MR. LEIGH'S DEPUTY.
It was early in the afternoon the same day, the last Thursday of June.
The rain of the night before had been general in the South of England.
It had fallen heavily in London, and washed and freshened the dusty,
parched streets. Now all London capable of being made fresh and blithe
by weather was blazing gallantly in the unclouded radiance of summer.
Even Chetwynd Street, a third rate thoroughfare of the less delectable
and low-lying part of Westminster, looked gay in comparison with its
usual squalor, for it had been scoured clean and sweetened by the
waters of Heaven. The wind, and the rain, and the sun of Heaven, were
all the friends Chetwynd Street seemed to have. Man had built it. It
was man's own, and man seemed to despise his handiwork, and neglect
his duty towards what he had made.
Few civilians with good clothes and sound boots visited Chetwynd
Street. Policemen go everywhere, and were to be seen in this street
now and then, and soldiers often strayed into it, for they are common
in all the region. But although the publicans and pawnbrokers of the
thoroughfare were well-to-do people, they did not put their wealth
upon their backs. It would have been considered ostentatious for
ordinary mortals to wear broadcloth within the precincts of the
street. The sumptuary laws of the place forbade broadcloth for
every-day wear to all except clergymen, doctors, and undertakers. On
Sundays, or festivals, such as marriages and funerals, broad-cloth
might be worn by the prosperous tradespeople without exciting anger or
reproach.
The two most prosperous shopkeepers in the place were Mr. Williams,
landlord of the Hanover public house, at the corner of Welbeck Place,
leading to Welbeck Mews, and Mr. Forbes, baker, at the opposite corner
of Welbeck Place. Mr. Williams's house was all glitter and brightness
on the ground floor. He had two large plate-glass windows, divided
only by a green and gilt iron pillar, looking into Chetwynd Street,
and two large plate glass windows, divided only by a green and gilt
iron pillar, looking into Welbeck Place. The door of Mr. Williams's
house faced Chetwynd Street. Mr. Forbes was not so lavish of glass or
gaslight as his neighbour, of the Hanover. His only window on the
shop-floor, looking into Chetwynd Street, was composed of panes of
crown glass of moderate size. In Welbeck Place, on the ground floor,
he had a blank wall, and farther up the Place, a modest door. In
Chetwynd Street, beyond the shop door, was another door belonging to
him; the door to the staircase and dwelling part of the house above
the shop. The door in Welbeck Place led also to the base of the
staircase, and to the bakehouse at the rear. The side door was not
used for business purposes of the bakery. The back of the bakehouse at
the rear stood in Welbeck Mews, and here was a door through which Mr.
Forbes's flour and coal came in and loaves went out. Mr. Forbes had
several bakeries in the neighbourhood. He did not reside in the upper
part of his house in Chetwynd Street. He used the first floor as a
warehouse. He stored all kinds of odds and ends here, including empty
sacks, and sometimes flour. One of the rooms he had used as an office,
but gave it up, and now kept it locked, idle. It was not easy to let
the upper parts of houses to respectable people in this street. It
would not suit his business to let the house in tenements to any
lodgers who might offer.
For the second floor he had a most respectable tenant, who paid his
rent with punctuality, and gave no trouble at all. There were three
rooms on the second or top floor. A sitting-room, a bed-room, and a
workshop. The sitting-room was farthest from Welbeck Place, being over
the hall and part of the shop. The bed-room was over the middle
section of the shop. The work-room was at the eastern end of the
house. The bed-room looked into Chetwynd Street. The sitting-room
looked into the same street. The work-shop looked into Welbeck Place.
The bed-room and sitting-room were immediately over that part of the
house used by Mr. Forbes as a store or lumber room. The workshop on
the top floor was directly over what once served as an office for the
baker, and was now locked up.
The man and his wife in charge of the business slept in the bakehouse
at the back which opened into the mews. The only person sleeping in
the house proper was the tenant of the second floor. At the top of the
staircase, on the second floor, there was a stout door, which could be
locked on either side, so that the tenant had a flat all to himself,
and was as independent as if he owned a whole house. In the matter of
doors, he was rather better off than his neighbours, who had whole
houses; for he had, first of all, the door of his own flat at the top
of the stairs, and was allowed a key for the outer door into Chetwynd
Street, and one for the door into Welbeck Place. For the door at the
back, that one from the bakehouse into the mews, he had not been given
a key by the landlord, nor did he ask for one. When something was said
about it on his taking the place, he laughed, and declared, "Two
entrances to my castle are enough for a man of my inches."
The tenant of the top floor of the bakery was Mr. Oscar Leigh. The
room over the hall was his bed-room: the room over the store was his
sitting-room; the room looking into Welbeck Place was his workshop.
Mr. Oscar Leigh made an unclassified exception to the rule of not
wearing broad cloth in Chetwynd Street. He never was seen there in
anything else. The residents took no offence at his glossy black
frock-coat. The extreme oddness of his figure served as an apology for
his infringement upon the rules. In Chetwynd Street the little man was
very affable, very gallant, very popular. "Quite the gentleman,"
ladies of the locality who enjoyed his acquaintance declared. Among
the men he was greatly respected. They believed him to be very rich,
notwithstanding that he pleaded poverty for living so high up as the
top floor of Forbes's bakery, and dispensing with a servant. Mrs.
Bolger, the old charwoman, came in the morning and got him his
breakfast, and tidied his rooms. That is she tidied the sitting-room
and bed-room. No one had ever been admitted to the workshop. Mrs.
Bolger left about noon, and that was all the attendance Mr. Leigh
needed for the day. He got his other meals out of his lodgings.
The men of the district in addition to believing him rich credited him
with universal knowledge. "Mr. Leigh," they said, "knew everything."
They always spoke of him as "Mr." Leigh because they were sure he had
money. If they believed him to be poor or only comfortable they would
have called him little Leigh. His appearance was so uncommon they
readily endowed him with supernatural powers. But upon the whole they
held his presence among them as a compliment to their own worth, and a
circumstance for congratulation, for his conversation when
unintelligible seemed to do no one harm, when intelligible was
pleasant, and he was free with his society, his talk, and his money.
That Thursday afternoon he walked slowly along Chetwynd Street from
the eastern end, nodding pleasantly to those he knew slightly, and
exchanging cheerful greetings with those he knew better. When he came
to the Hanover public-house, lying between him and his own home, he
entered, and, keeping to the right down a short passage, found himself
in the private bar.
The Hanover was immeasurably the finest public-house in the
neighbourhood. The common bar was plain and rough, and frequented by
very plain and rough folk; but the private bar was fitted in mahogany
and polished white metal. There no drink of less price than twopence
was served, and people in the neighbourhood thought it quite genteel
and select. A general feeling prevailed among the men who frequented
the private bar of the "Hanover" that the only difference between the
best West End club and it was that in the former you got more display,
finer furniture, and a bigger room; but that for excellence of liquor
and company the latter was the better of the two. It was a well-known
fact that Mr. Jacobs, the greengrocer who came from Sloane Street to
get three-pennyworth of the famous Hanover rum hot, never smoked
anything less than cigars which he bought cheap of his friend, Mr.
Isaacs, at sixpence each. It was a custom for the frequenters in turn
to say now and then to Mr. Jacobs, "That's a good cigar, Mr. Jacobs;
my word, a good cigar." At which challenge Mr. Jacobs became grave,
took the cigar out of his mouth and looked at it carefully while he
held it as though making up his mind about its merits, and then said
"Ay, sir; pretty fair--pretty fair," or other modest words to that
effect. He spoke almost carelessly at such times, as though he had
something else on his mind. About once a month the thought he was
reserving followed and he added: "I bought a case of them from my
friend, Isaacs of Bond Street. They come to about sixpence each."
After this he would put his cigar back into his mouth, roll it round
carelessly between his lips, and take no more heed of it than if he
had bought it for twopence across the counter.
When Mr. Oscar Leigh found himself in the private bar, neither Mr.
Jacobs nor anyone else was there. Behind the bar in his shirt-sleeves
was the potman who attended to the ordinary customers, and Mr.
Williams, the proprietor, in a tweed coat of dark and sober hue.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Williams," said the new-comer, wriggling up on a
high cane-seated stool, pulling out a white handkerchief and rubbing
his face vigorously, puffing loudly the while.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Leigh," said the landlord in a gracious and
pleasant voice. "Very hot walking out of doors."
"Very. Will you have a brandy--a split?"
"It's almost too hot. But I will for the sake of company, as you are
kind enough to ask me."
The landlord busied himself getting the drinks, and then set them on
the counter. Mr. Leigh took his up, nodded to Williams, saying
laconically, "Health," to which the other responded in due form. The
hunchback drained his glass at one draught, the landlord sipped his.
"I wanted that badly," said Leigh. "It's good stuff. Anything wrong?"
"Well, Mr. Williams, it is my breakfast and dinner--up to this."
"Ah. That's bad. Why didn't you get your breakfast. A man isn't any
good unless he eats a hearty breakfast, I say. What's the matter, Mr.
Leigh. Anything wrong down in the country?"
"No, no. I feel better already. As you say, that's fine brandy. Give
me another. I'm tired. I've had such a morning. I feel better, a good
deal better. Isn't it hot?"
"Blazing. So you have had a busy morning?"
"Yes. Oh, very busy morning, Mr. Williams, No breakfast yet, but
this," tapping the second glass of brandy and soda. "I must be careful
not to knock up my digestion, Mr. Williams. When a man's digestion is
upset he isn't fit for figures, for calculations, you know. It takes a
man all his time, and the coolest head he can saw off a brass monkey,
to make calculations such as I deal in."
"You're a wonderful man, and I always say it." Mr. Williams was a
personable, good-looking man, with a large white face and lardy skin.
He believed that Mr. Leigh knew a vast number of things, and that he
himself had a great reserve of solid wisdom which, for reasons
undefined to himself, he kept inactive for his own secret pleasure, as
a man might hoard a priceless jewel, gloating over the mere sense of
possession. He had a firm conviction that if it were only possible to
mould Mr. Leigh's mind and his own into one, the compound might be
trusted to perform prodigies, always provided that Mr. Leigh had
little or nothing to do with the direction of its activities.
Up to this point of the conversation it had been obvious the two men
were not speaking freely. Williams was hesitating and laconic beyond
his custom; Leigh was too vivacious, tired, exhausted. During the
pauses of their talk the pair frequently looked at one another in a
way which would have provoked enquiry.
Mr. Williams at last made a backward jerk of his head at the potman,
and then a sideway nod of his head towards the door leading into the
bar-parlour. The gesture meant plainly, "Shall I get rid of him?"
Leigh nodded quickly and cordially.
"Tom," said the landlord, turning fully round and putting his back
against the bar, "the bitter is off. Go down and put on another."
"Right, sir," said Tom, as he hurried away.
As soon as he was out of view, and before he could be heard among the
casks and pipes, Mr. Williams turned round and said, leaning over the
counter and speaking in a whisper: "He's gone. No one can hear now."
Mr. Leigh sprinkled some eau-de-cologne from a tiny silver flask in
his palm, buried his face in his hands and inhaled the perfume
greedily. "Hah! That is so refreshing. Hah!" The long lean hands, with
the glossy shining black hairs, shook as he held them an inch from his
face. The withdrawal of the potman seemed to have relieved him of
restraint.
"Well," he said, laying both his thumbs on the pewter top of the
counter, and pressing hard with his forefingers under the leaf of the
counter, "you were saying, Williams----?" He looked into the face of
the other with quick blinking eyes and swayed his misshapen body
slowly to and fro.
"I wasn't saying anything at all," said the landlord, raising his
black, thin, smooth eyebrows half-way up his pallid, smooth, greasy
forehead.
"I know," whispered Leigh eagerly. He now drew himself up close to the
counter "I meant what you were going to say. Did you watch?" keenly
and anxiously.
"I did."
"At between twelve and one?"
"Yes."
"And did you see anything?" tremulously.
"I did," stolidly.
"What? Tell me what you saw?"
"You told me a man was to come and wind up your clock, as near to
twelve as could be, and you asked me to watch him, and keep an eye on
him, to time his coming, and see that he was sharp to his hour and
that he wound up the machinery by the left-hand lever close to the
window."
"Quite right, quite right. I wanted to find out if the fellow would be
punctual and do my work for me while I was away in the country, down
in Millway. Did you see him come? Did you see him come in through the
shafts and straps and chains?" The blinking of the eyes had now ceased
and Leigh was staring fixedly, with dark devouring eyes upon the
pallid, lardy, stolid face of the publican.
"No, I did not see him come. The window," pointing up to the top
window of the house at the opposite corner of the road, "was dark at
twelve by our clock."
"By _your_ clock. But _your_ clock is always five minutes fast, isn't
it? You didn't forget _your_ clock is _always_ five minutes fast?"
"No, I did not forget that. Our clock is fast to allow us to clear the
house at closing time. But I thought he might be a few minutes too
soon."
"He couldn't. He couldn't be a minute too soon. He couldn't be a
second too soon. He couldn't be the ten thousandth part of a second
too soon."
Williams smiled slightly. "Couldn't be a second too soon, Mr. Leigh!
What's a second? Why _that!_" He tapped his hand on the pewter top of
the counter before and after saying the word "that."
"Let me tell you, Mr. Williams, he couldn't have been there the one
millionth part of a second before the stroke of twelve. But go on. Go
on. I am all anxiety to hear if he was punctual. Tell me what you
_did_ see." His eyes were blazing with haste.
"Well, you are a strange man, and a positive man too. At twelve by my
clock the room was dark. We were very busy then. I looked up again at
six minutes past twelve by _my_ clock here, a minute past twelve by my
own watch, which I always keep right by Greenwich, and it's a good
chronometer, as you know----"
"Yes, yes," interrupted the little man hastily. "It's a good watch. Go
on!"
"Light was in the room then. A dull light such as you have when you're
at work."
"Yes, dim on account of my weak eyes. And by the light you saw----?"
"I saw the man sitting in your place, and in a few seconds he began to
wind up the machinery by the lever on the left near the window."
"You saw him working at the lever?" in a voice almost inaudible.
"Yes."
"You saw him often between that and closing time? between that and
half-past twelve?"
"Well, yes, I may say often. Three or four times anyway."
"And each time he was winding up the machinery?"
"Now and then."
"Hah! Only now and then."
"About as often as you yourself would, it seemed to me."
"And, tell me, did you see his face. Did he waste any of his precious
time gaping out of the window into the bar?"
"He turned his head towards the window only once, while I was
watching, and I saw him plain enough."
"What was he like? Very like me?"
"Like you, Mr. Leigh! Not he! Not a bit like you! Stop, are you trying
if I am speaking the truth?" Williams became suddenly suspicious,
ready to resent any imputation upon his word.
"No, no, no. My dear Williams. Nothing of the kind, I assure you. Only
I am most desirous to know all facts, all you saw. You know how well I
have guarded the secrets of my great clock. I am most anxious that no
one but this man who wound the clock for me last night should learn
anything about it. Suppose he let several people into the room, I
should have all my secrets pried into and made common property."
"And can't he tell everybody if he cares to betray you?"
"Not very well. He cannot. He is deaf and dumb, and can't write," with
a triumphant smile. "Describe what the man you saw was like."
"Well, you are a wonderful man, Mr. Leigh. He was a broad-shouldered
big man with fair hair and beard. He wore a round hat the whole time,
and, like you, sat very steady when he was not winding up.
"That's he! That's he to the life! I told him how to sit. I showed him
how to sit. And tell me, when closing time came he stood up and
wriggled out of the clock?"
"I did not see. We were shut a minute before half-past twelve by
my own watch. I kept my eyes on him until half-past twelve. He must
have turned out the light before he got up, for the gas went out at
half-past twelve, just as he stopped working the lever."
"Yes. And did you watch a while after, to see there was no danger of
fire?"
"Yes, a minute or two, but all kept dark and I knew he was gone."
"Hah! Thank you, very much, Williams. I am very, very much obliged to
you."
"Oh, it's nothing."
"Williams, it's a great deal. If you want to do me another favour say
nothing about the matter. I don't want anyone to know this man was in
my workshop. A lot of curious and envious thieves would gather round
him and try to get some of my secrets out of him."
"All right. I'll say nothing."
Leigh took out his little silver flask of eau-de-cologne, moistened
his hands with the perfume and drew the pungent fragrant vapour
noisily into his nose. "So refreshing," he whispered audibly, "So
refreshing." Then lifting his face out of his hands he held the flask
toward the landlord, saying, "Try some. It's most refreshing."
"Pah, no," said Williams with a gesture of scorn, "I never touch such
stuff."
"Hah! If you were like me you would. If you were always reeking with
oil, steeping in the fish-oil of machines, you'd be glad enough to
take the smell of it out of your nose with any perfume. I told you I
have been busy this morning. The want of my breakfast, and the
business I was on, pretty nearly knocked me up. Bah! The dust of that
job is in my throat still."
"Drink up your brandy and soda and have another with me," said the
landlord encouragingly.
"No, no. I won't have any more. Hah! it was a dusty job."
"What was it, Mr. Leigh, may I ask?"
"Well, you have done me a good turn in keeping your eye on that fellow
for me, and you're going to do me another good turn by saying nothing
about it; so I'll tell you. Have you ever heard anything of Albertus
Magnus?"
"Albertus Magnums? No, I never heard of magnums of that brand."
"Hah! 'Tisn't a wine, but a man. Albertus Magnus was a man who studied
magic, one of the greatest of the magicians of old. He attributes
wonderful powers to the powdered asphaltum of mummies."
"Oh, magnums of Mumm? Of course I have heard of magnums of Mumm."
"No! I don't mean wine; the mummy coffins were filled with a kind of
pitch, and Albertus attributes wonderful powers to this old pitch
which the ancient Egyptians poured hot over the dead. It was used by
the Egyptians to prevent the ravages of time upon the faces of the
dead. Now, I am going to paint the dials of my clock with mummy-pitch
to prevent time ravaging the faces of my clock. Do you see? Hah!"
"I always said, Mr. Leigh, that you were a wonderful, a most wonderful
man." Williams's mind had been plunged by the words of the other into
a dense mist. He could see nothing and he was sure there must be a
wonderfully profound meaning in the speaker's words because he could
make nothing of them.
"And to-day I bought a mummy, the mummy of a great Egyptian prince,
for I must have good mummy asphaltum to preserve the faces of my clock
from the influence of time. Asphaltum is a bituminous pitch, as you
know," said Leigh, getting down off the high stool and preening
himself like a bedraggled raven.
By this time Williams began to realize that the dwarf had, for some
reason or other, with a view to use in some unknown way, become
possessed of a mummified prince. He had never before spoken to any one
who owned a mummy; he knew, by report, that such things were to be
seen in the British Museum, but he had never been inside the walls of
that crushing-looking fane of history. It was utterly impossible for
him to imagine any way in which a mummy could be employed; but this
only went to prove how necessary to Leigh a mummy must be. Now that he
came to think of the matter he found himself surprised Leigh had not
had a mummy long ago. His face relaxed into a smile. "And what are you
going to do with his royal highness?" he asked, chuckling.
"I only want the asphaltum as a pigment."
"But what are you going to do with his royal highness?" he repeated,
being slow to relinquish this cleverness of his, which to him had the
rare glory of a joke.
"Oh," said Leigh, preparing to go, "I am told they burn beautifully.
What do you say to burning him as a guy in Welbeck Place on the fifth
of November? Ha-ha-ha!" and with a harsh laugh the little man hurried
out of the Hanover, leaving Mr. Williams pleased and puzzled.