As to Miss Wilberforce--she was becoming a real problem.
Once again she had shocked the Faithful. She had misconducted herself
by interrupting the torchlight procession with some of those usual or
unusual antics, a detailed description of which, while entertaining to
a few lost souls, would certainly mortify the majority of decent folks.
The cup of endurance was full, overbrimming. Once again she had passed
the night in the lock-up. Questioned as to her motives for this
particular incident, she artlessly blamed the darkness which misled
her, she said, into the regrettable delusion that it was night; "and at
night, you know...."
This, as Signor Malipizzo observed with his usual legal acumen, might
pass for an explanation but nevermore for an excuse. How much longer,
he continued, with a fine Ciceronian gesture of eloquent
indignation--how much longer would the foreign colony on Nepenthe endure
the presence in their midst of such a disgrace to womanhood?
Thus spake the judge, well aware of what was expected from a man in his
position. In his heart he desired nothing less than her departure; he
was charmed with her disturbing influence; he hoped she would live a
hundred years on the island. In the first place he received occasional
gifts in kind from various grocers and wine-merchants who enriched
themselves by supplying her at preposterous prices with intoxicants,
and who thought by these subtle tactics to retain him as an ally in
their cause. Secondly and chiefly, every new scandal of this nature
gave him a fresh opportunity of consigning her, temporarily, to the
lock-up. Only temporarily. Because Mr. Keith would be sure to bail her
out again in the morning, which meant another fifty francs in his
pocket.
This is exactly what had just taken place. Mr. Keith had bailed her
out, for the thirty-fourth time. She was at liberty once more, sobering
down.
Both the Duchess and Madame Steynlin pitied her, as only one woman can
pity another. Often the prayed to their respective Gods, Lutheran and
High Church, that she might be led to see the error of her ways or,
failing that, removed by some happy accident from the island or,
failing that, run over by a passing vehicle and injured--injured not
dangerously, but merely to such an extent as to necessitate her
permanent seclusion from society. Other careless folk were maimed by
the furious driving of the Nepentheans; it was a common form of
accident. Miss Wilberforce--the eye-sore, the scandal of her
sex--remained intact. Some impish deity seemed to guide her wayward
footsteps.
Had she been a person of low extraction there would have been no
difficulty in dealing with her. But she was so obviously a lady--she had
such obviously rich and influential connections in England! These
people, however glad to have her out of the way, might object if
violent measures were taken by persons who, after all, had no right to
interfere in her affairs. And the situation was rendered none the less
complex by the attitude of Miss Wilberforce herself. She was a Tartar.
She felt that all men's hands were against her. She used her tongue to
good purpose and, at a pinch, her teeth and claws. The policemen of
Nepenthe could bear witness to that fact. Drunk, she had a perfectly
blistering flow of invective at command. Sober, she was apt to indulge
in a dignified bestiality of logic that cut like a knife. It was only
in the intermediate stage that she was affable and human. But to catch
her in that intermediate stage was extremely difficult. It was of such
very brief duration.
They tried to tempt her with the prospect of being repatriated.
Strenuously she opposed the notion, on grounds of health. She argued
that she had come to the South at the bidding of her English
doctor--which was true enough, that grave personage having been urgently
pressed by the family to make a suggestion; a return to England, she
declared, would be the death of her. If any attempt were made to
interfere with her liberty in this manner, she would appeal to the
local Court for protection.
Then the project of sending her to an Inebriates' Home on the mainland
was mooted. A sprightly young clergyman, not long resident on Nepenthe,
volunteered for the delicate task of persuading the lady to take this
step; it would be given out that she was merely undergoing a "rest
cure." The sprightly young clergyman started on his mission full of
bright expectations. He returned anon, looking prematurely aged. Nobody
could get a word out of him at first; he seemed top have become
afflicted with a partial paralysis of the tongue. After babbling
childishly for an hour or so he fell silent altogether, and it was not
till next morning that he recovered full powers of speech. Wild horses,
he then announced, would not drag form his lips what had passed at the
interview.
As a last resource it was decided to inaugurate a sanatorium on the
island for her especial benefit, with a trained nurse permanently in
attendance; during her ever-decreasing spells of sobriety the place,
together with the nurse, could be utilized for needle-classes and so
forth. Money was required. A committee of ladies and gentlemen
collected a certain small amount, but their hopes did not rise high
till the day when the Duchess broached the subject to her countryman,
Mr. van Koppen, after inveigling him into what she called "a friendly
teat-a-teat." Surfeited to bursting-point with his favourite tea-cakes,
the millionaire was in a lovely humour. He declared his readiness, then
and there, to subscribe half a million francs to the scheme if--if his
good friend Mr. Keith would make himself responsible for a similar sum,
or even a thousandth part of it.
"Half a million francs--what's that, Duchess, as the price of a smile
from yourself? Cheap. Dirt cheap!"
"Another one?" queried the lady.
"Well, just one. I can't swallow any more. But I can still chew."
So fatuously fond was he of this particular variety of condiment that,
on their account alone, he would have imported the Duchess and her
entire establishment into America. For all that, old Koppen was no
fool. Half a million buttered tea-cakes could not impair the lively
workings of a brain which had long ago mapped out a swift and sure path
to worldly success. He had wind of this project; his answer was
carefully prepared. It was a mathematical certainty that not one cent
of those half-million francs would ever leave his pocket. For he knew
what the Committee did not know--the real character of his friend Keith.
Keith was a good fellow but a hopeless crank; Keith was perfectly
capable of impoverishing himself in order to keep Miss Wilberforce out
of prison. As to subscribing to the schemes of a pack of meddling fools
who proposed to intern the dear lady--Keith would see them all damned
first. This is how Mr. van Koppen, a profound student of human nature,
would have argued, had he lacked the opportunity of discussing the
question with his good friend. As a matter of fact he had enjoyed that
opportunity only a few days ago. He had warned Keith of what was
coming, and had found him equally alert to the plans of the Committee
and more desirous than himself, if possible, of frustrating them. They
had chuckled vastly over a bottle of dry sparkling Nepenthe in
anticipation of the event.
"Trust me," said Keith. "I'll talk their heads off."
"I'm glad I shan't be there!" thought the American.
He knew his good friend. Keith could be decidedly fatiguing, especially
when dead sober. He had all the Scotchman's passion for dissecting the
obvious, discovering new facets in the commonplace, and squeezing the
last drop out of a foregone conclusion.
It was a thousand pities that the Duchess, in the exuberance of her
triumph, spread abroad the news of the millionaire's promise. For that
news had an unfortunate and unexpected result. The Committee, which up
till then had consisted of eight reputable members, now swelled,
rapidly and mysteriously, to fourteen. Six new gentlemen, including the
unspeakable Mr. Hopkins, got themselves enrolled, and all six of them,
as was afterwards made manifest, were persons of questionable
integrity. By dint of small donations to the fund varying from five to
fifteen francs, they had contrived to have their names put down; it was
worth while, they thought, to risk a small sum on the chance of getting
a slice out of old Koppen's half-million which could not possibly be
used up in the rent or purchase of a three-roomed Sanatorium.
A committee of ladies and gentlemen, formed for charitable purposes,
should be like Caesar's wife. This one had come to resemble the spouse
of Claudius. Had the upright and intelligent Mr. Freddy Parker still
been its guiding spirit, he would soon have weeded out these
undesirable elements and kept the pickings for himself. But Mr. Parker,
since his lady's illness, seemed to be withdrawn from all worldly
concerns. He had become invisible. And now that the lady was dead he
would presumably grow more invisible than ever. It was a severe blow to
all concerned; to nobody more than to the Commissioner himself when, on
emerging into society from his mourning retirement, he divined what a
chance he had missed.
Every single member of the small sub-committee who came, in rather a
formal group, to communicate to Mr. Keith the terms of the
millionaire's offer and to solicit his participation in the scheme,
purposed to attend the funeral of Mr. Parker's lady. It was the right
thing to do. That impressive function, already a day overdue, had been
irrevocably fixed for 10.30 a.m. at the instance of the Chief Medical
Officer of Health. Accordingly they reached the Villa Khismet at the
matutinal hour of 9 a.m., convinced that the short interval would
suffice to cajole out of Mr. Keith a sum sufficient to bind old Koppen
to his promise.
It struck them afterwards that this was their flagrant, initial
mistake. They ought to have controlled their impatience and waited for
a more opportune occasion.
And they would have waited, but for the fact that Mr. Hopkins, a person
of dubious motives and antecedents, had insinuated himself into the
deputation not without a purpose of his own. This gentlemen insisted
that delay was fatal. Mr. Keith, he argued, would understand their
impatience. The millionaire was sailing in a day or two. One might
never get that cheque cashed, or even signed, before he left Nepenthe.
And then? Why, then the scheme might fall through and--he added to
himself--how was he going to get his share of the plunder?
The others, the respectable ones, gave way. Vainly they remonstrated.
Vainly they pointed out that old Koppen was not a man to go back on his
word; that a cheque could be made out in America as well as anywhere
else; that the crux of the question was not the millionaire but his
good friend Keith; that they might spoil all their chances by
approaching the latter at such an unseasonable hour of the day. It was
weak of them.
They ought to have waited. For Keith was fond of solitude at all times,
and any one of his dozen gardeners could have told them that, like
every other self-respecting scholar, he was in the habit of
breakfasting not earlier than 9.30, and dangerous to approach before
that meal. Or they might have made enquiries concerning his mode of
life among his fellow-countrymen on Nepenthe. The bibliographer, for
instance, would have informed them that Keith was "generally sick about
eleven"--meaning, by this playful nonsense, to insinuate that it was not
safe to disturb him till after that hour. Be that as it may, he was
certainly irritable before breakfast-time on every single day of the
year and, as it happened, irritable beyond the common measure on this
particular morning, because the downpour of the previous afternoon had
dashed to pieces--among other material damage--the tender blooms of
certain priceless ipomaeas. That alone was enough to infuriate an
archangel. Moreover, like everybody else--he always conformed to
custom--he had been slightly tipsy overnight. This had the singular
effect of making him glum, ceremonious, and ready to take offence.
Here, now was this pack of officious idiots blundering in upon him.
Under ordinary circumstances he would have tried to be polite. As it
was, he could hardly bring himself to give them a civil word of
welcome. They caught him on his way from the bath to the garden--to a
succulent breakfast under his favourite pine-tree within view of the
Tyrrhenian; and his own flowered silk dressing-gown and
gold-embroidered Turkish slippers contrasted oddly with the solemn
vestments, savouring of naphthaline, which they had donned for the
funeral. After the barest of apologies for a costume which, he ventured
to think, was as suitable as any other for a gentleman at that hour of
the morning, he bade them be seated and listened to what the speaker
had to say--blinking ominously the while through his spectacles, like an
owl with the sun in its eyes.