There were other articles, bearing unmistakable evidence of their
authorship. Mr. Nape's translation from the sinister realms of crime to
the more healthy atmosphere of journalism had not entirely divorced him
from his first love. It changed his aspect certainly. From being a
participant he became a spectator. Thus, "Cigarette Ash as a Clue," an
article displaying considerable powers of observation and deduction,
rivalled in style and interest the famous monograph on "Cigar Ash," by
another criminal scientist. "Bloodhounds I have trained," by a famous
detective, although published anonymously, may, in all probability, be
traced to the same source.
"Jacko is riotin' across these fair pages," commented Hank, with the
first number of the _Aristocrat_ in his hands, "like a colony of
Phylloxera across a vineyard."
The Duke nodded.
"We've got to have something to fill the space," said the Duke
philosophically, "if we can't get advertisements."
Hank blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling and pondered.
"I anticipate trouble," he said.
"From the stainless knight?"
"From the stainless knight," said Hank. "Say, Duke, these effete
European institutions do surely impress me."
He paused.
"Here's a duke," mused Hank, "a real duke. Not a hand-me-down duke with
a saggin' collar, not a made-to-measure-in-ten-minutes duke, but a
proper bespoke duke, cut from patterns. Here's a knight with golden
spurs, rather stout but otherwise knightly, especially about the coat of
arms: here's a lord--Baron This and That of This-Shire, walked straight
from his baronial castle in Regent Street to harry the marshes of
Brockley----"
The Duke sat up.
"Now," he said with deliberate politeness, "now that you have thoroughly
mystified the audience, are you offering a prize for the solution or are
you holding it over till the next number? The Duke with his admirable
qualities, I instantly recognize; the knight is apparent, in spite of
his spurs. Who is the baron? Is he allegorical or illustrative or a
figure of speech?"
"He's 62," said Hank.
The Duke's face bore a look of patient resignation.
"There _must_ be a prize offered," he reflected aloud.
"In fact," elucidated Hank, "62's a real baron--a lord--His Nibs."
"The deuce he is!" the Duke was alert. "Quit fooling, Hank. Our new
neighbour----"
"Is Baron Tupping of Tupping," said Hank solemnly, "a perfect English
gentleman--I heard him cussin' in the back garden."
"Tuppy!"
The Duke whooped his delight.
He grabbed Hank's arm and the pair raced through the conservatory into
the garden.
Somebody next door was annoyed, and his voice rose plaintively.
"Bring the Sacred Ladder," ordered the Duke.
In the middle of the garden stood Tuppy, monocle in eye, hat tilted to
the back of his head, and a cigarette drooping feebly, his face
expressive of despair.
The Duke hailed him.
"Tuppy, you beggar."
Tuppy looked up; his face lit joyfully.
"Monty, by the High Heavens!" he exclaimed. Then he smacked his
forehead, "Monty--Montvillier--you ain't my Duke are you?"
"I'm your Duke--your liege Duke of life and limb and earthly regard----"
"Half a mo," said the vulgarly practical Tuppy, "I'm comin' over."
He came over the wall, silk hat awry, joyously dusty.
He all but fell upon the Duke's neck.
"My dear old bird," he cried ecstatically, "of all the wonderful
coincidences that ever made a novelist's fortune, this is the
wonderfullest--this is the exalted top-notcher. If the dowager knew,
she'd go ravin' mad. I've a jolly good mind to write an' tell her."
Arm in arm they passed into the house.
That night:
Tuppy wrote to Tummy Clare--his one confidant.
"Tummy, old friend," the letter ran, "the unfailing mystery of solar
phenomena, the unswerving accuracy of the comet's flight, the ordered
perambulations of the whole damn planetary system, all these pale to
insignificance beside the phenomena of human movement. In other words,
the trick some chaps have of turning up in unexpected places ... Monty!
You remember the beggar, in your house at Eton ... didn't know he was a
duke ... riotous and profitable night ... piquet ... I rubiconed him
twice, piqued, re-piqued, capotted and ... I held fourteen aces six
times in succession ... won about ten pounds...."
That night:
"I think," said Sir Harry rubbing his hands cheerfully, "that we have
said, 'Check to the Duke person.'"
"Tuppy's arrived?" asked Hal.
"Yes; Smith put him into the house, and Rake is putting him into the
paper. I rather fancy that if Tuppy plays his cards well, he will score
heavily."
As we have seen, Tuppy played his cards very well, and indeed _did_
score heavily.
X
"You will like Tuppy," said the Duke earnestly.
To the scandal of the neighbourhood, he insisted upon conducting his
courtship in the manner it began, and he addressed Alicia from the top
platform of the Sacred Ladder.
"Tuppy has faults," the Duke continued, "but so have we all, or nearly
all," he corrected modestly. "As poor old Tuppy says, life's song is
played by a pianolo. A thousand ancestors have helped to perforate the
roll and the tune is inevitable."
"A philosopher," said Alicia drily.
"Tuppy complains bitterly about the unreasonableness of a world that
expects cantatas from the roll in which generations of Tuppings have
been punching comic songs. You'll like Tuppy."
"In spite of his mission?" she smiled.
"To cut me out?" The Duke shook his head tolerantly.
"Poor old chap, he recognizes the hopelessness of that. No; Tuppy is
not that kind. I say!" he said enthusiastically. "There's Tuppy in his
garden."
"Monty!" said a voice.
"That's him," said the Duke ungrammatically, but with an air of
proprietorship.
"Monty!" said the voice again, "give me a leg up, dear boy--I'm comin'
over for a cocktail."
Miss Alicia Terrill raised her eyebrows.
"He means a cup of tea," said the Duke hastily.
"I should like to meet Tuppy," said Alicia calmly, "whilst you are
giving him a l--whilst you are rendering him the necessary assistance I
will find the ladder."
Tuppy scrambling over the wall met the scrutiny of a pair of grey eyes,
and balanced himself with difficulty. When I say he wore his oldest
suit, that he had pale green socks and a pair of old slippers, and that
owing to his exertions his trouser leg was rucked up to display his
sock-suspenders, you will realize that but for his noble breeding Tuppy
would have been embarrassed, and would have made a precipitate and
undignified retreat.
But Tuppy was above all things self-possessed.
He paused astride the wall.
"Let me introduce Lord Tupping," said the Duke gravely.
Tuppy held on to the wall with one hand and raised his cap with the
other.
"Delighted," he said politely.
Alicia averted her eyes from the pale green socks with the scarlet
suspenders and addressed him at a tangent.
"Mother will be glad to see Lord Tupping," she said to the Duke.
Somehow she did not consider it quite maidenly to speak direct to the
suspenders.
"Mother will be glad to see you," repeated the Duke primly.
"And I," said Tuppy gracefully, "shall consider it an honour to wait
upon your lady mother: it would seem to me that no greater
obligation--and it is typical of the blightin' decadence of our language
that a word meanin' 'a sympathetic bindin'' should be degraded to the
sordid service of bills at three months--than the respect an' reverence
due to the maternal element in our midst. The spirit of chivalry----"
At this point in the labour of his oratory Tupping lost his balance and
fell into the Duke's arms.
He would have continued his speech but for the arrival of the Duke's
discreet servant.
"Yes?" said the Duke inquiringly.
"Two gentlemen to see you, m'lord."
"Two--who are they."
"I don't know, m'lord--they asked for your lordship----"
"Yes?"
"One I thought smelt of drink, and the other was a little furtive."
Tuppy laid his hand upon the Duke's arm.
"Monty, dear boy," he said solemnly, "I know 'em."
"You."
"Me," said Tuppy wagging his head wisely, "One smellin' of drink an' the
other sneakin' round the corner--brokers."
*Part IV*
*THE DUKE REMAINS*
*I*
If I have unwittingly conveyed an impression that Brockley is without
interest to the outside world I have done its credit and myself much
wrong, as the talented Omar might have said. I quote Omar instinctively
because of Brockley's association with the tent-maker of Ispahan. For
Brockley for many years has been the Mecca of Southern London. Never a
Sunday passed but little caravans of purposeful pilgrims have converged
upon the _Brockley Jack Arms_, and producing their railway tickets or
other evidence of their bona fides, have drunk beer during prohibited
hours.
For years and years this pleasant and touching custom has made Brockley
historical. Lambeth awaking beerless, improvident Kennington greeting
the thirsty dawn, Bermondsey confronted with the dull sad hours between
breakfast time and 1 p.m.--all these in singleness of purpose and with a
unity of thought, said with one voice "Brockley." Suddenly a new
interest came to Brockley; call it a morbid interest if you will. It
was sufficient, at any rate, to divert the stream that flowed past the
cemetery to the hostel beyond. Sufficient to detach the stragglers at
any rate, and draw them, with perplexed faces and sceptical expressions,
to the neighbourhood of Kymott Crescent.
There was a public spirited gentleman of Church Street, Deptford, whose
wife worked at a jam factory. He himself spent the greater part of his
life looking for work, but it never seemed to nestle in the dark
interior of a quart pot, in which his searching eyes were for the
greater part of the time concentrated.
This person was, by name, Haggitt, but mostly he was called Olejoe--a
name suggesting a Scandinavian origin, but, as a matter of fact, quite
simply derived. Despite his chronic condition of unemployment, Olejoe
possessed a "guv'nor," of whom he spoke in terms of affectionate pride.
Sometimes, when Olejoe would be standing in the corner of the public
bar--he used the George on Tanner's Hill--within reach of the zinc
counter on the one hand and the pipe spills on the other, an unshaven
man would thrust his head in at the door and beckon Olejoe with a sharp
impatient jerk of the head. Then Olejoe would issue hastily, wiping his
mouth with the back of his hand.
"Got a job of you," the guv'nor would say laconically, "602, Frien'ly
Street--two munse rent--come along."
So Olejoe would find himself the guest of poverty--plaintive weeping
poverty, and Olejoe would keep jealous ward over two poundsworth of
distrained furniture.
How he came to be chosen for the role of guest to the Duke seems obvious
enough. He was uncleanly. He had unpleasant habits. Hal chose him.
When he arrived at 64, supported by the authority of a bailiff, Tuppy
took charge of the proceedings. Tuppy had a wonderful knowledge of
obscure procedure. First he demanded the bailiff's license and examined
it. Then he put the bailiff through an oral examination, then he
demanded copies of the distress warrant, and generally harassed and
badgered the unfortunate official until he was glad enough to make his
escape leaving Olejoe in possession.
Then followed a solemn conference with Olejoe the uneasy subject.
Resolved: That Olejoe be bathed.
(Protest lodged by Olejoe
overruled.)
Resolved: That Olejoe's clothes be burnt.
(Protest overruled.)
Resolved: That the cost of reclothing
Olejoe should be borne by
the Duke.
(Carried without protest.)
Resolved: That the clothing should be
chosen by the Right Hon.
the Lord Tupping.
(Carried with enthusiasm.)
"Gents," pleaded Olejoe, "hopin' there's no offence, live and let live
is a motter we all admire. The pore 'elps the pore, so let us all live
in harmony, say I. I'm doin' me duty, an' I've got to earn me livin',
so therefore no larks."
"No larks," agreed the Duke gravely.
"Not a single sky-warbler," agreed Tuppy.
"So therefore, gents," said the gratified Olejoe gaining courage, "let's
drop this silly idea about a bath. Give me a bit of soap an' lead me to
the kitchen sink an' I'll give meself a good sluice--what do you say?"
"My dear old wreck," said Tuppy firmly, "with all the admirable
sentiments you have so feelingly enunciated, I am in complete agreement.
More particularly with 'live an' let live.' Heaven knows," he
protested, "I am no blatant reformer who to demonstrate his absurd
theories, would change the smooth course of my fellows lives. But a
bath, ole feller--a real water bath! None of your one leg in, an' one
leg out, but a proper all-in-run-or-not wash up."
So Hank and Tuppy went off to prepare it, carefully laying thin parings
of soap at the bottom.
In solemn state they escorted him to the bath-room door.
They waited outside talking encouragingly, till a mighty splashing
silenced instructions.
"You're splashin' with your hands," warned Tuppy, "get into it."
They heard a groan and a gentle plash as Olejoe took the water gingerly.
Then a wild yell as his foot slipped on the soapy bottom and a splash
louder than all.
"Good," said Tuppy with satisfaction.
It was nine o'clock that night before they fixed Olejoe in his new kit.
The pink silk stockings pleased him; the red plush knickers he regarded
dubiously; the gold laced scarlet coat he did not like at all. The gold
aiguillettes he jibbed at.
But Tuppy was very persuasive.
"Don't be a silly old gentleman," he said wearily, "you'll be objectin'
to the sword next!"
"I won't wear a sword!" roared Olejoe.
Tuppy was shocked.
"Here we are, takin' all this trouble to make you look presentable,
givin' you a chain of office an' all, an' you say 'won't,'--naughty,
naughty!"
He shook his head reprovingly.
Olejoe turned from one to the other in despair. "Gents----" he cried
passionately.
But the Duke was looking very severe, and Hank's face spoke his
disapproval.
"Such base ingratitude," said the Duke, with gentle melancholy, "saps
the very fount of benevolence. Here am I, giving a party in your
honour----"
"Giving you a write up," murmured Hank.
"Getting you a throne from Angels," continued the Duke, "making you a
King of Broker's men."
"Olejoe the First," said Hank.
"And you say won't!" said the three in indignant chorus.
That night there were sounds of revelry from 64, sounds that penetrated
to 66 and caused Alicia some misgivings.
They crowned Olejoe with a massy crown, a-sparkle with rubies and
diamonds and other glass ware. They sat him on a gilded throne, and
placed a sceptre in his right hand, and a large tankard of beer in his
left.
They sang "Olejoe's body lies a mouldering in the grave," triumphantly,
and the resplendent figure in scarlet and gold thoroughly alarmed by the
sinister refrain, rubbed his stubby chin at intervals and demanded
earnestly that there should be no larks.