There are many solicitors in London who make larger incomes than Mr.
Dane-Latimer, though he does very well and pays a considerable sum every
year by way of super-tax. There are certainly solicitors with firmly
established family practices, whose position is more secure than Mr.
Dane-Latimer’s. And there are some whose reputation stands higher in
legal circles. But there is probably no solicitor whose name is better
known all over the British Isles than Mr. Dane-Latimer’s. He has been
fortunate enough to become a kind of specialist in “Society” cases.
No divorce suit can be regarded as really fashionable unless Mr.
Dane-Latimer is acting in it for plaintiff, defendant, or co-respondent.
A politician who has been libelled goes to Mr. Dane-Latimer for advice.
An actress with a hopeful breach of promise case takes the incriminating
letters to Mr. Dane-Latimer. He knows the facts of nearly every exciting
scandal. He can fill in the gaps which the newspapers necessarily leave
even in stories which spread themselves over columns of print. What is
still better, he can tell stories which never get into the papers at
all, the stories of cases so thrilling that the people concerned settle
them out of court.
It will easily be understood that Mr. Dane-Latimer is an interesting man
to meet and that a good many people welcome the chance of a talk with
him.
Gorman, who has a cultivated taste for gossip, was greatly pleased when
Dane-Latimer sat down beside him one day in the smoking-room of his
club. It was two o’clock, an hour at which the smoking-room is full of
men who have lunched. Gorman knew that Dane-Latimer would not talk in an
interesting way before a large audience, but he hoped to be able to keep
him until most of the other men had left. He beckoned to the waitress
and ordered two coffees and two liqueur brandies. Then he set himself to
be as agreeable as possible to Dane-Latimer.
“Haven’t seen you for a long time,” he said. “What have you been doing?
Had the flu?”
“Flu! No. Infernally busy, that’s all.”
“Really,” said Gorman. “I should have thought the present slump would
have meant rather a slack time for you. People--I mean the sort of
people whose affairs you manage--can’t be going it in quite the old way,
at all events not to the same extent.”
Dane-Latimer poured half his brandy into his coffee cup and smiled.
Gorman, who felt it necessary to keep the conversation going, wandered
on.
“But perhaps they are. After all, these war marriages must lead to a
good many divorces, though we don’t read about them as much as we used
to. But I dare say they go on just the same and you have plenty to do.”
Dane-Latimer grinned. He beckoned to the waitress and ordered two
more brandies. Gorman talked on. One after another the men in the
smoking-room got up and went away. At three o’clock there was no one
left within earshot of Gorman and Dane-Latimer. A couple of Heads of
Government Departments and a Staff Officer still sat on at the far end
of the room, but they were busy with a conversation of their own about
a new kind of self-starter for motor cars. Dane-Latimer began to talk at
last.
“The fact is,” he said, “I shouldn’t have been here to-day--I certainly
shouldn’t be sitting smoking at this hour if I hadn’t wanted to talk to
you.”
Gorman chuckled pleasantly. He felt that something interesting was
coming.
“I’ve rather a queer case on hand,” said Dane-Latimer, “and some friends
of yours are mixed up in it, at least I think I’m right in saying
that that picturesque blackguard Konrad Karl of Megalia is a friend of
yours.”
“I hope he’s not the co-respondent,” said Gorman.
“No. No. It’s nothing of that sort. In fact, strictly speaking, he’s
not in it at all. No legal liability. The action threatened is against
Madame Ypsilante.”
“Don’t say shop lifting,” said Gorman. “I’ve always been afraid she’s
take to that sooner or later. Not that she’s a dishonest woman. Don’t
think that. It’s simply that she can’t understand, is constitutionally
incapable of seeing any reason why she shouldn’t have anything she
wants.”
“You may make your mind easy,” said Dane-Latimer. “It’s not
shop-lifting. In fact it isn’t anything that would be called really
disgraceful.”
“That surprises me. I should hardly have thought Madame could have
avoided--but go on.
“You know Scarsby?” said Dane-Latimer.
“I know a Mrs. Scarsby, a woman who advertises herself and her parties
and pushes hard to get into the smartest set. She’s invited me to one
of her shows next week. Very seldom does now, though I used to go there
pretty often. She has rather soared lately, higher circles than those I
move in.”
“That’s the wife of the man I mean.”
“Never knew she had a husband,” said Gorman. “She keeps him very dark.
But that sort of woman often keeps her husband in the background. I
suppose he exists simply to earn what she spends.”
“That’s it. He’s a dentist. I rather wonder you haven’t heard of him.
He’s quite at the top of the tree; the sort of dentist who charges two
guineas for looking at your front tooth and an extra guinea if he tells
you there’s a hole in it.”
“I expect he needs it all,” said Gorman, “to keep Mrs. Searsby going.
But what the devil has he got to do with Madame Ypsilante. I can’t
imagine her compromising herself with a man whose own wife is ashamed to
produce him.”
Dane-Latimer smiled. “I told you it was nothing of that sort,” he said.
“In fact it’s quite the opposite. Madame went to him as a patient in
the ordinary way, and he started to put a gold filling into one of her
teeth. She was infernally nervous and made him swear beforehand that he
wouldn’t hurt her. She brought Konrad Karl with her and he held one of
her hands. There was a sort of nurse, a woman whom Scarsby always has on
the premises, who held her other hand. I mention this to show you that
there were plenty of witnesses present, and it won’t be any use denying
the facts. Well, Scarsby went to work in the usual way with one of those
infernal drill things which they work with their feet. He had her right
back in the chair and was standing more or less in front of her. He says
he’s perfectly certain he didn’t hurt her in the least, but I think he
must have got down to a nerve or something without knowing it. Anyhow
Madame--she couldn’t use her hands you know--gave a sort of twist, got
her foot against his chest and kicked him clean across the room.”
“I’d give five pounds to have been there,” said Gorman.
“It must have been a funny sight. Scarsby clutched at everything as he
passed. He brought down the drilling machine and a table covered with
instruments in his fall. He strained his wrist and now he wants to take
an action for a thousand pounds damages against Madame.”
“Silly ass,” said Gorman. “He might just as well take an action against
me for a million. Madame hasn’t got a thousand pence in the world.”
“So I thought,” said Dane-Latimer, “and so I told him. As a matter of
fact I happen to know that Madame is pretty heavily in debt.”
“Besides,” said Gorman. “He richly deserved what he got. Any man who is
fool enough to go monkeying about with Madame Ypsilante’s teeth--you’ve
seen her, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes. Several times.”
“Well then you can guess the sort of woman she is. And anyone who had
ever looked at her eyes would know. I’d just as soon twist a tiger’s
tail as try to drill a hole in one of Madame Ypsilante’s teeth. Scarsby
must have known there’d be trouble.”
“I’m afraid the judge won’t take that view,” said Dane-Latimer, smiling.
“He ought to call it justifiable self-defence. He will too if he’s ever
had one of those drills in his own mouth.”
“As a lawyer,” said Dane-Latimer, “I’d like to see this action fought
out. I don’t remember a case quite like it, and it would be exceedingly
interesting to see what view the Court would take. But of course I’m
bound to work for my client’s interest, and I’m advising Scarsby to
settle it if he can. He’s in a vile temper and there’s no doubt he
really is losing money through not being able to work with his strained
wrist. Still, if Madame, or the king on her behalf, would make any sort
of offer--She may not have any money, Gorman, but everybody knows she
has jewellery.”
“Do you really think,” said Gorman, “that Madame will sell her pearls
to satisfy the claims of a dentist who, so far as I can make out, didn’t
even finish stopping her tooth for her?”
“The law might make her.”
“The law couldn’t,” said Gorman. “You know perfectly well that if the
law tried she’d simply say that her jewellery belonged to King Konrad
and you’ve no kind of claim on him.”
“That’s so,” said Dane-Latimer. “All the same it won’t be very nice if
the case comes into court. Madame had far better settle it. Just think
of the newspapers. They’ll crack silly jokes about it for weeks and
there’ll be pictures of Madame in most undignified attitudes. She won’t
like it.”
“I see that,” said Gorman. “And of course Konrad Karl will be dragged in
and made to look like a fool.”
“Kings of all people,” said Dane-Latimer, “can’t afford to be laughed
at. It doesn’t do a king any real harm if he’s hated, but if once he
becomes comic he’s done.”
Gorman thought the matter over for a minute or two.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said at last. “You hold the dentist in play for
a day or two and I’ll see what I can do. There’ll be no money. I warn
you fairly of that. You won’t even get the amount of your own bill
unless Scarsby pays it; but I may be able to fix things up.”
It was not very easy for Gorman to deal with Madame Ypsilante. Her
point was that Scarsby had deliberately inflicted frightful pain on
her, breaking his plighted word and taking advantage of her helpless
position.
“He is a devil, that man,” she said. “Never, never in life has there
been any such devil. I did right to kick him. It would be more right to
kick his mouth. But I am not a dancer. I cannot kick so high.”
“Corinne,” said the king. “You have suffered. He has suffered. It is,
as the English say in the game of golf ‘lie as you like.’ Let us forgive
and regret.”
“I do not regret,” said Madame, “except that I did not kick with both
feet. I do not regret, and I will not forgive.”
“The trouble is,” said Gorman, “that the dentist won’t forgive either.
He’s talking of a thousand pounds damage.”
Madame’s face softened.
“If he will pay a thousand pounds--” she said. “It is not much. It is
not enough. Still, if he pays at once----”
“You’ve got it wrong,” said Gorman. “He thinks you ought to pay. He’s
going to law about it.”
“Law!” said Madame. “Pouf! What is your law? I spit at it. It is to
laugh at, the law.”
The king took a different view. He knew by painful experience something
about law, chiefly that part of the law which deals with the relations
of creditor and debtor. He was seriously alarmed at what Gorman said.
“Alas, Corinne,” he said, “in Megalia, yes. But in England, no. The
English law is to me a black beast. With the law I am always the
escaping goat who does not escape. Gorman, I love your England. But
there is, as you say, a shift in the flute. In England there is too much
law. Do not, do not let the dentist go to law. Rather would I----”
“I will not pay,” said Madame.
“Corinne,” said the king reproachfully, “would I ask it? No. But if the
dentist seeks revenge I will submit. He may kick me.”
“That’s rot of course,” said Gorman. “It wouldn’t be the slightest
satisfaction to Scarsby to kick you. What I was going to suggest----”
“Good!” said the king. “Right-O! O.K.! Put it there. You suggest.
Always, Gorman, you suggest, and when you suggest, it is all over except
to shout.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Gorman. “My plan may not work, and
anyway you won’t like it. It’s not an agreeable plan at all. The only
thing to be said for it is that it’s better than paying or having any
more kicking. You’ll have to put yourself in my hands absolutely.”
“Gorman, my friend,” said the king, “I go in your hands. In both hands
or in one hand. Rather than be plaintiff-defendant I say, ‘Gorman, I will
go in your pocket.’”
“In your hands,” said Madame, “or in your arms. Sir Gorman, I trust you.
I give you my Konrad into your hands. I fling myself into your arms if
you wish it.”
“I don’t wish it in the least,” said Gorman. “In fact it will complicate
things horribly if you do.”
Three days later Gorman called on Dane-Latimer at his office.
“I think,” he said, “that I’ve got that little trouble between Madame
Ypsilante and the dentist settled up all right.”
“Are you sure?” said Dane-Latimer. “Scarsby is still in a furious
temper. At least he was the day before yesterday. I haven’t seen him
since then.”
“You won’t see him again,” said Gorman. “He has completely climbed
down.”
“How the deuce did you manage it?”
Gorman drew a heavy square envelope from his breast pocket and handed it
to Dane-Latimer.
“That’s for you,” he said, “and if you really want to understand how the
case was settled you’d better accept the invitation and come with me.”
Dane-Latimore opened the envelope and drew out a large white card with
gilt edges and nicely rounded corners.
“10 Beaulieu Gardens, S.W.” he read. “Mrs. J. de Montford Scarsby. At
Home, Thursday, June 24, 9 to 11. To have the honour of meeting His
Majesty the King of Megalia. R.S.V.P.”
“The king,” said Gorman, “is going in his uniform as Field Marshal of
the Megalian Army. It took me half an hour to persuade him to do that,
and I don’t wonder. It’s a most striking costume--light blue silk
blouse, black velvet gold-embroidered waistcoat, white corded breeches,
immense patent leather boots, a gold chain as thick as a cable of a
small yacht with a dagger at the end of it, and a bright red fur cap
with a sham diamond star in front. The poor man will look an awful
ass, and feel it. I wouldn’t have let him in for the uniform if I could
possibly have helped it, but that brute Scarsby was as vindictive as a
red Indian and as obstinate as a swine. His wife could do nothing with
him at first. She came to me with tears and said she’d have to give up
the idea of entertaining the king at her party if his coming depended on
Scarsby’s withdrawing his action against Madame Ypsilante. I told her to
have another try and promised her he’d come in uniform if she succeeded.
That induced her to tackle her husband again. I don’t know how she
managed it, but she did. Scarsby has climbed down and doesn’t even ask
for an apology. I advise you to come to the party.”
“Will Madame Ypsilante be there?”
“I hope not,” said Gorman. “I shall persuade her to stay at home if I
can. I don’t know whether Scarsby will show up or not; but it’s better
to take no risks. She might kick him again.”
“What I was wondering,” said Dane-Latimer, “was whether she’d kick me.
She might feel that she ought to get a bit of her own back out of the
plaintiff’s solicitor. I’m not a tall man. She could probably reach my
face, and I don’t want to have Scarsby mending up my teeth afterwards.”
“My impression is,” said Gorman, “that Mrs. Scarsby would allow anyone
to kick her husband up and down Piccadilly if she thought she’d be able
to entertain royalty afterwards. I don’t think she ever got higher than
a Marquis before. By the way, poor Konrad Karl is to have a throne at
the end of her drawing-room, and I’m to present her. You really ought to
come, Dane-Latimer.”