"Isn't it time that Tuppy made a move?" asked Sir Harry at breakfast.
"He's been there four days now, and he ought to have made his presence
felt."
"Tuppy's a bit of a slug," said Hal brutally, "he'll want a lot of
boosting."
"I've been thinking," said his father, "of some plan whereby we could
bring the fact of his being in the neighbourhood into greater
prominence; now if it were summer time a garden party would be an
excellent idea. We can't very well give a public reception to him--what
about getting him to open a bazaar?"
Hal shook his head.
"You couldn't get Tuppy to do it. No, governor, you'll have to think of
some other plan."
"We can't hold a function here," mused Sir Harry, "it wouldn't have the
same effect. The county are hardly likely to be impressed by Lord
Tupping."
"And any way the county wouldn't come," said the practical Hal, "I
hardly know--by jove!" he exclaimed suddenly, "what about the Terrills?"
"The Terrills."
"Yes--hang it all, they're our relations. You know they owe us
something; splendid! If we can only persuade Aunt Agatha to do it, what
a smack in the eye for the Duke!"
"I'm afraid," began Sir Harry dubiously.
"Rot, governor! try 'em--butter the old lady--wantin' to show a little
hospitality to a friend--get mother to write--dash it all! it's a
magnificent idea. You'll get the Duke creature tearin' his hair----"
Hal persuaded his father to write.
It was when the letter carefully worded, and punctiliously punctuated
had been written, that Hal started in to gratify his private curiosity.
"Governor," he opened, "d'ye know, I'm completely fogged over the Duke
business."
"Yes?" Sir Harry looked up suspiciously.
"Yes," Hal went on. "It seemed all right at first that you should want
him to clear out of Brockley. He'd annoyed you, by getting the better
of you, and he annoyed me most tremendously. Governor," he blurted,
"I'm most awfully gone on Alicia."
"H'm." Sir Harry frowned at the revelation.
"It's a fact and I don't care who knows it," said Hal recklessly, "I as
good as told her so."
"To raise hopes that can never be realized is scarcely honourable, Hal,"
said his parent severely, "to rouse the love of a young woman----"
"Oh, don't worry about that," said the dismal Hal, "I didn't raise any
hopes, or rouse love, or do any rotten thing like that. We'll cut that
story short if you don't mind. It's a sore point with me. What I want
to know is, what is the real inside meaning of our rushin' the Duke."
"It must be obvious," said Sir Harry slowly.
"It ain't so obvious to me as you might think," interrupted Hal, "look
here, governor, I've seen you in business deals before. I've known you
to be beaten badly, but when you've seen yourself worsted you've always
gone to save the grand slam--see? Picked up the pieces of wreckage an'
sold 'em for what they would fetch. I've never known you to, what I
might call, pursue a disadvantage. Now we all know the Duke has worried
you and bested you, an' generally got the top-dog of you, but why do you
want to fire him out of Brockley? I'm not such a fool but what I can
see that he can still go on spoonin' Alicia wherever he is. He can
still go on opposing you an' worrying' me."
"There are some matters," said Sir Harry deliberately, "into which it is
not advisable to go very deeply; with me it is a question of personal
pride that the Duke should go----"
"Governor," said Hal earnestly, "what's the use of bluffin' a fellow
like me? I ask you, are you the sort to buy a tin-pot little paper, to
go in for house property and then evict your paying tenants? Governor,
you're spending money an' that's a very significant thing."
Sir Harry looked at his watch.
"I've five minutes to catch my train," he said pointedly, "is the
brougham at the door?"
The brougham _was_ at the door. Its two champing pawing steeds champed
and pawed as per specification--as a business man Sir Harry insisted
upon written specifications dealing minutely with details of his
purchases, even of his carriage horses.
"Another time," said Sir Harry drawing on his gloves, "I shall be happy
to discuss this matter. But not now."
He reached his office in Austin Friars and found a note awaiting him. A
note daringly spelt and slovenly written.
An hour later he hailed a cab and drove rapidly westward.
In Guilford Street is an imposing house bearing on the fanlight over the
front door the astonishing legend, "Apartments," and at this house Sir
Harry descended. His knock brought a little Swiss boy in an ill-fitting
dress suit.
"Mr. Smith?" inquired Sir Harry and the boy nodded and ushered him
upstairs.
The atmosphere of the room into which Sir Harry was shown was, to put it
mildly, dense.
Mr. William Slewer was an inveterate smoker of bad cigars.
He lay full length on a sofa with a glowing butt between his teeth, and
rose slowly and painfully to his feet as the knight entered.
"How is the leg?" asked Sir Harry pleasantly.
Bill Slewer permitted himself to smile. "That's nothin'," he said
indifferently, "a little thing like that don't trouble me any. She
smarts some, but nothin' to boast about."
He looked expectantly at Sir Harry and that gentleman read his unspoken
questions.
"I have nothing to tell you further," he said, "we are doing our best to
make Brockley too hot for him."
"He'd better get a wiggle on," said Mr. Slewer calmly, "I'm sure tired
of this foolish old country."
"You must do nothing," said Sir Harry hastily, "you understand that I am
not interested in your private affairs, and you must do nothing in
Brockley--I will not be associated with the business. I had hoped to
have accomplished my purpose anonymously. I had hoped that through the
medium of the local press I might have been able to shame the man away,
without in any way identifying myself with the--er--movement."
He wiped his forehead nervously.
"I cannot tell you," he went on, with a show at firmness, "how much I
deprecate your shooting affray--it is unconstitutional, Mr. Slewer.
Very well in its way for America and similar lawless places, but
revolver shooting in the suburbs of London Mr.
Slewer,--it's--it's--hazardous."
Bill rolled his cigar butt to the opposite corner of his mouth, and said
nothing.
Anon he tossed the stump into the fireplace, and searched his pockets
vainly for another cigar. Sir Harry tendered his well-filled case.
"I will go further," he said, as Bill struck a match, "I tell you that I
think you ought to abandon your object, which is, in my humble opinion,
unchristianlike and unlawful, but," he went on, "if you still have this
grievance----"
"Oh, she's there all right, all right," Bill assured him.
"Well, if that is so, wait, for heaven's sake wait, until he's out of
Brockley."
He paced up and down the room.
"Don't you see, my good man, how the whole thing compromises me? I'm
known to dislike the Duke--it wasn't known till the confounded fellow
produced a newspaper to proclaim the fact--you are known as having been
introduced by me--the thing is too horrible. Why, people would say that
I instigated the thing!"
I do not attempt to work out the psychology of Sir Harry's attitude into
decimal places. I shrink from suggesting that he would derive any
satisfaction from the killing or wounding of the Duc de Montvillier.
Such a suggestion would border upon the preposterous, for Sir Harry was
a Justice of the Peace of the County of Kent, and, as is very well
known, crime amongst the J.P.'s of Kent is singularly and gratifyingly
rare. They are a well-behaved and modest class of citizens, by nature
gentle and diffident, in appearance mild and affable, pursuing their
calm unbunkered way, the world forgetting, by the world forgot, as
somebody so beautifully put it.
There are, of course, black sheep in every family, and it is conceivable
that angry and base passions may glow in secret breasts, but basing my
opinion upon published statistics, I confidently assert that the mere
suggestions that Sir Harry's motives were homicidal in intention, may be
dismissed as being too monstrous for serious consideration.
Indeed his next words prove this contention.
"My object in helping you is a purely disinterested one. I brought you
away from Brockley in my carriage because I wanted to avoid a scandal
and a scene. It was very indiscreet and most improper of you to
attempt--er--to stop that young man----"
"Say," said Mr. Bill Slewer of Four Ways, "I'm wise."
"I'm delighted to hear it," said Sir Harry, "and----"
"I'm wise to this peace-on-earth talk," said Mr. Slewer approvingly, "I
know the dope. I seen it handed out. Mike Sheehan the alderman felly
in New York was fat with it. 'No violence,' says he, 'when I'm around,'
says he, 'and if you sock him good,' says he, 'do it when I'm sayin'
grace at Delmonico's.'"
"I assure you, my good fellow----"
"Switch off," suggested Mr. Slewer in the friendliest manner. "You're
in this Silver Streak deal."
"That is settled," said Sir Harry quickly.
"Settled nothing," said the calm Bill, "I'm next to that deal: Judge
Mogg an' me's the David-Jonathan turn. Knew Mogg when his father was
toting a five cent freak show round California in '76--I was one of dem
freaks."
He chuckled noiselessly.
"The hairy boy from Opkomstisalvacato for mine," he said reminiscently,
"young Al. Mogg took the money at the door--that's how _he_ made his
pile."
Sir Harry Tanneur preserved a sulky silence.
"Silver Streak," pursued Bill, "she's a whereas-an'-hereby proposition
to me, but Al. sorted out the situation--yes, sir. Silver Streak is a
life tenancy, an' the London and Denver have got second option. See?
This Duke felly got it in his own name, so when he goes to glory, in
steps the imperishable London an' Denver Corporation--that's youse."
Bill's face was peculiarly expressionless, but his pale blue eyes
challenged contradiction.
"There's a bit in that contract about the heirs of his body," he wagged
his head knowingly, "so it comes to this: Dukey ain't much use to you
alive----"
"Stop, sir!" The knight drew himself up to his full height. "The
suggestion you make is infamous, and I must solemnly and emphatically
place on record my complete and absolute disapproval of your reasoning.
I do not know whether it is not my duty to inform the police of your
threat--for it is a threat--to create--er--a breach of the peace."
He took up his hat and moved to the door.
"I content myself by saying that I dissociate myself from any private
scheme of vengeance you may contemplate against the Duc de Montvillier."
Bill's eyes closed wearily.
"You make me tired," he said simply.
Sir Harry left without remembering to recover his cigar case, and,
curiously enough, Bill forgot to remind him.