CHAPTER XIVTHE SHADOW-MAN
The whole of Cornelius Jessel's cringing heart and slinking soul was put into the work which the Master had given him to do. He loved to peer and pry into other people's business, even when no hope of any immediate advantage to himself promised to reward his curiosity. But when such work produced solid, golden results, no one in the world could have devoted himself with more keenness to it than "Ma" Norton's "Shadder Man." And the Master was no niggard. When he paid his visit to Inspector Kenly's house in Melpomene Road, he had left behind him twenty pieces of gold. "If I am satisfied with you, I shall continue to pay you the same amount at the end of every four weeks," he had said; "but remember that I shall do so only on condition that you act strictly on my instructions."
Cornelius had protested a determination to devote himself absolutely to fulfilling his employer's commands, while his eyes glistened at the sight of the gold.
The Master did not trust entirely to the spy's avarice. "You had better obey," he sneered, "for if you do not you will probably find that one or two little incidents in your career, with which you have not hitherto been identified, will become known in quarters where you are not likely to be viewed with any special favour."
Cornelius Jessel had shivered at the tone his patron adopted, and had renewed his protestations.
"I warn you first," the Master had continued coldly, "so that you may be free to refuse or accept as you please. Once you accept, however, remember that you will have to reckon with me, and I never forget to repay the man who plays me false."
Jessel had accepted when he had learned that he was required to do nothing which could by any chance bring him into conflict with the law, that he was merely required to watch over and report upon the doings of a certain Guy Hora. One reservation the Master had been compelled to make, even though he realised that it might have the very opposite effect he desired. He warned Cornelius to make no inquiries concerning the young man's own family. "I know all about his father and sister," he remarked, giving his own address, "and, besides wasting your time, any interference in that direction might upset my plans. What I want you to do is to find out who are his friends and all about them, what houses he visits and for what purpose. You know the way to set about it by getting hold of the servants and so on."
Yes, Cornelius knew, and it tickled his vanity to think that the Master had realised his talents in that direction.
Then another thought had seemed to strike Hora. "The young man," he said, "has a manservant to look after him, who was dismissed from his last berth for drunkenness. He pretends to be retrieving his character. Well—if by any possibility he were to lose it again—I think I could manage to get you his berth. I need hardly point out that in such aposition you might be in a position to earn the salary I propose to pay you with great case to yourself."
Cornelius understood. He suspected from the Master's words that Guy was a well-feathered pigeon upon whom the eyes of a hawk were fixed. When the time came for plucking, he realised that one or two stray feathers might easily be blown in the servant's way. He said nothing of his thoughts in this direction, but, when the Master had left him, he was as keen to find out all he could concerning Guy as his patron could have wished. He would have started that same night only he had been forbidden to do so.
Accordingly, it was not until the next day that Guy became possessed of two shadows. He was not aware of the fact. He did not know that outside the door of his chambers in the Albany a shadow lurked to mingle with his own, and to follow him wherever he went. He did not know that it accompanied him to his tailor's, and peered through the window while he was fitted with the latest thing in waistcoats. He did not know that it rode behind his cab to the club, and waited there until he emerged, and then, picking its companion up, went hand in hand with it to the theatre, where it was lost in the shadows of the pit, while he sat in the stalls. He could not know, therefore, that this second shadow was utterly unlike his own, in that it possessed an avid curiosity to learn what he was doing within the doors which alone proved a barrier to it. He did not know that when it had followed him three days in one week to Captain Marven's town-house that the door no longer proved impassable to it. He could not have known that when he was in the drawing-room Cornelius Jessel was in thekitchen eagerly listening to details of the gossip of the servants' hall which had already decided that "that nice young gentleman, Mr. Guy Hora," seemed to have "attracted Miss Meriel's fancy for sure," and that both the "master and the mistress were just doing their level best to bring the match about."
Day by day Lynton Hora had received the report of his spy, and thus he had learned what he had to fear. He had early taken an opportunity for enlisting Myra's aid to recall the wanderer when the opportunity should offer. But, though he had learned something, he was by no means satisfied with the information.
He wanted a more intimate knowledge of the progress of events, and, meeting the shadow-man by appointment, he harped again upon the desirability of the shadow being within the very same roof as the person to which it was attached.
The shadow from that moment transferred itself from master to man. It followed him on his errands. It gained his acquaintance. It proved itself a merry, affable shadow, indeed, with a pleasant fund of genial anecdote, a carelessness about the tightness of its purse-strings, so that James Under, whose one thought for the fortnight he had already been in Guy's service had been to escape the pursuing, remorseless alcohol fiend, welcomed the acquaintance as an ally. In his off-hours, and they were many, the temptation to Under to turn in to the nearest saloon bar had been almost irresistible; until he met with Jessel. After the meeting Cornelius proved an innocuous alternative. He did not appear anxious to cement the acquaintance with a drink. Under was glad when he met his new friend. They spent a whole Sundayafternoon in the park together, and nothing stronger than tea passed their lips. They went to a music-hall in company, and ginger beer was the innocuous refreshment which Jessel proposed. He was far too astute to hasten his plans until the fitting time. That arrived soon enough for his purpose.
One evening, when Jessel had arranged to meet his friend for a visit to the theatre, Under met him with the information that Guy required him to return to his chambers about ten. The evening was wet.
"It's no use thinking of the theatre," remarked Jessel to his companion, sheltering him with his umbrella, as they walked down Piccadilly towards the Circus. "We shall have to postpone our visit until another evening. But"—he stopped suddenly—"I tell you what, Under. Why shouldn't we be swells for once in our lives? I'm in funds to-night, and I just fancy myself dining at one of the tip-top restaurants."
"I don't think——" began Under, and paused. "My togs," he added expressively.
"The guvnor's got more than one suit, hasn't he?" asked Cornelius. "You will have plenty of time to change on your return."
The valet was tickled with the idea. "It would be a bit of all right," he murmured gleefully. "I've often thought I'd like to be one of themselves just to know what it felt like to be waited on instead of having to wait."
"Come along, then," said Cornelius impulsively. He wheeled his companion round, and hurried him back to Guy's chambers. But outside the door Under paused. "What about you?" he asked.
Cornelius laughed.
"I intended to 'ave dinner by myself somewhere if you couldn't come to the theatre," he remarked, "an' I prepared accordin'."
Under had bestowed small attention on his companion's attire, but now he looked more closely at him. Jessel unbuttoned his overcoat, and the valet observed that he wore correct evening dress. His last scruples vanished.
"Come inside and wait. I shall be ready in a jiffy," he said.
Cornelius entered Guy's abode, and condescended to smoke one of Guy's cigarettes, while his companion rigged himself out in one of his master's evening suits. Under was not long in making the change. He strutted into the room with a most consequential air when he made his reappearance. One of Guy's silk hats was on his head, one of Guy's white waistcoats had been made to meet round his waist, displaying one of Guy's newest shirts. He carried one of Guy's light overcoats over his arm, and selecting one of Guy's cigarettes he lit it and professed himself to be "fit for anything."
The two sallied forth again. Reaching the street, Cornelius hailed a passing hansom cab, giving the driver the address of a fashionable restaurant close at hand.
"Why not walk?" exclaimed Under.
"Real toffs never walk," replied Jessel, and Under was dumb.
The next quarter of an hour passed as time passes in dreamland. The bowing commissionaire at the door, the unobtrusive waiters, the gaily lighted room, with nearly every table occupied with parties of diners,the flowers, the beautiful women, seemed unsubstantial. He had seen them all before, it is true, it was no unaccustomed sight, but the circumstances were so different. Now all this was prepared for him—for his own especial delectation.
He awoke suddenly. An ice-pail was wheeled beside the table, and the wine waiter, lifting a gold-foiled bottle from the glittering crystals, drew the cork. He could not refuse, though for one moment the ghost of a resolution flitted across his mental vision. "Only this once," he murmured to himself. For thirty years, ever since he had been fifteen years of age, he had served. He was not going to allow his one evening of enjoyment of being served to be spoiled by any resolutions made by the servitor. His eyes lingered on the champagne lovingly. The delicate froth melted and the rising bubbles as they burst set free the imprisoned breath of the vine. He raised the glass and sipped. Then he nodded his head sagely.
"There's no fault to be found with your taste in champagne," he remarked to Jessel.
"I thought that we might as well do the thing properly while we were about it," was the reply. In one of his permutations Cornelius had occupied the post of butler in a wine merchant's family, and he had learned something of the niceties of brands and vintages, though in this respect he could not claim to the connoisseurship of Under, whose thirty years in the best families had left him little to learn on the subject.
Under emptied his glass, the attentive waiter refilled it. He lounged back in his chair, and drew a long breath of delight. The winefilled him with a pleasant sense of exhilaration. He was quite wide awake now. He looked about him. Here and there at tables were the faces of people he knew; he could count three of his previous employers, and a dozen others to whose wants he had at one time or another ministered. He turned to Jessel and began to tell him items of scandal respecting the diners at the other tables. Course followed course. The first bottle of champagne was followed by a second. His tongue tripped a little by the time that was finished. He had entirely forgotten the passage of time, forgotten also that at ten o'clock his master was expecting him. They wound up the dinner with liqueurs, coffee, and cigars. The room had nearly emptied when Jessel paid the bill and they rose to leave. When they came into the street, Under turned to his host.
"The finesh time've ever had in m' life," he remarked. "Never had sush time, ole f'ler."
A clock struck ten. "Had somethin' to do, f'get wa' it was," he remarked.
"Come and have another drink, and perhaps you'll remember," said Jessel. He had drunk but sparingly himself.
"Itsh my turn this time," said Under.
He took Jessel's arm, for he found the pavement a little unsteady. The two dropped first into one café, then into a second. The time slipped away. Under grew more incoherent in speech as he poured more drinks down his throat. Jessel thought it time for him to go home. He recalled to Under's befogged intelligence the fact that his employer would be expecting him.
"Tha'sh all ri'," said the valet, "goo' sort, my guv'nor. Let him wait a bit."
Jessel had no intention that Guy should wait any longer. He piloted his charge into the street again. The pavement was rockier than ever. Under lurched and fell into a puddle. When he picked himself up, Guy's coat was covered with mud. Guy's hat was also crushed and muddy. Cornelius called a cab, and they drove together to the Albany. They had great difficulty in passing the porter at the gate, but Jessel persuaded him to allow them to enter. He piloted his charge to the door of Guy's chambers. There he propped him against the door, and, pressing the electric button, drifted away into the shadows. Unseen himself, he watched the development of his plot. He saw the door open, and Under sprawl forward into the entrance hall. He heard Guy's sharp exclamation of amazement. That was all. The door closed. He waited some minutes longer, half expecting that Under would be thrust out then and there, but as nothing of the sort happened he betook himself homeward.
"I think you have done for yourself, my good Under," he murmured. "I suppose I had better let the Master know, so that he will be prepared." He felt no compunction at the thought that he had perhaps ruined a fellow-creature. His chief feeling was one of gratification at the artistic manner in which he had carried out his plans, to which was added satisfaction that his patron would pay the expenses of his evening's amusement without a murmur.
Under had indeed "done for himself," as Cornelius had phrased the possible result. Guy had a horror of drunkenness. He had required Under's services that evening, for he was expecting friends to drop infor a smoke and a chat and possibly a game of bridge. Some of the friends had been there when Under had been precipitated into the entrance hall on the opening of the door. Guy had felt no pity for the backslider. He saw that it was useless to remonstrate then. Under was hopelessly incapable of speech, or even of holding himself erect. With the aid of one of his friends Guy had carried the man to his room and laid him on his bed. He recognised that the valet had garbed himself in his (Guy's) clothes. He made up his mind to the course he should pursue, and carried it out without hesitation.
When Under, pale-faced and shaky, appeared the next morning, Guy said nothing until breakfast was served and cleared away. Then he told the man to pack up his clothes and depart. He would not listen to the excuses Under had ready. He felt that he had done the man more than justice when he had paid him a month's wages over and above that due to him, and he breathed more freely when the man had departed.
An hour later there came a ring at his bell. He answered the door personally. Cornelius Jessel stood there.
"Mr. Guy Hora, sir?" he asked deferentially.
"What is it?" asked Guy.
Jessel handed him a note. Guy recognised Lynton Hora's handwriting and tore open the envelope. "Dear Guy," he read, "I don't know whether you could do anything amongst any of your friends for the bearer of this missive. He isn't a very prepossessing-looking person, but I know him to be a capable valet, and he is quite sober. Of course he is stupid, but all servants are that or they wouldn't be servants. Someyears ago he valeted me for a while, and, running up against him in the street the other day, he told me he was out of a berth, and I foolishly promised to see if I could find him one. If you can relieve me of the responsibility, do. When are you coming to see us again? It seems ages since you looked us up, and Myra is crying her eyes out in your absence. Yours, L. H."
That same evening, while Cornelius was sedately laying out Guy's evening clothes in readiness for his new employer's return to dress for dinner, Inspector Kenly was learning almost with dismay that his literary lodger had that day arrived home, packed his boxes in a hurry, paid a week's rent in lieu of notice, and departed without giving a hint as to the reason for his sudden departure, or whither he was bound.