Story one of the Loot of Cities. This is a LibriVox recording. All
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please visit LibriVox dot org. Recording by David Wales. The Loot of Cities
by Arnold Bennett. Story one, The Loot of Cities, Chapter one,
The Fire of London. You are wanted on the telephone, Sir mister Bruce
Bowering, managing director of a consolidated mining and Investment Corporation Limited capital two millions
in one pound shares which stood at twenty seven and six, turned and gazed
querilously across the electrically spaces of his superb private office. Had the confidential clerk,
who addressed him mister Bowing in shirt sleeves before a Florentine mirror, was
brushing his hair with the solicitude of a mother who has failed to rear most
of a large family. Who is it? He asked, as if that
demand for him were the last straw, but one nearly seven on Friday evening,
he added, martyrrized, I think a friend, Sir. The middle
aged financier dropped his gold mounted brush and waded through the deep pile of the
oriental carpet, passed into the telephone cabinet and shut the door. Hello,
he accosted the transmitter, resolved not to be angry with it. Hello,
are you there? Yes, I'm bowing. Who are you? Nah?
The faint, unhuman voice of the receiver whispered in his ear ner clock.
I'm a friend. What name? No name? I thought you might like
to know that a determined robbery is going to be attempted to night at your
house in Lound Square, a robbery of cash, and before nine o'clock nor,
I thought you might like to know, ah, said mister bowring to
the transmitter. The feeble exclamation was all he could achieve at first in the
confined, hot silence of the telephone cabinet. This message, coming to him
mysteriously out of the vast unknown of London, struck him with a sudden sick
fear that perhaps his wondrously organized scheme might yet miscarry, even at the final
moment. Why that night of all nights, and why before nine o'clock?
Could it be that the secret was out? Then? Any further interesting details?
He inquired, bracing himself to an assumption of imperturbable and gay coolness.
But there was no answer, and when, after some difficulty, he got
the exchange girl to disclose the number which had wrung him up, he found
that his interlocutor had been using a public call office in Oxford Street. He
returned to his room, donned his frock coat, took a large envelope from
a locked drawer and put it in his pocket, and sat down to think
a little. At that time, mister Bruce Bowing was one of the most
famous conjurers in the city. He had begun ten years earlier with nothing but
a silk hat, and out of that empty hat had been produced, First
the Hooplaw limited a South African gold mine of numerous stamps and frequent dividends,
then the Hooplaw number two limited a mine with as many reincarnations as Buddha,
and then a dazzling succession of mines and combination of mines. The more the
hat emptied itself, the more it was full, and the emerging objects,
which now included the house in Lounge Square and a perfect dream of a place
in Hampshire, grew constantly larger, and the conjurer more impressive and persuasive and
the audience more enthusiastic in its applause. At last, with a unique flourish
and a new turning up of sleeves to prove that there was no h deception,
had come out of the hat. The cmice, a sort of incredibly
enormous union jack, which enwrapped all the other objects in its splendid folds.
The shares of the cmice were affectionately known in the Kafer circus as solids.
They yielded handsome, though irregular dividends, earned chiefly by flotation and speculation.
The circus believed in them, and, in view of the annual meeting of
shareholders to be held on the following Tuesday afternoon, the conjurer in the chair
and his hat on the table, the market price, after a period of
depression, had stiffened. Mister Bowring's meditations were soon interrupted by a telegram.
He opened it and read, cook drunk again, will dine with you Devonshire
seven thirty impossible here have arranged about luggage. Marie. Marie was mister Bowring's
wife. He told himself that he felt greatly relieved by that telegram. He
clutched at it, and his spirits seemed to rise at any rate. Since
he could not now go near Lound Square, he could certainly laugh at the
threatened robbery. He thought, what a wonderful thing providence was, after all.
Just look at that, he said to us clerk, showing the telegram,
with a humorous affectation of dismay. Tat tut, said the clerk,
discreetly sympathetic towards his employer, thus victimized by debauched cooks. I suppose you
are going down to Hampshire to night as usual, Sir mister Bowring replied that
he was, and that everything appeared to be in order for the meeting,
and that he should be back on Monday afternoon, or at the latest very
early on Tuesday. Then with a few parting instructions, and with that eagle
glance round his own room and into circumjacent rooms which a truly efficient head of
affairs never omits. On leaving business for the weekend, mister Bowring sedately yet
magnificently departed from the noble registered office of the CMIC. Why didn't Marie telephone
instead of wiring, he mused, as his pair of grays whirled him and
his coachman and his Footman off to the Devonshire two. The Devonshire Mansion,
a bright edifice of eleven stories in the Foster and Dixie style constructional ironwork by
Homan, lifts by waygood decorations by Wearing and terra cotta by the Rood,
is situate on the edge of Hyde Park. It is a composite building.
Its foundations are firmly fixed in the tube railway. Above that comes the wine
cellar ridge, then the vast laundry, and then a row of windows scarcely
level with the street, a sporting club, a billiard room, a grill
room, and a cigarette merchant whose ends an opulas. On the first floor
is the renowned Devonshire Mansion restaurant. Always in London there is just one restaurant
where, if you are an entirely correct person you can get a decent meal.
The place changes from season to season, but there is never more than
one of it at a time. That season had happened to be the Devonshire.
The Chef of the Devonshire had invented tripe suppers trips a la Moude de
Can, and these suppers seven and six had been the rage. Consequently,
all entirely correct. People fed as a matter of course at the Devonshire,
since there was no other place fit to go to. The vogue of the
restaurant a favorably affected the vogue of the nine floors of furnished suites above the
restaurant. They were always full, and the heavenward attics, where the servants
took off their smart liveries and became human, held much wealth. The vogue
of the restaurant also exercised a beneficial influence over the status of the KitKat Club,
which was a cock and hen club of the latest pattern, and had
its house on the third floor. It was a little after half past seven
when mister Bruce Bowing haughtily ascended the grand staircase of this resort of opulence and
paused for an instant near the immense fireplace at the summit. September was inclement
and a fire burned nicely. To inquire from the head waiter whether missus Bowring
had secured a table, but Marie had not arrived. Marie, who was
never late, uneasy and chagrined, he proceeded under the escort of the head
waiter to the glittering saw. Louis catoors, and selected because of his morning
attire. A table half hidden behind an onyx pillar. The great room was
moderately full of fair women and possessive men, despite the month. Immediately afterwards,
a youngish couple, the man handsomer and better dressed than the woman,
took the table on the other side of the pillar. Mister Bowring waited five
minutes. Then he ordered soul mornaz and a bottle of ruminis comti, And
then he waited another five minutes. He went somewhat in fear of his wife
and did not care to begin without her. Can't you read? It?
Was the youngish man at the next table, speaking in a raised voice to
a squinting lackey with a telegraph form in his hand. Solid's solids, my
friend, sell solids to any amount tomorrow and monday. Got it? Well,
send it off at once. Quite clear, my lord, said the
lackey, and fled. The youngish man gazed fixedly but absently at mister Bowering,
and seemed to see through him to the tapestry behind mister Bowring to his
own keen annoyance reddened, partly to conceal the blush and partly because it was
a quarter to eight, and there was the train to catch. He lowered
his face and began upon the soul. A few minutes later, the lackey
returned, gave some change to the youngish man, and surprised mister Bowring by
advancing towards him and handing him an envelope, an envelope which bore on its
flap the legend kitcat Club. The note within was scribbled in pencil in his
wife's handwriting. And ran just arrived, delayed by luggage, and too nervous
to face the restaurant, and am eating a chop here alone. The place
is fortunately empty. Come and fetch me as soon as you're ready, mister
Bowring sighed angrily. He hated his wife's club, and this succession of messages
telephonic, telegraphic and calligraphic was exasperating him. No answer, he ejaculated,
and then he beckoned the lackey closer, who's that gentleman at the next table
with the lady. He murmured, I'm not rightly sure, sir, was
the whispered reply. Some authorities say he's the strong man at the hippodrome,
while others affirm he's a sort of American millionaire. But you addressed him as
Malloyd. Just then I thought he was the strong man, sir, said
the lackey, retiring my bill. Mister Bowering demanded fiercely of the waiter,
and at the same time the youngest gentleman and his companion rose and departed.
At the lift, mister Bowring found the squinting lackey in charge. You're the
liftman too, to night, sir, I am many things. The fact
is the regular liftman has got a couple of hours off, being the recent
father of twins Well Kit cat Club. The lift seemed to shoot far upwards,
and mister Bowring thought the lackey had mistaken the floor, but on gaining
the corridor, he saw across the portals in front of him the remembered gold
sign Kit Cat Club member's own. He pushed the door open and went in
three Instead of the familiar vestibule of his wife's club, mister Bowering discovered a
small ante chamber, and beyond through a doorway half screened by a portier.
He had glimpses of a rich, rose lit drawing room in the doorway.
With one hand raised to the portier, stood the youngish man who had forced
him to blush in the restaurant. I beg your pardon, said mister Bowering
stiffly. Is this the Kitcat Club? The other man advanced to the outer
door, his brilliant eyes fixed on mister Bowring's. His arm crept round the
cheek of the door and came back bearing the gold sign. Then he shut
the door and locked it. No, this isn't the Kitcat Club at all,
he replied, It is my flat. Come and sit down. I
was expecting you. I shall do nothing of the kind, said mister Bowering
disdainfully. But when I tell you that I know that you are going to
DeCamp tonight, mister Bowring, the youngish man smiled affably to camp. The
spine of the financier suddenly grew flaxed. I use the word, who the
devil are you? Snapped the financier, forcing his spine to rigidity. I
am the friend on the telephone. I specially wanted you at the Devonshire tonight,
and I thought that the fear of a robbery at Lound Square might make
your arrival here more certain. I am he who devised the story of the
inebriated cook and favored you with a telegram signed Marie. I am the humorist
who pretended in a loud voice to send off telegraphic instructions to sell solids in
order to watch your demeanor under the test. I am the expert who forged
your wife's handwriting in a note from the KitKat. I am the patron of
the cross eyed menial who gave you the note, and who afterwards raised you
too high in the lift. I am the artificer of this gold sign,
an exact duplicate of the genuine one two floors below, which induced you to
visit me. The sign alone cost me nine and six. The servant's livery
came to two pounds fifteen. But I never consider expense when by debt of
a generous outlay I may avoid a violence. I hate violence. He gently
waved the sign to and fro then my wife. Mister Bowring stammered in a
panic. Rage is probably at Lound Square, wondering what on earth has happened
to you. Mister Bowing took breath, remembered that he was a great man,
and steadied himself. You must be mad, he remarked, quietly,
opened this door at once, perhaps, the stranger judicially admitted, perhaps a
sort of madness. But do come and sit down. We have no time
to lose. Mister Bowing gazed at that handsome face, with the fine nostrils,
large mouth and square clean chin, and the dark eyes, the black
hair and long black mustache, and he noticed the long, thin hands decadent
he decided nevertheless, And though it was with the air of indulging the caprice
of a lunatic, he did in fact obey the stranger's request. It was
a beautiful Chippendale drawing room that he entered. Near the hearth, to which
a morsel of fire gave cheerfulness, were two easy chairs, and between them
a small table. Behind was extended a fourfold draft screen. I can give
you just five minutes, said mister Bowing, magisterially, sitting down, They
will suffice. The stranger responded, sitting down. Also, you have in
your pocket, mister Bowing, probably your breast pocket, fifty Bank of England
and os for a thousand pounds each, and a number of smaller notes amounting
to another ten thousand. Well, I must demand from you the first named
fifty. Mister Bowing in the silence of the roselit drawing room. Thought of
all the Devonshire mansion, with its endless corridors and innumerable rooms, its acres
of carpets, its forests of furniture, its gold and silver and its jewels,
and its wines, its pretty women and possessive men. The whole humming
microcosm founded on a unanimous pretense that the sacredness of property was natural law.
And he thought how disconcerting it was that he should be trapped there, helpless,
in the very middle of the vast pretense, and forced to admit that
the sacredness of property was a purely artificial convention. By what right do you
make this demand, he inquired, bravely sarcastic, By the right of my
unique knowledge, said the stranger, with a bright smile. Well, listen
to what you and I alone know. You are at the end of the
tether. The consolidated is at the same spot. You have a past consisting
chiefly of nineteen fraudulent flotations. You have paid dividends out of capital till there
is no capital left. You have speculated and lost, You have cooked balance
sheets to a turn, and ruined the eye sight of auditors with dust.
You have lived like ten lords. Your houses are mortgaged, You own an
unrivaled collection of unrecepted bills. You are worse than a common thief. Excuse
these personalities, my dear good Sir mister Bowering interrupted, grandly, permit me
what is more serious? Your self competence has been gradually deserting you, at
last perceiving that some blundering person was bound soon to put his foot through the
brittle shop of your ostentation and tread on nothing, and for seeing for yourself
an immediate future consisting chiefly of holloway. You have, by a supreme effort
of your genius, borrowed sixty thousand pounds from a bank on CMI see script
for a week, and you have arranged you and your wife to melt into
thin air. You will affect to set out as usual for your country place
in Hampshire. But it is Southampton that will see you tonight, and Ave
will see you tomorrow. You may run over to Paris to change some notes,
but by Monday you will be on your way to Frankly, I don't
know where, perhaps Mata Adale. Of course, you take the risk of
extradition, but the risk is preferable to the certainty that awaits you in England.
I think you will elude extradition. If I thought otherwise, I would
not have had you here tonight, because once extradite, you might begin to
amuse yourself by talking about me. So it's blackmail, said mister bowering grim
The dark eyes opposite to him sparkled gaily. It desolates me, the young
man observed, to have to commit you to the deep with only ten thousand,
but really not less than fifty thousand will requite me for the brain tissue
which I have expended in the study of your interesting situation. Mister Bowring consulted
his watch. Come now, he said, huskily, I'll give you ten
thousand. I flatter myself. I can look facts in the face, and
so I'll give you ten thousand. My friend answered the spider. You are
a judge of character. Do you honestly think I don't mean precisely what I
say to sixpence? It is eight thirty. You are, if I may
be allowed the remark, running it rather fine. And suppose I refuse to
part mister Bowing upon reflection, what then, why I have confessed to you
that I hate violence. You would therefore leave this room unmolested, but you
wouldn't step off the island. Mister Bowring scanned the agreeable features of the stranger.
Then, while the lifts were ascending and descending, and the wine was
sparkling, and the jewels flashing, and the gold clinking, and the pretty
women being pretty in all the four quarters of the Devonshire, mister Bruce Bowing
in the silent parlor, counted out fifty notes on to the table. After
all, it was a fortune that little pile of white on the crimson polished
wood, bon Voyage, said the stranger. Don't imagine that I am not
full of sympathy for you. I am. You have only been unfortunate,
bon Voyage. No, by heaven, mister Bowring almost shouted, rushing back
from the door and drawing a revolver from his hip. Pop, it's too
much. I don't mean to, but confound it. What's a revolver for?
The youngish man jumped up quickly and put his hands on the notes.
Violence is always foolish, mister Bowring. He murmured, will you give them
up? Or won't you? I won't The stranger's fine eyes seemed to glint
with joy in the drama. Then the revolver was raised, but in the
same instant a tiny hand snatched it from the hand of mister Bowring, who
turned and beheld by his side a woman. The huge screen sank slowly and
noiselessly to the floor, in the surprising manner peculiar to screens that have been
overset. Mister Bowring cursed an accomplice, I might have guessed, he grumbled.
In final disgust. He ran to the door, unlocked it, and
was no more seen. Four. The lady was aged twenty seven or so,
of meeting height, and slim, with a plain, very intelligent and
expressive face, lighted by courageous gray eyes, and crowned with loose, abundant,
fluffy air. Perhaps it was the fluffy hair, Perhaps it was the
mouth that twitched as she dropped the revolver. Who can say, But the
whole atmosphere of the rose lit chamber was suddenly changed. The incalculable had invaded
it. You seem surprised, miss Fincastle, said the possessor of the bank
notes, laughing gaily. Surprised, echoed the lady controlling that mouth, My
dear mister Thorold, when strictly as a journalist, I accepted your invitation,
I did not anticipate this sequel. Frankly I did not. She tried to
speak coldly and evenly on the assumption that a journalist has no sex during business
hours. But just then she happened to be neither less nor more a woman
than a woman always is. If I have had the misfortune to annoy you
thorough that threw up his arms in gallant despair, Annoy is not the word,
said Miss Fincastle, nervously smiling. May I sit down? Thanks.
Let us recount you arrive in England from somewhere as the son and heir of
the late Ahasuras Thorold, the New York operator who died worth six million dollars.
It becomes known that while in Algiers in the spring, you stayed at
the hotel Saint Jam's, famous as the scene of what is called the Algiers
mystery, familiar to English newspaper readers since last April. The editor of my
journal therefore instructs me to obtain an interview with you. I do so.
The first thing I discover is that though an American, you have no American
accent. You explain this by saying that since infancy you have always lived in
Europe with your mother. But surely you do not doubt that I am Cecil
Thoroled, said the man. Their faces were approximate over the table, of
course, not I merely recount. To continue, I interview you as to
the Algerian mystery and get some new items concerning it. Then you regale me
with tea and your opinions, and my questions grow more personal. So it
comes about that, strictly on behalf of my paper, I inquire what your
recreations are, and suddenly you answer, ah, my recreations. Come to
dinner to night, quite informally, and I will show you how I amuse
myself. I come, I dine. I am stuck behind that screen and
told to listen, and the millionaire proves to be nothing but a blackmailer.
You must understand, my dear lady. I understand everything, mister Thoroled,
except your object in admitting me to the scene. Oh whem, cried Thorole,
vivaciously. A freak of mine, possibly due to the eternal and universal
desire of man to show off before woman. The journalist tried to smile,
but something in her face caused Thorough to run to a Chiffonier drink this,
he said, returning with a glass. I need nothing. The voice was
a whisper oblige me. Miss Fincastle drank and coughed. Why do you do
it? She asked, sadly, looking at the notes. You don't mean
to say, Thorough burst out that you are feeling sorry for mister Bruce Bowing.
He has merely parted with what he stole and the people from whom he
stole stole. All the activities which center about the stock exchange are simply various
manifestations of one prime evil instinct. Suppose I had not had not interfered,
no one would have been a penny the better off, except mister Bruce Bowring.
Whereas as you intend to restore this money to the Consolidated, said Miss
Fincastle, eagerly. Not quite. The Consolidated doesn't deserve it. You must
not regard its shareholders as a set of innocent, shorn lambs. They knew
the game. They went in for what they could get. Besides, how
could I restore the money without giving myself away. I want the money myself,
but you are a millionaire. It is precisely because I am a millionaire
that I want more. All millionaires are like that. Oh, I'm sorry
to find you a thief, mister Thorold, a thief. No, I
am only direct, I only avoid the middleman. At dinner, Miss Fincastle,
you displayed somewhat advanced views about property, marriage and the aristocracy of brains.
You said that labels were for the stupid majority, and that the wise
minority examined the ideas behind the labels. You label me a thief, but
examined the idea, and you will perceive that you might as well call yourself
a thief. Your newspaper every day suppresses the truth about the city, and
it does so in order to live. In other words, it touches the
pitch. It participates in the game. Today it has a fifty line advertisement
of a false balance sheet of the consolidated at two shillings, a line that
five pounds part of the loot of a great city will help to pay for
your account of our interview this afternoon, our interview tonight. Miss Fincastle corrected
him stiffly, and all that I have seen and heard. At these words,
she stood up, and as he so thoroled gazed at her, his
face changed. I shall begin to wish, he said slowly, that I
had deprived myself of the pleasure of your company this evening. You might have
been a dead man had you done so. Miss Finncasile retorted, and observing
his blank countenance, she touched the revolver. Have you forgotten already, she
asked tartly. Of course it wasn't loaded, he remarked, of course,
I had seen to that earlier in the day. I'm not such a bungler.
Then I didn't save your life. You force me to say that you
did not, and to remind you that you gave me your word not to
emerge from behind the screen. However, seeing the motive, I can only
thank you for that lapse. The pity is that it hopelessly compromises you,
me, exclaimed Miss Finncastle. You can't you see that you are in it
in this robbery. To give the thing a label, You were alone with
the robber. You suckered the robber at a critical moment, accomplice, mister
bowing himself, said, my dear journalist. The episode of the revolver empty,
though the revolver was seals yours, Miss Fincastle laughed rather hysterically, leaning
over the table with her hands on it. My dear millionaire, she said
rapidly, you don't know the new journalism to which I have the honor to
belong. You would know it better had you lived more in New York.
All I have to announce is that, compromised or not, a full account
of this affair will appear in my paper tomorrow morning. No, I shall
not inform the police. I am a journalist, simply. But a journalist
I am. And your promise which you gave me before going behind the screen,
your solemn promise that you would reveal nothing. I was loath to mention
it. Some promises, mister Thorold. It is a duty to break,
and it is my duty to break this one. I should never have given
it had I had the slightest idea of the nature of your recreations. Thorold
still smiled, though faintly. Really, you know, he murmured, this
is getting to still little serious. It is very serious, she stammered,
and then Thorold noticed that the new journalist was softly weeping. Five. The
door opened. Miss Kitty Satorius, said the erstwhile liftman, who was now
in plain clothes and had mysteriously ceased to squint. A beautiful girl, a
girl who had remarkable loveliness and was aware of it. One of the prettiest
women of the Devonshire, ran impulsively into the room and caught Miss Fincastle by
the hand. My dearest Eve, your crying. What's the matter, Lecky,
said Thorold, aside to the servant. I told you to admit no
one. The beautiful blonde turned sharply to Thorold. I told him I wished
to enter, She said, imperiously, half closing her eyes. A yes,
Sir, said Lecky. That was it. The lady wished to enter.
Thorold bowed it was sufficient, He said, that will do. Lecky,
Yes, sir, But I say, Lecky, when next you address
me publicly, try to remember that I am not in the peerage. The
servant squinted, certainly, sir, and he retired. Now we are alone,
said Miss Sartorius. Introduce us Eve and explain. Miss Fincastle, having
regained self control, introduced her dear friend, the radiant star of the Regency
Theater and her acquaintance, the millionaire. Eve didn't feel quite sure of you,
the actress stated, and so we arranged that if she wasn't up at
my flat by nine o'clock, I was to come down and reconnoiter. What
have you been doing to make Eve cry? Unintentional? I assure you,
Thorold began. There's something between you two, said Kitty Sartorius sagaciously, in
significant accents. What is it? She sat down, touched her pick,
your hat, smoothed her white gown, and tapped her foot. What is
it now, mister Darold, I think you had better tell me. Thorough
raised his eyebrows and obediently commenced the narration, standing with his back to the
fire. How perfectly splendid, Kitty exclaimed, I'm so glad you cornered mister
Bowring. I met him one night and I thought he was horrid. And
these are the notes well of all the Thorold proceeded with his story. Oh
but you can't do that, Eve, said Kitty, suddenly serious. You
can't go and split. It would mean all sorts of bother your wretched newspaper.
Would it be sure to keep you hanging about in London, and we
shouldn't be able to start on our holiday tomorrow. Eve and I are starting
on quite a long tour tomorrow, mister Thorold, we begin with ostend.
Indeed, said Thorold, I too, am going in that direction soon.
Perhaps we may meet, I hope, so. Kitty smiled, and then
she looked at Eve Fincastle. You really mustn't do that, Eve, she
said, I must. I must, Miss Vincastle insisted, clinching her hands.
And she will, said Kitty tragically, after considering her friend's face.
She will, and our holiday's ruined. I see it, I see it
plainly. She's in one of her stupid conscientious moods. She's fearfully advanced and
careless and unconventional in theory, Eve is. But when it comes to practice,
mister Thorold, you have just got everything into a dreadful knot. Why
did you want those notes so very particularly I don't want them so very particularly
well. Anyhow, it's a most peculiar predicament. Mister Bowring doesn't count,
and a disconsolidated thing of me isn't any the worse off nobody suffers who oughtn't
to suffer. It's your unlawful gain. That's wrong. Why not pitch those
wretched notes in the fire? Kitty laughed at her own playful humor. Certainly,
said Thorold, and with a quick movement he put the fifty trifles in
the grate, where they made a bluish yellow flame. Both the women screamed
and sprang up. Mister Thorold, Mister Thorold, he's adorable. Kitty breathe
the incident. I venture to hope is now closed, said Thorold, calmly,
but with his dark eyes sparkling. I must thank you both for a
very enjoyable evening. Some day, perhaps I may have an opportunity of further
explaining my philosophy to you. End of chapter one, Story one of the
Loot of Cities by Arnold Bennett. This libribox recording is in the public domain.
Story one, The Lute of Cities, Chapter two, a comedy on
the go. It was five o'clock on an afternoon in mid September, and
a couple of American millionaires they abounded that year did millionaires sat chatting together on
the wide terrace which separates the entrance to the cursall from the promenade some yards
away against the balustrade of the terrace. In the natural, unconsidered attitude of
one to whom short frocks are a matter of history, certainly a but very
recent history, stood a charming and imperious girl. You could see that she
was eating chocolate while meditating upon the riddle of life. The elder millionaire glanced
at every pretty woman within view, excepting only the girl, but his companion
seemed to be intent on counting the chocolates. The immense crystal dome of the
Cursall dominated the Gold coast, and on either side of the great building were
stretched out in a straight line tells. The restaurants, the cafes, the
shops, the theatres, the concert halls, and the pawnbrokers of the City
of Pleasure ostend. At one extremity of that long array of ornate white architecture,
which resembled the icing on a bridecake more than the roofs of men,
was the palace of a king. At the other were the lighthouse and the
railway signals, which guided into the city. The continuously arriving cargoes of wealth,
beauty, and desire. In front the ocean gray and lethargic idly beat
up a little genteel foam under the promenade for the wedding of pink feet and
stylish bathing costumes. And after a hard day's work, the sun, by
arrangement with the authorities during August and September, was setting over the sea,
exactly opposite the superb portals of the cursaw. The younger of the millionaires was
Cecil Thurled. The other, a man one fifty five or so, was
Simeon Rancher, father of the girl at the balustrade, and president of the
famous dry Goods Trust of Exciting Memory. The contrast between the two menlike only
in extreme riches, was remarkable. Cecil still youthful, slim, dark,
languid of movement, with delicate features, eyes almost Spanish and an accent of
purest English, and ranger with his nasal twang, his stout frame, his
rounded bluish red chin, his little eyes, and that demeanor of false briskness,
by means of which aging men seek to prove to themselves that they are
as young as ever they were. Simeon had been a friend and opponent of
Cecil's father in former days. Those Twain had victimized each other for colossal sums.
Consequently, Simeon had been glad to meet the son of his dead and
ends antagonists, and in less than a week of ostend repose, despite a
fundamental disparity of temperament, the formidable President and the Europeanized Wanderer had achieved a
sort of intimacy, an intimacy which was about to be intensified. The difference
between you and me is this cecil was saying, you exhaust yourself by making
money among men who are all bent on making money in a place specially set
apart for the purpose. I amuse myself by making money among men who,
having made or inherited money, are bent on spending it in places specially set
apart for the purpose. I take people off their guard. They don't precisely
see me coming. I don't rent an office and put up a sign,
which is equivalent to announcing that the rest of the world had better look out
for itself. Our codes are the same, but is not my way more
original and more diverting. Look at this place. Half the wealth of Europe
is collected here. The other half is that truvy. The entire coast reeks
of money. The sands are golden with it. You've only to put out
your hand, so so ejaculated Rainshaw, quizzical, how show me? Ah,
that would be telling. I guess you wouldn't get much out of Simion,
not as much as your father did. Do you imagine I should try?
Said Cecil gravely. My amusements are always discreet, but you confess you
are often bored. Now on Wall Street, we are never bored, Yes,
Cecil admitted, I embarked on these, uh, these enterprises, mainly
to escape boardom you ought to marry, said Rainshaw pointedly. You ought to
marry my friend. I have my yacht, no doubt, and as she's
a beauty and feminine too, but not feminine enough, you ought to marry.
Now, I'll mister Rainshaw pause. His daughter had suddenly ceased to eat
chocolates and was leaning over the balustrade in order to converse with a tall young
man whose fair, tanned face and white hat overtopped the carved masonry and were
thus visible to the millionaires. The latter glanced at one another and then glanced
away, each slightly self conscious. I thought mister Volorie had left said Cecil.
He came back last night, Rainshaw replied curtly, and he leaves again
tonight. Then then it's a match after all, Cecil ventured, who says
that was Simeon's sharp inquiry, the birds of the air whisper it one heard
at every corner three days ago. Rainshow turned his chair a little towards Cecil's.
You'll allow, I ought to know something about it, he said,
Well, I tell you it's a lie. I'm sorry I mentioned it.
Cecil apologized, Not at all, said Simeon, stroking his chin. I'm
glad you did, because now you can just tell all the birds of the
air direct from me that in this particular case, there isn't going to be
the usual alliance between the beauty and dollars of America and the aristocratic blood of
Great Britain. Listen right here, he continued, confidentially, like a man
whose secret feelings have been inconveniencing him for several hours. This young spark mind,
I've nothing against him, asked me to consent to his engagement with Geraldine.
I tell him that I intend to settle half a million dollars on my
daughter, and that the man she marries, must cover that half million with
another. He says he has a thousand a year of his own pounds,
just nice for Geraldine's gloves and candy, and that he is the heir of
his uncle, Lord Lowry, and that there is an entail, and that
Lord Lowry is very rich, very old, and very unmarried, but that
being also very peculiar, he won't come down with any money. It occurs
to me to remark, suppose Lord Lowry marries and develops into the father of
a man child, where do you come in, mister vo Lorry, Oh,
Lord Lowry, Mary impossible? Laughable. Then Geraldine begins to worry at
me, and her mother too, and so I kind of issue an ultimatum,
namely, I will consent to an engagement without a settlement if on the
marriage Lord Lowry will give a note of hand for half a million dollars to
Geraldine payable on his marriage. See. My lord's nephew goes off to persuade
my lord and returns with my lord's answer in an envelope sealed with the Great
Seal. I open it and I read this is what I read to mister
s Rainshow American draper Sir, as a humorist, you rank high. Accept
the admiration of your obedience. Servant Lowry, the millionaire laughed. Oh it's
clever enough, said Rainshaw. It's very English and grand dashed. If I
don't admire it all the same, I've requested mister vol Lari, under the
circumstances, to quit this town. I didn't show him the letter. No,
I spared his delicate feelings. I merely told him Lord Lowry had refused,
and that I would be ready to consider his application favorably any time when
he happened to have half a million dollars in his pocket. And Miss Geraldine,
she's flying the red flag. But she knows when my back's against the
wall. She knows her father. She'll recover Great Scott. She's eighteen and
he's twenty one. The whole affair is a high farce. And moreover,
I guess I want Geraldine to marry an American after all, And if she
elopes, Cecil murmured, as if to himself, gazing at the set features
of the girl, who was now alone once more OBEs. Rainshaw's face reddened
as his mood shifted suddenly from indulgent cynicism to profound anger. Cecil was amazed
at the transformation, until he remembered to have heard long ago that Simeon himself
had eloped. It was just a fancy that flashed into my mind, Cecil
smiled diplomatically. I should let it flash out again if I were you,
said Rainshaw with a certain grimness, And Cecil perceived the truth of the maxim
that a parent can never forgive his own fault in his child. Two.
You've come to sympathize with me, said to Geraldine Rainshaw, calmly, as
Cecil, leaving the father for a few moments, strolled across the terrace towards
the daughter. It's my honest, kindly face that gives me away, he
responded, lightly. But what am I to sympathize with you about? You
know what, the girl said briefly. They stood together near the balustrade,
looking out over the sea into the grim and eye of the sun, and
all the afternoon activities of Ostend were surging round them. The muffled sound of
musical instruments from within the kursaul, the shrill cries of late bathers from the
shore, the toot of a tramway horn to the left, the roar of
a siren to the right, and everywhere, the ceaseless hum of an existence
at once gay, feverish, and futile. But Cecil was conscious of nothing
but the individuality by his side. Some women, he reflected, are older
at eighteen than they are at thirty eight, and Geraldine was one of those.
She happened to be very young and very old at the same time.
She might be immature, crude, even gawky in her girlishness, but she
was just then in the first flush of mentally realizing the absolute independence of the
human spirit. She had force, and she had also the enterprise to act
on it. As Cecil glanced at her intelligent, expressive face, he thought
of her playing with life as a child plays with a razor. You mean,
he inquired, I mean that father has been talking about me to you.
I could tell by his eyes. Well, your directness unnerves me,
he smiled. Pull yourself together, then, mister thurtle, to be a
man. Will you let me treat you as a friend? Why? Yes,
she said, if you'll promise not to tell me I'm only eighteen.
I am incapable of such rudeness, Cecil replied. A woman is as old
as she feels. You feel at least thirty. Therefore you are at least
thirty. This being understood, I'm going to suggest as a friend that if
you and mister Volkslowry are perhaps pardonably contemplating any extreme step, extreme step,
mister Thorold, oh, anything rash, And suppose we are, Geraldine demanded,
raising her chin scornfully and defiantly and dangling her parasol. I should respectfully
and confidentially advise you to refrain, be content to wait, my dear middle
aged woman. Your father may relent, and also I have a notion that
I may be able to help us. Possibly, you are real good,
said Geraldine coldly. But what gave you the idea that Harry and I were
meaning to something? In your eyes? Your fine daring eyes, I read
you as you read your father. You see, well, then, mister
Thurld, there's something wrong with my fine daring eyes. I'm just the last
girl in all America to do anything rash. Why if I did anything rash,
I'm sure I should feel ever afterwards, as if I wanted to be
excused off the very face of the earth. I'm that sort of girl.
Do you think I don't know that far will give way? I guess he's
just got to. With time and hammering, you cannot sense into the head
of any parent. I apologize, said Cecil, both startled and convinced.
And I congratulate mister Volkes Lowry. Say you like Harry, don't you?
Oh very much? He's the ideal type of Englishman. Geraldine nodded, sweetly
and so obedient. He does everything I tell him. He is leaving for
England to night, not because father asked him to, but because I did.
I'm going to take mother to Brussels for a few days shopping lace.
You know that will give father an opportunity to meditate in solitude on his own
greatness. Tell me, mister Thorold, do you consider that Harry and I
would be justified in corresponding secretly? Cecil assumed a pose of judicial gravity.
I think you would, he decided. But don't tell anyone, I said
so, not even Harry. She ran off into the cursall, saying she
must seek her mother. But instead of seeking her mother, Geraldine passed straight
through the concert hall, where a thousand and one wondrously attired women were doing
fancy needlework to the accompaniment of a band of music, into the maze of
corridors beyond, and so to the rear entrance of the coursall on the Boulevard
van Isam. Here she met mister Harry vol Lourie, who was most obviously
waiting for her. They crossed the road to the empty tramway waiting room and
entered it and sat down, And by the mere act of looking into each
other's eyes, these two, the stiff, simple, honest faced young englishmen
with Oxford written all over him, and the charming child of a civilization equally
proud but with fewer conventions, suddenly transformed the little bureau into a cupid's bower.
It's just as I thought you, darling boy, Geraldine began to talk
rapidly. Father's the least bid in the world. Scared, and when he's
scared, he's bound to confide in someone, And he's confided in that suite,
mister Thurled and mister Thorold has been requested to reason with me and advise
me to be a good girl. And wait, I know what that means.
It means that father thinks we shall soon forget each other. My poor
Harry and I do believe it means that father wants me to marry mister Thurld.
What did you say to him, dear the lover demanded, peel trust
me to fool him, Harry. I simply walk round him. He thinks
we're going to be very good and wait patiently, as if father ever would
give way until he was forced. She laughed disdainfully. So we're perfectly safe,
so long as we act with discretion. Now, let's clearly understand today's
Monday. You return to England tonight, Yes, and I'll arrange about the
license and things. Your cousin Mary is just as important as the license,
Mary said Geraldine. Primly she will come. You may rely on her being
at ostend with me on Thursday. Very well. In the meantime, I
behave as if life were blank. Brussels will put them off the scent.
Mother and I will return from there on Thursday afternoon. That night there is
a soiree donsand at the cursaal Mother will say she is too tired to go
to it, but she will have to go all the same. I will
dance before all men till a quarter to ten I will even dance with mister
Thorold. What a pity I can't dance before father, But he's certain to
be in the gambling rooms then winning money. He always is at that hour,
at a quarter to ten, I will slip out and you will be
here at this back door with a carriage. We drive to the quay and
just catch the eleven o five steamer, and I meet your cousin Mary on
a Friday morning. We are married, and then then we shall be in
a position to talk to father. He'll pretend to be furious, but he
can't say much because he eloped himself. Didn't you know I didn't, said
Harry, with a certain dryness. Oh yes, it's in the family.
But you needn't look so starched, my English lord. He took her hand.
You sure your uncle won't disinherit you or anything horrid of that kind?
He can't, said Harry, What a perfectly lovely country England is, Geraldine
exclaimed. Fancy the poor old thing not being able to disinherit you. Why
it's just too delicious for words? And for some reason or other he kissed
her violently. Then an official entered the bureau and asked them if they wanted
to go to Blankenburg, because if so, the tram was awaiting their distinguished
pleasure. They looked at each other foolishly and sidled out, and the bureau
ceased to be Cupid's bower. Three. By Simeon's request, Cecil dined with
the rain Shoers that night at the Continental. After dinner, they all sat
out on the balcony and sustained themselves with coffee while watching the gay traffic of
the dish, the brilliant illumination of the coursaul, and the distant lights on
the invisible but murmuring sea. Geraldine was in one of her moods of philosophic
pessimism, and would persist in dwelling on the uncertainty of riches and the vicissitudes
of millionaires. She found a text in the famous Bowering case, of which
the newspaper contained many interesting details. I wonder if he'll be caught, she
remarked, I wonder, said Cecil, what do you think, father?
I think you'd better go to bed. Simeon replied, the chit rose and
kissed him dutiously good night. She said, aren't you glad the sea keeps
so calm, Why can you ask mister Vulclarie crosses tonight, and he's a
dreadfully bad sailor. Come along, mother, mister Thorold. When mother and
I return from Brussels, we shall expect to be taken for a cruise in
the Clara Belle. Simeon sighed with relief upon the departure of his family,
and began a fresh cigar. On the whole his day had been rather too
domestic. He was quite pleased when Cecil, having apparently by accident, broached
the subject of the Dry Goods Trust, proceeded to exhibit a minute curiosity concerning
the past, the present, and the future of the greatest of all the
rain Shore enterprises. Are you thinking of coming in, Simeon demanded at length,
bricking up his ears. No, said Cecil, I'm thinking of going
out. The fact is I haven't mentioned it before, but I'm ready to
sell a very large block of shares the deuce you are, Simeon exclaimed,
And what do you call a very large block, well, said Cecil.
It would cost me nearly half a million to take them up now dollars pounds
sterling twenty five thousand at ninety five and three eight, Rainshaw whistled two bars
of follow me from the bell of New York. Is this how you amuse
yourself? At ostend, he inquired. Cecil smiled, this is quite an
exceptional transaction, and not too profitable either. But you can't dump that lot
on the market. Simeon protested, Yes I can, said Cecil, I
must, and I will. There are reasons you yourself wouldn't care to handle
it, I suppose, the president of the trust pondered, I'll handle it
at ninety three and three eights. He answered quietly, Oh, come,
that's dropping two points, said Cecil, shocked. A moment ago, you
were prophesying a further rise. Rainshow's face gleamed out momentarily in the darkness as
he puffed at his cigar. If you must unload, he remarked, as
if addressing the red end of the cigar. I'm your man at ninety three
and Cecil argued, but Simeon Rainshower never argued it was not his method.
In a quarter of an hour, the younger men had contracted to sell twenty
five thousand shares of one hundred dollars each in the United States. Dry goods
trust at two points below the current market quotation and six and five eight points
below par The hoot of an outgoing steamer sounded across the city. I must
go, said Cecil. You're in a mighty hurry, Simeon complained. Four
five minutes later, Cecil was in his own rooms at the Hotel de la
Plage. Soon there was a discreet knock at the door. Come in,
lucky, he said. It was his servant who entered. The small thin
man with very mobile eyes and of no particular age, who in various capacities
and incarnations, now as liftman, now as financial agent, now as no
matter what, assisted Cecil in his diversions. Mister vau Lowry really did go
by the boat, sir good, and you have given directions about the ought.
The affair is in order, and you've procured one of mister Rainshaw's Homburg
hats. It is in your dressing room. There was no mark of identification
on it. So in order to smooth the difficulties of the police when they
find it on the beach, I have taken the liberty of writing mister Rainshow's
name on the lining. A kindly thought, said Cecil, you'll catch the
special GSN steamer direct for London at one a m that will get you into
town before two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Things have turned out as I expected,
and I've nothing else to say to you. But before leaving me, perhaps
you'd better repeat your instructions with pleasure, sir, said Lecky Tucy afternoon.
I call it Cloak Lane and intimate that we want to sell dry good shares.
I ineffectually try to conceal a secret cause for alarm, and I gradually
disclose the fact that we are very anxious, indeed to sell really a lot
of dry good shares. In a hurry, I permit myself to be pumped,
and the information is wormed out of me that mister Simeon Rainshower has disappeared,
has possibly committed suicide, but that at present no one is aware of
this except ourselves. I express doubts as to the soundness of the trust,
and I remark on the unfortunateness of this disappearance. So soon after the lamentable
panic connected with the lately vanished Bruce Bowings and his companies. I send our
friends on change with orders to see what they can do, and to report.
I then go to Berton Lane and repeat the performance there without variation.
Then I call at the City office of the Evening Messenger and talk privily in
a despondent vein with the financial editor concerning the trust. But I breathe not
a word as to mister Rainshaw's disappearance. Wednesday morning, the rot in dry
goods has set in sharply, but I am now very foolishly disposed to haggle
about the selling price. Our friends urge me to accept what I can get,
and I leave them saying that I must telegraph to you. Wednesday afternoon,
I see a reporter of the Morning Journal and let out that Simeon Rainshow
has disappeared. The journal will wire to all stand for confirmation, which confirmation
it will receive Thursday morning. The bottom is knocked out of the price of
dry goods shares. Then I am to call on our other friends at Throgmorton
Street and tell them to buy by bye. In London, New York,
Paris, everywhere, go in peace, said Cecil. If we are lucky,
the price will drop to seventy five. I see mister Thorold, said
Geraldine Rainshow that you are about to ask me for the next dance. It
is yours. You are the Queen of Diviner's, Cecil replied, bowing.
It was precisely half past nine on Thursday evening, and they had met in
a corner of the pillard and the Balcony de Salda dance in the Cursaal behind
the concert hall. The slippery, glittering floor was crowded with dancers, the
men in ordinary evening dress, the women very variously attired, save that nearly
all wore picture hats. Geraldine was in a white frock high at the neck
with a large hat of black velvet, and amidst that brilliant, multi colored,
light hearted throng, lit by the blaze of the electric chandeliers and swayed
by the irresistible melody of the Doctrinan waltz. The young girl, simply dressed
as she was, easily held her own So you've come back from Brussels,
Cecil said, taking her arm and waist. Yes, we arrived just in
time for dinner. What have you been doing with father? We've seen nothing
of him, ah, said Cecil, mysteriously. We've been on a little
voyage and like you, we've only just returned in the Clara Belle. He
nodded. You might have waited, she pouted. Perhaps she wouldn't have liked
it. Things happened, you know why? What do tell me? Well?
You left your poor father alone, and he was moping all day on
Tuesday. So on Tuesday night I had the happy idea of going out in
the yacht to witness a sham night attack by the French Channel Squadron on Calais.
I caught your honored parent just as he was retiring to bed, and
we went. He was only too glad, but we hadn't left the harbor
much more than an hour and a half when our engines broke down. What
fun and that night too, Yes, wasn't it. The shaft was broken,
so we didn't see much of any night attack on Calais. Fortunately,
the weather was all that the weather ought to be when a ship's engines break
down. Still, it took us over forty hours to repair. Over forty
hours. I'm proud we were able to do the thing without being ignominiously towed
into port. But I fear your father may have grown a little impatient.
Though we had excellent views of Ostand and Dunkirk and the passing vessels were a
constant diversion. Was there plenty to eat? Geraldine asked, simply, oh,
ample, then father wouldn't really mind. When did you land about an
hour ago? Your father did not expect you to night. I fancy he
dressed and went straight to the tables. He has to make up for a
night lost, you see. They danced in silence for a few moments,
and then suddenly Geraldine said, will you excuse me? I feel tired.
Good night. The clock under the orchestra showed seventeen minutes to ten instantly.
Cecil queried instantly, and the girl added, with a hint of mischief in
her voice as she shook hands. I look on you as quite a friend
since our last little talk, So you will excuse this abruptness, won't you.
He was about to answer when a sort of commotion arose near behind them.
Still holding her hand, he turned to look why, he said,
it's your mother. She must be unwell. Missus Rainshaw, as stout and
robed as always in tight sumptuous black, sat among a little bevy of chaperone's.
She held a newspaper in trembling hands, and she was uttering a succession
of staccato, oh oh, while everyone in the vicinity gazed at her with
alarm. Then she dropped the paper and, murmuring, Simeon's dead sank gently
to the polished floor just as Cecil and Geraldine approached. Geraldine's first and distinctive
move was to seize the newspaper, which was that day's Paris edition of the
New York Herald. She read the headlines in a flash strange disappearance of Semi
and rainshow suicide feared takes advantage of his family's absence. Heavy drop and dry
goods shares at seventy two and still falling six. My good, Rebecca,
I assure you that I am alive. This was mister Rainshaw's attempt to calm
the hysteric sobbing of his wife, who had recovered from her short swoon.
In the Little Retreat of the Person who sold the Tauchnitzes pictured postcards and French
novels between the main corridor and the reading rooms. Geraldine and Cecil were also
in the tiny chamber. As for this, Simeon continued to kicking the newspaper.
It's a singular thing that a man can't take a couple of days off
without upsetting the entire universe. What should you do in my place? Thoroughed
this the fault of your shaft. I should buy dry good shares, said
Cecil, and I will. There was an imperative knock at the door,
and an official of police entered. Michel Lein shure the same. We have
received telegrams from New York Alundre to demand if you are dead. I am
not. I still live. But Monsieur's hat has been found on the beach.
My hat, it carries Mensieur's name. Then it isn't mine, Sir,
may Commandant, I tell you it isn't mine, Sir, don't be
angry. Simeon. His wife pleaded between her sobs. The exit of the
official was immediately followed by another summons for admission, even more imperative. A
lady entered and handed to Simeon a card, Miss Eve Fincastle, the Morning
Journal my paper. She began. You wish to know if I exist,
madam, said Simeon. I of Miss Fincastle caught sight of Cecil. Thorold
paused and bowed stiffly. Cecil bowed. He also blushed. I continue to
exist, Madam, Simeon proceeded, I have not killed myself, but homicide
of some sort is not improbable if in short, Madam, good night,
Miss Fincastle, with a long searching, a silent look at Cecil departed.
Bolt that door, said Simeon to his daughter. Then there was a third
knock, followed by a hammering. Go away, Simeon commanded open the door,
pleaded a muffled voice. It's Harry, Geraldine whispered solemnly in Cecil's ear.
Please go and calm him. Tell him, I say it's too late
to night. Cecil went astounded. What happened to Geraldine? Cried the boy
extremely excited in the corridor. There are all sorts of rumors, is she
ill? Cecil gave an explanation, and in his turn asked for another one.
You look unnerved, he said, what are you doing here? What
is it? Come have a drink and tell me all, my young friend,
And when over kognac he had learnt the details of a scheme which had
no connection with his own. He exclaimed, with the utmost sincerity. The
minx, the minx, What do you mean? Inquired Harry, Volkslowry.
I mean that you and the minks have had the nearest possible shape of ruining
your United careers. Listen to me. Give it up, my boy.
I'll try to arrange things. You delivered a letter to the father in law
of your desire a few days ago. I'll give you another one to deliver,
and I fancy the result will be different. The letter which Cecil wrote
ran, thus, dear Rainchor I inclose check for a hundred thousand pounds.
It represents parts of the gold that can be picked up on the gold coast
by putting out one's hand. So you will observe that it stated the day
after the next settling day of the London Stock Exchange, I contracted on Monday
last to sell you twenty five thousand shares of a certain trust at ninety three
and three eighths. I did not possess the shares then, but my agents
have to day bought them for me at an average price of seventy two.
I stand to realize therefore rather more than half a million dollars the round half
million mister va Lowry happens to bring you in his pocket. You will not
forget your promise to him that when he did so, you would consider his
application favorably. I wish to make no profit out of the little transaction,
but I will venture to keep the balance for out of pocket expenses, such
as mending the Clarabelle shaft. How convenient it is to have a yacht that
will break down when required. The shares will doubtless recover in due course.
And I hope the reputation of the trust may not suffer, and that,
for the sake of old times, would my father, you will regard the
episode in its proper light and bear me no ill will yours sincerely, see
Thorold. The next day, the engagement of mister Harry Nigel Selincourt vau Lurry
and Miss Geraldine Rainshaw was announced to two continents. End of story one,
Chapter two, Story one of the Loot of Cities by Arnold Bennett. This
libripox recording is in the public domain. Story one, The Loot of Cities,
Chapter three, A bracelet at Bruges. The bracelet had fallen into the
canal, and the fact that the canal was the most picturesque canal in the
old Flemish city of Bruges, and that the ripples caused by the splash of
the bracelet had disturbed reflections of wondrous Belfrey's towers, steeples, and other unique
examples of Gothic architect Victor did nothing whatever to assuage the sudden agony of that
disappearance, for the bracelet had been given to Kitty Sartorius by her grateful and
lordly manager, Lionel Belmont Usa, upon the completion of the unexampled run of
the Dalmonical Doll at the Regency Theater, London, and its diamonds were worth
five hundred pounds, to say nothing of the gold. The beautiful Kitty and
her friend e Fencastle, the journalists, having exhausted ostend, had duly arrived
at Bruges in the course of their holiday tour. The question of Kitty's jewelry
had arisen at the start. Kitty had insisted that she must travel with all
her jewels, according to the custom of the theatrical stars of great magnitude.
Eve had equally insisted that Kitty must travel without jewels, and had exhorted her
to remember the days of her simplicity. They compromised. Kitty was al to
bring the bracelet, but nothing else save the usual half dozen rings. The
ravishing creature could not have persuaded herself to leave the bracelet behind, because it
was so recent a gift, and still new and strange and heavenly to her.
But since prudence forbade even Kitty to let the trifle lie about in hotel
bedrooms, she was obliged always to wear it, and she had been wearing
it this bright afternoon in early October, when the girls, during a stroll,
had met one of their new friends, Madame Lawrence, on the world
famous Quis de Rosere, just at the back of the Hotel de Ville and
the Hall. Madame Lawrence resided permanently in Bruges. She was between twenty five
and forty five, dark, with the air of continually subduing, a natural
instinct to dash, and well dressed in black. Equally interested in the peerage
and in the poor. She had made the acquaintance of Eve and Kitty at
the Hotel de la Gramps, where she called from time to time to induce
English travelers to buy a genuine Bruges Laise, wrought under her own supervision by
her own paupers. She was Belgian by birth, and when complimented on her
fluent and correct English. She gave all the praise to her deceased husband and
English barrister. She had settled in Bruges, like many people settled there,
because Bruges is inexpensive, picturesque and inordinately respectable. Besides an English church and
chaplain, it has two cathedrals and an episcopal palace with a real bishop in
it. What an exquisite bracelet? May I look at it? It was
these simple but ecstatic words, spoken with Madame Lawrence's charming foreign accent, which
had begun the tragedy. The three women had stopped to admire the always admirable
view from the little key, and they were leaning over the rails when Kitty
unclasped the bracelet for the inspection of the widow the next instant. There was
a PLoP and affrighted exclamation from Madame Lawrence in her native tongue, and the
bracelet was engulfed before the very eyes of all three. The three looked at
each other, none plussed. Then they looked around, but not a single
person was in sight. Then, for some reason which doubtless psychology can explain,
they stared hard at the water though the water there was just as black
and foul as it is everywhere else in the canal system of Bruges. Surely
you've not dropped it, Eve Fincastle exclaimed, in a voice of horror.
Yet she knew positively that Madame Lawrence had the delinquent. Took a handkerchief from
her muff and sobbed into it, and between her sobs she murmured, we
must inform the police. Yes, of course, said Kitty, with the
lightness of one to whom a five hundred pound bracelet is a bacatel. They'll
fish it up in no time. Well, Eve decided, you go to
the police at once. Kitty and Madame Lawrence will go with you because she
speaks French, and I'll stay here to mark the exact spot. The other
two started, but Madame Lawrence, after a few steps, put her hand
to her side. I can't, she sighed, Pale. I'm too upset.
I cannot walk. You go with miss Sartorius, she said to Eve,
and I will stay, and she leaned heavily against the railings. Eve
and Kitty ran off, just as if it was an affair of seconds,
and the bracelet had to be saved from drowning, but they had scarcely turned
the corner thirty yards away when they reappeared in company with a high official of
police, whom, by the most lucky chance in the world, they had
encountered in the covered passage leading to the Place de bouge. This official,
instantly enslaved by Kitty's beauty, proved to be the very mirror of politeness and
optimism. He took their names and addresses, in a full description of the
bracelet, and informed them that at that place the canal was nine feet deep.
He said that the bracelet should undoubtedly be recovered on the morrow, but
that as a dusk was eminent, it would be futile to commence angling that
night. In the meantime, the loss should be kept secret, and to
make all sure, a succession of gendarmes should guard the spot during the night.
Kitty grew radiant and rewarded the gallant officer with smiles. Eve was satisfied,
and the face of Madame Lawrence wore a less mournful you, And now
said Kitty to Madame. When everything had been arranged and the first of the
gendarmes was duly installed at the exact spot against the railings. You must come
and take tea with us in our winter garden, and to be gay smile,
I insist, and I insist that you don't worry. Madame Lawrence tried
feebly to smile. You are very good natured, she stammered, which was
decidedly true. Rue two. The winter garden of the Hotel de la Grande
Place, referred to in all the hotel's advertisements, was merely the inner court
of the hotel, roofed in by glass at the height of the first story.
Caine flourished there in the shape of the lounge chairs, but no other
plant. One of the lounge chairs was occupied when, just as the carolan
in the belfry at the other end of the place began to play Guno's Nazareth,
indicating the hour of five o'clock, the three ladies entered the winter garden.
Apparently the toilettes of two of them had been adjusted and embellished as for
a somewhat ceremonious occasion. Lo cried Kitty Sartorius when she perceived the occupant of
the chair, the millionaire mister Thorold. How charming of you to reappear like
this, I invite you to tea. Cecil Thorold rose with appropriate eagerness.
Delighted, he said, smiling, and then explained that he had arrived from
must End about two hours before and had taken rooms in the hotel. You
knew we were staying here, Eve asked, as he shook hands with her.
No, he replied, but I'm very glad to find you again,
are you? She spoke languidly about her color heightened, and those eyes of
hers sparkled. Madam Lawrence, Kitty cherup. Let me present mister cecil Thorold.
He is appallingly rich, but we mustn't let that frighten us. From
a mouth less adorable than the mouth of Miss Sartorius. Such an introduction might
have been judged lacking in the elements of good form, But for more than
two years now Kitty had known that whatever she did or said was perfectly correct.
Because she did or said it. The new acquaintances laughed amiably, and
a certain intimacy was at once established. Shall I order tea, dear,
Eve suggested, No, Dear, said Kitty quietly. We will wait for
the count. The count demanded, ces the Comte de rect Kitty explained,
he is staying here a French nobleman. Doubtless, yes, said Kitty,
and she added you will like him. He is an archaeologist and a musician,
oh and lots of things. If I am one minute late, I
entreat pardon, said a fine tenor voice at the door. It was the
Count. After he had been introduced to Madame Lawrence and Cecil Thorold had been
introduced to him, Tea was served now. The Comte de Brac was everything
that a French count ought to be. As dark as Cecil thurled and even
handsomer. He was a little older and a little taller than the millionaire,
and a short pointed black beard exquisitely trimmed, gave him an appearance of staid
reliability which Cecil lacked. His bow was a vertebrate poem, his smile a
consolation for all misfortunes, and he managed his hat, stick, gloves,
and cup with the dazzling assures of a conjurer. To observe him at afternoon,
Tea was to be convinced that he had been specially created to shine gloriously
in drawing rooms, winter gardens, and table d'hotes, And he was one
of those men who always do the right thing at the right moment, who
are capable of speaking an indefinite number of languages with absolute purity of accent.
He spoke English much better than Madame Lawrence, and who can and do discourse
with ve and accuracy on all sciences, arts, sports, and religions.
In short, he was of Phoenix of account. And this was certainly the
opinion of Miss Kitty Sartorius and of Miss Eve Fincastle, both of whom reckoned
that what they did not know about men might be ignored. Kitty and the
Count, it soon became evident, were mutually attracted. Their souls were approaching
each other with a velocity which increased inversely as the square of the lessening distance
between them, and Eve was watching this approximation with undisguised interest and relish.
Nothing of the least importance occurred save the Count's marvelous exhibition of how to behave
at afternoon tea, until the refection was nearly over, and then, during
a brief pause in the talk, Cecil, who was sitting to the left
of Madame Lawrence, looked sharply round at the right shoulder of his tweed coat.
He repeated the gesture a second, and yet a third time. What
is the matter with the man, asked Eve Fincastle. Both he and Kitty
were extremely bright, animated, and even excited. Nothing. I thought I
saw something on my shoulder, that's all, said Cecil. Ah, it's
only a bit of thread, And he picked off the thread with his left
hand and held it before Madame Lawrence. See it's a piece of thin black
silk knotted. At first I took it for an insect. You know how
queer things look out the corner of your eye. Pardon He had dropped the
fragment onto Madame Lawrence's black silk dress. Now it's lost. If you will
excuse me, kind friends, said Madame Lawrence, I will go. She
spoke hurriedly and as though in mental distress. Poor thing Kitty Storius exclaimed.
When the widow had gone, she still dreadfully upset, and Kitty and Eve
proceeded jointly to relate the story of the diamond bracelet, upon which hitherto they
had kept silence, though with difficulty. Out of regard for Madame Lawrence's feelings,
Cecil made almost no comment. The count with the sympathetic excitability of his
race, walked up and down the winter garden, as severating earnestly that such
clumsiness amounted to a crime. Then he grew calm and confessed that he shared
the optimism of the police as to the recovery of the bracelet. Lastly,
he complimented Kit on her equable demeanor under this affliction. Do you know,
count, said Cecil Thorold. Later, after they had all four ascended to
the drawing room overlooking the grand place. I was quite surprised when I saw
a tea that you had to be introduced to Madame Lawrence. Why so,
my dear mister Thorold, the Count inquired suavely. I thought I had seen
you together at Ostend a few days ago. The Count shook his wonderful head.
Perhaps you have a brother, Cecil paused, No, said the Count,
but it is a favorite theory of mine that everyone has his double somewhere
in the world. Previously, the Count had been discussing Plantchett. He was
a great authority on the supernatural, the subconscious, and the subliminal. He
now deviated gracefully to the discussion of the theory of doubles. I suppose you
aren't going out for a walk, dear before dinner, said Eve to Kitty.
No, dear, said Kitty positively. I think I shall, said
Eve, and her glance at Cecil Thoroled intimated in the plainest possible manner that
she wished not only to have a companion for a stroll, but to leave
Kitty and the count in dual solitude. I shouldn't if I were you,
miss fincastle, Cecil remark with calm and steadied blindness. It's risky here in
the evenings, with these canals exhaling my asthma, and mosquitoes and bracelets and
all sorts of things. I will take the risk, thank you, said
Eve in an icy tone, and she haughtily departed. She would not cower
before Cecil's millions. As for Cecil, he joined in the discussion of the
theory of doubles three on the next afternoon, but one policemen were still fishing
without success for the bracelet and raising from the ancient ducked, long buried odors
which threatened to destroy the inhabitants of the key. When Kitty Sartorius had hinted
that perhaps the authorities might see their way to drawing off the water from the
canal. The authorities had intimated that the death rate of Bruges was already as
high as convenient. Nevertheless, though nothing had happened, the situation had somehow
developed, and in such a manner that the bracelet itself was in danger of
being partially forgotten. And of all places in Bruges, the situation had developed
on the top of the renowned Belfry, which dominates the grand plots in the
particular and the city in general. The summit of the Belfry is three hundred
and fifty feet high, and it is reached by four hundred and two winding
stone steps, each a separate menace to life and limb. Eve Fencastle had
climbed those steps alone, perhaps in quest of the view at the top,
perhaps in quest of spiritual calm. She had not been leaning over the parapet
more than a minute before Cecil Thorold had appeared, his field glasses slung over
his shoulder. They had been gun to talk a little, but nervously,
and only in snatches. The wind blew free up there among the forty eight
bells, but the social atmosphere was oppressive. The Count is a most charming
man. Eve was saying, as if in defense of the Count he is,
said, cecil I agree with you. Oh no you don't, mister
Thorold, Oh no you don't. Then there was a pause, and the
twain looked down upon Bruges, with its venerable streets, its grass grown squares,
its waterways, and its innumerable monuments spread out maplike beneath them in the
mellow October sunshine. Citizens passed along the thoroughfare in the semblance of tiny dwarfs.
If you didn't hate him, said Eve, you wouldn't behave as you
do. How do I behave? Then Eve schooled her voice to an imitation
of jocularity. Oh, Tuesday evening and all day yesterday. You couldn't leave
them alone, you know you couldn't. Five minutes later, the conversation had
shifted. You actually saw the bracelet fall into the canal, said cecil.
I actually saw the bracelet fall into the canal, and no one could have
got it out while Gidey and I were away, because we weren't away half
a minute. But they could not dismiss the subject of the Count, And
presently he was again the topic naturally It would be a good match for the
Count for any man, said Eve. But then it would also be a
good match for kitty. Of course, he is not so rich as some
people, but he is rich. Cecil examined the horizon with his glasses,
and then the streets near the Grand Place. Rich is he? I'm glad
of it. By the way, he's gone to Ghent for the day,
hasn't he. Yes, he went by the nine twenty seven and returns by
the four thirty eight. Another pause, well, said Cecil, at length,
handing the glasses to eifein castle, kindly glanced at there, follow the
line of the Rue Saint Nicolas. You see the cream colored house with the
enclosed courtyard. Now do you see two figures standing together near the door,
a man and a woman, the woman on the steps. Who are they?
I can't tell very well, said Eve. Oh yes, my dear
lady, you can, said Cecil. These glasses are the very best.
Try again, They look like the Comte de vec and Madame Lawrence. Eve
murmured, But the Count is on his way from Ghent. I see the
steam of the four thirty eight over there. The curious thing is that the
Count entered the house of Madame Lawrence, to whom he was introduced for the
first time the day before yesterday at ten o'clock this morning. Yes, it
would be a very good match for the Count. When one comes to think
of it, it usually is that sort of man that contrives to marry a
brilliant and successful actress. There he's just leaving, isn't it. Now Let
us descend and listen to the recital of his day's doings in Ghent. Shall
we you mean to insinuate? Eve burst out in sudden wrath, that the
Count is an adventurer, and that Madame Lawrence, Oh, mister Thurough,
She laughed condescendingly. This jealousy is too absurd. Do you suppose I haven't
noticed how impressed you were with Giddy at the Devonshire mansion that night, and
again at Ostend, and again here. You are simply carried away by jealousy,
and you think, because you are a millionaire, you must have all
you want. I haven't the slightest doubt that the Count by anyhow, says
he, So let us go down and hear about Ghent. His eyes made
a number of remarks, indulgent, angry, amused, protective, admiring purpose
hious puzzled too subtle for the medium of words. They groped their way down
to earth in silence, and it was in silence that that crossed the Grand
Blass. The Count was seated on the terrassea in front of the hotel,
with a liqueur glass before him, and he was making graceful and expressive signs
to Kitty Sartorius, who leaned her marvelous beauty out of a first story window.
He greeted Cecil thorough and Eve with an equal grace. And how is
Kent? Cecil inquired, Did you go to Ghent? After all? Count
Eve put in la Comte d Brac, looked from one to another, and
then instead of replying, he sipped at his glass. No, he said,
I didn't go. The rather curious fact is that I happened to meet
Madame Lawrence, who offered to show me her collection of lace. I had
been an amateur of lace for some years, and really, Madame Lawrence's collection
is amazing. You have seen it? No, you should do so,
I'm afraid I have spent most of the day there. When the Count had
gone to join Kitty in the drawing room, Efe and Castle looked victoriously as
Cecil, as if to demand of him, will you apologize, my dear
journalist, Cecil remarked, simply, you gave the show away. That evening,
the continued obstinacy of the bracelet, which still refused to be caught,
began at last to disturb the birdlike mind of Kitty Sartorius. Moreover, the
secret was out, and the whole town of Bruges was discussing the episode and
the chances of success. Let us consult planchet said the Count. The proposal
was received with enthusiasm by Kitty. Eve had disappeared. Planchette was produced,
and when asked if the bracelet would be recovered, it wrote, under the
hands of Kitty and the Count, a trembling yes. When asked by whom
it wrote a word which faintly resembled Pavrek, the Count stated that he should
personally commence dragging operations at sunrise. You will see, he said, I
shall succeed. Let me try this toy. May I cease the last blandly,
And upon Kitty agreeing, he addressed planchet in a clear voice, Now,
Planchette, who will restore the bracelet to its owner, and Planchette wrote
Thoroled, but in characters as firm and regular as those of a copy book.
Mister thurld Is, laughing at us, observed the count imperturbably bland.
How horrid you are, mister Thorold, Kitty exclaimed. Four of the four
persons more or less interested in the affair, three were secretly active that night
in and out of the hotel. Only Kitty Sartorius, chief mourner for the
bracelet, slept placidly in her bed. It was towards three o'clock in the
morning that a sort of preliminary crisis was reached from the multiplicity of doors which
ventilate its rooms. One would imagine that the average foreign hotel must have been
designed immediately after its architect had been to see Palais Royal farce, in which
every room opens into every other room in every act. The Hotel de la
Grande Place was not peculiar in this respect. It abounded in doors. All
the chambers on the second story over the public rooms fronting the place communicated one
with the next, but naturally most of the communicating doors were locked. Cecil
Thorold and a comte de Brac had each a bedroom and a sitting room on
that floor. The count's sitting room adjoined Cecil's, and the door between was
locked and the key in the possession of the landlord. Nevertheless, at three
a m. This particular door opened noiselessly from Cecil's side, and Cecil entered
the domain of the count. The moon shone, and Cecil could plainly see
not only the silhouette of the belfry across the place, but also the principal
objects within the room. He noticed the table in the middle, the large
easy to turned towards the hearth, the old fashioned sofa, But not a
single article did he perceive which might have been the personal property of the count.
He cautiously passed across the room through the moonlight to the door of the
count's bedroom, which apparently to his immense surprise, was not only shut but
locked, and the key in the lock on the sitting room side silently unlocking
it. He entered the bedroom and disappeared in less than five minutes. He
crept back into the count's sitting room, closed the door and locked it.
Odd, he murmured reflectively, but he seemed quite happy. There was a
sudden movement in the region of the hearth, and a form rose from the
armchair. Cecil rushed to the switch and turned on the electric light. Eve
Thincastle stood before him. They faced each other. What are you doing here
at this time, Miss Fincastle, he asked sternly. You can talk freely.
The Count will not awaken. I may ask you the same question.
Eve replied with cold bitterness. Excuse me, you may not. You are
a woman. This is the Count's room. You are in error, she
interrupted him. It is not the Count's room, it is mine. Last
night I told the Count I had some important writing to do, and I
asked him as a favor to relinquish this room to me for twenty four hours.
He very kindly consented. He removed his belongings, handed me the key
of that door, and the transfer was made in the hotel books. And
now, she added, May I inquire, mister Thorold, what you are
doing in my room? I I thought it was the count's Cecil faltered decidedly,
at a loss for a moment in offering my humblest apologies. Permit me
to say that I admire you, Miss Fincastle. I wish I could return
the compliment, Eve exclaimed, and she repeated, with almost plaintive sincerity,
I do wish I could cecil raised his arms and let them fall to his
side. You meant to catch me, he said. You suspected something.
Then the important writing was an invention, and he added, with a faint
smile. You really ought not to have fallen asleep. Suppose I had not
wakened you. Please don't laugh, mister Thorold. Yes I did suspect.
There was something in the demeanor of your servant Lucky that gave me the idea
I did mean to catch you. Why you a millionaire should be a burglar?
I cannot understand. I never understood that incident at the Devnger mansion.
It was beyond me. I am by no means sure that you didn't have
a great deal to do with the Ranger affair at ostend, but that you
should have stooped to slander is the worst. I confess you are a mystery.
I confess that I can make no guess at the nature of your present
scheme, and what I shall do now that I have caught you, I
don't know. I can't decide. I must think if, however, anything
is missing tomorrow morning, I shall be bound in any case to denounce you.
You grasp that, oh, I grasp it perfectly, my dear journalist,
Cacil replied, And something will not improbably be missing. But take the
advice of a burglar and a mystery and go to bed. It is half
past three, and Eve went, and Cecil bowed her out, and then
retired to his own rooms, and the Count's apartment was left to the moonlight.
Five. Planchet is a very safe prophet, said Cecil to Giddy Sartorius
the next morning, provided it has firm guidance. They were at breakfast.
What do you mean? I mean that Planchet prophesied last night that I should
restore to you your bracelet? I do. He took the lovely gigaw from
his pocket and handed it to Kitty. How did you find it, you
dear thing? Kitty stammered, trembling under the shock of joy. I fished
it up out of the mire by a contrivance of my own. But when,
oh, very early, at three o'clock a m. You see,
I was determined to be first in the dark. Then I had a light.
Don't you think I'm rather clever Kitty's scene of ecstatic gratitude. It does
not come into the story, Suffice it to say that not until the moment
of its restoration did she realize how precious the bracelet was to her. It
was ten o'clock before Eve descended. She had breakfast in her own room,
and Kitty had already exhibited to her the prodigal bracelet. I particularly want you
to go up the belfry with me, miss Fincastle, Cecil greeted her,
and his tone was so serious and so urgent, that she consented. They
left, playing waltzes on the piano in the drawing room, and now a
man of mystery. Eve questioned, when they had toiled to the summit and
saw the city and its dwarfs beneath them, We are in no danger of
being disturbed here, Cecil began. But I will make my explanation, the
explanation which I certainly owe you, as brief as possible. Your compete,
Vac is an adventurer. Please don't be angry, And you are, Madame
Lawrence, is an adventuress. I knew that I had seen them together.
They work in concert, and for the most part make a living on the
gaming tables of Europe. Madame Lawrence was expelled from Monte Carlo last year for
being too intimate with a croupier. You may be aware that at a roulette
table one can do a great deal with the aid of the croupier. Madame
Lawrence appropriated the bracelet on her own, as it were. The Count he
may be a real count, for anything. I know heard first that enterprise
from the lips of Miss Sartorius. He was annoyed, angry because he was
really a little in love with your friend, and he saw golden prospects.
It is just this fact, the Count's genuine passion for Miss Sartorius, that
renders the case psychologically interesting to proceed, Madame Lawrence became jealous. The Count
spent six hours yesterday in trying to get the bracelet from her and failed.
He tried again last night and succeeded, but not too easily, for he
did not re enter the hotel till after one o'clock. At first I thought
he had succeeded in the daytime, and I had arranged accordingly, for I
did not see why he should have the honor and glory of restoring the bracelet
to its owner Lucky, and I fixed up a sleeping draft for him.
The minor details were simple. When you caught me this morning, the bracelet
was in my pocket and in its stead, I had left brief note for
the perusal of the Count, which has had the singular effect of inducing him
to de camp. Probably he has not gone alone. But isn't it amusing
that since you so elaborately took his sitting room, he will be convinced that
you are a party to his undoing. You his staunchest defender. Eve's face
gradually broke into an embarrassed smile. You haven't explained, she said, how
Madame Lawrence got the bracelet. Come over here, Cecil answered, Take these
glasses and look down at the Quy de Rosire. You see everything plainly.
Eve could in fact see on the quay the little mounds of mud which had
been extracted from the canal in the quest of the bracelet, Cecil continued.
On my arrival in Bruges on Monday, I had a fancy to climb the
belfry. At once I witnessed the whole scene between you and Miss Saturius and
Madame Lawrence through my glasses. Immediately your backs were turned. Madame Lawrence,
her hands behind her and her back against the railing, began to make a
sort of rapid drawing up motion with her forearms. Then I saw a momentary
glitter. Considerably mystified. I visited the spot after you had left it,
chatted with a gentarme on duty, and got round him. And then it
dawned on me that a robbery had been planned, prepared, and executed with
extraordinary originality and ingenuity. A long, thin thread of black silk must have
been ready tied to the railing, with perhaps a hook at the other end.
As soon as Madame Lawrence held the bracelet, she attached the hook to
it and dropped it. The silk, especially as it was the last thing
in the world you would look for, would be as good as invisible when
you went for the police. Madame retrieved the bracelet, hid it in her
muff, and broke off the silk. Only in her haste she left a
bit of silk tied to the railing that fragment I carried to the hotel.
All along, she must have been a little uneasy about me. And that's
all except that I wonder you thought I was jealous of the Count's attentions to
your friend. He gazed at her admiringly. I'm glad you're not a thief,
mister Thorold, said eve Well. Cecil smiled. As for that,
I left him a couple of louis for fairs, and I shall pay his
hotel bill. Why there were notes for nearly ten thousand francs with the bracelet
ill gotten gains. I am sure a trifle, but the only reward I
shall have for my trouble, I shall put them to good use, he
laughed, serenely. Gay end of story one, Chapter three, Story one
of the Loot of Cities by Arnold Bennett. This Librimox recording is in the
public domain. Story one, The Loote of Cities, Chapter four A solution
of the Algiers mystery and the Launch. I am unaware of the precise technical
term, sir, but the launch awaits you. Perhaps I should have said
it is alongside the reliable Leckey hated the sea, and when his master's excursions
became marine, he always squinted more formidably and suddenly than usual, and added
to his reliability a certain quality of ironic bitterness. My overcoat please, said
Cecil Thorold, who was in evening dress. The apartment, large and low,
was paneled with bird's eye maple divans ran along the walls, and above
the divan's orange curtains were drawn. The floor was hidden by the skins of
wild African animals. In one corner was a Steinway piano with the score of
the Orchid open on the music stand. In another lay a large flat bowl
filled with blossoms that do not bloom in England. The illumination, soft and
yellow, came from behind the cornice of the room, being reflected therefrom downwards
by the green colored ceiling. Only by a faintly heard tremor of some gigantic
but repressed force, and by a very slight unsteadiness on the part of the
floor. Could you have guessed that you were aboard a steam yacht and not
in a large, luxurious house. Lecky, having arrayed the millionaire in overcoat,
muffler, crushed hat and white gloves, drew aside a portiere and followed
him up a flight of stairs. They stood on deck, surrounded by the
mild but treacherous Algerian night. From the white double funnels, a thin smoke
oozed on the white bridge. The second mate, a spectral figure was testing
the engine room signals, and the sharp noise of the bell seen to desecrate
the mysterious silence of the bay. But there was no other sign of life.
The waiting launch was completely hidden under the high bows of the Clarabelle.
In distant regions of the deck, glimmering beams came oddly up from below,
throwing into relief some part of a boat on its davits or a section of
a mast. Cecil looked about him at the serried lights of the Boulevard Carnot
and the riding lanterns of the vessels in the harbor. Away to the left
on the hill, a few gleams showed a Mustafa Superiere, where the great
English hotels are, and ten miles further east, the lighthouse on Cape Matifou
flashed its eternal message to the Mediterranean. He was on the verge of feeling
poetic. Suppose anything happens while you are at this dancer. Lecky jerked his
thumb in the direction of a small steamer which lay moored scarcely a cable's length
away under the eastern jetty ooose. He jerked his thumb again in exactly the
same direction. His tone was still pessimistic and cynical. You'd better fire our
beautiful brass cannon, Cecil replied, have it fired three times, I shall
hear it well enough. Up at Mustafa, He descended carefully into the launch
and was whisked puffingly over the dark surface of the bay to the landing stage,
where he summoned a Fiatra Hotel Saint Gems. He instructed the driver,
and the driver smiled joyously. Everyone who went to the Hotel Saint James was
rich and lordly and paid well because the hill was long and steep and so
hard on the poor Algerian horses. Two, Every hotel of but Mustapha Superia
has the finest view, the finest hygienic installation, and the finest cooking in
Algeria. In other words, each is better than all the others. Hence,
the Hotel Saint James could not be called first among equals, since there
are no equals, and one must be content to describe it as first among
the unequaled. First, it undoubtedly was, and perhaps will be again.
Although it was new, it had what one visitor termed that indefinable thing cachet.
It was frequented by the best people, namely the richest people, the
idlest people, the most arrogant people, the most bored people, the most
titled people that came to the southern shores of the Mediterranean in search of what
they would never find and escape from themselves. It was a vast building planned
on a scale of spaciousness only possible in a district where commercial crises have depressed
the value of land. And it stood in the midst of a vast garden
of oranges, lemons and medlars. Every room and there were three stories and
two hundred rooms faced south. This was charged for in the bill. The
public rooms, oriental and character, were immense and complete. They included a
dining room, a drawing room, a reading room, a smoking room,
a billiard room, a bridge room, a ping pong room, a concert
room with resident orchestra, and a room where assuas and negroes and other curiosities
from the native town might perform before select parties. Thus it was entirely so
sufficient and lacked nothing which is necessary to the proper existence of the best people.
On Thursday nights throughout the season, there was a five franc dance in
the concert hall. You paid five francs and ate and drank as much as
you could while standing up at the supper tables arrayed in the dining room.
On a certain Thursday night in early January, this Anglo Saxon microcosm, set
so haughtily in a French colony between the Mediterranean and the Jurajura Mountains, with
the Sahara behind, was at its most brilliant. The hotel was crammed,
the prices were high, and everybody was supremely conscious of doing the correct thing.
The dance had begun somewhat earlier than usual, because the eagerness of the
younger guests could not be restrained, and the orchestra seemed gayer, and the
electric lights brighter, and the toilettes more resplendent. That night, of course,
guests came in from the other hotels. Indeed, they came in to
such an extent that to dance in the ballroom was an affair of compromise and
ingenuity, and the other rooms were occupied too. The bridge players wrecked nod
of terpsichor, the cheerful sound of ping pong came regularly from the ping pong
room, the retired Indian judge was giving points as usual. In the billiard
room and in the reading room, the steadfast intellectuals were studying the world and
the Paris New York Herald. And all was in English and American, pure
Anglo Saxon in thought and speech and gesture, save the manager of the hotel,
who was Italian, the waiters who were anything, and the wonderful concierge
who was everything. As Cecil passed through the imposing suite of public rooms,
he saw in the reading room, posted so that no arrival could escape her
eye, the elegant form of Missus McAllister, and by way of a wild,
impulsive freak, he stopped and talked to her, and ultimately sat down
by her side. Missus McAllister was one of those englishwomen that are to be
found only in large and fashionable hotels. Everything about her was mysterious, except
the fact that she was in search of a second husband. She was tall,
pretty, dashing, daring, well dressed, well informed, and perhaps
thirty four. But no one had known her husband or her family, and
no one knew her country, or the origin of her income, or how
she got herself into the best clicks in the hotel. She had the air
of being the merriest person in Algiers. Really she was one of the saddest,
for the reason that every day left her older and harder and less likely
to hook well to hook a millionaire. She had met Cecil Thorold at the
dance of the previous week and had clung to him so artfully that the Coteries
talked of it for three days, as Cecil well knew, and to night
he thought he might as well as not give missus mc allister an hour's excitement
of the chase, and the Coteries another three days employment. So he sat
down beside her and they talked. First she asked him whether he slept on
his yacht or in the hotel, and he replied sometimes in the hotel and
sometimes on the yacht. Then she asked him where his bedroom was, and
he said it was on the second floor, and she settled that it must
be three doors from her own. Then they discussed bridge, the fiscal inquiry,
the weather, dancing, food, the responsibilities of great Wealth, Algerian
railway, traveling, can gambling, Mister Morley's Life of Gladstone, and the
extraordinary success of the hotel. Thus, quite inevitably they reached the subject of
the Algiers mystery. During the season, at any rate, no two guests
in the hotel ever talked small talk for more than ten minutes without reaching the
subject of the Algiers mystery. For the hotel had itself been the scene of
the Algiers mystery, and the Algiers mystery was at once the simplest, the
most charming, and the most perplexing mystery in the world. One morning,
the first of April in the previous year, an honest john bull of a
guest had come down to the hotel office and laying a five pound note before
the head Clark had exclaimed, I found that lying on my dressing table.
It isn't mine. It looks good enough, but I expected someone's joke.
Seven other people that day confessed that they had found five pound notes in their
rooms, or pieces of paper that resembled five pound notes. They compared these
notes, and then the eight went off in a body down to an agency
on the Boulevard de la Republique, and without the least demur, the notes
were changed for gold. On the second of April, twelve more people found
five pound notes in their rooms, now prominent on the bed, now secreted,
as for instance, under a candlestick cecil himself had been a recipient.
Watches were set, but with no result whatever. In a week nearly seven
hundred pounds had been distributed amongst the guests by the generous invisible ghosts. It
was magnificent, and it was very soon in every newspaper in England and America.
Some of the guests did not care for it, thought it queer and
uncanny and not nice, and these left. But the majority cared for it
very much, indeed, and remained till the utmost limit of the season.
The rainfall of notes had not recommenced so far in the present season. Nevertheless,
the hotel had been thoroughly well patronized from November onwards, and there was
scarcely a guest but who went to sleep at night hoping to descry a fiver
in the morning advertisement, said some purpiscacious individuals. Of course, the explanation
was an obvious one. But the manager had indignantly and honestly denied all knowledge
of the business. And moreover, not a single guest had caught a single
note in the act of settling down further, the hotel changed hands and that
manager left. The mystery therefore remained a delightful topic always at hand for discussion.
After having chatted, Cecil thorough and missus mc allister danced two dance,
and the hotel began audibly to wonder that Cecil could be such a fool.
When at midnight he retired to bed, many mothers of daughters and daughters of
mothers were justifiably angry, and consoled themselves by saying that he had disappeared in
order to hide the shame which must have suddenly overtaken him. As for missus
mc allister, she was radiant safely in his room. Cecil locked and wedged
the door and opened the window. Looked out from the balcony at the starry
night. He could hear cats playing on the roof. He smiled when he
thought of the things missus mc allister had said, and of the ardor of
her glances. Then he felt sorry for her. Perhaps it was the whiskey
and soda of which he had just drunk that momentarily warmed his heart towards the
lonely creature. Only one item of her artless gossip had interested him a statement
that the new Italian manager had been ill in bed all day. He emptied
his pockets, and standing on a chair, he put his pocket book on
the top of the wardrobe, where no Algerian marauder would think of looking for
it. His revolver he tucked under his pillow. In three minutes he was
asleep. Three he was awakened by a vigorous pulling and shaking of his arm,
and he, who usually woke wide at the least noise, came to
his senses with difficulty. He looked up. The electric light had been turned
on. There's a ghost in my room, mister thoroled, you'll forgive me,
but I'm so. It was missus McAllister, disheveled and in white,
who stood over him. This is really a bit too thick, he thought,
vaguely and sleepily, regretting his impulsive flirtation of the previous evening. Then
he collected himself and said sternly, severely that if missus McAllister would retire to
the corridor, he would follow. In a moment, he added that she
might leave the door open if she felt afraid. Missus McAllister retired, sobbing
and cecil arose. He went first to consult his watch. It was gone,
a chronometer worth a couple of hundred pounds. He whistled, climbed onto
a chair, and discovered that his pocket book was no longer in a place
of safety on the top of the wardrobe. It had contained something over five
hundred pounds in a highly negotiable form. Picking up his overcoat, which lay
on the floor, he found that the fur lining a millionaire's fancy, which
had cost him nearly one hundred and fifty pounds, had been cut away and
was no more to be seen. Even the revolver had departed from under his
pillow. Well, he murmured, this is decidedly the grand manner. Quite
suddenly it occurred to him, as he noticed a peculiar taste in his mouth,
that the whisky and soda had contained more than whisky and soda. He
had been drugged. He tried to recall the face of the waiter who had
served him. Eyeing the window and the door, he argued that the thief
had entered by the former and departed by the latter. But the pocket book,
he mused, I must have been watched. Missus McAllister stripped Now of
all dash and all daring could be heard in the corridor, can she?
He speculated for a moment, and then decided positively in the negative. Missus
McAllister could have no design on anything but a bachelor's freedom. He assumed his
dressing gown and slippers and went to her. The corridor was in darkness,
but she stood in the light of his doorway. Now, he said,
this ghost of yours, dear lady, you must go first. She whimpered,
I daren't. It was white, but with a black face. It
was at the window cecil, getting a candle, obeyed, and having penetrated
alone into the lady's chamber, he perceived to begin with that a pane had
been pushed out of the window by the old noiseless device of a sheet of
treecled paper. And then, examining the window more closely, he saw that
outside a silk ladder depended from the roof and trailed in the balcony. Come
in without fear, he said to the trembling widow. It must have been
some one with more appetite than a ghost that you saw, perhaps an Arab.
She came in, femininely, trusting to him, and between them they
ascertained that she had lost a watch, sixteen rings, an opal necklace,
and some money. Missus mc allister would not say how much money. My
resources are slight, she remarked, I was expecting remittances. Cecil thought,
this is not merely in the grand manner. If it fulfills its promise,
it will prove to be one of the greatest things of the age. He
asked her to keep cool, not to be afraid, and to dress herself.
Then he returned to his room and dressed as quickly as he could.
The hotel was absolutely quiet, but out of the depths below came the sound
of a clock striking four. When adequately but not esthetically attired, he opened
his door again. Another door near by also open, and Cecil saw a
man's head. I say, drawled the man's head. Excuse me, but
have you noticed anything? Why? What? Well? I've been robbed?
The Englishman laughed awkwardly, apologetically, as though ashamed to have to confess that
he had been victimized much, Cecil inquired, two hundred or so, No
joke, you know? So have I been robbed? Said Cecil. Let
us go downstairs cut a candle. These corridors are usually lighted all night.
Perhaps our thief has been at the switches, said the Englishman, say our
thieves, A Cecil corrected, You think that there was more than one?
I think there were more than half a dozen, Cecil replied. The Englishman
was dressed, and the two descended together, candles in hand, forgetting the
lone lady. But the lone lady had no intention of being forgotten, and
she came after them, almost screaming. They had not reached the ground floor
before three other doors had opened, and three other victims proclaimed themselves. Cecil
led the way through the splendid saloons, now so ghostly in their elegance,
which only three hours before had been the illuminated scene of such polite revelry.
Ere he reached the entrance hall, where a solitary jet was burning. The
assistant concierge, one of those officials who seemed never to sleep, advanced towards
him, demanding in his broken English, what was the matter? There have
been thieves in the hotel, said Cecil, wakened the concierge. From that
point events succeeded each other in a sort of complex rapidity. Missus mc allister
fainted at the door of the billiard room and was laid out on a billiard
table with a white ball between her shoulders. The head concierge was not in
his narrow bed in the alcove by the main entrance, and he could not
be found, nor could the Italian manager be found, though he was supposed
to be ill in bed, nor the Italian manager's wife. Two stablemen were
searched out from somewhere, also a cook, and then the Englishman who had
lost two hundred or so went forth into the Algerian night to bring a gent
thme from the post at the Rue Dedi Cecil Thorold contented himself with talking to
people as in ones and twos, and in various stages of incorrectness. They
came into the public rooms, now brilliantly lighted. All who came had been
robbed. What surprised him was the slowness of the hotel to wake up.
There were two hundred and twenty guests in the place. Of these, in
a quarter of an hour, perhaps fifteen had arisen. The remainder were apparently
oblivious of the fact that something very extraordinary and something probably very interesting to them
personally, had occurred and was occurring. Why it's a conspiracy, sir,
It's a conspiracy, that's what it is, besided the Indian judge. Gang
is a shorter word, Cecil observed, and a young girl in a macintosh
giggled. Sleepy employees now began to appear, and the rumor ran that six
waiters and a chambermaid were missing. Missus McAllister rallied from the billiard table and
came into the drawing room, where most of the company had gathered. Cecil
yawned at the influence of the drug was still upon him. As she approached
him and weakly spoke. He answered absently, he was engaged in watching the
demeanor of these idlers on the face of the earth. How incapable they seemed
of any initiative, and yet with what magnificent Britannic phlegm they endured the strange
situation. The talking was neither loud nor impassioned. Then the low, distant
sound of a cannon was heard, once, twice thrice. Silence ensued.
Heavens sighed Missus mc allister, swaying towards Cecil. What can that be?
He avoided her, hurried out of the room and snatched somebody else's hat from
the hat racks in the hall. But just as he was turning the handle
of the main door of the hotel, the Englishman who had lost two hundred
or so returned out of the Algerian night with an inspector of police. The
latter courteously requested Cecil not to leave the building, as he must open the
inquiry ouvrere lonquette at once. Cecil was obliged regretfully to comply. The inspector
of police then commenced his labors. He telephoned no one had thought of the
telephone for assistance, and asked the Central Bureau to watch the railway station,
the port and the stage coaches. He acquired the names and addresses of Tulimunda.
He made catalogs of articles. He locked all the servants in the ping
pong room. He took down narratives beginning with Cecils, and while the functionary
was engaged with Missus McAllister Cecil quietly but firmly disappeared. After his departure,
the affair loomed larger and larger in mere magnitude, but nothing that came to
light altered as leading characteristics a wholesale robbery had been planned with the most minute
care and knowledge, and executed with the most daring skill. Some ten persons,
the manager and his wife, a chambermaid, six waiters and the concierge
seemed to have been concerned in the enterprise, excluding missus McAllister's Arab and no
doubt other assistants. The guests suddenly remembered how superior the concierge and the waiters
had been to the ordinary concierge and waiter. At a quarter past five o'clock,
the police had ascertained that a hundred rooms had been entered, and horrified
guests were still descending. The occupant of many rooms, however, made no
response to a summons to awake. These, it was discovered afterwards, had
either like Cecil, received a sedative unawares, or they had been neatly gagged
and bound. In the result, the list of missing valuables comprised nearly two
hundred watches, eight hundred rings, one hundred and fifty other articles of jewelry,
several thousand pounds worth of furs, three thousand pounds in coin, and
twenty one thousand pounds in bank notes, and other forms of currency. One
lady, a doctor's wife, said she had been robbed of eight hundred pounds
in Bank of England notes, but her story obtained a little credit. Other
tales of enormous loss, chiefly by women, were also taken with salt.
When the dawn began at about six o'clock, an official examination of the facade
of the hotel indicated that nearly every room had been invaded by the balcony to
window, either from the roof or from the ground, But the flagstones of
the terrace and the beautifully asphalted pathways of the garden disclosed no trace of the
plunderers. I guess your British habit of sleeping with the window open don't cut
much eyes to day, anyhow, said an American from Indianapolis to the company.
That morning, no omnibus from the hotel arrived at the station to catch
the six thirty train, which takes two days to ramble to Tunas and to
Biskra, and all the liveried porters talked together in excited Swiss German. Four
my compliments to Captain Black, said cecil thorowed, and repeat to him that
all I want him to do is to keep her in sight. He needn't
overhaul her too much. Precisely, sir Lucky bowed. He was pale,
and you had better lie down. I thank you, sir, but I
find a recumbent position inconvenient. Perpetual motion seems more agreeable. Cecil was back
in the large low room, paneled with bird's eye maple below him. The
power of two thousand horses drove through the nocturnal Mediterranean swell his Clarabelle of a
thousand tons. Thirty men were awake and active on board her, and twenty
slept in the vast, clean forecasto with electric lights blazing six inches above their
noses. He lit a cigarette, and, going to the piano, struck
a few chords from the orchid, but since the music would not remain on
the stand, he abandoned that attempt and lay down on a divan to think.
He had reached the harbor from the hotel in twenty minutes, partly on
foot at racing speed and partly in an Arab cart, also at racing speed.
The Clara Belle's launch awaited him, and in another five minutes the launch
was slunk to her dabbots and the Clarabelle under way, he learned that the
small and sinister vessel, the Perequet Bear of Oran, which he and his
men had been watching for several days, had slipped unostentatiously between the southern and
eastern jetties, had stopped for a few minutes to hold converse with a boat
that had put off from the neighborhood of Lower Mustapha, and had then pointed
her head northwest, as though for some port in the province of Oran or
in Morocco. And in the rings of cigarette smoke, which he made Cecil
seemed now to see clearly the whole business. He had never relaxed his interest
in the affair of the five pound notes. He had vaguely suspected it to
be part of some large scheme. He had presumed, on slight grounds a
connection between the peruquet Verre and the Italian manager of the hotel nay More.
He had felt sure that some great stroke was about to be accomplished, But
of precise knowledge of satisfactory theory of definite expectation, he had had none until
Missus McAllister, that unconscious and man hunting agent of destiny had fortunately awakened him
in the nick of time. Had it not been for his flirtation of the
previous evening, he might still be asleep in his bed at the hotel.
He perceived the entire plan. The five pound notes had been mysteriously scattered,
certainly to advertise the hotel, but only to advertise it for a particular and
colossal end, to fill it full and overflowing with fat victims. The situation
had been thoroughly studied in all its details, and the task had been divided
and allotted to various brains. Every room must have been examined, watched,
and separately plotted against the habits and idiosyncrasy of every victim. Must have been
individually weighed and considered nothing, no trifle could have been forgotten. And then
some supreme intelligence had drawn the threads together and woven them swiftly into the pattern
of a single night, almost a single hour, and the lute cecil could
estimate it pretty accurately, had been transported down the hill to Mustapha Inferia,
tossed into a boat, and so to the perroquet vert, And the peroque
vert, with lute and looters on board, was bound probably for one of
those obscure and infamous sports of Ora or Morocco, Teney, Mostaganem Benirsar Malia,
or the city of Oar, or Tangier itself. He knew something of
the Spanish and Maltese dens of Oran and Tangier, the clearing houses for stolen
goods of two continents, and the impregnable refuge of scores of ingenious villains.
And when he reflected upon the grandeur and immensity of the scheme, so simple
in its essence and so leisurely in its achievement, like most grand schemes,
when he reflected upon the imagination which had been necessary even to conceive it,
and the generalship which had been necessary to its successful conclusion, he murmured admiringly.
The man who thought of that and did it may be a scoundrel,
but he's also an artist, and a great one. And just because he
a cecil thurled was a millionaire and possessed a hundred thousand pound toy which could
do nineteen knots an hour and cost fifteen hundred pounds a month to run,
he was about to defeat that great artist and nullify that great scheme, and
incidentally, to retrieve his watch, his revolver, his fur and his five
hundred pounds. He had only to follow and to warn one of the French
torpedo boats which are always patrolling the coast between Algiers and Ran, and the
bubble would burst. He sighed for the doomed artist, and he wondered what
that victimized crowd of European loungers who lounged sadly round the Mediterranean in winter and
sadly round Northern Europe in summer had done in their languid and luxurious lives that
they should be saved after all, from the pillage to which the great artist
in theft had subjected them. Then Lecky re entered the stateroom. We shall
have a difficulty in keeping the parrokeetver in sight, sir, what exclaimed Cecil?
That tub that coffin You don't mean she can do twenty knots exactly,
sir, coffin, it I mean she is sinking, Cecil ran on deck,
Dawn was breaking over Matafu, and a faint, cold gray light touched
here and there the heaving sea. His captain spoke and pointed ahead, right
ahead, less than a mile away, to Parrokeetvert was sinking by the stern,
and even as they gazed at her, a little boat detached itself from
her side in the haze of the morning mist, and she sank, disappeared,
vanished amid a cloud of escaping. They were four miles northeast of Cape
Caccine. Two miles further westward, a big Dominion liner bound direct for Algiers
from the New World, was approaching and had observed the catastrophe, for she
altered her course. In a few minutes, the Clarabelle picked up the boat
of the paroquet Vert. It contained three Arabs five. The tale told by
the Arabs, two of them were brothers, and all three came from Oran
fully sustained cecil Thorol's theory of the spoliation of the hotel. Naturally, they
pretended at first to an entire innocence concerning the schemes of those who had charge
of the parroquet Vert. The two brothers, who were black with coal dust
when rescued, swore that they had been physically forced to work in the stokehold.
But ultimately all three had to admit a knowledge of things which was decidedly
incriminating and all three got three years imprisonment. The only part of the algiers
this mystery, which remained a mystery, was the cause of the sinking of
the Paraquetvert. Whether she was thoroughly unseaworthy, she had been picked up cheap
at Melilla, or whether someone not on board had deliberately arranged her destruction,
perhaps to satisfy a Moorish vengeance, was not ascertained. The three Arabs could
only be persuaded to say that there had been eleven Europeans and seven natives on
the ship, and that they alone, by the mercy of Allah, had
escaped from the swift catastrophe. The hotel underwent an acute crisis, from which,
however, it is emerging. For over a week a number of the
pillaged guests discussed a diving enterprise of salvage, but the estimates were too high
and it came to nothing. So they all Cecil included, began to get
used to the idea of possessing irrecoverable property to the value of forty thousand pounds
in the Mediterranean. A superb business and telegraphed remittances was done. For several
days, the fifteen beings who had accompanied the parroquet bear to the bottom were
scarcely thought of, for it was almost universally agreed that the way of transgressors
is and ought to be hard. As for Cecil Thirled, the adventure,
at first, so full of the promise of joy, left him melancholy,
until an unexpected sequel diverted the channel of his thoughts. End of Story one,
Chapter four, Story one of the Loot of Cities by Arnold Bennett.
This Liverribox recording is in the public domain. Story one the Loot of Cities,
Chapter five. In the Capital of the Sahara, Missus McAllister turned with
sudden eagerness and alarm towards Cecil Thirled. The crowd on the lawn in front
of the railings was so dense that only heads could be moved, and she
said, excitedly, I'm sure I could see my ghost across there, she
indicated, with her agreeable snub nose, the opposite side of the course,
your ghost, Cecil question, puzzled for a moment by this extraordinary remark.
Then the Arab horsemen swept by in a cloud of dust and of thunder,
monopolized the attention of the lawn and the grandstand, and the elite of Biskra
crammed thereon, and therein they had one more lap to accomplish for the pre
de Lavilla. Biskra is an oasis in the desert and the capital of the
Algerian Sahara, two days journey by train from Algiers over the Jujura Ranges.
It is the last outpost of the Algerian State Railways. It has one hundred
and sixty thousand palm trees, but the first symptom of Biskra to be observed
from the approaching first glass carriage is the chimney of the electric light plant.
Besides the one hundred and sixty thousand palm trees, it possesses half a dozen
large hotels, five native villages, a fort, a huge barracks, a
very ornamental town hall, shops for photographic materials, a whole street of dancing
girls, the finest winter climate in all Africa, and a gambling casino.
It is a unique thing in oases. It completely upsets the conventional idea of
an oasis as a pool of water bordered with a few date palms and the
limitless desert all around. Nevertheless, though Biskra as much resembles Paris, as
it resembles the conventional idea of an oasis. It is genuine enough, and
the limitless desert is in fact all around. You may walk out into the
desert and meet a motorcar maneuvering in the sand. But the sand remains the
sand, and the desert remains the desert, and the Sahara, more majestic
than the sea itself, refuses to be cheapened by the new matic tires of
a Mercedes, or the blue rays of the electric light, or the feet
of English, French and Germans wandering in search of novelty. It persists in
being August. Once a year, in February, biscr becomes really and excessively
excited, and the occasion is its annual two day race meeting. Then the
tribes and their chieftains, and their horses and their camels arrive magically out of
the four corners of the desert and fill the oasis, and the English,
French and Germans arrive from the Mediterranean coast with their trunks and their civilization and
a crowd. The hotels till beds in Biskra are precious beyond rubies and under
the tropical sun East and west meet magnificently in the afternoon on the racecourse to
the north of the European Reserve, and the tribesmen, their scraggy stige trailing
superb horse claws are arranged in hundreds behind the motor cars and lad landaus,
with the party Mutuel in full swing twenty yards away, and the dancing girls,
the renowned oulad niles covered with gold coins and with muslim in high crude,
violent purples, greens, vermilions, shriek and whinny on their benches,
just opposite the grand stand, where the Western women, arrayed in the toilettes
of wirth, dussat and redfern, quiz them through their glasses and fringing.
All is a crowd of the adventurers and rascals of two continents, the dark
and the light. And in the background the palms wave eternally in the breeze,
and to the east the Aures mountains, snow capped, rise in hues
of saffron and pale rows like stage mountains against the sapphire sky. And to
the south a line of telegraph poles lessens and disappears over the verge into the
inmost heart of the mysterious and unchangeable Sahara. It was amid this singular scene
that missus mc allister made to Cecil thorough her bizarre remark about a ghost.
What ghost? The millionaire repeated, when the horsemen had passed. Then he
remembered that on the famous night, now nearly a month ago, when the
Hotel Saint James at Algiers was literally sacked by an organized band of depredators and
valuables to the tune of forty thousand pounds disappeared, missus mc allister had given
the first alarm by crying out that there was a ghost in her room.
Ah, he smiled easily, condescendingly to this pertinacious widow who had been pursuing
him so fruitlessly for four mortal weeks, from Algiers to Tunis, from Tunis
back to Constantine, and from Constantine here to Biskra. All Arabs looked more
or less alike, you know, But yes, he said again, they
all look alike to us, like Chinaman. Considering that he himself, from
his own yacht, had witnessed the total loss in the Mediterranean of the vessel
which contained the plunder and the fleeing band of thieves. Considering that his own
yacht had rescued the only three survivors of that shipwreck, and that these survivors
had made a full confession and had only two days since been duly sentenced by
the criminal court at Algiers, he did not feel inclined to minister to missus
McAllister's feminine fancies. Did you ever see an Arab with a mole on his
chin, asked missus McAllister. No, I never did. Well, My
Arab had a mole on his chin, and that is why I am sure
it was he that I saw a minute ago over there. Now he's gone.
Now the competing horseman appeared round the bend for the last time. The
dancing girls winnied in their high trouble, the crowd roared, and the pri
de la Ville was won and lost. It was the final race on the
card, and in the melee which followed, Cecil became separated from his adorer.
She was to depart on the morrow by the six a m train.
Urgent business, she said she had given up the chase of the millionaire.
Perhaps she's out of funds for thing, he reflected. Anyhow, I hope
I may never see her again. As a matter of fact, he never
did see her again. She passed out of his life as casually as she
had come into it. He strolled slowly towards the hotel through the perturbed crowd
of Arabs, Europeans, carriages, camels, horses, and motor cars.
The mounted tribesmen were in a state of intense excitement and were continually burning powder
in that mad fashion which seems to afford a peculiar joy to the Arab's soul.
From time to time a tribesman would break out of the ranks of his
clan, and, spurring his horse and dropping the reins on the animal's neck,
would fire revolvers from both hands as he flew over the rough ground.
It was unrivaled horsemanship, and Cecil admired immensely the manner in which, at
the end of the frenzied performance, these men, drunk with powder, would
wheel their horses sharply while at full gallop and stop dead. And then,
as one man who had passed him like a hurricane, turned paused and jogged
back to his tribe, Cecil saw that he had a mole on his chin.
He stood still to watch the splendid fellow, and he noticed something far
more important than the mole. He perceived that the revolver in the man's right
hand had a chaste. But I can't swear to it, Cecil mused,
But if that isn't my revolver stolen from under my pillow at the Hotels and
Gansalgiz on the tenth of January last. My name is Norval and not thurled,
and the whole edifice of his ideas concerning the robbery at the Hotel de
Paris began to shake. That revolver ought to be at the bottom of the
Mediterranean, he said to himself, and so ought missus mc allister's man with
the mole, according to the accepted theory of the crime and the story of
the survivors of the shipwreck of the Paraquet. There he walked on, keeping
the man in sight. Suppose he murmured, Suppose all that stuff isn't at
the bottom of the Mediterranean, after all. A hundred yards further on he
happened to meet one of the white clad native guides attached to the Royal Hotel
where he had lunched. The guide saluted and offered service, as all the
bescrug guides do on all occasions. Cecil's reply was to point out the man
with the mole. You see him, Hatmat said, Cecil, make no
mistake, find out what tribe he belongs to, where he comes from,
and where he sleeps in Bithcra, and I will give you a sovereign.
Meet me at the casino to night at ten Mahatmagrin an honest grin and promised
to earn the sovereign. Cecil stopped an empty Landau and drove hurriedly to the
station to meet the afternoon train from Civilization. He had arrived at Biskra that
morning by road from El Cantara, and Lecky was coming by the afternoon train
with the luggage. On seeing him, he gave that invaluable factotum some surprising
orders. In addition to Lecky, the millionaire observed among the passengers descending from
the train two other people who were known to him, but he carefully hid
himself from these ladies. In three minutes, he had disappeared into the nocturnal
twhirl and uproar of Biskra, solely bent on proving or disproving the truth of
a brand new theory concerning the historic sack of the Hotel Saint James. But
that night he waited in vain for Mahotmut at the packed casino, where the
Arab chieftains and the English gentlemen alike, in their tremendous calm, were losing
money at Petty Cheveaux with all the imperturbability of stone statues two. Nor did
Cecil see anything else Mahatma during the next day, and he had reasons for
not making inquiries about him at the Royal Hotel. But at night, as
he was crossing the deserted market, Mahatmat came up to him, suddenly out
of nowhere and grinning the eternal, honest, foolish grin said in his odd
English, I have found him. Where come, said Mahatmat, mysteriously.
The Eastern guide loves to be mysterious. Cecil followed him far down the carnivalesque
street of the ouled Nails, where tom toms and nameless instruments of music sounded
from every other house, and in the primera dancess of the Sahara showed themselves
gorgeously behind grills like beautiful animals and cages. Then Mahatmut entered a crowded cafe,
passed through it and pushing aside a suspended mat at the other end,
bad Cecil proceed further. Cecil touched his revolver, his new revolver to make
of its company, and proceeded further. He found himself in a low oriental
room, lighted by an odorous English lamp with a circular wick, and furnished
with a fine carpet and two bedroom chairs certainly made in curtain rode Shoreditch,
a room characteristic of bistra. On one chair sat a man. But this
person was not Missus mc allister's man with the mole. He was obviously a
Frenchman by his dress, gestures and speech. He greeted the millionaire in French
and then dropped into English, excellently grammatical and often idiomatic, English spoken with
a strong French accent. He was rather a little man, thin gray and
a vivacious Give yourself the pain of setting down, said the Frenchman. I'm
glad to see you. You may be able to help us. You have
the advantage of me, Cecil replied, smiling. Perhaps, said the Frenchman,
you came to bis Gray yesterday, mister Thorold with the intention of staying
at the Royal Hotel, where rooms were engaged for you. But yesterday afternoon
you went to the station to meet your servant, and you ordered him to
return to Constantine with your luggage and to await your instructions there. Then you
took a hand bag and went to the Casino hotel, and you managed,
by means of diplomacy and of money to get a bed in the sale mange.
It was all they could do for you. You gave the name of
Collins. Biscer therefore is not officially aware of the presence of mister Cecil Thirled,
the millionaire, while mister Collins is free to carry on his researches,
to appear and to disappear as it pleases him. Yes, Cecil remarked,
you have got that fairly right. But may I ask, oh, let
us come to business at once, said the Frenchman, politely, interrupting him.
Is this your watch? He dramatically pulled a watch and chain from his
pocket. It is, said Cecil quietly. He refrained from embroidering the affair
with exclamations. It was stolen from my bedroom at the hotel Saint Gems with
my revolver, some fur and a quantity of money. On the tenth of
January. You are surprised to find it is not sunk in the Mediterranean thirty
hours ago. I should have been surprised, said Cecil. Now I am
not, and why not now because I have formed a new theory. But
have the goodness to give me the watch? I cannot, said the Frenchman,
graciously, not at present. There was a pause. The sound of
music was heard from the cafe. But my dear sir, I insist,
Cecil spoke positively. The Frenchman laughed. I will be perfectly frank with you,
mister Thorold. Your cleverness in forming a new theory of the great robbery
merits all, my candor. My name is Sylvain, and I am head
of the detective force of Algier's Chaffe de la crite. You will perceive that
I cannot part with the watch without proper formality. Mister Thorold, the robbery
at the Hotel Saint jams was a work of the highest criminal art. Possibly
I had better tell you the nature of our recent discoveries. I always thought
well of the robbery Cecil observed, and my opinion of it is rising.
Pray continue according to your new theory, mister Thorold. How many persons were
on board the baracae Vert when she began to sink, Three, said Cecil
promptly, as though answering a conundrum. The Frenchman beamed, you are admirable,
He exclaimed, yes, instead of eighteen, there were three. The
wreck of the paroquet Bet was carefully pre arranged. The visit of the boat
to the paraquet Bear off Mustapha in a ferriere was what you call, I
believe, a plant. The stolen goods never left dry land. There were
three Arabs only on the paraquet Bet, one to steer her and the other
two in the engine room. And these three were very careful to get themselves
saved. They scuttled their ship inside of your yacht and of another vessel.
There is no doubt, mister Thurled. The Frenchman smiled, with a hint
of irony, that the thieves were fully old corone of your doings on the
Clara Belle. The shipwreck was done deliberately with you and your yacht for an
audience. It was a masterly stroke. He proceeded, almost enthusiastically for it
had the effect not merely of drawing away suspicion from the true direction, but
of putting an end to all further inquiries. Were not the goods at the
bottom of the sea and the thieves drowned, what motive could the police have
for further activity? In six months? Naye, three months, all the
notes and securities could be safely negotiated because no measures would have to be taken
to stop them. Why take measures to stop notes that are at the bottom
of the sea. But the three survivors who are now in prison, Cecil
said, their behavior, their lying needs some accounting for quite simple. The
Frenchman went on, They are in prison for three years. What is that
to an Arab? He will suffer it with stoicism. Say that ten thousand
francs are deposited with each of their families. When they come out they are
rich for life. At a cost of thirty thousand francs, and the price
of the ship, say another thirty thousand, the thieves reasonably expected to obtain
absolute security. It was a heroic idea, said Cecil. It was,
said the Frenchman, but it has failed evidently. But why can you ask?
You know as well as I do. It has failed, partly because
there were too many persons in the secret, partly because of the Arab love
of display on great occasions, and partly because of a mole on a man's
chin. By the way, that was the man I came here to see,
Cecil remarked. He is arrested, said the Frenchman curtly, and then
he sighed. The booty was not guarded with sufficient restrictions. It was not
kept in bulk. One thief probably said, I cannot do without this lovely
watch, and another said, what a revolver, I must have it.
Ah, the Arab, the Arab, the Europeans ought to have provided for
that. That is where they were foolish, The idiots, the idiots,
he repeated angrily. You seem annoyed, mister Thorold. I am a poet
of these things. It annoys me to see a fine composition ruined by bad
construction. In the fifth act, however, as chief of the Syrite,
I rejoice you have located the thieves and the plunder. I think I have.
Certainly I have captured two of the thieves and several articles the bulk lies
that he stopped and looked around mister Thorold. May I rely on you?
I know perhaps more than you think of your powers. May I rely on
you, ay said Cecil, you will hold yourself at my disposition during tomorrow
to assist me with pleasure. Then let us take coffee in the morning.
I shall have acquired certain precise information which at the moment I lack. Let
us take coffee. Three. On the following morning, somewhat early, while
walking nearer Messid, one of the tiny outlying villages of the oasis, Cecil
met E Fincastle and Kitty Sartorius, whom he had not spoken with since the
affair of the bracelet at Bruges, though he had heard from them and had
indeed seen them at the station two days before. Ethincastle had fallen rather seriously
ill at mentone, and the holiday of the two girls, which should have
finished before the end of the year, was prolonged. Financially, the enforced
leisure was a matter of trifling importance to Kitty's Sartorius, who had insisted on
remaining with her friend, much to the disgust of her lune and manager.
But the journalist's resources were less royal, and Eve considered herself fortunate that she
had obtained from her newspaper some special descriptive correspondence in Algeria. It was this
commission which had brought her and Kitty with her in the natural course of an
Algerian tour to Biskra. Cecil was charmed to see his acquaintances, for Eve
interested him, and Kitty's beauty, it goes without saying, dazzled him.
Nevertheless, he had been, as it were, hiding himself, and in
his character as an amateur of the loot of cities, he would have preferred
to have met them on some morning other than that particular morning. You will
go with us to Siddy Oak Bah, won't you to day? Said Kitty,
after they had talked a while. We've secured a carriage and I'm dying
for a drive in the real true desert. Sorry I can't, said Cecil.
Oh but Eve and Castle began and stopped. Of course you can,
said Kitty, imperiously. You must we leave tomorrow. We're only here for
two days for Algiers and France, another two days in Paris, and in
London, my darling, London and work. So it's understood. It desolates
me, said Cecil, But I can't go with you to City oak Ba
to day. They both saw that he meant to refuse them. Ah,
that settles it. Then Eve agreed quietly. You're horrid, mister Thorold,
said the bewitching actress. And if you imagine for a single moment we haven't
seen that you've been keeping out of our way, you're mistaken. You must
have noticed us at the station. Eve thinks you've got another of your No,
I don't, kitty, said Eve quickly. If Miss Fencastle suspects that
I've got another of my, Eve paused humorously. Miss Fencastle is right,
I have got another of my I throw myself on your magnanimity. I am
staying Ambiscrus under the name of Collins and my time, like my name,
is not my own. In that case, Eve remarked, we will pass
on, and they shook hands, with a certain frigidity on the part of
the two girls. During the morning, Monsieur Sylvain made no sign and Cecil
lunched in solitude at the d'arif adjoining the casino. The races being over Streams
of natives with their tents and their quadrupeds were leaving Biscra for the desert.
They made an interminable procession, which could be seen from the window of the
d'aryf coffee room. Cecil was idly watching this procession when a hand touched his
shoulder. He turned and saw Gentan Monsieur Colonne. Questioned oft the Gentarmes Cecil
assented, voolievous avois lo'blacon se de mais souverer. Monsieur Cecil obediently followed and
found in the street Monsieur Sylvain, well wrapped up and seated in an open
carriage. I have need of you, said Monsieur Sylvain. Can you come
at once? Certainly, in two minutes they were driving away together into the
desert. Our destination is city Oakbach, said the Monsieur Sylvain, A curious
place. The road so called led across the Biscre river so called, and
then in a straight line eastwards. The river had about the depth of a
dinner plate. As for the road, in some parts it not only merely
failed to be a road, it was nothing but virgin desert intact at its
best, it was a heaving and treacherous mixture of sand and pebbles, through
which, and not over which the two unhappy horses had to drag Monsieur Sylvain's
unfortunate open carriage. Monsieur Sylvain himself drove. I am well acquainted with this
part of the desert, he said. We have strange cases sometimes, and
when I am on important business, I never trust an Arab by the way
you have a revolved I do not anticipate danger. But I have one,
said Cecil, and it is loaded. Cecil took the weapon from his hip
pocket and examined it. It is loaded, he said. Good, exclaimed
the Frenchman, and then he turned to the Gentan, who was sitting as
impassively as the leaps and bounds of the carriage would allow on a small seat
immediately behind the other two, and demanded of him in French whether his revolver
also was loaded. The man gave a respectful affirmative. Good, exclaimed Monsieur
Sylvain again, and launched into a description of the wondrous gardens of the Conte
Landan, whose walls, on the confines of the oasis they were just passing
straight in front could be seen a short line of palm trees waving in the
desert breeze under the desert sun, and Cecil asked what they were City Oakba,
replied Monsieur Sylvain. The hundred and eighty thousand palms of the desert city
of City Oakba near to you, no doubt, But we shall travel twenty
kilometers before we reach them. The effect of nearness is due to the singular
quality of the atmosphere. It is a two hours journey. Then do we
return in the dark, Secil inquired. If we are lucky, we may
return at once and arrive at Biskrad dusk. If not well, we shall
spend the night at City Ilkba. You object not at all a curious place,
observed Monsieur Sylvain. Soon they had left behind all traces of the oasis
and were in the real, true desert. They met and passed native equipage
and the strings of camels, and from time to time on either hand,
at short distances from the road could be seen the encampments of wandering tribes.
And after interminable joltings, in which Monsieur Sylvain, his guest, and his
gendarmes were frequently hurled at each other's heads with excessive violence, the short line
of palm tree began to seem a little nearer and to occupy a little more
of the horizon, and then they could descry the wall of the city.
And at last they reached its gate, and the beggars squatting within its gate
to send Monsieur Sylvain ordered his subordinate. The man disappeared, and a Monsieur
Sylvain and the cecil drove into the city. They met several carriages of bescrus
visitors just setting forth on their return journey. In insisting that city Oakba was
a curious place, Monsieur Sylvain did not exaggerate. It was an eastern town
of the most antique sort, built solely of mud, with the simplicity,
the foulness, the smells, and the avowed and the secret horrors which might
be expected in a community which has not altered its habits in any particular for
a thousand years. During several months of each year, it is visited daily
by Europeans. Its mosque is the oldest Mohammedan building in Africa. Therefore,
no respectable tourist dares to miss it, and yet it remains absolutely uninfluenced by
European notions. The European person must take his food with him, he is
allowed to eat it in the garden of a cafe which is European as far
as its sign and its counter, but no further. He could not eat
it in the cafe itself. This cafe is the mark which civilization has succeeded
in making on Sidi Ukba in ten centuries. As Cecil drove with Monsieur Savain
through the narrow, winding street, he acutely felt the east closing in upon
him, and since the sun was getting low over the palm trees, he
was glad to have the detective by his side. They arrived at the wretched
cafe. A pair horse vehicle with the horses heads towards Uzkra was waiting at
the door. Unspeakable lanes feted, winding, sinister, and strangely, people
led away in several directions. Monsieu Savain glanced about him. We shall proceed,
he murmured, cheerfully. Follow me, and they went into the mark
of civilization, and saw the counter and a female creature behind the bar,
and through another door a glimpse of the garden beyond. Follow me, murmured
Monsieur Savain again, opening another door to the left into a dark passage.
Straight on, there is a room at the other end, they vanished in
a few seconds. Monsieur Sylvain returned into the cafe. Four Now in the
garden were Eve Fincastle and Kitty Sartorius tying up some wraps preparatory to their departure
for biscrut. They caught sight of Cecil Thorold and his companion entering the cafe.
They were surprised to find the millionaire in see the oakba after his refusal
to accompany them through the back door of the cafe. They saw Cecil's companion
reappear out of the passage. They saw the creature behind the counter stoop and
produce a revolver and then offer it to the Frenchman with a furtive movement.
They saw that the Frenchman declined it and drew another revolver from his own pocket
and winked. And the character of the wink given by the Frenchman to the
woman made them turn pale under the sudden knife like thrust of an awful suspicion.
The Frenchman looked up and perceived the girls in the garden, and one
glance at Kitty's beauty was not enough for him. Can you keep him here
a minute? While I warn mister Thorold, said Eve. Quickly. Kitty
Sartorius nodded and began to smile on the Frenchman. She then lifted her finger
beckoningly. If millions had depended on his refusal, it is doubtful whether he
would have resisted that charming gesture. Not for nothing did Kitty Sartorius receive one
hundred a week at the Regency Theater. In a moment, the Frenchman was
talking to her, and she had enveloped him in a golden mist of enchantment.
Guided by a profound instinct, Eve ran up the passage and into the
room where Cecil was awaiting the return of his Monsieur Sylvain. Come out,
she whispered, passionately, as if between violent anger and dreadful alarm. You
are trapped, you with your schemes, trapped, he exclaimed, smiling,
not at all, I have my revolver. His hand touched his pocket.
By jove, I have not, it's gone. The miraculous change in his
face was of the highest interest. Come out, she cried. Our carriage
is waiting in the cafe. Kitty Sartorius was talking to the Frenchman. She
stroked his sleeve with her gloved hand, and he the Frenchman, still held
the revolver, which he had displayed to the woman of the counter. Inspired
by the consummate and swiftly aroused emotion of that moment, Cecil snatched at the
revolver. The three friends walked hastily to the street, jumped into the carriage,
and drove away. Already, as they approached the city gate, they
could see the white tower of the Royal Hotel at Biskra shining across the desert
like a promise of security. The whole episode had lasted perhaps two minutes,
but they were minutes of such intense and blinding revelation as Cecil had never before
experienced. He sighed with relief as he lay back in the carriage. And
that's the man, he meditated, as sounded, who must have planned the
robbery of the hotel, Saint James. And I never suspected it. I
never suspected that his gendarme was a sham. I wonder whether his murder of
me would have been as leisurely and artistic as his method of trapping me.
I wonder, well, this time I have certainly enjoyed myself. Then he
gazed at eve Fencastle. The women said nothing for a long time, and
even then the talk was of trifles. Five eve Fincastle had gone up on
to the vast flat roof of the Royal Hotel, and Cecil, knowing that
she was there, followed. The sun had just set, and Biscra lay
spread out below them. In the rich evening light, which already eastwards had
turned to sapphire, they could still see the line of the palm trees of
city Okba, and in another direction, the long, lonely road to Figue,
stretching across the desert like a rope which had been flung from heaven on
the waste of sand. The Aras mountains were black and jagged. Nearer immediately
under them was the veriest life of the great oasis, and the sounds of
that life human speech, the rattle of carriages, the grunts of camels in
the camel enclosure, the whistling of an engine at the station, the melancholy
whales of hawkers ascended softly in the twilight of the Sahara. Cecil approached her,
but she did not turn towards him. I want to thank you,
he started. She made no movement. And then suddenly she burst out.
Why do you continue with these shameful plots and schemes? She demanded, looking
always steadily away from him. Why do you disgrace yourself? Was this another
theft, another blackmailing, another affair like that? It oth stand? Why?
She stopped, deeply disturbed, unable to control herself. My dear journalist,
he said quietly. You don't understand, Let me tell you. He
gave her his history from the night summons by missus mc allister to that same
afternoon. She faced him. Oh, I'm so glad, she murmured.
You can't imagine. I want to thank you for saving my life, he
said again. She began to cry. Her body shook. She hid her
face, but he stammered awkwardly. Oh, it isn't I who saved your
life, she said, sobbing passionately. I wasn't beautiful enough. Only Kitty
could have done it. Only a beautiful woman could have kept that. Man.
I know all about it, my dear girl. Cecil silenced her disavowal.
Something moved him to take her hand. She smiled sadly, not resisting.
You must excuse me, she murmured, I'm not myself tonight. It's
because of the excitement. Anyhow, I'm glad you haven't taken any loot this
time, but I have, he protested. He was surprised to find his
voice trembling. What this He pressed her hand tenderly that she looked at her
hand lying in his as though she had never seen it before. Eve,
he whispered. About two thirds of the lute of the Hotels and JEMs was
ultimately recovered not at City Oak Bah, but in the cellars of the Hotels
and JEMs itself. From first to last, that robbery was a masterpiece of
audacity. Its originator, the Soois descant Monsieur Sylvaine, head of the Algiers
Detective Force, is still at large end of a story one apart five Story
one of the Loot of Cities by Arnold Bennett. This LibriVox recording is in
the public domain Story One, The Loot of Cities, Chapter six Low twas
a gala night Paris, and not merely Paris, but Paris on fete,
Paris decorated, Paris idol, Paris determined to enjoy itself and succeeding brilliantly.
Venetian masts of red and gold lined the gay pavements of the Combe Boulevais and
The'auvenue de l'operas, and suspended from these in every direction, transverse and lateral,
hung garlands of flowers whose petals were of colored paper, and whose hearts
were electric globes that, in the evening would burst into flame. The effect
of the city's toilette reached the extreme of opulence, for no expense had been
spared. Paris was welcoming monarchs, and had spent two million francs in obedience
to the maxim that what is worth doing at all is worth doing well.
The Grand Hotel, with its eight hundred rooms full of English and Americans,
at the upper end of the Avenue de Polars, looked down at the Grand
Hotel de Luvera, with its four hundred rooms full of English and Americans,
at the lower end of the Avenue de l'a peris. These two establishments had
the best views in the whole city, and perhaps the finest view of all
was that obtainable from a certain second floor window of the Grand Hotel, precisely
at the corner of the Boulevard des Capucines and the Rue Auberis. From this
window one could see the boulevards in both directions, the operas and the Place
de l'auperas, the Avenue de l'a operas and the Rue de Catrasattambre, and
the multitudinous life of the vivid thoroughfares, the glittering cafes, the dazzling shops,
the painted kiosks, the lumbering omnibuses, the gliding trams, the hooting
automobiles, the swift and careless cabs, the private carriages, the suicidal bicycles,
the newsmen, the toy sellers, the touts, the beggars, and
all the holiday crowd somber men and radiant women, chattering, laughing, bustling,
staring, drinking under the innumerable tricolor and garlands of paper flowers. That
particular view was a millionaire's view, and it happened to be the temporary property
of Cecil Thirld, who was enjoying it and the afternoon sun at the open
window with three companions. Eve Fencastle looked at it with the analytic eye of
the journalist, while Kitty Sartorius, as was quite proper for an actress,
deemed it a sort of frame for herself. As she leaned over the balcony
like a Juliet on the stage. The third guest in Cecil's sitting room was
Lionel Belmont, the Napoleonic Anglo American theatrical manager in whose crown Kitty herself was
the chief star. Mister Belmont, a big, burly, good humored,
a shrewd man of something over forty, said he had come to Paris on
business, but for two days the business had been solely to look after Kitty
Sartorius and minister to her caprices. At the present moment, his share of
the view consisted mainly of Kitty, in the same way Cecil's share of the
view consisted mainly of Eve Fencastle. But this at least was right and decorous.
For the betrothal of the millionaire the journalist had been definitely announced, Otherwise
Eve would have been back at work in Fleet Streak a week ago. The
gala performance is to night, isn't it, said Eve, gazing at the
vast and superbly ornamented opera house. Yes, said Cecil, what a pity
we can't be there. I should so have liked to see the young queen
in evening dress. And they say the interior decorations nothing simpler, said,
Cecil, if you want to go, dear, let us go. Kitty.
Sartorius looked around quickly. Mister Belmont has tried to get seats and cant
haven't you Bell? You know the whole audience is invited. The invitations are
issued by the Minister of Fine Arts still in Paris. Anything can be got
by paying for it, Cecil insisted. My dear young friend, said Lionel
Belmont. I guess if seats were to be had, I should have struck
one or two. Yesterday. I put no limit on the price, and
I reckon. I ought to know what theater prices run to over at the
Metropolitan and New York. I've seen a box change hands at two thousand dollars
for one night. Nevertheless, Cecil began again, and the performance starting in
six hours from now. Lionel Belmont exclaimed, not much, but Cecil persisted.
Seeing the herald today, Belmont questioned, no, well, listen,
this will interest you. He drew a paper from his pocket and read seats
for the Opera Guala. The traffic in seats for their gala performance at the
Opera during the last royal visit to Paris aroused considerable comment, and not a
little dissatisfaction. Nothing, however, was done, and the traffic in seats
for tonight's spectacle, at which the President and their Imperial majesties will be present,
as it is said, amounted to a scandal. Of course, the
offer so suddenly made five days ago by Madame Fedice and Mademoiselle Malva, the
two greatest living dramatic sopranos, to take part in the performance, immediately and
enormously intensified interest in the affair. For never yet have these two supreme artists
appeared in the same theatre on the same night. No theatre could afford the
luxury. Our readers may remember that in our columns and in the columns of
the Figaro, there appeared, at four days weeks ago an advertisement to the
following effect a box also two orchestra stalls for the opera Gaila, to be
disposed of. Owing to illness apply one fifty five rue de la pay.
We sent for several reporters to answer that advertisement. The first was offered a
stage box for seven thousand, five hundred francs and two orchestra stalls in the
second row for twelve hundred and fifty francs. The second was offered a box
opposite the stage on the second tier and two stalls in the seventh row.
The third had the chance of four stalls in the back row and a small
box just behind them. The fourth was offered something else. The thing was,
obviously therefore a regular agency. Everybody is asking how were these seats obtained
from the Ministry of Fine Arts or from the m vite echo answers how.
The authorities, however, are stated to have interfered at last, and to
have put an end to this buying and selling of what should be an on
distinction. Bravo, said Cecil, and that so Belmont remarked, dropping the
paper. I went to one fifty five Rue de la pay myself yesterday and
was told that nothing whatever was to be had, not at any price.
Perhaps you didn't offer enough, said Cecil. Moreover, I noticed the advertisement
does not appear to day. I guess the authorities have crumpled it up.
Still, Cecil went on monotonously. Look here, said Belmont, grim and
a little nettled. Just to cut it short, I'll bet you a two
hundred dollar dinner at Payod's that you can't get seats for to night, not
even two, let alone four. You really want to bet well, drawled
Belmont with a certain irony, slightly imitating Cecil's manner. It means something to
eat for these ladies, I accept said Cecil, and he rang the bell
two lecky. Cecil said to his valet, who had entered the room,
I want you to go to number one fifty five Rue de la pay and
find out on which floor they are disposing of seats for the operat tonight.
When you have found out, I want you to get me four seats,
preferably a box. Understand. The servant stared at his master, squinting violently
for a few seconds. Then he replied, suddenly, as the light had
just dawned on him, exactly, sir, you intend to be present at
the gate of performance. You have successfully grasped my intention, said Cecil.
Present my card. He scribbled a word or two on a card and gave
it to the man and the price. Sir, you still have that blank
check on the credillione that I gave you yesterday morning. Use that, yes,
sir. Then there is the question of my French, sir, my
feeble French, A delicate plant, my friend Belmont put in, I will
accompany you as interpreter. I should like to see this thing through. Lecky
bowed and gave up squinting in three minutes, for they had only to go
round the corner. Lionel Belmont and Lecky were in a room on the fourth
floor of one fifty five Rue de la Pay. It had the appearance of
an ordinary drawing room, save that it contained an office table. At this
table sat a young man French. You wish messieurs, said the young man
have the goodness to interpret for me, said Lecky to the Napoleon of Anglo
Saxon Theaters, mister Cecil Thorold of the Devonshire Mansion, London, the Grand
Hotel Paris, the Hotel Continental Rome and the Izare Palace Hotel Cairo, presents
his compliments and wishes a box for the gala performance at the Opera to night.
Belmont translated, while Lecky handed the card, owing to the unfortunate indisposition
of a minister and his wife, replied the young man gravely, having perused
the card, it happens that I have a stage box on the second tier.
You told me yesterday, Belmont began. I will take it, said
Lecky in a sort of French, interrupting his interpreter. The price and the
pen. The price is twenty five thousand francs gem and ni, Balmont,
exclaimed an American. This is Paris, and no mistake, Yes, said
Leckey, as he filled up the blank check. Paris still succeeds in being
Paris. I have noticed it before, mister Belmont, if you will pardon
the liberty, The young man opened a drawer and handed to Lecky a magnificent
guilt card signed by the Minister of Fine Arts, which Lecky hid behind his
breast. That signature of the minister's genuine Belmont asked the young man, I
answer for it, said the young man, smiling imperturbably. The deuce you
do, Belmont murmured. So the four friends dined at Payads at the rate
of about a dollar and a half a mouthful, and the mystified Belmont,
who was not in the habit of being mystified and so felt it, had
the ecstasy of paying the bill. Three. It was nine o'clock when they
entered the magnificent precincts of the opera house. Like everybody else, they went
very early. The performance was not to commence until nine thirty in order to
see and be seen to the fullest possible extent. A week had elapsed since
the two girls had arrived from Algiers in Paris under the escort of Cecil Thirled,
and in that time they had not been idle. Kitty Sartorius had spent
tolerable sums at the best modistes in the Rue de la Pay and the establishments
at the Rue de la Chose d'antine, while Eve had bought one frock a
dream, needless to say, and had also been nearly covered with jewelry by
her betrothed that afternoon. Between the bet and the dinner, Cecil had made
more than one mysterious disappearance. He finally came back with a diamond tiara for
his dear journalist. You ridiculous thing, exclaimed the dear journalist, kissing him.
It thus occurred that Eve, usually so severe an aspect, had more
jewels than she could wear, while Kitty, accustomed to display, had practically
nothing but her famous bracelet. Eve insisted on appooling the lot and dividing equally
for the gala. Consequently, the party presented a very pretty appearance, as
it ascended the celebrated grand staircase of the Oparah, wreathed to night in flowers.
Lionel Belmont, with Kitty on his arm, was in high spirits,
uplifted, joyous, But Cecil himself seemed to be a little nervous, and
this nervousness communicated itself to Eve Fincastle, or perhaps Eve was rather overpowered by
her Tiara. At the head of the staircase was a notice requesting every one
to be seated at nine twenty five, previous to the arrival of the President
and the Imperial guests of the Republic. The row of officials at the control
took the expensive guilt card from Cecil Exis Hammond. It returned it and bowed
low with an intimation that he should turn to the right and climb two floors,
and the party proceeded further into the interior of the great building. The
immense corridors and foyers and stairs were crowded with a collection of the best known
people in Paris. It was a gathering of all the renowns. The garish,
gorgeous Opinah seemed to be changed that night into something new and strange.
Even those shabby old harradines. The box openers. The ouvres wore bows of
red, white and blue, and smiled effusively in expectation of tips inconceivably large
chimp, exclaimed the box opener, who had taken charge of Cecil's party,
as she unlocked the door of the box. And well might she exclaim for
the box number seventy four, no possible error, was already occupied by a
lady and two gentlemen who were talking rather loudly in French. Cecil undoubted turned
pale, while Lionel Belmont laughed within his mustache. These people have made a
mistake, Cecil was saying to the ovres, when a male official in evening
dress approached him with an air of importance. Pardeau, monsieur, you are,
monsieur Cecil thorold, I am, said Cecil. Will you kindly follow
me? And monsieur the director wishes to see you. You are expected,
evidently, said Lionel Belmont. The girls kept apart, as girls should in
these crises between men. I have a ticket for this box, Cecil remarked
to the official, and I wish first to take possession of it. It
is a precisely that point which Monsieur the director, which is to discuss with
Monsieur rejoined the official ineffably suave. He turned with a wonderful bow to the
girls and added, with that politeness of which the French alone have the secret.
Perhaps in the meantime these ladies would like to see the view of the
Avenue de l'operas from the balcony. The illuminations out begun in the effect of
Sidney charming. Cecil bit his lip. Yes, he said, to Belmont
take them so, while Lionel Belmont escorted the girls to the balcony, there
to discuss the startling situation and to watch the imperial party drive up the resplendent,
fairy like and unique avenue. Cecil followed the official. He was guided
along various passages and round unnumbered corners to the rear part of the colossal building.
There, in a sumptuous bureau, the official introduced him to a still
higher official, the director, who had a decoration and a long white mustache.
Monsieur said, this latter, I am desolated to have to inform you
that the Minister of Fine Arts has withdrawn his original invitation for box number seventy
four tonight, I have received no intimation of the withdrawal. Cecil replied,
no, because the original invitation was not issue to you. You, said
the director, excited and nervous. The Minister of Fine Arts instructs me to
inform you that his invitation to meet the President and their imperial majesties cannot be
bought and sold. But is it not notorious that many such invitations have been
bought and sold? It is unfortunately too notorious. Here. The director looked
at his watch and rang a bell impatiently. Then why am I singled out
The director gazed blandly at Cecil. The reason perhaps is best known to yourself,
said he, and he rang the bell again. I appear to incommode
you, Cecil remarked, and permit me to retire. Not at all,
I assure you, said the director. On the contrary, I am a
little agitated on account of the non arrival of Mademoiselle Malva. A minor functionary
entered, she has come, no, Monsieur Ledrichter, and it is nine
fifteen polic The functionary departed. The invitation to box number seventy four preceded the
director, commanding himself was sold for two thousand. Francs, allow me to
hand you notes for the amount, dear monsieur, But I page twenty five
thousand, said Cecil, smiling. It is conceivable. But the Minister can
only concern himself with the original figure. You refuse the notes, Oh,
by no means, said Cecil, accepting them. But I have brought here
to night three guests, including two ladies. Imagine my position. I imagine
it, the director responded. But who will not deny that the Minister is
always the right to cancel an invitation. Seats ought to be sold a subject
to the contingency of that right being exercised. At that moment, still another
official plunged into the room. She is not here yet, he sighed,
as if in extremity. It is unfortunate. Cecil sympathetically put in, it
is more than unfortunate, Dear Monsieur, said the director, gesticulating, it
is unthinkable. The performance must begin at nine thirty, and it must begin
with the garden scene from Faust in which Mademoiselle Malva takes Marguerite. Why not
change the order, Cecil suggested, impossible. There are only two other items.
The first act of Longham with Madame Felie and the ballet Sylvia. We
cannot connence with the ballet. No one ever heard of such a thing.
And do you suppose that Felie will sing before Malva, not for millions,
not for a throne. The etiquette of sopranos is stricter than that of courts.
Besides, to night, we cannot have a German opera preceding a French
one. Then the President and their majesties will have to wait a little till
Malva arrives. Cecil said, their majesties wait. Impossible, impossible, echoed
the other official, aghast. Two more officials entered, and the atmosphere of
alarm, of being scotched, of being up a tree of incredible height,
the atmosphere which at that moment permeated the whole of the vast region behind the
scenes of the Parreto Warat, seemed to rush with them into the bureau of
the Director and to concentrate itself there. Nine twenty And as she couldn't dress
in less than fifteen minutes, you have sent to the Hotel de Louvera,
the director questioned, despairingly. Yes, Monsieur le director. She left there
two hours ago. Cecil coughed, I could have told you as much.
He remarked, very distinctly, what, cried the director. You know Mademoiselle
Malva. She is among my intimate friends, said Cecil smoothly. Perhaps you
know where she is. I have a most accurate idea, said Cecil.
Where I will tell you when I am seated in my box with my friends.
Cecil answered, dear monsieur, panted the director, tell us at once,
I give you my word of honor that you shall have your box.
CiCi bowed certainly, he said, I may remark that I had gathered information
which led me to anticipate this difficulty with the Minister of Fine Arts. But
to Malva Malva, where is she be at ease? It is only nine
twenty three, and Mademoiselle Malva is less than three minutes away and ready dressed.
I was observing that I had gathered information which led me to anticipate this
difficulty with the Minister of Fine Arts, and accordingly I took measures to protect
myself. There is no such thing as absolute arbitrary power, did director,
even in a republic, and I have proved it. Mademoiselle Malva is in
a room number four two nine at the Grand Hotel across the road. Stay,
as she will not come without this note. He handed out a small
folded letter from his waistcoat pocket. Then he added, adiar, monsieur Director,
you have just time to reach the state entrance in order to welcome the
presidential and Imperial party. At nine thirty Cecil and his friends were ushered by
a trinity of subservient officials into their box, which had been mysteriously emptied of
its previous occupants. And at the same moment, the monarchs, with monarchical
punctuality, accompanied by the President, entered the Presidential box in the middle of
the grand tier of the superb auditorium. The distinguished and dazzling audience rose to
its feet, and the band played the national anthem. You fixed it up?
Then, Belmont whispered, under the cover of the national anthem. He
was beaten after all, Oh yes, said he slightly. A trivial misconception,
nothing more, And I have made a little out of it too,
indeed much, no, not much, two thousand francs. But you must
remember that I have been less than half an hour in making them. The
curtain rose on the garden scene from Faust for my dear, said Eve.
When a woman has been definitely linked with a man, either by betrothal or
by marriage, there are moments, especially at the commencement, when she assumes
an heir and a tone of absolute exclusive possession of him. It is a
wonderful trick which no male can successfully imitate. Try how he will. One
of these moments had arrived in the history of Eve Fincastle and her millionaire lover.
They sat in a large, deserted public room, all gold, of
the Grand Hotel. It was midnight less a quarter and they had just returned
somewhat excited and flushed from the glories of the gala performances. During the latter
part of the evening. Eve had been absent from Cecil's box for nearly half
an hour. Kitty Sartorius and that lionel Belmont were conversing in an adjoining salon.
Yes, said Cecil, are you quite sure that you love me?
Only one answer is possible to such a question. Cecil gave it. Oh,
that is all very well. Eve pursued with equal gravity and charm.
But it was really tremendously sudden, wasn't it. I can't think what you
see in me, dearest, my dear eve Cecil observed holding her hand.
The best things, the most enduring things, very often occur. Suddenly.
Say you love me, she persisted, So he said it this time.
Then her gravity deepened, though she smiled. You've given up all those those
schemes and things of yours, haven't you, she questioned, Absolutely, he
replied, my dear, I'm so glad. I never could understand. Why
listen, he said? What was I to do? I was rich,
I was bored. I had no great attainments. I was interested in life
and in the arts, but not desperately, not vitally. You may perhaps
say I should have taken up forilanthropy. Well I'm not built that way.
I can't help it. But I'm not a born philanthropist, and the philanthropist
without a gift for philanthropy usually does vastly more harm than good. I might
have gone into business, Well, I should only have doubled my millions while
boring myself all the time. Yet the instinct which I inherited from my father,
the great American instinct to be a little cleverer and smarter than someone else,
drove me to action. It was part of my character, and one
can't get away from one's character. So finally I took to these rather original
schemes, as you call them. They had the advantage of being exciting and
sometimes dangerous, and though they were often profitable, they were not too profitable.
In short, they amused me and gave me joy. They also gave
me you. Eve smiled again, but without committing herself. But you have
abandoned them now completely, she said, Oh yes, he answered, then
what about this Sopara affair? To night? She sprang the question on him
sharply. She did her best to look severe, but the endeavor ended with
a laugh. I meant to tell you, he said, But how how
did you know? How did you guess? You forget that? I am
still a journalist, she replied, and still on the staff of my paper.
I wished to interview Malva tonight for the journal, and I did so.
It was she who led out things. She thought I knew all about
it, and when she saw that I didn't, she stopped and advised me
mysteriously to consult you for details. It was the scandal at the Gala performance
last autumn that gave me an action for making a corner in seats at the
very next gala performance that should ever occur in the Paris Opaarah, Cecil began
his confession. I knew that seats could be got direct from more or less
minor officials at the Ministry of Fine Arts, and also that a large proportion
of the people invited to these performances were prepared to sell their seats. You
can't imagine how venal certain circles are in Paris. It just happened that the
details and date of to night's performance were announced on the day we arrived here.
I could not resist the chance. Now you comprehend as sundry strange absences
of mine. During the week, I went to a reporter on the Ecco
de Paris, whom I knew and who knows everybody, and we got out
a list of the people likely to be invited and likely to be willing to
sell their seats. We also opened negotiations at the ministry. How on earth
do these ideas occur to you? Asked Eve, now can I tell?
Cecil answered, it is because they occurred to me that I am. I
you see well, In twenty four hours, my reporter and two of his
friends had interviewed half the interviewable people in Paris, and the Minister of Fine
Arts had sent out his invitations, and I had obtained the refusal of over
three hundred seats at a total cost of about seventy five thousand francs. Then
I saw that my friend, the incomparable Malva, was staying at the Ritz,
and the keystone idea of the entire affair presented itself to me. I
got her to offer to sing. Of course, her rival Falise could not
be behind her. In a patriotic desire to cement the friendliness of two great
nations, the gala performance of blossomed into a terrific boom. We took a
kind of office in the Rue de la Pay. We advertised very discreetly.
Every evening, after bidding you good night, I saw my reporter and Lecky
and arranged the development of the campaign. In three days we had sold all
our seats except one box, which I kept for something like two hundred thousand
francs. Then this afternoon you merely bought the box from yourself, exactly,
my love. I had meant the surprise of getting a box to come a
little later than it did. Say at dinner. But you and Belle Almont
between you forced it on, and that is all not quite. The minions
of the Minister of Fine Arts were extremely cross, and they meant to revenge
themselves on me by depriving me of my box. At the last moment,
however, I got wind of that, and by the simplest possible arrangement with
Malva, I protected myself. The scheme, my last bachelor flinging, Eve,
had been a great success, and the official world of Paris has been
taught a lesson which may lead to excellent results. And you have cleared one
hundred and twenty five thousand francs. By no means. The profits of these
undertakings are the least part of them. The expenses are heavy. I reckon
the expenses will be nearly forty thousand francs. Then I must give Malva a
necklace, and that necklace must cost twenty five thousand francs. That leaves sixty
thousand clear, said Eve, say sixty two thousand. Why I was forgetting
an extra two thousand made this evening and your other schemes, Eve continued her
cross examination. How much have they yielded? The Devonshire House scheme was a
dead loss, My dear, Why did you lead me to destroy that fifty
thousand pounds waste not want not? There may come a day when we shall
need that fifty thousand pounds. And then, don't be funny, said Eve.
I am serious, very serious. Well oast end and mister Rainshaw yielded
twenty one thousand pounds net bruges and the bracelet yielded at nine thousand, five
hundred francs. Algiers and biscras resulted in a loss of Oh, never mind
the losses, Eve terrupted. Are there any more gains? Yes? A
few at Rome last year I somehow managed to clear fifty thousand francs. Then
there was an episode at the chancellery at Berlin. And tell me the total
gains, my love, said Eve. The gross gains cecil consulted a pocket
book a trifle, he answered, of between a thirty eight and forty thousand
pounds, my dear cecil. The girl said, call it forty thousand a
million francs and give me a check, do you mind. I shall be
charmed, my darling. And when we get to London, he finished,
I will hand it over to the hospitals. Anonymously. He paused, gazed
at her, and kissed her. Then Kitty Sartorius entered a marvelous vision with
Belmont in her wake. Kitty glanced hesitatingly at the massive and good humored Lionel.
The fact is, said Kitty, and paused, we are engaged at
lionelth you aren't surprised our warmest congratulations, Cecil observed, No, we can't
truthfully say that we are staggered. It is in the secret nature of things
that a leading lady must marry her manager, a universal law that may not
be transs. Moreover, said Eve later in Cecil's private ear as they were
separating for the night. We might have guessed much earlier. Theatrical managers don't
go scattering five hundred pounds bracelets all over the place, and merely for business
reasons. But he only scattered one, My dear Cecil murmured, yes,
well, that's what I mean. End of Story one, Chapter six,
Story two of The Loot of Cities by Arnold Bennett. This liverbox recording is
in the public domain. Story two mister penfound two burglars, the story of
his walk with them, The chain of circumstances leading to the sudden and unexpected
return of mister and missus Pinfound from their continental holiday, was in itself curious
and even remarkable, but it has nothing to do with the present arrative,
which begins with the actual arrival of mister and missus Pinfound before the portal of
their suburban residence Number seven Monster Gardens, at a quarter before midnight on the
thirtieth of August. It was a detached house with a spacious triangular garden at
the back. It had an air of comfort, of sobriety, of good
form of success. One divined by looking at it that the rent ran to
about eighty pounds, and that the tenant was not a man who had to
save up for quarter days. It was a credit to the street, which,
upon the whole, with its noble trees and its pretty curve, is
distinctly the best treat in Fulham, and effect Number seven in every way justified
the innocent pride of the Penfounds. I can feel cobwebs all over me,
said missus Pinfound crossly, as they entered the porch, and mister Penfound took
out his latch key. She was hungry, hot and tired, and she
exhibited a certain pettishness, a pettishness which mister Penfound, whenever it occurred,
found a particular pleasure in soothing. Mister Penfound himself was seldom ruffled. Most
men would have been preoccupied with the discomforts of the arrival, but not George
Penfound. Mister Penfound was not, and had never been, of those who
go daily into the city by a particular train and think the world is coming
to an end if the newsagent fails to put the newspaper on the doorstep before
eight a m. Mister Penfound had lived. He had lived adventurously, and
he had lived everywhere. He had slept under the stars and over the throbbing
screws of ocean steamers. He knew the harbors of the British Empire, and
the waste places of the unpeopled West, and the mysterious envearons of foreign cities.
He had been first made of a tramp, steamer, wood sawyer in
Ontario, ganger on the Canadian Pacific Railway, clark At, a randmine,
and land agent in California. It was the life last occupation that had happened
to yield the eighty thousand dollars, which rendered him independent and established him so
splendidly at the age of forty in Fulham, the place of his birth.
Thin, shrewd, clear and kindly. His face was the face of a
man who has learnt the true philosophy of life. He took the world as
he found it, and he found it good to such a man, an
unexpected journey, even though it ended at a deserted and unprepared home, whose
larder proved as empty as his stomach was really nothing. By the time mister
Penfound had locked up the house, turned out the light in the hall,
and arrived in the bedroom, Missus Penfound was fast asleep. He sat down
in the arm chair by the window, charmed by the gentle radiance of the
night, and unwilling to go to bed. Like most men who have seen
the world, he had developed the instincts of a poet and was something of
a dreamer. Half an hour, or it might have been an hour poets
are oblivious of time had passed when into mister Penfoun's visions there entered a sinister
element. He straightened himself stiffly in the chair and listened, smiling. By
jove he whispered, I do believe it's a burglar. I'll give the beggar
time to get fairly in and then we'll have some fun. It seemed to
him that he heard a few clicking noises at the back of the house,
and then a sound as if something was being shoved hard the dining room window.
He said, in a few minutes it became perfectly evident to his trained
and acute ear that a burglar occupied the dining room, and accordingly he proceeded
to carry out other arrangements. Removing his boots, he assumed a pair of
soft woolen house slippers, which lay under the bed. Then he went to
a chest of drawers and took out two revolvers. Handling these lovingly, he
glanced once at his sleeping wife, and shod in the silent woolen, passed
noiselessly out of the room. By stepping very close to the wall so as
to put a slight strain as possible upon the woodwork, he contrived to descend
to the half landing without causing a sound. But on the half landing itself
there occurred an awful creek, a creek that seemed to reverberate into infinite space.
Mister Penfound stopped a second, but, perceiving the unwisdom of a halp,
immediately proceeded. In that second of consternation, he had remembered that only
two chambers of one revolver and one chamber of the other were loaded. It
was an unfortunate mischance should he return and load fully? Oh, preposterous.
He remembered with pride the sensation which he had caused one night ten years before
in a private shooting saloon in Paris. Three shots to cripple one burglar.
For him, it was a positive extravagance of means, and he continued down
the stairs cautiously but rapidly, feeling his way. The next occurrence brought him
up standing at the dining room door, which was open. He heard voices
in the dining room. There were then two burglars. Three shots for two
burglars. Pooh ample, this was what he heard. Did you drink out
of this glass? Jack? Not? I? I took a pole out
of a bottle, so did I. Well. There was a pause.
Mister Penfound discovered that by putting an eye to the crack at the hinges,
he could see the burglars who had lighted one gas jet and were sitting at
the table. They were his first burglars, and they rather shocked his preconceived
notions of the type. They hadn't the look of burglars. No bluish chins,
no lowering eyes, no corduroy, no knotted red handkerchiefs. One,
the younger, dressed in blue serge with linen collar and a soiled pink necktie,
might have been a city clerk of the lower grade. He had light,
bushy hair and a yellow mustache. His eyes were large and pale blue,
his chin weak. Altogether, mister Pinfound decided that had he seen the
young man elsewhere than in that dining room, he would never have suspected him
to be a burglar. The other was of middle age, neatly dressed in
dark gray, but with a ruffian's face and dark hair cut extremely close.
He wore a soft felt hat at a negligent poise, and was smoking a
cigarette. He was examining the glass out of which mister Pinfound had but recently
drunk whiskey. Look here, Jack, the man in gray, said to
his companion, you haven't drunk out of this glass, and I haven't,
but someone's drunk out of it. It's wet. The young man paled and
with an oath, snatched up the glass to look at it. Mister Penfound
noticed how suddenly his features writhed into a complicated expression of cowardice, cunning,
and device. He no longer doubted that the youth was an authentic burglar.
The older man remained calm. This hou's so empty as we thought. My
boy, there's someone here. Yes, gentlemen, there is, remarked mister
Penfound, quietly, stepping into the room with the revolver up raised in each
hand. The young man dropped the glass, and after rolling along the table,
it fell on the floor and broke, making a marvelous noise in the
silence. Well I'm blowed, exclaimed the burglar in gray, and turned to
the window. Don't stir, put your hands up and look slippy. I
mean business, said mister Penfound steadily. The burglar in gray made two hasty
steps to the window. Mister Penfound revolver spoke. It was the one in
his left hand, containing two shots, and with a muffled howl, the
burglar suddenly halted, cursing with pain and anger. Has up both of you,
repeated mister Penfound imperturbably. A few drops of blood appeared on the left
wrist of the older burglar, showing where he had been hit. With evident
pain. He raised both hands to the level of his shoulders. The left
hand clearly was useless. It hung sideways in a peculiar fashion. The youthful
criminal was trembling like a spray of maidenhair, and had his hands high up
over his head. Mister Penfound joyfully reflected that no London burglar had ever before
found himself in such a ridiculous position as these two, and he took a
genuine artistic pleasure in the spectacle. But what to do next? The youth
began to speak with a whine like that of a beggar. Silence, said
mister Pinfound impressively, and proceeded with his cogitations a revolver, firm and steady
in each hand. The shot had evidently not wakened his wife, and to
disturb her, now from a refreshing and long needed sleep in order to send
her for the police would not only be unchivalrous, it would disclose a lack
of resource, a certain clumsiness of management in an affair which mister Pinfound felt
sure he ought to be able to carry neatly to an effective conclusion. Besides,
if a revolver shot in the house had not wakened his wife, what
could wake her? He could not go upstairs to her and leave the burglars
to await his return. Then an idea occurred to mister Pinfound. Now,
my men, he said, cheerfully, I think you understand that I am
not joking, and that I can shoot a bit, and that whatever the
laws of this country, I do shoot. He waved the muzzle of one
revolver in the direction of the gray man's injured wrist. Margiere guv'nor the owner
of the risk, peterre strapful, I shall pay faint then, I know
it hurts. The man's face was quite with pain. But mister Pinfound had
seen too many strange sights in his life to be greatly moved by the side
of a rascal with a bullet in his anatomy. To proceed, you will
stand side by side and turn around. The young gentleman will open the window,
and you will pass out into the garden. March slower, slower,
I say, hope the burglars were now outside, while mister Pinfound was still
within the room. He followed them, and in doing so stumbled over a
black bag which lay on the floor. Fortunately, he recovered himself instantly.
He noticed lying on the top of the bag a small bunch of skeleton keys,
some putty, and what looked like a thong of rawhide. He also
observed that three small panes of the French window had been forced inwards. Turn
to your left, go down the pathway, and halt when you come to
the side gate, and don't hurry, mind you. They obeyed, without
speaking even to each other. Mister Pinfound had no fear of their disobedience.
He was within two yards of their heels, and he said to himself that
his hands were superbly steady. It was at this point that mister Pinfound began
to feel hungry, really hungry. The whiskey had appeased the cravings of his
stomach for a short time, but now its demands were imperious. Owing to
the exigencies of the day's journey. He had not had a satisfying meal for
thirty hours, and mister Pinfound, since settling down, had developed a liking
for regular meals. However, there was nothing to be done at present.
He therefore proceeded with and safely accomplished his plan of driving the burglars before him
into the street. Here, he thought, we shall soon be seeing a
policeman, or some late bird who will fetch a policeman, And he drove
his curious team up Munster Park Gardens towards Fulham Road, that interminable highway,
once rural, but rural no longer. The thoroughfares seemed to be absolutely deserted.
Mister Penfound could scarcely believe that London, even in the dead of night,
could be so lonely. The gas lamps shone steady in the still warm
air, and above them the star studded sky with a thin sickle moon,
at which, however a beautiful as it was, mister Pinfound could not look.
His gaze was fixed on the burglars as he inspected their backs. He
wondered what their thoughts were. He felt that in their place he should have
been somewhe amused by the humor of the predicament, But their backs showed no
signs of feeling, unless it were that of resignation. The older man had
dropped his injured arm with mister Pinfound's tacit consent, and it now hung loose
by his side. The procession moved slowly eastward along Fulham Road. The two
burglars first silent, glum and disgusted, and mister Pinfound with his revolvers close
behind, still no policeman, no wayfarer. Mister Pinfound began to feel a
little anxious, and his hunger was insufferable. This little procession of his could
not move forever. Something must occur, and mister Pinfound said that something must
occur quickly. He looked up at the houses with a swift glance, but
these dark faces of brick, all with closed eyelids, gave him no sign
of encouragement. He thought of firing his revolver in order to attract attention,
but remembered in time that if he did so, he would have only one
shot left for his burglars, an insufficient allowance in case of contingencies. But
presently, as the clock of Fulham Parish Church struck three, mister Pinfound beheld
an oasis of waving palms and cool water in this desert. That is to
say, he saw in the distance one of those coffee stalls which just before
midnight mysteriously dotted themselves about London, only to disappear again at breakfast time.
The burglars also saw it and stopped, almost involuntarily. Get on now,
said mister Pinfound, gruffly, and stopped five paces past the coffee stall.
The air yesther wind the young burglar, I remarked the old burglar coolly.
As mister Penfound approached the coffee stall, he observed that it was no ordinary
coffee stall. It belonged to the aristocracy of coffee stalls. It was painted
a lovely deep crimson, and on this crimson, amid of flowers and scrolls,
had been inscribed the names of the delicacies within tea coffee, cocoa roll,
sandwiches, toast sausages, even bacon and eggs. Mister Penfound's stomach called
aloud within him at the rumor of these good things. When the trio arrived,
the stall keeper happened to be bending over a tea urn, and he
did not notice the halt of the procession until mister Pinfound spoke. I say.
Mister Penfound began holding the revolvers about the level of his top waistcoat button,
and with his eyes fixed on the burglars, I say teer coffee,
asked the stall keeper, shortly looking up. Neither that is at present,
replied mister Pinfound sweetly. And the fact is I've got two burglars here to
what where? Mister Pinfound then explained the whole circumstances, And I want you
to fetch a couple of policemen. The stall keeper paused a moment. He
was a grim fellow, so mister Pinfound gathered from the corner of his eye.
Well that's about the best stories I ever heard, the stallkeeper said.
He you want me to fetch a policeman. Yes, and I hope you'll
hurry up. I'm tired of holding these revolvers and I'm to leave my stall,
am I certainly? The stall keeper placed the first finger of his left
hand upright against his nose. Well, I just ain't then what he take
me for. I'm bloomin owl. Look, yeah, mister no kid.
Now, every night some jokers tries to get me away from my stall so
they can empty it and run off. But I ain't been in this line
nineteen year for nothing. Now you go and take your tail and your pistols
and your bloomin burglars somewhere else here as you please, said mister Pinfound,
with dignity only I'll wait here till a policeman comes or someone. You will
then learn that I have told you the truth. How soon will a policeman
be along? Might be an hour, maybe be more. There ain't likely
to be no other people till four thirty or thereabouts. That's when my trade
begins. Pinfound was annoyed. His hunger, exasperated by the exquisite odors of
the stall, increased every second, and the prospect of waiting an hour,
even half an hour, was appalling. Another idea occurred to him, Will
you, he said, to the stall keeper, kindly put one of those
sausages into my mouth. I daren't loose these revolvers. Not tell us aize
your money, hunger maid. Mister Pinfound humble, and he continued, will
you come round to take the money out of my pocket? No? I
won't. I don't leave as here counter. I know your dodges very well.
I will wait steady on, Governor, you aren't the only chap that's
hungry. Mister Penfound turned sharply at the voice. It was the elder burglar
who spoke, and the elder burglar had faced him and was approaching the stall
regardless of revolvers. Mister Pinfound noticed a twinkle in the man's eye, a
faint appreciation of the fact that the situation was funny, and mister Penfon gave
way to a slight smile. He was being disobeyed flatly, but for the
life of him he could not shoot. Besides, there was no occasion to
shoot, as the burglar was certainly making no attempt to escape. The fellow
was brave enough, after all. Two slabs and a pint of thick,
he said to the stall keeper, and was immediately served with a jug of
coffee and two huge pieces of bread and butter, for which he flung down
tuppence. Mister Pinfound was astounded. He was too astounded to speak by the
coolness of this criminal. Look here, the elder burglar continued, quietly,
handing one of the pieces of bread and butter to his companion in sin,
who by this time had also crept up. You can put down them revolvers
and tuck in till the peeler comes along. We know when we're copped,
and we aren't gone to skip you tuck in, governor, give it a
name, said the stall keeper, with an eye to business. Mister pinfound,
scarcely knowing what he did or why he did it, put down one
revolver, and then the other, fished a shilling from his pocket, and
presently was engaged in the consumption of a ham, sandwich and coffee. You're
a cool one, he set at length, rather admiringly to the elder burglar.
So are you, said the elder burglar, and he and mister pinfound
both glanced somewhat scornfully at the other burglar, undersized, cringing pale, never
been caught before, asked mister pinfound pleasantly, what's that got to do with
you? The retort was gruff, final a snub, and mister pinfound felt
it as such. He had the curious sensation that he was in the presence
of a superior spirit, a stronger personality than his own. Here, the
policeman, remarked the stall keeper casually, and they all listened and heard the
noise of regular footfalls away round a distant corner. Mister pinfound struggled inwardly with
a sudden overmastering impulse, and then yielded. You can go, he said
quietly to the elder burglar. So Clara, before the policeman seiz you.
Straight, the man said, looking him in the eyes to make sure there
was no joking. Straight, my friend, here shake. So it happened
that mister Penfound and the elder burglar shook hands. The next instant, mister
Penfound was alone with the stall keeper. The other two, with the celerity
born of practice, had vanished into the night. Did ye ever see such
a man? Said mister Penfound to the stall keeper, putting the revolvers in
his pocket and feeling strangely happy as one who has done a good action.
I don't kid me, was the curt reply. It was all a plant.
Want anything else? Because I'm not? You? Best go? Yes,
I do, said mister Penfound, for he had thought of his wife.
He spent sevenpence in various good things, and was just gathering his purchases
together when the policeman appeared. Good night, officer, he called out blithely
and set off to run home as though for his life. As he re
entered the bedroom at nam seven, his wife sat up in bed, a
beautiful but accusing figure. George, he said, Where have you been,
my love? He answered, I've been out into the night to get you
this sausage and this cake and this sandwich. Eat them they will do you
good. End of story two, Story three of The Loot of Cities by
Arnold Bennett. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Story three Midnight
at the Grand Babylon One, Well, said the doctor. You say I've
been very secretive lately. Perhaps I have. However, I don't mind telling
you, just you, fellows, the whole history of the affair that has
preoccupied me. I shan't assert that it's the most curious case in all my
experience. My experience has been pretty varied and pretty lively, as you know,
and the cases are curious in such different ways. Still, a poisoning
business is always a bit curious, and this one was extremely so. It
isn't often that a person who means to commit murder by poison calls in a
physician to assist him and deliberately uses the unconscious medico as his tool. Yet
that is exactly what happened. It isn't often that a poisoner contrives to hit
on a poison which is at once original, almost untraceable and to be obtained
from any chemist without a doctor's prescription. Yet that too is exactly what happened.
I can assure you that the entire episode was a lesson to me.
It opened my eyes to the possibilities which lie ready to the hand of a
really intelligent murderer. In this twentieth century, people talk about the masterpieces of
poisoning in the Middle Ages. Oooh, second rate. They didn't know enough
in the Middle Ages to achieve anything which a modern poisoner with genius would deem
first rate. They simply didn't know enough. Another point in the matter,
which forcibly struck me was the singular usefulness of a big London hotel to a
talented criminal. You can do precisely what you please in a big hotel,
and nobody takes the least notice. You wander in, you wander out,
and who cares. You are only an item in a crowd, and when
you have reached the upper corridors, you are as lost to pursue an observation
as a needle in a haystack. You may take two rooms, one after
the other, in different names and in different parts of the hotel. The
servants and officials will be none the wiser, because the second floor knows not
the third, nor the third the fourth. You may oscillate between those two
rooms in a manner to puzzle Inspector Anderson himself. And you are just as
secure in your apartments as a medieval baron in his castle. Yes, Yes,
and more. On that night there were over a thousand guests in the
Grand Babylon Hotel. There was a ball in the gold rooms, and a
couple of banquets. And in the midst of all that diverse humanity, unperceived,
unsuspected, a poignant and a terrible drama was going on. And things
so occurred that I tumbled right into it. Well, I'll tell you two.
I was called into the Grand Babylon about nine p m. Sweet number
sixty three, second floor, name of Russell. The outer door of the
suite was opened for me by a well dressed woman of thirty or so,
slim, with a face expressive and intelligent rather than handsome. I liked her
face. I was attracted by his look of honesty and alert, good nature,
Good evening, doctor, she said. She had a charming low voice
as she led me into a highly luxurious drawing room. My name is Russell,
and I wish you to see a young friend of mine who is not
well. She hesitated, and a turned to an old, bald headed man
who stood looking out of the window at the twilight panorama of the Thames.
My friend's solicitor, mister Dancer. She explained. We bowed mister Dancer and
I nothing serious, I hope, I remarked. No, no, said
Miss Russell. Nevertheless, she seemed to me to be extremely nervous and anxious
as she preceded me into the bedroom, a chamber quite as magnificent as the
drawing room. On the bed lay a beautiful young girl. Yes you may
laugh, you fellows, but she was genuinely beautiful. She smiled faintly as
we entered. Her features had an ashy tint, and tiny drops of cold
perspiration stood on the forehead. However, she certainly wasn't very ill. I
could see that in a moment, and I fixed my conversational tone accordingly.
Do you feel as if you could to breathe freely? But that if you
did it would kill you? I inquired, after I had examined her,
and she nodded, smiling again. Miss Russell also smiled, evidently pleased that
I had diagnosed the case so quickly. My patient was suffering from a mild
attack of a pseudo angina, nothing worse. Not angina pectores, you know
that's usually associated with old age. Pseudo angina is a different thing. With
a weak heart. It may be caused by indigestion. The symptoms are cardiac
spasms, acute pain in the chest, a strong disinclination to make even the
smallest movement, and a state of mental depression, together with that queer fancy
about breathing. The girl had these symptoms, and she also had a headache
and a diacritism of the pulse two pulsations instead of one, not unusual.
I found that she had been eating a too hearty dinner and that she had
suffered from several similar attacks in the immediate past. Had a doctor in before,
I asked, Yes, said Miss Russell, but he was unable to
come tonight. And as your house is so near, we sent for you.
There is no danger whatsoever, no real cause for anxiety. I summed
up. I will have some medicine made up instantly. Trinaitan demanded to Miss
Russell. Yes, I answered, a little astonished at this readiness. Your
regular physician prescribed it. I should explain to you that trinatan is nothing but
nitroglycerin in a non explosive form. I think it was trinitan. Miss Russell
replied, with an appearance of doubtfulness. Perhaps you will write a prescription and
I will dispatch a messenger at once. I should be obliged, doctor,
if you would remain with us until If you would remain with us decidedly,
I said, I will remain with pleasure, but do accept my assurance,
I added, gazing at her face, so anxious and apprehensive that there is
no cause for alarm. She smiled and concurred, but I could see that
I had not convinced her, and I began to suspect that she was not,
after all, so intelligent as I had imagined. My patient, who
was not now in any pain, lay calmly with closed eyes. Three,
do not forget the old bald headed lawyer in the drawing room. I suppose
you are often summoned to the Grand Babylon. Sir, living as you do,
just around the corner, he remarked to me, somewhat pompously. He
had a big nose and a habit of staring at you over his eye glasses
with his mouth wide open. After having spoken, we were alone together in
the drawing room. I was waiting for the arrival of the medicine, and
he was waiting for my don't know what he was waiting for. Occasionally,
and not often, I responded, I am called more frequently to the majestic
over the way. Ah ah, just so, just so, he murmured.
I could see that he meant to be polite in his high and dry
antique legal style, and I could see also that he was very bored in
that hotel drawing room. So I proceeded to explain the case to him,
and to question him discreetly about my patient and Miss Russell. You are,
of course aware, sir, that the young lady is Miss Spanton, Miss
Adelaide's Spanton, He said, what not? The Spanton precisely, sir,
the daughter of Edgar Spanton and my late client, the great newspaper proprietor.
And this Miss Russell, Miss Russell, was formerly Miss Adelaide's governess. She
is now her friend and profoundly attached to the young lady, a disinterested attachment,
so far as I can judge, though naturally many people will think otherwise.
Miss Adelaide is of a very shy and retiring disposition. She has no
other friends, and she has no near relatives save for Miss Russell. She
is, sir, if I may so phrase it, alone in the world.
But Miss Spanton is surely very wealthy. You come to the point,
sir, if my young client reaches her twenty first birthday, she will be
the absolute mistress of the whole of her father's fortune. You may have noticed
in the public press that I swore his estate at more than three millions.
And how far is Miss Spanton from her twenty first birthday? I demanded The
old lawyer glanced at his watch. Something less than three hours at midnight.
She will have legally entered on her twenty second year, I see, I
said. Now, I can understand Miss Russell's anxiety, which refuses to be
relieved even by my positive assurance. No doubt, Miss Russell has worked herself
up into a highly nervous condition. And may I inquire what will happen?
I mean, what would have happened? If Miss Spanton had not reached her
majority, the entire estate would have passed to a cousin, a mister Samuel
Grist of Melbourne. I dare say you know the name. Mister Gris is
understood to be the leading theatrical manager in Australia. Speaking as one professional man
to another, Sir, I may venture to remark that mister Gris's reputation is
more than a little doubtful. You may have heard many transactions and adventures.
Ah Still, he is my late client's soul surviving relative. Except Miss Adelaide,
I have never had the pleasure of meeting him. He confines himself exclusively
to Australia this night, then, I laughed, will see the end of
any hopes which mister Grist may have entertained. Exactly, Sir the Lawyer agreed.
It will also see the end of Miss Russell's immediate anxieties upon my word.
Since mister Spanton's regrettable death, she has been both father and mother to
my lonely young client. A practical woman, Sir, Miss Russell, and
the excessiveness of her apprehends, if I may so phrase, it must be
excused. She has begged me to remain here till midnight in order that I
may witness to Miss Spanton's vitality, and also in order to obtain Miss Spanton's
signature to certain necessary documents. I should not be surprised her if she requested
you also to remain. She is not a woman to omit precautions. I'm
afraid I can't stop till twelve, I said. The conversation ceased, and
I fell into meditation. I do not mind admitting that I was deeply impressed
by what I will call the romantic quality of the situation. I thought of
old Spanton, who had begun with something less than nothing and died virtually the
owner of three daily papers and twenty five weeklies and monthlies. I thought of
Spantan's Limited and their colossal offices spreading half round Salisbury Square. Why I even
had a copy of the extra special edition of the Evening Gazette in my pocket.
Do any of you fellows remember Spantin starting the Evening Gazette. He sold
three hundred thousand the first day. And now old Spantin was dead, you
know, he died of drink. And there was nothing left of the Spantin
blood except this girl lying there on the bed, and the man in Australia,
and all the Spantin editors, and the spanin sub editors, and the
spantin artists, and the spantin reporters and compositors, and the spent in rotary
presses, and the spent in paper mills, and the spanin cyclists were slaving
and toiling to put eighty thousand a year into this girl's purse. And there
she was, feeble and depressed and solitary, except for Miss Russell and the
man in Australia, perhaps hoping that she would die. And there was Miss
Russell worrying and fussing and apprehending and fearing, and the entire hotel oblivious of
the romantic I could almost say pathetic situation. And then I thought of miss
Spanton's future, burdened with those three millions, and I wondered if those three
millions would buy her happiness. Here is the medicine, doctor, said Miss
Russell, entering the drawing room hurriedly and handing me the bottle with the chemist's
label on it. I went with her into the bedroom. The beautiful Adelaide's
Spanton was already better, and she admitted as much. When I administered the
medicine, two menems of a one percent solution, of trinitrin, otherwise nitroglycern,
the usual remedy for pseudo angina. Miss Russell took the bottle from my
hand, corked it and placed it on the dressing table. Shortly afterwards,
I left the hotel. The lawyer had been right in supposing that Miss Russell
would ask me to stay, but I was unable to do so. I
promised, however, to return in an hour, all the while insisting that
there was not the slightest danger for the patient four. It was ten thirty
when I came back second floor. I said carelessly to the lift boy,
and he whirled me upwards. The Grand Babylon lifts traveled very fast. Here
you are, sir, he murmured respectfully, and I stepped out. Is
this the second floor? I asked, suddenly, beg pardon. I thought
you said seventh, sir. It's time you were in bed, my lad,
It was my retort, and I was just re entering the lift when
I caught sight of Miss Russell in the corridor. I called to her,
thinking she would perhaps descend with me, but she did not hear, and
so I followed her down the corridor, wondering what was her business on the
seventh floor. She opened a door and disappeared into a room well. I
heard a sinister voice exclaim within the room, and then the door was pushed
too. It was not latched, I did say the seventh I called to
the lift boy, and he vanished with his machine. The voice within the
room startled me. It gave me furiously to think, as the French say,
with a sort of instinctive, unpremeditated action. I pressed gently against the
door till it stood ajar about an inch, and I listened. It's a
confounded, mysterious case to me. The voice was saying that that dose the
other day didn't finish her. We're running it a dashed sight too close.
Here. Take this, it's already label and everything substitute the bottles. I'll
run no risks this time. One dose will do the trick inside half an
hour, and on that I'll bet my boots very well, said miss Russell,
quite calmly. It's pure trenatan, is it? You're the coolest customer
that I ever struck. The voice exclaimed in an admiring tone. Yes,
it's pure trenatin. Beautiful convenient stuff. Looks like water, no taste,
very little smell and so volatile that all the doctors on the medical Council couldn't
trace it at a post mortem. Besides, the doctor described a solution at
trinenton, and you got it from the chemist. And in case there's a
rumpus, we can shove the mistake on to the chemist's dispenser and a fine
old row he'll get into. By the way, what's the new doctor like?
Oh so so? Said Miss Russell in her even tones. It's a
good thing on the whole. Perhaps that I arranged that carriage accident for the
first one. The hard, sinister voice remarked, one never knows. Get
along now at once, and don't look so anxious. Your face belies your
voice. Give us a kiss tomorrow, said Miss Russell. I hurried away
as it were, drunk, overwhelmed with horror and amazement, and turning a
corner so as to avoid discovery. Reached the second floor by the staircase.
I did not wish to meet Miss Russell in the lift. My first thought
was not one of alarm for Adelaide's panton. Of course, I knew I
could prevent the murder, but of profound sorrow that Miss Russell should have proved
to be a woman so unspeakably wicked I swore never to trust a woman's face
again. I had liked her face. Then I dwelt on the chance,
the mere chance, my careless pronunciation a lift boy's error, which had saved
the life of the poor millionaire girl. And lastly, I marveled at the
combined simplicity and ingenuity of the plot. The scoundrel upstairs of possibly Samuel Grist
himself, had taken the cleverest advantage of Misspenton's tendency to pseudo angina. What
could be more clever than to poison with the physician's own medicine. Very probably
the girl's present attack had been induced by an artful appeal to her appetite.
Young women afflicted as she was, are frequently just a little greedy. And
I perceived that the villain was correct in assuming that nitroglycerin would never be traced
at a post mortem, save in the smallest possible quantity, just such a
quantity as I had myself prescribed. He was also right in his assumption that
the pure drug would infallibly kill in half an hour. I pulled myself together,
and, having surreptitiously watched Miss Russell into Sweet number sixty three. I
followed her. When I arrived at the bedroom, she was pouring medicine from
a bottle. A maid stood at the foot of the bed. I am
just giving the second dose, said Miss Russell, easily to me. What
a nerve, I said to myself and aloud, by all means. She
measured the dose and approached the bed without a tremor Adelaide's panton opened her mouth.
Stop, I cried firmly. We'll delay that dose for half an hour.
Kindly give me the glass. I took the glass from Miss Russell's passive
fingers, and I would like to have a word with you now, Miss
Russell, I added. The maid went swiftly from the room. Five.
The old bald headed lawyer had gone down to the hotel smoking saloon for a
little diversion, and we faced each other in the drawing room, Miss Russell
and I. The glass was still in my hand, and the new doctor
is so so eh, I remarked, what do you mean? She faltered.
I think you know what I mean, I retorted, I need only
tell you that, by a sheer chance, I stumbled upon your atrocious plot.
The plot of that scoundrel upstairs. All you had to do was to
exchange the bottles and administer pure trinitan instead of my prescribed solution of it,
and Miss Spanton would be dead in half an hour. The three millions would
go to the Australian cousin, and you would doubtless have your reward, say
a cool hundred thousand, or perhaps marriage. And you were about to give
the poison when I stopped you. I was not, she cried, and
she fell into a chair and hid her face in her hands, and then
looked, as it were, longingly towards the bedroom. Missus is in no
danger, I said, sneeringly. She will be quite well tomorrow. So
you were not going to give the poison after all, I laughed. I
beg you to listen, doctor, she said, at length, standing up,
I am in a most invidious position. Nevertheless, I think I can
convince you that your suspicions against me are unfounded. I laughed again, but
secretly I admired her for acting the part so well. Doubtless, I interjected
sarcastically in the pause. The man upstairs is Samuel Grist, supposed to be
in Australia. It is four months ago since I, who am Adelaide,
Spanton's sole friend, discovered that he was scheming her death. The skill of
his methods appalled me. There was nothing to put before the police, and
yet I had a horrible fear of the worst. I felt that he would
stop at nothing, absolutely at nothing. I felt that if we ran away,
he would follow us. I had a presentiment that he would infallibly succeed,
and I was haunted by it day and night. Then an idea occurred
to me. I would pretend to be his accomplice, and I saw suddenly
that that was the surest way, the sole way of defeating him. I
approached him, and he accepted the bait. I carried out all his instructions,
except the fatal instructions. It is by his orders and for his purposes,
that we are staying in this hotel Heavens to make certain of saving my
darling, Adelaide. I have even gone through the force of promising to marry
him. And do you seriously expect me to believe this? I asked coldly.
Should I have had the solicitor here? She demanded, If I had
really meant meant you? She sobbed momentarily and then regained control of herself.
I don't know, I said, but it occurs to me that the brain
that was capable of deliberately arranging a murder to take place in the press of
the doctor might have some hidden purpose in securing also the presence of the solicitor
at the performance. Mister Griss is unaware that the solicitor is here. He
has been informed that mister Dancer is my uncle and favorable to the to the
she stopped, apparently overcome. Oh indeed, I ejaculated, adding, and
after all, you did not mean to administer this poison. I suppose you
meant to withdraw the glass at the last instant. It is not poison,
she replied, not poison. No, I did not exchange the bottles.
I only pretended to. There seems to have been a good deal of pretending,
I observed. By the way, May I ask why you were giving
this stuff, whether it is poison or not, to my patient. I
do not recollect that I ordered a second dose for the same reason that I
pretended to change the bottle for the benefit of the maid whom we saw just
now in the bedroom. And why for the benefit of the maid because I
found out this morning that she is in the pay of Grist. That discovery
accounts for my nervousness tonight about Adelaide. By this time the maid has probably
told mister Gris what has taken place, and and I shall rely on your
help if anything should happen. Doctor. Surely, surely you believe me,
I regret to say, Madam. I answered that I find myself unable to
believe you at present. But there is a simple way of giving credence to
your story. You state that you did not exchange the bottles. This liquid,
then, is the medicine prescribed by me, and it is harmless.
Oblige me by drinking it. And I held the glass towards her. She
took it fool, I said to myself. As soon as her fingers had
grasped it, she will drop it on the floor, and an invaluable piece
of evidence will be destroyed. But she did not drop it on the floor.
She drank it in one gulp and looked me in the eyes and murmured,
now, do you believe me? Yes, I said, and I
did. At the same moment, her face changed color and she sank to
the ground. What if I drunk, she moaned. The glass rolled on
the carpet unbroken. Miss Russell had, in fact drunk a full dose of
pure trinitrine. I recognized all the symptoms at once. I rang for assistance.
I got a stomach pump, I got ice, and sent for ergot
and for aptropine. I injected six minims of the injectus Ergotini hypodermica. I
despaired of saving her, but I saved her after four injections. I need
not describe to you all the details. Let it suffice that she recovered.
Then you did exchange the bottles. I could not help putting this question to
her as soon as she was in a fit state to hear it. I
swear to you that I had not meant to. She whispered, in my
nervousness. I must have confused them. You have saved Adelaide's life, I
have saved yours anyway, I said, But you believe me, yes,
I said. And the curious thing is that I did believe her. I
was convinced, and I am convinced, that she did not mean to exchange
the bottles. Listen, she exclaimed, we could hear big Ben striking twelve
midnight, I said. She clutched my hand with a swift movement. Go
and see that my Adelaide lives, she cried, almost hysterically. I opened
the door between the two rooms and went into the sleeping chamber. Miss Panton
is dozing quietly, I said. On my return, Thank god. Miss
Russell murmured, and then old bald headed mister Dancer came into the room,
blandly, unconscious of all that had passed during his sojourn in the smoking room.
When I left the precincts of the Grand Babylon at one o'clock, the
guests were beginning to leave the gold rooms. In the great courtyard was a
scene of flashing lights and champing horses and pretty laughing women. What a queer
place a hotel is, I thought. Neither mister Griss nor the mysterious maid
was seen again in London. Possibly they consoled each other. The beautiful Adelaide's
pantin under my care and is completely restored to health. Yes, I am
going to marry her. No, not the beautiful Adelaide, you duffers.
Besides, she is too young for my middle age. But miss Russell,
her Christian name iss ethel Do you not like it. As for the beautiful
Adelaide, there is now a viscount in the case end of story three.
Story four of The Loot of Cities by Arnold Bennett. This libribox recording in
the public domain. Story four the police Station. Lord Trent has several times
remarked to me that I am a philosopher, and I am one. I
have guided my life by four rules. To keep my place, to make
others keep theirs, to save half my income, and to beware of women.
The strict observance of these rules has made me, in my station a
successful and respected man. Once, and only once, I was lax in
my observance, and that single laxity resulted in a most curious and annoying adventure,
which I will relate. It was the fourth rule that I transgressed.
I did not beware of a woman. The woman was Miss Susan Barry,
lady's maid to the Marchioness of Cockfosters. The Cockfoster's family is a very old
one. To my mind, its traditions are superior to anything in the peerage
of Great Britain. But then I may be prejudiced. I was brought up
in the Cockfoster's household, first at Cockfoster's Castle in Devon, and afterwards at
the well known townhouse at the southeast corner of Eaton Square. My father was
valid to the old Marquis for thirty years. My mother rose from the position
of fifth housemaid to be housekeeper at the castle, without ever having been definitely
assigned to the situation. I became, as it were, by gradual attachment
ballot to Lord Trent, eldest son of the Marquess, and, as gay
and good natured a gentleman as ever, drank brandy and soda before breakfast.
When Lord Trent married to Miss Edna Stuyvesant, the American heiress, and with
some of her money, bought and furnished in a superb manner a mansion near
the northwest corner of Eaton Square, I quite naturally followed him across the square
and soon found myself, after his lordship and milady, the most considerable personage
at number four four one. Even the butler had to mind and dispeasing cues
with me. Perhaps it was this pre eminence of mine which led to my
being selected for a duty which I never cared for, and which ultimately I
asked his Lordship to allow me to relinquish. Of course he did so that
duty related to the celebrated Cockfoster's emeralds. Lady Trent had money over a million
sterling, as his Lordship himself told me, but money could not buy the
Cockfoster's emeralds, And having seen these, she desired nothing less. Fine with
her ladyship to desire was to obtain. I have always admired her for that
trait in her character. Being an American, she had faults, but she
knew her own mind, which is a great thing. And I must admit
that on the whole she carried herself well and committed few blunders. She must
have been accustomed to good servants. In the matter of the emeralds. I
certainly took her side. Strictly speaking, they belonged to the old Marchioness.
But the Marchioness never went into society. She was always engaged with temperance,
propaganda, militant Protestantism and that sort of thing, and consequently never wore the
emeralds. There was no valid reason, therefore, why Lady Trent should not
have the gratification of wearing them. But the Marchioness, I say with respect,
was a woman of peculiar and decided views. She had, in fact
fads, and one of her fads was the emeralds. She could not bear
to part with them. She said she was afraid something might happen to the
precious heirlooms. A prolonged war ensued between the Marchioness and my Lady, and
ultimately a compromise was effected. My Lady won permission to wear the emeralds whenever
she chose, but they were always to be brought to her and taken back
again by Susan Barry, in whom the Marchioness had more competence than in any
one else in the world. Consequently, whenever Milady required the emeralds, word
was sent across the square in the afternoon, Susan Barry brought them over,
and Susan Barry removed them at night when Milady returned from her ball or reception.
The arrangement was highly inconvenient for Susan Barry, for sometimes it would be
very late when Malady came home. But the Martionis insisted, and since Susan
Barry was one of those persons who seemed to take a positive joy in martyrrizing
themselves. She had none of my pity. The nuisance was that someone from
our house had to accompany her across the square. Eaton Square is very large,
probably the largest in London, but I may be mistaken on such a
trivial point. Its main avenue is shut in by trees, and at two
a m it is distinctly not the place for an unprotected female in charge of
valuable property. Now, the marsh Cionas had been good enough to suggest that
she would prefer me to escort her maid on this brief nocturnal journey. I
accepted the responsibility, but I did not hide my dislike for it. Knowing
something of Miss Barry's disposition, I knew that our household would inevitably begin as
sooner or later, to couple our names together, and I was not deceived.
Such was the situation when one night it was a whit Monday, I
remember, and about a quarter past one Lord and Lady Trent returned from an
entertainment at a well known mansion near Saint James's Palace. I got his lordship
some whiskey in the library, and he then told me that I might go
to bed, as he should not retire for an hour or so. I
withdrew to the little office off the hall and engaged in conversation with the second
footman who was on duty. Presently, his Lordship came down into the hall
and began to pace about. It was a strange habit of his, smoking
a cigarette. He caught sight of me, Saunders, He said, I
told you you could go to bed, Yes, my lord, why don't
you go? Your Lordship forgets the emeralds. Ah, yes, of course,
he laughed. I motioned to the footman to clear out. You don't
seem to care for that job, Saunders. His Lordship resumed, quizzing me.
Surely, Barry is a charming companion in your place. I should regard
it as excellent fun. But I have often told you that you have no
sense of humor. Not all men laugh at the same jokes, my lord,
I observed, as a matter of fact, in earlier and wilder days,
his Lordship had sometimes thrown a book or a boot at me for smiling
too openly at the wrong place. The conversation might have continued further, for
his Lordship would often talk with me, but at that moment Susan Barry appeared
with the bag containing the case in which were the emeralds. Lady Trance's own
maid was with her, and the two stood talking for an instant at the
foot of the stairs while Lady Trent's maid locked the bag and handed the key
to Barry. Heaven knows how long that simple business would have occupied had not
the voice of Milady resounded from the first floor, somewhat excitedly, calling for
her maid, who vanished with a hurried good night. His lordship had already
departed from the hall. May I relieve you of the bag, Miss Barry,
I asked, Thank you, mister Saunders, she replied, but the
marchionis prefers that I myself should carry it. That little dialogue passed between us
every time the inerals had to be returned. We started on our short walk,
Miss Berry and I, proceeding towards the main avenue which runs through the
center of the square east and west. It was a beautiful moonlit night.
Talking of moonlit nights, I may as well make my confession at once.
The fact is that Miss Barry had indeed a certain influence over me in her
presence. I was always conscious of feeling a pleasurable elation, an excitement of
perturbation, which another man might have guessed to be the beginning of love.
I, however, knew that it was not love. It was merely a
fancy. It only affected me when I was in her company. When she
was absent, I could regard her in my mind's eye as she actually was,
namely a somewhat designing young woman with dark eyes and too much will of
her own. Nevertheless, she had, as I say, a certain influence
over me, and I have already remarked that it was a moonlit night.
Need I say more. In spite of what I had implied to Lord Trent,
I did enjoy the walk with Susan Barry. Susan Barry took care that
I should. She laid herself out to fascinate me, turning her brunette face
up to mine with an air of deference, and flashing upon me the glance
of those dark, lustrous eyes. She started by sympathizing with me in the
matter of the butler. This was I now recognize very clever of her,
for the butler had always been a sore point with me. I began to
think be good enough to remember the moonlight and the trees, that life with
Susan Barry might have its advantages. Then she turned to the topic of her
invalid sister, Jane Mary, who was lame and lived in lodgings near Sloane
Street and kept herself with a little aid from Susan by manufacturing artificial flowers.
For a month past, Miss Barry had referred regularly to this sister, who
appeared to be the apple of her eye. I had no objection to the
topic, though it did not specially interest me. But on the previous evening
Miss Barry had told me, with a peculiar emphasis, that her poor dear
sister often expressed a longing to see the famous Cockfoster's emeralds, and that she
resided quite close too. I did not like that. Tonight, Miss Barry
made a proposition which alarmed me, Mister Saunders. She said, insinuatingly,
you are so good natured that I have almost a mind to ask you a
favor. Would you object to walking round with me to my sisters. It
is only a few minutes away, so that I could just give her a
peep at these emeralds. She is dying to see them, and I'm sure
the Marchioness wouldn't object. We should not be a quarter of an hour away.
My discretion was aroused. I ought to have given a decided negative at
once, but somehow I couldn't while Susan was looking at me. But surely
your sister will be in bed, I question, Oh no, with a
sigh. She has to work very late, very late, indeed, And
besides, if she is I could take them up to her room. It
would do her good to see them, and she has few pleasures. The
Marchioness might not like it, I said, driven back to the second line
of fortification. You know your mistress is very particular about these emeralds. The
Marchiona need never know, Susan Barry whispered, putting her face close up to
mine. No one need know except just us. To the accent which she
put on those three words, just us two was extremely tender. I hesitated.
We were already at the end of the square and should have turned down
to the left towards Cockfoster's house. Come along, she entreated, placing her
hand on my shoulder. Well, you know, I muttered, but I
went along with her towards Sloane Street. We passed Eaton Place, really,
missus Barry, I began again collecting my courage. Then there was a step
behind us, and another hand was placed on my shoulder. I turned round
sharply. It was a policeman. His buttons shone in the moonlight. Your
name is Charles Saunders, he said to me, and yours Susan Barry,
to my companion. True, I replied, for both of us have a
warrant for your arrest. Our arrest, yes, on the charge of attempting
to steal some emeralds, the property of the Marquess of Cockfoster's. Impossible,
I exclaimed, Yes, He sneered, that's what they all say. But
the emeralds are here in this bag. I know they are, he said,
I've just copped you in time, but you've been suspected for days.
The thing is ridiculous, I said, striving to keep calm. We are
taking the emeralds back to Lady Cockfoster's. And then I stopped. If we
were merely taking the emeralds back to Lady Cockfoster's, that is, from one
house in Eaton Square to another house in Eaton Square, What were we doing
out of the square? I glanced at Susan Barry. She was as white
as a sheet. The solution of the puzzle occurred to me at once.
Susan's sister was an ingenious fiction. Susan was a jewel thief working with a
gang of jewel thieves, and her request that I would accompany her to this
mythical sister was part of a plan for stealing the emeralds. At whose instance
has the warrant been issued? I asked the Marquess of Cockfoster's. My suspicions
were only too well confirmed. I did not speak a word to Susan Barry.
I could not. I merely looked at her. You'll come quietly to
the station, the policeman said, certainly, I replied, As for us,
the matter can soon be cleared up. I am Lord Trence's ballot number
four four one Eton square, and he must be sent for Oh must he?
The constable jeered, Come on, perhaps you'd prefer a cab. A
four wheeler was passing. I myself hailed the sleepy cabman, and we all
three got in. The policemen prudently took the bag from Susan's nerveless hands.
None of us spoke. I was too depressed, Susan was probably too ashamed,
and the constable was no doubt too board. After a brief drive,
we drew up. Another policeman opened the door of the cab, and over
the open portal of the building. In front of us, I saw the
familiar blue lamp with the legend Metropolitan Police in white letters. The two policemen
carefully watched us as we alighted, and escorted us up the steps into the
station. Happily, there was no one about. My humiliation was abject enough
without that, Charles Saunders, a prisoner in a police station, I could
scarcely credit my senses. One becomes used to a police station in the newspapers,
but to be inside one that is different, widely different. The two
policemen took us into a bare room, innocent of any furniture save a wooden
form, a desk, a chair, some printed notices of rewards offered,
and an array of handcuffs and revolvers on the mantelpiece in the chair, with
a big book in front of him on the desk. At the inspector in
charge. He was in his shirt sleeves. A hot night, he said,
smiling to the policeman. I silently agreed. It appeared that we were
expected. They took our full names, our addresses, and occupations, and
then the inspector read the warrant to us. Of course, it didn't explain
things in the least I began to speak. Let me warn you, said
the inspector, that anything you say now may be used against you at your
trial, my trial. Can I write a note to Lord Trent, I
asked, Nettle, yes, if you will pay for a cab to take
it. I threw down half a crown and scribbled a line to my master,
begging him to come at once. The constable must search you, the
inspector said. When this was done and the first policeman had disappeared with the
note, I will save him the trouble, I said proudly, and I
imped my pockets of a gold watch and chain, a handkerchief, two sovereigns,
a sixpence and two half pennies, a bunch of key's, my master's
linen book, and a new necktie, which I had bought that very evening.
Of which articles the inspector made an inventory, which is the key of
the bag, asked the inspector. The bag was on the desk in front
of him, and he had been trying to open it. I know nothing
of that. I said, now you, Susan Barry, give up the
key, the inspector said, sternly, turning to her for answer. Susan
burst into sobs and flung herself against my breast. The situation was excessively embarrassing
for me. Heaven knows, I had sufficient reason to hate the woman,
But though a thief, she was in distress, and I must own that
I felt for The Constable stepped towards Susan. Surely, I said, you
have a female searcher, A female searcher. Ah, yes, smiled.
The inspector suddenly swabbed, is she here, Constable, Not now, sir,
she's gone. That must wait. Then take them to the cells.
Sorry, sir, all the cells are full bank holiday drunks. The inspector
thought a moment, lock him up in the back room. He said,
that'll do for the present. Perhaps the mail prisoner may be getting an answer
to his note soon after that. They'll have to go to Byne Street or
Marlborough. The Constable touched his helmet and marched us out. In another moment,
we were ensconced in a small room, absolutely bare of any furniture except
a short wooden form. The constable was locking the door when Susan Barry screamed
out, you are going to lock us up here together in the dark.
Why what do you want? Didn't you hear the cells are full? I
was profoundly thankful they were full. I did not fancy a night in a
cell. I want a candle, she said fiercely. He brought one,
or rather half of one, stuck in a bottle, and placed it on
the mantelpiece, and then he left us again. I say the situation was
excessively embarrassing for myself, I said nothing. Susan Barry dropped on the form,
and, hiding her face in her hands, gave way to tears without
any manner of restraint. I pitied her a little, but that influence which
previously she had exercised over me was gone. Oh, mister Saunders, she
sobbed. What how we do? And as she spoke, she suddenly looked
up at me with a glance of feminine appeal. I withstood it, miss
Berry, I said severely. I wonder that you can look at me in
the face. I trusted you as a woman, and you have outraged that
trust. I never dreamed that you were that, that you were an adventuress.
It was certainly a clever plot, and but for the smartness of the
police, I should, in my innocence, have fallen a victim to your
designs. For myself, I am grateful to the police. I can understand
and excuse their mistake in regarding me as your accomplice. That will soon be
set right, for Lord Trent will be here. In the meantime, of
course, I have been put to consider humiliation. Nevertheless, even this is
better than having followed you to your sisters. In your sister's lodging, I
might have been knocked senseless or even murdered. Moreover, the Emeralds are safe.
She put on an innocent expression, playing the injured maiden. Mister Saunders,
you certainly do not imagine Miss Barry. No protestations. I beg Let
me say now that I have always detected in your character something underhand, something
crafty, I swear, she began again. Don't trouble I interrupted her.
I silly, for I shall not believe you. This night will certainly be
a warning to me. With that I leaned my back against the mantelpiece and
abandoned myself to gloomy thought. It was a moment for me of self abasement.
I searched my heart, and I sorrowfully admitted that my predicament was primarily
due to disobeying that golden rule. Be one of women. I saw now
that it was only my absurd fancy for this wicked creature which had led me
to accept the office of guarding those emeralds during their night passage across Eaton Square.
I ought to have refuse in the first place, for the job was
entirely outside my functions. Strictly, the butler should have done it. And
this woman in front of me, this Susan Barry, in whom the old
Marchioness had such unbounded trust, so she belonged to the confraternity of jewel these,
a genus of which I had often read, but which I had never
before met with What audacity such people must need in order to execute their schemes.
But then the game was high. The Cockfoster's emeralds were worth, at
a moderate estimate, twelve thousand pounds. There are emeralds and emeralds. The
value depends on the color. These were the finest Columbian stones of a marble
tent, and many of them were absolutely without a flaw. There were five
stones of seven carrots each, and these alone must have been worth at least
six thousand pounds. Yes, it would have been a great hall, a
colossal hall. Time passed, The candle was burning low, and there was
no sign of Lord Trent. I went to the door and knocked, first
gently, then more loudly, but I could get no answer. Then I
walked about the room, keeping an eye on Susan Barry, who had I
freely admit the decency to avoid my gaze. I was beginning to get extremely
tired. I wished to sit down, but there was only one form.
Susan Barry was already upon it, and as I said before, it was
a very short form. At last, I could hold out no longer.
Taking my courage in both hands, I sat boldly down at one end of
the form. It was a relief to me. Miss Barry's sighed. There
were not six inches between us. The candle was low in the socket.
We both watched it. Without a second's warning. The flame leapt up and
then expired. We were in the dark. Miss Barry screamed, and afterwards
I heard her crying. I myself made no sign. Fortunately, the dawn
broke almost immediately. By this time I was getting seriously annoyed with Lord Trent.
I had served him faithfully, and yet at the moment of my genuine
need, he had not come to my sucker. I went again to the
door and knocked with my knuckles. No answer. Then I kicked it.
No answer. Then I seized the handle and violently shook it. To my
astonishment, the door opened. The policeman had forgotten to lock it. I
crept out into the passage, softly closing the door behind me. It was
now quite light. The door leading to the street was open, and I
could see neither constables nor inspector. Went into the charge room it was empty.
Then I proceeded into the street. On the pavement, a piece of
paper was lying. I picked it up. It was the note which I
had written to Lord Trent. A workman happened to be loitering along a road
which crossed the street at right angles. I called out and ran to him.
Can you tell me? I asked, why all the officers have left
the police station? Lug here. Maybe, he says, you got onme.
You've been making a night of it, and that's what you have.
But seriously, I said. Then I saw a policeman at a distant corner.
The workman whistled, and the policeman was obliging enough to come to us.
Here. The car wants in a while. The police had left the
police station. The workman said, what police station? The constable said,
sharply, why this one down here in this side street, I said,
pointing to the building. As I looked at it, I saw that the
lamp which I had observed on the previous night no longer hung over the doorway.
The constable laughed, good humoredly. Get away home, he said.
I began to tell him my story. Get away home, he repeated,
gruffly this time. Or I'll run you in, all right, I said,
huffily, and I made as if to walk down the other road.
The constable and the workmen grinned to each other and departed. As soon as
they were out of sight. I returned to my police station. It was
not a police station. It was merely a rather large and plain fronted empty
house which had been transformed into a police station for one night only by means
of a lamp, a desk, two forms, a few handcuffs, and
some unparalleled cheek. Jewel thieves they were, but Susan Barry was not among
them. After all, Susan Barry probably had an invalid sister named Jane Mary.
The first policeman, the cabman, the second policeman, the inspector.
These were the jewel thieves, and Susan Barry and I, and of course
the Marchioness had to been the victims of as audacious and brilliant a robbery as
was ever planned. We had been robbed openly, quietly, deliberately, with
the aid of a sham police station. Our movements must have been watched for
weeks. I gave my meed of admiration to the imagination, the skill,
and the Saint Foix which must have gone to the carrying out of this schoop.
Going back into the room where Susan Barry and I had spent the night
hours, I found that wronged woman sweetly asleep on the form, with her
back against the wall. I dared not wake her, and so I left
her for the present to enjoy some much needed repose. I directed my steps
in search of Eaton Square. Having closed the great door of my police station
at length, I found my whereabouts, and I arrived at number four four
one at five o'clock precisely. The morning was lovely. After some trouble,
I roused a housemaid, who let me in. She seemed surprised, but
I ignored her. I went straight upstairs and knocked at my master's door.
To wake him had always been a difficult matter, and this morning the task
seemed more difficult than ever. At last he replied sleepily to my summons,
it is I Saunders, your lordship. I'll go to the devil. Then
I must see your lordship instantly, very seriously, now what I'll come in
a minute. And I heard him stirring, and the voice of Lady Trent.
How should I break the news to him? What would the marchionist say
when she knew twelve thousand pounds worth of jewels is no trifle not to mention
my gold watch, my two sovereigns must expense, and two half pennies,
and also the half crown which I had given to have the message despatched to
his lordship. It was the half crown that specially rankled Lord Trent appeared at
the door of his room, arrayed in his crimson dressing gown, while Saunders,
what in the name of my lord? And then I told him the
whole story. He smiled, he laughed, he roared. I dare say,
it sounds very funny, my lord, I said, But it wasn't
funny at the time. And Lady Cockcaster's won't think it very funny, oh
won't she? She will? No one will enjoy it more. She might
have taken it seriously if the emeralds had been in the bag, but they
weren't. Not in the bag, my lord. No. Lady Trent's maid
ran off with the bag, thinking that your mistress had put the jewels in
it, but she had not. Lady Trent came to the top of the
stairs to call her back as soon as she found the bag gone. But
you and Barry were out of the house, so the emerald stayed here for
one night. They are on Lady Trent's dressing table at the present moment.
Go and get a stiff whiskey, Saunders, you need it, and then
may I suggest that you should return for the sleeping berry. By the way,
the least you can do is to marry her Saunders. Never, my
Lord, I said, with decision, I have medals sufficiently with women.
End of story four. Story five of the Loot of Cities by Arnold Bennet.
This libribox recording is in the public domain. Story five the Adventure of
the Prima Donna. Many years ago, the fear of dynamite stalked through the
land. An immense organization of anarchists, whose headquarters were in the United States,
had arranged for a number of simultaneous displays in London, Glasgow and Quebec.
As is well known now, the Parliament House at Quebec and the guess
works at Glasgow were to be blown up, while the program for London included
Scotland Yard, most of Whitehall, the House of Commons, the Tower and
four great railway stations thrown in. This plot was laid bare, stopped and
made public, and except a number of people who happened quite innocently to carry
black bags, no one was put to the slightest inconvenience. The dynamite scare
was deemed to be at an end, but the dread organization was in fact
still active, as the sixty policemen who were injured in what is called the
Haymarket massacre explosion at Chicago on May four, eighteen eighty six, have dire
occasion to know. Everyone who reached the papers is familiar with the details of
the Haymarket massacre. Few people, however, are aware that a far more
dastardly outrage had been planned to intimidate London a few days later, through the
agency of a courageous woman. This affair, too was unmasked in its turn,
but for commercial and other reasons, it was kept from the general public.
The scheme was to blow up the opera house at Covent Garden on the
first night of the season. Had the facts got abroad, the audience would
probably have been somewhat sparse on that occasion. But the facts did not get
abroad, and the house was crowded in every part for the famous Prima donna
Luisa Vazzi, since retired, was singing Marguerite in faust, and enthusiasm about
her was such that though the popular tenor had unaccountably thrown up his engagement,
the price of stalls rose to thirty three shillings. The police were sure of
themselves, and the evening passed off with nothing more explosive than applause. Nevertheless,
that night, after the curtain had fallen and Louise Visilla had gathered up
all the reason of the tribuse of admiration which had been showered upon her,
there happened the singular incident which it is our purpose to record. Vissilla,
wrapped in rich furs. It was midnight and our usual wintry May, was
just leaving the stage door for her carriage, when a gentleman respectfully accosted her.
He was an English detective on special service, and Visia appeared to know
him. It will be desirable for you to run no risk, madame,
he said, So far as we know, all the principles have left the
country in alarm. But there are always others. Messia smiled. She was
then over thirty, in the full flower of her fame and beauty, tall,
dark, calm, mysterious. She had the firm yet gentle look of
one who keeps a kind heart under the regal manner induced by universal adoration.
What have I to fear, she said, vengeance? The detective answered,
simply, I have arranged to have you shadowed in case you will do nothing
of the kind. She said, The idea is intolerable to me. I
am not afraid, the detective argued. But in vain it shall be as
you wish, Madam, he said. Ultimately, Messia got into her carriage
and was driven away. The pair of chestnuts traveled at a brisk trot through
the dark, deserted streets of Soho towards the west end. The carriage had
crossed Regent Street and was just entering Berkeley Square when a hansom coming at a
gallop along Strutton Street on the wrong side of the road, collided violently with
Vassia's horses at the corner. At the same moment, another carriage, a
brougham, came up and stopped. A gentleman jumped out and assisted in disengaging
Vassia's coachman and footman from the medley of harness and horseflesh. This done,
he spoke to Vissia, who, uninjured, was standing on the footpath.
One of your chestnuts will have to be shot, he said, to raising
his hat. May I place my own carriage at your disposal. Messia thankfully
accepted his offer, where too, he inquired upper Brook Street? She answered,
but you are sure I do not inconvenience you curiously enough, he said,
I live in upper Brook Street myself, and if I may accompany you,
you are more than kind, she said, and they both entered the
brougham, and the gentleman, having first thoughtfully taken the number of the pecant
cabby and given some valuable advice to Vassiea's coachman, the brougham disappeared at a
terrific pace, but it never went within half a mile of Upper Brook Street.
It turned abruptly to the north, crossed Oxford Street, and stopped in
front of a large house in a remote street near Paddington Station. At the
same instant, the door of the house opened and a man ran down to
the carriage. In a moment, Vissio, with a cloth wrapped around her
head, was carried struggling into the house, and the brougham departed. The
thing was done as quickly and silently as in a dream. The cloth was
removed at length, and Vissia found herself in a long, bare room furnished
only with chairs and a table. She realized that the carriage accident was merely
part of a plot to capture her without fuss and violence. She was incapable
of fear but she was extremely annoyed and indignant. She looked round for the
man who enticed her in to his proem. He was not to be seen.
His share of the matter was over. Two other men sat at the
table. Vissia stared at them in speechless anger. As to them, they
seemed to ignore her. Where's the chief, said one to the other.
He will be here in three minutes. We are to proceed with the examination.
Time is short. Then the two men turned to Vissia, and the
elder spoke. You will be anxious to know why you are here, he
said. She gazed at him scornfully, and he continued, You are here
because you have betrayed the anarchist cause. I am not an anarchist, she
said, coldly. Admitted, but a week ago a member of our society
gave you a warning to keep away from the opera house tonight. In a
so warning you he was false to his oath. Do you refer to Saltea
the tenor, She asked, I do you perceive we have adherents in high
places? Saltea then warned you, and you instantly told the police that was
your idea of gratitude? Did Salty love you? I decline to be cross
examined. But it is immaterial. We know that he loved you. Now
it is perilous for an anarchist to love. I do not believe that Salty
is one of you, she broke in. He is not, the man
said, quietly, is dead. He was in the way in spite of
herself. She started, and both men smiled cynically. The point is this,
the elder man proceeded. We do not know how much Salty told you.
It is possible that he may have blurted out other and more important schemes
than this of the opera house, which is failed. Have you anything to
say? Nothing, She answered, Ah, we expected that. Now let
me point out that you are dangerous to us. That there is only one
possible course open to you. You must join us. Join you, she
exclaimed, and then laughed. Yes. The man said, I repeat,
there is no alternative, none, whatever. You must take the oath.
And if I refuse, the man shrugged his shoulders, and, after a
suggestive pause, murmured, well, think of saltea. I do refuse,
she said. A door opened at the other end of the room, and
a third man entered. The chief said, the younger of the men at
the table, he will continue the examination. The newcomer was comparatively youthful,
under thirty, and had the look of a well born Italian. He gave
a glance at the sea, stood still, and then approached the table and
sat down. This is Louise Visia, the first speaker said, and rapidly
indicated how far he had gone. There was a long silence. Thanks brothers,
the chief said, by a strange coincidence, I know this lady,
this woman, and I feel convinced that it will be better in the interests
of our cause if if I examined her alone. He spoke with authority,
and yet with a certain queer hesitation. The two men silently but with obvious
reluctance, rose and left the room. When they were alone, the great
singer and the chief fronted each other in silence. Well, said Vissia,
madam. The Chief began slowly and thoughtfully. Do you remember singing in Milan
ten years ago? You were at the beginning of your career then but already
famous. His voice was rich and curiously persuasive. Without wishing to do so,
Vissia nodded an affirmative. One night, you were driving home from the
opera, and there was a riot going on in the streets. The police
were everywhere. People whispered of a secret revolutionary society among the students of the
university. As for the students, after a pitched battle near the cathedral,
they were flying. Suddenly, looking from your carriage, you saw a very
youthful student who had been struck on the head, fall down in the gutter,
and then get up up again and struggle. You stopped your carriage.
Save me, the youth cried, save me, Signorina. If the police
catch me, I shall get ten years imprisonment. You opened the door of
your carriage, and the youth jumped in quick under the rug. You said
quietly. You did not ask me any questions. You didn't stay to consider
whether the youth might be a dangerous person. You merely said, quick under
the rug. The youth crept under the rug. The carriage moved on slowly,
and the police, who shortly appeared, never thought of looking within it
for a fugitive young anarchist. The youth was saved for two days. You
had him in your lodging, and then he got safely away to the coast
and sold by ship to another country. Do you remember that incident, madame,
I remember it well, she answered. What happened to the youth?
I am he? The chief said you, she exclaimed, I should scarcely
have guessed, but for your voice. You are changed. In our profits,
one changes quickly. Why do you remind me of that incident? She
asked. You saved my life, then I shall save yours. Now is
my life really in danger unless you joined us? Yes, she laughed incredulously
in London. Impossible. He made a gesture with his hands. Do not
let us argue on that point, he said, gravely. Go through that
door. He pointed to the door by which he himself had entered. You
will find yourself in a small garden. The garden gate leads to a narrow
passage past some stables, and so into the street. Go quickly and take
a cab. Don't return to your own house. Go somewhere else, anywhere
else, and leave London early tomorrow morning. He silently opened the door for
her. Thank you, she said. His seriousness had affected her. How
shall you explain my departure to your your friends and in my own way?
He replied, Only when a man has deliberately betrayed his cause, There is
only one explanation betrayed his cause. She repeated the phrase wonderingly, Madam,
He said, do you suppose they will call it anything else? Go at
once. I will wait half an hour before summoning my comrades. By that
time they will have become impatient. Then you will be safe, and I
will give them my explanation, and that will be He put her right hand
to his lips, and then stopped. Good Bye, Madam, he said,
without replying to the question, we are quits. I kiss your hand.
Almost reluctantly. Louise Vesil went forth, and as she reached the street,
she felt for the first time that it was indeed a fatal danger from
which she had escaped. She reflected that the Chief had imposed no secrecy upon
her, made no conditions, and she could not help but admire such a
method of repaying a debt. She wondered what his explanation to his comrade as
would be. Half an hour later, when Vissia was far away, it
was the sound of a revolver shot. The other two plotters rushed into the
room which the prima Donna had left, and found all the explanation which the
Chief had vouchsafed end of story five Story six of The Loot of Cities by
Arnold Bennett. This libribox recording is in the public domain. Story six.
The episode in room two two two. The date was the fifth of November,
a date easy to remember, not that I could ever fail to recall
it, even without the aid of the associations which cluster round Guy Fawkes.
It was a Friday, and yet there are people who affect to believe that
Friday is not a day singled out from its six companions for mystery, strangeness,
and disaster. The number of the room was a two two, too,
as easy to remember as the date, not that I could ever fail
to recall the number. Also, every circumstance in the affair is fixed in
my mind, immovably and forever the hotel I shall call by the name of
the Grand Junction Terminus Hotel. If this tale were not a simple and undecorated
record of fact, I might, with impunity choose for its scene any one
of the big London hotels, in order by which a detail to give a
semblance of veracity to my invention. But the story happens to be absolutely true,
and I must therefore, for obvious reasons, disguise the identity of the
place where it occurred. I would only say that the Grand Junction Railway is
one of the largest and one of the best managed systems in England or in
the world, and that these qualities of vastness and of good management extend also
to its immense terminus hotel in the north of central London, the a of
Anserye. I have observed that professional writers invariably refer to a hotel as a
Caravanserye is full every night in the week except Friday, Saturday and Sunday,
and every commercial traveler knows that except on these nights, if he wishes to
secure a room at the Grand Junction, he must write or telegraph for it
in advance, and there are four hundred bedrooms. It was somewhat late in
the evening when I arrived in London. I had meant to sleep at a
large new hotel in the Strand, but I felt tired, and I suddenly,
on the spur of the moment, decided to stay at the Grand Junction
if there was space for me. It is thus that fate works. I
walked into the hall, followed by a platform porter with my bag. The
place seemed just as usual, the perfection of the commonplace, the business like
and the unspiritual. Have you a room, I asked the young lady in
black, whose yellow hair shone gaily at the office window under the electric light.
She glanced at her ledgers in the impassive and detached manner which hotel young
ladies with yellow hair invariably affect, and ejaculated number two two one. Pity
you couldn't make it all twos, I ventured, with timid jocularity. How
could I guess the import of what I was saying? She smiled, very
slightly, with a distant condescension. It is astonishing the skill with which a
feminine hotel clerk can make a masculine guest feel small and self conscious. Name,
she demanded. Edge fourth floor, she said, writing out the room
ticket and handing it to me. In another moment, I was in the
lift. Number two two one was the last door, but one at the
end of the eastern corridor of the fourth floor. It proved to be a
double bedded room, large, exquisitely ugly, but perfectly appointed in all matters
of comfort. In short, it was characteristic of the hotel. I knew
that every bedroom in that corridor, and every bedroom in every corridor, presented
exactly the same aspect. One instinctively felt the impossibility of anything weird, anything
bizarre, anything terrible entering the precincts of an abode so solid, cheerful,
orderly and middle class. And yet, but I shall come to that presently.
It will be well for me to relate all that I did. That
evening, I washed, and then I took some valuables out of my bag
and put them in my pocket. Then I glanced round the chamber, and,
amongst other satisfactory details, noticed that the electric lights were so fixed that
I could read in bed without distressing my eyes. I then went downstairs by
the lift and into the smoke room. I had dined on board the Express,
and so I ordered nothing but a cafe NOI and a packet of Virginian
cigarettes. After finishing the coffee, I passed into the billiard room and played
a hundred up with the marker to show that my nerves were at least as
steady as usual. That night. I may mention that although the marker gave
me fifty and beat me, I made a break of twenty odd, which
won his generous approval. The game concluded, I went into the hall and
asked the porter if there were any telegrams for me. There were not.
I noticed that the porter, it was the night porter, and he had
just come on duty, seemed to have a peculiarly honest and attractive face.
Wishing him good night, I retired to bed. It was something. After
eleven I read a chapter of mister Walter Crane's The Bases of Design, and
having turned off the light, sank into the righteous slumber of a man who
has made a pretty break of twenty odd and drunk nothing but coffee. At
three o'clock I awoke, not with a start, but rather gradually. I
know it was exactly three o'clock because the striking of a notoriously noisy church clock
in the neighbors was the first thing I heard, But the clock had not
wakened me. I felt sure that something else, something far more sinister than
a church clock, had been the origin of disturbance. I listened. Then
I heard it again. It It was the sound of a groan in the
next room, someone indisposed either in body or mind. I thought lightly,
and I tried to go to sleep again, but I could not sleep.
The groans continued and grew more poignant, more fearsome. At last, I
jumped out of bed and turned on the light. I felt easier when I
had turned on the light. That man, whoever he is, is dying.
The idea, as it were, sprang at my throat. He is
dying, Only a dying man, only a man who saw death by his
side and trembled before the apparition could groan like that. I put on some
clothes and went into the corridor. The corridor seemed to stretch away into illimitable
distance, and far off, miles off, a solitary electric light glimmered.
My end of the corridor was a haunt of gloomy shadows, except where the
open door allowed the light from my bedroom to illuminate the long, monotonous pattern
of the carpet. I proceeded to the door next my own, the door
of number two two two, and put my ear against the panel. The
sound of groans was now much more distinct and more terrifying. Yes, I
admit that I was frightened. I called no answer, what's the matter?
I inquired, no answer? Are you ill? Or are you doing this
for your own amusement. It was with a sort of bravado that I threw
this last query at the unknown occupant of the room. No answer. Then
I tried to open the door, but it was fast. Yes, I
said to myself. Either he's dying or he's committed a murder and is feeling
sorry for it. I must fetch the night porterer. Now, hotel lifts
are not in the habit of working at three a m. And so I
was compelled to find my way along endless corridors and down flights of stairs,
apparently innumerable. Here and there. An electric light sought, with its yellow
eye to pierce the gloom. At length, I reached the hall, and
I well recollect that the tiled floor struck cold into my slippered but sockless feet.
There's a man either dying or very ill. And number two two too,
I said to the night porter. He was reading the evening news and
appeared to be very snug in his basket chair. Is that so, sir,
he replied, yes, I insisted, I think he's dying. Hadn't
you better do something? I'll come upstairs with you, he answered, readily,
and without further parley We began the ascent. At the first floor landing,
the night porter stopped and faced me. He was a man about forty
five. Every hall porter seems to be that age, and he looked like
the father of a family. It if you think he's dying, sir,
I'll call up the manager, Mister tom do, I said. The manager
slept on the first floor, and he soon appeared, a youngish man in
a terra cotta Jaeger dressing gown, his eyes full of sleep, yet alert
and anxious to do his duty. I had seen him previously in the billiard
room. We all three continued our progress to the fourth floor, arriving in
front of number two two two. We listened intently, but we could only
hear a faint, occasional groan. He's nearly dead, I said. The
manager called aloud, but there was no answer. Then he vainly tried to
open the door. The night porter departed and returned with a stout pair of
steel tongs. With these and the natural ingenuity peculiar to hotel porters, he
forced open the door and we entered number two two two. A stout,
middle aged man lay on the bed, fully dressed in black. On the
floor near the bed was a silk hat. As we approached, the great
body seemed to flutter, and then it lay profoundly and terribly still. The
manager put his hand on the man's head and held the glass of his watch
to the man's parted gray lips. He is dead, said the manager.
Hum I said, I'm sorry you've been put to any inconvenience, said the
manager, and I'm much obliged to you. The cold but polite tone was
a request to me to re enter my own chamber and leave the corpse to
the manager and the night porter. I obeyed. What about that man,
I asked the hall porter early the next or rather the same morning. I
had not slept a wink since three o'clock, nor had I heard a sound
in the corridor. What man, sir? The porter said, you know,
I returned, rather angrily, the man who died in the night number
two two two. I assure you, sir, He said, I haven't
the least notion what you mean. Yet his face seemed as honest and open
as ever. I inquired at the office for the manager, and after some
difficulty, saw him in his private room. I thought I'd just see about
that man. I began. What man? The manager asked, exactly as
the porter had asked. Look here, I said, as I was now
really annoyed. It's all very well giving instructions to the hall porter, and
I can quite understand you want to think kept as quiet as possible. Of
course, I know that hotels have a violent objection to corpses. But as
I saw the corpse and was of some assistance to you, excuse me,
said the manager. Either you or I must be completely mad, and he
added, I don't think it is myself. Do you mean to say,
I remarked, with frosty sarcasm, that you didn't enter room two to two
with me this morning at three a m. And find a dead man there?
I mean to say just that? He answered, Well, I got
no further. I paid my bill and left, But before leaving I went
and carefully examined the door of number two two two. The door plainly showed
marks of some iron instrument. Here, I said to the porter as I
departed, except this half crown from me, I admire you. I had
a serious illness extending over three months. I was frequently delirious, and nearly
every day I saw the scene in room number two two two. In the
course of my subsequent travels, I once more found myself late one night at
the Grand Junction Terminus Hotel. Mister Edge said the night porter. I've been
looking out for you for weeks and weeks the manager's compliments, and he would
like to see you in his room again. I saw the youngish alert manager,
mister Edge. He began at once. It is probable that I owe
you an apology. At any rate, I think it right to inform you
that on the night of the fifth of November, the year before last,
exactly twelve months before your last visit here, at man died in room number
two two two at three a m. I forgot the circumstance when you last
came to see me in this room. It seems queer, I said coldly
that you should have forgotten such a circumstance. The fact is, he replied,
I was not the manager at that time. My predecessor died two days
after the discovery of the corpse in room two two two, and the night
porter is he too a new man, Yes, said the manager. The
porter, who with the late manager found the corpse in room two two too,
is now in Hanwell lunatic asylum. I paused, perhaps in awe.
Then you think I said that I was the victim of a hallucination on my
previous visit here? You think I had a glimpse of the world of spirits
on these matters, said the manager, I prefer to think nothing. End
of story six, Story seven of The Loot of Cities by Arnold Bennett.
This libribox recording is in the public domain. Story seven Saturday to Monday.
So at length I yielded to repeated invitations and made up my mind to visit
the Vernons again. And it was in June. I had not been for
nearly two years. The last visit was in the month of August. I
remembered it too well that year, that month, that day. Under the
most favorable circumstances, it needs enterprise and energy for a Londoner to pay a
week in visit to a friend's house in the country, no matter how intimate
the friend. And the Vernons, though charming and full of good nature,
were not really very intimate friends of mine. There is always an element of
risk in the affair. I will go further and say an element of a
preliminary unpleasantness. It means the disarrangement of regular habits. It means packing one's
bag and lugging it into a hand. It means a train journey. It
often means a drive. At the other end, it means sleeping in a
strange bed and finding a suitable hook for one's razors drop the next morning.
It means accommodating oneself to a new social atmosphere and the expenditure of much formal
politeness. And suppose some hitch occurs, some trifling contretemp to ruffle the smoothness
of the hours, where are you? Then you are bound to sit tight
and smile till Monday, and at parting to enlarge on your sorrow that the
visit is over all the while feeling intensely relieved, and you have got nothing
in exchange for your discomfort and inconvenience, save the satisfaction of duty done a
poor return. I venture to add you know you have wasted a weekend and
irrecoverable weekend of eternity. However, I boarded the train at Saint Pancras in
a fairly cheerful mood, and I tried to look on the bright side of
life. The afternoon was certainly beautiful, and the train not too crowded.
And I derived some pleasure too from the contemplation of a new pair of American
booths, which I had recently purchased. I remembered that Missus Vernon used to
accuse me of a slight foppishness in the matter of boots, at the same
time wishing audibly in his hearing that Jack would give a little more attention to
the lower portions of his toilette. Jack was a sportsman and her husband and
I thought of their roomy and comfortable house on the side of the long slope
to Bedbury, and of their orchard, and the hammocks under the trees in
the orchard, and of tea and cakes being brought out to those hammocks,
and of the sunsets over the delectable mountains. We always call them the Delectable
Mountains because they are the identical hills which Bunyan had in mind when he wrote
The Pilgrim's Progress, And of Jack's easy drawl, and Missus Vernon's chatter,
and the barking of the dogs and the stamping of the horses in the stable,
and I actually thought, this will be a pleasant change after London.
I do hope they won't be awkward and self conscious, I said to myself,
and I also must try not to be. You see, I was
thinking of that last visit and what occurred during it. I was engaged to
be married then to a girl named Lucy Wrenn. Just as I had arrived
at the Vernon's house and their dog cart, the highly rural postman came up
in his cart, and, after delivering some letters, produced still another letter
and asked if any one of the name of Bostik was staying there. I
took the letter. The address was in Lucy's handwriting. I had seen her
only on the previous night, and of course she knew of my visit.
I read the letter standing there in the garden near the front door, and
having read it, I laughed loudly and handed it to missus Vernon, saying
what do you think of that for a letter? In the letter, Lucy
said that she had decided to jilt me. She didn't use those words,
oh no, and that on the following day she was going to be married
to another man. Yes, that was a tearful visit I paid to the
Vernons that August. At first I didn't know what I was doing. They
soothed me, calmed me. They did their best. It wasn't their fault,
after all. They suggested I should run back to town and see Lucy.
Jack offered to go with me. Jack I declined. I declined to
do anything. I ate hearty meals. I insisted on our usual excursions.
I talked a lot. I forced them to pretend that nothing had happened,
And on Monday morning I went off with a cold smile. But it was
awful. It stood between me and the Vernons for a long time, a
terrible memory. And when next Missus Vernon encountered me in London, there were
tears in her eyes and she was speechless. Now you will understand better why,
I said to myself with much sincerity. I do hope they won't be
awkward and self conscious, and I also must try not to be. As
the train approached Bedbury, I had qualms. I had qualms about the advisability
of this visit to the Vernons. How could it possibly succeed with that memory
stalking like a ghost in the garden near the front door of their delightful and
hospitable house. How could then we rumbled over the familiar bridge, and I
saw the familiar station yard, and the familiar dog cart, and the familiar
Dalmatian dog, and the familiar white mare that was rather young and skittish.
When Lucy jilted me, that mare must be rising. Seven, now,
I thought, and settled down in life, I described to missus Vernon,
waiting on the platform to welcome me with the twins. Alas I had forgotten
the twins, those charming and frail little girls, always dressed alike invariably on
my previous visits. I had brought something for the twins, a toy,
a box of sweets, a couple of bed necklaces. Never once had I
omitted to lay my tribute on the altar of their adorable infancy. And now
I had forgotten. And my forgetfulness saddened me, because I knew that it
would saddened them. They would expect, and they would be disappointed. They
would taste the bitterness of life. My poor little DearS, I thought,
as they smiled and shouted to see my head out of the carriage window.
I feel for you deeply. This beginning was a bad one, like all
men who have suffered without having deserved to suffer. I was superstitious, and
I felt that the beginning augured. Ill I resigned myself even before the train
had quite stopped, to a constrained and bored week end with the Vernons.
Well, I exclaimed, with an affectation of jollity descending from the carriage.
Well, responded Missus Vernon with the same affectation. It was lamentable, simply
lamentable. Well, the way in which that tragic memory stood between us and
prevented either of us from showing a true, natural, simple self to the
other. Missus Vernon could say little, I could say little, And what
we did say was said stiffly, clumsily. Perhaps it was fortunate on the
whole that the twins were present. They, at any rate, were natural
and self possessed. And how old are you now, I asked them.
We are seven, they answered politely in their high, thin voices. Then
you are like the little girl's family in Wordsworth poem. I remarked. It
was astonishing how this really rather good joke fell flat. Of course, the
twins did not see it, but Missus Vernon herself did not see it,
and I too, thought it at the moment inexpressibly feeble. As for the
twins, they could not hide their disappointment. Always before I had handed them
a little parcel immediately, either at the station if they came to meet me,
or at the house door if they did not. And to day I
had no little parcel. I could perceive that they were hoping against hope.
Even yet I could perceive that they were saying to each other with their large
expressive eyes. Perhaps he has put it in his portmanteau. This time,
he can have forgotten us. I could have wept for them. I was
in that state, but I could not, for the life of me tell
them outright that I had forgotten the customary gift, and that I should send
it by post on my return. No, I could not do that.
I was too constrained, too ill at ease. So we all climbed up
into the dog cart, Missus Vernon and I in front, and the twins
behind, with the portmanteau to make wake, and the white mare set off
with the bound and the Dalmatian barked joyously, and we all pretended to be
as joyous as the dog. Where's Jack? I inquired, Oh, said
Missus Vernon, as though I had startled her he had to go to Bedbury
Sand to look at a couple of greyhounds. It would have been too late
on Monday. I'm afraid he won't be back for tea. I guess instantly
that with the average man's cowardice, he had run away in order to escape
meeting me. As I entered the house, he had left that to his
wife, no doubt, he hoped that by the time he returned, I
should have settled down and the first awkwardness and constraint would be passed. We
said scarcely anything else, Missus Vernon and I during the three mile drive,
and it was in silence that we crossed the portal of the house. Instead
of having tea in the orchard, we had it in the drawing room,
the twins being present, and the tea might have been a funeral feast.
Well, I thought I anticipated a certain mutual diffidence, but nothing so bad
as this. If they couldn't be brighter than this, why in Heaven's name
did they force me to come down? Missus Vernon was decidedly in a pitiable
condition. She felt for me so much that I felt for her. Come
along, DearS, she said to the twins after tea was over, and
the tea things cleared away, and she took the children out of the room.
But before leaving she handed me a note in silence. I opened it
and read, be as kind to her as you can. She has suffered
a great deal. Then ere I had time to think. The door which
missus Vernon had softly closed, was softly opened, and a woman entered.
It was Lucy once, Lucy Wrenn. She was as beautiful as ever,
and no older, But her face was the face of one who had learnt
the meaning of life. Till that moment, I had sought everywhere for reasons
to condemn her conduct towards me, to intensify its wickedness. Now suddenly I
began to seek everywhere for reasons to excuse her. She had been so young,
so guileless, so ignorant. I had been too stern for her.
I had frightened her. How could she be expected to know that the man
who had so planted me was worthless? She had acted as she did,
partly from youthful foolishness and partly from timidity. She had been in a quandary.
She had lost her head, And so it had occurred that one night.
That night in August, she had kissed me falsely with a lie on
her lips, knowing that her jilting letter was already in the post. What
pangs she must have experienced. Then, Yes, as she entered the room
and gazed at me with her blue eyes, my heart overflowed with genuine sorrow
for her. Lucy. I murmured, you are in mourning, Yes,
she said, didn't you know? As Missus Vernon said nothing, he is
dead. And she sank down by the side of my chair and hid her
face, and I could only see her honey colored hair. I stroked it.
I knew all her history and that supreme moment, without a word of
explanation. I knew that she had been self deceived, that she had been
through many an agony, that she had always loved me, and she was
so young, so young, I kissed her hair. How thankful I am,
breathes Missus Vernon afterwards. Suppose it had not turned out well. Jack
Vernon had calculated with some skill when he came back the constraint the diffidence was
at an end end of story seven Story eight of The Loot of Cities by
Arnold Bennett. This liverbox recording is in the public domain. Story eight,
A Dinner at the Louver. The real name of this renowned West End restaurant
is not the Louverra. I have christened it so because the title seems to
me to suit it very nicely, and because a certain disguise is essential.
The proprietors of lou Louverra, it belongs to an esteemed firm of caterers,
would decidedly object to the upling of the name of their principal establishment with an
affair so curious and disconcerting as that which I am about to relate, and
their objection would be perfectly justifiable. Nevertheless, the following story is a true
one, and the details of it are familiar to at least half a dozen
persons whose business it is, for one reason or another, to keep an
eye upon that world of crime and pleasure, which is bounded on the east
by Bow Street and on the left by Hyde Park Corner. It was on
an evening in the last week in May that I asked Rosy Marden to dine
with me at the Louver. I selected the Louverra well, knowing that from
some mysterious cause, all popular actresses prefer the Louverra to other restaurants, although
the quality of the food there is not always impeccable. I am not in
the habit of inviting the favorites of the stage to dinner, especially favorites who
enjoy a salary of seventy five pounds a week, as Rosy Marten did and
does. But in the present case I had a particular object in view.
Rosie Martin was taking the chief feminine role in my new light comedy, then
in active rehearsal at the Alcazar Theater in Shaftsbury Avenue. We had almost quarreled
over her interpretation of the big scene in the second act, which differed materially
from my own idea of how the scene ought to go. Diplomacy was necessary.
I prided myself on my powers as a diplomatist. I knew that if
I could chat with miss Rosie in the privacy of a table for two at
a public restaurant, there is no privacy more discreet, I could convert her
to my opinions on that second act. Have you engaged a table upstairs?
Was her first inquiry. As with the assistance of a stout and gorgeous official,
I helped her to alight from her brougham at the portico of the house.
She looked lovely, and half the street was envying me. But unfortunately
Rosie's looks have nothing to do with the tabe. Let me therefore dismiss them
as a dangerous topic. No, I said, but I expect there'll be
plenty of room. Plenty of room, she exclaimed, with a charming scorn
and a glance which said, this young man really has a great deal to
learn about the art of entertaining ladies at the louver. I admit that I
had. Oh yes, I insisted, with bravado. Plenty ask the booking
clerk, she commanded, and with all her inimitable grace, she sank like
a fatigued sylph into one of the easy chairs that furnished the entrance hall,
and drew her cloak round her shoulders. The booking clerk, in faultless evening
dress with a formidable silver chain encircling his neck, stood at the foot of
the grand staircase, which was very grand. The booking clerk politely but coldly
informed me that he had not a table upstairs. He said that every table
had been booked since a quarter to seven. Well, I suppose we must
be content with downstairs, but I much prefer the balcony, said Rosie when
I told her, And Rosie was obviously cross. My dinner was beginning ominously.
I returned to the booking clerk, who was then good enough to tell
me that he had no table downstairs either. I felt rather an ass but
I never permit my asininity to go too far. I assumed an attitude of
martial decision and ordered one of the pages to get me a hansom. We
will dine at the Savoy, I said, very loud. Every official in
the neighborhood heard me. Rosie smiled, whether at the prospect of the Savoy
or at my superb indignation, I know not. Just as we were emerging
into the street, the booking clerk, his silver chain clinking, touched me
on the shoulder. I can let you have a table upstairs now, sir,
said he. A party that engaged one has not arrived. I thought
they wouldn't let us run away to the Savoy, I remarked to Rose soda
voce and satisfaction. I had triumphed, and the pretty creature was a witness
of my triumph. What name sir, asked the clerk John delf. I
replied His gesture showed that he recognized that name, and this pleased me too.
Had not my first farcical comedy run one hundred and sixty nights at the
Alcazar, it was only proper that my reputation should have reached even the clerks
of restaurants. Another official recognized Miss Rosie's much photographed face, and we passed
up the staircase with considerable eclaw. You manage that rather well, said Miss
Rosie, dimpling with satisfaction, as we sat down in the balcony of the
grand hall of the Louver. The dinner was not beginning so ominously, after
all. I narrate to these preliminary incidents to show how large a part is
played by pure chance in the gravest events of our lives. I ordered the
ten and sixpenny dinner. Who could offer to the unique Rosemartin a five ship
or a seven and sixpenny repast when one at half a guinea was to be
obtained? Not I. The meal started with anchovies, which Rosie said she
adored. She also adored Nougat, Cremdamoth and other pagan gods as Rosie put
the first bit of anchovy into her adorable mouth. The yellow Hungarian band at
the other end of the crowded hall struck up the Ragovsky march, and the
whole place was filled with clamor Why people insist on deafening music as an accompaniment
to the business of eating? I cannot imagine. Personally. I like to
eat in peace and quietude, but I fear I am an exception. Rosie's
eyes sparkled with pleasure at the sound of the band, and I judged the
moment opportune to ascertain her wishes on the subject of wine. She stated them
in her own imperious way, and I signaled to the waiter. Now I
had precisely noticed, or I fancied, I noticed an extraordinary obsequiousness in this
waiter, an obsequiousness surpassing the usual obsequiousness of waiters. I object to it,
and my attitude of antagonism naturally served to intensify it. What's the matter
with the fellow, I said to Rosie after I had ordered the wine.
He's very good looking, isn't he was her only reply, as she gazed
absently at the floor below us. Crowded with elegant diners, and the waiter
was indeed somewhat handsome, a light haired man, and like all the waiters
at the louver, a foreigner with a deficient knowledge of English. I expect
he's lost on his bets to day, Rosy added, They all bet,
you know, and he's after a rousing tip to make up. Oh is
that it, I said, wondering at the pretty creature's knowledge of the world.
And then I began to talk about my play in my best diplomatic manner,
inwardly chafing at the interruption of that weird yellow Hungarian orchestra, with which
Bitter Irony had hung over the railings of its stand a placard bearing the words
by Desire. The meal proceeded brilliantly. My diplomacy was a success. The
champagne was a success. We arrived at the sorbette that I see in sweet
product, which in these days of enormous repast, is placed half way through
the meal in order to renew one's appetite for the second half. Your modern
chef is the cruel tyrant of the stomach and shows no mercy. The fair
haired waiter's hand distinctly trembled as he served the sorbets. I looked at mine
for some moments, hesitating whether or not to venture upon it. I am
a martyr to indigestion. It's delicious, said Rosy, more delicious than the
second act of your partner's Then I must risk it, I replied, and
plunge the spoon into the half frozen greenish mass. As I did so,
I caught sight of our waiter, who was leaning against the service table at
the corner of the balcony. His face was as white as a sheet.
I thought he must be ill, and I felt sorry for him. However,
I began to swallow the sorbet, and the sorbet was, in truth
rather joice. Presently, our waiter clutched at the sleeve of another waiter who
was passing, and whispered a few words in his ear. The second waiter
turned to look at me and replied. Then our waiter almost ran towards our
table. Excuse me, sir, he murmured, indistinctly, rolling the arm.
Are you not count vandernoff? I am not, I replied briefly.
He hesitated, his hand wavered towards the sorbet, but he withdrew it and
departed. Mon Dieu, I heard him exclaim weakly under his breath. Possibly
he's been taking me for an aristocratic compatriot of his own, I said to
Rosy. And that explains the obsequiousness. You were wrong about the bedding.
I laughed, but I felt ill at ease, and to cover my self
consciousness, I went on eating the sorbet very slowly. I must have consumed
nearly a third of it when I became conscious of a movement behind me.
A mysterious hand shot out and snatched away the sorbet. Sir, I protested,
looking round, A tall, Youngish man in evening dress but wearing his
hat, stood on my left. Sir, what in the name of your
pardon? Answered the man in a low, hurried voice. I could not
guess his nationality. Let me beg you to leave here at once and come
with me. I shall do no such thing, I replied. Waiter,
call the manager, But our waiter had disappeared. It is a matter of
life and death, said the man to whom to you. The man removed
his hat and looked appealingly at Miss Rosie. Don't let's have a scene in
here, said Rosie with her worldly wisdom, and impelled by the utter seriousness
of the man, we went out. I forgot the bill, and no
one presented it. I solemnly ask you to take a little drive with me,
said the man. When we had reached the foyer. I have a
carriage at the door. Again, why, I demanded, he whispered,
you are poisoned. I am saving your life. I rely on your discretion.
My spine turned chilly, and I glanced at Miss Rosie. I will
come with you, she said. In five minutes we had driven to a
large house in Golden Square. We were ushered into a lavishly furnished drawing room,
and we sat down. Rosy's lips were set. I admired her demeanor
during those moments. The man who said he was saving my life, poured
some liquid from a pile into a glass and handed it to me. Ameteks
are useless. Drink this. In an hour you will feel the first symptoms
of illness. They may be severe, though that is improbable since you ate
only a portion of the stuff. In any event, they will not last.
Tomorrow you will be perfectly well. Let me advise you to go to
bed at once. My carriage is at your service and the service of this
lady, he bowed. I drank the antidote. Thanks for all these surprises,
I said coldly. But does it not occur to you that some explanation
is due to me, he pondered. A minute, I will explain,
he replied. It is your right. I will explain in two words.
You have heard of Count Bandanoff attached to the Russian embassy in London. You
may have seen in the papers that the Count has been appointed by the Czar
to be the new governor of Helsingfors, the Finnish capital, I nodded.
You are aware, he continued, suavely, of the widespread persecutions in Finland,
the taking away of the constitution, the Russianizing of all offices, the
censorship of the press. This persecution has given rise to a secret society,
which I will call the Friends of Finnish Freedom. Its methods are drastic.
Count Bandanoff was known to be violently antagonistic to finish freedom. He dines often
at the louver. He had engaged a table for tonight. The waiter in
charge of that table was, like myself, a member of the society,
but unfortunately, rather a raw hand. The Count quite unexpectedly did not arrive
at the louver tonight. The waiter, however, took you for the count.
The sorbet which I snatched out of your hand was need I say more,
poisoned, poisoned. The affair was carefully arranged, and only a pure
accident could have upset it. That accident occurred, what was it? The
Count's coupe was knocked over by an omnibus in Piccadilly two hours ago, and
the Count was killed. There was a pause. Then he will never be
governor of Helsingfors, I said, Heaven helps the right. The man answered,
you English love freedom. You cannot guess what we in Finland have suffered.
Let me repeat that I rely on your discretion. We left Miss Rosie
and I and the kind hearted girl delivered me safely into the hands of my
housekeeper. I was ill, but I soon recovered. A few days later.
I met Miss Rosie at rehearsal. Did you notice, she said to
me with an awed air, Our table was number thirteen that night. End
of story eight, End of the Loot of Cities by Arnold Bennett