Trewlove in his Marlborough Street cell was a disgusting object--
offensive to the eye and to one's sense of the dignity of man.
At sight of me he sprawled, and when the shock of it was over he
continued to grovel until the sight bred a shame in me for being the
cause of it. What made it ten times worse was his curious
insensibility--even while he grovelled--to the moral aspect of his
behaviour.
"You will lie here," said I, "until to-morrow morning, when you will
probably be fined fifty shillings and costs, _plus_ the cost of the
broken glass at Toscano's. I take it for granted that the money will
be paid?"
"I will send, sir, to my lodgings for my cheque-book."
"It's a trifling matter, no doubt, but since you will be charged
under the name of William John Trewlove, it will be a mistake to put
'G. A. Richardson' on the cheque."
"It was an error of judgment, sir, my giving your name here."
"It was a worse one," I assured him, "to append it to the receipt for
Miss Jarmayne's rent."
"You don't intend to prosecute, Mr. George?"
"Why not?"
"But you don't, sir; something tells me that you don't."
Well, in fact (as you may have guessed), I did not. I had no desire
to drag Miss Jarmayne into further trouble; but I resented that the
dog should so count on my clemency without knowing the reason of it.
"In justice to myself, sir, I 'ave to tell you that I shouldn't 'ave
let the 'ouse to _hany_-body. It was only that, she being connected
with the stage, I saw a hopening. Mr. 'Erbert was, as you might say,
a hafterthought: which, finding him so affable, I thought I might go
one better. He cost me a pretty penny first and last. But when he
offered to introjuice me--and me, at his invite, going back to be put
up at No. 402 like any other gentleman--why, 'ow could I resist it?"
"If I forbear to have you arrested, Trewlove, it will be on condition
that you efface yourself. May I suggest some foreign country, where,
in a colony of the Peculiar People--unacquainted with your past--"
"I'm tired of them, sir. Your style of life don't suit me--I've
tried it, as you see, and I give it up--I'm too late to learn; but
I'll say this for it, it cures you of wantin' to go back and be a
Peculiar. Now, if you've no objection, sir, I thought of takin' a
little public down Putney way."
"You mean it?" asked Clara, a couple of hours later.
"I mean it," said I.
"And I am to live on here alone as your tenant?"
"As my tenant, and so long as it pleases you." I struck a match to
light her bedroom candle, and with that we both laughed, for the June
dawn was pouring down on us through the stairway skylight.
"Shall I see you to-morrow, to say good-bye?"
"I expect not. We shall catch the first boat."
"The question is, will you get Herbert awake in time to explain
matters?"
"I'll undertake that. Horrex has already packed for him. Oh, you
needn't fear: he'll be right enough at Ambleteuse, under my eye."
"It's good of you," she said slowly; "but why are you doing it?"
"Can't say," I answered lightly.
"Well, good-bye, and God bless you!" She put out her hand.
"There's nothing I can say or do to--"
"Oh, yes, by the way, there is," I interrupted, tugging a key off my
chain. "You see this? It unlocks the drawers of a writing-table in
your room. In the top left-hand drawer you will find a bundle of
papers."
She passed up the stair before me and into the room. "Is this what
you want?" she asked, reappearing after a minute with my manuscript
in her hand. "What is it? A new comedy?"
"The makings of one," said I. "It was to fetch it that I came across
from Ambleteuse."
"And dropped into another."
"Upon my word," said I, "you are right, and to-night's is a better
one--up to a point."
"What are you going to call it?"
"_My Tenant_."
For a moment she seemed to be puzzled. "But I mean the other," said
she, nodding towards the manuscript in my hand.
"Indeed, that is its name," said I, and showed her the title on the
first page. "And I've a really splendid idea for the third act," I
added, as we shook hands.
I mounted the stairs to my room, tossed the manuscript into a chair,
and began to wind up my watch.
"But this other wants a third act too!" I told myself suddenly.
You will observe that once or twice in the course of this narrative
my pen has slipped and inadvertently called Miss Jarmayne "Clara."