THE 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 a
position 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 the kitchen 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 Sunday
afternoon 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 wine filled 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
in for 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. Some years
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.