Sport
"L'amour du mieux t'aura interdit le bien."
"Do I look as if I had come out of Paris in a balloon?" said John
Turner, in answer to my suggestion that he had made use of a method of
escape at that time popular. "No, I left by the Creteil gate, without
drum or trumpet, or anything more romantic than a _laissez-passer_
signed by Favre. There will be the devil to pay in Paris before
another week has passed, and I am not going to disburse."
"In what way will he want paying?" I asked.
"Well," answered John Turner, dragging at the knees of his trousers,
which garments invariably incommoded his stout legs, "Well, the
Government of National Defence is beginning to show that it has been
ill-named. Before long they will be replaced by a Government of
National Ruin. The ass in the streets is wanting to bray in the Hôtel
de Ville, and will get there before he has finished."
"You are well out of it," said I, "and do not seem to have suffered by
the siege."
"Next to being a soldier it is good to be a banker in time of war,"
said Turner, pulling down his waistcoat, which, indeed, had been in no
way affected by the privations currently reported to be the lot of the
besieged Parisians.
"What about Miste?" he added, abruptly.
"I have seen his back again, I do not believe the man has a face."
And I told my astute friend of my failure to catch Charles Miste at
the Bank of England.
"Truth is," commented the banker, "that Monsieur Miste is an
uncommonly smart rogue. You must be careful--when he does show you his
face, have a care. And if you take my advice you will leave this
little business to the men who know what they are about. It is not
every one who knows the way to tackle a fellow carrying a loaded
revolver. By the way, do you carry such a thing yourself?"
"Never had one in my life."
"Then buy one," said Turner. "I always wear one--in a pocket at the
back, where neither I nor any one else can get at it. Sorry you could
not come to luncheon," he continued. "I wanted to have a long talk
with you."
He settled himself in the large arm-chair, which he completely filled.
I like a man to be bulky in his advancing years.
[Illustration: "WAITER, TAKE THIS GENTLEMAN'S ORDER. YOU YOUNG FELLOWS
CANNOT SMOKE WITHOUT DRINKING, NOWADAYS--HORRID BAD HABIT. WAITER,
BRING ME THE SAME."]
"Take that chair," he said, "and this cigar. I suppose you want
something to drink. Waiter, take this gentleman's order. You young
fellows cannot smoke without drinking, nowadays--horrid bad habit.
Waiter, bring me the same."
When we were alone, John Turner sat smoking and looking at me with
beady, reflective eyes.
"You know, Dick," he said at length, "I have got you down in my will."
"Thanks--but you will last my time."
"Then it is no good, you think?" he inquired, with a chuckle.
"Not much."
"You want it now?" he suggested.
"No."
"Your father's son," commented my father's friend. "Stubborn and rude.
A true Howard of Hopton. I have got you down in my will, however, and
I'm going to interfere in your affairs. That is why I sent for you."
I smoked and waited.
"I take it," he went on in his short and breathless way, "that things
are at a standstill somewhat in this position. If you marry Isabella
Gayerson, you will have with her money, which is a tidy fortune, four
thousand a year. If you don't have the young woman, you can live at
Hopton, but without a sou to your name. You want to marry
Mademoiselle, who thinks you are too old and too big a scoundrel.
That is Mademoiselle's business. Giraud junior is also in love with
Mademoiselle Lucille, who would doubtless marry him if he had the
wherewithal. In the mean time she is coy--awaiting the result of your
search. You are seeking Giraud's money, so that he may marry
Mademoiselle of the bright eyes--you understand that, I suppose?"
"Thoroughly."
"That is all right. It is best to have these affairs clearly stated.
Now, why the devil do you not ask Isabella to marry you--"
"To begin with, she would not have me," I interrupted.
"Nice girl, capable of a deep and passionate affection--I know these
quiet women--two thousand five hundred a year."
"She wouldn't have me."
"Then ask her, and when she has refused you, fight the validity of
your father's will."
"But she might not refuse me," said I. "She hates me, though! I know
that. There is no one on earth with such a keen scent for my faults."
"Ye-es," said Turner slowly. "Well?"
"She might think it her duty to accept me on account of the will."
"Have you ever known a woman weigh duty against the inclination of her
own heart?"
"I know little about women," replied I, "and doubt whether you know
more."
"That is as may be. And you wouldn't marry Isabella for two thousand a
year?"
"Not for twenty thousand," replied I, half in my wineglass.
"Virtuous young man! Why?"
I looked at Turner and laughed.
"A slip of a French girl," he muttered contemptuously. "No bigger
round than the calf of my leg."
And I suppose he only spoke the truth.
He continued thus to give me much good advice, to which, no doubt, had
I been prudent, I should have listened with entire faith. But my
friend, like other worldly wiseacres, had many theories which he
himself failed to put into practice. And as he spoke there was a
twinkle in his eye, and a tone of scepticism in his voice, as if he
knew that he was but whistling to the wind.
Then John Turner fell to abusing Miste and Giraud and the late poor
Vicomte as a parcel of knaves and fools.
"Here am I," he cried, "with a bundle of my signatures being hawked
about the world by a thief, and cannot stop one of them. Every one
knows that my paper is good; the drafts will be negotiated from
pillar to post like a Bank of England note, and the account will not
be closed for years."
It was a vexatious matter for so distinguished a banker to be mixed
in, and I could give him but little comfort. While I was still with
him, however, a letter was brought to me which enlightened us
somewhat. This communication was from my agent Sander, and bore the
Brussels postmark.
"This Miste," he wrote, "is no ordinary scoundrel, but one who will
want most careful treatment, or we shall lose the whole amount. I have
now arrived at the conclusion that he has two accomplices, and one of
these in London; for I am undoubtedly watched, and my movements are
probably reported to Miste. Yourself and Monsieur Giraud are doubtless
under surveillance also. I am always on Miste's heels, but never catch
him up. It seems quite clear, from the inconsequence of his movements,
that he is endeavouring to meet an accomplice, but that my presence so
close upon his heels repeatedly scares them apart. He receives letters
and telegrams at the Poste Restante, under the name of Marcel. So
close was I upon his track, that at Bruges I caused him to break his
appointment by a few hours only. He sent off a telegram, and made
himself scarce only two hours before my arrival. This is a large
affair, and we must have great patience. In the mean time, I think it
probable that Miste will not endeavour to cash any more drafts. He
only wants sufficient for current expenses, and will probably
endeavour to negotiate the whole amount to some small foreign
government in guise of a loan."
"That is what he will do," affirmed John Turner. "Persia or China of a
needy South American state."
It pleased me at times to think that I could guess Lucille's thoughts,
and indeed she made it plain at this time that she cherished some
grudge against me. It was, I suppose, only natural that she should
suspect me of lukewarmness in a search which, if successful, would
inevitably militate to my own discomfiture. Alphonse Giraud was
doubtless awaiting, with a half-concealed impatience, the moment when
he might honourably press his suit. Thus, Charles Miste held us all in
the hollow of his hand, and the news I had received was as important
to others as to myself.
I therefore hurried to Hyde Park Street, and had the good fortune to
find all the party within. I made known the contents of Sander's
letter, adding thereto, for the benefit of the ladies, John Turner's
comments and my own suspicions.
"We shall catch him yet!" cried Alphonse, forgetting in the excitement
of the moment the dignified reserve which had of late stood between
us. "Bravo, Howard! we shall catch him yet."
He wrung my hand effusively, and then, remembering himself, glanced at
Isabella, as I thought, and lapsed into attentive and suspicious
silence.
Having made my report I withdrew, and at the corner of the street was
nearly run over by a private hansom cab, at that time a fashionable
vehicle among men about town. I caught a glimpse of a courteous gloved
hand, and Mr. Devar's face wreathed in the pleasantest of smiles.
"You omitted to tell me at what hour you dine," was the remark with
which Mr. Devar made his entrance. He refused to accept a chair, and
took his stand on the hearth-rug without monopolising the fire, and
with perfect ease and a word for every one.
"As I drove here I passed your friend Mr. Howard," he said presently,
and Isabella said "Ah!"
"Yes, and he looked somewhat absorbed."
Mr. Devar waited, and after a pause, kindly continued to interest
himself in so unworthy a subject.
"Did you not tell me," he remarked, "that Mr. Howard is engaged on
some--er--quixotic enterprise--the search for a fortune he has lost?"
"The fortune is Monsieur Giraud's," said the lady of the house.
Devar turned to Alphonse with a bow appropriately French.
"Then I congratulate Monsieur on his--possibilities."
His manner of speech was suggestive of a desire to conceal a glibness
which is usually accounted a fault.
"And I hope that Mr. Howard's obvious absorption was not due
to--discouragement."
"On the contrary," answered Isabella, "Mr. Howard has just given us a
most hopeful report."
"Has he caught the thief?"
"No; but his agent, a Mr. Sander, writes from Brussels that he has
traced the thief to the Netherlands, and there seems to be some
probability that he will be taken."
"My experience of thieves," said Mr. Devar airily, "has been small.
But I imagine they are hard to take when they once get away. Mr.
Howard is, I fear, wasting his time."
Isabella answered nothing to this, though her pinched lips seemed to
indicate a doubt whether such a waste was in reality going forward.
"Our neighbour's enterprise usually appears to be a waste of time,
does it not?" he said, with the large tolerance of a man owning to
many failings.
Alphonse shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands with a
gesture of helplessness, further accentuated by the bandage on his
wrist.
"I do not so much want to catch the thief as to possess myself of the
money," he said.
"You are charitable, Monsieur Giraud."
"No--I am poor."
Devar laughed in the pleasantest manner imaginable.
"And of course," he said, indicating the Frenchman's maimed hand,
which was usually in evidence, "you are unable to undertake the search
yourself?"
"As yet."
"Then you intend ultimately to join in the chase--you are a great
sportsman, I hear?"
The graceful compliment was not lost upon Alphonse, who beamed upon
his interlocutor.
"In a small way--in a small way," he answered. "Yes, when they strike
a really good scent I shall follow, wounds or no wounds."
At this Mr. Devar expressed some concern, and made himself
additionally agreeable. He refused still to be seated, saying that he
had but come to ascertain the dinner hour on the following Thursday.
Nevertheless, he prolonged his stay and made himself vastly
fascinating.