My nerves are under pretty good control, but I must confess that I
jumped a little at this unexpected interruption. Wheeling round, I
found myself face to face with a tall, broad-shouldered man in
evening dress, which was half concealed by a long fawn-coloured
overcoat. For a moment his features seemed strangely familiar, and I
stared at him, wondering where I had seen them last. Then suddenly
the truth hit me fair and square.
"Good Lord!" I said, "are you a looking-glass?"
Except for his clothes, the man was the exact image of myself.
He smiled--a curious smile that ended with his lips, and had no
effect at all on the cold, steady blue eyes that were taking in every
detail of my appearance.
"A most remarkable likeness," he observed quietly. "I never thought
I was so good-looking."
I bowed. "And I never realised how well-dressed I was," I returned
in the same half-mocking tone.
It was his turn to start, though the motion was almost imperceptible.
"Even our voices!" he muttered. "Who was the fool who said that
miracles don't happen?"
I shook my head. "The likeness," I said, "appears to extend to our
ignorance."
There was a short silence, during which we still looked each other up
and down with the same frank interest. Then he put his hand in his
pocket and pulled out a slim, gold card-case.
"My name," he said, "is Stuart Northcote. You may have heard of it."
He held out a card.
I don't think I showed my surprise, though goodness knows I felt it.
Like most people in London, I had certainly heard of Stuart
Northcote. Indeed, I could hardly have avoided doing so, considering
that the Society papers had been full of little else but his doings
and his wealth ever since he appeared mysteriously from nowhere at
the beginning of the season, and rented Lord Lammersfield's house in
Park Lane.
However, I accepted his card without comment, as though a meeting
with a millionaire double were an everyday event in my own existence.
"My own name," I said, "is John Burton. I am afraid that a card-case
is outside my present scheme of things."
He bowed. "Well, Mr. Burton," he began deliberately, "since chance
has thrown us together in this fashion, it seems a pity not to
improve our acquaintance. If you are in no hurry, perhaps you would
give me the pleasure of your society at supper?"
I don't know what it was--something in his voice, perhaps--but,
anyhow, I had a curious instinct that he was extremely anxious I
should accept. I thought I would test him.
"It's very kind of you," I said, with a smile, "but, as a matter of
fact, I have just finished dinner."
He waved aside the objection. "Well, well, a bottle of wine, then.
After all, one doesn't meet one's double every day."
There was a four-wheeler trundling slowly up the Embankment, and
without waiting for any further reply from me, he raised his hand and
beckoned to the driver.
As the man drew up, a tattered figure that had been lounging on one
of the seats a little farther down shambled hastily forward as though
to open the door. My eyes happened to be on Northcote at the moment,
and I was amazed at the sudden change that came over him. He looked
like a man in the presence of some imminent danger. Like a flash,
his right hand travelled to his side pocket with a gesture that it
was impossible to misunderstand.
"Stand back," he said harshly.
The loafer, astonished at his tone, stopped abruptly in the circle of
white light cast by the electric lamp.
"Beg pardon, guv'nor," he whined; "on'y goin' to open the door for
yer, guv'nor."
Northcote's cold blue eyes scrutinised him keenly for a moment.
"That's all right, my man," he said, in a rather different voice.
"Here you are!"
He flung a silver coin--a half-crown it looked like--on to the
pavement, and with a gasp of amazement the man dived to pick it up.
As he did so, Northcote, still watching him, stepped forward to the
cab and flung open the door.
"You get in, Mr. Burton, will you?" he said; and then, as I climbed
into the cab, he turned to the driver. "The Milan," he said curtly,
and then, following me, slammed the door.
As we drove away, I saw the white face of the loafer, who had
apparently recovered his coin, staring after us out of the lamplight.
Northcote must have guessed that I had noticed his agitation, for he
laughed in a rather forced manner. "I dislike those fellows," he
said. "It's foolish, of course,--one ought to pity the poor
devils,--but somehow or other I can't stand their coming anywhere
near me."
His words were easy and natural enough, but they did not convince me
in the least. I have seen too many men in danger of their lives to
mistake the symptoms.
However, the matter being essentially his business and not mine, I
refrained from offering any comments. Indeed, I thought it more
tactful to change the conversation.
"I'm afraid I'm hardly dressed for the Milan," I said. "I don't know
whether it matters."
He shrugged his shoulders. "We will have a private room in any
case," he replied. "It is more comfortable."
He spoke as though the Milan were some sort of Soho pot-house!
I was just thinking what a pity it was I had wasted such an excellent
appetite on Parelli's when the cab turned the corner into the Strand.
Putting his head out of the window, Northcote gave some instructions
to the driver, which I was unable to catch. Their nature, however,
was obvious a moment later, for, turning to the right just before we
reached the flaring courtyard of the famous restaurant, the man drew
up at a small side entrance.
We got out, and Northcote, after paying the fare, led the way into
the hall, where a bland and very respectful head waiter came forward
to meet us.
"I want a private room, and a little light supper of some kind," said
Northcote.
"Certainly, sir, certainly," replied the other. "Will you come this
way, sir."
He guided us down a long, brilliantly lit corridor, stopping at the
end door on the left, which he opened.
We found ourselves in a small but luxuriously furnished room, with a
table already laid for supper, and delightfully decorated with
flowers.
"This room was engaged to-night by one of the Russian nobility,"
explained our conductor suavely. "The order has just been cancelled
by telephone, so, if it will suit you, sir--"
"It will do excellently," broke in Northcote.
Another waiter who had followed us into the apartment came forward,
prepared to take our coats and hats. Northcote stopped him with a
gesture.
"You can leave them here," he said. Then, turning to the head
waiter, he added curtly, "I shall be obliged if you will attend to us
yourself."
The man bowed, and, signalling to his assistant to withdraw,
presented the menu which the latter had brought in.
Northcote glanced at it, and then handed it across to me. "Is there
anything particular that you would like?" he asked carelessly. "I
fancy the resources of the Milan are fairly comprehensive."
I shrugged my shoulders. "I shall be more or less of a spectator in
any case," I said. "You had better settle the question."
Northcote looked at the card again, and then ordered a couple of
dishes, the names of which conveyed nothing to me. "And bring up a
bottle of '93 Heidsieck," he added, "and some of that old liqueur
brandy."
The man bowed, and after pulling out our chairs from the table,
noiselessly left the room. I could not help wondering whether the
extraordinary likeness between Northcote and myself had struck him;
but if it had, he had betrayed no sign of having noticed it.
"I always think a really good head waiter," I observed, "is the most
extraordinary work of art in the world."
"Yes," said Northcote, seating himself at the table, "and, in
consequence, the most contemptible."
"That seems rather ungrateful," I remarked.
Northcote looked at me keenly. "Can you imagine any man who was not
wholly contemptible deliberately moulding himself into a piece of
servile machinery in order to get an easy living? I have infinitely
more respect for a thief than a successful waiter."
I laughed. "I dare say you are right," I answered. "Anyway, I must
admit that I would sooner be a thief if I had to choose."
"What are you?" asked Northcote abruptly.
The question took me by surprise, and for a moment I hesitated.
"I am not asking out of mere curiosity," he said.
"I didn't think you were," I returned pleasantly. "That was why I
was doubtful about answering you."
He smiled, looking at me curiously, with the same disconcerting
intentness.
"Let us be frank, then," he said suddenly. "It happens that you have
the power to be of considerable service to me, Mr. Burton."
He paused.
"Indeed?" I said, lighting a cigarette.
"On the other hand," he went on, "there is certainly a chance that I
might be of some use to you."
I thought of the reported extent of his income, and then of my
beautiful Bolivian goldfield.
"It is quite possible," I admitted gravely.
He leaned forward with his hands on the table. I noticed that they
were muscular and sunburned--the hands of a man who has done hard
physical work.
"But I must know more about you," he said. "Who are you? Where do
you come from? What do you want from life?"
As he asked the last question, the door of the room opened, and the
waiter came in, carrying supper.
While the man was handing round the dishes and pouring out the
wine--a delicious wine it was, too, by the way--Northcote talked away
lightly and cleverly about several more or less topical subjects. I
answered him occasionally, in the same careless strain; but my mind
was almost wholly occupied with the mysterious suggestion that he had
just let fall. I was wondering what on earth the service could be
that I was capable of rendering him. That it had something to do
with our amazing likeness to each other I felt convinced; but beyond
that it was impossible to guess. The whole thing--our meeting on the
Embankment, his invitation to supper, and the strange hint of an
unknown purpose in his actions--had all been so sudden and bizarre
that I felt as if I had been caught up into some modern version of
the Arabian Nights.
Still, there could be no harm in making him more or less acquainted
with my innocent past and my embarrassed present. I had nothing I
wished to conceal, except the whereabouts of my goldfield; and it
seemed quite on the cards that, in return for this unknown service
that he wanted from me, I might be able to interest him in my scheme.
In any case, curiosity alone would have made me go through with the
matter now I had got so far. I instinctively felt that Mr.
Northcote's proposals when they came would be of a decidedly
interesting nature.
So, as soon as the waiter had withdrawn, I filled up my glass again,
and looking across at my companion with a smile, began to satisfy his
curiosity.
"There's not very much to tell you, after all," I said. "To start
with, I'm thirty-four."
He gazed at me keenly. "You look five years older," he said.
"Yes," I retorted. "Perhaps, if you'd been knocking about South
America for fifteen years, you'd show some fairly obvious signs of
it."
A momentary flicker of surprise passed across his face. Then he
laughed dryly.
"Oh!" he said. "What part of South America have you been in?"
"Most of it," I said, "but I know the Argentine best."
"What were you doing?" he asked.
"It would be shorter," I said, "to tell you what I wasn't. I've been
a ranchman, a cattle-dealer, a store-keeper, a soldier, a prospector,
and several other little things that happened to roll up. South
America is a great place for teaching one to take a spacious view of
the day's work."
"So I believe," he said. "And what brings you to England?"
"An incorrect idea of British enterprise," I answered. "My last
achievement in South America was to strike gold--quite a lot of it,
unless I'm pretty badly mistaken. I came over here to try and raise
some capital."
"And you've failed?"
I laughed. "The British capitalist," I said, "is still as rich as he
was when I landed."
He nodded his head. "What are your plans now?" he asked.
"I'm sailing for New York as soon as I can get a ship," I answered.
"Have you many friends in London?" he demanded.
"There's my landlady," I said. "She is friendly enough as long as I
pay her bill, but that's about the full extent of my social circle."
There was a short silence. Then Northcote got up from his chair and,
walking across the room, locked the door. I watched him with
interest.
He seated himself again at the table, and lit a cigarette.
"Mr. Burton," he said, "what value do you put upon your life? I
mean, for what sum would you be prepared to run a very considerable
risk of losing it?"
He asked the question in such a business-like and unemotional manner
that I could not repress a smile.
"I don't know," I said. "If I thought it was really valuable, I
should be strongly inclined to put it up to auction."
He learned across the table and looked me full in the eyes.
"If you will do what I want," he said slowly, "I will give you ten
thousand pounds."