable must have -thought him mad. - -St. James's Street showed nothing of Simon. He was turning back when, -half-blind to everything but the object of his search, he almost ran -into the arms of Julia Delyse. She was carrying a parcel that looked -like a manuscript. - -"Why, Bobby, what is the matter with you?" asked Julia. - -"I'm looking for someone," said Bobby distractedly. "I've lost a -relative of mine." - -"I wish it were one of mine," said Julia. "What sort of relative?" - -"An oldish man in a straw hat. Walk down a bit; you look that side of -the street and I'll watch this; he _may_ have gone into a shop--and I -_must_ get hold of him." - -He walked rapidly on, and Julia, sucked for a moment into this whirlpool -of an Uncle Simon that had already engulfed Mudd, Bobby, and the good -name of the firm of Pettigrew, toiled beside him till they came nearly -to the Park railings. - -"He's gone," said Bobby, stopping suddenly dead. "It's no use; he's -gone." - -"Well, you'll find him again," said Julia hopefully. "Relatives always -turn up." - -"Oh, he's sure to turn up," said the other, "and that's what I'm -dreading--it's the way he'll turn up that's bothering me." - -"I could understand you better if I knew what you meant," said Julia. -"Let's walk back; this is out of my direction." - -They turned. - -Despite his perplexity and annoyance, Bobby could not suppress a feeling -of relief at having done with the business for a moment; all the same, -he was really distressed. The craving for counsel and companionship in -thought seized him. - -"Julia, can you keep a secret?" asked he. - -"Tight," said Julia. - -"Well, it's my uncle." - -"You've lost?" - -"Yes; and he's got his pockets full of hundred-pound bank-notes--and -he's no more fit to be trusted with them than a child." - -"What a delightful uncle!" - -"Don't laugh; it's serious." - -"He's not mad, is he?" - -"No, that's the worst of it. He's got one of these beastly new -diseases--I don't know what it is, but as far as I can make out it's as -if he'd got young again without remembering what he is." - -"How interesting!" - -"Yes, you would find him very interesting if you had anything to do with -him; but, seriously, something has to be done. There's the family name -and there's his business." He explained the case of Simon as well as he -could. - -Julia did not seem in the least shocked. - -"But I think it's beautiful," she broke out. "Strange--but in a way -beautiful and pathetic. Oh, if _only_ a few more people could do the -same--become young, do foolish things instead of this eternal grind of -common sense, hard business, and everything that ruins the world!" - -Bobby tried to imagine the world with an increased population of the -brand of Uncle Simon, and failed. - -"I know," he said, "but it will be the ruin of his business and -reputation. Abstractly, I don't deny there's something to be said for -it, but in the concrete it don't work. Do think, and let's try to find a -way out." - -"I'm thinking," said Julia. - -Then, after a pause: - -"You must get him away from London." - -"That was my idea, but he won't go, not even to Richmond for a few -hours. He won't leave London." - -"There's a place in Wessex I know," said Julia, "where there's a -charming little hotel. I was down there for a week in May. You might -take him there." - -"We'd never get him into the train." - -"Take him in a car." - -"Might do that," said Bobby. "What's the name of it?" - -"Upton-on-Hill; and I'll tell you what, I'll go down with you, if you -like, and help to watch him. I'd like to study him." - -"I'll think of it," said Bobby hurriedly. The affair of Uncle Simon was -taking a new turn; like Fate, it was trying to force him into closer -contact with Julia. Craving for someone to help him to think, he had -welded himself to Julia with this family secret for solder. The idea of -a little hotel in the country with Julia, ever ready for embracements -and passionate scenes, the knowledge that he was almost half-engaged to -her, the instinct that she would suck him into cosy corners and -arbours--all this frankly frightened him. He was beginning to recognise -that Julia was quite light and almost brilliant in the street when -love-making was impossible, but impossibly heavy and dull, though -mesmeric, when alone with him with her head on his shoulder. And away in -the distance of his mind a deformed sort of common sense was telling him -that if once Julia got a good long clutch on him she would marry him; he -would pass from whirlpool to whirlpool of cosy corner and arbour over -the rapids of marriage with Julia clinging to him. - -"I'll think of it," said he. "What's its name?" - -"The Rose Hotel, Upton-on-Hill--think of Upton Sinclair. It's a jolly -little place, and such a nice landlord; we'd have a jolly time, Bobby. -Bobby, have you forgotten yesterday?" - -"No," said Bobby, from his heart. - -"I didn't sleep a wink last night," said the lady of the red hair. "Did -you?" - -"Scarcely." - -"Do you know," said she, "this is almost like Fate. It gives us a -chance to meet under the same roof quite properly since your uncle is -there--not that I care a button for the world, but still, there are the -proprieties, aren't there?" - -"There are." - -"Wait for me," said she. "I want to go into my publishers' with this -manuscript." - -They had reached a fashionable publishers' office that had the -appearance of a bank premises. In she went, returning in a moment -empty-handed. - -"Now I'm free," said she; "free for a month. What are you doing to-day?" - -"I'll be looking for Uncle Simon," he replied. "I must rush back to the -Charing Cross Hotel, and after that--I must go on hunting. I'll see you -to-morrow, Julia." - -"Are you staying at the Charing Cross?" - -"No, I'm staying at B12, the Albany, with a man called Tozer." - -"I wish we could have had the day together. Well, to-morrow, then." - -"To-morrow," said Bobby. - -He put her into a taxi and she gave the address of a female literary -club, then when the taxi had driven away he returned to the Charing -Cross Hotel. - -There he found Mudd, who had just returned. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE HOME OF THE NIGHTINGALES - - -Mudd, with the ten-pound note and the written address, had started that -morning with the intention of doing another errand as well. He first -took a cab to King Charles Street. It was a relief to find it there, and -that the house had not been burned down in the night. Fire was one of -Mudd's haunting dreads--fire and the fear of a mistress. He had -extinguishing-bombs hung in every passage, besides red, cone-shaped -extinguishers. If he could have had bombs to put out the flames of love -and keep women away he no doubt would have had them. - -Mrs. Jukes received him, and he enquired if the plate had been locked -up. Then he visited his own room and examined his bank-book to see if it -were safe and untampered with; then he had a glass of ginger wine for -his stomach's sake. - -"Where are you off to now?" asked Mrs. Jukes. - -"On business for the master," replied Mudd. "I've some law papers to -take to an address. Lord! look at those brasses! Haven't the girls no -hands? Place going to rack and ruin if I leave it two instant minits. -And look at that fender--sure you put the chain on the hall door last -night?" - -"Sure." - -"Well, be sure you do it, for there's another Jack-the-Ripper chap goin' -about the West End, I've heard, and he may be in on you if you don't." - -Having frightened Mrs. Jukes into the sense of the necessity for chains -as well as bolts, Mudd put on his hat, blew his nose, and departed, -banging the door behind him and making sure it was shut. - -There is a flower shop in the street at the end of King Charles Street. -He entered, bought his bouquet, and with it in his hand left the -establishment. He was looking for a cab to hide himself in; he found -none, but he met a fellow butler, Judge Ponsonby's man. - -"Hello, Mr. Mudd," said the other; "going courting?" - -"Mrs. Jukes asked me to take them to a female friend that's goin' to be -married," said Mudd. - -The bouquet was not extraordinarily large, but it seemed to grow -larger. - -Condemned to take an omnibus in lieu of a cab, it seemed to fill the -omnibus; people looked at it and then at Mudd. It seemed to him that he -was condemned to carry Simon's folly bare in the face of the world. Then -he remembered what he had said about the recipient going to be married. -Was that an omen? - -Mudd believed in omens. If his elbow itched--and it had itched -yesterday--he was going to sleep in a strange bed; he never killed -spiders, and he tested "strangers" in the tea-cup to see if they were -male or female. - -The omen was riding him now, and he got out of the omnibus and sought -the street of his destination, feeling almost as though he were a -fantastic bridesmaid at some nightmare wedding, with Simon in the rle -of groom. - -That Simon should select a wife in this gloomy street off Leicester -Square, and in this drab-looking house at whose door he was knocking, -did not occur to Mudd. What did occur to him was that some hussy living -in this house had put her spell on Simon and might select him for a -husband, marry him at a registrar office before his temporary youth had -departed, and come and reign at Charles Street. - -Mudd's dreaded imaginary mistress had always figured in his mind's eye -as a stout lady--eminently a lady--who would interfere with his ideas of -how the brasses ought to be polished, interfere with tradesmen, order -Mudd about, and make herself generally a nuisance; this new imaginary -horror was a "painted slut," who would bring ridicule and disgrace on -Simon and all belonging to him. - -Mudd had the fine feelings of an old maid on matters like this, backed -by a fine knowledge of what elderly men are capable of in the way of -folly with women. - -Did not Mr. Justice Thurlow marry his cook? - -He rang at the dingy hall door and it was opened by a dingy little girl -in a print dress. - -"Does Miss Rosinol live here?" asked Mudd. - -"Yus." - -"Can I see her?" - -"Wait a minit," said the dingy one. She clattered up the stairs; she -seemed to wear hobnailed boots to judge by the noise. A minute elapsed, -and then she clattered down again. - -"Come in, plaaze," said the little girl. - -Mudd obeyed and followed upstairs, holding on to the shaky banister with -his left hand, carrying the bouquet in his right, feeling as though he -were a vicious man walking upstairs in a dream; feeling no longer like -Mudd. - -The little girl opened a door, and there was the "painted hussy"--old -Madame Rossignol sitting at a table with books spread open before her -and writing. - -She translated--as before said--English books into French, novels -mostly. - -The bouquet of last night had been broken up; there were flowers in -vases and about the room; despite its shabbiness, there was an -atmosphere of cleanliness and high decency that soothed the stricken -soul of Mudd. - -"I'm Mr. Pettigrew's man," said Mudd, "and he asked me to bring you -these flowers." - -"Ah, Monsieur Seemon Pattigrew," cried the old lady, her face lighting. -"Come in, monsieur. Cerise!--Cerise!--a gentilmon from Mr. Pattigrew. -Will you not take a seat, monsieur?" - -Mudd, handing over the flowers, sat down, and at that moment in came -Cerise from the bedroom adjoining. Cerise, fresh and dainty, with wide -blue eyes that took in Mudd and the flowers, that seemed to take in at -the same time the whole of spring and summer. - -"Poor, but decent," said Mudd to himself. - -"Monsieur," said the old lady, as Cerise ran off to get a bowl to put -the flowers in, "you are as welcome to us as your good kind master who -saved my daughter yesterday. Will you convey to him our deepest respects -and our thanks?" - -"Saved her?" said Mudd. - -Madame explained. Cerise, arranging the flowers, joined in; they waxed -enthusiastic. Never had Mudd been so chattered to before. He saw the -whole business and guessed how the land lay now. He felt deeply -relieved. Madame inspired him with instinctive confidence; Cerise in her -youth and innocence repelled any idea of marriage between herself and -Simon. But they'd got to be warned, somehow, that Simon was off the -spot. He began the warning seated there before the women and rubbing his -knees gently, his eyes wandering about as though seeking inspiration -from the furniture. - -Mr. Pettigrew was a very good master, but he had to be took care of; his -health wasn't what it might be. He was older than he looked, but lately -he had had an illness that had made him suddenly grow young again, as -you might say; the doctors could not make it out, but he was just like a -child sometimes, as you might say. - -"I said it," cut in Madame. "A boy--that is his charm." - -Well, Mudd did not know anything about charms, but he was often very -anxious about Mr. Pettigrew. Then, little by little, the confidence the -women inspired opened his flood-gates and his suppressed emotions came -out. - -London was not good for Mr. Pettigrew's health--that was the truth; he -ought to be got away quiet and out of excitement--doorknockers rose up -before him as he said this--but he was very self-willed. It was strange -a gentleman getting young again like this, and a great perplexity and -trouble to an old man like him, Mudd. - -"Ah, monsieur, he has been always young," said Madame; "that heart could -never grow old." - -Mudd shook his head. - -"I've known him for forty year," said he, "and it has hit me cruel hard, -his doing things he's never done before--not much; but there you -are--he's different." - -"I have known an old gentleman," said Madame--"Monsieur de Mirabole--he, -too, changed to be quite gay and young, as though spring had come to -him. He wrote me verses," laughed Madame. "Me, an old woman! I humoured -him, did I not, Cerise? But I never read his verses; I could not humour -him to that point." - -"What happened to him?" asked Mudd gloomily. - -"Oh dear, he fell in love with Cerise," said Madame. "He was very rich; -he wanted to marry Cerise, did he not, Cerise?" - -"Oui, maman," replied Cerise, finishing the flowers. - -All this hit Mudd pleasantly. Sincere as sunshine, patently, obviously, -truthful, this pair of females were beyond suspicion on the charge of -setting nets for Simon. Also, and for the first time in his life, he -came to know the comfort of a female mind when in trouble. His troubles -up to this had been mostly about uncleaned brasses, corked wine, letters -forgotten to be posted. In this whirlpool of amazement, like Poe's man -in the descent of the maelstrom, who, clinging to a barrel, found that -he was being sucked down slower, Mudd, clinging now to the female -saving-something--sense, clarity of outlook, goodness, call it what you -will--found comfort. - -He had opened his mind, the nightmare had lifted somewhat. Opening his -mind to Bobby had not relieved him in the least; on the contrary, -talking with Bobby, the situation had seemed more insane than ever. The -two rigid masculine minds had followed one another, incapable of mutual -help; the buoyant female - -Something incapable of strict definition was now to Mudd as the -supporting barrel. He clutched at the idea of old Monsieur de Mirabole, -who had got young again without coming to much mischief; he felt that -Simon in falling upon these two females had fallen amongst pillows. He -told them of Simon's message, that he would call upon them later in the -day, and they laughed. - -"He will be safe with us," said Madame; "we will not let him come to -'arm. Do not be alarmed, Monsieur Mudd, the bon Dieu will surely protect -an innocent so charming, so good--so much goodness may walk alone, even -amongst tigers, even amongst lions; it will come to no 'arm. We will see -that he returns to the Sharing Cross 'Otel--I will talk to 'im." - -Mudd departed, relieved, so great is the power of goodness, even though -it shines in the persons of an impoverished old French lady and a girl -whose innocence is her only strength. - -But his relief was not to be of long duration, for on entering the -hotel, as before said, he met Bobby. "He's gone," said Bobby; "given me -the slip; and he has two hundred-pound bank-notes with him, to say -nothing of the rest." - -"Oh, Lord!" said Mudd. - -"Can he have gone to see that girl? What's her address?" - -"What girl?" asked Mudd. - -"The girl you took the flowers to." - -"I've just been," said Mudd. "No, he wasn't there. Wish he was; it's an -old lady." - -"Old lady!" - -"And her daughter. They're French folk, poor but honest, not a scrap of -harm in them." He explained the Rossignol affair. - -"Well, there's nothing to be done but sit down and wait," said Bobby. - -"It's easy to say that. Me, with my nerves near gone." - -"I know; mine are nearly as bad. 'Pon my soul, it's just as if one had -lost a child. Mudd, we've got to get him out of London; we've got to do -it." - -"Get him back first," said Mudd. "Get him back alive with all that money -in his pocket. He'll be murdered before night, that's my opinion, I know -London; or gaoled--and he'll give his right name." - -"We'll tip the reporters if he is," said Bobby, "and keep it out of the -papers. I was run in once and I know the ropes. Cheer up, Mudd, and go -and have a whisky-and-soda; you want bucking up, and so do I." - -"Bucking up!" said Mudd. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE FLIGHT OF THE DRAGON-FLY - - -One of the pleasantest, yet perhaps most dangerous, points about Simon -Pettigrew's condition was his un-English open-heartedness towards -strangers--strangers that pleased him. A disposition, in fact, to chum -up with anything that appealed to him, without question, without -thought. Affable strangers, pretty girls--it was all the same to Simon. - -Now, when Bobby Ravenshaw went into the cigar merchant's, leaving Simon -outside, he had not noticed particularly a large Dragon-Fly car, -claret-coloured and adorned with a tiny monogram on the door-panel, -which was standing in front of the shop immediately on the right. It was -the property of the Hon. Dick Pugeot, and just as Bobby disappeared into -the tobacconist's the Hon. Dick appeared from the doorstep of the -next-door shop. - -Dick Pugeot, late of the Guards, was a big, yellow man, quite young, -perhaps not more than twenty-five, yet with a serious and fatherly face -and an air that gave him another five years of apparent age. This -serious and fatherly appearance was deceptive. With the activity of a -gnat, a disregard of all consequences, a big fortune, a good heart, and -a taste for fun of any sort as long as it kept him moving, Dick Pugeot -was generally in trouble of some kind or another. His crave for speed on -the road was only equal to his instinct for fastness in other respects, -but, up to this, thanks to luck and his own personality, he had, with -the exception of a few endorsed licences and other trifles of that sort, -always escaped. - -But once he had come very near to a real disaster. Some eighteen months -ago he found himself involved with a lady, a female shark in the guise -of an angel, a--to put it in his own language--"bad 'un." - -The bad 'un had him firmly hooked. She was a Countess, too! and fried -and eaten he undoubtedly would have been had not the wisdom of an uncle -saved him. - -"Go to my solicitor, Pettigrew," said the uncle. "If she were an -ordinary card-sharper I would advise you to go to Marcus Abraham, but, -seeing what she is, Pettigrew is the man. He wouldn't take up an -ordinary case of this sort, but, seeing what she is, and considering -that you are my nephew, he'll do it--and he knows all the ins and outs -of her family. There's nothing he doesn't know about us." - -"Us" meaning people of high degree. - -Pugeot went, and Simon took up the case, and in forty-eight hours the -fish was off the hook, frantically grateful. He presented Simon with a -silver wine-cooler and then forgot him, till this moment, when, coming -out of Spud and Simpson's shop, he saw Simon standing on the pavement -smoking a cigar and watching the pageant of the street. - -Simon's new clothes and holiday air and straw hat put him off for a -moment, but it was Pettigrew right enough. - -"Hello, Pettigrew!" said Pugeot. - -"Hello," said Simon, pleased with the heartiness and appearance of this -new friend. - -"Why, you look quite gay," said Pugeot. "What are you up to?" - -"Out for some fun," said Simon. "What are you up to?" - -"Same as you," replied Pugeot, delighted, amused, and surprised at -Simon's manner and reply, the vast respect he had for his astuteness -greatly amplified by this evidence of mundane leanings. "Get into the -car; I've got to call at Panton Street for a moment, and then we'll go -and have luncheon or something." - -He opened the car door and Simon hopped in; then he gave the address to -the driver and the car drove off. - -"Well, I never expected to see you this morning," said Pugeot. "Never -can feel grateful enough to you either--you've nothing special to do, -have you? Anywhere I can drive you to?" - -"I've got to see a girl," said Simon, "but she can wait." - -Pugeot laughed. - -That explained the summer garb and straw hat, but the frankness came to -him with the weest bit of a shock. However, he was used to shocks, and -if old Simon Pettigrew was running after girls it was no affair of his. -It was a good joke, though, despite the fact that he could never tell -it. Pugeot was not the man to tell tales out of school. - -"Look here," said Simon, suddenly producing his notes, "I want to change -a hundred; been trying to do it in a lot of shops. You can't have any -fun without some money." - -"Don't you worry," said Pugeot. "This is my show." - -"I want to change a hundred," said Simon, with the persistency of Toddy -wanting to see the wheels go round. - -"Well, I'll get you change, though you don't really want it. Why, you've -got two hundred there--and a tenner!" - -"It's not too much to have a good time with." - -"Oh my!" said Pugeot. "Well, if you're on the razzle-dazzle, I'm with -you, Pettigrew. I feel safe with you, in a way; there's not much you -don't know." - -"Not much," said Simon, puffing himself. - -The car stopped. - -"A minute," said Pugeot. Out he jumped, transacted his business, and was -back again under five minutes. There was a new light in his sober eye. - -"Let's go and have a slap at the Wilderness," said he, lowering his -voice a tone. "You know the Wilderness. I can get you in--jolly good -fun." - -"Right," said Simon. - -Pugeot gave an address to the driver and off they went. They stopped in -a narrow street and Pugeot led the way into a house. - -In the hall of this house he had an interview with a pale-faced -individual in black, an evil, weary-looking person who handed Simon a -visitors' book to sign. They then went into a bar, where Simon imbibed a -cocktail, and from the bar they went upstairs. - -Pugeot opened a door and disclosed Monte Carlo. - -A Monte Carlo shrunk to one room and one table. This was the Wilderness -Club, and around the table were grouped men of all ages and sizes, some -of them of the highest social standing. - -The stakes were high. - -Just as a child gobbles a stolen apple, so these gentlemen seemed to be -trying to make as much out of their furtive business as they could and -get away, winners or losers, as soon as possible lest worse befel them. -Added to the uneasiness of the gambler was the uneasiness of the -law-breaker, the two uneasinesses, combined making a mental cocktail -that, to a large number of the frequenters, had a charm far above -anything to be obtained in a legitimate gambling-shop on the Continent. - -This place supplied Oppenshaw with some of his male patients. - -Pugeot played and lost, and then Simon plunged. - -They were there an hour, and in that hour Simon won seven hundred -pounds! - -Then Pugeot, far more delighted than he, dragged him away. - -It was now nearly one o'clock, and downstairs they had luncheon, of a -sort, and a bottle of cliquot, of a sort. - -"You came in with two hundred and you are going out with nine," said -Pugeot. "I am so jolly glad--you _have_ the luck. When we've finished -we'll go for a great tearing spin and get the air. You'd better get a -cap somewhere; that straw hat will be blown to Jericho. You've never -seen Randall drive? He beats me. We'll run round to my rooms and get -coats--the old car is a Dragon-Fly. I want to show you what a Dragon-Fly -can really do on the hard high-road out of sight of traffic. Two -Benedictines, please." - -They stopped at Scott's, where Simon invested in a cap; then they went -to Pugeot's rooms, where overcoats were obtained. Then they started. - -Pugeot was nicknamed the Baby--Baby Pugeot--and the name sometimes -applied. Mixed with his passion for life, he loved fresh air and a good -many innocent things, speed amongst them. Randall, the chauffeur, seemed -on all fours with him in the latter respect, and the Dragon-Fly was an -able instrument. Clearing London, they made through Sussex for the sea. -The day was perfect and filled for miles with the hum of the Dragon-Fly. -At times they were doing a good seventy miles, at times less; then came -the Downs and a vision of the sea--seacoast towns through which they -passed picking up petrol and liquid refreshments. At Hastings, or -somewhere, where they indulged in a light and early dinner, the vision -of Cerise, always like a guardian angel, arose before the remains of the -mind of Simon, and her address. He wanted to go there at once, which was -manifestly impossible. He tried to explain her to Pugeot, who at the -same time was trying to explain a dark-eyed girl he had met at a dance -the week before last and who was haunting him. "Can't get her blessed -eyes out of my head, my dear chap; and she's engaged two deep to a chap -in the Carabineers, without a cent to his name and a pile of debts as -big as Mount Ararat. She won't be happy--that's what's gettin' me; she -won't be happy. How can she be happy with a chap like that, without a -cent to his name and a pile of debts? Lord, _I_ can't understand women, -they're beyond me. Waiter, _con_found you! do you call this stuff -asparagus? Take it away! Not a cent to her name--and tied to him for -years, maybe. I mean to say, it's absurd.... What were you saying? Oh -yes, I'll take you there--it's only round the corner, so to speak. -Randall will do it. The Dragon-Fly'll have us there in no time. Do you -remember, was this Hastings or Bognor? Waiter, hi! Is this Hastings or -Bognor? All your towns are so confoundedly alike there's no telling -which is which, and I've been through twenty. Hastings, that'll do; put -your information down in the bill--if you can find room for it. You -needn't be a bit alarmed, old chap, she'll be there all right. You said -you sent her those flowers? Well, that will keep her all right and -happy. I mean to say, she'll be right--_ab_solutely--I know women from -hoof to mane. No, no pudding. Bill, please." - -Then they were out in the warm summer twilight listening to a band. Then -they were getting into the car, and Pugeot was saying to Simon: - -"It's a jolly good thing we've got a teetotum driver. What _you_ say, -old chap?" - -Then the warm and purring night took them and sprinkled stars over them, -and a great moon rose behind, which annoyed Pugeot, who kept looking -back at it, abusing it because the reflection from the wind-screen got -in his eyes. Then they burst a tyre and Pugeot, instantly becoming -condensedly clever and active and clear of speech, insisted on putting -on the spare wheel himself. He had a long argument with Randall as to -which was the front and which was the back of the wheel--not the -sideways front and back, but the foreways front and back, Randall -insisting gently that it did not matter. Then the wheel on and all the -nuts re-tested by Randall--an operation which Pugeot took as a sort of -personal insult; the jack was taken down, and Pugeot threw it into a -ditch. They would not want it again as they had not another spare wheel, -and it was a nuisance anyhow, but Randall, with the good humour and -patience which came to him from a salary equal to the salary of a -country curate, free quarters and big tips and perquisites, recovered -the jack and they started. - -A town and an inn that absolutely refused to serve the smiling motorists -with anything stronger than "minerals" was passed. Then ten miles -further on the lights of a town hull down on the horizon brought the dry -"insides" to a dear consideration of the position. - -The town developing an inn, Randall was sent, as the dove from the ark, -with a half-sovereign, and returned with a stone demijohn and two -glasses. It was beer. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -NINE HUNDRED POUNDS - - -Bobby Ravenshaw did not spend the day at the Charing Cross Hotel waiting -for Simon; he amused himself otherwise, leaving Mudd to do the waiting. - -At eleven o'clock he called at the hotel. Mr. Mudd was upstairs in Mr. -Pettigrew's room, and he would be called down. - -Bobby thought that he could trace a lot of things in the porter's tone -and manner, a respect and commiseration for Mr. Mudd and perhaps not -quite such a high respect for himself and Simon. He fancied that the -hotel was beginning to have its eye upon him and Simon as questionable -parties of the _bon vivant_ type--a fancy that may have been baseless, -but was still there. - -Then Mudd appeared. - -"Well, Mudd," said Bobby, "hasn't he turned up yet?" - -"No, Mr. Robert." - -"Where on earth can he be?" - -"I'm givin' him till half-past eleven," said Mudd, "and then I'm off to -Vine Street." - -"What on earth for?" - -"To have the hospitals circulated to ask about him." - -"Oh, nonsense!" - -"It's on my mind he's had an accident," said Mudd. "Robbed and stunned, -or drugged with opium and left in the street. I know London--and him as -he is! He'll be found with his pockets inside out--I know London. You -should have got him down to the country to-day, Mr. Robert, somewhere -quiet; now, maybe, it's too late." - -"It's very easy to say that. I tried to, and he wouldn't go, not even to -Richmond. London seems to hold him like a charm; he's like a bee in a -bottle--can't escape." - -At this moment a horrid little girl in a big hat and feathers, boots too -large for her, and a shawl, made her appearance at the entrance door, -saw the hall porter and came towards him. She had a letter in her hand. - -The hall porter took the letter, looked at it, and brought it to Mudd. - -Mudd glanced at the envelope and tore it open. - - - "10, DUKE STREET, - "LEICESTER SQUARE - - "MR. MODD, - - "Come at once. - - "CELESTINE ROSSIGNOL." - - -That was all, written in an angular, old-fashioned hand and in purple -ink. - -"Where's my hat?" cried Mudd, running about like a decapitated fowl. -"Where's my hat? Oh ay, it's upstairs!" He vanished, and in a minute -reappeared with his hat; then, with Bobby, and followed by the dirty -little girl trotting behind them, off they started. - -They tried to question the little girl on the way, but she knew nothing -definite. - -The gentleman had been brought 'ome--didn't know what was wrong with -him; the lady had given her the letter to take; that was all she knew. - -"He's alive, anyway," said Bobby. - -"The Lord knows!" said Mudd. - -The little girl let them in with a key and, Mudd leading the way, up the -stairs they went. - -Mudd knocked at the door of the sitting-room. - -Madame and Cerise were there, quite calm, and evidently waiting; of -Simon there was not a trace. - -"Oh, Mr. Modd," cried the old lady, "how fortunate you have received my -letter! Poor Monsieur Pattigrew----" - -"He ain't dead?" cried Mudd. - -No, Simon was not dead. She told. Poor Monsieur Pattigrew and a very big -gentleman had arrived over an hour ago. Mr. Pattigrew could not stand; -he had been taken ill, the big gentleman had declared. Such a nice -gentleman, who had sat down and cried whilst Mr. Pattigrew had been -placed on the sofa--taken ill in the street. The big gentleman had gone -for a doctor, but had not yet returned. Mr. Pattigrew had been put to -bed. She and the big gentleman had seen to that. - -Mr. Pattigrew had recovered consciousness for a moment during this -operation and had produced a number of bank-notes--such a number! She -had placed them safely in her desk; that was one of the reasons she had -sent so urgently for Mr. Modd. - -She produced the notes--a huge sheaf. - -Mudd took them and examined them dazedly, hundreds and hundreds of -pounds' worth of notes; and he had only started with two hundred pounds! - -"Why, there's nearly a thousand pounds' worth here," said Mudd. - -Bobby's astonishment might have been greater had not his eyes rested, -from the first moment of their coming in, on Cerise. Cerise with parted -lips, a heightened colour, and the air of a little child at a play she -did not quite understand. - -She was lovely. French, innocent, lovely as a flower--a new thing in -London, he had never seen anything quite like her before. The poverty of -the room, Uncle Simon, his worries and troubles, all were banished or -eased. She was music, and if Saul could have seen her he would have had -no need for David. - -Had Uncle Simon added burglary to knocker-snatching, broken into a -jeweller's and disposed of his takings to a "fence," committed robbery? -All these thoughts strayed over his mind, harmless because of Cerise. - -The unfortunate young man, who had fooled so long with girls, had met -the girl who had been waiting for him since the beginning of the world. -There is always that; she may be blowsy, she may be plain, or lovely -like Cerise--she is Fate. - -"And here is the big gentleman's card," said Madame, taking a visiting -card from her desk, then another and another. - -"He gave me three." - -Mudd handed the card to Bobby, who read: - - - "THE HON. RICHARD PUGEOT, - "PALL MALL PLACE, ST. JAMES. - - "GUARDS' CLUB." - - -"I know him," said Bobby. "_That's_ all right, and Uncle Simon couldn't -have fallen into better hands." - -"Is, then, Monsieur Pattigrew your oncle?" asked the old lady. - -"He is, Madame." - -"Then you are thrice welcome here, monsieur," said she. - -Cerise looked the words, and Bobby's eyes as they met hers returned -thanks. - -"Come," said Madame, "you shall see him and that he is safe." - -She gently opened the door leading to the bedroom, and there, in a -little bed, dainty and white--Cerise's little bed--lay Uncle Simon, -flushed and smiling and snoring. - -"Poor Monsieur Pattigrew!" murmured the old lady. - -Then they withdrew. - -It seemed that there was another bed to be got in the house for Cerise, -and Mudd, taking charge of the patient, the ladies withdrew. It was -agreed that no doctor was wanted. It was also agreed between Bobby and -Mudd that the hotel was impossible after this. - -"We must get him away to the country tomorrow," said Mudd, "if he'll -go." - -"He'll go, if I have to take him tied up and bound," said Bobby. "My -nerves won't stand another day of this. Take care of those notes, Mudd, -and don't let him see them. They'll be useful getting him away. I'll be -round as early as I can. I'll see Pugeot and get the rights of the -matter from him. Good night." - -Off he went. - -In the street he paused for a moment, then he took a passing taxi for -the Albany. - -Tozer was in, playing patience and smoking. He did not interrupt his -game for the other. - -"Well, how's Uncle Simon?" asked Tozer. - -"He's asleep at last after a most rampageous day." - -"You look pretty sober." - -"Don't mention it," said Bobby, going to a tantalus case and helping -himself to some whisky. "My nerves are all unstrung." - -"Trailing after him?" - -"Thank God, no!" said Bobby. "Waiting for him to turn up dead, bruised, -battered, or simply intoxicated and stripped of his money. He gave me -the slip in Piccadilly with two hundred-pound notes in his pocket. The -next place I find him was half an hour ago in a young lady's bed, dead -to the world, smiling, and with nearly a thousand pounds in bank-notes -he'd hived somehow during the day." - -"A thousand pounds!" - -"Yes, and he'd only started with two hundred." - -"I say," said Tozer, forgetting his cards, "what a chap he must have -been when he was young!" - -"When he _was_ young! Lord, I don't want to see him any younger than he -is; if this is youth, give me old age." - -"You'll get it fast enough," said Tozer, "don't you worry; and this will -be a reminder to you to keep old. There's an Arab proverb that says, -'There are two things colder than ice, an old young man and a young old -man.'" - -"Colder than ice!" said Bobby. "I wish you had five minutes with Uncle -Simon." - -"But who was this lady--this young----" - -"Two of the nicest people on earth," said Bobby, "an old lady and her -daughter--French. He saved the girl in an omnibus accident or something -in one of his escapades, and took her home to her mother. Then to-night -he must have remembered them, and got a friend to take him there. Fancy, -the cheek! What made him, in his state, able to remember them?" - -"What is the young lady like?" - -"She's beautiful," said Bobby; then he took a sip of whisky-and-soda and -failed to meet Tozer's eye as he put down the glass. - -"That's what made him remember her," said Tozer. - -Bobby laughed. - -"It's no laughing matter," said the other, "at his age--when the heart -is young." - -Bobby laughed again. - -"Bobby," said Tozer, "beware of that girl." - -"I'm not thinking of the girl," said Bobby; "I'm thinking how on earth -the old man----" - -"The youth, you mean." - -"Got all that money." - -"You're a liar," said Tozer; "you are thinking of the girl." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -PALL MALL PLACE - - -"Higgs!" cried the Hon. Richard Pugeot. - -"Sir?" answered a voice from behind the silk curtains cutting off the -dressing and bathroom from the bedroom. - -"What o'clock is it?" - -"Just gone eight, sir." - -"Get me some soda-water." - -"Yes, sir." - -The Hon. Richard lay still. - -Higgs, a clean-shaven and smart-looking young man, appeared with a -bottle of Schweppes and a tumbler on a salver. - -The cork popped and the sufferer drank. - -"What o'clock did I come home?" - -"After twelve, sir--pretty nigh one." - -"Was there anyone with me?" - -"No, sir." - -"No old gentleman?" - -"No, sir." - -"Was Randall there?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"And the car?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"There was no old gentleman in the car?" - -"No, sir." - -"Good heavens!" said Pugeot. "What can I have done with him?" - -Higgs, not knowing, said nothing, moving about putting things in order -and getting his master's bath ready. - -"I've lost an old gentleman, Higgs," said Pugeot, for Higgs was a -confidential servant as well as a valet. - -"Indeed, sir," said Higgs, as though losing old gentlemen was as common -as losing umbrellas. - -"And the whole business is so funny I can scarcely believe it's true. I -haven't a touch of the jim-jams, have I, Higgs?" - -"Lord, sir, no! You're all right." - -"Am I? See here, Higgs. Yesterday morning I met old Mr. Simon Pettigrew, -the lawyer; mind, you are to say nothing about this to anyone--but stay -a moment, go into the sitting-room and fetch me _Who's Who_." - -Higgs fetched the book. - -"'Pettigrew, Simon,'" read out Pugeot, with the book resting on his -knees, "'Justice of the Peace for Herts--President of the United Law -Society--Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries'--h'm, h'm--'Club, -Athenum.' Well, I met the old gentleman in Piccadilly. We went for a -spin together, and the last thing I remember was seeing him chasing a -stableman round some inn yard, where we had stopped for petrol or whisky -or something; chasing him round with a bucket. He was trying to put the -bucket over the stableman's head." - -"Fresh," said Higgs. - -"As you say, fresh--but I want to know, was that an optical illusion? -There were other things, too. If it wasn't an optical illusion I want to -know what has become of the old gentleman? I'm nervous--for he did me a -good turn once, and I hope to heaven I haven't let him in for any -bother." - -"Well, sir," said Higgs, "I wouldn't worry, not if I were you. It was -only his little lark, and most likely he's home safe by this." - -"I have also a recollection of two ladies that got mixed up in the -affair," went on the other, "but who they were I can't say. Little lark! -The bother of it is, Higgs, one can't play little larks like that, -safely, if one is a highly respectable person and a J.P. and a member -of the what's-its-name society." - -He got up and tubbed and dressed, greatly troubled in his mind. People -sucked into the Simon-whirl were generally troubled in their minds, so -great is the Power of High Respectability when linked to the follies of -youth. - -At breakfast Mr. Robert Ravenshaw's card was presented by Higgs. - -"Show him in," said Pugeot. - -"Hullo, Ravenshaw!" said Pugeot. "Glad to see you. Have you had -breakfast?" - -"Yes, thanks. I only called for a moment to see you about my uncle." - -"Which uncle?" - -"Pettigrew----" - -"Good heavens! You don't say he's----" - -Bobby explained. - -It was like a millstone removed from Pugeot's neck. - -Then he, in his turn, explained. - -Then Bobby went into details. - -Then they consulted. - -"You can't get him out of London without telling him where you are -taking him to," said Pugeot. "He'll kick the car over on the road if -he's anything like what he was last night. Leave it to me and _I'll_ do -the trick. But the question is, where shall we take him? There's no use -going to a place like Brighton; too many attractions for him. A moated -grange is what he wants, and even then he'll be tumbling into the moat." - -"I know of a place," said Bobby, "down at Upton-on-Hill. A girl told me -of it; it's the Rose Hotel." - -"I know it," said Pugeot; "couldn't be better. I have a cousin there -living at a place called The Nook. There's a bowling-green at the hotel -and a golf-course near. Can't hurt himself. Leave it all to me." - -He told Higgs to telephone for the car, and then they sat and smoked -whilst Pugeot showed Bobby just the way to deal with people of Uncle -Simon's description. - -"It's all nonsense, that doctor man's talk," said Pugeot. "The poor old -chap has shed a nut or two. I ought to know something about it for I've -had the same bother in my family. Got his youth back--pish! Cracked, -that's the real name for it. I've seen it. I've seen my own uncle, when -he was seventy, get his youth back--and the last time I saw him he was -pulling a toy elephant along with a string. He'd got a taste also for -playing with matches. Is that the car, Higgs? Well, come along, and -let's try the power of a little gentle persuasion." - -Simon was finishing breakfast when they arrived, assisted by Madame and -Cerise. Poor Monsieur Pattigrew did not seem in the least in the need of -pity either, though the women hung about him as women hang about an -invalid. He was talking and laughing, and he greeted the newcomers as -good companions who had just turned up. His geniality was not to be -denied, and it struck Bobby, in a weird sort of manner, that Uncle Simon -like this was a much pleasanter person than the old original article. -Like this: that is to say, for a moment out of danger from the vicious -grinding wheels of a city that destroys butterflies and a society that -requests respectable old solicitors to remain respectable old -solicitors. - -Then, the women having discreetly retired for a while, Pugeot began his -gentle persuasion. - -Uncle Simon, with visions of yesterday's rural pleasures in his mind, -required no persuasion, and he would come for a run into the country -with pleasure; but Pugeot was not taking that sort of thing on any more. -He was gay, but a very little of that sort of gaiety sufficed him for a -long time. - -"I don't mean that," said he; "I mean let's go down and stay for a while -quietly at some nice place--I mean you and Ravenshaw here--for business -will oblige me to come back to town." - -"No, thanks," said Simon; "I'm quite happy in London." - -"But think how nice it will be in the country this weather," said Bobby. -"London's so hot." - -"I like it hot," said Simon; "weather can't be too hot for me." - -Then the gentle persuaders alternately began offering -inducements--bowls, golf, a jolly bar at an hotel they knew, even girls. - -They might just as well have been offering buns to the lions of -Trafalgar Square. - -Then Bobby had an idea, and, leaving the room, he had a conference on -the stairs with Madame Rossignol; with Cerise also. - -Then leaving Simon to the women for a while, they went for a walk, and -returned to find the marble wax. - -Simon did not mind a few days in the country if the ladies would come as -his guests; he was enthusiastic on the subject now. They would all go -and have a jolly time in the country. The old poetical instinct that had -not shown itself up to this, restrained, no doubt, by the mesmerism of -London, seemed to be awakening and promising new developments. - -Bobby did not care; poetry or a Pickford's van were all the same to him -as long as they got Simon out of London. - -He had promised Julia Delyse, if you remember, to see her that day, but -he had quite forgotten her for the moment. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -JULIA - - -She hadn't forgotten him. - -Julia, with her hair down, in an eau-de-Nil morning wrapper, and frying -bacon over a Duplex oilstove, was not lovely--though, indeed, few of us -are lovely in the early morning. She had started the flat before she was -famous. It was a bachelor girl's flat, where the bachelor girl was -supposed to do her own cooking as far as breakfast and tea were -concerned. Money coming in, Julia had refurnished the flat and -requisitioned the part-time service of a maid. - -Like the doctors of Harley Street who share houses, she shared the -services of the maid with another flat-dweller, the maid coming to Julia -after three o'clock to tidy up and to bring in afternoon tea and admit -callers. She was quite well enough off to have employed a whole maid, -but she was careful--her publishers could have told you that. - -The bacon fried and breakfast over and cleared away, Julia, with her -hair still down, set to work at the cleared table before a pile of -papers and account-books. - -Never could you have imagined her the Julia of the other evening -discoursing "literature" with Bobby. - -She employed no literary agent, being that rare thing, a writer with an -instinct for business. When you see vast publishing houses and opulent -publishers rolling in their motor-cars you behold an optical illusion. -What you see, or, rather, what you ought to see, is a host of writers -without the instinct for business. - -Julia, seated before her papers and turning them over in search of a -letter, came just now upon the first letter she had ever received from a -publisher, a very curt, business-like communication saying that the -publisher thought he saw his way to the publishing of her MS. entitled -"The World at the Gate," and requesting an interview. With it was tied, -as a sort of curiosity, the agreement that had been put before her to -sign and which she had not signed. - -It gave--or would have given--the publisher the copyright and half the -American, serial, dramatic and other rights. It offered ten per cent, on -the published price of all copies sold _after_ the first five hundred -copies; it stipulated that she should give him the next four novels on -the same terms as an inducement to advertise the book properly--and it -had drawn from Julia the prompt reply, "Send the typescript of my novel -back _at once_." - -So ended the first lesson. - -Then, heartened by this evidently good opinion of her work, she had gone -to another publisher? Not a bit--or at least, not at first. She had -joined the Society of Authors--an act as necessary to the making of a -successful author as baptism to the making of a Christian. She had -studied the publishing tribe, its ways and its works, discovered that -they had no more love for books than greengrocers for potatoes, and that -such a love, should it exist, would be unhealthy. For no seller of -commodities ought to love the commodities he sells. - -Then she had gone to a great impudently-advertising roaring trading-firm -that dealt with books as men deal with goods in bulk, and, interviewing -the manager as man to man, had driven her bargain, and a good one, too. - -These people published poets and men of letters--but they respected -Julia. - -Free of creative work this morning, she could give her full attention to -accounts and so forth. - -Then she turned to a little book which she sometimes scribbled in, and -the contents of which she had a vague idea of some time publishing under -a pseudonym. It was entitled "Never," and it was not poetry. It was a -thumb-book for authors, made up of paragraphs, some long, some short. - -"Never dine with a publisher--luncheon is even worse." - -"Never give free copies of books to friends, or lend them. The given -book is not valued, the lent book is always lost--besides, the -booksellers and lending libraries are your real friends." - -"Never lower your price." - -"Never attempt to raise your public." - -"Never argue with a critic." - -"Never be elated with good reviews, or depressed by bad reviews, or -enraged by base reviews. The Public is your reviewer--_It_ knows," and -so on. - -She shut up "Never," having included: - -"Never give a plot away." Then she did her hair and thought of Bobby. - -He had not fixed what hour he would call; that was a clause in the -agreement she had forgotten--she, who was so careful about agreements, -too. - -Then she dressed and sat down to read "De Maupassant" and smoked a -cigarette. - -She had luncheon in the restaurant below stairs and then returned to the -flat. Tea-time came and no Bobby. - -She felt piqued, put on her hat, and as the mountain would not come to -Mohammed, Mohammed determined to go to the mountain. - -Her memory held his address, "care of Tozer, B12, the Albany." - -She walked to the Albany, arriving there a little after five o'clock, -found B12, and climbed the stairs. - -Tozer was in, and he opened the door himself. - -"Is Mr. Ravenshaw at home?" asked Julia. - -"No," said Tozer; "he's away, gone to the country." - -"Gone to the country?" - -"Yes; he went to-day." - -Tozer had at once spotted Julia as the Lady of the Plot. He was as -unconventional as she, and he wanted further acquaintance with this -fascinator of his _protg_. - -"I think we are almost mutual acquaintances," said he; "won't you come -in? My name is Tozer and Ravenshaw is my best friend. I'd like to talk -to you about him. Won't you come in?" - -"Certainly," said the other. "My name is Delyse--I daresay you know it." - -"I know it well," said Tozer. - -"I don't mean by my books," said Julia, taking her seat in the -comfortable sitting-room, "but from Mr. Ravenshaw." - -"From both," said Tozer, "and what I want to see is Ravenshaw's name as -well known as yours some day. Bobby has been a spendthrift with his -time, and he has lots of cleverness." - -"Lots," said Julia. - -Tozer, who had a keen eye for character, had passed Julia as a sensible -person--he had never seen her in one of her love-fits--and she was a -lady. Just the person to look after Bobby. - -"He has gone down to the country to-day with an old gentleman, his -uncle." - -"I know all about _him_," said Julia. - -"Bobby has told you, then?" - -"Yes." - -"About the attack of youth?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, a whole family party of them went off in a motor-car to-day. -Bobby called here for his luggage and I went into Vigo Street and saw -them off." - -"How do you mean--a family party?" - -"The youthful old gentleman and a big blonde man, and Bobby, and an old -lady and a pretty girl." - -Julia swallowed slightly. - -"Relations?" - -"No, French, I think, the ladies were. Quite nice people, I believe, -though poor. The old gentleman had picked them up in some of his -wanderings." - -"Bob--Mr. Ravenshaw promised to see me to-day," said Julia. "We are -engaged--I speak quite frankly--at least, as good as engaged, you can -understand." - -"Quite." - -"He ought to have let me know," said she broodingly. - -"He ought." - -"Have they gone to Upton-on-Hill, do you know?" - -"They have. The Rose Hotel." - -Julia thought for awhile. Then she got up to go. - -"If you want my opinion," said Tozer, "I think the whole lot want -looking after. They seemed quite a pleasant party, but responsibility -seemed somewhat absent; the old lady, charming though she was, seemed to -me scarcely enough ballast for so much youth." - -"I understand," said Julia. Then she went off and Tozer lit a pipe. - -The pretty young French girl was troubling him. She had charmed even -him--and he knew Bobby, and his wisdom indicated that a penniless beauty -was not the first rung of the ladder to success in life. - -Julia, on the other hand, was solid. So he thought. - - - - -PART IV - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE GARDEN-PARTY - - -Upton-On-Hill stands on a hogback of land running north and south, -timbered with pines mostly, and commanding a view of half Wessex, not -the Wessex of Thomas Hardy, however. You can see seven church spires -from Upton, and the Roman road takes it in its sweep, becomes the Upton -High Street for a moment, and passes on to be the Roman road again -leading to the Downs and the distant sea. - -It is a restful place, and in spring the shouting of the birds and the -measured call of the cuckoo fills the village, mixing with the voice of -the ever-talking pine-trees. In summer Upton sleeps amongst roses in an -atmosphere of sunlight and drowsiness, sung to by the bees and the -birds. The Rose Hotel stands, set back from the High Street, in its own -grounds, and beside the Rose there are two other houses for refreshment, -the Bricklayer's Arms and the Saracen's Head, of which more hereafter. - -It is a pleasant place as well as a restful. Passing through it, people -say, "Oh, what a dream!" living in it one is driven at last to admit -there are dreams and dreams. It is not the place that forces this -conviction but the people. - -Just as the Roman road narrows at the beginning of the High Street, so -the life of a stranger coming, say, from London, narrows at the -beginning of his or her residence in Upton. If you are a villager you -find yourself under a microscope with three hundred eyes at the -eyepiece; if you are a genteel person, but without introductions, you -find yourself the target of half a score of telescopes levelled at you -by the residents. - -Colonel Salmon--who owned the fishing rights of the trout-stream below -hill--the Talbot-Tomsons, the Griffith-Smiths, the Grosvenor-Jones and -the rest, all these, failing introductions, you will find to be passive -resisters to your presence. - -Now, caution towards strangers and snobbishness are two different -things. The Uptonians are snobbish because, though you may be as -beautiful as a dream or as innocent as a saint, you will be sniffed at -and turned over; but if you are wealthy it is another matter, as in the -case of the Smyth-Smyths, who were neither beautiful nor innocent--but -that is another story. - - -"The village is a mile further on," said Pugeot; "let's turn down here -before we go to the hotel and have afternoon tea with my cousin. -Randall, steer for The Nook." - -The car was not the Dragon-Fly, but a huge closed limousine, with Mudd -seated beside Randall, and inside, the rest of that social menagerie -about to be landed on the residents of Upton upon the landing-stage of -the social position of Dick Pugeot's cousin, Sir Squire Simpson. - -All the introductions in the world could not be better than the personal -introduction to _the_ Resident of Upton by the Hon. Richard Pugeot. - -They passed lodge gates and then up a pleasant drive to a big -house-front, before which a small garden-party seemed to be going on; a -big afternoon tea it was, and there were men in flannels, and girls in -summer frocks, and discarded tennis racquets lying about, and the sight -of all this gave Bobby a horrible turn. - -Uncle Simon had been very quiet during the journey--happy but -quiet--squeezed between the two women, but this was not the sort of -place he wanted to land Uncle Simon in despite his quietude and -happiness. Mudd evidently also had qualms, for he kept looking back -through the glass front of the car and seemed trying to catch Bobby's -eye. - -But there was no turning back. - -The car swept along the drive, past the party on the lawn, and drew up -at the front door. Then, as they bundled out, a tall old man, without a -hat and dressed in grey tweed, detached himself from the lawn crowd and -came towards them. - -This was Sir Squire Simpson, Bart. His head was dome-shaped, and he had -heavy eyelids that reminded one of half-closed shutters, and a face that -seemed carved from old ivory--an extremely serious-looking person and a -stately; but he was glad to see Pugeot, and he advanced with a hand -outstretched and the ghost of an old-fashioned sort of smile. - -"I've brought some friends down to stay at the hotel," said Pugeot, "and -I thought we would drop in here for tea first. Didn't expect to find a -party going on." - -"Delighted," said the Squire. - -He was introduced to "My friend, Mr. Pettigrew, Madame--er--de -Rossignol, Mademoiselle de Rossignol, Mr. Ravenshaw." - -Then the party moving towards the lawn, they were all introduced to -Lady Simpson, a harmless-looking individual who welcomed them and broke -them up amongst her guests and gave them tea. - -Bobby, detaching himself for a moment from the charms of Miss Squire -Simpson, managed to get hold of Pugeot. - -"I say," said he, "don't you think this may be a bit too much for -uncle?" - -"Oh, he's all right," said Pugeot; "can't come to any harm here. Look at -him, he's quite happy." - -Simon seemed happy enough, talking to a dowager-looking woman and -drinking his tea; but Bobby was not happy. It all seemed wrong, somehow, -and he abused Pugeot in his heart. Pugeot had said himself a moated -grange was the proper place for Uncle Simon, and even then he might -tumble into the moat--and now, with the splendid inconsequence of his -nature, he had tumbled him into this whirl of local society. This was -not seclusion in the country. Why, some of these people might, by -chance, be Uncle Simon's clients! - -But there was no use in troubling, and he could do nothing but watch and -hope. He noticed that the women-folk had evidently taken up with Cerise -and her mother, and he could not but wonder vaguely how it would have -been if they could have seen the rooms in Duke Street, Leicester Square, -and the picture of Uncle Simon tucked up and snoring in Cerise's little -bed. - -The tennis began again, and Bobby, firmly pinned by Miss Squire -Simpson--she was a plain girl--had to sit watching a game and trying to -talk. - -The fact that Madame and Cerise were foreigners had evidently condoned -their want of that touch in dress which makes for style. They were being -led about and shown things by their hostess. - -Uncle Simon had vanished towards the rose-garden at the back of the -house, in company with a female; she seemed elderly. Bobby hoped for the -best. - -"Are you down here for long?" asked Miss Squire Simpson. - -"Not very long, I think," replied he. "We may be here a month or so--it -all depends on my uncle's health." - -"That gentleman you came with?" - -"Yes." - -"He seems awfully jolly." - -"Yes--but he suffers from insomnia." - -"Then he'll get lots of sleep here," said she. "Oh, do tell me the name -of that pretty girl who came with you! I never can catch a name when I -am introduced to a person." - -"A Miss Rossignol--she's a friend of uncle's--she's French." - -"And the dear old lady is her mother, I suppose?" - -"Yes. She writes books." - -"An authoress?" - -"Yes--at least, I believe she translates books. She is awfully clever." - -"Well played!" cried Miss Squire Simpson, breaking from the subject into -an ecstasy at a stroke made by one of the flannelled fools--then -resuming: - -"She _must_ be clever. And are you all staying here together?" - -"Yes, at the Rose Hotel." - -"You will find it a dear little place," said she, unconscious of any -_double entendre_, "and you will get lots of tennis down here. Do you -fish?" - -"A little." - -"Then you must make up to Colonel Salmon--that's him at the nets--he -owns the best trout-stream about here." - -Bobby looked at Colonel Salmon, a stout, red-faced man with a head that -resembled somewhat the head of a salmon--a salmon with a high sense of -its own importance. - -Then Pugeot came along smoking a cigarette, and then some of the people -began to go. The big limousine reappeared from the back premises with -Mudd and the luggage, and Pugeot began to collect his party. Simon -reappeared with the elderly lady; they were both smiling and he had -evidently done no harm. It would have been better, perhaps, if he had, -right at the start. The French ladies were recaptured, and as they -bundled into the car quite a bevy of residents surrounded the door, -bidding them good-bye for the present. - -"Remember, you must come and see my roses," said Mrs. Fisher-Fisher. -"Don't bother about formality, just drop in, all of you." - -"You'll find Anderson stopping at the hotel; he's quite a nice fellow," -cried Sir Squire Simpson. "So long--so long." - -"Are they not charming?" said old Madame Rossignol, whose face was -slightly flushed with the good time she had been having; "and the -beautiful house--and the beautiful garden." - -She had not seen a garden for years; verily, Simon _was_ a good fairy as -far as the Rossignols were concerned. - -They drew up at the Rose Hotel. A vast clambering vine of wisteria -shadowed the hall door, and out came the landlord to meet them. Pugeot -had telegraphed for rooms; he knew Pugeot, and his reception of them -spoke of the fact. - -Then the Rossignols were shown to their room, where their poor luggage, -such as it was, had been carried before them. - -It was a big bedroom, with chintz hangings and a floor with hills and -valleys in it; it had black oak beams and the window opened on the -garden. - -The old lady sat down. - -"How happy I am!" said she. "Does it not seem like a dream, _ma fe_?" - -"It is like heaven," said Cerise, kissing her. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -HORN - - -"No, sir," said Mudd, "he don't take scarcely anything in the bar of the -hotel, but he was sitting last night till closing-time in the -Bricklayer's Arms." - -"Oh, that's where he was," said Bobby. "How did you find out?" - -"Well, sir," said Mudd, "I was in there myself in the parlour, having a -drop of hot water and gin with a bit of lemon in it. It's a decent -house, and the servants' room in this hotel don't please me, nor Mr. -Anderson's man. I was sitting there smoking my pipe when in he came to -the bar outside. I heard his voice. Down he sits and talks quite -friendly with the folk there and orders a pint of beer all round. Quite -affable and friendly." - -"Well, there's no harm in that," said Bobby. "I've often done the same -in a country inn. Did he stick to beer?" - -"He did," said Mudd grimly. "He'd got that ten-pound note I was fool -enough to let him have. Yes, he stuck to beer, and so did the chaps he -was treating." - -"The funny thing is," said Bobby, "that though he knows we have his -money--and, begad, there's nearly eleven thousand of it--he doesn't kick -at our taking it--he must have known we cut open that portmanteau--but -comes to you for money like a schoolboy." - -"That's what he is," said Mudd. "It's my belief, Mr. Robert, that he's -getting younger and younger; he's artful as a child after sweets. And he -knows we're looking after him, I believe, and he doesn't mind, for it's -part of his amusement to give us the slip. Well, as I was saying, there -he sat talking away and all these village chaps listening to him as if -he was the Sultan of Turkey laying down the law. That's what pleased -him. He likes being the middle of everything; and as the beer went down -the talk went up--till he was telling them he'd been at the battle of -Waterloo." - -"Good Lord!" - -"_They_ didn't know no different," said Mudd, "but it made me crawl to -listen to him." - -"The bother is," said Bobby, "that we are dealing, not only with a young -man, but with the sort of young man who was young forty years ago. -That's our trouble, Mudd; we can't calculate on what he'll do because -we haven't the data. And another bother is that his foolishness seems to -have increased by being bottled so long, like old beer, but he can't -come to harm with the villagers, they're an innocent lot." - -"Are they?" said Mudd. "One of the chaps he was talking to was a -gallows-looking chap. Horn's his name, and a poacher he is, I believe. -Then there's the blacksmith and a squint-eyed chap that calls himself a -butcher; the pair of _them_ aren't up to much. Innocent lot! Why, if you -had the stories Mr. Anderson's man has told me about this village the -hair would rise on your head. Why, London's a girl-school to these -country villages, if all's true one hears. No, Mr. Robert, he wants -looking after here more than anywhere, and it seems to me the only -person who has any real hold on him is the young lady." - -"Miss Rossignol?" - -"Yes, Mr. Robert, he's gone on her in his foolish way, and she can twist -him round her finger like a child. When he's with her he's a different -person, out of sight of her he's another man." - -"Look here, Mudd," said the other, "he can't be in love with her, for -there's not a girl he sees he doesn't cast his eye after." - -"Maybe," said Mudd, "but when he's with her he's in love with her; I've -been watching him and I know. He worships her, I believe, and if she -wasn't so sensible I'd be afeard of it. It's a blessing he came across -her; she's the only hold on him, and a good hold she is." - -"It is a blessing," said Bobby. Then, after a pause, "Mudd, you've -always been a good friend of mine, and this business has made me know -what you really are. I'm bothered about something--I'm in love with her -myself. There, you have it." - -"With Miss Rossignol?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, you might choose worse," said Mudd. - -"But that's not all," said Bobby. "There's another girl--Mudd, I've been -a damn fool." - -"We've all been fools in our time," said Mudd. - -"I know, but it's jolly unpleasant when one's follies come home to roost -on one. She's a nice girl enough, Miss Delyse, but I don't care for her. -Yet somehow I've got mixed up with her--not exactly engaged, but very -near it. It all happened in a moment, and she's coming down here; I had -a letter from her this morning." - -"Oh, Lord!" said Mudd, "another mixture. As if there wasn't enough of us -in the business!" - -"That's a good name for it, 'business.' I feel as if I was helping to -run a sort of beastly factory, a mad sort of show where we're trying to -condense folly and make it consume its own smoke--an illicit -whisky-still, for we're trying to hide our business all the time, and it -gives me the jim-jams to think that at any moment a client may turn up -and see him like that. I feel sometimes, Mudd, as fellows must feel when -they have the police after them." - -"Don't talk of the police," said Mudd, "the very word gives me the -shivers. When is she coming, Mr. Robert?" - -"Miss Delyse? She's coming by the 3.15 train to-day to Farnborough -station, and I've got to meet her. I've just booked her a room here. You -see how I am tied. If I was here alone she couldn't come, because it -wouldn't be proper, but having _him_ here makes it proper." - -"Have you told her the state he's in?" - -"Yes. She doesn't mind; she said she wished everyone else was the -same--she said it was beautiful." - -They were talking in Bobby's room, which overlooked the garden of the -hotel, and glancing out of the window now, he saw Cerise. - -Then he detached himself from Mudd. He reached her as she was passing -through the little rambler-roofed alley that leads from the garden to -the bowling-green. There is an arbour in the garden tucked away in a -corner, and there is an arbour close to the bowling-green; there are -several other arbours, for the hotel-planner was an expert in his work, -but these are the only two arbours that have to do with our story. - -Bobby caught up with the girl before she had reached the green, and they -walked together towards it, chatting as young people only can chat with -life and gaiety about nothing. They were astonishingly well-matched in -mind. Minds have colours just like eyes; there are black minds and brown -minds and muddy-coloured minds and grey minds, and blue minds. Bobby's -was a blue mind, though, indeed, it sometimes almost seemed green. -Cerise's was blue, a happy blue like the blue of her eyes. - -They had been two and a half days now in pretty close propinquity, and -had got to know each other well despite Uncle Simon, or rather, perhaps, -because of him. They discussed him freely and without reserve, and they -were discussing him now, as the following extraordinary conversation -will show. - -"He's good, as you say," said Bobby, "but he's more trouble to me than a -child." - -Said Cerise: "Shall I tell you a little secret?" - -"Yes." - -"You will promise me surely, most surely, you will never tell my little -secret?" - -"I swear." - -"He is in loff with me--I thought it was maman, but it is me." A ripple -of laughter that caught the echo of the bowling-alley followed this -confession. - -"Last night he said to me before dinner, 'Cerise, I loff you.'" - -"And what did you say?" - -"Then the dinner-gong rang," said Cerise, "and I said, 'Oh, Monsieur -Pattigrew, I must run and change my dress.' Then I ran off. I did not -want to change my dress, but I did want to change the conversation," -finished Cerise. - -Then with a smile, "He loffs me more than any of the other girls." - -"Why, how do you know he loves other girls?" - -"I have seen him look at girls," said Cerise. "He likes all the world, -but girls he likes most." - -"Are you in love with him, Cerise?" asked Bobby, with a grin. - -"Yes," said Cerise candidly. "Who could help?" - -"How much are you in love with him, Cerise?" - -"I would walk to London for him without my shoes," said Cerise. - -"Well, that's something," said Bobby. "Come into this little arbour, -Cerise, and let's sit down. You don't mind my smoking?" - -"Not one bit" - -"It's good to have anyone love one like that," said he, lighting a -cigarette. - -"He draws it from me," said Cerise. - -"Well, I must say he's more likeable as he is than as he was; you should -have seen him before he got young, Cerise." - -"He was always good," said she, as though speaking from sure knowledge; -"always good and kind and sweet." - -"He managed to hide it," said Bobby. - -"Ah yes--maybe so--there are many old gentlemen who seem rough and not -nice, and then underneath it is different." - -"How would you like to marry uncle?" asked he, laughing. - -"If he were young outside as he is young inside of him--why, then I do -not know. I might--I might not." - -Then the unfortunate young man, forgetting all things, even the -approaching Julia, let his voice fall half a tone; he wandered from -Uncle; Simon into the question of the beauty of the roses. - -The conversation flagged a bit, then he was holding one of her fingers. - -Then came steps on the gravel. A servant. - -"The fly is ready to take you to the station, sir." - -It was three o'clock. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -JULIA--_continued_ - - -It was a cross between a hansom cab and a "growler," with the voice of -the latter, and the dust of the Farnborough road, with the prospect of a -three-mile drive to meet Julia and a three-mile drive back again, did -not fill Bobby with joy--also the prospect of having to make -explanations. - -He had quite determined on that. After the arbour business it was -impossible to go on with Julia; he had to break whatever bonds there -existed between them, and he had to do the business before she got to -the hotel. Then came the prospect of having to live with her in the -hotel, even for a night. He questioned himself, asking himself were he a -cad or not, had he trifled with Julia? As far as memory went, they had -both trifled with one another. It was a sudden affair, and no actual -promise had been made; he had not even said "I love you"--but he had -kissed her. The legal mind would, no doubt, have construed that into a -declaration of affection, but Bobby's mind was not legal--anything -but--and as for kissing a girl, if he had been condemned to marry all -the girls he had kissed he would have been forced to live in Utah. - -He had to wait half an hour for the train at Farnborough, and when it -drew up out stepped Julia, hot, and dressed in green, dragging a -hold-all and a bundle of magazines and newspapers. - -"H'are you?" said Bobby, as they shook hands. - -"Hot," said Julia. - -"Isn't it?" - -He carried the hold-all to the fly and a porter followed with a -basket-work portmanteau. When the luggage was stowed in they got in and -the fly moved off. - -Julia was not in a passionate mood; no person is or ever has been after -a journey on the London and Wessex and South Coast Railway--unless it is -a mood of passion against the railway. She seemed, indeed, disgruntled -and critical, and a tone of complaint in her voice cheered up Bobby. - -"I know it's an awful old fly," said he, "but it's the best they had; -the hotel motor-car is broken down or something." - -"Why didn't you wire me that day," said She, "that you were going off -so soon? I only got your wire from here next morning. You promised to -meet me and you never turned up. I went to the Albany to see if you were -in, and I saw Mr. Tozer. He said you had gone off with half a dozen -people in a car----" - -"Only four, not including me," cut in Bobby. - -"Two ladies----" - -"An old French lady and her daughter." - -"Well, that's two ladies, isn't it?" - -"I suppose so--you can't make it three. Then there was uncle; it's true -he's a host in himself." - -"How's he going on?" - -"Splendidly." - -"I'm very anxious to see him," said Julia. "It's so seldom one meets -anyone really original in this life; most people are copies of others, -and generally bad ones at that." - -"That's so," said Bobby. - -"How's the novel going on?" said Julia. - -"Heavens!" said Bobby, "do you think I can add literary work to my other -distractions? The novel is not going on, but the plot is." - -"How d'you mean?" - -"Uncle Simon. I've got the beginning and middle of a novel in him, but -I haven't got the end." - -"You are going to put him in a book?" - -"I wish to goodness I could, and close the covers on him. No, I'm going -to weave him into a story--he's doing most of the weaving, but that's a -detail. Look here, Julia----" - -"Yes?" - -"I've been thinking." - -"Yes?" - -"I've been thinking we have made a mistake." - -"Who?" - -"Well, we. I didn't write, I thought I'd wait till I saw you." - -"How d'you mean?" said Julia dryly. - -"Us." - -"Yes?" - -"Well, you know what I mean. It's just this way, people do foolish -things on the spur of the moment." - -"What have we done foolish?" - -"We haven't done anything foolish, only I think we were in too great a -hurry." - -"How?" - -"Oh, you know, that evening at your flat." - -"Oh!" - -"Yes." - -"You mean to say you don't care for me any more?" - -"Oh, it's not that; I care for you very much." - -"Say it at once," said Julia. "You care for me as a sister." - -"Well, that's about it," said Bobby. - -Julia was silent, and only the voice of the fly filled the air. - -Then she said: - -"It's just as well to know where one is." - -"Are you angry?" - -"Not a bit." - -He glanced at her. - -"Not a bit. You have met someone else. Why not say so?" - -"I have," said Bobby. "You know quite well, Julia, one can't help these -things." - -"I don't know anything about 'these things,' as you call them; I only -know that you have ceased to care for me--let that suffice." - -She was very calm, and a feeling came to Bobby that she did not care so -very deeply for him. It was not a pleasant feeling somehow, although it -gave him relief. He had expected her to weep or fly out in a temper, but -she was quite calm and ordinary; he almost felt like making love to her -again to see if she _had_ cared for him, but fortunately this feeling -passed. - -"We'll be friends," said he. - -"Absolutely," said Julia. "How could a little thing like that spoil -friendship?" - -Was she jesting with him or in earnest? Bitter, or just herself? - -"Is she staying at the hotel?" asked she, after a moment's silence. - -"She is," said Bobby. - -"It's the French girl?" - -"How did you guess that?" - -"I knew." - -"When?" - -"When you explained them and began with the old lady. But the old lady -will, no doubt, have her turn next, and to the next girl you'll explain -them, beginning with the girl." - -Bobby felt very hot and uncomfortable. - -"Now you're angry with me," said he. - -"Not a bit." - -"Well, let's be friends." - -"Absolutely. I could never fancy you as the enemy of anyone but -yourself." - -Bobby wasn't enjoying the drive, and there was a mile more of -it--uphill, mostly. - -"I think I'll get out and give the poor old horse a chance," said he; -"these hills are beastly for it." - -He got out and walked by the fly, glancing occasionally at the -silhouette of Julia, who seemed ruminating matters. - -He was beginning to feel, now, that he had done her an injury, and she -had said nothing about going back to-morrow or anything like that, and -he was held as by a vice, and Cerise and he would be under the -microscope, and Cerise knew nothing about Julia. - -Then he got into the fly again and five minutes later they drove up to -the Rose. Simon was standing in the porch as they drove up; his straw -hat was on the back of his head and he had a cigar in his mouth. - -He looked at Bobby and Julia and grinned slightly. It seemed suddenly to -have got into his head that Bobby had been fetching a sweetheart as well -as a young lady from the station. It had, in fact, and things that got -into Simon's youthful head in this fashion, allied to things pleasant, -were difficult to remove. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -HORN--_continued_ - - -Simon had been that day all alone to see Mrs. Fisher-Fisher's roses; he -said so at dinner that night. He had remembered the general invitation -and had taken it, evidently, as a personal one. Bobby did not enquire -details; besides, his mind was occupied at that dinner-table, where -Cerise was constantly seeking his glance and where Julia sat watching. -Brooding and watching and talking chiefly to Simon. - -She and Simon seemed to get on well together, and a close observer might -have fancied that Simon was attracted, perhaps less by her charms than -by the fact that he considered her Bobby's girl and was making to cut -Bobby out, in a mild way, by his own superior attractions. - -After dinner Simon forgot her. He had other business on hand. He had not -dressed for dinner, he was simply and elegantly attired in the blue -serge suit he had worn in London. Taking his straw hat and lighting a -cigar, he left the others and, having strolled round the garden for a -few minutes, left the hotel premises and strolled down the street. - -The street was deserted. He reached the Bricklayer's Arms, and, having -admired the view for a while from the porch of that hostelry, strolled -into the bar. - -The love of low company, which is sometimes a distinguishing feature of -the youthful, comes from several causes: a taste for dubious sport, a -kicking against restraint, simply the love of low company, or a kind of -megalomania--a wish to be first person in the company present, a wish -easily satisfied at the cost of a few pounds. - -In Simon's case it was probably a compound of the lot. - -In the bar of the Bricklayer's Arms he was first person by a mile; and -this evening, owing to hay-harvest work, he was first by twenty miles, -for the only occupant of the bar was Dick Horn. - -Horn, as before hinted by Mudd, was a very dubious character. In old -days he would have been a poacher pure and simple, to-day he was that -and other things as well. Socialism had touched him. He desired, not -only other men's game and fish, but their houses and furniture. - -He was six feet two, very thin, with lantern jaws, and a dark look -suggestive of Romany antecedents--a most fascinating individual to the -philosopher, the police, and those members of the public of artistic -leanings. He was seated smoking and in company of a brown mug of beer -when Simon came in. - -They gave each other good evening, Simon rapped with a half-crown on the -counter, ordered some beer for himself, had Horn's mug replenished, and -then sat down. The landlord, having served them, left them together, and -they fell into talk on the weather. - -"Yes," said Horn, "it's fine enough for them that like it, weather's no -account to me. I'm used to weather." - -"So am I," said Simon. - -"Gentlefolk don't know what weather is," said Horn; "they can take it or -leave it. It's the pore that knows what weather is." - -They agreed on this point. - -After a while Horn got up, craned his head round the bar partition to -see that no one was listening, and sat down again. - -"You remember what I said to you about them night lines?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, I'm going to set some to-night down in the river below." - -"By Jove!" said Simon, vastly interested. - -"If you're wanting to see a bit of sport maybe you'd like to jine me?" -said Horn. - -For a moment Simon held back, playing with this idea, then he succumbed. - -"I'm with you," said he. - -"The keeper's away at Ditchin'ham that minds this bit of the stream," -said Horn. "Not that it matters, for he ain't no good, and the -constable's no more than a blind horse. He's away, so we'll have the -place proper to ourselves, and you said you was anxious to see how night -linin' was done. Well, you'll see it, if you come along with me. Mind -you, it's not every gentleman I'd take on a job like this, but you're -different. Mind you, they'd call this poachin', some of them blistered -magistrits, and I'm takin' a risk lettin' you into it." - -"I'll say nothing," said Simon. - -"It's a risk all the same," said Horn. - -"I'll pay you," said Simon. - -"'Aff a quid?" - -"Yes, here it is. What time do you start?" - -"Not for two hours," said Horn. "My bit of a place is below hill there. -Y'know the Ditchin'ham road?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, it's that shack down there on the right of the road before it -jines the village. I've got the lines there and all. You walk down there -in two hours' time and you'll find me at the gate." - -"I'll come," said Simon. - -Then these two worthies parted; Horn wiping his mouth with the back of -his hand, saying he had to see a man about some ferrets, Simon walking -back to the hotel. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -TIDD _versus_ RENSHAW - - -The head of a big office or business house cannot move out of his orbit -without creating perturbations. Brownlow, the head clerk and second in -command of the Pettigrew business, was to learn this fact to his cost. - -Brownlow was a man of forty-five, whose habits and ideas seemed -regulated by clockwork. He lived at Hampstead with his wife and three -children, and went each day to the office. That was the summary of his -life as read by an outsider. Often the bald statement covers everything. -It almost did in the case of Brownlow. He had no initiative. He kept -things together, he was absolutely perfect in routine, he had a profound -knowledge of the law, he was correct, a good husband and a good father, -but he had no initiative, and, outside of the law, very little knowledge -of the world. - -Imagine this correct gentleman, then, seated at his desk on the morning -of the day after that on which Simon made his poaching arrangements -with Horn. He was turning over some papers when Balls, the second in -command, came in. Balls was young and wore eyeglasses and had ambitions. -He and Brownlow were old friends, and when together talked as equals. - -"I've had that James man just in to see me," said Balls. "Same old game; -wanted to see Pettigrew. He knows I have the whole thread of the case in -my hands, but that's nothing to him, he wants to see Pettigrew." - -"I know," said Brownlow. "I've had the same bother. They _will_ see the -head." - -"When's he back?" asked Balls. - -"I don't know," said Brownlow. - -"Where's he gone?" - -"I don't know," said Brownlow. "I only know he's gone, same as this time -last year. He was a month away then." - -"Oh, Lord!" said Balls, who had only joined the office nine months -before and who knew nothing of last year's escapade. "A month more of -this sort of bother--a month!" - -"Yes," said Brownlow. "I had it to do last year, and he left no address, -same as now." Then, after a moment's pause, "I'm worried about him. I -can't help it, there was a strange thing happened last year. I've never -told it to a soul before. He called me in one day to his room and he -showed me a bundle of bank-notes. 'See here, Brownlow,' said he, 'did -you put these in my safe?' I'd never seen the things before and I have -no key to his private safe. I told him I hadn't. He showed me the notes, -ten thousand pounds' worth. Ten thousand pounds' worth, he couldn't -account for--asked _me_ if I'd put them in his safe. I said 'No,' as I -told you. 'Well, it's very strange,' said he. Then he stood looking at -the floor. Then he said all of a sudden, 'It doesn't matter.' Next day -he went off on a month's holiday, sending word for me to carry on." - -"Queer," said Balls. - -"More than queer," replied Brownlow. "I've put it down to mental strain; -he's a hard worker." - -"It's not mental strain," said Balls. "He's as alive as you or me and as -keen, and he doesn't overwork; it's something else." - -"Well, I wish it would stop," said Brownlow, "for I'm nearly worried to -death with clients writing to see him and trying to invent excuses, and -my work is doubled." - -"So's mine," said Balls. He went out and Brownlow continued his -business. He had not been engaged on it for long when Morgan, the -office-boy, appeared. - -"Mr. Tidd, sir, to see Mr. Pettigrew." - -"Show him in," said Brownlow. - -A moment later Mr. Tidd appeared. - -Mr. Tidd was a small, slight, old-maidish man; he walked lightly, like a -bird, and carried a tall hat with a black band in one hand and a -tightly-folded umbrella in the other. Incidentally he was one of -Pettigrew's best clients. - -"Good morning," said Mr. Tidd. "I've called to see Mr. Pettigrew with -regard to those papers." - -"Oh yes," said Brownlow. "Sit down, Mr. Tidd. Those papers--Mr. -Pettigrew has been considering them." - -"Is not Mr. Pettigrew in?" - -"No, Mr. Tidd, he's not in just at present." - -"When is he likely to return?" - -"Well, that's doubtful; he has left me in charge." - -The end of Mr. Tidd's nose moved uneasily. - -"You are in charge of my case?" - -"Yes, of the whole business." - -"I can speak confidentially?" - -"Absolutely." - -"Well, I have decided to stop proceedings--in fact, I am caught in a -hole." - -"Oh!" - -"Yes. Mrs. Renshaw has, in some illicit manner, got a document with my -signature attached--a very grave document. This is strictly between -ourselves." - -"Strictly." - -"And she threatens to use it against me." - -"Yes." - -"To use it against me, unless I return to her at once the letter of hers -which I put in Mr. Pettigrew's keeping." - -"Oh!" - -"Yes. She is a violent and very vicious woman. I have not slept all -night. I live, as you perhaps know, at Hitchin. I took the first train I -could conveniently catch to town this morning." - -The horrible fact was beginning to dawn on Brownlow that Simon had not -brought those papers back to the office. He said nothing; his lips, for -a moment, had gone dry. - -"How she got hold of that document with my name to it I cannot tell," -said Mr. Tidd, "but she will use it against me most certainly unless I -return that letter." - -"Perhaps," said Brownlow, recovering himself, "perhaps she is only -threatening--bluffing, as they call it." - -"Oh no, she's not," said the other. "If you knew her you would not say -that; no, indeed, you would not say that. She is the last woman to -threaten what she will not perform. Till that document is in her hands I -will not feel safe." - -"You must be careful," said Brownlow, fighting for time. "How would it -be if I were to see her?" - -"Useless," said Mr. Tidd. - -"May I ask----" - -"Yes?" - -"Is the document to which your name is attached, and which is in her -possession, is it--er--detrimental--I mean, plainly, is it likely to do -you a grave injury?" - -"The document," said Mr. Tidd, "was written by me in a moment of impulse -to a lady who is--another gentleman's wife." - -"It is a letter?" - -"Yes, it is a letter." - -"I see. Well, Mr. Tidd, _your_ document, the one you are anxious to -return in exchange for this document, is in the possession of Mr. -Pettigrew; it is quite safe." - -"Doubtless," said Mr. Tidd, "but I want it in my hands to return it -myself to-day." - -"I sent it with the other papers to Mr. Pettigrew's private house," said -Brownlow, "and he has not yet returned it." - -"Oh! But I want it to-day." - -"It's very unfortunate," said Brownlow, "but he's away--and I'm afraid -he must have taken the papers with him for consideration." - -"Good heavens!" said Tidd. "But if that is so what am I to do?" - -"You can't wait?" - -"How can I wait?" - -"Dear me, dear me," said Brownlow, almost driven to distraction, "this -is very unfortunate." - -Tidd seemed to concur. - -His lips had become pale. Then he broke out: "I placed my vital -interests in the hands of Mr. Pettigrew, and now at the critical moment -I find this!" said he. "Away! But you must find him--you must find him, -and find him at once." - -If he had only known what he would find he might have been less eager -perhaps. - -"I'll find him if I can," said Brownlow. He rang a bell, and when Morgan -appeared he sent for Balls. - -"Mr. Balls," said Brownlow with a spasmodic attempt at a wink, "can you -not get Mr. Pettigrew's present address?" - -Balls understood. - -"I'll see," said he. Out he went, returning in a minute. - -"I'm sorry I can't," said Balls. "Mr. Pettigrew did not leave his -address when he went away." - -"Thank you, Mr. Balls," said Brownlow. Then to Tidd, when they were -alone: "This is as hard for me as for you, Mr. Tidd; I can't think what -to do." - -"We've got to find him," said Tidd. - -"Certainly." - -"Will he by any chance have left his address at his private house?" - -"We can see," said Brownlow. "He has no telephone, but I'll go myself." - -"I will go with you," said Tidd. "You understand me, this is a matter of -life and death--ruin--my wife--that woman, and the other one." - -"I see, I see, I see," said Brownlow, taking his hat from its peg on the -wall. "Come with me; we will find him if he is to be found." - -He hurried out, followed by Mr. Tidd, and in Fleet Street he managed to -get a taxi. They got into it and drove to King Charles Street. - -There was a long pause after the knock, and then the door opened, -disclosing Mrs. Jukes. Brownlow was known to her. - -"Mrs. Jukes," said Brownlow, "can you give me Mr. Pettigrew's present -address?" - -"No, sir, I can't." - -"He was called away, was he not?" - -"I don't think so, sir; he went off on some business or other. Mudd has -gone with him." - -"Oh, dear!" said Tidd. - -"They stopped at the Charing Cross Hotel," said Mrs. Jukes, "and then I -had a message they were going into the country. It was from Mr. Mudd, -and he said they might be a month away." - -"A month away!" said Tidd, his voice strangely calm. - -"Yes, sir." - -"Good gracious!" said Brownlow. Then to Tidd, "You see how I am placed?" - -"A month away," said Tidd; he seemed unable to get over that obstacle of -thought. - -"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Jukes. - -They got into the taxi and went to the Charing Cross Hotel, where they -were informed that Mr. Pettigrew was gone and had left no address. - -Then suddenly an idea came to Brownlow--Oppenshaw. The doctor might -know; failing the doctor, they were done. - -"Come with me," said he; "I think I know a person who may have the -address." He got into the taxi again with the other, gave the Harley -Street address, and they drove off. The horrible irregularity of the -whole of this business was poisoning Brownlow's mind--hunting for the -head of a firm who ought to be at his office and who held possession of -a client's vitally important document. - -He said nothing, neither did Mr. Tidd, who was probably engaged in -reviewing the facts of his case and the position his wife would take up -when that letter was put into her hands by Mrs. Renshaw. - -They stopped at 110A, Harley Street. - -"Why, it's a doctor's house," said Tidd. - -"Yes," said Brownlow. - -They knocked at the door and were let in. - -The servant, in the absence of an appointment, said he would see what he -could do, and showed them into the waiting-room. - -"Tell Dr. Oppenshaw it is Mr. Brownlow from Mr. Pettigrew's office," -said Brownlow, "on very urgent business." - -They took their seats, and while Mr. Tidd tried to read a volume of -_Punch_ upside down, Brownlow bit his nails. - -In a marvellously short time the servant returned and asked Mr. Brownlow -to step in. - -Oppenshaw did not beat about the bush. When he heard what Brownlow -wanted he said frankly he did not know where Mr. Pettigrew was; he only -knew that he had been staying at the Charing Cross Hotel. Mudd, the -manservant, was with him. - -"It's only right that you should know the position," said Oppenshaw, "as -you say you are the chief clerk and all responsibility rests on you in -Mr. Pettigrew's absence." Then he explained. - -"But if he's like that, where's the use of finding him?" said the -horrified Brownlow. "A man with mind disease!" - -"More a malady than a disease," put in Oppenshaw. - -"Yes, but--like that." - -"Of course," said Oppenshaw, "he may at any moment turn back into -himself again, like the finger of a glove turning inside out." - -"Perhaps," said the other hopelessly, "but till he does turn----" - -At that moment the sound of a telephone-bell came from outside. - -"Till he does turn, of course, he's useless for business purposes," said -Oppenshaw; "he would have no memory, for one thing--at least, no memory -of business." - -The servant entered. - -"Please, sir, an urgent call for you." - -"One moment," said Oppenshaw. Out he went. - -He was back in less than two minutes. - -"I have his address," said he. - -"Thank goodness!" said Brownlow. - -"H'm," said Oppenshaw; "but there's not good news with it. He's staying -at the Rose Hotel, Upton-on-Hill, and he's been getting into trouble of -some sort. It was Mudd who 'phoned, and he seemed half off his head; -said he didn't like to go into details over the telephone, but wanted me -to come down to arrange matters. I told him it was quite impossible -to-day; then he seemed to collapse and cut me off." - -"What am I to do?" - -"Well, there's only two things to be done: tell this gentleman that Mr. -Pettigrew's mind is affected, or take him down there on the chance that -this shock may have restored Mr. Pettigrew." - -"I can't tell him Mr. Pettigrew's mind is affected," said Brownlow. "I'd -sooner do anything than that. I'd sooner take him down there on the -chance of his being better--perhaps even if he's not, the sight of me -and Mr. Tidd might recall him to himself." - -"Possibly," said Oppenshaw, who was in a hurry and only too glad of any -chance of cutting the business short. "Possibly. Anyhow, there is some -use in trying, and tell Mudd it's absolutely useless my going. I shall -be glad to do anything I can by letter or telephone." - -Brownlow took up his hat, then he recaptured Tidd and gave him the -cheering news that he had Simon's address. "I'll go with you myself," -said Brownlow. "Of course, the expense will fall on the office. I must -send a telegram to the office and my wife to say I won't be back -to-night. We can't get to Upton till this evening. We'll have to go as -we are, without even waiting to pack a bag." - -"That doesn't matter; that doesn't matter," said Tidd. - -They were in the street now and bundling into the waiting taxi. - -"Victoria Station," said Brownlow to the driver. Then to Tidd, "I can -telegraph from the station." - -They drove off. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -WHAT HAPPENED TO SIMON - - -"He came back two hours ago, sir, and he was in his room ten minutes -ago--but he's gone." - -"Well," said Bobby, who was just off to bed, "he'll be back again soon; -can't come to much harm here. You'd better sit up for him, Mudd." - -Off he went to bed. He lay reading for awhile and thinking of Cerise; -then he put out the light and dropped off to sleep. - -He was awakened by Mudd. Mudd with a candle in his hand. - -"He's not back yet, Mr. Robert." - -Bobby sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Not back? Oh, Uncle Simon! What's the -time?" - -"Gone one, sir." - -"Bother! What can have happened to him, Mudd?" - -"That's what I'm asking myself," said Mudd. - -A heavy step sounded on the gravel drive in front of the hotel, then -came a ring at the bell. Mudd, candle in hand, darted off. - -Bobby heard voices down below. Five minutes passed and then reappeared -Mudd--ghastly to look at. - -"They've took him," said Mudd. - -"What?" - -"He's been took poachin'." - -"Poaching!" - -"Colonel Salmon's river, he and a man, and the man's got off. He's at -the policeman's house, and he says he'll let us have him if we'll go -bail for him, seeing he's an old gentleman and only did it for the lark -of the thing." - -"Thank God!" - -"But he'll have to go before the magistrates on We'n'sday, whether or -no--before the magistrates--_him_!" - -"The devil!" said Bobby. He got up and hurried on some clothes. - -"Him before the magistrates--in his present state! _Oh_, Lord!" - -"Shut up!" said Bobby. His hands were shaking as he put on his things. -Pictures of Simon before the magistrates were fleeting before him. Money -was the only chance. Could the policeman be bribed? - -Hurrying downstairs and outside into the moonlit night, he found the -officer. None of the hotel folk had turned out at the ring of the bell. -Bobby, in a muted voice and beneath the stars, listened to the tale of -the Law, then he tried corruption. - -Useless. Constable Copper, though he might be no more good than a blind -horse, according to Horn, was incorruptible yet consolatory. - -"It'll only be a couple of quid fine," said he. "Maybe not that, seeing -what he is and it was done for a lark. Horn will get it in the neck, but -not him. He's at my house now, and you can have him back if you'll go -bail he won't get loose again. He's a nice old gentleman, but a bit -peculiar, I think." - -Constable Copper seemed quite light-hearted over the matter, and to -think little of it as an offence. A couple of quid would cover it! He -did not, perhaps, appreciate fully the light and shade of the -situation--a J.P. and member of the Athenum and of the Society of -Antiquaries brought up for poaching in company with an evil character -named Horn! - -Neither did Simon, whom they found seated on the side of the table in -the Coppers' sitting-room talking to Mrs. Copper, who was wrapped in a -shawl. - -He went back to the hotel with them rather silent but not depressed; he -tried, indeed, to talk and laugh over the affair. This was the last -straw, and Bobby burst out, giving him a "jawing" complete and of the -first pattern. Then they saw him to bed and put out the light. - -At breakfast he was quite himself again, and the summons which arrived -at eleven o'clock was not shown to him. No one knew of the affair with -the exception of the whole village, all the hotel servants, Bobby and -Mudd. - -The distracted Mudd spent the morning walking about, hither and thither, -trying to collect his wits and make a plan. Simon had given his name, of -course, though indeed it did not matter much as he was a resident at the -hotel. It was impossible to deport him or move him or pretend he was -ill; nothing was possible but the bench of magistrates--Colonel Salmon -presiding--and Publicity. - -At half-past eleven or quarter to twelve he sent the despairing message -to Oppenshaw; then he collapsed into a cold sort of resignation with hot -fits at times. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -TIDD _versus_ BROWNLOW - - -At four o'clock that day a carriage drove up to the hotel and two -gentlemen alighted. They were shown into the coffee-room and Mudd was -sent for. He came, expecting to find police officers, and found Brownlow -and Mr. Tidd. - -"One moment, Mr. Tidd," said Brownlow, then he took Mudd outside into -the hall. - -"He's not fit to be seen," said Mudd, when the other had explained. "No -client must see him. He's right enough to look at and speak to, but he's -not himself. What made you bring him here, Mr. Brownlow--now, of all -times?" - -Brownlow started and turned. Mr. Tidd had opened the coffee-room door, -and how much of their conversation he had heard Heaven knows. - -"One moment," said Brownlow. - -"I will wait no longer," said Mr. Tidd. "This must be explained. Is Mr. -Pettigrew here or is he not? No, I will not wait." - -A waiter passed at that moment with an afternoon-tea-tray. - -"Is Mr. Pettigrew in this hotel?" asked Tidd. - -"He's in the garden, I believe, sir." - -Brownlow tried to get in front of Tidd to round him off from the garden; -Mudd tried to take his arm. He pushed them aside. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -IN THE ARBOUR - - -We must go back to three o'clock. At three o'clock Bobby, walking in the -garden smoking a cigarette, had crossed the front of the arbour--Arbour -No. 1. The grass path, soundless as a Turkey carpet, did not betray his -footsteps. - -There were two people in the arbour and they were "canoodling"--Simon -and Julia Delyse. She was keeping her hand in, perhaps, or the -attraction Simon had always had for her had betrayed her into allowing -him to hold her hand. Anyhow, he was holding it. Bobby looked at her, -and Julia snatched her hand away. Simon laughed; he seemed to think it a -good joke, and his vain soul was doubtless pleased with having got the -better of Bobby with Bobby's girl. - -Bobby passed on, saying, "I beg your pardon." It was the only thing he -could think of to say. Then, when out of hearing, he too laughed. He had -got the better of Julia. That brooding presence would brood no more. - -An hour later Simon, walking in the garden alone and in meditation, -reached the bowling-green. He drew close to Arbour No. 2. The grass -silencing his footsteps, he passed the arbour opening and looked in. The -two people there did not see him for a moment, then they unlocked. - -It was Cerise and Bobby. - -Simon stood, mouth open, stock still, cigar dropped on grass. - -He had laughed when Bobby had caught him with Julia. He did not laugh -now. - -The shock of the poaching business had left him untouched, unshaken, but -Cerise, in some strange way, was his centre of gravity, his compass, and -sometimes his rudder. He loved Cerise; the other girls were phantoms. -Perhaps Cerise was the only real thing in his mental state. - -For a moment he stood, his hand to his head like a man stunned. - -Bobby ran to him and caught him. - -"Where am I?" said Uncle Simon. "Oh--oh--I see." He leaned heavily on -Bobby, looking about him in a dazed way like a man half awakened. Madame -Rossignol, who had just come out of the hotel, seeing his condition, ran -towards him, and Simon, as though recognising a guardian angel, held out -his hand. - -Then Bobby and the old lady gently, very gently, began to lead him back -to the house. - -As they drew near the back entrance three men, one following the other, -came out. - -Simon stopped. - -He had recognised Tidd; he seemed also to recognise more fully his own -position and to remember. Bobby felt his hand tightly clasping his own. - -"Why, this is Mr. Tidd," said Simon. - -"Mr. Pettigrew," said Tidd, "where are my papers--the papers in the case -of Renshaw?" - -"Tidd _v._ Renshaw," said Simon's accurate mind. "They are in the top -left-hand drawer of my bureau in Charles Street, Westminster." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -CHAPTER THE LAST - - -"You are all absolutely wrong." Julia Delyse was speaking. She had been -sitting mumchance at a general meeting of the Pettigrew confraternity -held half an hour before Bench in a sitting-room of the Rose Hotel. - -Simon had vetoed the idea of a solicitor to defend him--it would only -create more talk, and from what he could make out his case was -defenceless. He would throw himself on the mercy of the court. The rest -had concurred. - -"Throw yourself on the mercy of the court! Have you ever lived in the -country? Do you know what these old magistrates are like? Don't you know -that the _Wessex Chronicle_ will publish yards about it, to say nothing -of the local rag? I've thought out the whole thing. I've wired for Dick -Pugeot." - -"You wired?" said Bobby. - -"Last night. You remember I asked you for his address--and there he is." - -The toot of a motor-horn came from outside. - -Julia rose and left the room. - -Bobby followed and stopped her in the passage. - -"Julia," said he, "if you can get him out of this and save his name -being in the papers, you'll be a brick. You are a brick, and I've been -a--a----" - -"I know," said Julia, "but you could not help yourself--nor can I. I'm -not Cerise. Love is lunacy and the world's all wrong. Now go back and -tell your uncle to say nothing in court and to pretend he's a fool. If -Pugeot is the man you say he is, he'll save his name. Old Mr. Pettigrew -has got to be camouflaged." - -"Good heavens, Julia," cried Bobby, the vision of gnus emulating zebras -rising before him, "you can't mean to paint him?" - -"Never mind what I mean," said Julia. - - -The Upton Bench was an old Bench. It had been in existence since the -time of Mr. Justice Shallow. It held its sittings in the court-room of -the Upton Police Court, and there it dispensed justice, of a sort, of a -Wednesday morning upon "drunks," petty pilferers, poachers, tramps, and -any other unfortunates appearing before it. - -Colonel Grouse was the chairman. With him this morning sat Major -Partridge-Cooper, Colonel Salmon, Mr. Teal, and General Grampound. The -reporters of the local rag and the _Wessex Chronicle_ were in their -places. The Clerk of the Court, old Mr. Quail, half-blind and fumbling -with his papers, was at his table; a few village constables, including -Constable Copper, were by the door, and there was no general public. - -The general public was free to enter, but none of the villagers ever -came. It was an understood thing that the Bench discouraged idlers and -inquisitive people. - -The inalienable right of the public to enter a Court of Justice and see -Themis at work had never been pushed. The Bench was much more than the -Bench--it was the Gentry and the Power of Upton,[1] against which no man -could run counter. Horn alone, in pot-houses and public places, had -fought against this shibboleth; he had found a few agreers, but no -backers. - -At eleven to the moment the Pettigrew contingent filed in and took their -places, and after them a big yellow man, the Hon. Dick Pugeot. He was -known to the magistrates, but Justice is blind and no mark of -recognition was shown, whilst a constable, detaching himself from the -others, went to the door and shouted: - -"Richard Horn." - -Horn, who had been caught and bailed, and who had evidently washed -himself and put on his best clothes, entered, made for the dock, as a -matter of long practice, and got into it. - -"Simon Pettigrew," called the Clerk. - -Simon rose and followed Horn. Instructed by Julia to say nothing, he -said nothing. - -Then Pugeot rose. - -"I beg your pardon," said Pugeot; "you have got my friend's name wrong. -Pattigraw, please; he's a Frenchman, though long resident in England; -and it's not Simon--but Sigismond." - -"Rectify the charge-sheet," said Colonel Grouse. "First witness." - -Simon, dazed, and horrified as a solicitor by this line of action, tried -to speak, but failed. The brilliant idea of Julia's, taken up with -enthusiasm by Pugeot, was evidently designed to fool the newspaper men -and save the name of Simon the Solicitor. Still, it was horrible, and he -felt as though Pugeot were trying to carry him pick-a-back across an -utterly impossible bridge. - -He guessed now why this had been sprung on him. They knew that as a -lawyer he would never have agreed to such a statement. - -Then Copper, hoisting himself into the witness-stand, hitching his belt -and kissing the Testament, began: - -"I swear before A'mighty Gawd that the evidence I shall give shall be -the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me Gawd, -Amen on the evening of the 16th pursuin' my beat by Porter's Meadows I -see defendant in the company of Horn----" - -"What were they doing?" asked old Mr. Teal, who was busily taking notes -just like any real judge. - -"Walkin' towards the river, sir." - -"In which direction?" - -"Up stream, sir." - -"Go on." - -Copper went on. - -"Crossin' the meadows, they kept to the river, me after them----" - -"How far behind?" asked Major Partridge-Cooper. - -"Half a field's length, sir, till they reached the bend of the stream -beyond which the prisoner Horn began to set his night lines, assisted by -the prisoner Puttigraw. 'Hullo,' says I, and Horn bolted, and I closed -with the other one." - -"Did he make resistance?" - -"No, sir. I walked him up to my house quite quiet." - -"That all?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"You can stand down." - -The prisoners had pleaded guilty and there was no other evidence. Simon -began to see light. He could perceive at once that it would be a -question of a fine, that the magistrates and Press had swallowed him as -specified by Pugeot, that his name was saved. But he reckoned without -Pugeot. - -Pugeot had done everything in life except act as an advocate, and he was -determined not to let the chance escape. Several brandies-and-sodas at -the hotel had not lessened his enthusiasm for Publicity, and he rose. - -"Mr. Chairman and Justices," said Pugeot. "I would like to say a few -words on behalf of my friend, the prisoner, whom I have known for many -years and who now finds himself in this unfortunate position through no -fault of his own." - -"How do you make that out?" asked Colonel Grouse. - -"I beg your pardon?" said Pugeot, checked in his eloquence. "Oh yes, I -see what you mean. Well, as a matter of fact, as a matter of fact--well, -not to put too fine a point upon it, leaving aside the fact that he is -the last man to do a thing of this sort, he has had money troubles in -France." - -"Do you wish to make out a case of _non compos mentis_?" asked old Mr. -Teal. "There is no medical evidence adduced." - -"Not in the least," said Pugeot; "he's as right as I am, only he has had -worries." Then, confidentially, and speaking to the Bench as fellow-men: -"If you will make it a question of a fine, I will guarantee everything -will be all right--and besides"--a brilliant thought--"his wife will -look after him." - -"Is his wife present?" asked Colonel Grouse. - -"That is the lady, I believe," said Colonel Salmon, looking in the -direction of the Rossignols, whom he dimly remembered having seen at the -Squire Simpson's with Simon. - -Pugeot, cornered, turned round and looked at the blushing Madame -Rossignol. - -"Yes," said he, without turning a hair, "that is the lady." - -Then the recollection struck him with a thud that he had introduced the -Rossignols as Rossignols to the Squire Simpson's and that they were -registered at the hotel as Rossignols. He felt as though he were in a -skidding car, but nothing happened, no accusing voice rose to give him -the lie, and the Bench retired to consider its sentence, which was one -guinea fine for Sigismond and a month for Horn. - -"You've married them," said Julia, as they walked back to the hotel, -leaving the others to follow. "I _never_ meant you to say that. But -perhaps it's for the best; she's a good woman and will look after him, -and he'll _have_ to finish the business, won't he?" - -"Rather, and a jolly good job!" said Pugeot. "Now I've got to bribe the -hotel man and stuff old Simpson with the hard facts. Never had such fun -in my life. I say, old thing, where do you hang out in London?" - -Julia gave him her address. - - -That was the beginning of the end of Pugeot as a bachelor--also of -Simon, who never would have been brought up to the scratch but for -Pugeot's speech--also of Mr. Ravenshaw, who never in his wildest dreams -could have foreseen his marriage to Simon's step-daughter a week after -Simon's marriage to her mother. - -Mudd alone remains unmarried out of all these people, for the simple -and efficient reason that there is no one to marry him to. He lives with -the Pettigrews in Charles Street, and his only trouble in life is dread -of another outbreak on the part of Simon. This has not occurred -yet--will never occur, if there is any truth in the dictum of Oppenshaw -that marriage is the only cure for the delusions of youth. - - -THE END - -FOOTNOTE: - -[1] This was before the Politicians had amended the Bench. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Man Who Found Himself, by -Margaret Stacpoole and Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN WHO FOUND HIMSELF *** - -***** This file should be named 55039-8.txt or 55039-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/0/3/55039/ - -Produced by Roger Frank, Martin Pettit and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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