THE FRANTIC IMPRESARIO
Fullaway slowly read this announcement aloud. When he had made an end of
it he laughed.
"So your mysterious lady of the midnight motor, your Miss Celia Lennard
of the Hull hotel, is the great and only Zélie de Longarde, eh?" he said.
"Well, I guess that makes matters a lot easier and clearer. But you're
sure it isn't a case of striking resemblance?"
"I only saw that woman for a minute or two, by moonlight, when she stuck
her face out of her car to ask the way," replied Allerdyke, "but I'll
lay all I'm worth to a penny-piece that the woman I then saw is the
woman whose picture we're staring at. Great Scott! So she's a famous
singer, is she? You know of her, of course? That sort of thing's not in
my line--never was--I don't go to a concert or a musical party once in
five years."
"Oh, she's great--sure!" responded Fullaway. "Beautiful voice--divine!
And, as I say, things are going to be easy. I've met this lady more than
once, though I didn't know that she'd any other name than that, which is
presumably her professional one, and I've also had one or two business
deals with her. So all we've got to do is to find out which hotel she's
stopping at in this city, and then we'll go round there, and I'll send in
my card. But I say--do you see, this affair's to-night, this very
evening, and at eight o'clock, and it's past seven now. She'll be
arraying herself for the platform. We'd better wait until--"
Allerdyke's practical mind asserted itself. He twisted the American
round in another direction, and called to a porter who had picked up
their bags.
"All that's easy," he said. "We'll stick these things in the left-luggage
spot, dine here in the station, and go straight to the concert. There,
perhaps, during an interval, we might get in a word with this lady who
sports two names. Come on, now."
He hurried his companion from the cloak-room to the dining-room, gave a
quick order on his own behalf to the waiter, left Fullaway to give his
own, and began to eat and drink with the vigour of a man who means to
waste no time.
"There's one thing jolly certain, my lad!" he said presently, leaning
confidentially across the table after he had munched in silence for a
while. "This Miss Lennard, or Mamselle, or Signora de Longarde, or
whatever her real label is, hasn't got those jewels--confound 'em! Folks
who steal things like that don't behave as she's doing."
"I never thought she had stolen the jewels," answered Fullaway. "What I
want to know is--has she seen them, and when, and where, and under what
circumstances? You've got her shoe-buckle all safe?"
"Waistcoat-pocket just now," replied Allerdyke laconically.
"That'll be an extra passport," observed Fullaway. "Not that it's needed,
because, as I said, I've done business for her. Oddly enough, that was in
the jewel line--I negotiated the sale of Pinkie Pell's famous pearl
necklace with Mademoiselle de Longarde. You've heard of that, of course?"
"Never a whisper!" answered Allerdyke. "Not in my line, those affairs.
Who was Pinkie Pell, anyhow!"
"Pinkie Pell was a well-known music-hall artiste, my dear sir, once a
great favourite, who came down in the world, and had to sell her
valuables," replied the American. "To the last she stuck to a pearl
necklace, which was said to have been given to her by the Duke of
Bendlecombe--Pinkie, they said, attached a sentimental value to it.
However, it had to be sold, and I sold it for Pinkie to the lady we're
going to see to-night. Seven thousand five hundred--it's well worth ten.
Mademoiselle will be wearing it, no doubt--she generally does, anyway--so
you'll see it."
"Not unless we get a front pew," said Allerdyke. "Hurry up, and let's be
off! Our best plan," he went on as they made for a cab, "will be to get
as near the platform as possible, so that I can make certain sure this is
the woman I saw at Howden yesterday morning--when I positively identify
her, I'll leave it to you to work the interview with her, either at this
concert place or at her hotel afterwards. If it can be done at once, all
the more to my taste--I want to be knowing things."
"Oh, we're going well ahead!" said Fullaway. "I'll work it all right. I
noticed on that poster that this affair is being run by the
Concert-Director Ernest Weiss. I know Weiss--he'll get us an interview
with the great lady after she's appeared the first time."
"It's a fortunate thing for me to have a man who seems to know
everybody," remarked Allerdyke. "I suppose it's living in London gives
you so much acquaintance?"
"It's my business to know a lot of people," answered Fullaway. "The more
the better--for my purposes. I'll tell you how I came to know your cousin
later that's rather interesting. Well, here's the place, and it's five
to eight now. We've struck it very well, and the only trouble'll be about
getting good seats, especially as we're in morning dress."
Allerdyke smiled at that--in his opinion, money would carry a man
anywhere, and there was always plenty of that useful commodity in his
pockets. He insisted on buying the seats himself, and after some
parleying and explaining at the box-office, he and his companion were
duly escorted to seats immediately in front of a flower-decked platform,
where they were set down amidst a highly select company of correctly
attired folk, who glanced a little questioningly at their tweed suits,
both conspicuous amidst silks, satins, broadcloths, and glazed linen.
Allerdyke laughed as he thrust a program into Fullaway's hand.
"I worked that all right," he whispered. "Told the chap in that receipt
of custom that you were a foreigner of great distinction travelling
incognito in Scotland, and I your travelling companion, and that our
luggage hadn't arrived from Aberdeen, so we couldn't dress, but we must
hear this singing lady at all cost and in any case. Then I slapped down
the brass and got the tickets--naught like brass in ready form, my lad!
Now, then, when does the desired party appear?"
Fullaway unfolded his program and glanced over the items. The
Concert-Direction of Ernest Weiss was famous for the fare which it put
before its patrons, and here was certainly enough variety of talent to
please the most critical--a famous tenor, a popular violinist, a
contralto much in favour for her singing of tender and sentimental songs,
a notable performer on the violincello, a local vocalist whose speciality
was the singing of ancient Scottish melodies, and--item of vast interest
to a certain section of the audience--a youthful prodigy who was fondly
believed to have it in her power to become a female Paderewski. These
performers were duly announced on the program in terms of varying
importance; outstanding from all of them, of course, was the great star
of the evening, the one and only Zélie de Longarde, acknowledged Queen of
Song in Milan and Moscow, Paris and London, New York and Melbourne.
"Comes on fifth, I see," observed Allerdyke, glancing over his
program unconcernedly. "Well, I suppose we've got to stick out the
other four. I'm not great on music, Fullaway--don't know one tune
from another. However, I reckon I can stand a bit of noise until my
lady shows herself."
He listened with good-natured interest, which was not far removed from
indifference, to the contralto, the 'cellist, the violinist, only waking
up to something like enthusiasm when the infant prodigy, a quaint,
painfully shy little creature, who bobbed a side curtsey at the audience,
and looked much too small to tackle the grand piano, appeared and
proceeded to execute wonderful things with her small fingers.
"That's a bit of all right!" murmured Allerdyke, when the child had
finished her first contribution. "That's a clever little party! But she's
too big in the eye, and too small in the bone--wants plenty of new milk,
and new-laid eggs, and fresh air, and not so much piano-thumping, does
that. Clever--clever--but unnatural, Fullaway!--they mustn't let her do
too much at that. Well, now I suppose we shall see the shoe-buckle lady."
The packed audience evidently supposed the same thing. Over it--the
infant prodigy having received her meed of applause and bobbed herself
awkwardly out of sight--had come that atmosphere of expectancy which
invariably heralds the appearance of the great figure on any similar
occasion. It needed no special intuition on Allerdyke's part to know that
all these people were itching to show their fondness for Zélie de
Longarde by clapping their hands, waving their program, and otherwise
manifesting their delight at once more seeing a prime favourite. All eyes
were fixed on the wing of the platform, all hands were ready to give
welcome. But a minute passed--two minutes--three minutes--and Zélie de
Longarde did not appear. Another minute--and then, endeavouring to smile
bravely and reassuringly, and not succeeding particularly well in the
attempt, a tall, elaborately attired, carefully polished-up man,
unmistakably German, blonde, heavy, suave, suddenly walked on to the
platform and did obeisance to the audience.
"Weiss!" whispered Fullaway. "Something's wrong! Look at his face--he's
in big trouble."
The concert-director straightened himself from that semi-military bow,
and looked at the faces in front of him with a mute appeal.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I have to entreat the high favour of
your kind indulgence. Mademoiselle de Longarde is not yet arrived from
her hotel. I hope--I think--she is now on her way. In the meantime I
propose, with your gracious consent, to continue, our program with the
next item, at the conclusion of which, I hope, Mademoiselle will appear."
The audience was sympathetic--the audience was ready to be placated. It
gave cordial hearing and warm favour to the singer of Scottish
melodies--it even played into Mr. Concert-Director Weiss's hands by
according the local singer an encore. But when he had finally retired
there was another wait, a longer one which lengthened unduly, a note of
impatience sounded from the gallery; it was taken up elsewhere. And
suddenly Weiss came again upon the platform--this time with no
affectation of suave entreaty. He was plainly much upset; his elegant
waistcoat seemed to have assumed careworn creases, his mop of blonde hair
was palpably rumpled as if he had been endeavouring to tear some of its
wavy locks out by force. And when he spoke his fat voice shook with a
mixture of chagrin and anger.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I crave ten thousand--a
million--pardons for this so-unheard-of state of affairs! The--the truth
is, Mademoiselle de Longarde is not yet here. What is more--I have to
tell you the truth--Mademoiselle refuses to come--refuses to fulfil her
honourable engagement. We are--have been for some time--on the telephone
with her. Mademoiselle is at her hotel. She declares she has been
robbed--her jewels have all been stolen from their case in her
apartments. She is--how shall I say?--turning the hotel upside down! She
refuses to budge one inch until her jewels are restored to her. How
then?--I cannot restore her jewels. I say to her--my colleagues say to
her--it is not your jewels we desire--it is your so beautiful, so
incomparable voice. She reply--I cannot tell you what she reply! In
effect--no jewels, no song! Ladies and gentlemen, once more!--your most
kind, most considerate indulgence! I go there just now--I fly; swift, to
the hotel, to entreat Mademoiselle on my knees to return with me! In the
meantime--"
As Weiss retired from the platform, and the longhaired 'cellist came upon
it, Fullaway sprang up, dragging Allerdyke after him. He led the way to
a sidedoor, whispered something to an attendant, and was quickly ushered
through another door to an ante-room behind the wings, where Weiss, livid
with anger, was struggling into an opera-cloak. The concert-director
gasped as he caught sight of the American.
"Ah, my dear Mr. Fullaway!" he exclaimed. "You here! You have heard?--you
have been in front. You hear, then--she will not come to sing because her
jewels are missing, eh? She--"
"What hotel is Mademoiselle de Longarde stopping at, Weiss?" asked
Fullaway quietly.
"The North British and Caledonian--I go there just now!" answered Weiss.
"I am ruined if she will not appear--ruined, disgraced! Jewels! Ah--!"
"Come on--we're going with you," said Fullaway. "Quick now!"
Allerdyke got some vivid impressions during the next few minutes,
impressions various, startling. They began with a swift whirl through the
lighted streets of the smoky old city, of a dash upstairs at a big hotel;
they ended with a picture of a beautiful, highly enraged woman, who was
freely speaking her mind to a dismayed hotel manager and a couple of men
who were obviously members of the detective force.