Mr. Steppe had a house in Berkeley Square which he rented from its
lordly owner. Beryl had dined there before, and it had been a
baffling experience, for in no respect did the personality of the
tenant find an opportunity of expressing itself. The furnishings and
the color schemes of the landlord had been left as they had been
found, and since the atmosphere of the place was late Victorian, Mr.
Steppe was unconformable to his surroundings.
Beryl thought of him as a Sultan amidst samplers.
Sir John Maxton was talking to him when they were announced. One of
the greatest advocates at the bar, Maxton was tall, slender,
esthetic. His gentle manner had led many a confident witness into
trouble. He had a reputation at the bar as a just and merciless man;
a master of the art of cross-examination.
"The doctor told me you were likely to be here," he said, when she
had escaped from Steppe's thunderous civilities. "I hoped Ronnie
would have come--have you seen him lately?"
"Only for a few minutes on Monday. I met him in the park. I didn't
know you were a friend of his, Sir John?" Maxton's lips curled.
Beryl wondered if he was trying to smile, or whether that twitch
indicated something uncomplimentary to Ronnie.
"I'm more than a friend--and less. I was one of the executors of his
father's will. Old Bennett Morelle was my first client and I suppose
I stand _in loco parentis_ to Ronnie by virtue of my executorship. I
have not seen him for quite a year. Somebody told me that he was
scribbling! He always had a bent that way--it is a thousand pities
he didn't take the law seriously--an occupation would have kept him
out of mischief."
"Has Ronnie been called to the bar?" she asked in astonishment.
Maxton nodded.
"Just before the war, but he has never practiced. I hope that the
newspaper connection will keep him busy."
"But Ronnie works very hard," she asserted stoutly. "He has his
company work, he is a director of several and chairman of one I
believe." Maxton looked at her with the faintest shade of amusement
in his eyes.
"Of course," he said drily, "that is an occupation." He lowered his
voice. "Do you mind if I am ill-bred and ask you if you have known
our host very long?"
"A few years." He nodded.
Beryl, glancing across at her father and Steppe, saw that the doctor
was talking earnestly. She caught Steppe's gaze and looked back to
Sir John.
"I have been fighting a case for him--rather a hopeless proposition,
but we won. The jury was wrong, I think, in giving us a verdict. I
can say this because the other side have entered an appeal which is
certain to succeed."
Jan Steppe must have heard the last sentence.
"Huh? Succeed? Yes, perhaps--it doesn't matter very much. I had a
verdict, a disqualified winner is still a moral winner, huh, doctor?
You used to be a racing man, what do you think?"
Dinner was announced whilst the doctor was disclaiming any knowledge
of the turf or its laws. The dinner was exquisite in its selection
and brevity. Mr. Steppe had one special course which none of the
others shared. He invited them and showed no regret when they
refused. A footman brought a silver dish piled high with steaming
mealy cobs. He took them in his hands and gnawed at the hot corn.
It was probably the only way that mealies could be eaten, she told
herself--no more inelegant an exhibition than the sword-swallowing
man[oe]uvre which followed the serving of asparagus.
"Sault?" Mr. Steppe was wiping his fingers on his serviette. "You
asked me once before, Beryl--where was it? In the park. No, I
haven't seen him. I very seldom do. Strange man, huh?"
The butler had attended more frequently to Dr. Merville's wine glass
than to any other of the guests. His gloom had disappeared and he
was more like the cheerful man Beryl remembered.
"Sault is a danger and a menace to society," he said.
Steppe's brows lowered but he did not interrupt.
"At the same time he can exercise one of the most beneficent forces
that nature has ever given into the care of a human being."
"You pique my curiosity," said Maxton, interested. "Is he psychic or
clairvoyant--from your tone one would imagine that he had some
supernatural power."
"He has," nodded Merville. "I discovered it some time ago. He
lodges with a woman named Colebrook in a very poor part of the town.
Mrs. Colebrook suffers from an unusual form of heart disease. She
had a seizure one night and Sault came for me. You will remember,
dear, when I was called out in the middle of the night--a year ago.
The moment I examined the woman, who was unconscious, and in my
opinion _in extremis_, I knew that nothing could be done. I applied
the remedies which I had brought with me, and which I had thought,
from his description of the seizure, would be necessary, but with no
effect. Sault was terribly upset. The woman had two daughters, one
bed-ridden. His grief at the thought that she would die without her
daughter seeing her, was tragic. I think he was going upstairs to
bring the girl down, when I said casually that if I could lend the
patient strength to live for another hour, she would probably
recover. What followed, seems to me even now as part of a fantastic
dream."
Beryl's elbow was on the table, her chin in her palm and she was
absorbed. Maxton lay back, his arm hanging over the back of his
chair, weighing every word; Steppe, his hands clasped on the table,
his head bent, skeptical.
"Sault bent down and took the inert hands of the woman in his--just
held them. Remember this, that she was the color of this serviette,
her lips gray. I wondered what he was doing--I don't know now. Only
her face went gradually pink and her eyes opened."
"How long after he took her hands?" asked Maxton.
"Less than a minute I should think. As I say, she opened her eyes
and looked around and then she nodded very slowly. 'What do you
think of that, Dr. Merville?' she said."
"She knew you, of course?"
"She had never seen me in her life. I learned that afterwards.
Sault dropped her hands and stood up. He was looking ghastly. Not a
vestige of color. I said to him: 'Sault, what is the matter, and he
answered in a cockney whine, that was 'h'less and
ungrammatical--Sault never makes an error in that respect--'It's me
'eart, sir, I get them attacks at times--haneurism.'"
"Sault?"
Steppe's face was puckered into a grimace of incredulity.
"Go on, please, father!" urged the girl.
"What came after was even more curious. Mrs. Colebrook got up quite
unaided, sat down in a chair before the fire and fell fast asleep.
Sault sat down, too. I gave him some brandy and he seemed to
recover. But he did not speak again, not even to answer my
questions. He sat bolt upright in a wooden chair by the side of the
kitchen table--all this happened in the kitchen. He didn't move for
a long time and then his hands began to stray along the table. There
was a big work basket at the other side and presently his hands
reached it and he drew it toward him. I watched him. He took out
some garment, I think it was a night dress belonging to one of the
girls. It was unfinished and the needle was sticking into it--he
began to sew!"
"Good God!" cried Maxton. "Do you suggest that on the touching of
hands the two identities changed?"
"I suggest that--I assert that," said the doctor quietly, and drank
his wine.
"Rubbish!" growled Steppe. "What did Sault say about it?"
"I will tell you. Exactly an hour after this extraordinary
transference had been made, I saw Mrs. Colebrook going pale. She
opened her eyes and looked at me in a puzzled way, then at the
daughter, a pretty child who had been present all the time. 'I
always 'ave these attacks, sir,' she said, 'a haneurism the doctors
call it!'"
"And Sault?"
"He was himself again, but distressingly tired and wan."
"Did he explain?"
The doctor shook his head.
"He didn't understand or remember much. The next day out of
curiosity I called at the house and asked him if he could sew. He
was amused. He said that he had never used a needle in his life, his
hands were too big."
Beryl sat back with a sigh. "It doesn't seem--human," she said.
The doctor had opened his mouth to reply when there was a crash in
the hall outside and the sound of a high, aggressive voice. Another
second and the door was thrown violently open and the man lurched in.
He was hatless and his frock coat was covered with the coffee-colored
stains of wet mud. His cravat was awry and the ends hung loose over
his unbuttoned waist-coat. A stray lock of black hair hung over his
narrow forehead. He strode into the center of the room and with legs
apart, one hand on his hip and the other caressing his long, brown
beard, he surveyed the company with a sardonic smile.
"Hail! Thieves and brother bandits!" he said thickly. He spoke with
a slight lisp. "Hail! Head devil and chief of the tribe! Hail!
Helen--"
Steppe was on his feet, his head thrust forwards, his shoulders bent.
Maxton saw him and started. There was something feline in that
crouching attitude. "You drunken fool! How dare you come here, huh!"
Mr. Moropulos snapped his fingers contemptuously. "I come, because I
have the right," he said with drunken gravity, "who will deny the
prime minister the right of calling upon the king?" he bowed and
nearly lost his balance, recovering by the aid of a chairback.
"Go to my study, Moropulos, I will come out with you," Steppe had
gained control of himself, but the big frame was trembling with pent
rage.
"Study--bah! Here is my study! Hail, doctor, man of obnoxious
draughts, hail, stranger, whoever you are--where's the immaculate
Ronnie? Flower of English chivalry and warrior of a million
flights--huh?"
He bellowed his imitation of Steppe's grunt and chuckled with
laughter.
"Now, listen, confederates, I have done with you all. I am going to
live honest. Why? I will tell you--"
"Moropulos!" Beryl turned quickly toward the door. She knew before
she saw the stolid figure that it was Sault. Moropulos turned too.
"Ah! The faithful Ambrose--do you want me, Sault?" His tone was
mild, he seemed to wilt under the steady gaze of the man in the
doorway. Ambrose Sault beckoned and the drunken intruder shuffled
out, shamefaced, fearful.
"Quite an interesting evening," said Sir John Maxton as he closed the
car door on the Mervilles that night.