"Impossible!"
"Really, Mr. Ruby, I wish you wouldn't say a thing was impossible when I say that it is actually a fact."
Mr. Ruby looked at the Countess of Grinstead, and the Countess of Grinstead looked at him.
"But, Countess, if you will just consider for one moment. You are actually accusing us of selling to you diamonds which we know to be false."
"Whether you knew them to be false or not is more than I can say. All I know is that I bought a set of diamond ornaments from you, for which you charged me eight hundred pounds, and which Mr. Ahrens says are not worth eight hundred pence."
"Mr. Ahrens must be dreaming."
"Oh no, he's not. I don't believe that Mr. Ahrens ever dreams."
Mr. Golden, who was standing observantly by, addressed an inquiry to the excited lady. "Where are the diamonds now?"
"The diamonds, as you call them, and which I don't believe are diamonds, since Mr. Ahrens says they're not, and I'm sure he ought to know, are in this case."
The Countess of Grinstead produced from her muff one of those flat leather cases in which jewellers love to enshrine their wares.
Mr. Golden held out his hand for it.
"Permit me for one moment, Countess."
The Countess handed him the case. Mr. Golden opened it. Mr. Ruby, leaning back in his chair, watched his partner examine the contents. The Countess watched him too. Mr. Golden took out one glittering ornament after another. Through a little microscope he peered into its inmost depths. He turned it over and over, and peered and peered, as though he would read its very heart. When he had concluded his examination he turned to the lady.
"How came you to submit these ornaments to Mr. Ahrens?"
"I don't mind telling you. Not in the least! I happened to want some money. I didn't care to ask the Earl for it. I thought of those things--you had charged me £800 for them, so I thought that he would let me have £200 upon them as a loan. When he told me that they were nothing but rubbish I thought I should have had a fit."
"Where have they been in the interval between your purchasing them from us and your taking them to Mr. Ahrens?"
"Where have they been? Where do you suppose they've been? They have been in my jewel case, of course."
Mr. Golden replaced the ornaments in their satin beds. He closed the case.
"Every inquiry shall be made into the matter, Countess, you may rest assured of that. We cannot afford to lose our money, any more than you can afford to lose your diamonds."
Directly the lady's back was turned Mr. Ruby put a question to his partner. "Well, are they false?"
"They are. It is a good imitation, one of the best imitations I remember to have seen. Still it is an imitation."
"Do you--do you think she did it?"
"That is more than I can say. Still, when a lady buys diamonds on Saturday, upon credit, and takes them to a pawnbroker on Tuesday, to raise money on them, one may be excused for having one's suspicions."
While the partners were still discussing the matter, the door was opened by an assistant. "Mr. Gray wishes to see Mr. Ruby."
Before Mr. Ruby had an opportunity of saying whether or not he wished to see Mr. Gray, rather unceremoniously Mr. Gray himself came in.
"I should think I do want to see Mr. Ruby, and while I'm about it, I may as well see Mr. Golden too." Mr. Gray turned to the assistant, who still was standing at the open door. "You can go."
The assistant looked at Mr. Ruby for instructions. "Yes Thompson, you can go."
When Thompson was gone, and the door was closed, Mr. Gray, who wore his hat slightly on the side of his head, turned and faced the partners. He was a very young man, and was dressed in the extreme of fashion. Taking from his coat tail pocket the familiar leather case, he flung it on to the table with a bang. "I don't know what you call that, but I tell you what I call it. I call it a damned swindle."
Mr. Ruby was shocked.
"Mr. Gray! May I ask of what you are complaining?"
"Complaining! I'm complaining of your selling me a thing for two thousand pounds which is not worth two thousand pence!"
"Indeed? Have we been guilty of such conduct as that?" Mr. Golden picked up the case which Mr. Gray had flung down upon the table. "Is this the diamond necklace which we had the pleasure of selling you the other day?"
Mr. Golden opened the case. He took out the necklace which it contained. He examined it as minutely as he had examined the Countess of Grinstead's ornaments. "This is--very remarkable."
"Remarkable! I should think it is remarkable! I bought that necklace for a lady. As some ladies have a way of doing, she had it valued. When she found that the thing was trumpery, she, of course, jumped to the conclusion that I'd been having her--trying to gain kudos for giving her something worth having at the cheapest possible rate. A pretty state of things, upon my word!"
"This appears to be a lady of acute commercial instincts, Mr. Gray."
"Never mind about that! If you deny that that is the necklace which you sold to me I will prove that it is--in the police court. I am quite prepared for it. Men who are capable of selling a necklace of glass beads as a necklace of diamonds are capable of denying that they ever sold the thing at all."
"Mr. Gray, there is no necessity to use such language to us. If a wrong has been done we are ready and willing to repair it."
"Then repair it!"
It took some time to get rid of Mr. Gray. He had a great deal to say, and a very strong and idiomatic way of saying it. Altogether it was a bad quarter of an hour for Messrs. Ruby and Golden. When, at last, they did get rid of him, Mr. Ruby turned to his partner.
"Golden, it's not possible that the stones in that necklace are false. Those are the stones which we got from Fungst--you remember?"
"I remember very well indeed. They were the stones which we got from Fungst. They are not now. The gems which are at present in this necklace are paste, covered with a thin veneer of real stones. It is an old trick, but I never saw it better done. The workmanship, both in Mr. Gray's necklace and in the Countess of Grinstead's ornaments, is, in its way, perfection."
While Mr. Ruby was still staring at his partner, the door opened and again Mr. Thompson entered. "The Duchess of Datchet."
"Let's hope," muttered Mr. Golden, "that she's not come to charge us with selling any more paste diamonds."
But the Duchess had come to do nothing of the kind. She had come on a much more agreeable errand, from Messrs. Ruby and Golden's point of view--she had come to buy. As it was Mr. Ruby's specialrôleto act as salesman to the great--the very great--ladies who patronised that famed establishment, Mr. Golden left his partner to perform his duties.
Mr. Ruby found the Duchess, on that occasion, difficult to please. She wanted something in diamonds, to present to Lady Edith Linglithgow on the occasion of her approaching marriage. As Lady Edith is the Duke's first cousin, as all the world knows, almost, as it were, his sister, the Duchess wanted something very good indeed. Nothing which Messrs. Ruby and Golden had seemed to be quite good enough, except one or two things which were, perhaps, too good. The Duchess promised to return with the Duke himself to-morrow, or, perhaps, the day after. With that promise Mr. Ruby was forced to be content.
The instant the difficult very great lady had vanished, Mr. Golden came into the room. He placed upon the table some leather cases.
"Ruby what do you think of those?"
"Why, they're from stock, aren't they?" Mr. Ruby took up some of the cases which Mr. Golden had put down. There was quite a heap of them. They contained rings, bracelets, necklaces, odds and ends in diamond work. "Anything the matter with them, Golden?"
"There's this the matter with them--that they're all paste."
"Golden!"
"I've been glancing through the stock. I haven't got far, but I've come upon those already. Somebody appears to be having a little joke at our expense. It strikes me, Ruby, that we're about to be the victims of one of the greatest jewel robberies upon record."
"Golden!"
"Have you been showing this to the Duchess?"
Mr. Golden picked up a necklace of diamonds from a case which lay open on the table, whose charms Mr. Ruby had been recently exhibiting to that difficult great lady. "Ruby!--Good Heavens!"
"Wha-what's the matter?"
"They're paste!"
Mr. Golden was staring at the necklace as though it were some hideous thing.
"Paste!--G-G-Golden!" Mr. Ruby positively trembled. "That's Kesteeven's necklace which he brought in this morning to see if we could find a customer for it."
"I'm quite aware that this was Kesteeven's necklace. Now it would be dear at a ten-pound note."
"A ten-pound note! He wants ten thousand guineas! It's not more than an hour since he brought it--no one can have touched it."
"Ruby, don't talk nonsense! I saw Kesteeven's necklace when he brought it, I see this thing now. This is not Kesteeven's necklace--it has been changed!"
"Golden!"
"To whom have you shown this necklace?"
"To the Duchess of Datchet."
"To whom else?"
"To no one."
"Who has been in this room?"
"You know who has been in the room as well as I do."
"Then--she did it."
"She?--Who?"
"The Duchess!"
"Golden! you are mad!"
"I shall be mad pretty soon. We shall be ruined! I've not the slightest doubt but that you've been selling people paste for diamonds for goodness knows how long."
"Golden!"
"You'll have to come with me to Datchet House. I'll see the Duke--I'll have it out with him at once." Mr. Golden threw open the door. "Thompson, Mr. Ruby and I are going out. See that nobody comes near this room until we return."
To make sure that nobody did come near that room Mr. Golden turned the key in the lock, and pocketed the key.
When Messrs. Ruby and Golden arrived at Datchet House they found the Duke at home. He received them in his own apartment. On their entrance he was standing behind a writing table.
"Well, gentlemen, to what am I indebted for the honour of this visit?"
Mr. Golden took on himself the office of spokesman.
"We have called, your Grace, upon a very delicate matter." The Duke inclined his head--he also took a seat. "The Duchess of Datchet has favoured us this morning with a visit."
"The Duchess!"
"The Duchess."
Mr. Golden paused. He was conscious that this was a delicate matter. "When her Grace quitted our establishment sheaccidentally"--Mr. Golden emphasised the adverb; he even repeated it--"accidentallyleft behind some of her property in exchange for ours."
"Mr. Golden!" The Duke stared. "I don't understand you."
Mr. Golden then and there resolved to make the thing quite plain.
"I will be frank with your Grace. When the Duchess left our establishment this morning she took with her some twenty thousand pounds worth of diamonds--it may be more, we have only been able to give a cursory glance at the state of things--and left behind her paste imitations of those diamonds instead."
The Duke stood up. He trembled--probably with anger.
"Mr. Golden, am I--am I to understand that you are mad?"
"The case, your Grace, is as I stated. Is not the case as I state it, Mr. Ruby?"
Mr. Ruby took out his handkerchief to relieve his brow. His habit of showing excessive deference to the feelings and the whims of very great people was almost more than he could master.
"I--I'm afraid, Mr. Golden, that it is. Your--your Grace will understand that--that we should never have ventured to--to come here had we not been most--most unfortunately compelled."
"Pray make no apology, Mr. Ruby. Allow me to have a clear understanding with you, gentlemen. Do I understand that you charge the Duchess of Datchet--the Duchess of Datchet!"--the Duke echoed his own words, as though he were himself unable to believe in the enormity of such a thing--"with stealing jewels from your shop?"
"If your Grace will allow me to make a distinction without a difference--we charge no one with anything. If your Grace will give us your permission to credit the jewels to your account, there is an end of the matter."
"What is the value of the articles which you say have gone?"
"On that point we are not ourselves, as yet, accurately informed. I may as well state at once--it is better to be frank, your Grace--that this sort of thing appears to have been going on for some time. It is only an hour or so since we began to have even a suspicion of the extent of our losses."
"Then, in effect, you charge the Duchess of Datchet with robbing you wholesale?"
Mr. Golden paused. He felt that to such a question as this it would be advisable that he should frame his answer in a particular manner.
"Your Grace will understand that different persons have different ways of purchasing. Lady A. has her way. Lady B. has her way, and the Duchess of Datchet has hers."
"Are you suggesting that the Duchess of Datchet is a kleptomaniac?"
Mr. Golden was silent.
"Do you think that that is a comfortable suggestion to make to a husband, Mr. Golden?" Just then someone tapped at the door. "Who's there?"
A voice--a feminine voice--enquired without, "Can I come in?"
Before the Duke could deny the right of entry, the door opened and a woman entered. A tall woman, and a young and a lovely one. When she perceived Messrs. Ruby and Golden she cast an enquiring look in the direction of the Duke. "Are you engaged?"
The Duke was eyeing her with a somewhat curious expression of countenance. "I believe you know these gentlemen?"
"Do I? I ought to know them perhaps, but I'm afraid I don't."
Mr. Ruby was all affability and bows, and smiles and rubbings of hands.
"I have not had the honour of seeing the lady upon a previous occasion."
The Duke of Datchet stared. "You have not had the honour? Then what--what the dickens do you mean? This is the Duchess!"
"The Duchess!" cried Messrs. Ruby and Golden.
"Certainly--the Duchess of Datchet."
Messrs. Ruby and Golden looked blue. They looked more than blue--they looked several colours of the rainbow all at once. They stared as though they could not believe the evidence of their eyes and ears. The Duke turned to the Duchess. He opened the door for her.
"Duchess, will you excuse me for a moment? I have something which I particularly wish to say to these gentlemen."
The Duchess disappeared. When she had gone the Duke not only closed the door behind her, but he stood with his back against the door which he had closed. His manner, all at once, was scarcely genial.
"Now, what shall I do with you, gentlemen? You come to my house and charge the Duchess of Datchet with having been a constant visitor at your shop for the purpose of robbing you, and it turns out that you have actually never seen the Duchess of Datchet in your lives until this moment."
"But," gasped Mr. Ruby, "that--that is not the lady who came to our establishment, and--and called herself the Duchess of Datchet."
"Well, sir, and what has that to do with me? Am I responsible for the proceedings of every sharper who comes to your shop and chooses to call herself the Duchess of Datchet? I should advise you, in future, before advancing reckless charges, to make some enquiries into thebona fidesof your customers, Mr. Ruby. Now, gentlemen, you may go."
The Duke held the door wide open, invitingly. Mr. Golden caught his partner by the sleeve, as though he feared that he would, with undue celerity, accept the invitation.
"Hardly, your Grace, there is still something which we wish to say to you." The Duke of Datchet shut the door again.
"Then say it. Only say it, if possible, in such a manner as not to compel me to--kick you, Mr. Golden."
"Your Grace will believe that in anything I have said, or in anything which I am to say, nothing is further from my wish than to cause your Grace annoyance. But, on the other hand, surely your Grace is too old, and too good a customer of our house, to wish to see us ruined."
"I had rather, Mr. Golden, see you ruined ten thousand times over than that you should ruin my wife's fair fame."
Mr. Golden hesitated; he seemed to perceive that the Duke's retort was not irrelevant. He turned to Mr. Ruby.
"Mr. Ruby, will you be so good as to explain what reasons we had for believing that this person was what she called herself--the Duchess of Datchet? Because your Grace must understand that we did not entertain that belief without having at least some grounds to go upon."
Mr. Ruby, thus appealed to, began to fidget. He did not seem to relish the office which his partner had imposed upon him. The tale which he told was rather lame--still, he told it.
"Your Grace will understand that I--I am acquainted, at least by sight, with most of the members of the British aristocracy, and--and, indeed, of other aristocracies. But it so happened that, at the period of your Grace's recent marriage, I happened to be abroad, and--and, not only so, but--but the lady your Grace married was--was a lady--from--from the country."
"I am perfectly aware, Mr. Ruby, whom I married."
"Quite so, your Grace, quite so. Only--only I was endeavouring to explain how it was that I--I did not happen to be acquainted with her Grace's personal appearance. So that when a carriage and pair drove up to our establishment with your Grace's crest upon the panel----"
"My crest upon the panel!"
"Your Grace's crest upon the panel"--as Mr. Ruby continued, the Duke of Datchet bit his lip--"and a lady stepped out of it and said, 'I am the Duchess of Datchet; my husband tells me that he is an old customer of yours,' I was only too glad to see her Grace, because, as your Grace is aware, we have the honour of having your Grace as an old customer of ours. 'My husband has given me this cheque to spend with you.' When she said that she took a cheque out of her purse, one of your Grace's own cheques drawn upon Messrs. Coutts, 'Pay Messrs. Ruby and Golden, or order, one thousand pounds,' with your Grace's signature attached. I have seen too many of your Grace's cheques not to know them well. She purchased goods to the value of a thousand pounds, and she gave us your Grace's cheque to pay for them."
"She gave you that cheque, did she?"
Mr. Golden interposed, "We presented the cheque, and it was duly honoured. On the face of such proof as that, what could we suppose?"
The Duke was moving about the room--it seemed, a little restlessly.
"It didn't necessarily follow, because a woman paid for her purchases with a cheque of mine that that woman was the Duchess of Datchet."
"I think, under the peculiar circumstances of the case, that it did. At least, the presumption was strong upon that side. May I ask to whom your Grace's cheque was given?"
"You may ask, but I don't see why I should tell you. It was honoured, and that is sufficient."
"I don't think it is sufficient, and I don't think that your Grace will think so either, if you consider for a moment. If it had not been for the strong presumptive evidence of your Grace's cheque, we should not have been robbed of many thousand pounds."
The Duke of Datchet paced restlessly to and fro. Messrs. Ruby and Golden watched him. At last he moved towards his writing table. He sat down on the chair behind it. He stretched out his legs in front of him. He thrust his hands into his trousers pockets.
"I'll make a clean breast of it. You fellows can keep a still tongue in your heads--keep a still tongue about what I am going to tell you." His hearers bowed. They were coming to the point--at last. "Eh"--in spite of his announced intention of making a clean breast of it, his Grace rather stumbled in his speech. "Before I was married I--I had some acquaintance with--with a certain lady. When I married, that acquaintance ceased. On the last occasion on which I saw her she informed me that she was indebted to you in the sum of a thousand pounds for jewellery. I gave her a cheque to discharge her liability to you, and to make sure that she did discharge the liability, I made the cheque payable to you, which, I now perceive, was perhaps not the wisest thing I could have done. But, at the same time, I wish you clearly to comprehend that I have every reason to believe that the lady referred to is, to put it mildly, a most unlikely person to--to rob any one."
"We must request you to furnish us with that lady's name and address. And I would advise your Grace to accompany us in an immediate visit to that lady."
"That is your advice is it, Mr. Golden? I am not sure that I appreciate it quite so much as it may possibly deserve."
"Otherwise, as you will yourself perceive, we shall be compelled to put the matter at once in the hands of the police, and, your Grace, there will be a scandal."
The Duke of Datchet reflected. He looked at Mr. Golden, he looked at Mr. Ruby, he looked at the ceiling, he looked at the floor, he looked at his boots--then he looked back again at Mr. Golden. At last he rose. He shook himself a little--as if to shake his clothes into their proper places. He seemed to have threshed theprosandconsof the matter well out, mentally, and to have finally decided.
"As I do not want a scandal, I think I will take your excellent advice, Mr. Golden--which I now really do appreciate at its proper value--and accompany you upon that little visit. Shall we go at once?"
"At once--if your Grace pleases."
The Duke of Datchet's brougham, containing the Duke of Datchet himself upon one seat, and Messrs. Ruby and Golden cheek by jowl upon the other, drew up in front of a charming villa in the most charming part of charming St. John's Wood. The Duke's ring--for the Duke himself did ring, and there was no knocker--was answered by a most unimpeachable-looking man-servant in livery. The man-servant was not only unimpeachable-looking--which every servant ought to look--but good-looking, too, which, in a servant, is not regarded as quite so indispensable. He was, indeed, so good-looking as to be quite a "beauty man." So young, too! A mere youth!
When this man-servant opened the door, and saw to whom he had opened it, he started. And not only did he start, but Messrs. Ruby and Golden started too, particularly Mr. Golden. The Duke of Datchet, if he observed this little by-play, did not condescend to notice it.
"Is Mrs. Mansfield in?"
"I believe so. I will enquire. What name?"
"Never mind the name, and I will make my own enquiries. You needn't announce me, I know the way."
The Duke of Datchet seemed to know the way very well indeed. He led the way up the staircase; Messrs. Ruby and Golden followed. The man-servant remained at the foot of the stairs, as if doubtful whether or not he ought to follow. When they had reached the landing, and the man-servant, still remaining below, was out of sight, Mr. Golden turned to Mr. Ruby.
"Where on earth have I seen that man before?"
"I was just addressing to myself the same enquiry," said Mr. Ruby.
The Duke paused. He turned to the partners.
"What's that? The servant? Have you seen the man before? The plot is thickening. I am afraid 'the Duchess' is getting warm."
Apparently the Duke knew his way so well that he did not think it necessary to announce himself at the door of the room to which he led the partners. He simply turned the handle and went in, Messrs. Ruby and Golden close upon his heels. The room which he had entered was a pretty room, and contained a pretty occupant. A lady, young and fair, rose from a couch which was at the opposite side of the apartment, and, as was most justifiable under the circumstances, stared: "Hereward!"
"Mrs. Mansfield!"
"Whatever brings you here?"
"My dear Mrs. Mansfield, I have come to ask you what you think of Mr. Kesteeven's necklace."
"Hereward, what do you mean?"
The Duke's manner changed from jest to earnest.
"Rather, Gertrude, what do you mean? What have I done that deserved such a return from you? What have I done to you that you should have endeavoured to drag my wife's name in the mire?"
The lady stared. "I have no more idea what you are talking about than the man in the moon!"
"You dare to tell me so, in the presence of these men?"
"In the presence of what men?"
"In the presence of your victims--of Mr. Ruby and of Mr. Golden?"
Mr. Golden advanced a step or two.
"Excuse me, your Grace--this is not the lady."
"Eh?"
"This is not the lady."
"Not what lady?"
"This is not the lady who called herself the Duchess of Datchet."
"What the dickens do you mean? Really, Mr. Ruby and Mr. Golden, you seem to be leading me a pretty fine wild goose chase--a pretty fine wild goose chase! I know it will end in kicking--someone. You told me that the person to whom I had given that cheque was the person who had bestowed on you her patronage. This is the person to whom I gave that cheque."
"This is not the person who gave that cheque to us."
"Then--then who the devil did?"
"That, your Grace, is the point--will this lady allow me to ask her one or two questions?"
"Fire away--ask fifty!"
The lady thus referred to interposed, "This gentleman may ask fifty or five hundred questions, but unless you tell me what all this is about I very much doubt if I shall answer one."
"Let me manage it, Mr. Golden. Mrs. Mansfield, may I enquire what you did with that cheque for a thousand which I gave you? You jade! To tell me that Ruby and Golden were dunning you out of your life, when you never owed them a stiver! Tell me what you did with that cheque!"
The Duke seemed at last to have said something which had reached the lady's understanding. She changed colour. She pressed her lips together. She looked at him with defiance in her eyes. A considerable pause ensued before she spoke.
"I don't know why I should tell you. What does it matter to you what I did with it--you gave it me."
"It does matter to me. As it happens, it matters also to you. If you will take my friendly advice, you will tell me what you did with that cheque."
The look of defiance about the lady's lips and in her eyes increased.
"I don't mind telling you. Why should I? It was my own. I gave it to Alfred."
The Duke emitted an ejaculation--which smacked of profanity.
"To Alfred? And, pray, who may Alfred be?"
The lady's crest rose higher. "Alfred is--is the man to whom I am engaged to be married."
The Duke of Datchet whistled. "And you got a cheque out of me for a thousand pounds to make a present of it to your intended? That beats everything; and pray to whom did Alfred give it?"
"He gave it to no one. He paid it into the bank. He told me so himself."
"Then I'm afraid that Alfred lied. Where is Alfred?"
"He's--he's here."
"Here? In this room? Where? Under the couch, or behind the screen?"
"I mean that he's in this house. He's downstairs."
"I won't ask how long he's been downstairs, but would it be too much to ask you to request Alfred to walk upstairs."
The lady burst into a sudden tempest of tears.
"I know you'll only laugh at me--I know you well enough to expect you to do that--but--I--I know I've not been a good woman, and--and I do love him--although--he's only--a--servant!"
"A servant! Gertrude! Was that the man who opened the door?"
Mr. Golden gave vent to an exclamation which positively amounted to a shout. "By Jove!--I've got it!--I knew I'd seen the face before--I couldn't make out where--it was the man who opened the door. Your Grace, might I ask you to have that man who opened the door to us at once brought here?"
"Ring the bell, Mr. Golden."
The lady interposed. "You shan't--I won't have it! What do you want with him?"
"We wish to ask him one or two questions. If Alfred is an honest man it will be better for him that he should have an opportunity of answering them. If he is not an honest man, it will be better for you that you should know it."
Apparently this reasoning prevailed. Mr. Golden rang the bell; but his ring was not by any means immediately attended to. He rang a second and a third time, but still no answer came.
"It strikes me," suggested the Duke, "that we had better start on a voyage of discovery, and search for Alfred in the regions down below."
Before the Duke's suggestion could be acted on the door was opened--not by Alfred; not by a man at all, but by a maid.
"Send Alfred here."
"I can't find him anywhere. I think he must have gone."
"Gone!" gasped Mrs. Mansfield. "Where?"
"I don't know, ma'am. I've been up to his room to look for him, and it is all anyhow, and there's no one there. If you please, ma'am, I found this on the mat outside the door."
The maid held out an envelope. The Duke of Datchet took it from her hand. He glanced at its superscription.
"'Messrs. Ruby and Golden.' Gentlemen, this is for you."
He transferred it to Mr. Golden. It was a long blue envelope. The maid had picked it up from the mat which was outside the door of that very room in which they were standing. Mr. Golden opened it. It contained an oblong card of considerable size, on which were printed three photographs, in a sort of series. The first photograph was that of a young man--a beautiful young man--unmistakably "Alfred." The second was that of "Alfred" with his hair arranged in a fashion which was peculiarly feminine. The third was that of "Alfred" with a bonnet and a veil on, and a very nice-looking young woman he made. At the bottom of the card was written, in a fine, delicate, lady's hand-writing, "With the Duchess of Datchet's compliments."
"I knew," gasped Mrs. Mansfield, in the midst of her sorrow, "that he was very good at dressing up as a woman, but I never thought he would do this!"
The Duke of Datchet paid for the diamonds.
"Well, that's the most staggering thing I've ever known!"
As Mr. Philpotts entered the smoking-room, these were the words--with additions--which fell upon his, not unnaturally, startled ears. Since Mr. Bloxham was the only person in the room, it seemed only too probable that the extraordinary language had been uttered by him--and, indeed, his demeanour went far to confirm the probability. He was standing in front of his chair, staring about him in a manner which suggested considerable mental perturbation, apparently unconscious of the fact that his cigar had dropped either from his lips or his fingers and was smoking merrily away on the brand-new carpet which the committee had just laid down. He turned to Mr. Philpotts in a state of what seemed really curious agitation.
"I say, Philpotts, did you see him?"
Mr. Philpotts looked at him in silence for a moment, before he drily said, "I heard you."
But Mr. Bloxham was in no mood to be put off in this manner. He seemed, for some cause, to have lost the air of serene indifference for which he was famed--he was in a state of excitement, which, for him, was quite phenomenal.
"No nonsense, Philpotts--did you see him?"
"See whom?" Mr. Philpotts was selecting a paper from a side table. "I see your cigar is burning a hole in the carpet."
"Confound my cigar!" Mr. Bloxham stamped on it with an angry tread. "Did Geoff Fleming pass you as you came in?"
Mr. Philpotts looked round with an air of evident surprise.
"Geoff Fleming!--Why, surely he's in Ceylon by now."
"Not a bit of it. A minute ago he was in that chair talking to me."
"Bloxham!" Mr. Philpotts' air of surprise became distinctly more pronounced, a fact which Mr. Bloxham apparently resented.
"What are you looking at me like that for pray? I tell you I was glancing through theField, when I felt someone touch me on the shoulder. I looked round--there was Fleming standing just behind me. 'Geoff.' I cried, 'I thought you were on the other side of the world--what are you doing here?' 'I've come to have a peep at you,' he said. He drew a chair up close to mine--this chair--and sat in it. I turned round to reach for a match on the table, it scarcely took me a second, but when I looked his way again hanged if he weren't gone."
Mr. Philpotts continued his selection of a paper--in a manner which was rather marked.
"Which way did he go?"
"Didn't you meet him as you came in?"
"I did not--I met no one. What's the matter now?"
The question was inspired by the fact that a fresh volley of expletives came from Mr. Bloxham's lips. That gentleman was standing with his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, his legs wide open, and his eyes and mouth almost as wide open as his legs.
"Hang me," he exclaimed, when, as it appeared, he had temporarily come to the end of his stock of adjectives, "if I don't believe he's boned my purse."
"Boned your purse!" Mr. Philpotts laid a not altogether flattering emphasis upon the "boned!" "Bloxham! What do you mean?"
Mr. Bloxham did not immediately explain. He dropped into the chair behind him. His hands were still in his trouser pockets, his legs were stretched out in front of him, and on his face there was not only an expression of amazement, but also of the most unequivocal bewilderment. He was staring at the vacant air as if he were trying his hardest to read some riddle.
"This is a queer start, upon my word, Philpotts," he spoke in what, for him, were tones of unwonted earnestness. "When I was reaching for the matches on the table, what made me turn round so suddenly was because I thought I felt someone tugging at my purse--it was in the pocket next to Fleming. As I told you, when I did turn round Fleming was gone--and, by Jove, it looks as though my purse went with him."
"Have you lost your purse?--is that what you mean?"
"I'll swear that it was in my pocket five minutes ago, and that it's not there now; that's what I mean."
Mr. Philpotts looked at Mr. Bloxham as if, although he was too polite to say so, he could not make him out at all. He resumed his selection of a paper.
"One is liable to make mistakes about one's purse; perhaps you'll find it when you get home."
Mr. Bloxham sat in silence for some moments. Then, rising, he shook himself as a dog does when he quits the water.
"I say, Philpotts, don't ladle out this yarn of mine to the other fellows, there's a good chap. As you say, one is apt to get into a muddle about one's purse, and I dare say I shall come across it when I get home. And perhaps I'm not very well this afternoon; I am feeling out of sorts, and that's a fact. I think I'll just toddle home and take a seidlitz, or a pill, or something. Ta ta!"
When Mr. Philpotts was left alone he smiled to himself, that superior smile which we are apt to smile when conscious that a man has been making a conspicuous ass of himself on lines which may be his, but which, we thank Providence, are emphatically not ours. With not one, but half a dozen papers in his hand, he seated himself in the chair which Mr. Bloxham had recently relinquished. Retaining a single paper, he placed the rest on the small round table on his left--the table on which wore the matches for which Mr. Bloxham declared he had reached. Taking out his case, he selected a cigar almost with the same care which he had shewn in selecting his literature, smiling to himself all the time that superior smile. Lighting the cigar he had chosen with a match from the table, he settled himself at his ease to read.
Scarcely had he done so than he was conscious of a hand laid gently on his shoulder from behind.
"What! back again?"
"Hullo, Phil!"
He had taken it for granted, without troubling to look round, that Mr. Bloxham had returned, and that it was he who touched him on the shoulder. But the voice which replied to him, so far from being Mr. Bloxham's was one the mere sound of which caused him not only to lose his bearing of indifference but to spring from his seat with the agility almost of a jack-in-the-box. When he saw who it was had touched him on the shoulder, he stared.
"Fleming! Then Bloxham was right, after all. May I ask what brings you here?"
The man at whom he was looking was tall and well-built, in age about five and thirty. There were black cavities beneath his eyes; the man's whole face was redolent, to a trained perception, of something which was, at least, slightly unsavoury. He was dressed from head to foot in white duck--a somewhat singular costume for Pall Mall, even on a summer afternoon.
Before Mr. Philpotts' gaze, his own eyes sank. Murmuring something which was almost inaudible, he moved to the chair next to the one which Mr. Philpotts had been occupying, the chair of which Mr. Bloxham had spoken.
As he seated himself, Mr. Philpotts eyed him in a fashion which was certainly not too friendly.
"What did you mean by disappearing just now in that extraordinary manner, frightening Bloxham half out of his wits? Where did you get to?"
The new comer was stroking his heavy moustache with a hand which, for a man of his size and build, was unusually small and white. He spoke in a lazy, almost inaudible, drawl.
"I just popped outside."
"Just popped outside! I must have been coming in just when you went out. I saw nothing of you; you've put Bloxham into a pretty state of mind."
Re-seating himself, Mr. Philpotts turned to put the paper he was holding on to the little table. "I don't want to make myself a brute, but it strikes me that your presence here at all requires explanation. When several fellows club together to give another fellow a fresh start on the other side of the world----"
Mr. Philpotts stopped short. Having settled the paper on the table to his perfect satisfaction, he turned round again towards the man he was addressing--and as he did so he ceased to address him, and that for the sufficiently simple reason that he was not there to address--the man had gone! The chair at Mr. Philpotts' side was empty; without a sign or a sound its occupant had vanished, it would almost seem, into space.