THE QUEST OF THE MARBLE STATUETTE
Gilead, the most disinterested of utilitarians, had no sympathy with
that order of State socialism which would deprive all personal effort
of its motive and initiative by illegalising private Capital. On the
contrary, he perceived in individual wealth the driving-wheels to an
immense multitude of lesser parts, which, without that stimulus, would
move sluggishly or not at all. Theoretic equality was no doubt a
beautiful vision, only, as long as man should go lacking the eight
beatitudes, he did not believe it a practical one. Disorder was the
order of the human race, and that being so, no monotonous perfection,
once attained, would long be suffered in peace. It was the way of the
world, which builds on change and destruction, and will always of
choice prefer the excitement of a picturesque and dangerous situation
to the security of a tame one.
Now, while exhibiting in himself as complete a justification of
capital as the world could afford, Gilead had by no means any qualms
about spending his money exactly as he pleased. He was a young man of
cultivated and artistic tastes, and these tastes he did not hesitate
to indulge liberally. He had taken a set of rooms in the Albany, and
was much interested in their equipment. On a certain occasion he spent
three whole days hunting Japanese colour prints with an art expert,
whom he much employed, without once going near the Agency. But on the
fourth he recovered the thread of his duties.
Herbert Nestle, having as usual placed a copy of the _Daily Post_
before his principal, stood by to await his comments. One soon
followed, à propos the following advertisement, which Gilead read out
aloud:--
“_Young lady urgently in need of financial assistance to avert ruin.
Every enquiry courted. No securities, but will repay honourably by
installments. Address_ 023597 _Daily Post_.”
“I think,” said Gilead, “I shall make this my personal affair.”
He looked across at Miss Halifax, who, conscious of the implied
challenge, answered evenly, but with a slight flush on her beautiful
cheek:--
“Losses at bridge, probably, or motor fever. Granting that, it sounds
plausible, Mr Balm.”
She was by this time an experienced and perspicacious Gileadite.
“Why, I think so too,” said her employer.
“The little bait,” she ventured, “is the only questionable part.”
“Bait? What bait?”
“She might have omitted the _young_, you see,” said the amanuensis.
“People may construe it into an invitation to a personal interview.”
“Well, what harm, then?”
Miss Halifax turned one instant to him and, looking down again without
speaking, resumed her work. He sat with his eyes fixed on her. Her
sympathy and sweet reasonableness were generally so dependable that
this sudden confession of the feminine sting in her a little surprised
him. He did not like to think of it as wilful. His admiration for her
was very great, and sometimes disturbing to himself. She had taken
latterly to a black dress, as most becoming her official position, and
the contrast it made with her creamy neck, and flower-like face, and
lovely hair was sometimes dazzling. He found it often difficult to
dissociate the beauty of her soul and body, or to estimate from which
she drew her greater attractiveness.
He went out almost immediately, and without another word, and the
moment he was well away the young lady turned on the secretary.
“Why did you let him see that advertisement at all?”
“It is its third appearance in three days,” answered Nestle, “and I
judged it no good to keep from him what he had probably already
noticed. What is it you fear?”
He took a calendar containing a scrap of mirror from the mantelpiece,
and put it down before her face. She pushed his hand away, with a
peevish shrug of her shoulders, and he laughed and went off about his
business.
In the meanwhile Gilead had taken his way to the business offices of
the _Daily Post_, where he made an enquiry at the desk appropriated to
the reference number advertisements. “I desire,” said he, “to be put
into communication with this,” and he signified to the clerk the
appeal already quoted.
[image: images/img_082.jpg
caption: “‘I DESIRE TO BE PUT INTO COMMUNICATION WITH THIS.’”]
The man accepted it with a profound deference. Gilead was well known
at the bureau, and the privileges accorded to incalculable wealth,
with a known tendency to giving, were always his without the asking.
The editor himself would have rejoiced, if personally approached, to
put his entire resources at his disposal; but the young plutocrat,
with a very proper pride of fitness, would allow no claims of his own
to ride at any time superior to the ordinary claims of courtesy or
good-breeding.
Somewhat to his surprise, the clerk, having rapidly scanned the item,
leaned forward to invite his ear to the opening in the brass wire
netting which divided him from the public.
“There’s the advertiser herself, Mr Balm,” he whispered, “standing by
the swing door.”
He signified the entrance into the street. This atrium to the great
establishment was extensive, and glossy with mahogany and brass.
Counters ran down either side of it, and its doors were as imposing as
a bank’s. By one of these stood a slight young woman, awaiting
apparently the termination of a sudden shower which was deluging the
streets. She made a quite insignificant figure among the many that
thronged the hall.
“One word,” said Gilead. “She has been to enquire about answers, I
suppose? Were there any?”
“Not one, Mr Balm.”
Gilead nodded, and turned away. A slight smile was on his lips. ‘The
bait,’ he was thinking, ‘does not appear to have been a very killing
one.’
At that moment the young lady moved, pushed at the swing-doors, and
disappeared into the open. Gilead, following, started in pursuit, and
very quickly overtook her.
She went before him down Fleet Street, into the Strand, and, at
Wellington Street, turned to cross the bridge. She walked fast, and he
had enough to do to keep pace with her. It was still raining, and it
struck him as curious that, although she was quite daintily attired,
she never seemed to think of opening the umbrella she carried in her
hand. The fact gave him a qualm, and in some way prepared him for the
scene to follow. About the middle of the bridge he was delayed by a
momentary pressure in the foot traffic, and, darting round and beyond
the obstruction, suddenly saw his quarry in the grasp of a policeman.
The next instant he formed one of the group, sympathetic and
protective.
“She was going over, Constable?” he whispered. “Is that so?”
The man recognized him at once. He was known to half the force.
“I see it in her eye, Mr Balm,” he said. “She’d have gone the next
moment.”
He held the girl by the elbow, and Gilead saw her face for the first
time. It was youth stricken into instant age, white, stunned,
breathless. She made no effort to speak or escape--indeed she could
not. The strung nerves had snapped at a touch, and she was paralyzed.
“I’ll make myself responsible for her,” said Gilead. “Quick, we
mustn’t let a crowd gather.”
The constable, prompt man, bent down to the half blind, half deaf
young face.
“You’re took bad, Missy,” he said; “you aren’t yourself. Now you just
go with this gentleman, who’ll do you more good than all the doctors
in the world.”
He held her, spoke to her, shouldered away an over-officious bystander
or so, and stopped an empty four-wheeler, all with that
comprehensiveness of resource which characterizes the London
policeman. In another minute Gilead was rolling away, in charge of his
poor little capture.
He did not address her for some time, not until, cowered into her
corner, she suddenly gave a moan, and put her hands before her face.
And then he spoke, in the voice that was like his name:--
“You mustn’t be frightened; you mustn’t mistrust me. I had come to
answer your advertisement, to offer you help, when you were pointed
out to me and I followed you. Now the help is very near--as near as
the end of your trouble, I am sure.”
She appeared to listen; but no power was yet hers to answer.
“I know,” said Gilead, “I know. Some misery; someone’s wickedness--we
have many such cases, and I know. I am going to take you where you
will find rest, and sympathy, and strong wills to back you. You must
just believe me, and not speak a word.”
He had his intention formed, and drove straight to the luxurious
little flat, situated in the neighbourhood of Victoria Street, which
his princely liberality had enabled Miss Halifax to take and furnish.
He desired to retort upon that young lady with the fruits of her own
scepticism, and to make her good-humouredly answer for it by
succumbing to the bait which she had erstwhile depreciated. Arrived
there, he delivered his charge, now partly recovered, but dazed and
inclined to tears, to the lift-porter, with orders that he was to
convey her to Miss Halifax’s rooms, and there keep her under
unobtrusive observation until his return; having done which, he
returned to his office, and confided the whole business to his fair
amanuensis.
“Now,” said he, “I know nothing personally about the attractiveness of
the bait; but I am very sure that no appeal is necessary to you to
swallow it with a perfect grace. I have asked no questions, and
penetrated no secrets. Why should I, when, in the loving sympathy and
understanding of one of her own sex, she could seek the confidence
which it would have been only an unjustified impertinence in me to
offer.”
She looked at him, with her eyes shining.
“I think, Mr Balm,” she said softly, “that the Quest of the Holy Grail
is still inspiring some Knightly spirits in the world”--a cryptic
utterance which he could not quite interpret.
They lost no time in returning to the flat. She addressed her lovely
face to him on the threshold.
“I believe,” she said, smiling, “that you have never once yet
condescended to visit the beautiful home which I owe to your
kindness.”
“I merely found the setting for a thing of value,” he said, with
perfect sincerity. “I can only say that it seemed to me, when I first
went over it, something less than an adequate acknowledgement of your
great services to the office.”
She sighed, a very little sigh, and they entered the lift together. He
never had a doubt of the solace he was bringing to the poor little
life above with its broken wings; and, indeed, the instant the child
saw Vera enter, she rose, and standing breathless a little, with her
face like a white wet flower, threw herself suddenly into the warm
generous arms, and abandoned herself and her cause to that lovely
refuge.
Gilead turned away, and, while he stood thus, he heard the first words
of understanding uttered, and of reassurance, and of mastering
control. Then a door shut, and he was alone in the room.
He was quite satisfied, and prepared to await developments as long as
necessary. The appointments of the room pleased him extremely. He had
hardly expected such taste, remembering the Norwood villa; but that,
he reflected, had not represented Miss Halifax’s independent views.
Here all was simple and harmonious, straight lines and flat tones,
with rich sombre gleams of brass and pottery for their sole emphasis.
The only photograph (blest deficiency) that was visible, stood on a
Sheraton bureau in a dusky corner by the window. Venturing to inspect
it, Gilead discovered to his concern that it was one of Herbert
Nestle.
He shrank away, as if he had unwittingly surprised a secret. An odd
pang shot through his breast. He turned and stood for a long while
staring at nothing out of the window. And then he came about, with a
grave smile, and a resolve in his heart.
“Why should I wonder,” he thought. “And still more, why should I
grudge it? It would be, after all, an ideal union of interests. And
there is no reason why it should separate us. On the contrary, it
might very well cement our partnership. I will certainly use my best
unobtrusive efforts to promote the match.”
When Miss Halifax returned to him, which she did only after a pretty
long interval, he received her with a manner of courteous distinction,
which, as eschewing all claim to familiarity, evidently surprised and
disturbed her. She looked about her for a reason; and, being
astonishingly quick-witted, instantly divined the right one. She bit
her lip, and went a trifle pale; but immediately controlled herself
and proceeded to the matter in hand.
“I have heard the whole story,” she said. “It has made my blood boil,
Mr Balm. The poor little thing! Heaven certainly sent her her
protecting angel to retort upon a villain.”
“No,” said Gilead, perfectly unconsciously, “the retort is my
business. Tell me as much of the story as is necessary to my taking
action in the matter.”
“There is nothing to conceal,” answered Miss Halifax, “save--” she
flushed a little--“one’s natural disgust in handling a reptile. His
victim--or his intended victim, thank goodness--has been candid to me
with the candour of a child. I have completely won her confidence and
trust. She is asleep now, quite worn out. I shall keep her with me, Mr
Balm, until you have decided upon the course you will pursue with
her.”
Gilead bowed, with his eyes kindling.
“Of course,” he said; “I knew. If I ever found myself mistaken in you,
Miss Halifax, I think I should close the Agency, and abjure my whole
faith in human nature.”
She looked down, wreathing her fingers in her lap. For some moments
she seemed unable to proceed.
“The child,” she said at length, with a resolute effort at
self-command, “is no more than eighteen. Her name is Clarissa Snowe.
She is an orphan these two years, during which time she had kept,
until latterly, a little post of nursery-governess in a small family
at Clapham. Some two or three months ago, however, her health broke
down, and she had to cease work for a while. On her recovery she
failed, utterly failed, to secure a fresh situation. She is very
pretty, as no doubt you noticed?” (She paused; Gilead shook his head.
“I was thinking of her misery, poor soul,” he murmured)--“and
employers,” continued Miss Halifax, “especially of domestic labour, do
not favour attractiveness of that sort. Clarissa had her little
lodging in Battersea, and there she cherished a few heirlooms which
had descended to her from her father, who in his turn had inherited
them from his. With these, owing to her unhappy situation, and the
debts she had incurred during her illness, she was obliged to part one
by one--and, no doubt, at absurdly small figures--until there remained
to her of them all only a single marble statuette of a child with a
bird. She had kept this to the last, as her father, she knew, had
always referred to it as a thing of value. But now, urged by
desperation, she resolved to sell it. Somebody recommended to her
Globesteins, the great art dealers in Chalk Street, Piccadilly, and
thither she bore the statuette in a cab.”
Gilead nodded. “I have had some considerable dealings with Mr
Globestein,” he said. “He is one of the first experts in London.”
“And one of the greatest cheats and villains,” cried Miss Halifax
indignantly. “I hope, Mr Balm, you had someone to advise you?”
Gilead smiled.
“It is very possible you are right,” he said. “But, as there is no
morality in art, you can hardly expect it in its dealers. Did Miss
Snowe inform you of the name of the sculptor of this statuette?”
“Yes; it was Pigalle, or something of that sort.”
“Pigalle? Indeed. And Mr Globestein bought it of her--?”
“For ten pounds.”
Gilead winced--in his lips, and frowned and nodded.
“O!” cried Miss Halifax. “If it was, as I suppose, a wicked fraud,
that was only the beginning of his villainy. Mr Globestein--who is, it
seems, unmarried--after asking the poor thing a few penetrating
questions, suggested that she should become governess-companion to his
motherless children. She consented, of course, happy beyond measure
over her good fortune, and removed her small belongings to his private
house. There were no children there; and she was put off from day to
day with plausible accounts of their present absence and soon return.
The rest I may hurry over. Once secured in his home, this man
persuaded her to take occasionally a hand at cards with himself and
some of his friends. She lost, of course; he advanced her money; at
length things reached the point at which he had been aiming, and he
had her completely in his power. It was ruin for her either way; he
threatened--”
Gilead put up a gentle hand.
“Spare yourself the pain. She was good, she was desperate--I
understand--and as a final resource she decided to implore the help of
strangers through the public press. The barrenness of the result, the
inhuman silence, drove her in the end to her last chance of escape
through self-destruction. I hold the child a heroine. Great God, the
stony indifference of the world to her appeal!--no wonder it killed
her heart. This man is a particular scoundrel. He shall bleed, Miss
Halifax, he shall bleed, I promise you.”
She did not know, actually, if he implied a moral or a physical
blood-letting, and she did not care. He was to her like a God whose
decrees were never to be questioned. If he had killed, and said “This
is just,” she would have believed him. She rose, as he did, and looked
at him with her bosom heaving; and, without another word spoken by
either, he left her.
A few minutes later he telephoned from his private office for his art
adviser to come and see him at once.
“Dexter,” he said, when that gentleman was closeted with him, “what is
the market value of a statuette by Pigalle?”
“Marble, Mr Balm?”
“Yes.”
“If indisputable, and his best work, anything from one to two thousand
guineas and upwards. An example, not so long ago, fetched three
thousand guineas at public auction.”
“Globestein has lately secured one for ten pounds. I want you to bear
that in mind.”
“I will not forget it, Mr Balm. It is quite likely. The man is a
clever rogue.”
“Very well. Now come with me to his place.”
They found Mr Globestein in. He came hurrying, all smiles, to greet
his most distinguished patron. His rooms were luxurious caves of
treasure-trove, to the gathering of which he had sacrificed whatever
conscience he had once possessed. He was a tall, black-moustached man,
neither ill-looking nor ostentatious in dress, but, if anything,
somewhat over glossy in appearance. He gave one the impression of
having rubbed shoulders with gentlefolks to the extent of acquiring
all their superficial polish, and nothing more. His nose was fleshy,
his lips were a little gross; there was a suggestion in his smile,
assured but a trifle sickly, of a challenge to justice to prove a case
against him.
“Mr Globestein,” said Gilead, “I have been told that you have a
statuette by Pigalle for sale. Is that so? Tell me plainly. I desire
no huckstering.”
He, the prince of courtesy, could be unmerciful to baseness. He
treated this famous expert with a haughty intolerance which should
have closed all dealings on the spot.
“It is perfectly true, Mr Balm,” said the dealer smoothly; “there is
no reason why I should deny it.”
“You know best, sir,” answered Gilead. “You will let us see it, if you
please.”
Mr Globestein conducted them into a further room, enriched like the
other, and led them to a pedestal, on which stood a little marble
figure of a girl, with a bird settled on her uplifted hand. They all
stood silent by it for a while.
“Well, Dexter?” said Gilead presently.
“Unimpeachable,” answered the adviser; “and a first example.”
Mr Globestein laughed.
“You do me proud, Mr Dexter, sir,” he said, with a shadow of mockery
in his voice. “I was really afraid you were going to impugn my
judgment.”
The adviser came erect with a smile.
“Surely, Mr Globestein,” he said, “you should be the last to recommend
the buying of a pig in a poke.”
“Enough, sir,” said Gilead. “Tell me, if you please, what is the price
you ask for this?”
The dealer shrugged his shoulders slightly, and extended his hands.
“Pigalles,” he said, “are scarce and costly, Mr Balm. They rarely,
very rarely occur. I could not, in justice to myself, ask a penny less
than three thousand guineas.”
“It is too much.”
Mr Globestein sighed, shrugged again, and said nothing.
“It is too much, I say.”
“I will not deny, Mr Balm,” said the expert, “that your patronage and
good opinion are of the first importance to me. I will make a
concession to them, unprofitable enough to me, but I will trust to you
to make it up in other directions. You shall have the statuette for
three thousand guineas less the shillings, the exact price I gave for
it.”
“You will let me have the statuette for the exact price you gave for
it?”
“That is so, Mr Balm.”
“Dexter,” said Gilead; “you mark that?”
The adviser answered in the affirmative, wondering what was to come.
Gilead went to a desk, produced a cheque-book, wrote out a cheque, and
handed it to the dealer. Mr Globestein accepted the draft
obsequiously, glanced at the amount smilingly, started imperceptibly,
and paled obviously.
“This is a pleasantry, Mr Balm,” he said, in a jocular voice that
quaked somewhat. “Your cheque is for ten pounds only.”
[image: images/img_094.jpg
caption: “‘THIS IS A PLEASANTRY, MR BALM,’ HE SAID.”]
“The exact price, sir, you gave for the statuette.”
He rose, frowning, in the sternness of his anger, and the dealer, in
the very effort at a protest, cowered and shrunk silent before him.
“Perhaps, sir,” said Gilead, “it may have occurred to you by now that
the nature of the task I have set myself brings me acquainted with the
secrets of many underhand dealings. This morning was fortunate in
revealing to me the destined victim of a piece of quite unexampled
cupidity and baseness--your own. It need not concern you to know how,
but it may to learn that a certain young lady has found the friends
and protectors of whom she stood most sorely in need. You may refuse
to permit me to remove this statuette, which is most surely mine on
your own undertaking. In that case I shall take particular care to
acquaint the world of the nature of your dealings, with what effect to
yourself, coming from such a source, you may judge. If, on the other
hand, you are wise, you shall still possess the opportunity to
reacquire, by private treaty if you wish, and at the figure at which
you implied it was worth your while to obtain it, the object in
question. You shall have, Mr Globestein, the statuette back at the
price of three thousand guineas; or you can cancel all obligations by
accepting this cheque for ten pounds here and now. Which is it to be?”
Mr Globestein, speechless, and white to the lips, could only wave his
hand renunciatory towards the pedestal.
“Dexter,” said Gilead, “have this carried down, and oblige me by
calling a cab.”
He re-turned, with perfectly recovered serenity, upon the dealer.
“Mr Globestein,” he said, “you must permit me to congratulate you on
the acumen which still does not fail you in a deal. You need not fear
that I shall abandon you in your need of a prosperous customer. In
your line you are invaluable, and no one would dream of accusing you
of attempting to palm off upon inexperience a sham Pigalle. But in
morality you are no expert, and it would do you no harm to take a
lesson or so from much humbler individuals. Now, it may interest you
to know that I shall very probably--always granting you the first
refusal--retain this statuette for my own, while investing in the name
of its former possessor a sum equal to your highest valuation. For the
rest, it is quite likely that I shall be visiting you on business in
the course of a few days. What a pity it is that you do not interest
yourself in Japanese prints. I am investing quite a sum in Koriusais,
and Haronobus, and Yeishis and the rest. I wish you a very good
morning, Mr Globestein.”
“Good morning, Mr Balm, good morning, sir,” said the dealer--“and
thank you.”