Bert offered no resistance to the officers of the law. Indeed, after the
first moment, he showed a kind of relief at his arrest, and went with
his captors almost gladly.
"I knew you'd get me sooner or later," he said, although warned that his
words would be used against him, "and it's best to get it over. Julie
won't ever forgive me, let alone have anything to do with me, so what
have I got to live for? I can't go on like this; no one could. Still,
mind you, I'm not so much to blame as you think, and it's my belief any
one of you chaps would have done the same as I did, in my place."
Bert had always been ready to justify himself.
He was willing enough to confess, to the police, to the prison chaplain,
to anyone. He showed, indeed, considerable satisfaction, not to say
pride, in the interest his story excited, and was not a little annoyed
with Gimblet when he found there was practically nothing he could tell
the detective of which he was not already aware. Bert did not dilate
so much on his love for Julie, the one real thing about him and the
innocent incentive of all his crimes.
It is perhaps best not to give the exact words in which he poured
forth the history of the dark deeds in which he had been concerned,
but to offer to the reader a _résumé_ of his tale in so far as it was
corroborated by the evidence.
Albert Tremmel's father was a West End dairyman who had the misfortune
to marry above him, as the saying is. He had a small shop in Hanover
Street and carried on a profitable business, but his wife despised it
from the first, and refused to allow their only child to assist her
husband when he became old enough to do so. She wished him to be a
clerk, and, as she had a way of getting what she wanted, young Bert at
the age of eighteen had entered, in that capacity, the office of Messrs.
Ennidge and Pring, house and estate agents. He was then, as later, a
cadaverous, unpleasant-looking youth, with a surly, combative temper
and a strongly marked tendency to look on most people as his natural
enemies. This in itself did not bring him friends, and he made matters
worse as often as he could by adopting a dictatorial manner of speech
and the habit of pointing out to comparative strangers his opinion that
they erred in thinking they knew their own business. He would also
mention their duty as another thing they were ignorant of. This line of
conversation he varied by assuring them that if it were true, as they
would have him believe, that they knew both better in any case than he
did, it was still more to be regretted that they should mismanage the
one and fail to do the other.
Boys of his own age frankly refused to have anything to do with him, and
he found his most congenial surroundings at a Socialistic Club, where
all the members shared his disapproval of the world in general, and
descanted as much as they pleased on the shameful conduct and character
of those who were not of their own way of thinking. Here all ranks and
parts of the community were equally denounced, and if one could hardly
find words strong enough to censure the attitude of the rich who wished
to retain control of their own wealth, neither could one sufficiently
display one's anger and disgust at the behaviour of the poor who showed
themselves so regardless of the socialistic movement as to take
benefits from the capitalist classes. Fond as these young men were of
employing the words "give" and "take," the meaning generally conveyed by
their joint use was peculiarly repugnant to them. Take, in their view,
should always come first in any case, and a thing taken lost half its
value in their eyes if it came as a gift. They would have abolished both
generosity and gratitude from a world that can ill afford the loss of
those virtues.
Bert drank in every tenet of this creed, and revelled in the
discussions and execrations as much as he delighted in the wishy-washy
sentimentalism. He was an unhealthy, discontented, miserable boy, his
hand against every one; and his club was the only place where he felt
himself more or less at his ease.
There was, however, one spot which he liked better to be in, and that
was the household of the Querterots.
He had gone to school with Julie Querterot, for it so happened that
Bert's father was a Lancashire man and a Roman Catholic. It is true that
when he died, as he did when Bert was only thirteen, the boy's mother
immediately removed him to another school and saw to it that he imbibed
her hatred of Rome; but he did not take any more kindly to her own
church, and when she herself died five or six years later he was going
pretty much his own way, which was a way devoid of religious belief
of any kind. In spite of this, he never lost touch with his little
schoolfellow; and, as the Querterots dealt at Tremmels' shop and the
children were always together, the two families became acquainted, and
a certain friendship even sprang up between Madame Querterot and Mrs.
Tremmels. These ladies drank tea together, and smiled over the devotion
of Bert for little Julie. This was in the days when prosperity reigned
in both houses.
It was different after Mrs. Tremmels' death, when Bert discovered that
the business, of which he had never been allowed to learn the details,
was on the verge of bankruptcy, Mrs. Tremmels having conducted it since
her husband's death with an eye more to her own aggrandisement than to
profit. She had opened two large branches and started milk carts drawn
by Shetland ponies; and, having no capital, had borrowed money to do it.
Custom under her management had fallen off; the branches had had to be
closed; the smart ponies sold; and, at the time of her death, she could
no longer find the interest on the borrowed money and the mortgagees
were at the point of foreclosing.
Bert, who spent half his evenings in advocating the redistribution
of wealth, did not at all enter into the spirit of the thing when he
found himself quietly set on one side while his own wealth, that is to
say, the competency to which he had always believed himself heir, was
redistributed without anyone consulting him. He took it very ill indeed,
and said things about his dead mother which would have brought him his
dismissal from the office if they had come to the ears of either Mr.
Ennidge or Mr. Pring. He had been in their employment about a year when
she died, and had done fairly well in it, for he was not a bad worker,
nor even without intelligence of a kind. Still, he only kept his post
by the skin of his teeth, for he had been in the office more than long
enough for Mr. Pring to take a violent dislike to him, and if it had
not been for the extremely kind heart of Mr. Ennidge, who argued that
he could not dismiss the youth to whom Fortune had already dealt so
severe a blow, Bert would have been sacked a dozen times a week. He
had, however, no idea of this, and considered himself indispensable and
miserably underpaid.
He certainly was not paid a great deal, though more than he was worth
to Mr. Pring, at all events, and Madame Querterot ceased abruptly to
invite him to her house. He continued, however, to visit it from time to
time, and a couple more years went by without further event. Then came
the sudden and tragic failure of the Querterots. Eugène Querterot shot
himself; and in the fallen state of their fortunes the two impoverished
women he left behind him were glad of any friend who stood by them. The
sudden dropping off of their old acquaintances created a new bond of
sympathy between them and the young man, and when they moved to Pimlico
and he was the only person who ever went to see them, he received a much
warmer welcome, at all events from the mother, than he had lately grown
to expect.
Gradually he went more and more often, until he formed the habit of
dropping in at least every other evening. He had always been fond of
Julie, and perhaps of no one else in the world, since he had shown
little affection for his parents; now, as he saw her with increasing
frequency, his feelings for her became more intense, till every day
he seemed to see in her new and more entrancing perfections, and even
his enthusiasms for Socialism faded under the continual protest of
her aversion to it. He admitted to himself with a kind of thrill of
self-defiance that Julie was so clever, so sensible, so wonderfully
reasonable and clear-sighted, that her opinion on any subject could
not be despised, and it became more and more plain to him that if she
thought badly of Socialism that doctrine would find difficulty in
retaining his complete loyalty. To be short, by the time she reached
her eighteenth birthday Bert was head over ears in love with the girl,
and had scarcely a thought in which she did not predominate. Madame
Querterot watched it all from beneath her heavy eyelids. She said
nothing, but the idea that here was one who in time might be useful to
her crept into her brain and took deep root there as the weeks went by.
Julie was pious and devout. It was about this time that she began to
speak about entering a religious sisterhood, but the storm of reproach
and upbraiding that this desire provoked in her mother caused her to
relinquish the idea for the time being, and, more particularly, not to
talk of it any more. The only visible effect of the suggestion was that
Madame Querterot welcomed Bert more effusively than usual, and now often
invited him to stay to supper.
It may be judged how readily he accepted, and these evenings were
certainly the happiest hours in his life. He used to come early and help
Julie to lay the table, and sometimes even to prepare the meal; and if
her sleeve chanced to brush against his shoulder as she stooped over
the fire or reached up to a shelf he would be reduced to a state of
speechless ecstasy, which Madame Querterot found a pleasant change from
the usual aggressive torrent of his talk.
In spite of her quiet and demure ways, Julie had a girlish fondness
for dress and finery, and the offerings that from time to time Bert
laid at her feet, of gloves and trinkets, were a great source of
innocent pleasure to her. There was a time when he sallied forth from
his lodgings armed with the savings of months, and the intention of
buying a ring, which he should present to her accompanied by a speech he
prepared for the occasion, in which the secret of his heart was to be
imparted, together with the request that the ring should be a token of
their engagement. But his courage failed him at the jeweller's counter;
he felt suddenly a conviction, amounting to a certainty, that Julie
would refuse; and, rather than risk knowing the worst, he abandoned his
project and spent his hoardings on a brooch which he himself did not
really admire, and which Julie, when she received it, thought hideous.
The only person who was pleased was the jeweller, who had had the thing
in his shop two years and simply loathed the sight of it.
It was soon after this that the great plan, of which Madame Querterot
had had the elements incubating in her mind for a long while, was
hatched, and presented itself to her in a complete and material form.
She knew from the first that she could not carry it out alone; and,
casting over in her thoughts for the help she required, saw in Bert a
tool made ready to her hand. When she broached her idea to him she had
her design prepared, down to every detail.
It was on the night when he had treated the two women to the theatre, as
has been related in an early page of this narrative. Madame Querterot
began by telling the young man that she would never allow her daughter
to marry one so poor as himself, and added quickly that she knew of
a way by which he could attain both money and the assistance of her
influence exerted on his behalf with Julie. Having excited his curiosity
and his hopes she bound him to secrecy and disclosed her purpose to him.
"It is yourself who gave me the good idea," she assured him. "It is your
socialistic teaching, is it not, to take from the rich? they have more
than is reasonable, those others!"
They were walking up and down before the little house in Pimlico where
the Querterots lived in these days of poverty; Julie had left them and
gone to bed; the glimmer of a candle came from behind a blind in the
room upstairs.
"Of course they have," Bert grunted. "But it's no use your thinking you
can take their money from them without further legislation. What price
the police?"
"Ah, the police," sighed Madame Querterot, "if only they would not
meddle in what is not their affair! But, look you, there are cases
which are exceptional. There are cases which ought to receive immediate
attention, which cry out for treatment of the most drastic. If the law
is slow--and I grant you that the law has great need of alteration--when
a matter is exceptionally urgent, I say, the good citizen must take it
in his own hands to see justice done. And if while we render a service
to humanity we do so with profit to ourselves, it is clear that the ends
of justice are doubly served."
Bert could not help agreeing with these excellent precepts. Indeed,
Madame Querterot's air of supernatural wisdom would have impressed the
most sceptical.
"It is not enough to talk, one must demonstrate one's faith in a theory.
By the means I shall propose you can prove how well Socialism will work
in practice; for here will the poor, as represented by us, be made
richer, and yet the rich person who will have changed our fortunes
need scarcely feel any deprivation. You remember my talking to you at
supper-time about a lady, a very wealthy lady, one of my clientele?"
"Yes," said Bert. "A Jewess, wasn't it?"
"It is true. A Jewess! And have not the Jews for centuries ground the
bones of the poor? Who more fitted to be the first to contribute some of
their ill-gotten gains in return? Should they not be obliged to restore
some of that money which they never earned?"
"I daresay," assented Bert; "but I wish you'd hurry up and let's see
what you're getting at, that's all."
"Eh bien! This woman, this Jewess, is enormously rich, as I tell you.
And what does she do with her money? My friend, she covers herself with
diamonds! It is those diamonds which I propose to myself to deprive her
of."
"What, steal them?" Bert's tone was troubled, although in his heart he
had known from the first whither her talk drifted.
"Steal! What a word." Impossible to convey the contempt of Madame
Querterot's tone. "Is it right then, that she should be permitted to
have so much when others starve? Is it right that she should flaunt her
jewels in the face of the hungry poor?"
Madame Querterot, who had a good memory, went on to quote phrase after
phrase she had at various times heard fall from Bert's own lips. She
poured his favourite catchwords into his ears, and strengthened them
with arguments of her own. She painted the robbery she designed in
such glowing colours that you would have thought, to hear her, that
it was a sacrifice she was going to make for the good of humanity.
She passed imperceptibly to picturing the delight of Julie when she
should be presented with one of the less easily identified jewels, to
the readiness with which, at the advice and with the glad consent of
her mother, she would accept the heart and hand of the prosperous and
enriched Albert, to the happiness of the young couple ensconced in
their charming house, surrounded by motors, gramophones, champagne; in
fine, all the luxuries due to a girl of Julie's perfections. Madame
Querterot did not stop till she came to her own prospective joys, her
grandchildren climbing on her knee. It was enough for the blushing
and intoxicated Bert. He surrendered, agreed to all she proposed,
put himself entirely under her directions, and these his prospective
mother-in-law willingly proceeded to give him.
She explained to him first at some length the character of Mrs.
Vanderstein, and the means by which she hoped to play upon her weakness.
"There is," said she, "a young Prince--the Prince Felipe of Targona--now
in London and staying at Fianti's Hotel in Grosvenor Street, which is
situated just opposite to the house of this Jewess. It so happened
to-day, as I was in the midst of my massaging, that she jumped up and
ran to the window to see this young man pass, and I also looked out. Now
by some chance the Prince, as he drove by, happened to lift his head
and look straight into Mrs. Vanderstein's face. It was a most lucky
occurrence, and I could not have hoped for anything so providential to
arrive. One would say, indeed, that it is an omen for me, a mandate to
carry out my plan. Mrs. Vanderstein was delighted at this encounter of
the eyes, and did not disguise her pleasure. Well, see how simple is now
my part. I have in the shop some tortoise-shell combs, purchased at a
ridiculous price by that poor Eugène when we first started in business
here in London. They are very beautiful, of the finest workmanship,
exquisitely and intricately carved, but of a pattern antiquated and
_démodé_. We have never been able to sell them.
"Now see, I shall take those combs, and present myself at Fianti's
with a petition that I may see the Princess of Targona, mother of
Prince Felipe. For her I have a story that my husband was of Targona,
and that the combs also come from that country. I shall offer them to
Her Highness as a present from a humble and expatriated subject, and
say that my late husband refused to part with them out of patriotism,
and, when everything else he possessed had to be sold, clung always to
the only objects he had left to remind him of his beloved Targona. It
is quite probable that the Princess will be affected by this touching
history. She may even make me a present; but that is by the way. What
is really of importance is that I should be left alone in one of the
apartments occupied by the Royal party for a few minutes. If I can
manage that--and I think you may have confidence that I will do so--I
shall obtain some pieces of the Prince's notepaper on which his royal
device or monogram is certainly engraved; at all events it will bear
some distinguishing mark, and it will go hard if a few sheets of it do
not find their way into my bag.
"The next step will be easy. I shall issue from the hotel at a moment
when I have ascertained, by peeping from a window, that Mrs. Vanderstein
is on her balcony, where at a certain hour she very often goes to water
some flowers she has there. She will see me pass; and, as she is very
curious about all that goes on at Fianti's, she will remark on the
incident. I shall tell her that I have been called by the Prince of
Targona, who has fallen madly in love with her at first sight. You may
think she will not believe this, but trust me to make it plausible;
and she will be readier to credit such an idea than you imagine, for
in the first place all beautiful women are ready to believe that their
attractions are irresistible--and she is beautiful, this Jewess, not
unlike what I was myself when I was younger--and in the second place,
Mrs. Vanderstein is of a nature romantic to the point of ridicule, and
is always, I am convinced, fabricating for herself stories of heroes and
princes, with herself for the heroine of these fables.
"How do I know, you ask me? I tell you I know. I am a judge of
character; I have an aptitude for that. Eh bien! I shall convince the
Jewess that she is adored by a reigning Prince, with frenzy, with
devotion, with passion; that he thinks of nothing but her; that he would
put his hand in the fire for her sake, that he is ready to abdicate his
throne, to give up the government of his country. In short, that he
wishes to marry her, and that if she will not listen to his addresses
he has nothing further to live for in this world. What is perhaps the
weak point in my tale is the idea that Prince Felipe should have chosen
to make a confidante of myself, but, believe me, my dear Bert, I shall
make even that appear not unnatural, and, as a matter of fact, stranger
things are done every day. All this will take time, I do not know how
long--days, perhaps weeks. I must find out how long the Prince stays in
London," added Madame Querterot, more to herself than to her companion.
It was the one thing she had forgotten.
"I shall write her letters on the Royal notepaper, and as she will send
the answers by my hand, I shall know their contents and be able to reply
to them without arousing any suspicions on her part. In his impassioned
epistles the Prince will beg for an interview; he will lament the
obstacles that prevent his seeing her either at the hotel or in her own
residence, and he will finally, I am sure, persuade her to meet him
for the purpose of making his acquaintance, in a house which he will
indicate.
"She will consent to all he proposes, or I am much mistaken. It is at
this point, my dear Bert, that your assistance becomes so indispensable.
You are a house agent's clerk. I shall require a house; and it is you
who must take it for me, in an assumed name, of course, and without the
knowledge of your employers."
"I don't see how that can ever be done," Bert objected.
They were still pacing slowly up and down the dingy street. A policeman
at the corner of the road looked at them once or twice, decided they
were harmless, and ceased his attentions. The light in Julie's bedroom
was long since extinguished.
Madame Querterot cleared her throat and began again.
"There will be a gentleman from India, let us say," she resumed, "who
will call at the office at an hour when the two partners are out. No
one will regret this more than yourself, but in their absence you will
do your best to attend to the requirements of the gentleman from India.
He will want a house, and he will want it immediately. He will desire
to take it by the week and he will be ready to pay a large rent. He is
somewhat eccentric, this gentleman, and dislikes meeting strangers.
He will tell you to see about getting a charwoman to make the house
ready for him, and he will settle then and there on the terms, on the
day he is to take possession, and upon every necessary detail. Then,
having signed the agreement, he will pay you the first week's rent in
advance--for which I will provide the money--and he will walk out of the
office. You will tell Mr. Ennidge and Mr. Pring, when they return, about
the eccentric gentleman from India, and they will not be suspicious
about him since there will be the money for the rent."
"Are you going to act being this gentleman you're talking about?" asked
Bert.
"No," replied Madame Querterot. "He will not exist at all; it is not
necessary that he should ever appear. But it may be very useful that he
should be thought to exist."
"Then who is to sign the lease?"
"You will do that," said the Frenchwoman, "you must begin at once to
practise writing with your left hand. Choose a short name--we will call
him Mr. West--and write it over and over again many times on a sheet of
foolscap, which you will always burn when you have covered it. Never
forget to burn it, Bert. You will find it quite easy in a few days, and
it will not in the least resemble your own hand."
"I don't half like it," Bert commented.
"I promise you it will be all that is most simple. The Indian gentleman
will ask you personally to meet him at the house on the day he takes
possession, and he will tell you to be sure to come yourself, as he
dislikes strangers and prefers not to do business with more than one
person. So you will get the house ready for him and hand him the key and
leave him in it. That is all the trouble there will be about the house.
Not much to take, for the sake of gaining a fortune and a charming wife,
you must admit? The Vanderstein will come to the house to meet Prince
Felipe. She will find us there, masked and unknown to her. We shall
relieve her of her jewels, which I shall have arranged that she will
wear; Prince Felipe is so fond of jewellery, it is a perfect passion
with him to see women so adorned! So I shall tell her, and she will not
fail to bedeck herself with them. When all is done she may return home;
disappointed, I fear; but life is full of disillusions, and the blame
will rest on the eccentric Mr. West from India."
It was all very plausible. Bert could pick no holes in the plan. He
tried to offer one or two objections, but was quickly overruled, and
finally said good night and went home to bed committed to aid and abet
Madame Querterot in her purpose to the best of his power.
All went well. Madame Querterot succeeded even beyond her expectations.
The Vanderstein, as she called her, was all a flutter of excitement and
delight, and Madame Querterot related to Bert at great length and with
huge enjoyment the scene in which she had embarked upon the hoax, and
the easy gullibility of "la Juive."
"'Figure to yourself,' I said to her, 'that this morning I receive a
summons to Fianti's from a lady in waiting on the Princess of Targona!
What an honour! You can imagine my excitement! This lady used formerly
to stay much at her country's legation here, in London, and she was in
the habit of making herself _coiffée_ by that poor Eugène. So it appears
that yesterday she sent for him; but, when they told her that the poor
dear was no longer on this earth, she had the amiability to seek me
out, having heard of all our cruel misfortune, and asked that I should
present myself in his place. To-day, therefore, I attended at the hotel,
and had the pleasure of making the _coiffure_ of a charming lady. Mais
elle est charmante, cette dame-là! But--and here follows the affair that
is of interest to you, madame--as I left the apartment of the lady in
waiting and was about to descend the staircase, a voice called me back,
and, looking round, what was my surprise to perceive no less a person
than His Highness, Prince Felipe, who appeared to be beckoning to me to
join him in a dark part of the passage.'
"Mrs. Vanderstein interrupted me with sparkling eyes. 'Do tell me,'
she cried, 'the words that His Highness spoke to you! Sit down, Madame
Justine, and tell me every single thing you can remember about it.' I
drew a chair close to the sofa where Mrs. Vanderstein was seated, and
I continued my narrative in a confidential undertone. 'I could not
imagine what it was that Prince Felipe had to say to me, but I thought
for a moment that possibly his mother required my services, and I was
enchanted at the idea that perhaps I was this day to dress the hair
of a Royal personage. But as soon as I drew near, the Prince began to
ask me questions of which at first I could not understand the purport.
Soon, however, I comprehended. "You live in this street?" he asked.
"No, monsieur," I replied; "I live far from here." "But I saw you," he
cried, "I am convinced that it was you I saw!" "When did Your Highness
see me?" I inquired. I was indeed flattered that he should condescend to
recognise me. "I saw you yesterday. You were looking out of the window
of a house opposite this hotel," said he positively. "Ah yes, monsieur,
it is true. I was in the house of Mrs. Vanderstein, one of my clients,
and we had the good fortune to see you drive past."
"'I began now to see why I was receiving the honour of this interview.
"Mrs. Vanderstein!" he exclaimed. "Is that then her name? But," he
added, "there were two ladies. Which was Mrs. Vanderstein?" "The elder
of the two, monsieur, the one whose hair is dark." "It is she," he said.
"Ah, how beautiful she is! In all my life I have never seen a face that
so haunts my memory. It is the face I have dreamed of all these years.
But stay," cried he in a different tone and with a look of despair. "You
call her Mrs. Vanderstein! Am I to understand then that she is married?
No matter, her husband must perish! One of my gentlemen may engage him
in a duel. These things can arrange themselves." Such were his words.
Ah, madame! one sees that His Highness is not used to opposition.'
"The Vanderstein was transformed. Her eyes flashed with unaccustomed
fires. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, her breath came a
little quickly. I was astonished at the change. 'She looks ten years
younger,' I said to myself. 'Is it the massage that has had an effect
after all?' Aloud I continued my tale. 'I explained to the Prince that
Mr. Vanderstein had saved him the trouble of arranging a duel. "Then,"
cried he, "there is no obstacle! Except," he added in a different and
depressed tone, "the wishes of my mother, and of the government of
Targona. They are very decided that I must marry for reasons of state,
but I have told them again and again that I will not do it. I will
abdicate if they like, but I will never marry except in accordance with
the dictates of my heart. And my heart has never before been touched;
so that I am sure now that there is but one woman in the world for me.
But how am I to meet her? If anyone suspects my feelings, unimaginable
difficulties will be thrown in the way. And how can I ever win the
affections of the beautiful and adorable Mrs. Vanderstein, if I cannot
even imagine a means by which I may make her acquaintance? One thing,
however, is sure. Without her I cannot live."
"'Ah, madame,' I said, 'if you could have seen the poor gentleman your
heart would have ached for him. On his face so sad an expression! He had
an air so miserable and disconsolate. One can see that he has a tender
nature! In his despair he strode up and down the corridor, gesticulating
with his hands, and rumpling his hair--which is fine like silk--by
tearing at it with his fingers! Again and again he would clap his hand
to his forehead, or smite himself upon the breast, and, if he abstained
from bursting into actual tears, you may be sure it was because the
rigorous code, which forbids any public display of feeling in persons
of Royal blood, would not allow him to show his emotion even in the
presence of so insignificant a person as myself. Ah, the poor young man.
I, madame, I, whom he noticed as he would observe your looking-glass or
your boot-lace, felt myself ready to take him in my arms and to embrace
and comfort him like a mother.'
"I paused for breath, and Mrs. Vanderstein cried: 'Oh, Madame Justine,
is it really possible that he should feel like that after only seeing me
once, and that at a distance?' 'Love at first sight,' I replied, 'is not
a thing of which one has never heard; and assuredly he is in love, this
poor Prince Felipe, or I do not know what love is. Several times again
he stopped in front of me, and cried out: "How, how am I to arouse her
interest, gain her respect, above all how can I win her heart, when I
have no chance of making myself known to her? I cannot hope that she
will be attracted by my personal appearance. With one of her mental and
spiritual superiority--as I can see at a glance--my rank and position
will scarcely avail; it is, then, only by learning the depth and
sincerity of my passion, only by realising the fond and tender quality
of my love for her, that she may in time be prevailed on to look not
altogether unfavourably upon my suit." And much more he said of the same
kind. As for me, madame, I assured him I would, in a tactful way, convey
to you some hints as to the state of his feelings. He insisted that they
should be no more than hints, fearing that you would be offended at his
making of me a messenger; so if I have, in my sympathy, overstepped
the bounds of discretion, you must judge the fault entirely my own and
not attribute it to any lack of manners on the part of the Prince. His
intentions are of the most perfect correctness.
"'He questioned me closely as to your way of life, your opinions and
habits. "Ah," he cried, "I see we are made for one another, she and
I. You say that she likes to surround herself with pictures, flowers,
jewels, and the luxurious things of life. She is fond of music and of
the arts. Now remark this! I am a collector of paintings and _objets
d'art_. I, too, adore music and roses. I, also, have a passion for
precious stones and personal adornment. Wherein do we differ? _Hein!_
It is plain that we have the same tastes, that I shall be _sympathique_
to her. Oh, we must meet! Somehow, somewhere I will arrange, if she
consents, that we should meet. Not here. Impossible! Not at her house. I
should feel my mother's eye on me. I could not escape observation if I
merely crossed the road. No, neither here nor there, but in some other
place of which I will consider. In the meanwhile do you, with the utmost
delicacy, sound her feelings as regards myself, and prepare her for a
further expression of my own." I think, madame, that that is all that
passed between us, but I am to return to Fianti's to-morrow and report
to him whether you appeared displeased.' It seemed that Mrs. Vanderstein
was not displeased. She spoke very little more, but I could see, by the
happy, excited air she wore under her assumed calm, that my words were
having all the effect I could wish."
All this Madame Querterot retailed with many details to the interested
and amazed Bert, and each succeeding day she had new accounts of her
cleverness and success to relate. She wrote impassioned, but eminently
"correct" letters on the royal notepaper she had filched in accordance
with her plan, and carried them to Mrs. Vanderstein with a hidden,
jeering smile at that lady's glad and confiding acceptance of their
authenticity.
The night of the gala performance at the opera was fixed on for the
deed, and at their every meeting Madame Querterot repeated to Bert
her instructions as to the part played by the gentleman from India.
She elaborated and filled in her first sketch of his character and
behaviour, till at last the young man almost believed in the real
existence of Mr. West, and certainly knew far more about him than about
most of the people with whom he was actually in daily contact, for,
as a rule, he was unobservant to the last degree. She saw also to his
learning to write with his left hand, and he was able in a couple of
days to do this to her satisfaction. By now Bert was as keen about
the project as she could have wished. An evening spent at his club
had strengthened and confirmed his conviction that no one woman had a
right to the exclusive enjoyment of so much wealth; and he was now well
assured that he would deserve nothing but commendation for trying to
readjust the scales. There were moments when, for the fraction of an
otherwise optimistical second, he beheld a vision of Julie as she would
look at him if she ever heard of what was contemplated; and it was a
vision that caused in him a catching of the breath. But the idea for the
most part only hovered in the background of his thoughts, so that, while
he was always conscious of its neighbourhood, so to speak, he was able
with an effort to turn away his mental eyes, and to avoid looking it in
the face; and it was then that he would seem to Madame Querterot most
eager, most impatient for the night to arrive.
The house in Scholefield Avenue was taken, and Messrs. Ennidge and Pring
showed themselves only mildly interested in the mythical Mr. West, and
that chiefly on account of his readiness to pay a high rent. Then a
difficulty arose; and it was Bert, to his satisfaction and pride, who
suggested a way out of it.
Madame Querterot met him one evening with an expression of dismay she
made no attempt to conceal.
"There is after all something I have forgotten," she cried. "_Nom d'un
nom!_ that I can have been so stupid, so idiot! Listen, it is this. The
Jewess must drive from the opera to Scholefield Avenue. But in what? It
is impossible that she should go in her own automobile, and if she takes
a taxi we are equally betrayed. _Aïe, aïe!_ what to do?"